THE SWIFTEST OF BRITISH HAWKS 67 



pure white splashed with longitudinal black markings, and his legs and the 

 feathers of the thighs quite a bright red. 



I could not make out what kind of bird he was holding, for since it was 

 devoid of feathers, it was not easy to judge, but I should think that it was a 

 warbler of some kind — certainly it was not a lark. 



Soon the female fluttered to his side, and taking the bird from his talons 

 with hers, returned to the nest and fed the young ones as before. After the 

 meal was finished, and this time the family seemed satisfied, she lay on her 

 side in the nest and puffed out her feathers very much as a chicken does when 

 it dusts itself, and then collecting the young ones under her, she once more 

 brooded them. 



During the first week in August I climbed to the nest with the idea of 

 inspecting the young Hobbies at close quarters, and went through a really 

 remarkable — and quite unexpected — experience whilst doing so. 



The female Hobby, as I commenced to ascend the tree, took perch upo» 

 her favourite dead branch, and as I had expected, began to scream heartily. 



When my head was almost on a level with the nest, I looked across at her, 

 silhouetted against the sky, and was quite surprised when she did not go 

 off. 



My surprise increased to amazement when I saw her start, with the definite 

 action of a hawk fljang some quarry, straight towards me ! 



For a few seconds I really thought she was going to ' bind to ' my face ! 

 But as she reached me she suddenly shot up with a ' fwt ' of wings into the air 

 straight overhead — ^leaving as a souvenir, three bleeding scratches across my 

 forehead. 



My companions down below gazed in astonishment as they saw her turn 

 over and stoop again, only missing my head by a fraction of an inch as I ducked 

 to avoid her — and again and again she threw up, turned, and came rushing by, 

 sometimes hitting the mark, sometimes just missing me. 



Once I held up my hand, which she hit with a resounding ' smack ' — and 

 for a moment I feared that I had done her some harm ! But in a few moments 

 she had regained her pitch and was pressing the attack in the most energetic 

 manner. 



What a grand little Falcon ! 



On August 20th the young Hobbies had left the nest, and were soaring 

 at a vast height over the trees. I climbed up to the nest with the idea of dis- 

 covering what creatm-es they were in the habit of taking. Amongst the debris 

 in the nest were the wings of a May-bug, several cleanly-picked wings of larks, 

 and the wing bones, with most of the primaries still intact, of a swift — ^and not 

 the wings of a young swift, but of a mature bird. 



When one watches a batch of swifts as they flash screaming around the 

 houses in their enjoyment of the evening flight, one may well deliberate upon 



