incubation. On June 2nd, 1894, I found a Ring-Ouzel's nest in a hollow on the moors. The eggs were partly incubated, and the cock was on the nest. I retired some distance, and then returned, again to find the cock on the nest. I then sat down at a short distance from the nest. The cock kept hanging around, and in about ten minutes entered the hollow, and there remained for two or three minutes. I had taken the eggs for a museum, so that there was nothing to induce him to stay longer. They certainly are shy birds. Gätke ('Birds of Heligoland,' p. 252) writes:—"They are here, next to the Missel-Thrush, the shyest and most cunning of all the Thrushes." When disturbed feeding in some lonely moorland field, on their first arrival here, or far from their nests, or, again, when family duties are at an end, up they fly, perch on a wall, and presently, if the unwelcome visitor does not withdraw, they betake themselves to some distant feeding ground. By stealing quietly up to a wall, and slowly raising the eyes above its top, one may watch the Ring-Ouzels as they hop about such a field, feeding after the manner of the other members of their genus, hopping quietly for a few paces, then stopping as if listening for some expected sound, and sooner or later bounding suddenly forward, and with vigorous tugs hauling an unlucky worm from its retreat. Seebohm states ('British Birds,' vol. i. p. 245) that the Ring-Ouzel, like the Song-Thrush and Blackbird, breaks snails' shells against stones. I should like to have some further evidence of this. I can only say that neither Mr. Peat nor I have ever witnessed anything of the sort. On the moors there are very few snails, but in the wilder parts of the dales great quantities may be found.
There is no doubt that Ring-Ouzels are fond of berries. In July and August their droppings are often stained as a result of the bilberries and cloudberries which they have eaten. And at times they take heavy toll on gardens near their haunts.
But I must recur to their supposed skulking habits. When the young birds first leave the nest they have a peculiar twittering call, not altogether unlike the song of the Wheatear. If, attracted by this sound, an attempt is made to approach them, and to observe them at close quarters, they will generally fly for some fifty yards, and plunge into the heather. I have caught many young Ring-Ouzels by marking the spot where they thus
