CHAP, xi.] KESTKEL MERLIN. 93 



during the time of incubation, the survivor immediately finds a 

 new mate, who goes on with the duties of the lost bird, whatever 

 stage of the business is being carried on at the time, whether 

 sitting on the eggs or rearing the young. 



The kestrel breeds commonly with us about the banks of the 

 river, or in an old crow's nest. This is a very beautifully marked 

 hawk, and I believe does much more good than harm. Though 

 occasionally depriving us of some of our lesser singing birds, 

 this hawk feeds principally, and indeed almost wholly, on mice. 

 Any person who knows a kestrel-hawk by sight must have con- 

 stantly observed them hovering nearly stationary in the air, above 

 a grass-field, watching for the exit from its hole of some unfor- 

 tunate field-mouse. When feeding their young, a pair of kestrels 

 destroy an immense number of these mischievous little quadrupeds, 

 which are evidently the favourite food of these birds. Being 

 convinced of their great utility in this respect, I never shoot at, 

 or disturb a kestrel. It is impossible, however, to persuade a 

 gamekeeper that any bird called a hawk can be harmless ; much 

 less can one persuade so opinionated and conceited a personage 

 (as most keepers are) that a hawk can be useful ; therefore the 

 poor kestrel generally occupies a prominent place amongst the 

 rows of bipeds and quadrupeds nailed on the kennel, or wherever 

 else those trophies of his skill are exhibited. It is a timid and 

 shy kind of hawk, and therefore very difficult to tame, never 

 having an appearance of contentment or confidence in its master 

 when kept in captivity. 



Another beautiful little hawk is common here in the winter, 

 the merlin. This bird visits us about October, and leaves us in 

 the spring. Scarcely larger than a thrush, the courageous litUe 

 fellow glides with the rapidity of thought on blackbird or field- 

 fare, sometimes even on the partridges, and striking his game 

 on the back of the head, kills it at a single blow. The merlin is 

 a very bold bird, and seems afraid of nothing. I one day winged 

 one as he was passing over my head at a great height. The 

 little fellow, small as he was, flung himself on his back when I 

 went to pick him up, and gave battle most furiously, darting out 

 his talons (which are as sharp and hard as needles) at everything 

 that approached him. We took him home, however, and I put 

 him into the walled garden, where he lived for more than a year. 



