His hat was also an excellent insect-box, and a convenient receptacle for many things. He had a false crown put in the upper part of it, well stored with pins. And even when he went out to walk with his wife and children, he would occupy part of his time in looking for and storing up moths and butterflies, so that not an opportunity nor a moment’s time was lost.

He carried his caterpillars in a tin box, with several compartments; and his snails in a similar box of smaller dimensions. His eggs, after being emptied, were put into a sort of canister, and being well packed with cotton wool, they very seldom broke, although he carried them about with him for days together.

Whenever he shot a bird or animal, his first business was to fill up the mouth and nostrils with cotton wadding, and then to search for the wounds and fill them up. By this means he always got his specimens home clean. This he found to be indispensably necessary with sea birds, if he wished to bring them home unsoiled.

Being unable to purchase presses for his plants, he used heavy flat stones, and boxes filled with gravel and dry sand. These answered very well, and were all the presses he ever had.

After his first exhibition at Banff, Edward became a general referee as to all natural and unnatural objects found in the district. People of all sorts brought “things” to him, to ascertain what they were. Sometimes they were rare objects, sometimes they were monstrosities. His decision did not always satisfy the inquirers; and then they sent the objects to some other person, who, they thought, knew better. They always found, however, that Edward had been right in his decisions. When he knew with certainty, he gave his opinion. When he did not know the object, he said he could not give an opinion. And this was, doubtless, the best course to adopt.

Several of his friends told him that he ought to extend his investigations into Aberdeen, and even into Elgin. They did not offer to help him, but they advised him to go. He had now eight of a family, and his wages, allowing for extra work, only amounted to about fifteen or sixteen shillings a week. To range the counties of Aberdeen, Banff, and Elgin, in search of objects in Natural History, while he was maintaining his family on such slender wages, was therefore an altogether impossible task.

His wife was his best helper. She bound all his upper leathers, and also the upper leathers of several of the other workmen. The wages paid to her were distinct from the wages paid to Edward. Very often, instead of spending her earnings on clothes or bringing the money home, she would buy for her husband bottles for his insects, wood for his bird-cases, or powder and shot for his gun. None of his advising friends ever helped him in this way.

And yet Edward did extend his investigations farther into Banffshire, and even into Aberdeenshire. With that view he obtained a certificate, drawn up by the Clerk of the Peace, and signed by sixteen Justices of the Peace, enabling him to go over the country with his gun, in search of birds and other things. He always carried this certificate with him; and when he presented it to a gamekeeper, he was allowed to go wherever he pleased. The certificate was as follows:—

Edward was now in the prime of life, yet he was drawing very heavily upon his constitutional powers. Sleeping out of doors nightly, whether the weather was fair or foul, subjected him to many attacks of cold and rheumatism. Yet he had no sooner recovered, than he was out again at his nightly work. He was still as wild a bird-nester as he had ever been in his youth. He would go to any distance or to any place, to find a bird or a bird’s nest that was new to him. He would run up a tree like a squirrel, and come down again with the birds or the nest.

He would also walk or climb up a precipice when a nest was to be had. Of course he had many falls. But what of that, if the object was gained? The most dangerous fall that he ever had was at Tarlair. The circumstance may be described, as a specimen of the dangers which Edward ran in his pursuit of Natural History. The author went to see the place, and was afraid to look down into the chasm amongst the rocks into which the Naturalist had fallen.

The little valley of Tarlair is about three miles east of Banff. It is not far from Macduff. The road to Tarlair is along the bare bluff coast; and when you reach the top of a lofty point, you see beneath you a green grassy valley indenting the rocks. At the inner end of the valley is a little well-house, where inland people come during summer-time, to drink the mineral waters.[36] Eastward of Tarlair the rocky cliffs ascend higher and higher,—rising to their loftiest height in the almost perpendicular cliff of Gamrie Mohr.

The place at which Edward met with his accident, occurred at the projecting point of the valley above mentioned, where the rocks begin to ascend. Not far from the mouth of the valley there is, in the face of the rock, a very large, high, and wide-mouthed cave or chasm, fronting the sea. The back wall of the cave, as well as the sides, contain a number of strange-like openings, and fantastical projections, one of which is called “the pulpit.” Edward often sat in the cave, and also slept in it; but he never preached in it, though he several times brought down sea-gulls and hoodie-crows with his gun. The bottom of the cave is thickly covered with stones and boulders thrown in by the sea, which, in storms, dashes with great fury into its innermost recesses.

In the roof, and near the front of the cave, a few martens build their nests every season. As Edward was coming home one morning from his night’s work, and while he was walking under the cliff, intending to come out at Tarlair, he observed one of the martens flying out of the cave, and shot it. Instead of dropping at his feet, it fell on the top of the cliff. How was he to get at the bird? He might have gone round a considerable way, and thus reached the top of the rock. But this would have involved the loss of considerable time; and he was anxious to get home to his work.

There was another way of getting at the bird, and that was by scrambling directly up the face of the cliff. He determined on adopting the latter course. Usually, when ascending rocks, he used to tie his gun to his back, as both hands were required to grip and clutch the edges of the rock above him. But, on this occasion, not wishing to lose further time by buckling on his gun, he determined, dangerous though it was, to ascend the precipice gun in hand. By grasping the stones above him with his hands and nails, and putting the tips of his shoes into the crevices of the rocks, or sometimes only on to a little tuft of grass, he contrived to haul himself up. He managed very well until he reached about the middle of the ascent, where a bend occurs in the rocks. There he became fixed. To come down, unless headlong, was impossible; and to go up seemed equally impracticable. In that case he would have had to drop his gun, and smash it to bits on the rocks below. This he could not afford to do. Still, he could not stay there. With bated breath and steady eye, he clutched a little projection of rock standing out far above him. He caught it, clambered a little way up, then secured a firmer footing, and at last reached the summit in safety.

His troubles were not over. They were only beginning. He looked about for the bird. It lay only a few yards from him. It was on the edge of the cliff, and seemed apparently dead. On stooping to pick it up, it fluttered, raised one of its wings, and went over the precipice. In his eagerness to catch it, or perhaps from the excited state in which he was from mounting the cliff, Edward grasped at the bird, missed it, lost his footing on the smooth rock, and fell over the precipice. His gun fell out of his hand and lodged across two rocks jutting out from the beach below. Edward fell upon his gun, and smashed it to pieces; but it broke the force of the blow, and probably saved his life. A fall of at least forty feet on rocks and stones would certainly have killed most men, or at least broken many of their bones. When afterwards endeavouring to recall his feelings on the occasion, Edward said,—“I remember that, on losing my balance, my gun slipped from my hand, and I uttered the exclamation, ‘O God!’ Then my breath seemed to be cut by a strong wind, which made me compress my lips. I shut my eyes, and felt a strange-like sensation of a rushing sound in my ears; and then of coming suddenly and violently, with a tremendous thud, upon the stony rock.”

His breath was gone, and it was long before he could recover it. He was for a time utterly senseless. On slightly recovering consciousness, he thought he was under the influence of a night-mare. He seemed to be in bed, and saw before him hideous faces, grinning and grimacing, like so many demons. He tried to shake them off, to shut them out. But no! the monsters were still there in all their hideousness, and still he was utterly helpless.

At length two ploughmen, who had been working in the adjoining field, and seen Edward fall over the cliff, came forward to its edge, and looked down upon him wedged among the rocks. “Ye’re no dead yet, are ye?” said one of the men. Edward was unable to make any answer. “Fa is’t?” said the other man. “Ou! it’s that feel chiel[37] that’s aye gaun aboot wi’ his gun and his wallets!” The men looked down again in consternation, with eyes that seemed about to leap from their sockets. Edward at length began to feel about him. He felt himself wedged, as in a vice, between two long and oval pieces of rock, and quite unable to set himself free. The two countrymen went round by the Tarlair pathway, in order to get Edward out of his fixture. It seemed to him an age before they arrived.

They at first took him by the shoulder and tried to lift him out. But this was so painful to him, that at last they desisted. They then tried to remove one of the rocks, between which he lay clasped. This also proved fruitless. Edward then observed that the other rock, which they had not yet tried to remove, consisted of a loose shale. It had either dropped from the cliff, or been tossed inshore by the sea. Edward desired them to try and move it a little. But their joint efforts proved unavailing. Many attempts were made to no purpose. A stout fisherman then appeared on the scene. He put his shoulder to the rock, and the block was at last moved sufficiently far, so as to enable Edward to be dragged out of the vice.

He sat down and felt himself all over. His left shoulder and left side were extremely sore. The back of his head was also very painful. But he was thankful to find that neither his arms nor his legs were broken. He was not so sure about his left ribs. He was very much bruised and cut on that side. One of the splinters of the gun-stock was found sticking through his coat. An old copper powder-flask, which he had in his left pocket, was as flat as a flounder; all its contents were dashed out.

Edward entreated the men to help him to get to the cave. He thought that, if left there for a time, he would soon recover. He got upon his feet with difficulty, and found that his spine had been hurt. With the help of two of the men, he was at last able to walk very slowly to the cave. They urged him to allow them to carry him to the cottage near the Mineral Well. But he preferred to rest in the cave. They prepared a bed of seaweed for him, on which he lay down. His protectors then left him, and, spite of his pain, he fell asleep. He must have slept some time, for he was awakened by the murmuring of the sea, which was fast approaching the cave.

Feeling that his sickly feeling had left him, and that he was on the whole much better, although his left side and shoulder were still very painful, he gathered himself together and rose to his feet. He staggered about a little at first; but he was at last able to return in search of his gun. He found it in a woeful plight. The stock was broken to bits, and the barrel and lock were laid in the hollow. He gathered up the fragments of the companion of his travels for so many years; and, divesting himself of the heaviest of his wallets, he left them in a corner of the cave. Then, keeping hold of the rocks, he contrived to reach the inner side of the Tarlair valley. From thence he had a weary walk to Banff. He took many rests by the way, and at length reached home in the afternoon, sore, sick, and weary; and went to bed. His wounds were then looked to. It was found that none of his ribs were broken, and that he had only sustained some severe contusions. It was, however, nearly a fortnight before he could do any work. A month elapsed before he could walk to Tarlair for the wallets and remains of his gun which he had left in the hollow of the cave.

To support his family during his illness, he was forced to sell a considerable portion of the Collection which he had made during the last few years. Although it was not so large as that which he had exhibited at Aberdeen, it contained many rarer birds, insects, crustacea, zoophytes, and plants; and it was on the whole much better got up. He sold about 100 cases at this time, consisting chiefly of preserved birds, insects, and eggs. He also sold about 300 plants, and more than 200 zoophytes; besides about 100 minerals or fossils. Among the plants, were a great number unnamed. He had as yet no botanical books; and the friends to whom he applied could not supply the names. They considered them very rare, if not new and unnamed.

It was a great blow to him to sell a portion of his second Collection. But he had no help for it. It was his only Savings Bank. When other means failed him, he could only rely upon it. He had no friends in his neighbourhood to help him. His specimens went to many places, far and near. A considerable portion of them went to Haslar, near Southampton, where one of the hospital surgeons was making a collection of objects in Natural History.

CHAPTER XI.
BEGINS TO PUBLISH HIS OBSERVATIONS.

Shortly after Edward’s return from Aberdeen, his old and much esteemed friend, the Rev. James Smith, of the Manse of Monquhitter, situated about ten miles south-east of Banff, lent him some works on Natural History. These enabled Edward to ascertain the names of some of the birds which he discovered in the neighbourhood.

One day, while walking along the sea-coast, Edward shot a Bridled Guillemot (Uria lachrymans),—a bird not before known to frequent the district. When he informed Mr. Smith of the circumstance, the reverend gentleman thus wrote to him: “The discovery of the Bridled Guillemot at Gamrie is very interesting, and affords another confirmation of the remark that there are many things yet to be found out, almost at our doors, by those who have a relish for the works of Nature, and who will make a good use of the faculties which the Almighty has bestowed upon them. In my own case, I have now almost no opportunity in my power for prosecuting researches in Natural History out of doors; and, even if I had, there is so little sympathy for any proceedings of this nature, that I should to a certainty be regarded, by almost all my parishioners, as half-mad, or at least as childish, and neglecting my more serious duties. Still, I always feel a strong interest in the subject, and in any discovery which is made in regard to it.”

As Edward had no narrow-minded parishioners to encounter, he went on with his researches. Mr. Smith strongly encouraged him to persevere. He also advised him to note down the facts which came under his notice; and to publish the results of his observations. This surprised Edward. “Why,” said he, “I cannot write for the publishers.” “You must learn to write,” said Mr. Smith; “and in order to write correctly you must study grammar.”

He importuned Edward so much, that at last he said he “had no use for grammar.” “You cannot write without it,” said Mr. Smith. “But,” returned Edward, “I have no intention of writing.” “You must write,” said Mr. Smith. “You must write down all that you learn respecting the objects you are collecting. It is a duty that you owe to society, and it will be very selfish on your part if you do not publish the results of your observations.”

After about half-an-hour’s arguing, Edward asked, “How long do you think it would take me to learn grammar?” “Well,” said Mr. Smith, “I do not think you would take very long to learn it. But,” he added, “you will require to relinquish your out-door pursuits during that time.” “If that be the case, Mr. Smith, I am afraid that I cannot become a pupil. But, if I have any time left after I have done with Nature, then perhaps I may begin to study grammar; but not till then.”

Mr. Smith’s advice, however, was not without its good results. Edward did begin to note down his observations about natural objects, and he published them from time to time in the local paper, the Banffshire Journal. When the present author asked for a sight of the articles, Edward replied, “I think I could supply you with scraps of a good number, although, on looking over my stock, I find that a great many have disappeared. My family and friends have dealt very freely with them. In fact, they were found good for ‘kinlin’.[38] The most of what I wrote in the local papers is lost, for ever lost.”

Among the articles which he was able to collect, we find descriptions of rare moths, rare birds, and rare fishes. Perhaps one of the first articles which he published, was a description of a “Death’s-head Moth” found in the parish of Ruthven—one of the most wonderful, as it is one of the most extraordinary of insects.

“In its caterpillar state,” says Edward, “it has the power of making a pretty loud snapping-like noise, which has been compared by some to a series of electric sparks. The chrysalis squeaks, but more particularly when about to change. And, as to the perfect insect itself, it is gifted with a voice which it has the power of modulating at pleasure, being sometimes of a plaintive nature, then mournful, then like the moaning of a child, then again like the squeaking of a mouse. This, together with the fact that it carries on a portion of its back,—that part called the thorax,—an impression of the front view of a human skull (hence its name of Death’s-head), has made it an object of the greatest terror and dislike amongst the ignorant and superstitious. It is looked upon, not as the handiwork of the Almighty, but as the agent of evil spirits. The very shining of its large bright eyes, which sparkle like diamonds, is believed to represent the fiery element from which it is supposed to have sprung. On one occasion these insects appeared in great abundance in various districts of Bretagne, and produced great trepidation among the inhabitants, who considered them to be the forerunners, and even the causes, of epidemic diseases and other calamities. In the Isle of France it is believed that any down or dust from their wings falling on the eyes causes immediate blindness. All this is, of course, merely the result of superstitious prejudice.

“The Death’s-head is said to be the largest moth we have, and is, in fact, the largest found inhabiting Europe, save the Peacock moth. Be this as it may, it is a very large insect, measuring from five to six inches across the wings, and having a body proportionately long and thick. The caterpillar, which is smooth, and of a greenish-yellow, with minute black dots all over, and with seven or eight bluish stripes on the sides, having a horn above the tail, is likewise very large,—being, when full grown, about six inches long. It feeds on the potato, the deadly-nightshade, the jasmine, and the Lycium barbarum, and other plants of as dissimilar a nature.”

In another article he mentioned the Herald Moth (Scaliopteryx libatrix), a specimen of which was presented to him by Mrs. G. Bannerman. He describes this beautiful insect as occurring in great profusion in some of the southern parts of England, but as very rare in the north. It is called the “Herald” moth, because it is said to indicate the approach of winter.

The Peacock Butterfly (Papilio Io), was caught in Duff House garden, close to Banff. Although common in England, this butterfly is very rare in Scotland. Morris makes no mention of its ever having been seen in the north. A great flock of these butterflies passed over a part of Switzerland in 1828, when they were described as a swarm of locusts. This circumstance led Edward to insert some observations regarding that destructive insect, the Locusta migratoria, which passed over this country in the year 1846, the ever-memorable potato-famine year.

“Great numbers,” he says, “were found in the counties of Aberdeen, Banff, and Moray. Several were also got in the sea at Aberdeen, as well as near Banff. Some of those found were very large, being two and a half inches long, and nearly as thick as one’s little finger; their wings expanding to about four inches in breadth. Nine of this size were found by one individual in a turnip-field at the Stocket, near Aberdeen. They were brought to me while I was there with my first unfortunate Collection. But, large though this may seem, it is nothing to others. We are told that in India there are locusts of a yard in length. I do not vouch for the fact; it is no story of mine. Pliny tells it; and from him we have it. Some found in the sea at Aberdeen were offered there for sale as ‘fleein’ fish,’ and no less a sum than ten shillings was sought for them. Strange sort of flying-fish this! Truly it may have been said that the entomological and ichthyological schoolmasters were both abroad in those days. It may, however, be remarked, that something of a similar kind took place amongst ourselves not very long ago, so that we have little room to laugh at the Aberdonians. A person having picked up a galerite (a species of fossilised sea-urchin of the Cretaceous system), near by our harbour, was showing it to some individuals, when one of them, no doubt puzzled, said, ‘O! it’s just something that somebody has made.’ But to return to the locusts. Those of which we have been speaking arrived in the month of August and the beginning of September. Now, this year it would appear that something of the same kind had taken place, as numbers have been picked up in various parts of the country. Three have, at least, been found with us, viz. two near the Moss of Banff, and one at Cornhill; another at Mintlaw, Aberdeenshire. I have also one from Lerwick, where it is said they have been rather plentiful in the corn-fields; as also in the Zetland Islands, in Unst, and the rest of the bare and isolated Skerries. In some of the Western Isles, I believe, they have actually proved a complete pest.

“As may be expected, there are many species of this creature, as there are of everything else: but those here alluded to are perhaps the most redoubtable of them all, as being the most destructive, the best known from their migratorial flights, and being, as already hinted, the species that constituted one of the awful plagues of Egypt in the days of Moses. They were doubtless the same that wasted the land of Canaan, and caused such a terrible famine, of which we read in the book of Joel. A wind drove them into the sea; their dead bodies were again cast on shore in such heaps that the Hebrews were obliged to dig large pits in which to bury them. In this country, we have about twenty-five different kinds belonging to the same family, of which the foregoing is one; but of course they are all of small size, and therefore may be said to be comparatively harmless.”

In another article, Edward mentions another insect almost equally destructive. A friend of Edward at Turriff found four Saw-flies in a piece of a fir tree that was being cut up for firewood. They are called Saw-flies “from the fact that the female possesses, posteriorly, an instrument by which she perforates, or rather saws, holes in trees, into which she drops her eggs. From this it will be seen that the larvæ are woodfeeders. In this country they are by no means numerous, and it is well that they are not, or our forests would shortly disappear; for, in places where they abound, such as in Norway, they destroy hundreds of thousands of trees in a season. It is only the growing and not the dead wood that they attack. The young grubs, as soon as they emerge from the egg, cut their way right into the very heart of the solid timber, and there they gnaw and bore in every possible direction. By this means, the tree is either killed, or so injured, that ultimately it pines and dies. The fly itself has no English name, but is known to entomologists by the term of Sirex juvencus.”

In another article, Edward mentions the fact of a Spider (Aranea domestica) having lived in one of his sealed-up cases for twelve months without food. He had before written to his reverend friend on the subject, but Mr. Smith informed him that he had no books on Entomology, and could give him no information. Edward says of his spider, that after the case had been sealed up, he saw him walking over the birds contained there, until at last he became stationary in one of the corners. “Towards noon of the second day of his incarceration, he commenced operations, and by breakfast time of the day following, his web was completed. The little artizan was then observed to walk slowly and very sedately all over the newly formed fabric, seemingly with the view of ascertaining if all was secure. This done, the aperture was next examined, and with more apparent care than was bestowed upon the rest of the structure. This wonderful mechanical contrivance,—which serves at least the fourfold purpose of storehouse, banqueting hall, watch tower, and asylum in times of danger,—being found all right, the artificer then took up his station, within it, no doubt to await the success of the net which he had spread, and from whence, had fortune proved kind, he would boldly have rushed out to secure his struggling prey. There was, however, no fly to be caught within the case. He was the only living thing in it; and there the patient creature remained without food, for the space of more than twelve months.”[39]

The notices on Natural History which appeared from time to time in the local journal, had the effect of directing general attention to the observation of natural objects; and numerous birds, fishes, insects, caterpillars, shells, and plants, were sent to Edward for examination.

In one of his notes he mentions a Cinereous Shearwater (Puffinus cinereus) found on the beach near Portsoy. This led him to give a very vivid account of the Stormy Petrel. Another of the specimens sent to him was a Dyphalcanthus longispinus, from the fossil diggings of Gamrie. “How strange!” he says. “Here we have an animal, or perhaps I should rather say a stone, part of which had once been a creature enjoying life,—but now how changed! How long is it since it lived, died, and became thus transformed? Years ago, nay ages, many ages, long anterior to the creation of man. How wonderful, and yet how true!”

Of another specimen he says—

“Here, again, is a black, pink, yellow, and brown creature, with crests and ornaments like a duchess—just, in fact, like a lady of the olden time, dressed up and decorated for a ball, with her head stuck full of feathers, her ribbons flying, and fan in hand; in other words, a caterpillar of the Vapourer Moth found in a garden at Buckie.

“And lastly, though not least, a specimen of the Mountain Bladder fern (Cystopteris montana), found on Benrinnes by a gentleman from England, and sent to me as a rarity. It was only in 1836 that this fern was made known as British, having then been for the first time met with by a party of naturalists on Ben Lawers. Since that time, however, it has been found in a ravine between Glen Dochart and Glen Lochy, Perthshire. It is also found on the mountains of North Wales, on the Alps, and on the Rocky Mountains of North America.”

Many rare birds were sent to him for examination, notices of which he recorded in the local paper. Thus, he obtained the Little Crake (Crex pusilla), a bird that had not before been found in the neighbourhood, from a land-surveyor at Whitehills. The Mountain Finch (Fringilla montifringilla) was sent to him from Macduff, where it had been driven ashore during a recent storm. A Greater Shrike or Butcher bird (Lanius excubitor)—a bird that had not before been found in Scotland,—was found dead at Drummuir Castle, and sent to him for preservation. The Spoonbill (Platalea leucorodia) and Bee-eater (Merops apiaster)—very rare birds—were also found at Boyndie.

Of the latter bird, Edward says, “This is a splendid bird, as rare as the last, if not more so. If we except the breast, which is of a bright yellow, encircled by a black ring, and some other orange and brown scattered here and there, it may be said to be of a beautiful verdigris green. The two middle tail feathers are about an inch longer than the others. The bill is longish and pointed. Though termed bee-eaters, they also feed on beetles, gnats, grasshoppers, and flies, etc. The most of these they capture on the wing, somewhat after the fashion of the Goatsucker and Swallow. Although a scarce bird with us, they are common in their native countries. In Asia Minor and the adjacent lands to the north, and in Northern Africa, they are said to be so abundant as to be seen flying about in thousands.”

Among the rarer birds found in the district, were the Bohemian Waxwing or Chatterer (Bombycilla garrula), whose native home is Bohemia,—the Black Redstart (Phœnicurus Tithys), a bird that had never before been met with in Scotland. Edward, in describing this bird, says, “It is quite possible that it may have visited the country before; but from the neglect, or rather contempt, with which natural science is regarded in this part of the country, it may have visited us, and even bred amongst us, unknown and unrecorded. There is plenty of work among us for Naturalists. A great deal has yet to be learnt regarding the various branches of natural science. There is nothing better calculated for the purpose than attentive and accurate local observers.”

On one occasion, when out shooting on the sands west of Banff, Edward brought down a very rare bird. It was a brown snipe (Macroramphus griseus), a bird well known in North America, but not in Britain. Here is Edward’s story:—

“Taking a stroll the other day to the west of the town, with my gun in hand, to get the air, I crossed the sands at the Links, and looking along them I observed a pretty large group of my old and long-loved favourites—birds. Wishing, instinctively as it were, to know what they were, I went cautiously forward to take a nearer view. I found that they consisted for the most part of ring-dotterels and dunlins, with a few golden plovers. I was somewhat astonished at seeing the plovers, for they are by no means a shore bird with us at this season of the year,—nor, in fact, at any time, except when driven by snow. But there they were, and no mistake. Not yet satisfied, however,—for I thought I could distinguish one that did not exactly belong to any of those already mentioned,—I wished to go a little nearer, and on doing so was glad to find my conjectures fully confirmed; but what the stranger was I could not tell. I saw enough, however, to convince me that it was a rare bird. There is no getting an easy shot at a stranger. The dotterels are constantly on the out-look for squalls, and when anything suspicious appears, they immediately rise and fly away. A shot, however, after a good deal of winding and twisting, was fired, and although at rather long range, broke one of the stranger’s legs. This had the effect of parting him from his companions,—they flying seawards, and he to the shingle which intervenes betwixt the sands and the Links. Here he dropped, seemingly to rise no more.

“Having reloaded in case of need, I then ran, as well as I was able, to pick him up. I gained the place, and after some difficulty, having passed and repassed him several times, I at last found my bird lying stretched out at full length amongst the pebbles, and to all appearance a corpse. It was now that I ascertained with satisfaction and pride, that the great rarity I had met with was neither more nor less than a specimen of the Brown Snipe, and a splendid one it was too, being evidently an old bird. Being almost intoxicated with delight, I sat down, and having taken some cotton wadding from my pocket to wrap round the injured leg, and stop up any other wound that he might have received, I took him up for that purpose. But, alas! there is many a slip between the cup and the lip.

“Away flew the bird just as I was about to lay him on my knee; he actually slipped out from amongst my very fingers. I fired both barrels as soon as I could get a hold of my gun, sitting though I was. But on the bird went, whistling as he flew, despite the dangling of his shattered limb, but whether in derision at my stupidity, or exulting in his own miraculous and fortunate escape, I cannot tell. Reaching the burn mouth of Boyndie, he again alighted amongst the tumbling waves there. It was now gloaming, and what between one thing or other, I was rather like an aspen leaf than anything else. Follow, however, I did; I searched the place, and was just on the eve of giving up the pursuit as hopeless—having, as I thought, beat the ground over and over again to no purpose,—when up rose the bird from amongst my very feet. Both barrels were again emptied, but with little apparent effect. The last one made him scream somewhat harshly, and falter a little in his flight, but that was all. On he sped. Darkness now put an end to any further operations for that day. Next day, however, and for many days after, I was out, but, although I searched the coast as far as the sands of Whitehills on the one side, and the burn of Melrose on the other, I could find no traces of the bird. And thus I lost perhaps one of the greatest ornithological rarities that has ever visited the district.”

One of the most vivid descriptions which Edward inserted in the Banffshire Journal, was a narrative of a day’s adventures on Gamrie Head. The editor, in introducing it to his readers, said that it reads not unlike a chapter of Audubon or Wilson. The reader will judge for himself:—

“Having promised to visit some friends in Gardenstown to partake of their hospitality during the festive season of the New Year, I left home with that object on the morning of the 31st of December 1850. I passed through Macduff, and took the path which leads along the cliffs, hoping thereby to meet with something rare or strange in the ornithological world, and worthy of my shot. In this way I had nearly reached the highest point of Gamrie Head without meeting with anything but the common tenants of these rocky braes, when my attention was attracted by the screaming of a number of birds at the bottom of the cliff. On looking over I observed that they consisted of several hooded and carrion crows, together with two ravens, two Iceland gulls (Laurus Islandicus), and a number of other dark-coloured gulls, apparently immature specimens of the great black-backed species, one of which, in perfect plumage, was standing and picking at an object floating in the water close to the rock, and about which all the other birds were screaming. It appeared to me, and it afterwards proved to be the case, that they were making food of the object about which they were fighting; but the black-backed bird kept them all at bay, allowing none to approach, not even the ravens themselves.

“Having feasted my eyes for a while on the Icelanders, the thought struck me that I would descend the cliff in order to procure one of them if possible, and also to get a nearer view of the object which had drawn the various birds together. Accordingly, observing a narrow track near me, I commenced my descent, but I had only proceeded a short distance when I found myself on the brink of a precipice. I was about to return, when, accidentally looking over, I observed a portion of the rock jutting out a little beyond the one on which I stood, and about four feet and a half below it. I now concluded that, if I could gain this rock, I would still find the path to enable me to continue downwards. With these hopes, and having laid down my gun, I swung myself down upon the rock. I had no sooner done so, than I heard a low growl, as if proceeding from a rabid dog; and on looking along the rock, I was a good deal surprised at seeing two foxes standing in a rather slouching attitude at the other end of the shelf, apparently very much discomfited at my unwarrantable intrusion.

“Another look at the place and its surly occupants was enough to convince me of the unmistakable truth that, instead of having met with a path leading to the bottom of the cliffs, I had only found one to a fox’s lair. My first impulse was to ascend the rocks, but in this I was completely baffled. The brow of the cliff to which I wished to ascend, was fully as high as my breast, and overhung the rock on which I stood. I had nothing of the nature of a step to put my foot on to aid myself up, and nothing to lay hold of with my hands but small tufts of withered grass and some small stones, all of which gave way so soon as any stress was put upon them. The last and the only remaining object within my reach was a stone about twice as large as my head, and partially embedded amongst the grass. I took hold of the big stone with both hands, and succeeded in drawing myself about half-way up when it suddenly gave way. The stone came into collision with my right shoulder, and would in all likelihood have borne me along with it to the bottom of the cliff, had it not been that at that instant I got hold of a short tuft of heath with my mouth, by the aid of which, and by using my fingers as a beast would its claws, I was enabled to regain my former position.

“It was now quite evident that I would require to descend the cliff by some means or other, but how? That was a matter for deep consideration. I was standing on the brink of a precipice,—had two cunning fellows to deal with,—had to hold on, at least with one hand, to the rock above in order to maintain my equilibrium,—and had to keep a steady eye on my companions for fear lest they should rush at me and throw me over the cliff.

“Such being the case, was I not in a pretty fix? If there were any means of escape, it was from the point near which the foxes were. But how could I dislodge them to get at that point? The space on which we stood was only from about two feet and a half to one foot broad, and about nine feet long, projecting to some distance over the cliff beneath. To have shot them, and rid myself of their presence in that fashion, was, from my position, utterly impossible.

“At length a thought struck me, and with the view of putting it in execution, I laid down my gun close to the back of the shelving, out of harm’s way; then crouching down with my feet towards my shaggy friends, who kept up a constant chattering of their teeth during the whole time, and pushing myself backwards until I reached the nearest, I gave him a kick with my foot on the hind quarters, which produced the desired effect; for I had no sooner done so, than I felt first the feet of one and then of the other passing lightly along my back, and before I had time to lift up my head, they had bolted up the precipice and disappeared.