says: “I cannot divest myself of the belief that the Corncrake hybernates, notwithstanding my having found it repeatedly dead in the sea, both during autumn and spring, which many would say should prove migration to the most sceptical. I do not for one moment doubt that it leaves Ireland in numbers in the autumn, but where does it go? Does it hybernate where it goes to? Is it to be met with anywhere in numbers, flying or running, during our winter? Does it only crake in its spring or summer haunts? In support of hybernation, we have the great amount of fat, coming on in winter (Corncrakes often burst from fat when they fall on being shot), which all hybernating animals attain; the number of uninjured and healthy birds found in Ireland during winter, their peculiar skulking habits at this season, the old hollow ditches they frequent, their peculiar apathy and disinclination to fly, and their early appearance without ‘craking’ (I have seen them in the middle of March) along the sedges of rivers, which would be the first places they would make for after their winter rest. I do not see why hybernation of birds is so much scouted, for scores of animals and millions of insects do so. Many fishes, too, become so torpid that you may fish for weeks and not get one, yet some fine day dozens of the kind you look for will reward your patience; still you have been told or read somewhere that that species migrates from our shores in autumn “to seek more genial skies,’ and that is why they are not caught in winter. The subject is very far from being absurd, though many have considered it equally so with ‘Corncrake turning to Water-rail.’ I knocked down a ditch bank some years ago in January, and turned out three living Corncrakes, and ate them too. In the year 1861, during November and December, I used frequently to turn out of a particular hole one of these birds; I caught it at last one night in the hole—or nest I might say, for it was thickly bedded with leaves from a neighbouring dunghill, on which beech leaves had been thrown; but I let it go after some time—in honesty, not through kindness, but because I could not help it, for it could pass through any hole, almost, as Paddy used to say, “as limber as a glove.’ I could also state many instances of dogs chasing Corncrakes in winter to holes, and in one case remember how nearly I was summoned for tearing down a man’s ditch bank ‘in pursuit of rats,’ as he said, though he had two eyes and saw the bird run from hole to hole. More learned men than he may have often thought the same thing. Hybernating, in my view, would not mean a dead, torpid state. I should consider it a sleepy, inactive state—a lying-up in cold weather, and a temporary arousing during genial days; and in this state I have met the Corncrake in winter.”