be a little too keen at times is considered above praise. The author's aim, as declared in his preface, has been 'to represent these birds grouped in their natural surrounding rather than to make scientific plates of the species,' but the result is a perfection of detail to which even the photographer cannot aspire. Animal paintings are seldom quite life-like, the difficulties which confront the most skilful brush being many. Mr Thorburn, however, possesses too intimate a knowledge of his subject for his representations to be anything but realistic, and in many cases the wild birds seem actually to start into life as one turns the pages.

Of a splendid selection it is difficult to pick the best, but if one picture above others strikes the eye it is plate 23, showing eider ducks and scoters afloat. The birds are curiously alive as they ride on the rolling waves. Equally vivid are his representations of our familiar friend the red grouse, our one national bird, to whom two full plates are dedicated. One can almost hear the whirr of wings, and experience the thrill some of us know so well when, turning page 6, a pack is revealed, hurtling down wind against a background of loch and mountain scenery.

No less than seven distinct species of pheasant are described in the text, and these are mere examples of the numerous varieties which have been introduced from time to time. With so many 'aliens' abroad in the land it is little wonder that we have so nearly lost touch with the old English bird, a foreigner too, if the captious critic will have it, but claiming at least the distinction of close upon a thousand years of residence, if not in very truth a native, for there appears to be no record of his coming whatsoever. Nowadays, perhaps, we do not fully appreciate the common pheasant, who inclines more nearly to the original than any other, or realise what a sporting bird he is in the wild state-for pheasants may be found even in this country as wild as half a century of independence can make them. An adult cock sprung from a strain which has been self-supporting for several generations is no mean quarry. When shooting a year or two ago near Sprydon Forest it took a party of three a solid hour to get the better of one wary knight of the wood, and every minute of the time was

full of interest, involving some of the prettiest dog work I ever saw. Even then the royal old bird, who perhaps deserved a better fate, fell to a purely random shot, fired after him through the trees in desperation as he skimmed away in a flight which would have carried him out of bounds.

The pheasant is a canny bird indeed, and knows very well when and where he is safe. I discovered that years ago when I owned the shooting over some rough farms where pheasants were plentiful but as wild and unapproachable as old partridges. There was not much holding cover, and the birds scattered so widely to forage that it was practically impossible to get at them in the ordinary way. The only chance was to try the outlying root-fields and 'breaches' first, to drive pedestrians in, then beat through the woods about roosting time. The plan was not without its drawbacks. It often meant bad shooting in a failing light, and when the coverts were still blind dislodging roosters was no easy matter, particularly from thick oaks. Once on the ground, even if screened by brushwood, an old cock would run fast and far at the sound of a footstep, but high amongst the thick foliage where no eye could detect him, or no dog could sniff him out, he felt secure; and there he would remain, no matter how hard the tree-trunk might be hammered. I once saw stone after stone sent crashing through some green boughs in which an old stager was supposed to be lurking, and just as every one had decided he could not be there, out he clattered and away over the shadowy wood, surviving the contents of four barrels discharged in his wake by way of farewell.

Personally I am no supporter of the theory that this species cannot exist, without the protection of man, or that artificial feeding is essential. That applies no doubt in crowded preserves, but scarcely to the wild bird. He can fend for himself quite as well as others of his order, and in and about the wilder parts of Devonshire where little preserving has ever been done he would be plentiful to-day but for the rabbit-trapper. This trapper, the evil genius of sport, is seldom satisfied with his lawful game, or troubled with any sense of fair play for birds. Pheasants, owing to their habit of using regular runways, fall easy victims, and there is an all-too-simple

device for entrapping the more elusive partridge. In late summer-the trapper's carnival time-partridges like grouse, are particularly fond of dust-baths, an every covey has some special place which is visited dail for this purpose during dry weather. It may be a littl sandy barrow, a disused dugout of some sort, or, best o all, a dry bare spot at the foot of a bank. The trappe who knows only too well what to look for finds th place without difficulty, and a few gins set in the loos earth soon dispose of a covey.

Mr Thorburn, or rather Mr Ogilvie Grant from whos notes the passage is taken, remarks that the pheasant' polygamous habits are probably acquired, owing to th greater proportion of male birds destroyed. That is difficult point to establish, but the extent to which th breeding habits of any species may be modified b circumstances is an interesting one. Curiously enough not long ago I expressed my conviction-based upo observation-that black game, naturally polygamou adopt monogamous habits in country where the sexe are more evenly divided. In the essay from which th extract was taken Mr Grant goes on to assert that he pheasants cannot be called good mothers, for, 'unlik the majority of game birds, at the approach of dange they seek safety in flight, leaving the young to escap and hide themselves as best they can.' This rule, if rul it be, can apply only to semi-domesticated birds. Buffor I think, states the case more correctly. The hen pheasan he says, when at liberty, 'trains up her brood with patienc vigilance, and courage, but if kept in confinement st can scarcely ever be brought to sit with sufficient atten tion, and even when she does hatch them the youn birds would starve if left solely to her protection.'

On two occasions I have been actually attacked by wild hen pheasant when steering an unwitting cours near her brood. The circumstances were practicall identical. In each case the bird ran out from a gors brake, and her behaviour exactly resembled that of a angry farmyard hen in a similar position. There he been no hand-rearing for many years in the distri where both incidents occurred. Another time whe walking along a ferny ride between two brakes, stumbled over a brooding bird whose brown dres

assimilating wonderfully with the withered bracken, had rendered her invisible. Even then she went off reluctantly, and there at my feet was the callow brood, newly hatched, a little brown huddle of mottled down and bright frightened eyes. That was my first and last impression of them, for a moment later the mother bird going through the customary performances not far away engaged my eye. It was a matter of seconds only, but when I looked again the chicks were nowhere to be seen. There was a faint rustling on all sides, curiously difficult to locate, a suggestion of movement under the dry fronds where the wind-ripples scarcely penetrated, then perfect stillness as though nothing had ever lived in the bracken.

That is ever the way of game chicks. They trickle out of sight like raindrops, and so marvellous is their aptitude at concealment that the most careful search proves unavailing. It is their great natural safeguard against the swoop of a winged enemy; but even fourfooted hunters cannot always find them on these occasions. I have known a good retriever to walk right over a brood without winding one of the little squatters. They lie so still, and appear to be blessed with a protective lack of scent.

A great deal has been said about the pheasant's sensitiveness to the slightest vibration in the atmosphere, but it is not, I think, generally known that the male bird is one of our surest weather-prophets. Unlike others of his order, he foretells rain not by outcry but by silence. If one walks at roosting-time near plantations where pheasants abound, and hears nothing save the heavy fluttering of wings as the birds seek their perches, it is safe to anticipate unsettled weather. But when the loud korrk-kuk, korrk-kuk resounds through the darkening woods one or more fine days will certainly follow. This is no mere superstition. It holds good, as research will prove; but I can offer no scientific explanation. It is the more curious in that disturbance rather than settled conditions as a rule provokes the familiar crow. Almost anything unusual sets pheasants crowing. Young cocks, vociferate from fright or curiosity, as when they see a dog or fox running in the woods. Brilliant moonlight again is very apt to set them off, and by way of Vol. 241.-No. 478.

B

contrast, they wax uncommonly talkative, I believ during an eclipse of the sun.

Hen pheasants as a rule roost high among the bar branches. An old cock on the other hand prefers ivy covered stumps or evergreen shrubs, such as low-growin holly-bushes or laurels. He is also peculiarly partial t an old apple-tree. If there happens to be a half-wil orchard anywhere on his range a cock pheasant is toler ably certain to roost there. Under any conditions h selects scrubby rather than lofty trees, and, unlike th capercailzie and the blackcock, he has no predilection for pine woods. Few English sportsmen, perhaps, know much of the 'caper,' of which Mr Thorburn gives a ver fine picture in his first plate, for it is a far cry to th Highlands where this royal grouse roams. Black gam we know better, but even these fine birds are no longer as in Dandie Dinmont's days, 'as thick as doos in a dooket.' Speaking for England, their range is confine to a few circumscribed areas; but Mr Thorburn, I think takes too pessimistic a view of their status in the western counties. It is too true that they are disappearin by slow degrees. It is also true that reintroduction ha failed to restore them. They are by no means extinc as yet, however, and in certain favoured localities, they even hold their own. Among the Dartmoor birds, regret to say, there has been a marked decrease withir the last two years. Many there can remember the time when black game were so numerous on the great bog north of Teignhead that every coombe and heather crowned hollow resounded with their call-notes. Now one might hunt far for a single specimen.

Surprisingly little has been written about the black cock, for he is an interesting bird. There is, moreover an old-world air about him, as of one who has outlived his generation. One feels that he should have passed with the bittern and the bustard, and such doubtless would have been his fate but for the measure of protec tion and assistance he has received. But beautiful bird as he is, wild and romantic as his personality may be, for the actual sport he gives the blackcock in my opinion is a little overrated. He lacks both the activity and the finesse of the partridge, for example, and though hard to flush, when once in air affords an easy shot. His flight,