202 THE BOOK OF BIRDS 



and the black markings of the throat and wings give 

 him the right to be called handsome like his green 

 relative. 



But it is his beak which is the most noticeable thing 

 about him. And a mighty, serviceable instrument it is 

 for a little bird only some seven inches long. With it he 

 rips off the plump covering of a fruit-stone — cherry, plum, 

 what you will — and cracks it easily. He loves the kernel 

 better than the soft pulp. 



It is by his massive beak, too, that you are likely to 

 espy and recognise him. For he is a shy bird, and not 

 given to showing himself unnecessarily. There are 

 probably more of his tribe in this country than we realise, 

 though it has been noticed that for some years past 

 his numbers have been increasing. 



Even around London you will find him. Epping Forest 

 is, or used to be, a favourite haunt of his. 



I remember, some years ago, one very wet afternoon in 

 June, walking through Highgate Woods. Everything 

 was very still, and as I passed down one of the green 

 alleys I looked up and saw a Hawfinch feeding her 

 nestlings. I had never seen one before except in pictures, 

 but the great beak told me at once what bird it was. 

 The nest was high up on the bough of a tall tree — an oak, 

 I think — and I might have watched for an hour or more, 

 for the parent bird either did not see me, or refused to be 

 scared. 



Yet some writers have declared the Hawfinch to be 

 one of the most difficult birds to approach, on account of 

 its wariness and great timidity. One of these writers, 

 Doubleday, says: "When in the forest, the bird usually 

 perches upon the extreme top of some lofty tree, from 

 whence it keeps so complete a watch that hardly a weasel 



