The Zoologist — September, 1868. 1369 



boulders the house is built. Our path lay up a steep track among 

 huge fallen masses of rock many tons in weight. Arriving at the 

 stunted elder bushes, which are the only trees which grow on the 

 Craig, we take off coats, jackets and boots, and all superfluous 

 clothing, and strapping a vasculum tightly on my back, 1 am ready 

 to proceed. The morning mist is just rising from the summit of the 

 Craig, and the sun shines bright and clear, and the sea, without a 

 ripple, lies sleeping in the sunlight. The birds far above us are 

 wheeling round, and every moment arriving from out at sea, flickering 

 like ethereal spirits in the glowing light. Eager to explore the crags 

 above 1 keep close behind the cragsman as he leads the way, clam- 

 bering over huge fallen rocks, leaping from crag to crag, now cau- 

 tiously creeping along narrow ledges overhanging the sea, carefully 

 avoiding all loose masses, till we gain a considerable elevation; but 

 only puffins as yet breed here, and on every patch of earth between 

 the rocks a demure wee "patie" sits, which as we approach flies, or 

 rather darts, downwards with a swift flickering of its wings, and 

 plunges into the sea. After resting a minute the climber takes a 

 different path, while he points out to me the way to reach a net 

 above. I scrape my stockings into the earth to prevent slipping on 

 the sharp rocks, and clamber up, and aided by a cool head and 

 careful step, I near the net. Three or four razorbills are struggling 

 violently as I approach, and groaning with their peculiar note: 

 I seize hold of an unfortunate " patie," and it seizes hold of me, 

 giving a severe bite. T set to work to extricate the razorbills, but 

 have great difficulty in taking hold of them, as they seem all mouth, 

 biting most savagely and holding on grimly. I obtain two very fair 

 specimens and kill them, tie them together ready for the climber to 

 carry down, and have time to survey the scene. A sublime yet 

 awfully grand spot ! High above me the dizzy precipice frowns with 

 grim crags and huge rocks that have fallen from the heights above, 

 blocking up the path— all wild, barren and grim, with scarce a patch 

 of soil. Hundreds of kittiwakes have built their neat little nests to 

 the rocks, and are flying about me and arriving from the sea, and 

 wheeling far overhead: on every crag, or cranny, or jumble of rock, 

 a solemn razorbill or guillemot sits, anon darting downwards into the 

 sea, where, in the glassy green sea below, they are floating in chains 

 or circles, or diving and gambolling and splashing the water over 

 their backs in sport. The net is just stretched over the rocks and 

 held in its place by blocks of rock, which with a very slight touch 



SECOND SERIES — VOL. III. ~ Y 



