“The training of Hawks,” said Uncle Thomas, “was practised as an art; and in days when the sport was in high estimation it was one of considerable importance. The young birds were taken out of the nest when ready to fly, or caught in traps, and carefully secured in linen bags, with openings at each end for the head and tail, to preserve their feathers from injury. On their arrival at the falconry a hood was placed over their eyes, so as to blindfold them, and, thus imprisoned, they were left in perfect quiet for a day or two. The training of the noviciate then began. It was placed upon the wrist of the falconer, and carried about the whole day, and occasionally stroked with a feather, so as gradually to accustom it to being handled. Its hood was then taken off, and it was fed; the falconer making a particular call, which was invariably used when the bird was fed, and upon no other occasion. When it was so far trained as to alight on the hand when called, it was unhooded and ‘put to the lure’—an artificial bird, made of feathers, which was thrown up into the air, and at which it was induced to fly by attaching a live Pigeon, or part of a Chicken, which the Hawk was permitted to eat. To prevent its escape during this part of its education it was secured by a string. When perfect in this lesson it was advanced to the dignity of flying at live game, usually by means of a Duck, which was blindfolded to prevent its escape. By the repetition of the call when it had struck its quarry the Hawk was taught to return to its perch upon its master’s wrist, and when this was accomplished its lesson was complete. To prevent its flying off, it was secured by straps of leather or silk, called jesses, which were fastened round its legs, which were also generally ornamented with little bells, so as not to encumber it or interfere with its flight.” “Is Hawking ever practised in England now?” asked Jane. “It is occasionally,” said Uncle Thomas; “but so seldom that, as some one remarks, when the old gamekeeper of some ancient family crosses us with a Falcon on his wrist, he looks as if he had stepped out of a picture-frame, and the sight serves to remind us of a glory which has departed. It is, however, sometimes to be seen. Here is an account of a day’s Hawking, in the county of Norfolk.