248 The Zoologist— June, 186(5. 



Muglins and Clara, which are rarely without some of these birds. 

 Where no commanding isolated rock is to be found the shag makes a 

 buoy his perch. They seldom regularly perch like the coruiorant, 

 and unlike that bird, prefer the flat surface to the riug on lop). They 

 leave their rocks well " whitewashed " with their excreta, which is 

 voluminous, oft ejected, liquid and of a white colour; but if allowed 

 to remain and collect, particularly on wood, turns to a hard limey 

 substance : a strong smell of fish and ammonia pervades these rocks, 

 and is borne for some distance on the breeze. Here they rest them- 

 selves, or stand to dry, for after feeding they wash themselves thoroughly 

 by striking the closed wing on the lower part of the back, ducking the 

 bead and even thrashing the water with out-spread wing till they are 

 perfectly saturated. Some are standing with the wiugs expanded, 

 gently fanning them ; others have tlieir dark pinions outstretched and 

 motionless before the sun, their faces having a look as solemn and 

 contented as good feeding could make them ; others again are preening 

 themselves, or standing on one leg with the head crouched on the 

 shoulder, or asleep with the bill buried in the feathers of the back ; . 

 but the greater part, and particularly the cormorants, are shooting 

 their long snake-like necks from side to side, eyeing us intently, as if 

 "smelling" danger afar. We have approached within a hundred 

 yards, when some old fellow places his body in a horizontal position 

 (they stand well erect), stretches the wings for a moment or so, and 

 then, with a jerk from his feet, launches himself from the rock ; he 

 falls till just above the water, and then makes away with a strong rapid 

 flight ; most of the rest follow the leader and form a siring : some 

 remain and permit a long shot ; they then either fly or drop like 

 stones into the water. The wind has died out, and we are becalmed, 

 but an ominous ground-swell portends something. We go ashore on 

 the Island for an hour or two, eat our dinner, and shoot a dozen or two 

 of rabbits, and some birds for their skins. It is now about six, and 

 the sea like a mirror, no air ripples its calm surface, but that heavy 

 up-channel swell is growing stronger. The shag and cormorant may 

 be seen winging their way from all points, in long strings or solitary, to 

 the caves of this Island for the night. They are flying uneasily around 

 their roosting-places, as if calculating how high the swell might rise, or 

 loo wary to rest without making sure that no danger is near ; one at 

 last falls heavily to the pinnacle he thinks the softest, and the rest soon 

 follow his example. Should two happen to rest beside each other 

 they will put their bills together and caw like young rooks when 



