146 WILD SPORTS OF THE HIGHLANDS. [cuap. xvuit. 
country, while the cuckoo frequents the wooded glades and banks 
of the rivers and burns; flitting from tree to tree, alighting 
generally on some small branch close to the trunk, or chasing 
each other, uttering their singular call. So much has been 
written respecting their habit of laying their egg in the nest of 
some other bird, that I can add nothing to what is already known. 
In this country they seem to delight in the woods on the hill sides 
by the edge of loch or river, where I constantly hear their note 
of good omen. When the young ones are fledged, they remain 
for a week or two about the gardens or houses, perching on the 
railings, and darting off, like the flycatcher, in pursuit of passing 
insects. 
The nightjar is a summer resident here, building its nest—or 
rather laying its eggs, for nest it has rone—in some bare spot 
of ground, near the edge of a wood, and seldom quite within it. 
The eggs are of a peculiarly oval shape. The nightjar, during 
the daytime, will lie flat and motionless for hours together on 
some horizontal branch of a tree near the ground, or on some 
part of the ground itself which exactly resembles its own plumage 
in colour. In this manner the bird will allow a person to ap- 
proach nearly close to it before it moves, although watching 
intently with its dark eye to see if it is observed. If it fancies 
that you are looking at it, up it rises straight into the air, and 
drops again perpendicularly in some quiet spot, with a flight 
like that of an insect more than ofa bird. With the shades of 
evening comes its time of activity. With rapid and noiseless 
flight the nightjar flits and wheels round and round as you take 
your evening walk, catching. the large moths and beetles that 
you put into motion.. Sometimes the bird alights in the path 
near you, crouching close to the ground, or sits on a railing 
or gate motionless, with its tail even with its head. Frequently, 
too, these birds pitch on a house-top, and utter their singular 
jarring noise, like the rapid revolving of a wheel or the rush of 
water, and the house itself appears to be trembling, so powerful 
is their note. It is a perfectly harmless, indeed a useful bird; 
and I would as soon wantonly shoot a swallow as a nightjar. 
I admire its curiously-mottled plumage, and manner of feeding 
and flying about in the summer and autumn evenings, which 
make it more interesting when alive than it can possibly be when 
