1504 • Thk Zoologist — January, 1869. 



Blackthroated Diver, — y^ Tale from a Shooting Punt. — 

 February 10. Took a Sunday walk to Howth, and with a glass had 

 fine chances of acquainting myself with the habits of the Colymbi. 

 I watched the actions of an adult blackthroated diver for some hours, 

 not only with the glass, but the naked eye, for he fished within ten 

 yards of the iron-bound coast where I sat. With the glass I could 

 count every white-banded feather that was coming in the back. There 

 was nothing peculiar in its actions or habits from those of its con- 

 geners. I left it with regret to pass a wild wet night in safety. 

 February 11. The coldest morning ever I remember. By dawn I was 

 at the divers' chief haunt.* By the gray light I hung round my little 

 punt a drapery of sea-tangle, cast anchor (stone), and like a rock 

 awaited the events of the coming day. The day opened cold and dull, 

 with a stiff north-west breeze blowing from a bank of showers, which 

 occasionally fell in all the piercing form of sleet, which, joining with 

 the incessant spray from the sliort chopping waves, made my position 

 anything but a pleasant one. Drearily the morning hours advanced, 

 the sun making no appearance as he rose, but the eastern sky shone 

 with a wicked lurid red (the rage spot on the cheek of Nature), made 

 more ominous by the leaden gray of all around. 1 can never think 

 now what infatuation caused me to remain where 1 was, for I am 

 weather-wise, and can read the sky and the air better than the baro- 

 meter. It came at last: the cold air changes to a moist tropical heat, 

 the sea looks quite calm and tranquil — oh ! we shall have a grand 

 day. But why do my hands tremble as I encase the gun in his water- 

 proof mantle ? — why does the " carry " scud so swiftly overhead ? — 

 why do 1 let out eight or ten more fathoms of rope to my moorings ? — 

 where is that great forest through which the wind seems to be rushing 

 when all around is so calm ? — why do I curse my stupidity in not 

 having a good-sized baler on board ? — why are my eyes intently bent 

 on the north-west? Look, kind shore-going naturalist, and you will 

 see a whity-gray cloud obscuring those dear old hills I love so well : 

 that cloud may dim my sight as it does them. See ! it has touched the 

 sea now, and see how the water boils and foams beneath its weight — 

 so heavy is it the sea cannot rise iu waves, but is driven before it like 



* I had found out that there were several blackthroated divers off the coast, and 

 for the purpose of procuring some I had arranged to fire at nothing else. This cold- 

 blooded determination is the only way to insure success. The man that keeps blazing 

 away %nay drop on sometliing rare, but not often. Scores of good fellows give up the 

 pursuit, because they can never kill avylhing but common birds. 



