in the woods, telling of love and rivalry; then the little brown hen fluttered and plumed her sober-coloured wings, and began to bestir herself, and prepare for the maternal duties which she knew must ere long devolve upon her, and her alone; for her liege lord, to whose presence she was now invited, would take no share in them. Let us not then despise the little brown hen-"Let us not," as Jesse has it, "when we see the male expanding his rich and varied plumage in the sunbeams, forget that on the female devolve all the offices of love and affections. She hatches, feeds, and protects at the risk of her life her helpless young ones; and what we may consider as lowering her in the scale of creation, is on the contrary an act of the greatest kindness and consideration. Her want of beauty is her chief protection, and her humility saves her from a thousand perils," as humility ever will do. "To be secure be humble," sings the poet.

When the snows had altogether disappeared, and the perfume of the April violets came full and fresh upon the now gentle gales,' and the fully-expanded primroses mingled their faint odour therewith, and the delicate wind-flowers were gathered in clusters by the eager city dwellers in every hazel shaw, and coppice; when the cuckoo had shouted, and the nightingale had sung out the joyful tidings of spring's advent; then, just as "the flowery-kirtled May" was approaching to make the earth yet more bright, and verdurous, and altogether beautiful, might be seen beneath the woodland bank, or the tangled grass which clothes the hollow dell, or hard by among the green sprouting clover, the slightlymade nest of the hen-pheasant, with its ten or twelve eggs of a uniform olive colour.

When the song-birds had poured out their spring melody in the shady woodlands, and the sunshine interlaced with golden threads the leafy canopy above, and made zigzags and broad paths of light on the velvet sward beneath; when the fresh winds had fanned themselves to sleep, overcome by the heavy load of perfume which went floating upon the warm breath of the lusty mower, June," whose merry "rink-a-tink" was heard around every farmstead, where the swathes lay long and regular like waves in a sea of verdure rolling eastward to meet the sun, and becoming each moment more and more golden-tinged with its beams; when the buzz and murmur of insect voices, and the flitting of gailycoloured wings, announced the coming of summer, whose floral attendants scattered nectar and ambrosia in such profusion around her way, that the sense was oppressed with the fulness of delight, and the soul went floating away upon a sea of extacy-then it was that the little brood came forth, and went rolling about like balls of yellow down, after their clucking and exulting dam, who led them through

"Many a lane, and many an alley green,
Dingle, and bushy dell of the wild wood,
And many a bosky bourn from side to side."

There they go, little round rollicking things, chittering and twittering all day long, carefully fed, and watched, and attended by their assiduous mother, who covers them with her wings at night, and defends them as best she can against the damps and dews, and often less successfully against furred and feathered enemies, the weasel, the polecat, and the skulking fox, the night-hawk and the ghost-like owl, which in lieu of a

mouse supper, will if he has a chance, take a plump little pheasant or partridge, or any other small game of the kind.

The watchful keeper marks the brood, secures the hen and chicks by night, and bears them for greater security to the home preserves, should the place of their birth be an outlying spot, exposed to many dangers; or it may be that he has noted the slight hollow, scratched by the hen bird, and lined with dead leaves, and removed the eggs and her to a place of security before the hatching of the poults. Should they, however, have escaped his notice, the chances are that few of them will live to attain maturity. When the summer was far advanced, and the emerald and sapphire dragon-flies were gleaming amid the velvet heads of the waving bulrushes-when the corn was turning yellow upon the upland leas, and the fresh green hues of the woodlands were gradually changing into the russet tints of autumn-then the young pheasants of both sexes had assumed the plumage of greyish yellow, variegated with brown and black, which closely resembles that of the mother-bird, and which they retain until the first moult as the distinctive mark of chickenhood.

Then what a happy life was theirs!-feasting and frolicking all day long "in the pleasant shade of the leafy glade," or in the golden sunshine of the open corn-field; by the rushy pool which the heron haunts; or in the sandy hollow where the rabbit burrows; gliding through the fern brakes, and threading the mazes of the tangled thicket, and resting awhile by the hedge-row bank, screened from view by the tall flowering grasses; or trying their young wings in the fir plantations, or from clump to clump of the stately trees which stud like islets the level sward of the park or paddock, where the dappled deer are browsing on the short sweet herbage.

Still does the hen-bird share in their pleasures and sports, and direct them to those spots where food is most plentiful and easily procured― worms and various insects, the tender shoots of many plants, bulbous and other roots, &c.; and as the autumn advances, and their strength matures, so that they are able to take and digest stronger food, they obtain a plentiful supply of grain, acorns, beech-nuts, and the wild fruits of the hedges and thickets; and when these fail, they have but to resort to the home enclosure, and they will find that man has not been unmindful of their care and sustenance. But ere that period arrives they will often have been alarmed and scattered by the report of the deadly gun, the sound of the human voice, and the stealthy tread of the well-trained pointer, all telling that the season of destruction has arrived, if not for them whose want of age will in most cases prove an exception, yet for many of their friends and relatives, perhaps for that tender parent who has watched over them so carefully and long.

In the meantime, what has become of the cock-pheasant, the great object of pursuit and admiration in the glorious month of October, and far into the winter? As soon as the season of reproduction was over, he left the female bird to perform her maternal duties alone, and betook himself, in all the freedom of bachelorhood, to roaming wherever his fancy pleased. Up and down through the green alleys and leafy avenues he flew and strutted; he crouched awhile amid the fern stalks under the spreading fronds, and stooped to bathe in and drink of the brook which lapsed away, with a gurgle like a lullaby, beneath the shadow

of the stunted thorns and alders just without the wood, deep within whose bosom was

"The mossy fount which no sun sees,
Girdled in by leafy trees,"

that supplied the crystal current of its peaceful existence. He scorned alike the company of the chattering jay and the cooing dove, and rested not by the tall elms where the rooks held noisy council, because he loved quiet and solitude, rarely associating with his own kinsfolk. In spots seldom disturbed by a passing footstep might he be seen, basking in the sunshine, with his gorgeous plumes outspread; the whirr of his wings breaks the silence, ever and anon; but seldom except at pairing time do you hear his husky crow; then, indeed, as William Howitt says, when

"The jay's red breast

Peeps over its nest,

In the midst of the crab blossoms blushing,

The call of the pheasant

Is frequent and pleasant,

When all other calls are hushing."

then he becomes a bold, noisy, quarrelsome fellow; no longer shy and retiring, but confident and obtrusive, he struts and crows in the open glade, sending forth his love calls and invitations, and defying any rival who might be inclined to intrude within the space of which he has for the time constituted himself lord and master. But the proud look and bearing, which seem to say, "I am monarch of all I survey!" is soon changed for the skulking and timorous aspect, and the hidling, cautious habits which generally characterize the bird. Yet for all that, as we said before, what a glorious bird it is! and how well the rich tints of its plumage harmonize with those of the autumnal woodlands! And this reminds us of a beautiful picture of pheasant life at this season, given by Thomas Miller, in his "Beauties of the Country," which we think our readers will like to look upon again, even though it should be familiar to them.

"What a lordly creature a pheasant looks, moving along the grassy glade of a wood, now erecting his head as if to listen, while perchance a sunbeam falls upon his burnished neck, then stooping to pick up a fallen acorn, the long plumes of his tail swaying in the wind like silken pennons, or alarmed by the rustling of the long reeds, plunging among the underwood, or flapping his way to the ivied arm of a tree! How beautiful appears a flock of these birds, feeding upon the wild wood-fruits in some sequestered path, which is seldom trodden by any foot saving their own! What terrible havoc the murderous gun makes of their splendid feathers, scattering their gold and crimson and purple plumes upon the wind, and drawing down the bright scarlet rim that encircles the deep shining eyes which the filmy darkness covers! The sound of their voices, too, calling to each other from the distant thickets, harmonizes well with the silence of the scene. Then to come upon them unawares when they are squatting among the tangled grass and plants, and see them spring up, and with a loud noise, whirr through the woven branches to some more secret covert, is a beautiful and striking sight, especially in the month of October, when every motion of their strong wings scatters a shower of golden leaves to the ground."

Will our readers bear with us, if we endeavour to extend this piece of nature painting, so as to include a few more incidents of pheasant life, whose greatest perils commence in the season here described. When the golden-leaved September has whistled out his merry tune over the hilltops, and the broad round hunter's moon has shone full upon the cleared stubble field, and the hedges festooned with the feathery clematis ; when the barns and rick-yards are full, and the squirrel and dormouse are beginning to store acorns and hazel nuts for the coming winter, then

"See from the brake the whirring pheasant springs,

And mounts exulting on triumphant wings.'

But far better for him had he remained hidden in the leafy covert, for

"Short is his joy; he feels the fiery wound,

Flutters in blood, and panting beats the ground.

Ah, what avail his glossy varying dyes,

His purple crest, and scarlet-circled eyes;
The vivid green his shining plumes unfold,

His painted wings, and breast that flames with gold?"

In vain will the frightened bird now attempt to escape; enemies are on every side of him; and crouch as close as he may, they will discover his hiding place; the keen-scented pointer will indicate his whereabouts. Now he lurks deep in the tangled underwood, and deems himself secure from all his foes, while far and wide through the woodlands on every side of them the frequent bang-bang gives fearful note of the work of destruction. Faint and more faint these sounds of danger now become, until at length they cease altogether, or are only heard in the far distance; while close around all is silence, broken only by the caw of the fieldward-flying rook, the croak of the raven upon the naked branch of the lightning-stricken tree, or the soft coo-coo of the dove. The squirrel descends the rugged bole to gambol awhile in the ferny knolls, amid the twisted roots of the giant oaks; and up from its home in the warren comes the grey rabbit, and sits cleaning its furry face in the sunshine, which finds its way through the lofty canopy above. All at once, however, it utters a sharp cry, and darts off, for from the thicket creeps forth a red-eyed weasel, and the bark of a skulking fox breaks unpleasantly upon the ear. Up from his ground covert springs the pheasant, and seeks safety amid the branches of the elm, where he crouches close, sending out wary glances on every side from the loopholes of his retreat. Again is heard a shot; and then, closer still, a cheer, and a shrill whistle-a fluttering of wings, a dashing rustling sound; a wounded bird, as swiftly as its drooping wing will allow, runs across the glade, followed closely by a spotted retriever, which seizes and bears it away in its mouth. Footsteps approach; a pause, a cold sharp click; the eager snuffing of a dog, and now the steady pointer stands in view, fixed and rigid as though turned to stone, and

"The pheasant startles from the brake,

With all his gaudy plumes outspread;
The sportsman, surer aim to take,
Crouches mid fern and bracken red,
Or steals along from brush to tree,
Silent, and slow, and cautiously."

Again the death-shot rings through the wood, and the shooter passes on, rejoicing in the acquisition of a second year's cock, a noble fellow, whose weight cannot he much short of four pounds, with a tail like an embroidered pennon. But here we must stop for the present, promising to return to the subject next month, when we shall enter more fully into the natural history of the glorious king of the British preserves, to whom, one who signs himself "Valdarno," in "Time's Telescope,' dedicates this sonnet

"Close by the borders of the fringed lake,

And on the oak's expanding bough, is seen
What time the leaves the passing zephyrs shake,
And sweetly murmur through the sylvan scene,
The gaudy pheasant, rich with varying dyes,
That fade alternate, and alternate glow,
Receiving now his colours from the skies,

And now reflecting back the watery bow;
He flaps his wings, erects his spotted crest;
His flaming eyes dart forth a piercing ray;
He swells the lovely plumage of his breast,

And glares in wonder on the orient day.
Ah! what avail such heavenly plumes as thine,
When dogs and sportsmen in thy ruin join?"

A DAY'S FISHING ON LOUGHNAMINNA, COUNTY CLARE.

ACCOMPANIED BY FITZ-H.

BY MICK.

'Tis a charming morn in the month of May;
The birds on each tree are singing away,

And the whole face of Nature looks smiling and gay!
How in the world shall we spend the day?

"Go fish!" methinks I hear you say.

Well, since such is your wish,

I'll go to fish!

"Tom-get ready the tackling ;

Let's go to the lake:

We'll give 'em a hackling,

And no mistake!

And don't forget something to eat by the way!
What pleasure is sweet

If we've nothing to eat?

Bring plenty of prog,

And whisky for grogį.

And be quick, for we've got no time to delay!”