HABITS OF THE GREAT PLOVER. 183 



themselves are dull and listless. But as the evening falls, and 

 the air cools, they cast off their lassitude, think of the joys of 

 the night, there is dance and song for a little, and then forth 

 they fly. Sad and wailing as are their notes to our ears, they 

 are no doubt anything but so to the birds themselves, and, as the 

 accompaniment of what seems best described by the word " dance," 

 may perhaps fairly be called " song." The chants of some savages 

 whilst dancing might sound almost as sadly to us, pitched, as they 

 would be, in a minor key, and with little that we would call an 

 air. Again, if one goes by the birds' probable feelings — which 

 may not be so dissimilar to the savages', or indeed to our own on 

 similar occasions — " song" and " dance" seems a legitimate use 

 of words. 



September 13th. — Arrived 6 p.m. or little after. Very dark 

 day. Sky livid and covered with clouds, and close sultry feeling 

 as of approaching thunderstorm. It was with difficulty I could 

 distinguish some few birds. As the gloom increased I caught a 

 gleam or two, but nothing that I could see to note. Only some 

 half-dozen or so birds flew over my head at the usual time. 

 Whether the birds partook of the dullness of the day, or whether 

 the small number checked the inclination to dance (as I suspect), 

 there seemed to be very little of this. 



September 14^/i. — Arrived at about 6 p.m., but have nothing 

 special to note except that, there being some fifty or eighty birds 

 in the amphitheatre, another large flock of them, numbering, as 

 far as I could judge, from seventy-five to one hundred, flew over 

 it. They did not, however, settle, and later I alarmed some of 

 the standing ones, who flew farther away. Afterwards I counted 

 thirty-five, but this may have included the later. This shows 

 what numbers of the Great Plover there are in this part of 

 England. Long may they continue, and (that they may) may 

 nobody take the smallest interest in them ! 



September 15th. — (Weather dull, sky overclouded.) Arrived 

 about 5.o0 p.m. There were not many birds that I could make 

 out, and none near. A drizzling rain soon began, and this 

 increased gradually, but not beyond a smart drizzle. Shortly 

 after the rain commenced the birds began to come down from 

 where I had seen them, and (evidently) from other parts on the 

 outer edge of the amphitheatre, and to spread all over it till 



