NOTICES OF NEW BOOKS. 119 
“The conclusion I came to after my Heligoland experience was that the 
desire to migrate was an hereditary impulse, to which the descendants of 
migratory birds were subject in spring and autumn, which has during the 
lapse of ages acquired a force almost, if not quite, as irresistible as the 
instinct to breed in spring. On the other hand, the direction in which to 
migrate appears to be absolutely unknown to the young birds in their first 
autumn, and has to be learnt by experience. The idea that the knowledge 
of where to migrate is a mysterious gift of Nature, the miraculous quality 
of which is attempted to be concealed under the semi-scientific term of 
instinct, appears to be without any foundation in fact. It appears that 
each individual bird has to find out its proper winter quarters for itself, and 
learn the way thither as best it may. That birds have keen organs of 
sight is a fact well known to all who have watched them obtaining their 
food or eluding their enemies. That they must have wonderful memories 
for place is shown by the distance they roam from their nests, and the con- 
cealed spots in which they seem to have no difficulty in finding them 
again. Amongst true migratory birds, that is amongst birds which have 
a winter as well as a summer home, as distinguished from gipsy migrants 
who perpetually loaf about on the outskirts of the frost during winter, con- 
tinually changing their latitude with the temperature, it appears to be a 
general rule that the farther north a species goes to breed the farther 
south it goes to winter. It is not known if this applies to individuals as 
well as to species.” 
Apropos of this subject, we may refer to a curious migration 
of Wild Geese, of which an illustration is given, observed by Mr. 
Seebohm while crossing the interior of the tundra near Bolvanski 
Bucht. He says (p. 282) :— 
“Thad not gone more than a mile when I heard the cackle of geese. 
A bend of the river’s bed gave me an opportunity of stalking them, and 
when I came within sight I beheld an extraordinary and interesting scene. 
One hundred, at least, old geese, and quite as many young ones, perhaps 
even twice or thrice that number, were marching like a regiment of 
soldiers. The vanguard, consisting of old birds, was halfway across the 
stream ; the rear, composed principally of goslings, was running down the 
steep bank towards the water's edge as fast as their young legs could carry 
them. Both banks of the river, where the geese had doubtless been 
feeding, were strewn with feathers, and in five minutes I picked up a 
handful of quills. The flock was evidently migrating to the interior of the 
tundra, moulting as it went along.” 
When referring in our former notice of this book to the 
breeding of the Curlew Sandpiper (p. 79), we alluded to the 
