ON THE MOOR 51 



the tail might be useful as a signal to the young, 

 especially in time of danger. 



The birds do not come quite so near the edge of 

 the moor. I pass straight across seaward, and 

 have gone almost half a mile, before meeting with 

 anything less common than the lark, and the 

 meadow-pipit. 



At length, the familiar chat of the wheatears is 

 heard. These too belong to the moors of Scotland, 

 the downs of England, and the deserts of other 

 lands, and, by their monotonous click, give voice to 

 the featureless desolation. It would seem as if each 

 living creature became a part, and in a degree an 

 interpreter also, of the scene it inhabits. 



One has to look, very carefully, in the direction 

 of the sound, before he can detect the bird, so 

 harmoniously do its colours blend with the back- 

 ground. But, as soon as it rises, the difficulty 

 vanishes, and a strange thing appears. When it 

 lifts the wings, it displays a white rump, which 

 makes it even more conspicuous than the rabbit. 

 The unexpected flash causes one to look ; and it 

 must be a very blind hawk indeed that fails to see. 



It does seem a singular coincidence, that the 

 mammal of the wilds, and the bird of the wilds, 

 should have a similar mark. Will the same ex- 



