242 Bibliographical Notices. 



Now I listen to the simple song of the mountain Blackbird, warbled 

 by the quiet lake that spreads its glittering bosom to the sun, winding 

 far away among the mountains, amid whose rocky glens wander the 

 wild deer, tossing their antlered heads on high as they snuff the 

 breeze tainted with the odour of the slow-paced shepherd and his 

 faithful dog. In that recess formed by two moss-clad slabs of mica- 

 slate, the lively Wren jerks up its little tail and chits its merry note, 

 as it recalls its straggling young ones that have wandered among the 

 bushes. From the sedgy slope, sprinkled with white cotton-grass, 

 comes the shrill cry of the solitary Curlew ; and there, high over the 

 heath, wings his meandering way the joyous Snipe, giddy with excess 

 of unalloyed happiness. 



"There, another has sprung from among the yellow-flowered 

 marigolds that profusely cover the marsh ; upwards, slantingly, on 

 rapidly vibrating wings, he shoots, uttering the while his two-noted 

 cry. Tissick, tissick, quoth the Snipe as he leaves the bog. Now 

 in silence he wends his way, until at length, having reached the height 

 of perhaps a thousand feet, he zigzags along, emitting a louder and 

 shriller cry of zoo-zee, zoo-zee, zoo-zee; which over, varying his 

 action, he descends on quivering pinions, curving towards the earth, 

 with surprising speed, while from the rapid beats of his wing, the tre- 

 mulous air gives to the ear what at first seems the voice of distant 

 thunder." 



And again — 



" IMany a time and oft, in the days of my youth, when the cares 

 of life were few and the spirits expansile, and often too in later years, 

 when I have made a temporary escape to the wilderness to breathe 

 an atmosphere untainted by the effluvia of cities, and ponder in 

 silence on the wonders of creative power, have I stood on the high 

 moor and listened to the mellow notes of the Plover, that seemed to 

 come from the gray slopes of the distant hills. Except the soft note 

 of the Ring-plover, I know none so pleasing from the Grallatorial 

 tribes. Amid the vrild scenery of the rugged hills and sedgy valleys, 

 it comes gently and soothingly on the ear, and you feel, without 

 being altogether conscious of its power, that it soothes the troubled 

 mind, as water cools the burning brow. How unlike the shriek of 

 the Heron ! But why should we think of it ? for it reminds us of the 

 cracked and creaking voice of some village beldame of the Saxon race. 

 The clear tones of the Celtic maiden could not be more pleasant to 

 any one, or perhaps much more welcome to her lover, than the sum- 

 mer note of the Golden Plover to the lover of birds and of nature. 

 As you listen to it, now distant, now nearer and near, and see the 

 birds with short flights approaching as if to greet you, though in 

 reality with more fear than confidence, with anxiety and appre- 

 hension, the bright sunshine that glances on their jetty breasts is 

 faintly obscured by the white vapours that have crept up from the 

 western valley, and presently all around us is suffused with an opaline 

 light, into the confines of which a bird is dimly seen to advance, then 

 another, and a third. "Who could repi*esent the scene on canvas or 

 card ? a hollow hemisphere of white shining mist, on which are de- 



