THE GOLDEN PLOVER. 209 



sounded so close at hand that we turned round, 

 expecting to find a follower who might have some 

 message to deliver. Nothing was to be seen, and 

 while we gazed and wondered, again it sounded 

 clear and plaintive, bringing to mind those lines of 

 Sir Walter Scott, in the Lady of the Lake 



" And in the Plover's shrilly strain, 

 The signal whistle's heard again." 



There was something very ventriloquial in the 

 sound, and it was a long time before we were 

 able to determine the exact direction whence it 

 proceeded. At length having decided this, and con- 

 cluding that it must be a Golden Plover, although 

 the note differed from the well-known call which 

 we had so often heard in winter, we went down 

 on hands and knees and crawled stealthily towards 

 the spot where we supposed the bird to be, stop- 

 ping now and then to listen for the guiding call. 



So fully convinced were we that the bird was at 

 least a hundred yards ahead, that it was with con- 

 siderable surprise we came upon it before we had 

 accomplished half that distance. 



We can conceive few emotions more pleasurable 

 than that which sways the mind of a naturalist 



