GROUSE AND THE FROST. 163 



It is a glorious experience, and one which I 

 have enjoyed many, many times, to sit on a bit of 

 bleached sandstone at the bottom of a peat hag 

 during a fine November morning and watch the 

 rising sun purple the Eastern sky, whilst all around 

 the Grouse are making the air ring with their noble 

 music. It sometimes happens that when the whole 

 countryside appears to be literally alive with birds 

 a sudden silence falls upon the land, and the listener 

 is at a loss to understand the reason why, until a 

 distant hoarse croak or the appearance of a black 

 speck far away up in the sky tells him of the 

 presence of a Raven. 



Grouse are occasionally driven to terrible straits 

 in winter time. Whilst the snow is light and 

 powdery they easily scratch their way down to 

 the heather, or the wind soon bares exposed situa- 

 tions and renders their food accessible ; but if a 

 heavy fall of snow should occur in a dead calm 

 and then be immediately followed by a partial 

 thaw and hard frost, their sustenance is hermetically 

 sealed and they are reduced to an almost helpless 

 condition. 



In the memorable winter of 1895 great numbers 

 of Grouse perished from starvation on the Northern 

 hills; and whilst nest-hunting in Westmorland 

 ghylls and Yorkshire dales the following spring my 

 brother and I found skeletons every day, coming 

 across as many as eight in the neighbourhood of 

 Kirkby Stephen on a single ramble. During the 

 extremely rigorous weather it was not an uncommon 

 sight to see the bolder ones feeding unconcernedly 

 along with barn-door Fowls in farm-yards, and even 

 running along the streets of market towns. Whilst 

 in the valleys they fed upon hips, hazel catkins, 

 and the buds of hawthorns, and, curiously enough, 



