CHAP. TWENTY-FIVE WATER BIRDS 



ing as loudly as he can — often have I stopped to listen to 

 him as he flew to and fro along the burn, apparently full of 

 business and importance — then pitching on a stone, he 

 would look at me with such confidence, that, notwith- 

 standing the bad name he has acquired with the fisher- 

 men, I never could make up my mind to shoot him. He 

 frequents the rocky burns far up the mountains, building 

 in the crevices of the rocks, and rearing his young in 

 peace and security, amidst the most wild and magnificent 

 scenery.The nest is large, and built, like a wren's, with a 

 roof — the eggs are a transparent white. 



The people here have an idea that the water-ouzel preys 

 on small fish, but this is an erroneous idea; the bird is not 

 adapted in any way either for catching fish or for swallow- 

 ing them. 



During a severe frost last year, I watched for some time 

 a common kingfisher, who, by some strange chance, and 

 quite against its usual habits, had strayed into this northern 

 latitude. He first caught my eye while darting like a livino- 

 emerald along the course of a small unfrozen stream be- 

 tween my house and the river; he then suddenly alighted 

 on a post, and remained a short time motionless in the pec- 

 uliar strange attitude of his kind, as if intent on gazing at 

 the sky. All at once a new idea comes into his head, and he 

 follows thecourse of the ditch, hovering here and there like 

 a hawk, at the height of a yard or so above the water: sud- 

 denly down he drops into it, disappears for a moment, and 

 then rises into the air with a trout of about two inches long 

 in his bill; this he carries quickly to the post where he had 

 been resting before, and having beat it in an angry and ve- 

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