DECEMBER 251 



as it whistles across this rocky ledge, which runs far 

 out to sea. It is a favourite landing-place for birds 

 coming in from the north or north-east, and wildfowl 

 passing up or down the coast must either cross it or go 

 out of their way to avoid it. As they usually adopt 

 the former course, this natural breakwater makes the 

 best of stations for observation and also, as many an 

 old gunner knows, for lying ambushed amongst the 

 boulders, his black-coated retriever at his feet, and his 

 heavy muzzle-loader in readiness for the flight-ducks. 

 There he will wait for hours, sometimes in bitter 

 weather, when it is blowing hard, and when snow- 

 showers close in the outlook but for a momentary 

 clearance about every half hour. Under such 

 circumstances the ducks are sure to be on the move. 

 A wood-pigeon comes in from seaward, and a wood- 

 cock follows, just topping the waves, — curious that 

 migration should be continued thus late, to the very 

 close of the year. A little bunch of Knots in grey 

 winter dress alights close at hand to seek shelter on 

 the margin of a rock-pool. In a lull between the 

 squalls, Snow Buntings twitter cheerfully from the 

 grassy cliff-slope. Following them up, we find a large 

 flock of Golden Plover, resting with peewits on a frozen 

 stubble. In another field a party of Dunlin, driven 

 from the shore by the tide, is running about with larks 

 and starlings. In such wild and wintry weather we 

 never fail to see the Glaucous Gull, a fine species 



