28 BIRD LIFE THROUGHOUT THE YEAR 



and redwings in the crevices into which they crept for 

 shelter when the frost was cruel and the thaw delayed. 

 One of these great movements down the coast, 

 following a sudden onset of wintry weather, is a sight 

 to be remembered. We sally out, to find everything 

 deep in snow and more falling. The sea, having that 

 peculiar dirty, angry look which it only wears when 

 in contrast with its white setting, is dimly seen through 

 the whirling flurries. A glance shows that the rush of 

 migrants is at its height. Larks and starlings are 

 passing almost without intermission, the two together 

 constituting at least nine-tenths of the moving hosts, 

 while the various thrushes would take the third place. 

 As we plough our way through the untrodden drifts, 

 wondering at the daintily chiselled architecture of 

 wreath and cornice, there comes momentarily the rush of 

 passing wings and the murky obscurity is pierced as with 

 a hundred needles by the shrill call-note of the larks. 

 A moment later they pass overhead, but, before they 

 are out of sight, another party announces its advent. 

 It may safely be said that never, from dawn to dark of 

 this short winter's day, is there a moment when passing 

 larks are not in sight. One hesitates to make a guess 

 at the numbers of the migrating host, but it must run 

 into hundreds of thousands. But in addition to those on 

 the wing many have settled in the fields. The snow is 

 crossed and recrossed in every direction by their tracks, 

 easily to be known by the mark left by the long hind 



