﻿96 
  THE 
  ZOOLOGIST. 
  

  

  ON 
  THE 
  NESTING 
  HABITS 
  OF 
  THE 
  COMMON 
  

   BUZZARD. 
  

  

  By 
  Professor 
  J. 
  H. 
  Salter, 
  University 
  College, 
  Aberystwith. 
  

  

  While 
  the 
  term 
  " 
  common," 
  as 
  applied 
  to 
  the 
  present 
  species, 
  

   merely 
  serves 
  to 
  recall 
  the 
  fact 
  of 
  its 
  having 
  formerly 
  been 
  pro- 
  

   bably 
  the 
  most 
  familiar 
  and 
  widely 
  distributed 
  of 
  the 
  larger 
  birds 
  

   of 
  prey 
  , 
  there 
  are 
  certain 
  districts 
  where 
  the 
  epithet 
  is 
  still 
  

   merited. 
  Such 
  are 
  certain 
  parts 
  of 
  Wales 
  where, 
  over 
  a 
  wide 
  

   stretch 
  of 
  country, 
  the 
  Buzzard 
  still 
  exists 
  in 
  fair 
  numbers, 
  and 
  

   seems 
  likely 
  to 
  hold 
  its 
  own 
  for 
  many 
  years 
  to 
  come. 
  Banished 
  

   to 
  a 
  large 
  extent 
  from 
  the 
  game-preserving 
  districts, 
  it 
  finds 
  a 
  

   stronghold 
  amongst 
  the 
  rocky 
  dales 
  which 
  intersect 
  the 
  upland 
  

   sheep-walks. 
  There 
  are 
  many 
  such 
  where, 
  except 
  for 
  the 
  whistle 
  

   of 
  a 
  chance 
  shepherd 
  or 
  the 
  barking 
  of 
  his 
  dogs, 
  the 
  mewing 
  of 
  

   the 
  Buzzard 
  is 
  the 
  only 
  sound 
  which 
  breaks 
  the 
  stillness. 
  In 
  at 
  

   least 
  one 
  such 
  locality, 
  owing 
  to 
  protection, 
  the 
  " 
  Boda 
  " 
  (to 
  

   give 
  the 
  bird 
  its 
  common 
  Welsh 
  name) 
  has 
  decidedly 
  increased 
  

   in 
  numbers 
  within 
  the 
  past 
  twenty 
  years. 
  Here 
  the 
  only 
  danger 
  

   which 
  threatens 
  it 
  is 
  the 
  greed 
  of 
  the 
  egg-collector, 
  with 
  his 
  offer 
  

   for 
  " 
  British-taken 
  clutches 
  " 
  of 
  a 
  price 
  which 
  leads 
  certain 
  

   dealers 
  to 
  raid 
  the 
  whole 
  district 
  annually. 
  In 
  coming 
  years 
  it 
  

   will 
  be 
  increasingly 
  rare 
  for 
  a 
  naturalist 
  to 
  have 
  the 
  opportunity 
  

   once 
  enjoyed 
  by 
  the 
  writer 
  of 
  watching 
  the 
  Raven, 
  Kite 
  and 
  

   Buzzard 
  upon 
  the 
  wing 
  at 
  the 
  same 
  time. 
  

  

  The 
  flight 
  of 
  the 
  Buzzard 
  lends 
  to 
  the 
  bird 
  a 
  dignity 
  scarcely 
  

   borne 
  out 
  by 
  its 
  true 
  character. 
  We 
  may 
  chance, 
  in 
  rounding 
  

   some 
  rocky 
  buttress, 
  to 
  surprise 
  one 
  at 
  close 
  quarters. 
  As 
  it 
  

   wheels 
  overhead 
  we 
  can 
  see 
  the 
  yellow 
  cere, 
  watch 
  every 
  motion 
  

   of 
  its 
  head, 
  and 
  even 
  note 
  the 
  expression 
  of 
  its 
  eye. 
  But 
  a 
  few 
  

   flaps 
  carry 
  it 
  half-way 
  across 
  the 
  valley. 
  Then, 
  joined 
  meanwhile 
  

   by 
  another, 
  it 
  soars. 
  The 
  wings 
  are 
  thrown 
  upward 
  till 
  they 
  

   appear 
  nearly 
  vertical, 
  and 
  the 
  bird 
  mounts 
  in 
  a 
  series 
  of 
  grand 
  

   spiral 
  curves. 
  Now, 
  as 
  it 
  turns, 
  the 
  sun 
  glances 
  upon 
  the 
  light 
  

  

  