MAY 1903. 



DURING the first few hours of this month our lantern was 

 the centre of a twittering throng of feathered migrants. 

 Wheatears, rockpipits, starlings, wrens, and robins fluttered 

 erratically through the rays or clamoured in their innocence 

 against the glass, apparently desiring a closer acquaintance 

 with the source of light. Puffs of feathers floated away on 

 the easterly breeze as some unfortunate, less discreet than his 

 fellows, crashed against the invisible barrier. The coming 

 dawn, however, reveals to the survivors the absurdity of their 

 position, and ere the light is extinguished they have resumed 

 their journey shorewards. Frequent fogs occurred in the 

 earlier part of the month, and during the prevalence of a long 

 spell a long-eared owl was captured on the balcony and held 

 prisoner for a week, during which time various samples of our 

 commissariat were offered for his acceptance without avail. 

 A luckless sparrow, the only one by the way I have seen here, 

 was then captured and placed at his disposal. This proved 

 more in his line of business, for on the morning after the rump 

 and tail feathers alone were left. Next day the indigestible 

 portions, feathers, etc., were cast up in the form of a compact 

 ball. Later a thrush was similarly offered, but after a couple 

 of days in each other's company remained untouched. It was 

 amusing to see the spirited attitude assumed by the thrush 

 when in the presence of his natural foe. Screaming agres- 

 sively at the slightest movement of the owl, he would lunge 

 furiously in his direction, his bill all the while snapping 

 audibly. The fog having cleared somewhat, both were then 

 set at liberty. 



Another very rare visitor seen here this month was a 

 sheldrake, which passed close overhead flying south. This is 



