96 WILD NATURE'S WAYS. 



his property, thinking it to be a haven of rest, 

 instead of a veritable death-trap. This man told 

 me rather admiringly that he had watched an 

 old cock grouse run past and leap over no less 

 than eighteen snares set in succession. 



The brooding moor-fowl as the bird is called 

 in many localities is rather a close sitter. Two 

 years ago, whilst in the North of England, I 

 started out nest-hunting on the hills one morning, 

 unhampered by photographic impedimenta, on 

 account of the unpromising character of the 

 weather. In the afternoon I found a hen grouse 

 sitting on her nest in an exceptionally open place. 

 The bird was so tame that she allowed me to 

 stroke her back plumage, and only clucked in a 

 soft, motherly note when I put my fingers gently 

 beneath her body. The skies had cleared, and 

 here was a chance of picture-making that raised 

 my enthusiasm to boiling-point. Away I rushed, 

 three long miles down the hills, for my camera 

 and plates. In due time I returned, hot and 

 tired, but filled with a great hope. Throbbing 

 with excitement, I fixed up in front of the nest, 

 but, alas ! just as my head was about to dis- 

 appear beneath the focussing cloth, there was an 

 ominous whirr, and I was left to gaze broken- 

 heartedly on four newly hatched chicks and 

 three chipped eggs. A few days after this trying 

 experience my brother, who was working in 



