able to discover. On the 13th January of this year I saw a flock of about a hundred on the channel, preparing no doubt to spread themselves along the coast, where they may now be seen in pairs—a small remnant of the thousands which, within the memory of man used to frequent the warrens in this locality. Considerable numbers are unfortunately killed during the spring, and fetch a large price for ornamental purposes. Having always been under the impression that the young of these birds take to the water for refuge at the least alarm, I was somewhat surprised at what I witnessed on the 4th August, whilst out with my gun on one of the Cumberland estuaries. I had been watching, with a telescope, a brood of nine young Sheldrakes, which, together with their parents, were basking in the sun on the mud bordering the river,—at that time three or four hundred yards in breadth,—when, having inadvertently shown my head, the whole brood rushed helter-skelter into the water, swam rapidly across the stream, and, climbing out on the opposite bank, made off across the marsh towards a hedge which bounded the adjacent cornfields. About an hour later I came suddenly upon another brood in a much narrower part of the river, and they at once proceeded to dive with the speed of lightning, popping up and down again with such rapidity that I doubt whether I could have killed any had I felt so inclined. As in the former case, as soon as these had reached what they seemed to consider a safe distance, they also left the water and disappeared on the marsh the other side. On going round by the nearest bridge I could find no trace of the young birds, though the old ones were flying round at a safe distance. I ought to mention that at low tide the river was reduced to three or four feet in depth and about thirty yards in breadth, which would be sufficient to account for these unusual proceedings on the part of the young Sheldrakes, though the old birds might have provided more effectively for their safety by leading them down to the sea, about half a mile distant. A male bird which I killed later on the same day presented a very shabby appearance—a marked contrast, especially as regards the scarlet knob at the base of the beak and the brilliancy of its plumage, to a magnificent specimen which was obtained in March by the keeper of the Walney Lighthouse.
The first of what may be called the migratory ducks—those, namely, which do not, as a rule, nest in England—appeared on our large warm water reservoir (situated about a quarter of a mile
