[8 ] 
air like flakes of polished silver; large Gulls are passing far out at sea, and the Ring 
Dotterels are running along, busily searching for their breakfast at the margin of the wavelets. 
A short distance out over the shallow sea a newly-arrived flock of Common Terns is leisurely 
beating along, fishing as they approach us. The whole flock is in constant motion, and it is 
difficult to keep one particular bird long under observation, but they pass in rapid succession 
across the field of our glasses. Never rising to any great height above the water, they are 
intent on watching the small fish and shrimps near the surface, and it is charming to see how 
they arrest themselves in full flight, the tail drawn down and wings aloft, hovering like a 
Kestrel, the beak pointing direct downwards, and the eye keenly on the watch. In an instant 
the little fisherman has precipitated himself headlong into the sea with a force which splashes 
up the water all around, and he rises again, probably with a tiny fish or sand eel in his bill, 
or, should he have failed in his attempt, once more to pursue his deviating course. These 
tactics are repeated again and again by each individual of the party, the whole crossing and 
re-crossing, wheeling and plunging, in incessant motion, and screaming with apparent delight, 
until the happy little party have passed out of sight. Often they will all forsake their fishing 
to examine some strange object floating in the sea—for curiosity is one of their strong features 
—or to visit the boats of the fishermen, flyimg around in the most fearless manner, and 
scrambling for fish refuse that may be thrown to them. 
Towards the end of May they resort to their breeding stations, and there on the shingle, 
or in sheltered depressions amongst the sandhills, deposit their three rather large eggs— 
nest there is little or none—which are of a yellowish stone colour, blotched and spotted 
with grey and reddish brown. When breeding the birds are always on the alert, rising in the 
air long before their treasures are reached, and, when the danger becomes more imminent, 
dashing in the most fearless manner at the intruder, at the same time filling the air with 
their piercing cries. In due time their pretty mottled young are hatched, their protective 
colouring, like that of the eggs, rendering them, when crouching in the shingle, almost 
invisible except to their parents, who continue to feed them until they are strong on the wing. 
But all this happiness comes to an end on the lst of August; then the poor birds have 
spread along the coast, entered the estuaries of the rivers, and haunt the piers at our 
watering places, where, instead of affording delight to the seaside visitors, the close time 
being at an end, they only form an easy prey to the prowling gunner. So confiding are they 
that they can be approached without difficulty, and a wounded Tern by its screaming attracts 
every other Tern within hearing, so that the noble sportsman has no difficulty in making 
such a bag as will fully establish his reputation as a skilful fowler. Added to this, there is 
the professional gunner with his large orders for wings, and between these and the eggers no 
wonder that fewer birds each year return to their much-disturbed nesting places. 
By the first week in October the Terns have almost all left our coast and gone southward. 
Tue Lesser Tern.—In Norfolk, to which county the writer’s experience of the Terns 
has been chiefly confined, this species is generally known as the “ little mow,” to distinguish 
it from the previous species, here called the “ big mow”; other names are the “ chit pere,” 
“shrimp-catcher,” and “ dip-ears,” the latter highly suggestive of its mode of fishing. 
Their habits are very similar to those of the larger species, and their flight equally 
varied and graceful. They also possess that fatal gift of curiosity which renders them so 
easy of approach. A slight depression in the sand or shingle is the only receptacle for the 
three eggs—more often only two—and the usual locality selected isa marshy spot between the 
sandhilJs on the coast; both the eggs and the young in the down are admirably protected 
by their remarkable similarity in colour to the surrounding objects. 
Mr. Stevenson, in his “ Birds of Norfolk,” gives a charming account of this bird, from 
which I trust I may be pardoned for making the following extract :— 
“Long may it be ere these exquisite little birds cease to frequent our coasts during the 
summer months; and yet, when considering their extended range in former days, and the 
contracted area within which they are still found breeding, one can but contemplate the 
