man would be upbraided for stopping work for a few moments to chat to his mates. There would be ten minutes' stoppage morning and afternoon with facilities for making tea. The greatest care would be exercised in selecting foremen and viewers. Irascible, domineering bullies would have no place in my factory. Only the best mechanics with understanding and equable temperaments would be chosen for these positions; men who are able to maintain the friendliest relationship with the men and at the same time command respect, obedience, and confidence. In the best of circumstances, human nature being what it is, men will be found with a complex against other men. Steps would at once be taken to separate such men. If by chance an intelligent ambitious labourer showed aptitude for skilled work and he desired to improve his position, I would consult the men, suggesting that he be given a chance on a probationary basis, the full rate to be paid to him as soon as proficient. On no account would I introduce changes before consulting the men through the shop steward. Nothing inspires confidence so much as consulting men as to changes in management. The shop would be made as comfortable as possible, warm in winter, cool in summer. The floor would be properly swept, dust carried away, and draughts eliminated. It is profitable to look after the health of one's employees.

Finally, I would keep in close personal touch with every man, listen to grievances, remedy them wherever possible, and in every way endeavour to gain and retain confidence and respect. This is best achieved through having confidence in and respect for the men. The cynic will probably laugh and declare that a business run on these lines would not pay. If men were so treated, it will be contended, they would get out of hand and submit outrageous demands. I beg leave to differ. After twenty-five years' close contact with and study of British workmen, I am convinced that if they are treated decently and with confidence they will not abuse it. After all, the worker is entitled to respect and confidence. It is only in this way that distrust will be banished from the workshop and the engineering industry again reach the high level that it occupied thirty years ago.

W. F. WATSON.

Art. 3. THE PARTRIDGE.

IN the words of the old legend, Perdix, the partridge, does not build his nest in high trees, or take lofty flights, but nestles in the hedges, he being the descendant of that unfortunate youth, his namesake, who, according to some ancient writers, incurring the jealousy of his uncle Dædalus, was hurled by that affectionate relative from the top of a high tower, and only saved from destruction by the intervention of Minerva, who arrested his fate by changing him into a bird. Now, 'mindful of his fall,' he avoids high places, rarely using his wings unless compelled. Many changes have taken place in the world since the age of fable, but the partridge, it would seem, remains much the same. He is still averse to 'high places,' seldom making use of any perch other than the brown earth with which his protective plumage -another token of favour. on the part of the wise goddess-assimilates so wonderfully that it is nearly impossible to detect the bird when squatting. Here is a characteristic example.

Not long ago, when rabbit-stalking by the light of a late August sunset, I heard a covey alight no great distance ahead on the other side of the hedgerow which I was following. Welcoming the unusual opportunity of observing the shy birds when upon the ground, I crept to what seemed to be the nearest point, scaled the brambly old bank, and, peeping between two ivy-covered ash stumps, ran a searching eye over the adjoining field. This was a rough pasture, bounded by another wild hedgerow, alongside of which white scuts twinkled here and there as the rabbits hopped. A few straggling furze-bushes relieved the monotony of the coarse, parched-looking herbage, while a liberal sprinkling of mole-hills bore further testimony to the inefficiency of the agriculturist. Some ten yards away a little gorsestump projected a few inches above the grass, which had been nibbled so close by sheep and rabbits that scarcely a mouse could have moved unseen, but though I scanned the turf in every direction and even had recourse to field-glasses, there was no visible sign of the birds. Puzzled, as one never fails to be, though the case is so

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common, I was putting away the glasses prior to moving on, when something about the little projecting stub struck me as peculiar. A keener inspection proved it to be nothing less than the head and neck of an old cock partridge, sitting erect and alert, deeply interested in my movements. At the same moment a brown hump near by, till then ignored as a mole-hill, suddenly developed a wing and a beak wherewith to preen it, but further interesting disclosures were frustrated by the old bird, who, deciding apparently that I was not to be trusted, burst up with a warning krrr-cck, and a second later the remainder of a covey-some fifteen in allwere up and whirring away across the field.

From a standard of usefulness the plumage of the partridge leaves nothing to be desired, the only feature which to some extent is unaccountable being the horseshoe brand on the breast, which usually indicates the male bird. All markings and peculiarities in a wild creature serve some end as a rule, and doubtless this curious frontal adornment has its use in the great purpose of concealment. Incidentally, its presence or absence is not a certain criterion as to sex, for, as Mr Ogilvie Grant first pointed out in the 'Field' many years ago, the same mark in a pronounced form is not uncommon among young females. The plumage of both sexes, as in the case of most game-birds, varies considerably according to locality, and this is equally true of their habits. For example, though strictly, and, in a sense, exclusively ground birds, it is not safe to assert that they never alight in trees or bushes. During exceptionally hard weather it is not unusual to see them perched like woodpigeons along the hedgerows, searching hungrily for berries, and in countries where night prowlers are particularly numerous they are even said to roost above ground, though I cannot personally vouch for this statement.

It is, of course, a common habit of the red-legged partridge to alight in trees, which it will sometimes do when flushed in cover, after the manner of a woodcock, before actually taking to flight, a trick which this species shares with the ruffled grouse, the 'partridge' of America, with whom it has much in common. It is worthy of note that, despite a century and a half of residence in

this island, the red-leg remains distinct, even retaining his nationality. He was first introduced into Suffolk by the joint efforts of Lord Rendlesham and Lord Hertford about the year 1770, after which many subsequent introductions enabled him to establish a firm footing in certain parts of the country, notably in East Anglia, Lincolnshire, and some of the Midland counties. So far he has not penetrated to the North or far West, nor is his coming particularly desired, for, like his countrymen in 1066, he subdues as he goes, and where the red-leg once takes up his abode the native partridge disappears as a matter of course. Indeed, he is accused of waging fratricidal war upon his English relative, even to the extent of destroying the latter's young. Mr Dixon mentions an authenticated case in which an entire brood of common partridge chicks was massacred by one evildisposed Frenchman.'

As compared with his British congener, the red-leg is an impudent bird, eminently pugnacious-though our own partridge is by no means backward in this respectand somewhat over-ready to assert himself, particularly in spring and autumn, when his far harsher call, not unlike the note of a guinea-fowl, sounds incessantly over the fields. In general habits they differ little, the 'Frenchman' being, perhaps, rather a bird of the coverts, and an even more confirmed pedestrian. He will neither stand to a dog nor take wing until positively compelled, and is the more difficult to flush in consequence. In spite of various assertions to the contrary, either bird can thrive upon almost any soil, and many minor differences' claimed from time to time are due to circumstance rather than peculiarity of species. Their respective nests are identical. The eggs, however, have little in common, those of the red bird being much larger and richly sprinkled or blotched with dark rust colour, in striking contrast with the uniform olive-brown clutch of the native bird. A curious anecdote of the French partridge is contained among some unpublished letters of the late Rev. E. T. Daubeny, which recently came into my possession through the courtesy of the gentleman to whom they were written.

'I am,' he writes, now examining some five hundred essays from the schools round here, on Natural History, for Vol. 246.-No. 488.

the Norfolk County Council; a labour of love upon my part. One boy of twelve relates that his father found a red-legged partridge sitting on sixteen stones. These he removed, and a quantity more were placed by the birds and sat upon. These again were taken away; and a fresh nest was then made and two stones were put into it.'

Many varieties of the common stock occur over the greater part of the civilised world, but with the Briton's insular prejudice I must confess to a marked preference for the species indigenous to the Homeland. There is no bird quite like him, which is perhaps the secret of his wide popularity. The pheasant may be more regal, the red grouse more resplendent, yet neither has quite the same appeal as the 'bonny brown bird' who is so essentially a feature of our British countryside. Many of our national characteristics are apparent in the partridge. He is so sturdy, so independent, and it speaks well for his tenacity that up to a certain point he has contrived to hold his own under changing conditions, which have proved fatal to his mightier, and in many respects more favoured, congeners. Gilbert White, describing the royal Forest of Wolmer, wrote as follows:

'Partridges in vast plenty are bred in good seasons on the verge of the Forest, into which they love to make excursions, but there was a nobler species of game now extinct, which I have heard old people say abounded much before shooting flying became so common, and that was the heath-cock, blackgame, or grouse.'

That was true, no doubt, of Wolmer Forest in the 18th century, and it applies equally to the greater part of England to-day. Almost everywhere it is the same story. The nobler species,' the blackcock, and, in many districts, even the wild pheasant, has passed, or is making its last stand against hopeless odds. Yet the partridge somehow holds on. The famous 'roll-call' which the most indifferent sportsman cannot hear without a quickening of the pulse still sounds across the open fields and downs as it did when every covert teemed with game. True, the birds no longer occur in vast plenty,' but they are here, nor need one fear their extinction in the immediate future.