184 
Thus in the three instances I have given you of this power of 
walking underneath the water, at three different times of the year, 
one is down stream, another up, and a third across; and only in 
the upward motion have I seen any use made of the wings. So in 
spite of Charles Waterton, I am inclined to believe my own eyes, 
and register it as a fact, that the Dipper actually walks at the 
bottom of the water. 
What power the bird has to enable it to do this, whether 
an inherent one of which we know nothing, or an adherent one of 
which we know something—that is, his powerful feet and claws— 
is still to be found out. 
I had intended when first starting with this paper to have 
introduced a few other birds which are to be found with the 
Dipper, but a bird one loves is hard to leave; and I have found 
so much to say about the Dipper, that I am afraid it would have 
been taxing your patience too much to have made the article 
longer ; or with the birds I might have told you of the strange 
wild flowers, the beautiful and rare ferns, the curious mosses and 
lichens, which have fallen under my notice in wandering along the 
bottom of our fell becks,—treasures of which he whose feet ever 
keep to the dusty highway, knows nothing. 
I will close with one little tribute to the Dipper from a 
Devonshire poet, who in describing such scenery as I have not 
dared to attempt to pourtray, says :— 
“The bird 
Is here, the solitary bird that makes 
The rock his sole companion. Leafy vale, 
Green bowers, and hedgerows fair, and gardens rich, 
With bud and bloom, delight him not ; he bends 
No spray, nor roams the wilderness of boughs 
Where love and song detain a million wings 
Through all the summer morn, the summer eve ; 
He has no fellowship with waving woods, 
He joins not in their merry minstrelsy, 
But flits from ledge to ledge, and through the day 
Sings to the high-toned waterfall, that speaks 
To him in strains he loves and lists 
For ever.” 
