Bird Life in the 
*• Stripe.” 
(234) THE BIRD WORLD. 
Bird Life in the “Stripe." 
By MATTHEW BARR. 
(Continued from page 187.) 
An Early Nest, 
One year they came exceptionally 
early. I found a nest containing six 
eggs on the nth of May. I considered 
this a very early date. The evening 
was the best part of the day to hear 
them, especially a night that was hot 
and sultry, when they would “ reel ” 
away to their heart’s content. Creep¬ 
ing through the bushes I used to get as 
close to the bird as I possibly could, 
and watch it as it clung to the stalk of 
some ‘Sturdy plant. At times the 
“ reeling ” sounded quite near, then it 
seemed to come from further away, but 
the deception was done by the bird as 
the head moved from side to side during 
the performance. The least sound dis¬ 
turbed it, and then the song would 
stop, and the bird would drop down and 
creep off amongst the tangled under¬ 
growth, to mount and recommence 
when all again was quiet. 
Nest Well Hidden. 
Of all the nests that were built in 
this narrow wood, this one was the 
hardest to find. Cunningly hidden in 
the bottom where the grass grew thickest 
and longest, a stick to beat about was 
often needed to flush the sitting bird, 
even with its assistance a quick eye 
was necessary to catch a glimpse of the 
bird before it again had disappeared in 
the densest growth. The nest is wholly 
built and lined with grass, the broad 
parts being chiefly used, where the six 
white eggs spotted all over with dark 
red spots lie snugly within. Once when 
driven by egging boys from the river¬ 
side the piping Sandpiper made its nest 
and lined it with brown beech leaves, 
and deposited four pointed eggs within, 
creamy white, blotched and spotted with 
various colours. This, to my mind, 
is the prettiest egg of all our British 
birds. 
The Melodious Tree Tipit. 
Another summer visitor, the melodious 
Tree Pipit, the nest of which I often 
found in the end of the wood that sloped 
down to the water’s edge. What vari¬ 
able eggs they had ? It was a pleasure 
for me to discover the nest of this bird. 
You never could tell what the colour of 
the egg would be; each bird seemed to 
have a peculiar type of its own. I 
loved to listen to its song in a sun¬ 
bathed day in June, as it arose from a 
green clad bough of a tree in the ad¬ 
jacent glen, fluttered over the tree tops, 
then came down gracefully on out¬ 
stretched pinions, to seek another 
branch, or failing that, alight on the 
daisy-^spangled sward of an adjoining 
field. The notes of the song may be 
few, but still they are sweet and full of 
music. Unlike its cousin, the Meadow 
Pipit, the song of which is more metallic 
and not so pleasant to hear, a lower 
perch is also more to its liking, the top 
of the hedgerow, a stone dyke, or some 
slight elevation of the ground is all that 
is required, from where it arises with an 
hesitating upward flight, uttering all the 
time the note, “ tit, tit, tit,” till it 
ascends, as it seems to me, as high as 
the bird is able, then the voice changes 
till what I consider is the song proper, 
which, like the flight downwards, sounds 
as if it was running downhill. When 
the trees were very small I used to find 
the nest. But, like the Robin, they are 
both regulated to the outside now, and 
nest in the side of the ditch. 
Winter’s Songster. 
The Redbreast is no mean performer 
in the woodland choir. His high-pitched 
song may be often heard in the winter 
months when the majority of the birds 
are silent. Our most constant singer 
sings in all the months of the year, being 
least heard in July. In a damp place 
