io8 THE BIRDS OF OUR RAMBLES. 



after some little trouble I succeeded in flushing 

 him from the cover, and watched him fly from the 

 wood towards a small grove of trees standing alone 

 on a wide stretch of open ground covered with 

 cotton-grass and rushes. Here he pitched and 

 commenced to walk about, picking here and there 

 like a barn-door fowl. The moment I got out of 

 the wood and began walking towards him, he eyed 

 me suspiciously for a moment, and then hurriedly 

 crouched to the ground. Here, motionless as 

 marble he remained, watching my every move- 

 ment intently. Pretending not to notice him, I 

 made him believe that he was unseen, and 

 that I was about to pass his hiding-place. He 

 allowed me to get exactly within one yard 

 before he rose like a rocket and made for the 

 wood again ; yet in that fleeting moment I saw 

 how closely he had crouched to the ground, lying 

 almost flat, with neck stretched out and pressed 

 to the grass, and long tail like a single feather 

 extended behind. In this manner, or by running 

 stealthily through the grass, the Pheasant always 

 tries to escape danger, only using his wings when 

 absolutely compelled. The naturalist will also 

 find that when the woods are carpeted with snow, 

 the Pheasant is yet still more reluctant to rise, 

 and his tracks on every side show how small his 

 inclination is for flight. Here I might just remark 

 in passing, that the footprints of the female Phea- 

 sant are much smaller than those of the male ; 

 and not only so, she runs with lower steps, often 

 making a furrow on the surface several inches 

 before the actual impression of her feet. The 

 loud, discordant corrk of the Pheasant will be 

 familiar to every wanderer in the woods, and this 



