IN THE SHETLANDS 161 
seldom fly over it, being chased by the skuas when 
they do. Elsewhere I have seen them both bathing 
at the same time ; but always, I think, a little apart. 
I never remember to have seen the great skua bath- 
ing ; but then there is no special pool in his territory, 
and partly for reasons given, and also because of the 
hilly and bumpy character of the ground, it is difficult 
to watch him. I have done my best, however, and 
most of what I have to say about him I have said in 
Bird Watching ; but it does not amount to very much. 
These Arctic skuas bathe together very prettily. 
They sit high and light on the water, duck their 
heads under it, and throw it over them with their 
wings. Between their ablutions they often sport in 
the air, swooping at and chasing one another. 
Their motions are such as one might imagine those 
of elemental spirits to be, and their wild cry adds to 
this imaginary resemblance. Oh, that cry, that wild, 
wild cry, that music of the winds, the clouds, the drift- 
ing rain and mist—like them, free as them, voicing 
their freedom, making their spirit articulate! Who 
can describe it, or put down into poor, paltry syllables 
the glory that lives in it? Let none try. Let no 
clumsy imitation disfigure it, but let it live for ever 
_in the memory of him who has sat on the great ness- 
side, on the dividing-line of sea and sky, and heard 
it pealing so clearly, so cheerly, so gladly wild, so 
wildly, madly glad. So let it come to him again in 
his own soul’s music, scudding with the clouds, 
driving with the driving mists, ringing out like “the 
M 
