92 The Alps in June. ' 



may hear an unfamiliar note ; it is that of the 

 Pied Flycatcher, a bird not unfrequently seen in 

 England, but welcome under all circumstances. 

 As we go upwards through the wood, we hear 

 very few birds : but as we suddenly emerge on a 

 grassy slope between the pines, a large bird 

 comes sailing high over us, with large brown 

 outstretched wings, which we may believe is a 

 Golden Eagle, so grave and silent its flight, so 

 huge its outline against the sky. After half-an- 

 hour's walk we come out upon the Alps proper, 

 i. e. the flowery pastures which form the bulk of 

 region No. 2. Here the bird-life begins very 

 sensibly to change. The Swallows, as I have 

 said, do not venture so high : of the warblers, the 

 only one left is the Chiff-chaff, which sings its 

 familiar two notes in the underwood far up on 

 the steep slopes above us. We are now on the 

 * Pfaffenwand,' a very steep and stony ascent 

 separating the lower from the higher pastures ; 

 and here each year this tiny little bird seems to 

 choose for his haunt, and perhaps for his nesting- 

 place, the very highest bit of real cover, con- 

 sisting only of stunted bushes, that he can find 



