A PLEA FOR THE PEREGRINE. 307 



the tern, the rock-pigeon, or the jack-daw, foraging 

 early and late, each as he comes back to the nest filling 

 the air with his screams ; or earlier, when the falcon is 

 sitting on some hot spring day, you may see the tiercel 

 (the male) take to the soar and play off in search of 

 purer currents. Watch him, watch his marvellously 

 lovely form, made for speed and strength ; his small head, 

 broad shoulders, long wing, strong arm (thighs). See how 

 close he flies ; he rises ; you cannot now see the mottled 

 mosaic of his under wings ; he grows smaller and smaller, 

 your eyes water, you have lost him. If you could *look 

 into the eyrie when its young are hatched you would 

 see the high-born little falcons, well described by a 

 writer in the Zoologist as " white balls of down, with 

 strong yellow legs and noble black eyes." Noble indeed ! 

 where can you match that bold, keen, searching, daunt- 

 less glance, or the dignity of that erect carriage ? Well, 

 if you train him (for train him you may, and you can 

 with patience and time), you may take the young nest- 

 lings for the love you will bear them hereafter. But 

 if not, spare the eyrie, samphire gatherer, spare the 

 eggs, sea boy ; but above all, by whatever name you 

 may call him — " blue-hawk," " partridge-hawk," " pi- 

 geon-hawk," "great hawk," when he visits your stony 

 hills, your chalky downs, even if in his passage he 

 should strike do\\Ti a partridge before your very face, 

 keeper, game preserver, spare the noble peregrine. 

 Believe me you may, with very little damage to your- 

 self. At home among his own preserves, the gull and 

 the sea fowl I have said are his — inland, the rook ; 

 abroad on his forage, he will not, he cannot hm-t you 

 much. The pheasant is at all times perfectly safe from 

 his stoops ; he cannot enter a cover. He is pre-eminently 



