At such times, when alarmed, they will seek escape by flight, and run from the cause of their fright. Then, as if in doubt whether to fly, run or hide, show fear by erecting their feathers on the back of their necks, and tops of their heads. Be careful now, they will fly. When they do, try and make a double. At the same time, don't forget to mark them down. When you have noticed where they lit, locate the spot by some tree, bush, post or tall weed. Don't hurry to reach the spot, for if badly frightened they will remain stationary where they light, and clasping their wings close to their bodies, withhold their scent. This they have the power to do. Better wait a little, then they will get composed, and seeing and hearing nothing, will commence to search for their scattered companions. It is early in the day; time is of no consequence; remain still, and you will have an opportunity to study these little beauties. Keep silent! make no noise! How still it seems. One would positively aver that there was no feathered life within the sound of your voice, except that grim hawk, who sits on the limb of yon dead tree, out in the open field. Well he knows that he has selected a place of perfect safety. How you wish you were near him; or, if behind that old rail fence with your rifle, how easily you could pick him off. But hark! what's that noise? There reaches your ear a sound so sweet yet indistinct that you know not what it is or whence it came. Patiently you wait until you feel that your patience will go unrewarded. You are about to give up the hope of hearing it again, when it comes to you with greater clearness than before, and yet you cannot locate it. How sweet and low, still with what great clearness is it uttered. Now you know it is one

Listen! With

Together with

of the scattered covey calling its mate. what caution he makes his love call. his mate he enjoys solitude, but now that he is alone he is despondent. Note the mellowness of his cry, the pleading in his loving voice. He dare not call aloud, yet he wishes to be heard. Then, fearing that his pursuers may also hear, subdues his voice, as if frightened at its volume. Gently he calls again, "Wah-ee-he! Wah-ee-he!" He listens for that responsive call expectantly, then emboldened by the silence, desirous of meeting his mate, oblivious to the danger he may encounter, he moves from his hiding-place, and boldly steps forth in a slight opening and anxiously looks around. He sees and hears nothing, and feels satisfied his enemies have departed. He stares fiercely around, as if to challenge any intruder. He hearkens, expecting an answer to his call. His neck swells, his head is thrown back, as loud calls issue from his throat. Then, as if feeling perhaps that his calls have been too imperative, subdues his voice, and with tender accents calls for his lady love. Impatiently he waits for a reply. His mate, gentle, confiding little one, has been within hearing all the time; she would not hurry to him, lest in that haste, she might do an act inconsistent with her She replies not to his many calls. When in angry disappointment he fiercely cries, she runs hastily toward him, regretting her coquetry and fearing his anger. Then again, when that fierce voice is tempered into sweetest music to her ears, she delays her coming that she may not appear too forward. Once again he raises himself to his full height, getting ready to make the woods echo and re-echo with his cries, but before he opens his mouth, a tiny form, dressed in gold and

sex.

mottled white, runs to his side. The fierce, proud look forsakes him; the fiery glance in that wild eye is softened; he gazes fondly, lovingly at her, and all is forgiven. The little flirt knew it would be. How pretty they look together, affianced lovers. Side by side they run from view. You look where they disappeared, soliloquizing: "When once the young heart of a maiden is stolen, the maiden herself will steal after it soon."

All around you now the air will be filled with joyous sounds, coming from the scattered covey. Now that you have them separated, keep them so. Send forth your faithful dog, and never regret the short time you lost in watching these birds unawares.

Whether or not quail are subject to domestication, quære? My experience has been they are not. The love of freedom is so thoroughly engrafted in their nature that no amount of kindness can offset to them the dearest thing on earth, liberty. I have tried all manner of ways, devised and carried out all kinds of schemes to bring them into mild subjection, but without exception have universally failed. Have carried home cripples, having stunned them with stones, or arrows when a boy; resuscitated them, bringing them out of insensibility by opening their mouths and breathing life into them; have gently caressed and kindly cared for them; kept them confined in roomy cages, supplied them with choicest food such as in their liberty they might possibly get; have constantly been in their presence, thinking in this way, coupled with kind affection, I might win their confidence, but signally failed. To be sure, after a time, they would not flutter against the cage, or seek to escape from me, if I did not touch