of land, falconry is virtually an extinct form of sport, and the few rich men who still keep the flame alive have mitigated the horrors which aroused the indignation of Gifford. "Humanity," says he, "has seldom obtained a greater triumph than in the abolition of this execrable pursuit." ... "The blood runs cold while we peruse the calm instructions of the brutal falconer, to impale, tie down, fasten by the beak, break the legs and wings of living pigeons, herns and herons, for the hourly exercise of the hawk, who was thus enabled to pull them to pieces without resistance." At one time, being protected, all "British" hawks were common in England, and showed no more fear of man than they do at the present day in India. Indeed, they seemed to display rather a preference for his neighbourhood, following him when in the field, breeding familiarly in buildings, and making dove-cots and poultry-yards their feeding-ground. But now, having learned by a couple of centuries of persecution that they have become unpopular, the hawks avoid humanity and all its ways. Even the common species keep out of sight as much as possible, and some have left the country altogether, or retired to the wildest portions of the islands. The peregrine, for instance, is found at times only here and there in Scotland--and occasionally on cliffs on the Cornish, Welsh, or Cumbrian coasts--and its eyrie is there, as a rule, in the midst of the most desolate scenery. Like the eagle, it has its favourite "post of observation," and when full-fed and at its ease loves to bask there, and from its elevated seat survey the proceedings of the dwellers at meaner altitudes, upon whom it makes regular forays, and who, strange to say, seem to submit to this assertion of manorial rights with the minimum of protest and disturbance--very much like the unfortunate villeins and vassals in "the good old feudal days" of baronial England. _Ah, nut-brown Partridges! Ah, brilliant Pheasants!_ BYRON. September is, of course, by long prescription, the partridge's month, and October the pheasant's, than which there are no two birds probably in all England that invest a country scene with a more immediate interest and charm. In a certain field through which I used often to pass in the evening, there used to be near a gate a large square patch of ground upon which the farmer had once stacked manure, and the hay never grew on it, only a wonderful crop of chickweed and plantain, with fumitory and other weeds. And every evening, if I walked carefully, I could surprise the partridges with their young brood busy after food on this open plot. As the fancy took them, they would be alarmed by my [Illustration: WHERE THE EAGLE IS AT HOME]