162 



Gyngell : A Naturalist's Holiday. 



and visiting - them again two days afterwards I counted eighteen 

 eggs, no nest containing- more than two. To find eggs in 

 abundance and select varieties the middle of June would be the 

 best time. 



Another colony of the Little Tern was also found here, and, 

 as on the north side, it was just above higii-water mark, but 

 I only turned up one or two egg's. 



No second colony of the Black-headed Gull haunts this 

 portion of the sandhills, but the Oyster-catcher was again in 

 evidence, and I came across two or three nests whilst seeking 

 those of the terns. More than once I was led to the nest 

 by following the birds' little footprints in the soft loose sand, 

 their numerous runs terminating in the nest. I became verv 

 much attached to the Oyster-catcher, which, so wary in winter 

 on the Scarborough rocks, here allowed a near approach. 

 A large flock feeding on the sands leisurely rose and flew past 

 me. I counted them — fifty-four, not including some eight or ten 

 left behind. One of their nests, which I found, was on the river 

 bank half a mile up the estuary. When tired of the day's work 

 it was interesting to sit quietly and watch them running about 

 in and out of the water at the edge of the receding tide. The 

 deep black and brilliant white plumage, with the coral-red beak 

 and legs, make a conspicuously handsome bird, whose name 

 Sea-pie is well deserved. One evening I well remember watch- 

 ing some half-dozen of them. Shortly they were joined by a few 

 sombre-coloured Curlews which regularly come down from the 

 inland moors. On the river estuary just before me a little 

 domestic comedy in bird life was being" enacted. A Common 

 Tern was flitting up and down the stream, now and again hover- 

 ing over the water. Presently another tern settled on the shore, 

 evidently a domesticated female. She uttered a peculiar call- 

 note, which was immediately answered by a sharp cry from her 

 mate, who hovered a moment some twenty feet above the water 

 and then plunged straight in like a stone, going clean under 

 water. Then he rose with a small fish, brought it to his beloved 

 and fed her with it. Again he went back to his fishing, and 

 when successful returned once more to his mate. To a lover of 

 nature the scene was an ideal one. Just across the river the 

 little hamlet of whitewashed cottages ; beyond, the wooded 

 valleys running up amongst the moors which, spreading inland, 

 rise higher and higher till they break up into the jagged peaks 

 of the lakeland hills, culminating in Scawfell Pike, clearly visible 

 some miles away, the highest of English mountains. 



Xauiralist, 



