The Zoologist — October, 1868. 1407 



embankment from falling, and against the ravages of the sea which 

 washes the base of these cliffs. The sea is slowly encroaching on our 

 east coast and receding on the west. In these steep walls several 

 pairs of swifts have bred now for years, making their nests in the holes 

 either where the mortar has dropped out or where they picked it out 

 themselves. The aspect of this part of the coast is almost due south, 

 easting ; so when the sun strikes on the walls they must be intensely 

 warm and congenial to the swifts. This year about fifteen pairs of 

 swifts bred in these holes, and it was my delight to watch them playing 

 about on their wonderful wings. One day in June, going along the 

 coast, as usual I stopped to watch my dear little friends, and see if 

 any young had yet made their appearance. I was surprised to see only 

 three old birds hawking about where I expected a score at least; nor 

 had I long to wait to discover the cause, for soon one of the three 

 birds fell struggling at my feet — shot ; the sportsman, a bearded indi- 

 vidual, about fifty years of age : he was evidently some frowsy towns- 

 man, come to Dalkey for sea air, and was living in a peaceful little 

 spot overhanging the railway at this delicious place, from the garden*- 

 wall of which he had shot not only all my poor swifts, but also every 

 martin in his neighbourhood. Just fancy the horrible position of the 

 poor young swifts in their nests dying of starvation — perhaps a poor 

 wounded mother, just able to struggle into her nest to die with her 

 offspring. Tell me, is there no retributive justice hereafter? are there 

 sins that do not need repentance ? I remember these walls some 

 years ago to be inhabited by about fifty pairs of swifts, and, allowing 

 eighty young — a small average — to the one hundred old birds, I had 

 in this one breeding-place nearly two hundred swifts. Oh ! such a 

 grand sight, on a still calm July evening, as this mighty host of wings 

 would be at one time — a massive scribble upon the firmament, re- 

 splendent with the hues of sunset; at another, beneath, between the 

 sea and the spectator a kaleidoscopic cloud, dizzying the brain to 

 follow : again, with the rush of a torrent, the whole mass would drive 

 past, screaming like so many demon imps in pursuit of prey — off out 

 of sight in an instant on their gay journey to gladden by their strange 

 flight some far-off scene. In their absence, how oppressive feels the 

 air, uncooled by their winnowing wings : the silence equally so, were 

 it not for the gentle murmur of the sea upon the rocks beneath, or the 

 quiet "chack, chack" of the stonechat to its young, or the ventrilo- 

 queous^'burr" of the nightjar far up on the hill-side ; yet these sounds 

 but spoke of silence the more. The tired eye might drop on the 



