One might well fancy that a bird of such low morality would not be easily affected by the misfortunes of its fellows, and that it would be endowed with no feelings but those of utter selfishness. But nothing of the sort. If you knock down a Plover flying in company with others, you may notice the whole flock coming back to it to render the disabled one all the help they can; and if you are not too much of a novice, you will find no great difficulty in turning this circumstance to your profit by filling your game-bag. The Plover migrates from the North of Europe to Africa, and _vice versâ_; it thus visits France twice a year, in spring and autumn. It is their appearance at these usually rainy seasons which has given them the name they bear. There are five principal species--the Great Land Plover, the Dotterel, the Ringed Dotterel, the Kentish Plover, and the Golden Plover. The Great Land Plover (_Oidicnemus Bellonii_, Fleming) is about the size of a Crow; it is very uncommon, very active, and very suspicious in its nature. The only chance of shooting it is in the evening, at the moment when it comes to wash itself on the edges of lakes and rivers. Its flesh is not much valued. The Dotterel (_Pluvialis morinellus_) is a little larger than a Blackbird. It visits us in March and September, and numerous flocks of these birds frequent the vast plains of the beautiful country of France. This is the bird which persists in sacrificing itself to the sportsman's gun when its companion has fallen a victim before the murderous weapon. It also shows the simplicity of believing that drunken people must be animated with the kindest feelings towards it; so much so, that it is only requisite to exhibit the outward signs of bacchanalian excitement, and the birds will be filled with a sense of false security, so that you may approach within a few yards of them. The Dotterel has been the means of founding the reputation of the _Pâté de Chartres_: the bird's own personal experience must long ago have convinced it how heavy the burden of renown sometimes proves. They have, in fact, found themselves so much relished, that they have been tracked and hemmed in on all sides by eager pie-makers. The only chance for the poor creature is to seek safety in flight, and abandon a country where it is decidedly _too much_ loved. Without either regret or envy it must have seen that Larks and Quails have usurped its place in popular favour for filling _pâtés_.