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Unfortunately the other moorland birds of prey are now rare almost to the verge of extinction; indeed, we regret to say the Merlin itself in not a few localities is fast approaching the same condition. The species that we shall allude to here is the Hen Harrier. This bird, like nearly all the other birds of the moors, is a migratory one, although there is some evidence to suggest that in our islands the movement is to some extent confined to a journey to the lowlands and the southern counties. Formerly this Harrier was a fairly familiar bird on the moors of the south-western counties, where, however, its local names of “Blue Hawk” and “Furze Kite”, indicative of old-time abundance, are nearly all that is left to us. We may remark in connection with this bird that a century ago the male and female (being so much unlike each other in plumage) were almost universally regarded as two distinct species, the latter known as the “Ring-tail” Hawk. Montagu cleared up the confusion by rearing a brood (doubtless from a Devonshire nest), and clearly demonstrated that the two supposed species were in reality the opposite sexes of one. About the South Yorkshire moors the Hen Harrier is practically unknown. Our limited experience of the bird was obtained on the moors of Skye, where we believe it still continues to nest. We have there seen it beating along the hillsides in a slow deliberate manner just above the tall ling, amongst which, in this island, it almost invariably makes its nest, placing it upon the ground. The four or five very pale-blue eggs are often destroyed by sheep; in fact, we were assured by an intelligent keeper in Skye that to this cause alone its diminishing numbers must be attributed. This Harrier reaches the moors in April or early May, and nests during the latter month and the first half of June. The cock is a beautiful bird, with gray upper parts, darker on the throat and breast, the remainder of the under parts and the upper tail-coverts pure white, the primaries black. The hen is somewhat larger, dark-brown above, paler brown below, streaked with rufous-brown; the upper tail-coverts are, however, nearly white as in the male, which fact seems to suggest that they are a recognition mark (Conf. Curiosities of Bird Life, p. 249). The principal food of this Harrier consists of small animals, such as moles, mice; of frogs, lizards, and insects. The bird is also a great egg eater, robbing the nests of other moorland species. Although to some small extent it may prey upon birds, there is nothing in its habits to cause uneasiness to the owner of a Grouse moor; the bird’s comparative harmlessness should secure for it greater immunity from gun, trap, and poison than it at present receives. There are one or two other Raptores we may just allude to here as dwellers on or fairly regular visitors to the moorlands. On the South Yorkshire moors the Kestrel is, we are glad to say, still a fairly common bird. It is fond of the outskirts of the moors, the rough grounds often crowned with ridges – ranges of low cliffs – of millstone grit, and in these it habitually nests. Then the Sparrow-hawk is a frequent visitor to the heath-clad wastes, but chiefly to the borderland and in localities where there are plantations of larch and fir, in which the bird can find seclusion and a suitable nesting haunt. We have often remarked that these moorland Sparrow-hawks quit such areas during winter when small birds are absent. The Rough-legged Buzzard passes over many parts of the South Yorkshire moors on migration, especially in autumn. We have examined many fine examples of this bird, obtained on the Ashopton moors and about Derwent, chiefly birds of the year. The two species of British Eagles must also be mentioned as visitors to the Highland moors, although not exclusively indigenous to them. They are better described as mountain birds, and shall receive more detailed notice in our chapter devoted to the avine characteristics of such localities. (conf. p. 81.) So also may we remark that the Raven will be dealt with in the same chapter. In Devonshire the Raven is still to be found on Dartmoor – one of the few inland localities that it frequents in England nowadays; but elsewhere on the English moors, so far as our experience goes, the bird is but a casual visitant.

The moorlands, being as they are the least changed districts in the British area, continue to be the resort of a large number of shy birds of the Plover and Sandpiper tribe during the breeding season. In some places no doubt the number of these birds is visibly diminishing, but in the wilder districts there still remain sufficient to constitute a decided ornithological feature. One of the best-known of these is the Lapwing. Fortunately we can still class the Lapwing as a common and even abundant bird in suitable districts, and now that its eggs are protected by law in not a few spots we may hope to see a welcome increase. This beautiful Plover – one of the handsomest of the entire group – is by no means confined to the moors; it is a most adaptive species, and makes itself at home on arable land as readily as in wilder areas, still it is a prominent feature in not a few moorland scenes. Who does not know the sad mewing cries and the restless uneven flight of this Plover, as it rises startled from the ground and commences its plaintive protest against our intrusion? Large numbers of Lapwings breed on the North Derbyshire and South Yorkshire moorlands, as well as on the rough grounds in their vicinity. We remember on one occasion – we have a note recording the fact – seeing a pair of Lapwings drop quietly to the ground just behind a stone wall that separated the moor from the highway. Creeping carefully up to the spot we looked through a chink in the wall and saw the two old birds with four chicks which could not have been hatched many hours. The scene was a charming one. The downy long-legged little creatures were running about picking here and there, their parents standing guard, alert and watchful, yet totally unconscious of prying human eyes not a dozen feet away from them. After watching this family party for some time we intentionally came into view, when the scene instantly became more interesting than it was before. Both old birds rose into the air and commenced wheeling and rolling about just above our head, the female by far the most venturesome of the two. Then she alighted a yard or so away, and with both her broad wings sweeping the ground dragged herself along for a few paces, striving her hardest to get us to follow. But we confined our attention for a time to the chicks. All four of these artful youngsters at the first alarm scattered in as many different directions and hid themselves amongst the heath and grass almost with the rapidity of thought. Search as we might we could find but two, although we knew full well the others were concealed on a patch of ground no larger than an ordinary table. These two chicks we pocketed for specimens, but we were so touched by the way the old Lapwings followed us over the moor crying so plaintively that more humane feelings got the better of us, and we returned to the spot and placed both young birds where we had found them. Such little episodes as these go so far, we always think, in making ornithology so very attractive.

Another allied species breeding on most of our northern moors (and in some few instances in the south-western counties) is the Golden Plover. There are few more handsome birds of this order than the Golden Plover in wedding plumage. The upper parts – as they are all the year round – are thickly spotted with golden yellow on a dark-brown ground, the under surface is black as jet. We begin to see these Plovers back upon their moorland breeding-places in March; in April they become more numerous. Like most of the other birds found on these moors in summer they spend the winter upon the lowlands; in this case frequenting the flat coasts and marshy meadows and saltings near the sea. They love the swampy portions of the moors – the spacious hollows between the hills, where the wet ground is clothed with a dense growth of rushes, cotton-grass, and sphagnum, amongst which the heath and ling in scattered patches mark the drier portions of the ground. At the first alarm the ever-watchful Plovers rise one after the other from all parts of the waste, and then begins a chorus of flute-like whistling cries, bird after bird taking up the chorus and alarming all other and less demonstrative species within hearing. Here and there a Golden Plover may be seen quietly standing upon the spongy ground. But it needs sharp eyes to see them, so closely does their spangled backs harmonize with the golden sphagnum and other vegetation. May is their breeding season, and their four large pear-shaped eggs are deposited in a scantily-lined hollow, often beneath the shade of a tuft of rushes or cotton-grass. These eggs are very much the same in general appearance as those of the Lapwing, but the tints are richer and brighter. Of the Sandpiper or Snipe tribe there are at least half a dozen more or less common species that visit the moors in spring to breed. Most of them are never met with on our south-western uplands at this season, although the Snipe, the Curlew, and the Dunlin are more cosmopolitan in their choice. The two former species are by far the commonest and most widely dispersed on the Yorkshire moors, the remaining four or five are rarer, more local, or absent altogether. The peculiar drumming or bleating of the Snipe is one of the most characteristic of avine sounds upon these moors in spring; the quavering whistle (uttered always, or nearly so, whilst the bird is upon the ground), or the better known and somewhat mournful curlee (heard whilst the bird is careering to and fro in mid-air) of the Curlew is little, if any, less familiar. On the Hebridean moors, as well as on those of Orkney and Shetland, in the neighbourhood of the sea, the Whimbrel breeds sparingly. It is extremely local, but its habits and economy generally are very similar to those of the larger and better known Curlew. It differs, however, in its migrations, and is a summer visitor only to the British Islands, the greater number passing over them to still more northern breeding grounds in the Faroes, Iceland, and elsewhere. The Dunlin, notwithstanding the fact that it nests on some of our south-western uplands, finds its favourite breeding grounds on more northern moors up to the Orkneys and the Shetlands. Here again we have a species donning a jet-black belly for the nuptial season. It also displays a very decided preference for the swampy portions of the moors in which to perform its nesting duties. Then there are the two species of Totani, the one easily distinguished by its orange-coloured legs (the Redshank), the other by its green legs and slightly upturned bill (the Greenshank). The latter, however, is much rarer than the former, and is only known to breed in the Highlands. The Redshank is fairly common during summer on our northern moors, but this species, like one or two others, is as much at home in more lowland haunts. You may meet with it during summer amongst scenery of a directly opposite character – the fens and broads of the eastern counties. Redshanks are alert and noisy birds, rising from their moorland haunts when alarmed, and keeping up their shrill double note with almost irritating persistency. As numbers often breed in the same district, the din from the frightened birds soon becomes general. The Greenshank visits its breeding grounds in April and May, coming from over the sea like all our strictly summer visitors, and departing in September and October with its young. This bird again is a noisy one when disturbed, and careers about the air in excitement until left in peace. All these birds breed upon the ground, lay four eggs possessing very similar characteristics in colour and shape, and their nests are found with some difficulty, owing to the protective tints of their eggs.

Of the Duck family the Mallard is by far the commonest and most widely dispersed. It loves the pools and streams and marshy spots upon the moors, but as it breeds as generally in more lowland localities we can scarcely describe it as a typical moorland bird. The same remarks may be said to apply to the Teal, the Wigeon, and some few others. Then in the moorland fastnesses of the Hebrides, and in some parts of the mainland Highlands, the Gray-lag Goose still finds a haunt sufficiently seclusive, although we are assured that its numbers are decreasing. We know from personal experience that it breeds amongst the ling and heather on some of the Outer Hebrides, making a huge nest of branches and twigs, rushes, and other dry vegetation which is finally lined with down. The six to eight eggs are creamy-white in colour. This bird again is by no means a typical moorland one, for it formerly bred in the fens of East Anglia, and would do so to this day had it not been exterminated. Of the Gull tribe, perhaps the most characteristic moorland species are the Skuas, two species of which are summer migrants to certain of our wildest Highland moors. Where the moors extend down to the coast in various northern districts, such birds as Terns, Sheldrakes, and Eider Ducks may be found breeding upon them, but we can scarcely regard such species or such localities to come within the scope of the present chapter.

CHAPTER III
ON MOUNTAIN AND LOCH

Mountain bird-life, if scarce, is not without its charm. That of the loch, taking one season with another, is more varied and abundant; so that combining the two districts together – and they are in most cases inseparably associated – we shall have abundant material to interest us. The mountain bird-life of England – except, perhaps, in the extreme north – is comparatively limited, especially nowadays when persecution has worked such havoc amongst certain species. That of the loch is peculiarly of a Scottish type inasmuch as the present chapter is concerned. The bird-life of these two districts is essentially of a northern type, belonging, like the mountains and lochs themselves, to a wilder and more rugged scenery than any the southern shires can boast. Many of the avine forms belonging to these localities are strictly boreal or even arctic in their distribution, finding a suitable habitat by altitude rather than latitude; many of them are but winter visitors or abnormal wanderers to the south. In some cases these particular localities are the home of representative species that take the place of more southern types, and afford us a fine series of ornithological comparisons of the deepest interest. The naturalist familiar with bird-life in the southern counties only, will, in investigating the avifauna of mountain and loch, enter upon an entirely novel series of avine phenomena.

From the moorlands to the mountains and lochs is in many localities a transition of an almost imperceptible character. In not a few cases the moors terminate in mountain summits beyond the borderland, where the two species of heather cease to climb, or the most sturdy and tenacious ling that clothes the hillsides for still another thousand feet or more. In a similar manner the lochs are usually situated in hollows among the hills, or penetrate in winding fiords from the sea between towering highlands or heath-clothed wastes that at higher altitudes terminate in bare and wind-swept mountain summits. As with the avifauna of the moors and heaths we shall find that the birds of the mountains are more or less a shifting population. Indeed the similarity is made even more complete by the fact that in both regions – moor and mountain – we find but one sedentary species. Upon the moors we found the practically resident Red Grouse; upon the mountains we shall find the Ptarmigan, a bird that clings to the bleak summits throughout the year. In some respects the Ptarmigan is a more interesting species than the Red Grouse; there is more variety in its economy, and the bird itself is one of the most beautiful examples of protective coloration that the entire range of organic life can show. Our first acquaintance with the Ptarmigan was made nearly twenty years ago, near the summit of the Cuchullin Hills in Skye. Although the time was May, patches of snow were lying in the hollows and a cold piercing wind swept along the hillsides. Lower down the slopes we had lingered to watch the gambols of a pair of Ravens that were haunting the rocks; whilst a Peregrine Falcon had just swept by. Upon a small piece of level ground we flushed several Ptarmigan, one after the other, that had been lying concealed on the stony face of the mountain. They were readily identified by their white wings. After the first bird had risen we scanned the ground carefully for others, but none were seen until they rose in noisy flight and sped away. It is interesting to remark that the Peregrine we had seen a short time before must have flown right over the spot where these Ptarmigan were crouching. Possibly the recent appearance of the Falcon had made them lie closer than usual, and rendered them loth to take wing. With the exception of a few weeks in the very depth of winter, the Ptarmigan is more or less changing in colour throughout the year. In mid-winter, as most readers may know, the bird is pure unsullied white, with the exception of a jet-black patch in front of the eye in the male, and the outermost tail-feathers, which are black in both sexes. In early spring, sometimes it is said by the middle or end of February, the first signs of the coming summer plumage are seen on the neck, and during the three succeeding months the birds undergo a complete transformation, the feathers on the breast, it should be noted, being assumed last of all. It is a significant fact that the parts of the plumage least exposed, such as the flight feathers and the feathers on the belly, present the smallest amount of change from the white winter dress. This is more apparent in the male than in the female, doubtless owing to the fact that the latter is more liable to injury whilst brooding on the nest. Broadly speaking, in the male in summer plumage the upper parts and the breast and flanks are dark-brown, more or less mottled, and barred with gray and buff; whilst in the female the upper parts are darker, practically black, mottled with gray and rufous, and the under parts are chestnut-buff barred with dark-brown. This plumage prevails during June and July, although subject to some change by sun and abrasion, whilst towards the end of the latter month signs of the autumn livery begin to be apparent. In this dress again the sexes are similar, as we might naturally expect to be the case, now that the breeding season is over, and both male and female are exposed to the same conditions of life. The upper parts, the breast and flanks, are gray, vermiculated with black. By the end of August this autumn dress is fully attained. It is worn for nearly a couple of months, subject of course to some change from abrasion and sun. Then comes the transition to the white winter plumage, which in most cases becomes complete by the middle of November contemporaneously with the snow that lies upon the mountains for the next three months or more. This beautiful arrangement of nature becomes even more impressive by certain comparisons. For instance, the Red Grouse, living as it does amongst the ling and heath, and in a region where snow seldom covers the ground for many days at a time, retains a brown dress throughout the year; in this species also the flight feathers are constantly brown in hue, just as those of the Ptarmigan are white. But the nearest ally of the Red Grouse, the Willow Grouse (the Lagopus albus of ornithologists), inhabiting the tundras of the arctic regions right round the world, assumes a pure white plumage for the winter (readily distinguished, by the way, from the Ptarmigan by the absence of the black patch before the eye), and in this case again the flight feathers are constantly white – a dress that is admirably protective amidst the winter snows of its northern home. Here, then, we have two birds distantly related, like the Ptarmigan and the Willow Grouse, donning white plumage in winter for protection, whilst the Red Grouse, so closely allied to the Willow Grouse, and resembling it in many details of its economy, remains practically the same in appearance summer and winter alike. The retention of the white quills is a very interesting fact. These Grouse moult their flight feathers but once in the year, in autumn; and probably the reason they are constantly white is because this tint is no disadvantage to the species, being always concealed except during flight. As we know, these birds take wing most reluctantly, always endeavouring to elude observation by crouching close to the ground. Similarly, the central tail-feathers of the Willow Grouse and Ptarmigan are the only ones that change in colour with the seasons – varying from white in winter to brown marked with gray and buff in summer, and gray mottled with black in autumn – the remainder being constantly black, and when the tail is closed of course concealed by the central pair.

Ptarmigan are nothing near such noisy birds as Red Grouse, and their usual note is a hoarse and guttural croak. Otherwise there is much in their economy of general resemblance. They pair in spring, make a scanty nest upon the ground, and their eggs very closely resemble those of the more familiar species, but the markings are larger and not so heavily dispersed – characters that are in perfect harmony with the different nature of the ground upon which they rest. The eggs are generally laid in May. Then again we remark the same tendency to flock in autumn, as in the Red Grouse. As previously remarked, this single species practically exhausts the resident avifauna of the mountain heights. There are a few other species still to be noticed, but none of them are confined to these localities, although they may be met with in them at any season. Some of these birds are migratory, others wander about visiting lower ground, and are therefore in no sense permanently indigenous to the mountain tops, or even to their lower slopes.

Dealing with the resident species first, we have the two species of British Eagles that in spite of persecution have managed to retain their place in our avifauna. They owe their survival most probably to the inaccessibility of their haunts. Time was when the Golden Eagle frequented the Peak district of Derbyshire, and when the White-tailed Eagle regularly bred in the area of the English Lakes and even in the Isle of Man; whilst farther south still we find records of its nest in Lundy Island and the Isle of Wight. Persecution has succeeded in exterminating these Eagles in all such lowland haunts; even the South of Scotland has proved no safer refuge, and at the present day the mountains of the north are the sole locality in which they are normally found. We can vividly recall our first meeting with the Golden Eagle. We had spent many days amongst the Highlands in fruitless quest of this fine bird, but all that rewarded us were a few heads and feet, time-worn and ancient, nailed here and there to some stable or kennel door of a gamekeeper’s premises, and any number of tales told by shepherds and keepers of how the species had been shot and trapped without mercy. At last our search was rewarded by the discovery of an eyrie in a magnificent cliff. We shall never forget how we watched the big black bird soar out of the rocks and circle overhead, and how we stood gazing in admiration as it swept down from the air towards its nest, with its mighty wings held up and expanded to their utmost, just as we had often seen the Kestrel do, or tame Pigeons, to give a more familiar instance. We have seen a good many Eagles – of both species – since that eventful morning nearly twenty years ago, but never with such excitement as then. We are glad to say that the Golden Eagle in one or two localities seems to be increasing. This is specially the case in certain deer forests, where the bird is held (and justly so) to be harmless. There is, however, plenty of room left for the preservation of this fine bird, and we should like to see the placing of poisoned meat made illegal. The White-tailed Eagle is perhaps the most familiar species of the two, but this bird loves the hills near the sea, and its favourite resorts at the present time are amongst the grand mountain scenery of the Hebrides, the Orkneys and Shetland. We have often watched the magnificent aerial movements of this Eagle from the mountain tops in the haunt of the Ptarmigan and the blue hare. Like the larger Gulls and the Vultures, it will remain in the highest air for long periods, sailing round and round in spacious circles, ever and anon gliding obliquely down, then resuming its ordinary flight. We often used to meet with it high up the hills in Skye, a district which we believe still continues famous for this Eagle, and we knew of several nests or eyries scattered over the island. Both these eagles breed very early in the year, long before the ordinary stream of tourists flows northwards; but this, we regret to say, does not prevent many an eyrie being robbed of its eggs by shepherds and others, in the pay of the collector or dealer from the south. The last pair of Scotch Golden Eagles' eggs that we examined had been forwarded unblown from the Highlands, roughly packed in a tin box, and both were broken. One of these eggs, we believe, is now in the Weston Park Museum at Sheffield. Eagles are somewhat sluggish birds, resembling Buzzards in disposition, and exhibit none of that dash and activity characteristic of the Falcons, or even of the short-winged Hawks. They are also very unclean feeders, being little better than Vultures in this respect. Of the two the White-tailed Eagle is the worst; he is a regular scavenger of the shore, and in not a few cases we have known him lured to his doom with a mass of stinking offal, a putrid lamb, or decaying fish. Healthy vigorous birds or animals are seldom attacked by this Eagle; it confines its attentions to the weakly and the wounded creatures that cannot move fast or offer any serious resistance. The Golden Eagle is a trifle more fastidious in its selection of food, and frequently captures living and healthy creatures, such as Grouse and hares, but even he does not refuse to make a meal on carrion. When we take into consideration the food and the sluggish habits of these Eagles, we are at a still greater loss to understand the ruthless war of extermination that has been waged against them for so long. As birds of prey go they are comparatively harmless, and should be left in peace. We have heard a good deal about the destruction of newly-dropped lambs by these Eagles, but there is much to be said on the other side. Lambs at this early age are liable to many fatalities, and it is scarcely fair to attribute their disappearance to the Eagles. Many lambs are drowned or killed by storms, and by accidental falls over rocks and cliffs: their bodies offer a welcome meal to the Eagles. Some of these fatalities are due to the carelessness of shepherds and keepers, who take good care that the sheep farmer shall be made to believe that Eagles are responsible for them. Many years ago we were up the hills with a keeper and his dog. The latter – a wild unruly brute of a retriever – chased a lamb, and knocked it over a steep bank into a mountain loch. We recovered the body, and then the keeper with a sly look informed me that he should tell so and so that the loss of this lamb was due to an Eagle! It is the tale of the lowland coverts over again. There a scarcity of game is attributed to poachers or vermin, whilst in reality a dishonest keeper has disposed of it to an equally dishonest dealer. In the Highlands the loss of Grouse and lambs and deer calves is too often laid to the Eagles' charge, but let us hope that such a custom will cease, and that these beautiful birds will duly profit by the circumstance.

Another raptorial bird by no means unfrequently met with on the mountains is the Peregrine. In some parts of the Highlands this Falcon may be found breeding on the face of some towering storr rock amongst the frowning hills. We had an interesting experience of such a nest on the lofty storr at Talisker, in Skye. This charming little spot nestles in a hollow in the hills, is surrounded by trees of goodly growth and a wealth of other vegetation – literally an oasis among bare mountains and upland moors. We used to sit out in the garden and grounds there and watch the Peregrines about their nest, which was situated in a gaping fissure perhaps two-thirds of the distance up the face of the cliff. A pair of Ravens also had their nest in the same rock, together with numbers of Jackdaws and Starlings. Whether the Peregrines respected the lives of their more weakly neighbours we cannot say, but the Ravens oft resented the near approach of these Falcons, sallying out from the cliffs and buffeting them in mid-air. Time after time we watched these Falcons dart down from the higher air with both wings closed and enter the fissure which contained their nest. The late Mr. Cameron, then residing at Talisker, informed me that these Peregrines had frequented the rocks here for many years, notwithstanding the fact that their eggs or young were taken every season. At such a vast height the Peregrines looked no bigger than Jackdaws, whilst the latter birds resembled Starlings flying to and fro before the rugged cliff. The Raven, we are glad to say, is a familiar bird still among the mountains of the north. The time has gone for ever when we could number this fine species as a denizen of the mountains of the Peak and some other English uplands, although we have heard that it still nests amongst the hills of the Lake district. The hoarse croak of the Raven is one of the most familiar bird-notes heard among the Highlands. Notwithstanding gun, trap, and poison, the bird somehow or another still maintains its position; possibly its excessive cunning and wariness are the chief means of its salvation. This bird is one of the few species indigenous to both the north and south of England that is still commonest in some of the southern shires. In Devonshire, especially, it is by no means uncommon, both on the central plateau of Dartmoor as well as along the rock-bound coasts. Indeed, until within the past few years it used to breed within a mile or so of Torquay. We own to a special weakness for the Raven notwithstanding his questionable means of getting a livelihood. He has been our sole companion in many a rocky glen, and cheered us by his wicked croaking on many a lonely ramble over the wild hills of the north. We specially recall his lively ways at St. Kilda, when of an evening we used to wander up the heights of Connacher to watch the Fulmars and admire the glorious sunsets that canopied the lonely Atlantic. We can also remember how we were cheered by his croak when wandering, lost and hungry and tired out, across the mountain heaths enshrouded in a dense mist between Sligachan and Talisker, just as night was falling, and when, after making up our mind for a night on the hills, we had the good fortune to meet with a shepherd and obtain from him our bearings. For a northern bird the Raven is another early breeder; and it is interesting to remark that there is very little difference between the date of nesting in the extreme south of England and the Highlands, March being the month in both areas. In the Highlands, Ravens' nests are invariably destroyed whenever they are accessible; but fortunately the wily birds, in not a few localities, select fissures and rock ledges quite inaccessible save to a winged enemy. A dead sheep or other animal will almost without fail attract Ravens from a large area, and we have on one occasion counted no less than seven on such a carcass, sharing the prize with the Hooded Crow. A keeper friend of ours informed us of a much larger congregation at the body of a dead horse, the birds in time picking the bones of every scrap of flesh. Speaking of Ravens brings us of course to a passing notice of the Hooded Crow. In England we have plenty of Hooded Crows during autumn and winter, especially in the eastern counties, but they do not breed in the country (if we except possibly the Isle of Man). In the Highlands, however, the bird is a resident pest – like the poor, always with us, and, sad to relate, as little welcome. Amongst the mountains of the north, especially in the littoral districts, the Hooded Crow is certainly the commonest bird of the Crow tribe. He practically replaces the Carrion Crow, the familiar species of the southern shires. These Hooded Crows are wary birds; they need to be, or their race would soon be exterminated in Scotland. But for downright impudence and cunning commend us to the Hooded Crows of St. Kilda. These gray-coated rascals would allow us repeatedly to approach them within a few paces; indeed, they would sometimes allow us almost to kick them out of our way, as the saying goes; but this was only as long as we did not carry a gun. Had we such a weapon with us the crafty fellows would invariably keep at a safe distance. This was all the more remarkable, for at the time of our visit and stay on St. Kilda, in 1884, there was not a gun on the island except the one we carried, so that the birds could not have been taught to shun such an object by experience. We might attempt an explanation of the fact by suggesting that the birds became suspicious when they saw a person carrying an unfamiliar object; but against this we have the behaviour of birds in other localities where guns are common, being no more wary than these unsophisticated crows of St. Kilda. The St. Kildans detest them, and with good cause, for they commit sad havoc amongst their fields and gardens, and are as keen “collectors” of eggs as the men themselves. The Hooded Crow is a far more sociable bird than the Carrion Crow, and we have remarked them gregarious at all times of the year. In winter, of course, they become most so, and nowhere is this trait more apparent than in the low-lying English counties. We shall have occasion to meet with this interesting bird in a future chapter (conf. p. 276). This brief list practically exhausts the typical land birds and Passeres of the mountains, with the sole exception of the charming little Snow Bunting. In not a few northern English shires this species is a fairly well-known winter migrant, but it breeds sparingly on some of the Scottish mountains, a few pairs finding an arctic climate by vertical instead of latitudinal migration, but most of its kindred journey far beyond our limits to rear their young.