A Sea-Birds' Haunt. 123 



The young bird makes no resistance, and you are 

 at leisure to note the strange contrast between its 

 sooty coat and the snowy plumage of its parent — to 

 compare, too, the highly-arched and brightly coloured 

 beak of the one, with the straight and undecorated 

 bill of the other ; the vivid scarlet of the strong feet 

 of the old bird with the black paddles of its single 

 fledgling. 



They are indeed an odd couple. You let them go 

 at length. The young one scrambles down again into 

 its cavern, the mother darts straight as an arrow out 

 to sea, flying fast and far over the water, as if too 

 angry ever to return. 



On a ledge close by, on the hard bare earth that 

 time has collected on the rock, lies a great pear- 

 shaped egg, whose white ground is finely decorated 

 with rich brown markings. It is a razor-bill's egg, 

 and in the niches in the rocks you soon discover 

 more. 



The birds themselves, who for the most part haunt 

 stations nearer to the sea, are looking down at you all 

 the while, perched in a row upon the rock, and craning 

 their necks to watch your every movement. Fine 

 fellows they are, with their snowy breasts, dark backs, 

 and smart, soldierly attitude. 



But as you watch them, their forms are growing 

 faint and dim. A cold wind is blowing up the 

 hollow ; and now, hiding fast the sky and sea, veiling 

 the glory of the sinking sun and all the trembling 



