THE BOOK OF MIGRATORY BIRDS 183 



beginning of harvest. I have seen whole patches of peas, 

 beans, &c., laid waste by the wood pigeon in spring, 

 whilst the storm-beaten wheat and barley comes in for 

 wholesale devastation. Of course, there is sport for any- 

 one who cares for a shot at these birds, and the farmer 

 welcomes w 7 ith open arms such aid in ridding the land of 

 such a pest. I know the country pretty well from Berwick- 

 upon-Tweed to Lizard Point, a range of some 360 miles, 

 and I can say with assurance that no applicant for a day's 

 shooting among the quists is ever refused. 



When last I engaged in this sport I pursued the follow- 

 ing tactics : I arrived in the county of Herefordshire, in 

 the Ross-on-Wye district, one evening in spring, and, 

 having asked permission of a neighbouring farmer, I 

 sallied forth the following morning at daybreak, and, 

 having constructed a bower of cut branches in the vacant 

 space between two thick bushes, close to the young peas, 

 I awaited the early birds. Soon was heard the whistle of 

 wings as a bird alighted in the branches of the over- 

 arching tree. An upward glance revealed the culprit, and 

 down came number one. This bird I placed in position 

 among the growing crops, and a very short time elapsed 

 before number two alighted close by. The moment it 

 reached earth I fired, and thus gave the dead bird a com- 

 panion. This sort of warfare went on, firing at short and 

 long range viz., from fifteen to forty yards till eleven 

 o'clock, when I repaired to my temporary homestead for 

 lunch, carrying 26 plump birds. 



The next day I selected the other extremity of the farm 

 of two hundred acres, where a similar crop had been sown, 

 and, although I had fewer birds, I managed to do well to 

 the tune of 18. 



My best day at this sport, however, was in Wiltshire, 

 on a farm, bordering well-wooded land, belonging to the 

 Marquis of Aylesbury. It was the beginning of harvest, 

 and the shocks of wheat were piled up on one end of an 

 oblong-shaped field. I duly selected my bower as in the 

 spring, and kept watch towards the wood for the first 



