180 WILD FOWL SHOOTING. 



their heads to the blinding and drifting snow, and sit 

 quietly until break of day, when they hustle out from 

 their imprisonment, and set forth on their daily travels. 

 At times, the snow covers them ; then comes the rain 

 or sleet : the snow melts, then freezes. Alas ! these 

 changes are their death-knell. The frozen snow seals 

 them hermetically in their beds. They struggle for 

 liberty, find it impossible to regain it, and at last they 

 give up in despair and creeping closely together, ignobly 

 perish. Whole coveys are frequently frozen in this 

 manner. In mid-winter, they brave the dangers of the 

 woods, and to escape the fierce violence of the winter's 

 storm, and the piercing, bitter cold, they huddle together 

 in fence corners, clumps of trees, and thick underbrush, 

 where they roost at night, and at break of day are pot- 

 ted by the unfeeling and implacable pot-hunter ; or, are 

 seduced into captivity through the machinations of the 

 bucolic youth and his figure four trap. 



With us they remain through the entire year. Hunger 

 drives them from the sequestered places in mid-winter, 

 and they become partially domesticated, if left un- 

 molested, and will come to the barnyard and gardens 

 of the farmers, ever welcome and cheery visitors to the 

 maternal wife and prattling children. Coming as they 

 do, day after day, picking the corn and scattered grain 

 in the farmyard, or especially favored with crumbs 

 from the table, they utter their cheering call at break of 

 day, and greet the early riser as he goes forth at dawn 

 to tend his stock. 



I have several times called at some farmyard, and 

 after pleasant greetings with the lady of the house, en- 

 quired if there were any quails round. " Yes," she would 

 reply " we have a flock, the children and I. Have had 



