IN FOREST AND COPSE.
Perhaps the avifauna of the woods and coppices, in northern and
southern shires alike, is more similar in its general aspects than that
of any other special localities with the same difference of latitude
between them. Nevertheless there are southern species absent from these
northern woodlands, and others common enough up here that are not seen
in the counties of the south. Then again some species become rarer or
commoner in the north, as the case may be, or exactly the reverse; or
we shall find not a little difference in the habits of some of these
woodland birds, as compared with those of southern haunts, and also
in many cases considerable variation in the date of the arrival or
departure of migratory species.
We confess at the beginning of this chapter to a very decided
partiality for well-timbered districts, for woods and shrubberies,
grand old forests and more youthful coppices; for, apart from the
natural beauty of these sylvan spots, they are such favourite haunts of
birds. For many years we lived almost surrounded by woodlands, and in
some directions could wander for half a score miles or more amongst
little else but trees--hence our affection for these places, which we
got to know by heart, and in doing so became familiar with the rich
array of bird-life that dwelt in their shady depths. We also retain
many a vivid memory of wanderings in fir and pine wood farther north in
quest of ornithological information; whilst grand old Sherwood Forest
on one side of Sheffield, and equally attractive Wharncliffe Woods
on the other, were the scene of many an exploration after knowledge
relating to the bird-life of such localities. Then in other directions
we had the noble woodlands at Eccleshall, Beauchief, and Totley, and
along the Rivelin Valley--all of them nearer home, and all of them
well favoured with bird-life in great variety. These extensive woods,
however, are not favourite haunts of the smaller Passeres; rather are
they the home of Hawks, Magpies, Crows, Jays, Doves, Woodpeckers,
Pheasants, and so on; the coppices, plantations, smaller woods,
and well-timbered bottoms, together with extensive shrubberies and
tree-filled parks--these are the grand haunts of hosts of little birds
of many species, the varied habits of which were to us a constant
source of keenest delight. There is one charm about woodlands that
scarcely any other description of scenery can claim constantly, and
that is, summer and winter alike birds are plentiful amongst them. The
moors and the sea-crags, the shore and the stream, the marsh and the
heath, have their times of avine abundance, in summer or in winter, and
then they are more or less deserted, but the woods and shrubberies,
the coppices and timbered parks, are a haunt in summer and a refuge in
winter of a vast and varied bird population as well as an aviary of
almost perennial song!
These splendid woods ought to be the haunt of not a few raptorial
birds, but unfortunately they are not, as persecution has done
its disastrous work, and Kites and Buzzards and Hobbys have been
practically exterminated by the gamekeeper. Now the Kestrel and the
Sparrow-hawk are the only two that are left, at least in the localities
we have specified above. In some of the Scottish woods the Buzzard
still continues to breed; the Kite is restricted to one or two spots in
Wales and Scotland; whilst the Hobby, though still a nesting species
in Yorkshire and Derbyshire, is so rare that few observers will have
the good fortune to meet with it. Once more we would urge our plea
on behalf of these three species, all of them practically harmless
and inoffensive birds, yet threatened with absolute extermination if
the landed proprietors will not come to their assistance. An appeal
to powerful land-owners--the owners of vast areas of woodlands--is
possibly more effective than protective legislation, for in their
hands lies all the machinery for the effectual protection of such
species. Peremptory and strict orders to keepers should do all that is
necessary; we have a lifelong experience of such men, and can therefore
testify to their usual obedience to instructions, whether for good
or evil, as regards the so-called feathered vermin dwelling in their
preserves. We are therefore firmly convinced that the winning over of
the land-owner to the side of those who seek to preserve our avifauna
intact would be of more real benefit than any half-dozen acts of
parliament so long as it is nobody's business to enforce them.
[Illustration: The Common Buzzard.]
Of the three raptorial birds mentioned above the Common Buzzard (what
irony of fate for such a species to possess so misleading a name!) is
the only one of which we can record any personal experience within the
woodlands of Notts, North Derbyshire, and South Yorkshire, specified
above. This happened many years ago, notwithstanding which we retain a
very vivid remembrance of all the circumstances. We had spent the day
with an old poacher, who not unfrequently allowed us to accompany him
on his illegal wanderings (and we flatter ourselves on that subtle if
youthful diplomacy that enabled us to stand well with both gamekeepers
and poachers alike), fishing in prohibited waters, and were returning
homewards through a large wood, known locally as "the Rawlinson".
This wood stands just on the border-line of Derbyshire and Yorkshire;
in fact, the trout stream that flows through it we believe actually
divides the two counties. It used to contain many grand oaks, and was
always a favourite cover for Pheasants because of the many clumps of
holly-trees within it. In one of these oaks we spied a huge nest of
sticks, and our poacher companion, when this was pointed out to him,
volunteered the information that it was a "Big Hawk's" nest. Tired
and weary as we were, but incited by the possibility of finding some
hitherto unknown eggs, we set to work to climb the mast-like trunk for
some sixty feet. We can recall even now our frequent pauses for breath
as we slowly approached the spot; how the nest seemed to get larger and
larger as each succeeding branch was passed; and then how the big brown
bird slipped off with a flutter that made our heart beat fast with
anticipation; and how finally we reached the forking limbs where the
nest was built, and placed our arm over the rim of sticks and felt the
three warm eggs lying on the smooth lining. We climbed no higher, but
transferring the precious eggs to our hat, and encouraged by the old
rascal below--who would not have climbed so high for all the eggs in
Christendom--we got safely down. There was some outcry afterwards from
the keepers respecting the robbing of this nest, for they had intended
to trap the old birds, but we kept discreetly silent. During a long
residence in the neighbourhood we never saw or heard of another nest of
this Buzzard.
Notwithstanding persecution, the Kestrel and the Sparrow-hawk happily
can still be regarded as fairly common birds in all these woodlands.
Trapping and shooting do their best each year to hasten on their
extermination, but fortunately both birds breed in localities where
their nests are not so very easy to discover. The Kestrel is especially
fortunate in this respect, for it breeds in the deserted nests of
Crows, Stock Doves, and Magpies, or in the old drey of a squirrel, and
a good many of these nests may be searched without finding the one
selected; not only so, but the trees are generally in full foliage
before the eggs are laid or the young hatched, and this fact conduces
greatly to the concealment of many a nest. We can recall many occasions
when we have climbed to a score or more deserted nests in a single
day, amongst these grand old woods, on the off-chance of discovering
Kestrels' or Long-eared Owls' eggs, and considered ourselves well
rewarded if we found one or two at most occupied by these second
tenants. On the other hand, many have been the times when we have
seen keepers shoot into these old nests, as well as fire and kill the
brooding Hawk as she sat upon her eggs or sheltered her downy young,
in spite of all remonstrance upon our part. The Sparrow-hawk breeds
a little earlier. We have had a long and varied experience with the
domestic economy of this plucky little bird, and we have invariably
found that it not only builds its own nest, but makes a new one
every season. Indeed, in not a few cases we have noticed that when
its eggs have been taken from one nest it has built another in the
vicinity in which to lay a new clutch. The larch woods in the Rivelin
Valley--around Hollow Meadows--are, or used to be, a very favourite
resort of this Hawk, possibly because keepers were somewhat lax,
or never visited some of the coppices from one year to another. In
these larch and spruce-fir woods, many old nests of the Sparrow-hawk
might be seen, the deserted tenements of years and years. It was
also rather remarkable that most of these nests were in trees within
a stone's-throw of the artillery volunteers' target, and all around
them were larches and spruces snapped and splintered, and the ground
and rocks scored by the conical cannon-balls which lay in dozens all
over the place. From one nest in this wood we obtained, by careful
management, never quite emptying it, no less than fourteen eggs during
a single spring. Curiously enough upon more than one occasion we have
found a nest of the Goldcrest in the same spruce-fir as the nest of the
Sparrow-hawk.
Nowhere else in our experience were the Magpies allowed to live in
such peace as they enjoyed in this romantic valley. On the south side,
from Bell Hagg onwards to Hollow Meadows, was almost one continuous
woodland, coppice succeeding coppice, until they terminated in the
larch and spruce woods, where the Sparrow-hawks bred, and through which
Wyming Brook bored its way under a perfect archway of trees from its
source on the Bamford Moors near Redmires. Within this few miles of
timber we have frequently known as many as a dozen nests of the Magpie
all occupied. In not a few cases the old nest was returned to each
spring, renovated and used again. Some of these nests were made high
up in the oak and alder trees, others were placed in birch-trees, and
less frequently in a stunted white-thorn growing amidst the briars
and brambles and bracken and boulders of millstone grit on the open
rough land. Not a few were placed in the alder-trees that fringed the
streams between the reservoirs. The Jay, on the other hand, was a
scarce bird here, for the woods had little or no undergrowth, in which
that bird specially delights. In most other woods of our acquaintance
the Magpie was a sorely-persecuted species, and every bird and every
nest were destroyed that the keepers could discover. Several times
during the course of the spring many keepers hold a grand "vermin
battue". A keeper will gather round him half a dozen village loafers,
and then the precious party will proceed to hunt the covers, killing
every Magpie, Jay, or Hawk that comes in their way, and pulling out
every nest they can discover. We know the ways of these gentry only
too well, for years ago we often accompanied such a party, helpless
to save, yet glad to increase our knowledge of woodland bird-life.
Not a few nests have we seen on these occasions and held our peace,
or visited others containing young Hawks and Magpies which we have
saved by a fictitious report to the expectant keeper and his murdering
band below. In any case the slaughter at the close of the day was sad
enough; and as the capacious game-bags were emptied, and the Jays and
Magpies and Hawks, with perhaps an odd Nightjar or an Owl--beautiful
creatures each one of them, and some of the fairest avine ornaments our
woodlands can boast--were turned out into a heap by the kennel door,
we ceased to wonder why such species in not a few localities exist as
names or traditions only. Apart from any utilitarian motive that should
prompt their preservation--and mind, some of these birds are perfectly
harmless or of downright service to man--surely on æsthetic grounds a
universal plea should be raised for their protection, and such brutal
slaughter staid once and for ever.
As we previously remarked, the Jay is not so universally distributed
as the Magpie; it loves cover, and delights in such woods where the
undergrowth of hazel is dense and where clumps of holly-trees abound.
It is also fond of the large shrubberies and copses, especially such
as adjoin parks and well-timbered farm lands. We had Jays nesting more
or less commonly close to our residence, in the shrubbery attached to
Meersbrook Park--a famous spot for birds five-and-twenty years ago,
before the builder appeared upon the scene and before it became one of
the public parks of Sheffield. Here was established a fine rookery, and
the densely wooded grounds round what is now the Ruskin Museum were the
favourite haunts of Thrushes and Blackbirds, of Redwings and Bramblings
during winter, of Greenfinches, Bullfinches, Titmice, seclusion-loving
Warblers, Flycatchers, Robins, Wrens, and other birds. For many years
this half-wood half-shrubbery was our constant resort. The wary Rooks
got to know us most intimately, and never left the tree-tops or made
any unusual noise or disturbance as we wandered under the nests. But
let a stranger venture near and all was commotion and uproar at once.
The sable fellows would not allow me a companion; and whenever I walked
beneath the nest-trees accompanied by a friend the birds would be sure
to raise a prolonged chorus of protesting cries. We never knew a spot
where more birds came at nightfall during winter to roost amongst the
evergreens. For years we used to conceal ourselves in some favourite
spot and watch the interesting ways and doings of these mixed avine
hosts as they settled themselves to rest. In spring and summer it was
equally favoured as a nesting-place. Fortunately all bird-life here was
respected; every species was safe and welcome within this fair domain;
it was a sanctuary, a place of refuge for all birds irrespective of
their ill-deeds, their bad or shady characters. No gun was ever fired
within the sacred fences, and the birds could live their happy lives
in peace. Small wonder then that the Jay took kindly to such a haven
of safety and seclusion; and it was always a source of delight to
watch the troops of young birds and their parents, that in summer-time
used to troop about the underwood, patches of gaudy colour amongst the
green, and noisy and impudent as is ever their wont. In the earlier
years of our experience an odd Pheasant or two dwelt in this spot and
added to its interest; their disappearance was a sign of that coming
change that was to find its culmination in the more or less complete
banishment of bird-life from this chosen spot.
[Illustration: The Woodcock.]
Sherwood Forest, especially in the Dukeries and round about Edwinstowe,
was also another favourite woodland haunt of ours. Here, however, the
conditions were somewhat different. Game reigned supreme; the deity of
the woods was the Pheasant, and less favoured birds were harassed and
persecuted by the keepers. Notwithstanding this there is a good deal of
bird-life in the forest of surpassing interest to the ornithologist.
For instance, one of the most interesting colonies of Jackdaws in
our islands is established there. The birds have taken possession of
the hollow and ancient oak-trees--many of them mere shells of bark,
yet outwardly presenting a green and vigorous appearance and bearing
their heavy crops of acorns in the autumn--which for a thousand years
or more have stood in sunshine and storm upon ground made classic by
Robin Hood. Indeed, it requires little stretch of the imagination to
repeople these forest glades with the sturdy outlaws that tradition
says dwelt amongst them once upon a time, in open defiance of the
authorities, and fed sumptuously upon the deer and other game with
which the Forest abounded. Then the oak-trees were in their prime; now
they are gnarled and knotted and wrinkled, loaded with dead branches,
and full of hollows and crevices, the result of countless storms and
tempests. The adaptive Jackdaw has not been slow to seize upon such an
advantageous spot, and has multiplied apace. Many hundreds of nests
may be counted in one comparatively small area of the forest, and
some of the tree-trunks are literally choked with sticks from root to
summit, the accumulation of more years than any of us can remember.
Scattered amongst these Jackdaws is an almost equally extensive colony
of Starlings, many of these latter birds nesting in the same holes as
them. We have repeatedly found that some of the largest piles of sticks
contained no nest at the top--as if the original owners had finally
succumbed to old age, yet not before they had hoarded and left as a
monument to their many years of industry a cart-load or more of nest
materials. We have noticed the same thing in Rooks' nests, piles of
sticks a yard high or more, yet never occupied season after season,
until blown out by winter gales or filched by other members of the
community. The grand old timber here is also attractive to the Stock
Dove; and whilst we are examining the homes of the Jackdaws and the
Starlings, a Stock Dove every now and then dashes with impetuous haste
out of the holes and crannies. Rarest of all, we may sometimes stumble
across the home of the Tawny Owl. The keeper in this particular part
of the forest takes good care that Owls shall not live in it in peace,
nevertheless a fair number contrive to elude him. He had also tales to
tell of Hawks (possibly Hobbys and Buzzards) that formerly bred round
about his special beats, but "none of late years". More interested
was he in the Wild Ducks and Woodcocks that nested up and down the
forest, and much information he was disposed to impart concerning the
latter birds (about which he had several theories of his own) as we
used to sit in his wood-surrounded cottage and quaff his home-brewed
ale, which he was never tired of assuring us would never produce any
evil or intoxicating effects. Then after our chat and refreshment he
would be prevailed upon to wander out into the woodlands, after first
carefully taking down from its pegs the scrupulously clean pin-fire
breech-loader, and whistling to his favourite dog, and conduct us by
paths only known to himself to many a secluded spot where shy birds
were nesting. Here it might be a Pheasant's nest he would allow us
cautiously to approach, and peer down at the brown-mottled back of
the hen bird as she quietly brooded over her numerous eggs; there
a Wild Duck's nest out amongst the bracken would be pointed out;
whilst on rare occasions he would wander farther abroad into the most
secluded woodlands, and take us to inspect the home of the Woodcock
placed snugly under the bracken and brambles. Unfortunately, like
all his class, he was dead set against "vermin" of every kind, furred
and feathered, even including the squirrels that leapt about in the
branches overhead. Against these he had a particular aversion, for he
said they were "pestering varmints" that sucked every egg they could
find. In the more open parts of the forest, where the birch-trees
are abundant, we often used to find a nest of the Missel-thrush; not
that there was anything specially remarkable in this, but we never
saw a nest of this Thrush in Sherwood Forest without thinking of the
tradition that so inseparably connects the mistletoe with it. There
is no other district in our islands known to us where this parasitic
plant is so plentiful; it grows in huge bushes on the poplar trees, a
conspicuous object for miles across the country in the Dukeries, and
the white-thorns in some spots are thickly studded with it, best seen,
of course, during winter. And yet we have never noticed Missel-thrushes
in any exceptional numbers in this district, nor have we ever seen
them feeding upon the berries. Talking of the nest of this bird brings
to mind a fact we have remarked in at least two widely different
localities, and that is the number of nests that are sometimes built
quite close together. Along the streams in the Rivelin Valley they used
to be found in the alder-trees, perhaps half a dozen within a hundred
yards or so; whilst in the swampy corner of a wood at Norton we have
remarked several nests in adjoining trees. The prettiest nests of this
Thrush we have ever seen were from the Rivelin Valley, and composed
externally almost completely of sphagnum moss, amongst which a few
slender birch twigs were interwoven. We never found more than four
eggs in the nest of the Missel-thrush, and always consider that this
is the normal number, never less and never more. Indeed, the bird is
as regular in this respect as the Snipes, and more so, perhaps, than
any other Passerine species. The Carrion Crow, we are glad to say,
still manages to maintain a place in these northern woodlands, but in
not a few places he is yearly becoming scarcer. He is without doubt a
sad thief and a plundering rascal, yet in spite of all his dark deeds
we should be sorry to see him banished. His bulky well-made nest, to
which he returns, when left unmolested, year by year, is generally
placed far up one of the tallest trees in the wood. It is interesting
to remark, however, that he is a much later breeder in these northern
woods than in the southern shires. In Devonshire we have known the
Carrion Crow commence building in March, but in South Yorkshire the
eggs are not usually laid before the end of April or even in May.
Farther north, as readers may be aware, this species is gradually and
almost entirely replaced by the Hooded Crow, a bird that we have
already noticed. Birds of the Pigeon tribe are common in most of these
northern woods. Of these the Ring Dove is by far the most numerous--too
numerous for the farmers in not a few localities. Until we came south
we had scarcely any idea of how tame and trustful this species is when
left unmolested. We always knew it as one of the shyest and wariest
of birds, never allowing us to approach it within gunshot unless it
thought itself unseen, and best shot from an ambuscade in the woods or
during the evening when it came to certain favourite spots to roost.
Gamekeepers shoot a great many of these birds from the rough platforms
in the woods erected to scatter food upon for the Pheasants. The
Stock Dove is not so common, but this is perhaps because it is not so
conservative in choice of a haunt, and is therefore scattered over a
much wider area. In some parts of South Yorkshire and North Derbyshire
it is known as the "Rockier". We have few other birds that adapt
themselves to such a diversity of haunt, from the dense woods to the
bare warrens, quarries, and ocean cliffs. Both these birds are breeding
right through the spring and summer, well into the autumn. On the other
hand, the Turtle Dove is a summer visitor only to the woods; but it is
a local and somewhat scarce bird so far north as South Yorkshire. We
know it breeds regularly in the well-timbered country about Bawtry;
we have seen it in the Wharncliffe Woods, and occasionally in suitable
spots in North Derbyshire. It rarely reaches this northern fringe of
its British habitat before May, but in Devonshire it may frequently
be seen at the end of April. Its migrations, however, are somewhat
rapid, for there is not much difference between the date of arrival in
northern and southern counties alike. This Dove, like the Jay, loves
woods with plenty of undergrowth and fields that are surrounded with
tall uncut hedges full of trees. Its noisy love-cry in early summer we
always think is one of the most pleasing sounds of the green woods, but
unfortunately one that is not very frequent in our northern shires. Its
migration south begins in September.
[Illustration: The Black Grouse.]
Of the Game Birds of the woodlands we shall have little to say. The
Pheasant, of course, is the most familiar of all; comparatively
few observers are fortunate enough to meet with the magnificent
Capercailzie, and the Black Grouse is scarcely common enough to
be classed as a well-known one. We often think it would have been
better had the Romans left the Pheasant to its continental home, for
indirectly its introduction to our islands has caused many a beautiful
indigenous bird to suffer persecution. The Pheasant is by no means a
harmless bird; it works a good deal of mischief amongst the crops, as
many a poor struggling farmer knows; it would probably become extinct
in a few years were it not strictly preserved and its numbers increased
by artificial means; whilst it has been the cause of more ill-feeling,
crime, and absolute human bloodshed than any other bird in the British
Islands. The price we pay to maintain this alien amongst our avifauna
is a high one; its presence is purchased at the cost of countless
numbers of indigenous birds of greater and more effective beauty; its
protection is made an excuse for the incessant butchery of some of
our most interesting species. The introduction of exotic species into
any country is sure, sooner or later, to affect some portion of the
native fauna in a disastrous way; and yet there are writers--deeming
themselves naturalists--who urge the introduction of various gaudy
exotic birds, as if our woods and fields were not ornamented
sufficiently by what is normally there, and which surely have the right
to live--all Game Birds notwithstanding. We hear of no crusade against
Hawks, and Owls, and Crows, and such-like species in wild uncivilized
countries, and yet winged game is always abundant--at least until man
and his breech-loader comes upon the scene; and we maintain that our
indigenous Game Birds would well hold their own if all vermin were left
in peace, and would be the healthier and stronger for it. The alien
Pheasant we are not quite so certain about; but if not able to maintain
itself against such enemies, then these islands would be all the better
without it.
More interesting to the naturalist in these woods of the northern
shires are the Woodpeckers. All three British species are represented
in them, but the Green Woodpecker, the largest and showiest of all,
is decidedly the least common. Curiously enough the exact reverse is
the case in many a southern shire; in Devonshire, for instance, we may
see more Green Woodpeckers in a week than we might see in a year in
not a few of our northern woods. The two Spotted Woodpeckers are none
the less interesting, however, although unfortunately they are much
more difficult to discover, and apt to be thought much rarer than they
really are. The Lesser Spotted Woodpecker is by far the most restricted
in its distribution; indeed, we doubt if it is found at all north of
Yorkshire. The Greater Spotted Woodpecker ranges a little farther
north, but we are very near its normal limits in this direction in
Yorkshire. It is somewhat remarkable that the forests of Scotland are
devoid of Woodpeckers; whilst Ireland is equally unfortunate, none of
the three species being known to breed there. This seems all the more
extraordinary when we know that all three species breed up to much
higher latitudes on the Continent, the two Spotted species going up
to or beyond the Arctic circle, the Green species to a higher degree
than the Shetlands. We have met with the Lesser Spotted Woodpecker in
very small copses, and even in gardens and parks. During winter both
species may be met with amongst timber, which they never frequent
during the breeding season; in fact, they are given to wandering, and
may be detected during the cold months in almost every description
of well-timbered country. The habits of these birds are very similar,
and they all breed in holes, and lay shining white eggs. Rarer and
more local still is the curious Wryneck, a summer visitor only to our
islands, and finding no habitation at all in Ireland. Its arrival in
most places is usually coincident with that of the Cuckoo--hence in
not a few localities it is known as the "Cuckoo's Mate". Here again we
have a bird that is much overlooked, its chaste and sober colouring
(yet exquisitely beautiful in detail) and its shy and retiring ways
and love for the timber all assisting in its concealment. The Wryneck
is something of an anomaly. Internally it resembles the Woodpeckers
(the Wrynecks form a sub-family of the Picidæ); its plumage is mottled
and dusted and pencilled like that of a Nightjar; its tail-feathers
are soft and flexible; it rarely, if ever, climbs the timber, and hops
about the slender branches like the typical Passeres. These external
characteristics are, however, quite in harmony with its ways of life.
[Illustration: The Greater Spotted Woodpecker.]
Among the more familiar Passerine birds of the woodlands we may
first allude to the Titmice. They are the special small birds of the
trees, and every British species--if we exclude the abnormal Bearded
Titmouse--is found amongst them. Not only so, but the northern woods in
certain parts of Scotland are the exclusive home of the Crested Tit--a
bird that we saw on one occasion near Sheffield. Few woods in our
experience more abounded with Titmice than the birch and alder coppices
along the Rivelin Valley, especially in autumn, and invariably mingled
with them at that season were flights of migrant Goldcrests. Allied
to the Titmice we also have the soberly arrayed little Creeper, and
the more showy plumaged Nuthatch. The latter, however, is exceedingly
local in our Yorkshire woods, and we are not aware that it breeds to
the north of the county, or that it is found at all in Ireland. The
Nightingale penetrates as far north as the Plain of York, perhaps
exceptionally beyond, but it is rare enough in the neighbourhood of
Sheffield, and we never had the good fortune to meet with it there
during a residence of nearly twenty years, although we know the Sedge
Warbler has not unfrequently been mistaken for it. A member of one
of the allied genera, however, is common enough, we mean the gay and
lively Redstart--the showiest, perhaps, of all the migrant band. In the
coppice just above Bell Hagg the Redstart was very common. The Wheatear
bred in the quarries there, but the Redstart loved the range of rocks
that ran bulwark-like along the valley above the copse. We used to find
its nest in the crevices of these rocks, as well as in holes among the
birch-trees. We remember one nest in a decayed birch that contained
eight eggs ranged neatly round in rows; another beneath the rock, at
the top of Blackbrook, that bears an inscription to the effect that
upon it Elliott the "corn-law rhymer" used to sit and write his poetry.
Both Redstart and Wheatear are only birds of summer in our islands,
the latter arriving perhaps a week before the former, in April. The
three species of Willow Wren must also be included in this brief résumé
of bird-life in the northern woods. Commonest of this charming trio
we must class the Willow Wren. Our northern woods from April onwards
are a specially chosen haunt of this delicate-looking little bird. It
abounds in most, from the borders of the moors right up to the suburbs
of the grimy northern manufacturing towns, and its sweet little refrain
is one of the most familiar songs of the spring. Next, perhaps, in
order of abundance we should place the Wood Wren, the largest, and at
the same time the showiest of the three species. It is interesting
to know that for more than two hundred years we have records of the
Wood Wren in what are now the western suburbs of Sheffield. Francis
Jessop of Sheffield sent an example of the Wood Wren to Willughby,
and Ray published a description of it in his _Ornithologia_, one of
the earliest works dealing with British birds. The Wood Wren is the
most attached to the woods of all the three species, and its peculiar
shivering "song" is a familiar sound from the tree-tops throughout the
spring and summer. Lastly, we have the Chiffchaff, certainly the rarest
and most local of all. In the south-west of England the reverse is
the case, and there its monotonous cry may be heard from the close of
March onwards to September. It does not, however, reach the northern
shires until the first or second week in April, although we have a
Sherwood Forest record for March. All these birds build more or less
domed nests, usually on the ground, and often in woods (the Chiffchaff
sometimes makes its nest some distance from the ground), the Willow
Wren and the Chiffchaff lining theirs with feathers, but the Wood Wren
contents itself with fine grass and hair. The Wood Wren is the latest
to arrive towards the end of April, and departs the earliest in autumn;
the Willow Wren leaves us in September, the Chiffchaff not unfrequently
lingering on into October. It should be remarked that not only the
Willow Wren but the Chiffchaff are not by any means confined to woods,
but are equally common in gardens, orchards, hedgerows, and thickets.