236 Northern Observations of Inland Birds 



of profiting by experience, we must reluctantly set the 

 wagtail down among other pretty things as deplorably 

 lacking. 



So much so, the seed of wisdom may lie in the art of 

 being glad, and in this light the wagtail is passing wise. 



The grey wagtail is a solitary bird. It does not appreciate 

 the company of its own kind, and when two wagtails 

 meet it is either as mates or as deadly foes. Like the 

 neighbouring dippers, each pair has and does its best to 

 hold a certain length of stream, and any other wagtail 

 passing by does so at the price of being chased. 



Some time ago, fishing on the Tweed, I was watching 

 a wagtail fly across the surface when it paused in its 

 flight about midstream in order to hover after an insect. 

 At the same instant a big trout lunged to the surface, 

 all but striking the bird to the water, whereupon the 

 latter flew right away with shrill cries of alarm. It looked 

 exactly as though the fish had risen at the bird, but I 

 concluded at the time that both had gone for the same 

 insect, and so almost met in the air. 



Last summer, however, I saw a similar occurrence, 

 which caused me to wonder whether big cannibal trout 

 will, indeed, rise at small birds, just as lesser fish rise 

 at a mayfly or drifting thistle seed. On this occasion I 

 was fishing a deep pool on the Tay, when I noticed a 

 wren bobbing and churring, on a briar branch just above 

 the surface, much disturbed at my presence on its 

 preserves, evidently. All at once a large trout dashed 

 at it, casting high the spray and actually disturbing the 

 branch on which the wren had sat. Needless to say, 

 that holy bird had departed into a mouse hole a fraction 

 of a second sooner, from the mouth of which it was now 

 churring abuse at the trout. But, had the wren been less 

 nimble, it would doubtless have gone momentarily to 

 satisfy the trout's desire to kill something. 



