A SPUING WEEK IN THE WEST HIGHLANDS. 373 



reeds, while they sit comfortably on the nest and weave 

 its sides. The male eagle, however, would have a far 

 harder task. I once, with much interest, noticed a pair 

 of baldcoots, on Duddingstone Loch, constructing their 

 damp abode. The male dived to the bottom for the leaves 

 of the water-lily, and the female always came to the side 

 of the nest to receive his billful, laying it along in a neat 

 methodical way like a building mason. 



A delicious afternoon enabled us equally to enjoy our 

 return drive down the banks of the Urchay. The gor- 

 cocks, in the full pride of their scarlet combs, strutted often 

 within pistol-shot of the carriage, and at the foot of the 

 strath, the larches which grew upon the river's bank had 

 their customary complement of black game, perched as 

 usual near the top, and busily engaged in nipping the young 

 shoots. Within a short distance of the inn at Dalmally, a 

 brace of partridges were picking up the corn just sown by 

 the landlord. The noise of our vehicle sprang them. 

 Immediately an impudent sparrow-hawk, far less than the 

 partridge, struck one down. I did not see the deed done, 

 but our driver turned round, and with great animation 

 pointed out the bush where the wounded partridge lay. 

 The little assassin was beating a retreat, but left ample 

 proof of his guilt in a shower of stolen feathers which 

 streamed from him as he flew. He would be certain to 

 return to his prey, and might easily have been trapped. 

 No greater proof of the dire havoc hawks commit among 

 game can be adduced, than the fact that they refuse every- 

 thing they don't hunt down themselves. While, on the 



