At Home with Wild Nature 



earth. Amusing incidents have in consequence hap- 

 pened from time to time to people with original, but 

 seldom gratified, instincts still strong within them. A 

 deaf old road-mender at work one August afternoon 

 behind a line of butts in the North of England saw a 

 covey of grouse coming towards him, put the head of 

 his long-shafted hammer to his shoulder and drew a 

 bead on the foremost bird. Seeing him, it twisted in 

 its flight, and to the old fellow's amazement fell in the 

 most orthodox manner, with a broken wing. 



The great speed at which some birds fly proves their 

 undoing. After a dark, foggy night I have picked up 

 the bodies of golden/ plover that had dashed themselves 

 to death against a stone wall. Some idea of the terrific 

 force with which a bird passes through the air may be 

 gathered from the fact that a common curlew a bird 

 weighing only about a pound and a half some years 

 ago flew through a piece of plate-glass a quarter of an 

 inch thick at Turnberry Lighthouse, Ayrshire. 



Many accidents happen to our migratory birds, 

 especially during their autumnal wanderings. Lost 

 during dark, foggy nights they clamour round light- 

 houses and lightships in such vast numbers that their 

 white breasts in the rays of light present the appearance 

 of a heavy snowstorm. On December 10, 1882, sky- 

 larks were striking the Bell Rock Lighthouse like hail 

 for upwards of two hours on end, during which time 

 thousands must have perished. Upon such occasions 

 the keepers are obliged to close every door and window 

 in order to prevent the pressing throng of winged 



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