a piece of food which is either more tempting or at least more easily devoured than that which she has in her foot. Let the tit-bit be a "mess of pottage"--but not necessarily a big one--for the immediate fruition of which the silly bird (as Turbervile calls her) will barter away all the prospective advantages of a freshly-killed partridge or a dainty pigeon. These latter have to be plucked, mark you, before they can be eaten, whereas the bright red morsel in your hand can be begun at once, without any such trouble and delay. In bad cases the vice of carrying may be corrected by a rather strong remedy, which, like all other hawking devices, has long been practised. Before resorting to it, see that the lure which you are going to use, whether live or dead, is quite a light one, but very firmly fixed up, so that no part of it, or no part of the food with which it is garnished, can come away. Then exercise your ill-behaved hawk in whatever way you prefer, and let her ultimately get the lure and have it on the ground in her foot. This lure will have a fairly long creance to it; and you will keep hold all the time of the end of the line. Now, as your hawk is on the ground with her food, begin to make in as if you were approaching her after a real flight. You may, however, do so much less cautiously. If she bolts with her meal, let her go four or five yards, and then, with a sharp, sudden pull on the string, twitch the whole apparatus out of her foot, and let it come flying back towards you. What with the "way" that the hawk has on her, and the suddenness of your pull on the string, the lure, if properly fixed up, is bound to be jerked away; and my lady will have to trouble herself to turn round and come back towards you. But, of course, if you so arrange your lure that it will part, and the edible portion of it remain with the hawk, while the inedible comes back to you with the creance, you will have done ten times more harm than you expected to do good. A few lessons of this kind will often cure even a determined carrier. But I have known merlins which were cunning enough never to carry a light lure, knowing from experience that it would be a mere waste of time, and yet, when they had taken a wild lark, never doubted that they could make off with it if they liked.