82 A BIRD COLLECTOR'S MEDLEY. 



two or three districts, and devote a day to each. Lyndhurst Road provides 

 a natural and convenient starting point, and the country round is some of 

 the prettiest and most interesting from a naturalist's point of view, especially 

 in the month of May. 



Turning off sharp to the left from the Lyndhurst Road, you are soon 

 engaged in picking your way through the boggy turf, and at once recognize 

 the fact that for all forest exploration the first essential is a good, sound 

 pair of boots. As you enter the picturesque glade that lies in front of 

 Ashurst Lodge, a yellow form flits hastily between the trees, and the ear is 

 greeted with the well-known laughing cry of the Green Woodpecker. As 

 might be expected, it is a common bird in the Forest, and the numerous 

 decayed trees in this neighbourhood seem specially adapted for its nest. It 

 was here that I first got a good view of the bird upon the ground, and was 

 much struck with the similarity of its actions to those of a Common Starling 

 strutting about upon a lawn. 



Another tree bird that is sure to meet us soon is the Nuthatch ; its 

 metallic note can never be mistaken, and will at once enable us to detect 

 its owner as he stands hammering with short but sturdy beak a nut that 

 he has fixed in some crevice of the bark, or hanging head downwards to 

 inspect us with saucy defiant stare. The Nuthatch is deservedly a favourite ; 

 he always seems so merry, even in the hardest of winters, and there is a 

 charm also in the harmony of its soft grey plumage, set off by the dash of 

 bright chestnut on the flank, and the dark streak beside the eye. Like those 

 of the Woodpeckers, his nest is in these trees ; I once found it in the very first 

 tree facing the road, but the hole, going right into the heart of the trunk, 

 was impervious to any weapon short of an axe. This nest had no mud 

 round the entrance, and was far more like the nest of a Tit, but to judge 

 by the bird's actions we can hardly have been mistaken as to the owner- 

 ship. Another pair of Nuthatches that I knew of that season were not 

 equally happy in their selection of a site. Long before May was in they 

 had secured a hole in a small oak tree, and narrowed down the entrance 

 with the usual wall of mud. A deep layer of oak leaves already lined the 

 hollow, and everything was ready for the eggs. Some days later we went 

 to look for them, but the first glance as we entered the clearing revealed the 

 unwelcome fact that the mud wall was demolished. Burglars had evidently 

 been at work ; nay, one was still upon the premises, for as we advanced a 

 head was thrust forth and hurriedly withdrawn into the hole. It was the 

 work of a moment to clap a hand over it, and then, eager to find who the 

 intruder might be, we lowered an extemporized noose into the hollow, and, 



