108 THE PEREGRINE FALCON. 



The young fly about in the end of June. At first they are 

 covered with white down, grow rapidly, and when three months' 

 old are as large as the old birds. The eggs are about 2 inches 

 by If inches, a little less and much darker than the gyr falcon's 

 —rusty-red, spotted and blotched with darker brown, like the 

 kestrel's ; but, as already said, all eggs vary in size and colour. 

 Their nests also vary — from a mere hollow in the rock to the 

 repairing of a bulky old raven's nest — from a few twigs or bones, 

 gathered by itself, to a pile of sticks and plants two feet across. 

 On the Bass Rock, where there are no sticks, it is made of 

 withered grass and moss. Some ornithologists doubt if it forms 

 its own nest, but all birds and other creatures do so, more or 

 less — from the scrape of the plover to the beautiful structures of 

 the chaffinch or golden-crested wren. For instance, I have 

 found a jackdaw's in a rabbit's burrow on a moor, as well as in 

 a hole in the steeples of the city. 



As usual with birds of prey the female is largest, being about 

 19 J inches from tip of beak to end of tail, and 42 J inches in 

 extent of wings ; the male 16-J and 36 \ inches. The wings are 

 long and powerful ; when closed their points extend to near the 

 end of the tail ; its legs and toes are also very strong, the first 

 and second claw being fully an inch long. But everything about 

 this symmetrical and beautiful bird denotes perfection for the 

 purpose Nature designed it. The speed of this perfect winged 

 messenger of death when in pursuit of prey is almost incredible. 

 It will fly at the rate of 150 miles an hour — a rate which no 

 railway can touch — and keep it up till its object is attained. The 

 great impetus, at such a speed, accounts for the frightful tear 

 when it strikes its quarry — sometimes ripping up a grouse, 

 blackcock, or mallard from vent to breast-bone by its hind 

 claws, as if done by a butcher's knife. One belonging to King 

 Henry of Navarre, with his name engraved on its varvels, 

 escaped from Fontainbleau, in 1574, and was caught in Malta 

 within twenty-four hours — a distance of 1400 miles, and, as the 

 falcon never flies by night, the bird must have flown at the rate 

 of 100 miles an hour at least. But even a snipe when alarmed 

 can fly at the rate of a mile a minute. But, besides their great 

 speed, it is unaccountable the instinctive power that enables 

 birds to fly thousands of miles straight to their new homes. 

 It cannot be scent with them, any more than scent that makes the 

 little snowdrop or crocus leave the dark confines of mother 

 earth to peep up and catch the first glint of the wintry sun. 

 And I cannot help thinking that the marvellous faculty which 



