118 NATURAL HISTORY AND 



never seen hunting here, but once or twice last 

 winter I distinctly heard its scream close to the 

 castle windows, and a few months since my gillie 

 lad brought me a half-grown one, found in a dying 

 state on the lawn. It seemed starved to death, 

 being a perfect skeleton. 



I have listened both last summer and this for 

 the drowsy chur of another favourite bird of the 

 dusk, the fearless night-jar. That this migrant 

 should prefer Mull to Bute, where night-moths are 

 so plentiful, seems to me unreasonable. Not one 

 fern owl have I seen or heard on the northern dis- 

 trict of this island, while in Mull the monotonous 

 spinning-wheel note was raised each July evening 

 close to both our shooting quarters; and I have 

 preserved the finest male specimen I ever saw, 

 which I shot one 12th of August, raised from the 

 heather by my dogs. 



The more obtrusive and noticeable day migrants, 

 such as the cuckoo, the landrail, and the swallow 

 tribe, seem to revel in our neighbourhood, while 

 fly-catchers and white-throats delight the eye 

 with their graceful movements among the laurel 

 bushes. From entries in my journal, I find that, 



