220 The Field Naturalisfs Quarterly Aug. 



kite ; in Devonshire even more so, where on the Basset 

 estate they are preserved. 



This finishes all the specific instances of hawks that I 

 think it worth while alluding to, but before leaving the 

 subject as a whole, I should like to take two more instances. 

 The first is in " Hamlet," ii. 2, " I am but mad north-north- 

 west : when the wind is southerly, I know a hawk from a 

 handsaw." He is quoting a well - known proverb, " To 

 know a hawk from a heronshaw." The word is a corrup- 

 tion of Heronsceau, a young heron, but used simply as the 

 equivalent of heron. It is spelt in many ways, the com- 

 monest being heronsew, which one finds in details of feasts 

 in Edward IV. 's reign, again in Henry VIII. 's, for the bird 

 was highly prized for the table. In the eastern counties at 

 the present day the people speak of the birds that flock on 

 the Ouse as hansers, or hansaws, so one sees how the quota- 

 tion came. As a child I always heard it called a Molly 'arn. 



The other quotation is from "The Taming of the Shrew," 

 Act ii., " Thou hast hawks will soar above the morning 

 lark," with regard to which I cannot do better than quote 

 from a letter of a friend of mine : — 



" It was the end of August, the 30th or 31st, I fancy. We 

 had come over the Bernardino Pass from Spliigen the day 

 before, and slept at San Bernardino, which lies in a little 

 plateau, about two miles long, just below the upper zigzags 

 of the pass. We left early the next morning (to get down 

 to Bellinzona) ; and, after about two miles of straight road, 

 came to the edge of the plateau, where the pass drops in a 

 great cliff of nearly 3000 feet to Mesocco in the valley below. 

 There from the tip of the cliff we could see, underneath us 

 but high above the valley below, numbers of little hawks 

 * outsoaring the morning lark,' their backs and wings shining 

 like dull metal in the morning sun." 



That brings me to the end of the Raptores, with the 

 exception of the ill-faced owl. I shall not stop over him ; he 

 has nothing distinctive about him, for when not engaged in 

 acting death's dreadful messenger, he sings — 



" Tu whit 

 Tu-\vho, a merry note 

 While greasy Joan doth keel the pot." 



