THE NIGHTJARS, BEE-EATERS & KINGFISHERS. 43 



unreclaimed part, say, of Cumballa Hill, and a brown- 

 ish bird starts from under a bush at your foot and flies, 

 with jerky strokes of its very long wings, for a dis- 

 tance of twenty or thirty yards, and then drops under 

 a bush again, it is a Goatsucker. You have disturbed 

 it in its sleep. Or after sunset, in the dusk of the 

 evening, you may come upon it sitting in the dust, 

 right in the middle of the road, in some unfrequented 

 neighbourhood. It will jump up suddenly as often 

 as you approach it, and fly before you for a little dis- 

 tance, then drop into the middle of the road again and 

 squat, looking just like a large frog, or toad, dimly 

 seen. This is how it spends the night, or rather, I 

 should say, the times of dusk and dawn, for I believe 

 it sleeps at midnight. At intervals it springs up and 

 takes a circuit, performing somersaults and other 

 antics in the air. It is catching moths or beetles. 

 Sometimes it perches on a bough of a low tree, not 

 across it, as any other bird would, but along it. Such 

 is a Goatsucker in the bush. In the hand it is a weird 

 thing, with a flat head and very large, lustrous, dark 

 eyes, like those of the heroine in a penny dreadful. 

 Its feet are small and its bill is a mere apology, but 

 its head is almost split in two by the width of its gape. 

 Its soft plumage is very beautiful, but hardly de- 

 scribable. It consists of earthy and ashy and reddish 

 shades, mottled, barred, or curiously pencilled with 

 darker tints. 



This bird is called a Goatsucker from its wicked 

 habit of milking domestic goats. In modern books 

 of Natural History you will find this habit denied and 

 the bird called a Nightjar, but they cannot get rid of 

 its Latin name, Caprimulgus, with which it has been 



