Modern Cliff-Dwellers 



no fog — evidently no chance for photography. 

 Breakfast was over by seven, and then it did not 

 take long to return to the birds. It seemed very 

 strange to have so many of them so close about us, 

 and these not the common door-yard species, but 

 those which usually one must seek afar upon the 

 wild seas. For all that they made the most agree- 

 able and fascinating of bird-neighbours. I had 

 expected that Bird Rock would be a very noisy 

 place, but in reality it did not give me that impres- 

 sion. During the day there are plenty of sounds, 

 but thev are either lost or mellowed in the vastness 

 of Nature's amphitheatre. The sea moans and the 

 wind sighs, making a sort of bass monotone into 

 which the cries of the birds harmoniously blend. 

 From the house it all sounds like some muffled 

 murmur. But standing at the edge of the cliff, the 

 sounds are audible enough, though not as ear- 

 splitting as in some Gull or Tern colonies. The 

 loudest calls arose when anything agitated the 

 Kittiwakes, when the shrill clarion — sounding like 

 *' kittiwake, kittiwake " — enunciated with startling 

 distinctness, rang out above everything else. The 

 harsh grating notes of the Gannets were also very 

 noticeable at times. But the other inhabitants have 

 very subdued voices, and only express themselves in 

 low croakings and gruntings. 



The morning passed pleasantly and profitably in 

 further study of the birds, especially the Murres. 

 There were two kinds, the Common and the Briin- 

 nich's, in about equal abundance, I thought. The 

 two were mixed in on the ledges indiscriminately. 

 A Common Murre sitting on its egg was just as 



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