GREY-LAG GOOSE. 341 



semi-domesticated Grey-lag Geese on the farm of Mr John Mac- 

 donald, Newton. There were about thirty birds in this flock, and 

 they had all been hatched from eggs taken on the moors. On 

 walking towards them I found they would not permit a near 

 approach, but flew off at once, getting readily into a strong flight, 

 and uttering loud cries as they wheeled in a wide circle before 

 alighting again. Mr Macdonald informs me that these birds betake 

 themselves regularly to the hills to breed, and come back to the 

 farm as soon as the hatching season is past. My most recent 

 experiences [August, 1870] in the Outer Hebrides, remind me of 

 a curious effect which I noted in connection with the call note of 

 this bird in these quiet solitudes. I had reached South Uist, and 

 taken up my quarters under the hospitable roof of Mr Birnie, at 

 Grogary, whose very great kindness I shall not soon forget, and 

 in the stillness of the Sabbath morning following my arrival, was 

 aroused from sleep by the cries of the Grey-lags as they flew past 

 the house. Their voices, softened by distance, sounded not 

 unpleasantly, reminding one of the clanging of church bells in the 

 heart of a large town. 



Nothing can be more desolate looking than some of the haunts 

 of the Grey-lag in the Outer Hebrides. In North Uist especially, 

 where it breeds away from the cultivated tracts on the west side 

 of the island, the nests are usually found on the most barren part 

 of the moor, out of sight and hearing of all that tells of civilized 

 life. In Benbecula and South Uist there is perhaps less of that 

 feeling of desolation to picture; in one or two spots, indeed, such 

 as the neighbourhood of Nunton in the one island, and Howmore 

 and Grogary in the other, the nursery scenes are comparatively 

 bright and fair; still the very cries of the birds as they cross the 

 path of the wearied traveller on the Hebridean highways are so 

 full of lament and disquietude that when, at the close of day 

 especially, the disturbed groups rise one after another in alarm 

 from their dreary repose, the blending of voices becomes, perhaps, 

 one of the most memorable sounds that the ornithologist can listen 

 to. Such, at least, has been my own feeling when traversing these 

 lonely wastes, though it must be admitted that in listening to such 

 "voices of the night" much depends on the circumstances in which 

 the traveller is placed, for these same moors are capable of yielding 

 impressions varied according to the time of day, the season of the 

 year, the state of the weather, to say nothing of the temper of the 



