CHAP. THIRTY-SIX A MIXED BAG 



ceecled the number which I killed that day, I do not ever 

 remember bagging a handsomer collection of animals in 

 so short a time. Every bird, too, was in beautiful plumage 

 and condition, and when laid out, ready to be packed up, 

 made quite a picture. 



An account of a day's shooting is rather a dry affair, but 

 I have given it as showing the great variety of game which 

 is to be found in this part of the country. I had, indeed, as 

 good a chance of killing a roebuck as anything else, as I 

 passed through a piece of ground where I have repeatedly 

 killed roe. I saw an old blackcock too, but he was in a bare 

 place, and rose out of shot. 



Golden plovers and curlews collect on the low grounds 

 in immense flocks at this time of the year, previous to sett- 

 ling down in their winter-quarters. Both these birds breed 

 generally in very high situations, and though wary in the 

 winter, and difficult to approach, yet during the summer, 

 when crossing the mountains, I have been absolutely an- 

 noyed by the continued clamour of curlews flying and 

 screaming within a few yards of my head, and following up 

 their persecutions for a considerable distance, when it 

 would probably be taken up by another pair with fresh 

 iungs, whose breeding- place I might be approaching. 



The golden plover has a plaintive and rather sweet note 

 as he flits rapidly round the traveller who intrudes on his 

 domain. Indeed in the spring the note of the goldenplover, 

 as he ascends with rapid wheelings high above your head, 

 is quite musical, and approaches nearly to the note of a 

 thrush or blackbird. Not only the whistle of the plover, but 

 even the harsh cry of the landrail, and the monotonous call 

 465 2G 



