twenty years back. "Roddy "-to give him his familiar name -after fighting his way through Eton, selected the army as a profession. By the help of various tutors he achieved his ambition, and in 1876 was gazetted to the 20th Regiment of Foot, now known as the Lancashire Regiment. His life in the army has not been that of a carpet warrior, for on joining he was at once shipped off to Bermuda. Since, besides a short period in Ireland, he has served in Nova Scotia, Cyprus, Malta, and finally in India, where he had the honour of being A.D.C. to the Viceroy.

It is, however, with Captain Owen in his character of a sportsman that we here have to deal. Ever since 1883, when he came back from India, he has kept his silk jacket, boots, and breeches in constant wear. In fact, he is, on a racecourse, the acknowledged head of the active soldier brigade. So keen and constant is he to his work, that no distance or fatigue is allowed to come between him and a promised mount. Without, perhaps, emulating the fine style of Captain Arthur Coventry, he certainly beats him on a country course, or with an awkward horse; for Roddy will not be denied so long as his horse can stand upon its legs.

In the matter of winning great steeplechases he has, however, had rather hard luck. As events have since proved, he should-had things gone right with him—have been hailed a winner of the Grand National both on Kilworth (10 st. 12 lb.) and on Ballot Box (10 st. 8 lb.) On Kilworth he has often distinguished himself; in fact, no one can ride as Roddy can that good but shifty customer. At Sandown, Roddy is generally in the front, and he has won many a cheer from the Members' Stand, as he has, from the last fence, artistically handled home the winner. Gradually but surely he has crept into the front rank of winning gentlemen jockeys, until, at the close of 1889, he was found to have made a dead-heat for first place.

It would fill the pages of the magazine to enumerate one-half of Captain Owen's successes. It must suffice to say that at Aldershot he is quite at home; and that he is a terror to the less practised hands that often there don silk. A highly valued correspondent to whom we owe the information which we have just put on record about Captain Owen's life— gives this little personal reminiscence, which we are sure that our readers will peruse with interest :

"How well I remember Roddy's first attempt at race-riding. He was then quite a boy; still, as I believe, at Eton. In my charge, he came to some polo races at Llandrindod Wells. In compliance with his earnest entreaty I put him on a pony-a very nasty one to ride. So well did he acquit himself-winning cleverly-that soon after the race I told his brother Hugh that he would turn out a second Archer. We all know that poor Fred won his first race in the same

way. This little incident has been the cause of the confidence with which I have ever since followed Roddy's racing career."

Unlike the majority of race-riders, who find this occupation more congenial than field exercise, Captain Owen still sticks to active service. Many a long railway journey does he take by night, and appears next morning on parade as if he had spent all his time at Aldershot. It may with truth be said of him that no one thirsts more for fresh fields to conquer, and that no one is more zealous to be where, in the service of his country, glory is to be won. Nor can subject, more loyal to serve his Queen, be found anywhere than this bold, honest soldier, whose way to the front has always been sans peur et sans reproche.

Indian Birds.

"To my mind the birds are half the scenery everywhere, and more than half on an Indian plain." So writes one of the most charming of the many charming writers who have expounded the book of nature in our Eastern Empire, and I must say I heartily agree with him. With the very smallest knowledge of ornithology-in fact, having only a distant bowing acquaintance with that delightful study-it has always been to me one of the greatest pleasures, in visiting strange lands, to watch the bird life, to follow the feathered population to their homes, and to gather something of their history and habits. And so many quaint and interesting histories attach themselves to their different families, that, apart from scientific knowledge, there is a poetic side of the subject, which in itself is full of attraction. The little bird, which, with its weak bill, strove to pull out the cruel nails on the cross, the hoopoes which formed a cloud to shelter the mighty Solomon from the midday sun, the cranes which brought guilt home to the murderers of Ibycus, and many others, have left to their descendants a legendary heritage of fame and honour never to be forgotten.

Many are the bird acquaintances which I made during a sojourn in an Indian station, and many the delights which I enjoyed in their society. And here let me say a preliminary word on the amount of sport, as a sportsman understands the word, which is to be procured in the endeavour to see shy birds in their homes, and to procure the necessary specimens for the subsequent identification of their characteristics.

I have had many friends-and right good fellows and sportsmen they were too-who considered nothing worth the toil of pursuit which did not come under the head of game, and who, when-not to speak of more imposing animals-there were no

quail, partridge, duck or snipe available, considered that life had no shikar joys to offer, and moodily resigned themselves to an objectless and dull constitutional as the sole method of passing the afternoon. Now, I can conscientiously say that I have often had as much fun and excitement in a stroll over the wide Maidan, through the tangled masses of an old Indian garden, or along the reedy banks of an Indian stream, looking for the particular bird which I wanted, stalking him from point to point, and ignoring all obstacles in the chase, as I have had in my best days with the birds which are named in an ordinary game list.

The

And to secure your specimen and bring it to hand not unduly damaged, careful quick shooting is often a sine quâ non. light charge which will kill without shattering, fired also at such a distance as not to maul your prize unnecessarily, must be directed by no unskilful hand; and I have seen as much talent displayed in knocking over an oriole, flitting through a mango tope, or a warbler hiding itself rapidly in thick grass or bushes, as in cutting down a woodcock in an English cover, or a snipe on an Irish bog.

Let me select from the pigeon-holes of my memory the reminiscence of an afternoon's walk with a dear old comrade, who had studied nature in many lands, and whose kindly companionship and genial conversation had been an unceasing solace in the ennui of the long hot weather of the Deccan. The clouds, which had for days past been surging blackly up along the horizon, had at last mounted to the zenith and discharged their copious cooling flood. The monsoon had broken at last; the first shower had ceased, and as we sallied forth from our bungalow we passed into a cool, damp freshness, to which we had long been unaccustomed, and which was inexpressibly grateful after a time when the skies had been brass and every breeze felt like the breath of a furnace.

The grey, storm-laden sky allowed us for once to dispense with the cumbrous solar topi, and comfortable tweeds had replaced the thin linen jackets which had been all too oppressive only two days before. We had set our hearts on securing a pied kingfisher, which we had been told frequented a disused well about two miles distant; but we spread out for our walk, keeping our eyes open to observe anything rare or interesting that might cross our path. Everything in the familiar landscape looked strange and indistinct, and a weird glamour was added to plain and woodland by the sweeping mist which the south-westerly wind drove before it. The raindrops hung heavy on the burnt-up grass, and a rivulet ran in every little crack and nullah, where the sun-baked surface of the ground had refused to absorb immediately the plentiful rainfall.

Two bulbuls flitted from our bungalow garden as we passed out, and preceded us for a hundred yards, as far as some

stunted bushes. They seemed to enjoy the cool atmosphere as much as we did, flying briskly along, but dropping twice on the ground to pick up an insect or two en route. As we left their resting-place behind they gave us a harsh chirrup of farewell.

A few steps farther and a heavily-flying roller (Nikant, sacred to Siva) flapped from right to left, probably in search of a place where he knew that the winged termites were even then issuing from their nest-a rich and satisfying feast. As he was not the first living thing we had seen since leaving home, we were free from the bad omen which the mild Hindoo thinks he would otherwise bring. We make our way across the maidan, when suddenly, through the mist, a small flock of little birds whizzes past us, and settles down some distance ahead. Neither of us recognise them, and we diverge slightly to have a closer look; but they are watchful and wary, and rise before we can approach. Clearly this is a case of stalking. Fortunately the flock has again dropped on the further side of a slight roll in the ground, though we may be pretty sure that, if the main body are stuffing their little maws with toothsome insects, they have a watchful sentinel on the qui vive for a foe's advance.

A friendly nullah presents itself, which outflanks their position, and into this we both drop, reckless that at its bottom a turbid stream is running, to pour itself into the adjacent tank. To get one's feet thoroughly wet is indeed a luxury to be enjoyed and made the most of, after the long season of heat and dust. Forward, stealthily, crouching low, and with all the caution of deerstalkers worming their way along a Highland watercourse, to the spot where a stag of ten is sheltered in a snug corrie. At length we venture to raise our heads-a startled "tweet, tweet," and the flock is flitting swiftly into the mist. Too late, however, for two of them are left silent on the sod. We run forward to rescue our prize, and find little ashy-grey bodies, with the under parts rosy-red, and rosy scarlet wing spots.

Rosy minivets, by jingo! We recognised them from Bengal experience, but knew that they were only seldom seen in the South of India. Here was a bit of luck! and, as we tenderly wiped and straightened the ruffled plumage, and wrapped them carefully in paper for subsequent examination, we felt that our walk had been fortunate in adding a comparatively rare bird to our collection.

There must be no more delays, if we are to see our kingfisher to-day. Even now the watery sun is stooping to the west, and, as soon as he dips behind the distant wood, the night, even more suddenly than usual, will shut in, black and gloomy. So we step out towards the old well. Let not the English reader suppose that our well is like the one he is accustomed to, a contracted shaft, deep sunk from the level of the ground. No; the kind of well we speak of is a large

cavity in the plain, with a rather muddy pool at its bottom, down to which a flight of rude steps has conducted, from the neighbouring village, generations of graceful women, with brass jars poised on their heads; and generations of pious Mohammedans, who have filled their lotahs for their morning purifications.

There is an old waterwheel on the brink of the cavity, which has been turned by generations of patient bullocks to irrigate the lean ryot's scanty crop. But all this is of the past. The deserted village is a crumbling heap of indistinguishable ruin. The White Musjid, where the devotees worshipped, is shattered and dismantled; and the old paddy field is only to be recognised by the little squares, overgrown with grass, which mark where the watery channels once distributed their fertilising supply. The banks of the cavity are clothed with rough brushwood and bushes, and, as we cautiously peer over the side, we see the solitary occupant whom we are visiting.

"The pied fish tiger hung above the pool."

His black and white plumage showed a bright spot against the dark foliage. He sat on a withered branch, with his great beak thrust forward, and his tail erect, after the manner of his family, looking, in his stronghold, bold, haughty, and independent, like an old robber baron of the Rhine. As we looked, he took wing and started on a predatory patrol round the sides of the pool, hovering here and there, with his keen eye fixed on the depths below. Suddenly, a lightning swoop towards the water, arrested as suddenly in mid-flight. His prey has escaped him, and again he rises to pursue his airy gyrations. Another swoop, and this time he dashes bodily into the pool, to emerge, after a moment's dive, with an indistinguishable something, fish or aqueous insect, firmly nipped in his beak. He returns to his withered branch, shakes himself after his plunge, and regales himself with the tit-bit he has acquired.

But his days of rapine and gluttony are over, and, though his end may be premature, he shall in death have an honourable destiny, and his carefully preserved remains shall long tell the tale of his characteristic beauty. When he next takes wing an opportunity of securing him is seized, when he may fall dead. on dry ground, and not in the muddy waters of the pool. His obsequies are tenderly performed, and he joins the minivets in the specimen bag.

What bird life we see on our homeward way along the jungleskirting path the coucal, or crow-pheasant, clambering up a tall stem, then hopping from branch to branch, and finally, seeing that it is observed, making its way from the farther side of the tree, and disappearing in the forest. Hark! that monotonous metallic "took," "took," "took." With difficulty we can decide from what direction the noise really comes, and we detect at last, sitting up aloft, the crimson-breasted copper