Before breaking-in, the Forest pony is a wild and often vicious little beast—­more so, perhaps, than its cousins of Wales and Dartmoor—­and a “drive,” when the little horses are corralled, is an exciting and interesting affair, human wits being pitted against equine, not always to the advantage of the former.

Small companies of rough-coated donkeys may occasionally be seen, in an apparently wild state, roaming about the more open parts of the Forest.  Some years ago the breeding of mules for export was a recognized local concern, but this seems to have fallen into desuetude.

Badgers and otters are common, as is the ubiquitous squirrel.  The badger, however, is seldom seen by the chance visitor by reason of its nocturnal habits, but it is said to be more numerous than in any similar wild tract in the south.  The smaller wild mammals, carnivorous and herbivorous, and a truly representative family of birds, including one or two rare visitors, have here a perfect sanctuary.  The forest is obviously a happy hunting ground for the lepidopterist and botanist.  The latter will find many of the rarer British orchids in the central “dingles” and on the more remote western borders.  During the Great War a large number of trees were felled and the usually silent woods re-echoed with the noises of a Canadian lumber camp.  About this time great flocks of migratory jays from central Europe were noticed in the eastern parts of the Forest.  For the pedestrian who toils over the Forest roads in the height of summer there is one form of wild life in evidence that claims his whole attention, and that is the virulent and audacious forest fly.  Only the strongest “shag” and gloved hands can keep this horrible creature at bay.

The observant stranger will notice a large proportion of small, dark folk among the inhabitants of the Forest.  It is a fascinating matter for conjecture that these may be remnants of the Iberians that once held south Britain or even, perhaps, of a still older people left stranded by the successive races that have swept westwards by way of the uplands to the north.

The western shore of Southampton Water has little of interest to detain the visitor.  The small town of Hythe, almost opposite Netley Abbey, has nothing ancient about it, though it is a picturesque and pleasant little place.  Fawley, nearly opposite the opening of the Hamble, has a fine late Norman church with much Early English addition.  Calshot Castle is another of those forts of Henry VIII already mentioned, and once round the corner of this spit we are in the Solent at Stanswood Bay.  A few miles farther and the beautiful estuary of the Beaulieu river runs into the recesses of the Forest.  Small steamers sometimes bring holiday-makers from Southampton to the port of Beaulieu, called Bucklershard, where, over a hundred years ago, there was an attempt to make a new seaport.  It is difficult to believe that this quiet creek was, during the second half of the eighteenth century,