The Zoologist— February, 1866. 75 



Very few of these birds have as yet (November 30th) arrived in this 

 district. 



Knot. — November 4. This evening, shortly before sunset, I witnessed 

 a most extraordinary gathering of knots on the Humber flats. When 

 at some distance from the bank I was attracted by the noise made in 

 their occasional short flights along the coast; the roar, or rather rush, 

 made by their wings in flight reminding me, more than anything else, 

 of the noise made by a mighty host of starlings when settling down 

 for the night. On cautiously peering over the embankment a beautiful 

 and very striking scene met my gaze. The tide was coming in, and 

 from three to four hundred yards of the flats were still uncovered : in 

 the west the sun was going down in a blaze of glory, and the usually 

 gray and dreary mud plains had borrowed the gorgeous colours of 

 sunset — they were purple with reflected light — while beyond, the 

 great river in all its tranquillity, and almost unbroken by a ripple, was 

 barred and streaked with purple, gold and crimson. Thousands and 

 thousands of knots were massed together on the fore shore; here 

 crowded as closely as they could sit, then again straggling out into a 

 more open line, and then again massed together by thousands. Some 

 hundreds of yards in length and about thirty in breadth, along the 

 edges of the water, were fairly crowded with them. One part or other 

 of this great congregation was almost constantly on the wing, flying 

 over the heads of those sitting, and then settling again. All the time 

 they kept up what I may almost call a continual warbling : the blended 

 notes of so many birds was so completely unlike the usual sharp cry 

 of the knot that at first I could scarcely believe it came from that 

 species: it more approached what would be the twittering of a count- 

 less flock of linnets. Shortly before sunset the flock rose, taking 

 a course directly across the Humber : they did not all rise together, 

 but commencing at one extremity gradually took flight; when all on 

 the wing their appearance was that of an immense dark undulating 

 line of smoke from the funnel of a steamboat. 



Blackbird. — November 4. I heard, as I returned home this evening 

 across the marshes, a blackbird in full song ; the notes came from a 

 solitary hawthorn, the only bush or tree within some distance. On 

 looking at my watch it was just 5.10, and was so dark at the time that 

 objects were not clearly discernible fifty yards away. 



Wild Geese. — November 7. Examined two wild geese shot on the 

 Humber; one was a bean goose, the other a fine specimen of the now 

 rare graylag {Anser ferus). 



