NOTICES OF NEW BOOKS, 859 
country gentleman who would learn the requirements of a good 
keeper ; to the naturalist who delights in roaming about the woods 
and fields, and observing the habits of wild animals; and to the 
keeper himself, to whom many a piece of sound advice and useful 
“wrinkle” is imparted. To these three classes we might almost 
add a fourth—the poacher; but we must assume that the descrip- 
tions which are given of various nefarious practices to which these 
gentry are addicted are not intended for the rising generation of 
poachers, but for the guidance of the keeper, and the safeguard of 
his master’s game. 
From the scenery described, and some of the provincialisms 
introduced, one would say that the book might have been written 
in close proximity to the Wiltshire Downs; but as the author has 
chosen to omit his name from the title-page, it is perhaps scarcely 
fair to attempt to withdraw the veil which conceals his identity. 
The writer, whoever he may be, has a facile pen, and the art 
of describing what he observes truthfully and forcibly, producing 
not unfrequently a picturesque effect by a skilful assemblage of 
common-place objects. His description of the woods in wet 
weather (p. 41), the park in spring (p. 62), and the haunts of birds 
(p. 65), may be cited as instances of this. The following extract 
will give some idea of the author’s style :— 
“Often and often when standing in a meadow gateway partly hidden by 
the bushes, watching the Woodpeckers on the ant-hills, of whose’ eggs, too, 
the Partridges are so fond (so that a good ant year, in which their nests are 
prolific, is also a good Partridge year), you may, if you are still, hear a slight 
faint rustle in the hedge, and by and by a weasel will steal out. Seeing 
you he instantly pauses, elevates his head, and steadily gazes; move but 
your eyes, and he is back in the hedge; remain quiet, still looking straight 
before you, as if you saw nothing, and he will presently recover confidence, 
and actually cross the gateway almost under you. 
“This is the secret of observation: stillness, silence, and apparent 
indifference. In some instinctive way these wild creatures learn to dis- 
tinguish when one is, or is not, intent upon them in a spirit of enmity; and 
if very near, it is always the eye they watch. So long as you observe them, 
as it were, from the corner of the eyeball, sideways, or look over their heads 
at something beyond, it is well. Turn your glance full upon them to get a 
better view, and they are gone. 
“ When waiting in a dry ditch with a gun on a warm autumn afternoon 
for a rabbit to come out, sometimes a bunny will suddenly appear at the 
mouth of a hole which your knee nearly touches. He stops dead, as if 
