The Zoologist— January, 1871. 2417 



arched back, like a Freucli partridge, walk slowly off for a few yards, when 

 if further pressed, the pace quickens, and joined probably by its mate, from 

 you know not where — so like are their tints to the surrounding soil — the 

 pair rise on the wing, and with a strong quick flight, and outstretched legs, 

 betake themselves to some distant part of the field, uttering at intervals 

 their loud tremulous whistle. As ground-breeders they are necessarily 

 exposed to many dangers, their eggs being so generally taken when dis- 

 covered; and though carrion crows are scarce in this game-preservin^ 

 county, the rooks, especially in dry seasons, are scarcely less active as egg- 

 stealers. In this respect Mr. Dix considers that the eggs are safer when 

 laid in the middle of a wide open field, than, as is often the case, when 

 situated within some fifty yards of a large fir ' slip ' or plantation. In the 

 former case he has known the curlew fight off the rook when suspiciously 

 approaching its treasures ; on the other hand, the rook, quietly perched on 

 the trees, watches the curlew leave her nest, and at once descends to 

 plunder it. The shepherds, when driving their sheep on to the lands, 

 always mark the spot where the curlew rises, and, by her alertness or not 

 in doing so, judge whether the eggs are fresh or set upon. Nearly all the 

 e'ggs Mr. Dix has had brought to him at different times have been taken in 

 this way by the shepherds or their lads, but when a single sheep has 

 approached too near to a nest he has seen the old bird flutter its win^s, 

 and thus, by menacing attitudes, attempt to drive off the intruder. Unless 

 sought for, or come upon accidentally in their wild haunts, these birds are 

 but rarely heard or seen during the day, but towards evening they become 

 exceedingly clamorous, and as nocturnal feeders cliiefly, as evidenced by the 

 large prominent eye, their loud vibratory whistle may be heard at all hours 

 of the night. By moonlight their cries become even more incessant, and 

 amongst many treasured recollections of rural sights and sounds, is the 

 dehght with which, on the 21st of May, 1864, 1 first heard them, at West 

 Harhug, under circumstances peculiarly favourable to a lasting impression, 

 for 



" Summer was the time, and sweet the hour," 



when, long after midnight, I still sat listening at my open window, as, 

 borne on the soft breeze from the neighbouring 'breck' lands, their 

 tremulous notes blended with the wail of the lapwing ; and, in strano-e 

 contrast to such wild melody, the rich soft notes of the nightingale came up 

 from the garden, whilst the air was filled with the scent of the honeysuckle, 

 and paths, shrubs and buildings shone white in the reflection of the full 

 moon."— P. 01. 



The golden plover is a bird that was sure to attract the notice 

 of so good an observer as Mr. Stevenson, and indeed this bird 



