is really a falcon, not a ‘‘ hawk.’ No bird is so easily identi- 
fied on the wing. And this because of its habit of hovering 
in mid-air as though suspended from the sky by some invisible 
thread, while it searches the earth far below for stray mice. 
The kestrel’s lordly relative, the peregrine-falcon, is nowadays 
only to be seen in a few favoured spots, out in the wilds—on 
beetling cliffs washed by the restless sea, or inland precipices. 
Those who have the good fortune to see it at rest may know 
it by its large size, strongly barred under parts, dark blue- 
grey back and wings, and dark moustachial stripe. On the 
wing it is a joy to watch, for its flight impresses one as some- 
thing irresistible: something from which there can be no 
escape, so swift is it, and so terrible in its directness and 
strength. A few rapid beats of its long, pointed wings, then 
a long glide on motionless pinions, and it is swallowed up 
in the distance. On the moors of Scotland it is regarded 
with cordial dislike, because of the terror it spreads among 
the grouse. Hence, unhappily, every man’s hand is against it. 
The little hobby is another of our falcons which is remorse- 
lessly shot down by the gamekeepers, who, all too commonly, 
lack both knowledge and discretion. In appearance it closely 
resembles the peregrin, and its flight is similar. It feeds 
chiefly on small birds, dragon-flies, and beetles. You may 
hope to find it—generally in vain—in well-wooded districts, 
from April to September, in the southern counties of England. 
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