154 THE BIRD WATCHER 
gentleman each time, ygMtich we know is not the real 
one—instead of a beautiful bird or beast. However, 
it’s a prosaic age, and few feel: strongly on such 
matters. 
The other young great skua that I came across—a 
day or two ago—was almost full-fledged, with only 
hairs of fluff here and there. But though he looked 
much more emancipated he did not run away like 
this one, but lay crouched where he was. On ap- 
proaching my hand, however, he bit it more fiercely 
than any gull yet has, and when I took him up his 
anger, or fear, or both, discharged itself at either 
extremity, for from one he ejected a fish, and from 
the other a mighty volume of white matter in a semi- 
fluid state. It took effect, fortunately, on my umbrella 
only, which I had to wash, and was very effective in 
allowing the perpetrator to escape a /a cuttlefish. 
The note of the puffin is very peculiar—sepulchrally 
deep and full of the deepest feeling. In expression 
it comes from the heart, but in tone and quality from 
somewhere much lower down. It varies a little, how- 
ever, or rather there are more notes than one, and 
some of them are combined into a poem or symphony, 
which is the puffin’s chief effort. This, however, is 
not often heard in its entirety—from end to end, like 
the whole of a fine poem. As a rule one has to be 
satisfied with extracts ; but when one does get it all, it 
sounds something like this—for I can best express it 
by a diagram. 
Another note is much more commonly heard, viz. 
