200 UPLAND SHOOTING. 



black of the breast, and the golden mottle of the back are 

 the main remembrances one brings away from the side of 

 a flock of golden plovers as they stalk, tall and erect, or 

 run swiftly across a field. Seen at a distance, the birds 

 look nearly as large as pigeons, and their appearance is 

 alert, wary, and truly game-like. On the ground, swift, 

 bright and self-possessed; on the wing, rapid, erratic 

 now sweeping close along the ground in long and loose 

 array, and now glancing with a hundred golden gleams 

 as they turn in serried rank against the shafts of the 

 morning sun they are fit subjects for the artist's pencil, 

 and worthy incentives for the sportsman's enthusiasm. 

 They are birds of the fair, warm fields, of the blue sky, of 

 the gentle breath of spring or early fall. They come first 

 when the frost has left the air, when the grass is growing 

 green, and when the leaves on the hedges are bigger than 

 a squirrel's ear. They come again in the fall, when sum- 

 mer has just finished the rounding out of her golden 

 work, and before the chill winds have laid their blight 

 upon the land. Golden with the promise of the spring, 

 and golden with the fruition of the summer. I know not 

 why we should not love and cherish them, and hold them 

 very worthy of good place and proper sportsman's 

 handling. 



The golden plover is preeminently a migratory bird, 

 and wide, indeed, is the range it covers with the sweep 

 of its bold and sinewy wing. Its loose and scattered 

 bands are often seen far out at sea, and it still seems per- 

 fectly at home and perfectly confident. It goes to the 

 Bahamas and to Bermuda, is found in the West Indies, 

 in Central and South America, and even in Paraguay and 

 Chili. It is seen at Sitka and the Northwest Coast, and 

 indeed over most of the British Possessions. It breeds 

 far to the north, on the Arctic Coast, or on the islands of 

 the Arctic Sea. We who hear its "whit! whit- whit! " 



