HAUNT OF THE HOODIES 



by the merlin. It is faithful as a reflection in a per- 

 fect mirror. But I do not say that this reflection of 

 flight is peculiar to the merlin. It is a marvel we 

 may see a hundred times in a summer day when the 

 exquisite sand martins are chasing each other over 

 land or water in their favourite haunts. The swifts 

 in their aerial ecstasies do the same, and so do even 

 chaffinches, and other small birds, in short fiery 

 pursuits. 



Looking down, the other day, on the withy wood 

 and the estuary flats, with their sad, still pools of 

 water, half salt, half fresh, I saw no merlin or zig- 

 zagging snipe ; only hoodie crows, showy in black 

 and grey, rose in a cautious party, and flew away to 

 the edge of the water. There their voices went well 

 with the wild mew and pipe of gulls and the croak 

 of the weighty but swift cormorant from his pulpit, 

 that blackened stake or pile which gives the final 

 touch of dreariness to the mud flat. The hoodie 

 crows are true estuary birds, at home with gull 

 and wader, alert for food washed up in the flow 

 and ebb of tides. Without aid of field-glasses I 

 could watch them, hundreds of yards away, hunting 

 among the creeks and tussocks, toying lightly on 

 the wing at each short flight ; for hoodie crows, 

 like rooks, are fond of frolic on clean, bright 

 winter days. 



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