IN; THE, SHETLANDS 287 
very unlike the common seal, they are always in the 
water. 
I have now satisfied myself that the young guille- 
mot is petted, sometimes, by birds that are not its 
parents. The facts are as follows: having watched the 
seals till past five, I determined to explore a little, and 
walked out along the promontory which forms the 
opposite side of this little Shetland fiord, and the end 
of which, except for the outlying stacks, must be 
about the most northern point of that portion of the 
British Empire which imperialists care least about— 
I mean the British Isles. Here I found some more 
guillemot and kittiwake ledges, and on one of these 
were some half a dozen of the former birds, one being 
a young one. The latter was with its parents, on 
a place which, though it seemed to project but a 
hair’s breadth, was yet the safest part of the ledge, 
which was very narrow and dangerous-looking. Here 
I left him for a very short time, to get further down 
the rocks, but on my return I found he had left this 
comparatively secure place and was now right away, 
on what, but for a very slight slanting slope, with 
a giddy projection here and there, looked like the 
sheer face of the precipice. No bird was with it: the 
chick was evidently in distress, and now, for the first 
time, I heard a little sharp note proceeding from it, 
which really did sound something like the word 
“ouill,’ or “guilly.” Some feet above where the 
chick was, but separated from it by a fearfully steep 
and dangerous face of rock, another guillemot sat on 
