26 A BIRD COLLECTOR’S MEDLEY. 
Hawk or a Raven, but nothing appeared more exciting than a Kestrel, though 
at the Land’s End itself Shags and Cormorants were numerous, and it was 
interesting to see Wild Herring Gulls feeding side by side with domestic fowls. 
A stay of a week on the Lizard promontory was far more entertaining from an 
ornithological point of view. The country here is much wilder, and the cliff 
scenery more attractive to birds. We began by exploring the Goonhill Downs 
as being a recognized resort of Harriers. They were certainly wild enough 
and well suited to their habits in other ways, but all we actually saw was a 
Crake of some sort disappearing into reeds, and various Kestrels suspended 
over the moor. 
On returning to the Lizard, we called at the cottage of the local naturalist, 
where we saw a stuffed Peregrine and a Chough, both killed some years before, 
and learnt that @ Harrier had been slain in the preceding spring by a farmer, 
who waited a fortnight for the shot. So much for the chance of meeting with 
one of these birds nowadays, even in their most favoured haunts! As for the 
Chough, it was seven years since one had been seen. Peregrines were not so 
scarce. ‘I'wice, at least, my brother got a glimpse of this bird while bathing 
before breakfast, and on one occasion two were playing with one another 
in mid-air near the Lizard Lighthouse. 
But perhaps the most characteristic bird of the neighbourhood was the 
Raven. We only realised just before leaving that it was as common as it was. 
True, the old fisherman asserted that he could find one any time upon the 
cliffs, and so no doubt he could. I, myself, in pursuance of the programme 
sketched out by him, spent a whole day between the Lizard and Kynance 
vainly endeavouring to outwit what proved after all to be nothing more than 
a pair of Carrion Crows. I can claim little credit for the discovery, which was 
not even due to my own powers of observation, but came about in this way. 
Towards evening, I was for the twentieth time, or thereabouts, proceeding 
to try and stalk a sable figure perched upon a projecting rock of wide prospect. 
Judged in the light of various similar attempts, it was likely to prove a futile 
undertaking, but whatever slight chances of success I may have possessed 
were suddenly extinguished by a wild halloo from the cliff above. The bird 
decamped in a twinkling, and in no very amiable frame of mind I turned to 
seek the author of the shout. It was a queer sight that I beheld—a ragged, 
uncouth figure was carelessly descending the cliff with a peculiar rolling gait 
that threatened each minute to hurl him forward down the slope, fortunately 
not a very steep one at this spot. As he drew near I perceived that, though 
not exactly drunk, he was at all events in the state nautically known as “half 
seas over,” and I advanced at once from the edge in order to prevent him from 
