To Mountain Tarn 



the mystic half-light. I saw the shallowness of 

 the sleep, as, in my wakeful moments, I looked 

 on the face of my companion. 



Wrens met us, especially where were dry stone 

 dykes, near the scant clearings or dwellings of 

 man. And with that social habit of theirs 

 which can find but little exercise where so few are 

 abroad went some distance on our way. Nor is 

 the pleasantness of fellowship confined to them. 

 I imagine the Shetlander in his lonely walk, is 

 not unwilling to have the attendant bird. The 

 place itself extends the bonds of sympathy. I 

 recall a tramp along wild cliffs to a distant voe 

 with a friendly bird. They seemed much larger 

 than our wrens and less dusky shaded. A new 

 species has been made out of differences no 

 greater. Witness the St. Kilda wren. The two 

 are not unlike. Island life and similar conditions 

 may have modified both in the same direction. 

 What little dissimilarity there is may be accounted 

 for by the unlikeness of the two islands. Per- 

 haps I ought to have kept silent, lest it be need- 

 ful to guard this wren also by a special Act of 

 Parliament. 



On the shore, the Arctic tern makes a nest of 

 seaweed. Often the eggs are olive coloured like 

 the nest. As the hooded from the carrion crow, 

 the Arctic tern is distinguished by its range. It 

 is a northern variety of the common tern, noth- 

 ing more. Where they occupy the same nesting 



