and the noisy yelp of the redshank were mingled continually with the music of the sea-pies, whilst the laugh of the herring-gull and the rook-like complaints of black-heads introduced harsher though not discordant notes. Hour after hour the sound swelled or died down, but the birds were never silent; the difficulty was to pick out individual calls.
High tides in early October are perhaps the best of the year from the bird-watcher's point of view, for though large numbers of northern waders arrive in September, and even in August, there are in the later month hosts of winterers added to the birds of passage. These last are here for a few days, or at the most weeks, and in winter have passed far to the south; in the warmer months they are at their breeding haunts when the short Arctic summer uncovers the luxuriant tundras. But the great southward tide of northern birds is not always regular in its visits; the shores may be lined in September and vacated in October, for the autumn crowds ebb and flow, and a poor day may be followed by one of great abundance.
The first waders which sought the still uncovered rocks which fringe the grass-grown portion of the Eye were dunlins and ringed plovers; these and numerous noisy and very wide-awake redshanks had been feeding as long as possible upon the sand. The redshanks, always nervous, were quick to see that the islet was not untenanted; each as it approached went off yelling blue murder towards Middle Hilbre, and we were glad to see the spoil-sports depart. The dunlins arrived in flocks of from a score to several hundred birds, wheeled round, flashing silvery white as they all turned their underparts towards us, swept past with a rustle as of many silken skirts, and then settled almost at our feet. Immediately some tucked their bills into their scapulars, raised one leg, and
