the far north and seeks its food during the winter on the meadows, or perhaps of the American Golden Plover that each year covers a vast expanse of ocean in its journey from its breeding ground. The length of the distance strikes the imagination and constrains us to focus attention upon the extremes.
But migration is of much wider significance than is here represented. I sit beside the River Severn in April and watch Swallows. TreePipits, and Yellow Wagtails passing in twos and threes, in small parties, or it may be in small flocks; and I observe that while some establish themselves in the neighbourhood, others pass on. Or I watch Herring-Gulls returning to the breeding station at Bolt Head, an endless stream of individuals coming from the east as far as eye can reach; following them for some miles inland I see them still, first as specks upon the horizon, then passing beside me as they beat their way slowly against the strong south-westerly winds, and finally disappearing from view in the direction of the cliffs. Or again. I watch Buntings and Finches deserting the flock and seeking stations in the marsh, or amongst the furze-bushes on the common, or in the spinneys. In each case the proximate end of the behaviour is alike—wherein then lies the difference? Only in the distance which separates the territory from the area in which the birds formerly associated. And intermediate between the extremes. I doubt not, if we bad a sufficient body of observations, that we should
