328 THE ZOOLOGIST. 
on the pebbles below, and a water horizon round half the circle, 
unbroken by a sail, but flecked by many a curling crest tossed up 
by summer breeze. Swallows and Martins flew so low that as I lay 
I could hear the “‘ swish” and feel the winnow of wings on my face, 
for the insects were down, and might be taken from the tips of the 
wind-bowed bents, hovering, as a Kestrel takes a mouse. Some- 
times a flock of Dunlin dashed across, just clearing the crest of 
the sandhills; one flock, specially noted, for they were directly 
over my nose, had individually the black abdominal patch; yet 
another flock, which shortly followed, were birds which, excepting 
the streaky brown necks and upper breasts, had the under parts 
entirely white. Once four Black Terns, adult birds, flew past; 
they were following the coast-line towards the north, and subse- 
quently I was told other small parties had been seen moving 
northwards by the same routes. Common Terns were numerous, 
and about twenty pairs of the Lesser Tern near the old nesting- 
quarters ; I only succeeded in finding one egg, and that was partly 
covered with the drift of sand. In some rough cover of coarse 
grass and sallow-thorn a Short-eared Owl sat so close that I had 
well nigh trod upon him; off he dashed with a great flutter, 
beating to windward in an erratic see-saw fashion, the fawn- 
coloured patches on his wings shining like burnished copper. No 
doubt, like the Hooded Crows, a very late migrant, delayed from 
some cause or other—perhaps the uncongenial season—beyond 
the average date of departure. 
How persistently during the whole day did those strange birds, 
the Cuckoos, hunt the sandhills, which, by the way, like our 
Humber embankments, are a very favourite beat of theirs; the 
smaller, the male bird, is quite as assiduous in hunting up the 
Pipits’ nests as is his partner of the time; from long watching 
I conclude that he, too, hunts for nests, and possibly guides 
the female to them. ‘These sandhills swarm with Pipits; one 
nest was cleverly concealed under a bunch of grass, the other end 
of which was weighed down by a drift of sand, and under this 
self-formed arch was the cosy grass-lined nest and five brown-grey 
eggs. The Ringed Plover, several pairs of which nest in this 
locality, kept up a perpetual plaintive whistle as they hurried 
to and fro, and the creaking cries of the Terns, distressed at the 
invasion of their dominions, might be heard long after the cause 
of their trouble had passed on his way. Beautiful little wanderer 
