A wise pheasant would go abroad before the middle of November. He would leave the fallen beech-mast for the pigeons, and turn a deaf ear to the persuasive whistling of the maize-laden keeper. Since the issue of his death-warrant on October 1, the pheasant has fared well--he has never known the want of a hearty breakfast. But sooner or later comes a morning when he must breakfast on the remnants of a last good supper. If he wonders why, he never thinks he has been denied his food because a big breakfast is not good to fly on, because a full crop will lessen his value in the eyes of the game-dealer, and because it is intended that he shall fly high, and give a sporting shot. So he is kept short, like a pig whose time has come to be made into pork. But no doubt even his short life has been worth the living. * * * * * The Hungry Retriever We have a story of a retriever who was forced to forego breakfast on the morning of a shoot. Retrievers, as they grow old, often grow cunning, and we saw this one getting the better of his master in a novel and drastic way. The old dog had grown fat, and somebody complained that he was inclined to be lazy in his work. It was decided that he had too much to eat, and it was to improve his activity during a day's partridge driving that his master kept him without breakfast, usually a heavy meal. There was a cold partridge that came within range of the dog's nose--but his longings were not gratified. Out in the fields the dog was sent for the first bird his master shot, a runner. Away went the dog with unusual speed; he picked up the bird, and then quietly sat down and made a meal of it. Having had his breakfast, he did his work handsomely for the rest of the day. * * * * * The Old Wood