THE LANDRAIL 



bird lies there upon your open palm, you may note 

 easily its curiously short, feeble wings, set very far 

 forward, and the strength, length, and development 

 of its legs and feet. It is manifest that the bird is by 

 nature far more fitted for running than flying. The 

 clear hazel eye, the yellowish white stomach, the dark 

 brown upper plumage, fringed with pale rufous, the 

 rich deep chestnut of the quills and wing feathers, the 

 pale ash of the breast and neck, and the faint tawny 

 markings of the sides and thighs — all these points are 

 pretty sure to catch the eye of the sportsman, if, as more 

 often than not happens, he is something of a naturalist 

 as well as a gunner. 



The most remarkable thing about the landrail is, 

 however, after all is said and done, its extraordinary 

 instinct or passion for migration. Whence comes to 

 it that overpowering desire which, twice in the year, 

 impels it, weak-winged though it is, to change its 

 quarters, to range during our English springtime as 

 far north as the bleak and frozen shores of arctic 

 Greenland, to descend in the fall of the year away 

 south into Africa, and eastward into Asia, reaching in 

 its return migration countries so distant and so widely 

 sundered as Natal and Afghanistan? At present — in 

 spite of theories and surmises— we have no satisfactory 

 reason offered to us for the wonderful migration — re- 

 curring steadily, persistently, and unfailingly, year after 

 year — of a bird like the landrail, whose weak wings 

 and strongly developed legs plainly attest the fact that 

 its natural powers of progression lie far more in walk- 

 ing and running than in flying. The extent of the 

 migration of the landrail, although not yet perfectly 

 ascertained, is reasonably well known. In its northern 

 passage it reaches, during April and May, England, 

 Scotland, Ireland, the Hebrides, the Orkney and Shet- 

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