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making from one sheet of water to another, as their 

 cousins, the Golden-eyes, and all other surface-feed- 

 ing and diving ducks will do. On the contrary, 

 they keep exactly above the line of the winding 

 waters, adopting a swinging motion, and passing 

 to left and right in the flight over the stream in all 

 its windings. The male Harlequin has a peculiar 

 cry, not unlike that of the common Lapwing in 

 spring. 



Another very interesting bird whose acquaintance 

 I made for the first time was Barrow's Golden-eye, 

 a larger and more handsome creature than our own 

 Golden-eye, but similar in its habits. They were 

 very tame, both males and females, and a week later 

 at Myvatn I caught two with a fly-rod and shot 

 one with a catapult. 



In these northern wilds I found the catapult — 

 not the clumsy round-elastic weapon of the country 

 schoolboy, but the scientific and small, square- 

 elastic tweaker — a great aid in obtaining a few 

 specimens where birds were numerous and fairly 

 tame; in fact, I never cared to disturb the whole 

 place by firing off a gun unless absolutely necessary 

 to procure some rare and shy species. With 

 the little silent weapon I secured during this 

 trip one Golden Plover, one Long-tailed Drake, 

 one Barrow's Golden-eye, one Ptarmigan, four 

 Purple Sandpipers, three Dunlins, and four Red- 

 necked Phalaropes. I nearly got a female Black 

 Scoter — a tough bird to kill — but she recovered 

 after being knocked down, and commenced diving, so 

 my other shots with the catapult were unavailing. 



Late in the evening of June 29th we made a 

 start for Myvatn (the Fly Lake), said to be the great 



