THE SHORE IN WINTER: 113 
might light on something good. There was the chance of a Red-breaster 
at all events, possibly even an American straggler driven out of its normal 
course. But all this is changed in the winter; those glorious possibilities 
are gone. The species of Waders to be met with are reduced to about half 
a dozen, and in their winter plumage we are quite contented to possess a 
single specimen of each. The Purple Sandpiper and the Godwit are. perhaps, 
the most attractive, the bluish tinge which then suffuses the latter’s plumage 
making it, to my mind, more beautiful than the autumn bird. But the 
others—there is little to interest us in them. Moreover, they are all in 
flocks; you can see at a glance to what species they belong; the element 
of uncertainty which pertains to single birds is wanting; and as a rule the 
aforesaid flocks are so wild that, unless the weather is very hard, it is next 
to impossible to get near them. The difficulty is augmented by the fact 
that in winter one must wear boots, and boots, as opposed to sand-shoes, 
mean noise and much extra fatigue. So, unless the off-chance of a stray 
Wigeon appeals to the shooter with irresistible force, it is better in ordinary 
weather to abandon the saltings, and either proceed in a boat with decoys 
to the open sea after Duck and Divers, or concentrate one’s efforts on the 
sand-hills and bushes, or the pools that run beside the rough sea-wall. 
Here, if anywhere, we shall encounter a bird of prey. Buzzards, and 
even Eagles, condescend to pay the sand-hills a visit at times, and Harriers 
may more often be seen beating across their arid waste. There is, however, 
a reasonable chance of a Merlin. They are apt at this season to desert 
their moorland hunting-grounds, and descend to the region of the coast, 
where they pick up a ready sustenance by preying upon the smaller birds 
which frequent it. The first of these that attracts our attention is the 
Snow-Bunting. They may be seen in small parties along the sand-hills, 
dropping hither and thither with careless flight, their silver plumage gleam- 
ing bright against some dark-blue cloud. Many of them are more brown 
than white, but here and there may be seen some fine old cock—a_ snow- 
white beau amidst the mottled throng. They come regularly to the east 
coast in the winter, where they figure prominently in the daily menu of 
any Merlin that may happen to be about. Some days they are quite tame, 
hopping about contentedly almost at one’s feet, but, if there is any wind 
blowing, it is often a difficult matter to secure a single bird. 
Amidst the scrub at the edge of the saltings we are almost sure to 
meet with the Twite; it can be distinguished, while flying, from the Linnet 
by its slim form, more dusky plumage, and longer tail. At times, even in 
early January, I have secured a specimen with pink on the rump, but the 
I 
