ORNITUOLOlilCAL OBSERVATION IN ICELAND. 03 



are not wanted — by us. I should be glad of a flock of them in 

 my tent to-night. The lied-necked Plialarope is common in 

 Iceland and — as is commonly the case as between the preyed-on 

 and preying on species, if man will let them both alone— so are 

 mosquitoes. 



The Kedwing is here, in what may be called the bush 

 country, a thick growth of birch trees, that is to say, dwarfed to 

 that size, and modified into that appearance, growing over a 

 series of mtermingled pits and hillocks, the latter being in their 

 foundation great heaps of stony cinders. What has caused 

 the corresponding pits, unless they are the miniature craters 

 from which these have been cast forth, I do not know. A pair 

 of these birds have a nest not far from where I have finally pitched 

 my tent, which is completely hidden now amongst the bushes. 

 Not from them, however, and, up till to-day, their tactics in rela- 

 tion to the settlement have been as follows. Whenever I have 

 gone outside the tent, they have dogged my footsteps in a state 

 of excited apprehension, one of them, in particular, making a 

 violent harsh chattering, whilst the other — I presume the male 

 — has, from time to time, varied it with snatches of song which, 

 though it may not be equal to that of our Thrush or Blackbird, 

 I found pleasant enough to listen to. Or be would sit, for some 

 time, quite silent in one of the birch-bushes — often surprisingly 

 near me — with an expression — or appearance — of combined 

 agitation, resolution and vigilant watchfulness, with which I very 

 much sympathised. When, however, I had entered my tent, 

 which commanded the bird's territory, so to speak, and from which 

 I would gladly have seen something of their un-man-marred ways, 

 they became, from that moment, invisible, save for some chance 

 glimpse, perhaps, though the song was still sometimes to be 

 heard. It was something like " be-dee, be-dee, be-dee " uttered 

 quickly in a wild, sweet tone, having, by its generalised resem- 

 blance to that of more familiar members of the family, all 

 woodland associations in it. 



"The trick of that voice I do well remember," 



I thought, and England came back to me strangely. To-day, 

 however, neither bird has come near me whilst I have been 

 about — save for one hurried glance, I have neither heard nor 



