Even so, in the West-Country the partridge has had a hard fight for existence, and there was a period when sportsmen despaired for the race. The causes were numerous, though the breaking up of so many old estates was mainly responsible. Speaking generally, the new lord of the soil takes few measures to keep his game. A partridge, he considers, is there to be shot, and shot it is without a thought for next season's stock. On a farm near my home last season a covey of fourteen was wiped out by the occupier with four shotssignificant figures in more ways than one. He killed six of them with one cartridge when they were upon the ground, feeding, and four more with the second barrel by firing into the 'brown' of the remaining birds as they rose. The man himself told the story without shame or reserve, despite the fact that he had not considered it necessary to take out a game licence. Another, also unlicensed, and anxious to steal a march on his neighbours, 'did his bit' a week in advance of the prescribed date.

Little wonder, therefore, that partridges become scarce in some localities, or that sportsmen are crying out for more adequate protection. Too much game, they say, is killed nowadays by uncertificated persons, and there is reason in the complaint. The rights of landlord or tenant have nothing to do with it. It is merely a question as to whether the existing law of the country is to be observed or flouted. Game, moreover, is a limited quantity. The right to shoot it has always been regarded as a royal privilege, or source of revenue to the State, and they who purchase the privilege naturally expect to enjoy it. One does not grudge any man his fair share of sport, or the sport to which he is entitled. At the same time some consideration is due to law-abiders, and the present non-operation of the Game Acts is anything but fair on men who shoot legitimately.

One measure which might serve to strengthen the status of the partridge in this island, and which doubtless will become necessary sooner or later, is some further curtailment of the 'open' season. This in former days did not cease until Feb. 12. It would serve the purpose better, however, to apply any fresh restriction at the beginning rather than at the end of the season. Many

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experts even now consider the historic First a trifle too early, and in backward seasons one is inclined to endorse that opinion. Late broods are very 'green' during the first week of September, and stand but a slight chance. Strictly speaking, they show far better sport towards the close of the month, and later on, as we all know, they are well able to take care of themselves. As a rule, they are at their wildest through late October and November, but quiet down considerably early in the New Year, just before pairing time. During hard weather, again, they lie close. Snow has a stupefying effect upon them, and at such times they may be approached without difficulty. There is little glory attached to their circumvention then, however, as the poor birds become so weak and emaciated that one scarcely feels justified in shooting them.

The best cover for partridges in winter is largely a matter of opinion. Root fields they must frequent for food, but I do not think that they care to lie there in wet weather, unless the leaves are sufficiently widespreading to afford them shelter. It is incorrect, by the way, to assume that they belong exclusively to arable land. They can exist perfectly well in a grass country, and were more or less plentiful upon Dartmoor within comparatively recent years. Indeed, they like rough country rather than otherwise, being, above all, partial to open, scrubby slopes warmed by the sun. Holding cover they must have, however, and when this is lacking, some preservers advocate the sowing of autumn vetches here and there or other inexpensive crops to keep the birds upon one's land. In my opinion, however, a far more effective plan is to leave, when practicable, small patches of standing corn, of any size, from a few square rods to an acre or so. Such spots, fulfilling all their requirements, will hold birds, both pheasants and partridges, when all other cover fails. In almost every large field, except upon first-class land, there are inferior patches, thin or weedy strips, or spots beaten down by wind or rain, which can be reserved for this purpose at little cost.

There can be no doubt that partridges generally have become much wilder of late years. One has only to hear old sportsmen talk, or to read about partridge shooting

in bygone days, to be assured of this. Various reasons have been assigned, but, after all is said and done, the circumstance most likely is merely due to the wholesale persecution to which the birds have been subjected within the past half-century. So many people are after the partridge nowadays, that his access of wildness is scarcely matter for wonder. Rather would it be remarkable were the reverse the case, but however that may be, the fact remains, and it is hard to reconcile the partridge as we know him with the 'simple' bird so easily deceived or beguiled with any device whatever,' of whom Osbaldistone wrote somewhat contemptuously in 1792. In those days, apparently, the difficulty was to avoid the risk of treading upon the birds before they got up in one's face, whereas to-day, it is only necessary to thrust a cautious foot round a gatepost, to spring any covey within a couple of hundred yards.

Yet, for all his elusiveness, there is something' simple,' or shall we say honest, about the partridge. His strategy is entirely of the straightforward kind, and in the case of the wildest covey, it is usually nothing more than a question of wearing the birds down. Repeated flushing soon tires them, and as often as not, after taking wing once or twice, they hide, and become as reluctant to rise as woodcocks. When space is limited, and birds prove exceptionally wild, it may be necessary to 'break,' or scatter, the covey before any conspicuous success can be achieved. This is not always easy, but it can sometimes be done by heading the birds from their course, or by firing in front of them if it can be done with safety. Shooting at the leading birds sometimes effects this end, sauve qui peut becoming the order of the moment. When a covey is once broken, careful marking is all that is required, and the birds, scattered about singly, or in twos and threes, may be picked up without difficulty. Single birds, for some curious reason, almost invariably squat close. They appear to lose both their finesse and the resolution that numbers impart, and fall back upon the primitive instinct to hide, falling easy victims in consequence.

Persistent following soon demoralises partridges. They become panic-stricken, take shorter flights, and stragglers diverge from the main body, which eventually

disperses as a last resource. For this sort of thing, however, almost unlimited boundaries are necessary. Also it involves a great deal of leg-work, and is therefore unpopular among modern sportsmen. Again, the services of a first-rate marker are positively essential, otherwise coveys have a curious way of disappearing. Marking is an acquired art, for birds seldom lie exactly where the novice or the amateur expects to find them. One frequently takes elaborate pains to surround and beat up a piece of roots or stubble in which a covey is supposed to have alighted, only to find the birds gone. Sometimes they have really gone-taken wing afresh while those who should have seen them are getting into position, but, more often than not, they were never there. A covey, swooping low over a hedgerow or patch of cover, often appears to be in the act of alighting, whereas in reality it may fly on, skimming low, another quarter of a mile. Also the moment they break view, partridges, like grouse, have the trick of swerving from their course, and taking an entirely different line from that which one might reasonably have expected them to take. That is where good markers, posted at convenient points, do invaluable service. It is well, however, to know their whereabouts. I remember well the case of one man, unsurpassed at the work, but in this instance a trifle over-keen, who, having located a covey well in the track of the guns, shifted his position without warning, and, creeping ahead, established himself in a blind hedge at the top of the field over which the birds had a disconcerting way of vanishing. The result was disastrous-to himself. The covey rose within forty yards of him, and, keeping low, headed straight for his hiding-place. The nearest gun, unaware of his presence, discharged both barrels, of which the somewhat too clever marker got full benefit. In a word, he received a liberal skinful of No. 6, some of which he carries to this day.

Another device by which partridges may be circumvented late in the season is the simple, but perhaps somewhat cruel, 'kite trick.' There is a form of string kite-a Japanese invention, I believe-which when flown bears a striking resemblance to a soaring buzzard. It is very easily manipulated, and when one or more coveys are marked down in a large field, it is only necessary to

get to windward of them and loose the contrivance. A minute or two suffices for this purpose, and with the mock bird of prey once aloft and well over the field, there is no fear of the partridges rising. On the contrary, they will squat like stones, making themselves as far as possible identical with the earth, and so remaining until the guns are almost upon them, when they spring into motion and flash away with inconceivable rapidity, keeping so low that they scarcely appear to clear the stubble, and quick-eyed must be the marksman who would arrest their flight. Should the field happen to be a particularly large one, the chances are that they alight again before quitting it, and if a fence or other cover intervenes, they make no effort to clear the obstacle, but, rather, avail themselves of its shelter.

If they are lying in roots, long stubble, or vetches, when the kite is flown, as likely as not one will be unable to flush them. Then they merely run to the nearest hedgerow from which nothing will dislodge them. They dart in and out like sparrows, and that is where the unfairness of the proceeding comes in, as a couple of efficient guns can soon snap off the entire number. Even when ordinary humaneness and due consideration for next year's stock is shown, however, one hesitates to recommend the practice, for if put to anything approaching frequent use, there is no surer way of driving partridges off one's land. Once in a while it is all very well, if an insufficient toll has been taken of a big supply of birds, and all other methods fail, but in any case it is not advisable to do it too near pairing-time. The latter part of December, or, at latest, the first week in January, should be the limit, for even when carried out in the most judicious manner possible, the terror of the experience is such that survivors are more than likely to shun the neighbourhood for many weeks to come. It should, moreover, be a cast-iron rule never to try it more than once in a season, or, should the first experiment for any reason prove a failure, only repeat it after a liberal interval has elapsed.

I have aleady remarked that there are men who consider the 'glorious First' a trifle early, but strong indeed must be the scruples that enable any sportsman to resist the call of 'sweet September,' and possibly the