IN THE SHETLANDS a1 
would be the dance or sport alone, which would then 
seem a very unaccountable thing. In this way I can 
imagine the evening dances or antics of the great 
plover, which used to impress me so when I lived in 
Suffolk, to have originated. One might watch these 
performances a great many times without seeing any- 
thing to suggest that a feeling of pugnacity entered 
into them. Nevertheless, there is, sometimes, a slight 
appearance of this, for I have several times seen a bird 
pursue and wave its wings over another one. My 
theory is that an initial energy or emotion sometimes 
flows out into subsidiary channels, and that gradually 
this secondary factor may encroach upon and take the 
place of the primary one. 
At any rate, to come back from the general to the 
particular, it is apparent to me that these little ebulli- 
tions, or whatever they may be called, of the black 
guillemots are of a blended nature, and I should 
think it misleading to describe them simply as fights. 
Whatever they are, they are very pretty to see. The 
actions of all the little dumpling birds are so pert, 
brisk, and vivacious—so elegant, too. Yet a bird will 
go through it all, play every part in the little affaire, 
carrying, all the while, a fish in its bill. It makes no 
difference to him; he will even threaten in the way 
I have described, whilst thus encumbered. Whether 
this makes it more likely that the whole thing is sport, 
I hardly know.’ It seems strange to seek one’s enemy 
1 On second thoughts it does not, since sparrows will attack martins though 
holding grass, etc,, for nest-building, in their beaks—as I have seen. 
