OCCASIONAL NOTES. 59 
partially pluck and break up before taking to the young; sometimes it is a 
stump of a tree, a large moss-covered stone, or a bare mound of earth; at 
other times, if the immediate neighbourhood of the nest is covered with 
long or coarse undergrowth, they prepare the food on the branches of a 
tree. A few years ago, in the South of Scotland, I had a good view of 
a female Kite tearing a Peewit within fifteen yards of where I was concealed. 
She was evidently aware that something was wrong. Settling first on one 
branch, then on another, she kept constantly turning her head, with all the 
feathers erect like an owl, in every direction, now and then spitefully 
snatching a few feathers or a portion of flesh from the unfortunate bird. 
At last, before approaching the nest, she appeared to have discovered my 
presence; and, dropping the prey, she mounted into the air, and continued 
flying in circles for over three hours, uttering the whole time the most 
melancholy and monotonous cries. Occasionally she would swoop down to 
within twenty yards of my covering of branches, and hover over the spot, 
evidently attempting to make out what was concealed. As there appeared 
no chance of the old lady settling again—my object was to study the 
actions of the bird—I left my hiding-place, when she immediately rose in 
the air to a great height, and sailed out of sight. I have noticed that a 
Kite seldom approaches within 150 or 200 yards when anyone is in the 
immediate neighbourhood of their nest. From having frequently watched 
the young birds in the nest, I have noticed that while they believe them- 
selves unobserved, and the old birds are absent, they appear of an inquiring 
and lively disposition ; stretching their necks to the fullest extent, they peep 
and pry in all directions, shuffle round the nest, snapping at the flies and 
midges, and frequently spreading and flapping their wings. Before, how- 
ever, the first cry of the approaching old bird is heard, they drop flat on 
their breasts; then, lowering their heads and throwing up the feathers 
on their backs, they patiently await the arrival of their food. The incessant 
calls of the old bird are occasionally answered by a low plaintive whistle. 
I have observed the same habits with young birds of this species that I have 
reared in captivity—lively when they imagined themselves alone, and sulky 
and shy when anyone was present; they, however, become more sociable 
as they grow older. Their disposition appears to be totally different to 
that of young Peregrines and Ospreys. In addition to the place where 
they prepare the food for their young (and which I have heard keepers 
style “the Kite’s dressing-table”), I believe that these birds, like Grey 
Crows, occasionally have some spot to which they carry their prey to 
consume at their leisure. I once counted the remains of over thirty 
Grouse under the branches of a large fir; some were only bleached and 
weather-beaten skeletons, and probably had lain for many months. This 
stock could hardly have been brought together for the benefit of the young, 
as the nest of the pair of birds frequenting the tree was within the distance 
