TAMENESS OF PHEASANTS. 15 
in a fine cock pheasant which inhabited, or rather infested, the grounds and shrub- 
bery. He had been originally, I believe, reared on the premises, but had become 
as wild as any of his fellows, and, after having been lord of a harem of some seven 
or eight ladies last spring, who had all reared their families and gone off with 
them, had been left in loneliness, with his temper soured against the female sex at 
large. His beat was for about a quarter of a mile between the house and the 
entrance-gate, and on the approach of anything in the shape of crinoline his temper 
was roused to such a degree that he attacked it with all his might and main, flying 
up at the unnatural appendage, pecking fiercely with his bill, and striking out at 
it with his spurs like any game-cock. I witnessed all this with my own eyes, and 
was not surprised at the terror he had created among the females by whom he was 
positively dreaded, and not without reason. One lady had attempted to protect 
herself by taking a terrier as her guardian, who at first offered fight in her defence, 
but was soon compelled to show the white feather, and at the very sight of his 
antagonist ran off with his tail between his legs. At length, however, he met with 
his master in the shape of a gipsy-woman, who being of course uncrinolined, and 
therefore considering herself unjustly attacked, set upon him, and not only pulled 
out his tail, but crushed him with her foot, and left him on his back apparently 
in the agonies of death. The domestics, however, went to his assistance, and by 
their kind attentions he was restored. Still his old antipathy revived with his 
returning strength, and in a day or two the sight of crinoline again roused his 
wrath. Therefore, for fear of his meeting with an untimely end from some other 
strong-minded woman, it was decided that he should have his wing clipped, and be 
kept prisoner within the walls of the kitchen-garden.” 
The wife of Mr. Barnes (formerly head keeper to Mr. D. Wynham, of 
Denton Hall, near Salisbury), carefully nursed a very young hen pheasant with a 
broken leg. She got well, and in course of time was turned out with the rest of 
the brood into the adjacent woods. For several seasons afterwards this hen brought 
her own brood to the keeper’s lodge. 
Mr. T. B. Johnson, in his “Gamekeeper’s Directory,” mentions one he had 
reared from the nest that became uncommonly familiar: “It will follow me,”’ he 
writes, “into the garden or homestead, where it will feed on insects and grass, and 
I occasionally observed it swallow large worms. Of all things, however, flies appear 
to be its favourite food. Before he was able to fly, I frequently lifted him into the 
window, and it was truly amusing to witness his dexterity in fly catching. He had 
been named Dick, to which he answers as well as possible. Dick is a very social 
being, who cannot endure being left alone; and if it so happen (as it occasionally 
does) that the bird finds every person has quitted the room, he immediately goes 
in search of some of the family; if the door be shut, and his egress thus denied, 
he utters the most plaintive noise, evidently testifymg every symptom of uneasiness 
