LIF'E IN THE NEW FOREST 



947 



A PAIK Ob \OLNG LAPWINGS. 



The Forest is watered by many pleasant 

 winding streams that are fairly well stocked 

 with fish, and are the haunt of the King- 

 fisher, who may frequently be seen perched 

 upon some bough that projects across the 

 water, from which coign of vantage it 

 dives to capture its prey, or flies swiftly 

 away if alarmed at our approach, giving 

 us but a momentary glimpse of its exquisite 

 plumage. These streams in passing from 

 the woodland across a belt of open country, 

 widen out and flow between low reed- 

 bordered banks, beloved of the Heron, 

 who may often be seen standing alone, 

 grey sentinel on the shallow margin of 

 the stream. 



Out on the lonely marshlands of the 

 Forest, with its dangerous, quaking bogs, 

 we hear the plaintive " pee-e-wit," " pee- 

 e-wit " of the Lapwings, as those beautiful 

 birds, alarmed at our approach, rise and 

 circle above our heads. It seems a sad 

 pity that this graceful and useful bird — 

 it is truly one of the best friends that 

 the farmer possesses — which at one time 

 was common on all the open lawns and 

 spaces in the Forest, is now practically 

 confined to the wildest plains and danger- 

 ous marshes, owing to the ruthless manner 

 in which its eggs have been collected 

 during the breeding season. The baby 

 Lapwings are the most delightful, soft, 

 downy little creatures, their markings 

 and colourings so closely resembling the 

 brownish-grey tint of the marshland that, 

 as they huddle close to the ground at the 

 approach of danger, it is practically im- 

 possible to detect their presence. The 



mother bird at your approach stealthily 

 creeps away from her young, and then 

 rising, circles round your head, giving vent 

 to her plaintive cry, and with a tumbling 

 flight, as if cramped or wounded, strives 

 to lead you from her nest or young, her 

 mate joining with her in her frantic 

 endeavour to draw your attention away. 

 Once alarmed it is a long time before 

 the parent bird will return to her eggs or 

 young, and if one would see her settle 

 on her eggs or brood her young, one must 

 exercise some patience and craft. By 

 lying flat amongst the growth of heather 

 and reeds, and very quietly and gradually 

 drawing under the shelter of a bush, we 

 may be able to watch the precautions of 

 the mother bird, who has been alarmed 

 at our approach, ere she returns to her 

 young. After circling in the air for 

 some time, giving vent to her shrill, plain- 

 tive cry, to which her mate responds, she 

 will at last settle on the ground and, with 

 her quick, characteristic, running gait, 

 move from place to place on the marsh, 

 giving every now and then a faint, low call. 

 At last, if her fears are allayed, she will 

 draw near to where her young are hiding, 

 and then crouching on the grountl, will 

 call her chicks to her ; and, with the aid 

 of the field glasses, we may see the tin\', 

 downy youngsters hastily run up and 

 hide themselves beneath the snow-white 

 plumage of their mother's breast. She 

 then gives a series of calls of satisfaction, 

 and her mate, satisfied that all is well, 

 m()\'es off and awav in search of food. 

 In April, when the foresters are in the 



