4654 THE ZooLocist—OcToBER, 1875. 
breeding range hardly extends beyond the midland districts and 
Wales, where I have observed it, although it is rarer there than the 
hen harrier, which still further north replaces it. This year two 
more nests—one in the New Forest and another in Dorset—have 
come to my knowledge; in one case at least the birds were ruth- 
lessly destroyed, which was a great pity, as this species does little, 
if indeed any, harm to game, whilst the services it renders by the 
destruction of mice, field voles, shrews and lizards are undoubtedly 
great. Still, frequenting as they do open situations, there is more 
chance for harriers than for most birds of prey, inasmuch as they 
are not easy of approach when on the wing, and when on the nest 
the female sits very close ; but once the nest is discovered, either 
by accident or by watching, the fate of the birds, or at least of the 
female, is in the hands of the finder. It is of a pair of Montagu’s 
harriers which escaped, at least for a season, the common doom, 
that I propose to give a short account, although, as will appear in 
the sequel, circumstances prevented them from carrying off their 
brood. 
As the only value of my observations consists in dates, I will be 
accurate, and begin at the beginning. It was on the 30th of May, 
the day after the departure of the Arctic explorers; and as my friend 
Mr. E. R. Alston, who had come down to Portsmouth to bid them 
farewell, had never had an opportunity of observing either the cirl 
bunting or the Dartford warbler—species to be found with tolerable 
certainty in suitable localities in the Isle of Wight—we started for 
the gorse-covered downs of the interior, working the sunny slopes 
and terraces on our upward way. It was not long before we had 
excellent opportunities of observing the cirl bunting, and hearing 
its weak and monotonous note; and on arriving at the summit of 
the downs, we made for the thickest patches of furze, in search of 
the Dartfords, some of which at that time had just got young, and 
were consequently less likely to skulk than usual. Suddenly, from 
the centre of a tolerably thick clump, and within half a dozen paces, 
rose a bird of a size for which we were totally unprepared, especially 
at such close quarters, and, soaring round, it displayed the unmis- 
takable form and flight of a harrier. “She’s got a nest!” “Never!” 
exclaimed my friend, hardly daring to believe in such luck; but 
the barrier of tall gorse was soon passed, and there, in the centre 
of a clearing of about four feet in diameter, lay three stone-white 
eggs, reposing in a mere hollow lined with dry grass, with an outside 
