CHAPTER TEN BIRDS OF PREY 



turned inside out, like a rabbit skin hung up by the cook, 

 the whole of the carcass, bones and all, being stowed away 

 in the bird's capacious maw. The quantity of meat taken 

 from the stomach of an eagle killed on the mountain is 

 sometimes perfectly incredible. I regret not having taken 

 a note of the weight of mutton I once saw taken out of one 

 I shot. 



We are occasionally visited, too, by the peregrine falcon, 

 who makes sad havoc in the poultry-yard when he appears 

 here. There is a nest of these birds always built in the in- 

 accessible rocks of the Findhorn. Indeed, in the good old 

 days of hawking, when a gentleman was known by his 

 hawk and hound, and even a lady seldom went abroad 

 without a hawk on her gloved hand, the Findhorn hawks 

 were always in great request. The peregrine seems often 

 to strike down birds for his amusement ; and I have seen 

 one knock down and kill two rooks, who were unlucky 

 enough to cross his flight, without taking the trouble to 

 look at them after they fell. In the plain country near the 

 seashore the peregrine frequently pursues the peewits and 

 other birds that frequent the coast. The golden-plover, too, 

 is a favourite prey, and affords the hawk a severe chace 

 before he is caught. I have seen a pursuit of this kind last 

 for nearly ten minutes, the plover turning and doubling 

 like a hare before greyhounds, at one moment darting like 

 an arrow into the air, high above the falcon's head ; at the 

 next, sweeping round some bush or headland — ^but in vain. 

 The hawk, with steady, relentless flight, without seeming 

 tohurryherself,nevergives up thechace.till the poor plover, 

 seemingly quite exhausted, slackens herpace,andiscaught 

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