The Great Crested Grebe is resident in Great Britain on many sheets of water where reeds grow in plenty, such as the Broads of Norfolk, the meres of Cheshire and Lancashire, lakes in Wales, and very occasionally only in Scotland. In the County of Stafford the Great-crested Grebe and Little Grebe, or Dabchick, are protected all the year round; and the meres in the West of Staffordshire, together with those of Shropshire, form one of the chief breeding areas of the former species of Great Britain and Ireland. On Trentham Lake, Dr. McAldowie has observed the Great-crested Grebe in mid-winter. They have also bred there of late years. On the rivers Dove and Trent, however, it has only been seen during the periods of migration. That it nests on the Lake Aqualate and on that in Trentham Park proves what the protection of landowners will do. The Great Crested Grebe is the size of a Wild Duck but more slender. The general appearance of the bird, with its long outstretched thin neck is that of a long-necked bottle. It has on its black crown a double crest, forked and inclining backwards something in the manner of ears; on its neck, beginning at the back of the head and reaching to the throat, it has a red collar of split feathers with dark borders closely set together, which surrounds the sides of the head and the throat. The legs are constructed for propelling by a sideways stroke; instead of a true web, it has divided, cross-ribbed broad flaps on the toes, the pads of which are flat and broad. Beak sharp and pointed as a dagger; tail consists of a few little ragged feathers. The spot on the wings is white. The female has a smaller collar, and is more uniform in colour. AN ELEGY. Our children will perhaps know less than we do of the delightful poems of Robert Burns, composed as so many of them were whilst he followed the plough, with ever a keen eye for bird and blossom wherever his work might lead him. I cannot resist quoting here that wonderful elegy of his:-- “Mourn, ye wee songsters of the wood; Ye Grouse that crap the heather bud; Ye Curlews, calling thro’ a clud; Ye whistling Plover, And mourn, ye whirring Paitrick broo’, He’s gane for ever! Mourn, sooty Coots and speckled Teals; Ye fisher Herons, watching eels; Ye Duck and Drake, wi’ airy wheels, Circling the lake. Ye Bitterns, till the quagmire reels, Rair for his sake! Mourn, clam’ring Crakes at close of day ’Mang fields o’ flow’ring clover gay, And when ye wing your annual way Frae our cauld shore, Tell the far warlds, wha lies in clay Wham we deplore. Ye Howlets frae your ivy bow’r In some old tree or eldritch tow’r, What time the moon wi’ silent glow’r, Sets up her horn: Wail through the dreary midnight hour Till waukrife morn!” [Illustration: HARMFUL. THE GOLDEN EAGLE.] CHAPTER VIII. SOME OF THE FALCONIDÆ.