LETTER XXI. 149 



pipers, Turnstone, and other " mud-larks," give vent to their 

 feelings in shrill pipings. But all this is secondary to the clam- 

 our of the Widgeon, who, in vast flocks, distractedly wheel round 

 and round with whistling cries and whistling pinions, calling all 

 heaven and earth to witness their distress, their grief, how " their 

 nerves have been shaken and their rest has been marred " by that 

 fatal sound, the ignition of nitre. It takes a long time before 

 confidence begins to be restored ; but gradually the uproar sub- 

 sides, and the scattered bands begin to settle down again from 

 their aerial gyrations to resume their interrupted diet. Still some 

 wary old Curlew continues at intervals to blow off his alarm- 

 whistle— very different from the pleasant, bubbling cry, half wail, 

 half gurgle, which proceeds from the contented Curlew when, in 

 peace and safety, he bores deep into the cool sand and feels a soft 

 sea-slug wriggling in his mandibles — the note which has won for 

 him his Gaelic name of Gul-buin, Musical Wailer. 



The worst of it is, that each sonorous alarm, as it proceeds 

 from the cunning old " whaup's " throat, sets off his tattling little 

 neighbour — the Redshank — into a little hysterical screaming fit 

 as a response, producing a third response — not remarkable for 

 piety or elegance of diction — from a gentleman not two hundred 

 yards away, lying prone upon the mud, who is anxious to put his 

 benumbed limbs in motion, and would at that moment cheerfully 

 give all his worth to wring the little brute's neck, and give that 

 long-billed old fellow something to squeal for ; for he knows that 

 as long as their unnecessary clamour keeps the whole shore in a 

 fidget, so long must he lie in that ignominious position in brother- 

 hood with the old bernacle-encrusted log left there by the last tide. 



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