112



M. Pierre Amedee Pichot,



were rather shy, hiding in a bunch under the litter of hay in the

covered flight. When going into the open compartment, they were

all the time most busy scratching the grass, as if they were searching

for some food they were missing. The fact is, the nails of their toes

and their strong arched bills are no doubt adapted to digging habits,

as is the case with the Impeyan or Monaul Pheasant, and they scoop

out a carrot or cabbage-stalk quite cleverly. I suspect they feed a

great deal on some kind of root or tuber in their own country.

Elliot says, indeed, that in certain localities their chief food seems to

be small bulbous roots ; but, as he does not specify of what kind, I

was at a loss what to supply them with.


The last time I went to pick up a dead male Massena in the

aviary, I discovered that the female had made a rough kind of nest

in a wooden box on the ground, and laid four glossy white eggs, but

she herself died a few days later, having gone quite distracted from the

loss of her spouse, running about to find him, and calling him all day

long with a drawling, melancholy whistle, so much like the moanings

of a mourner ! So I put the eggs under a bantam, and, after twenty,

five days of incubation, I had the pleasure to see three chicks breaking

their shells all at the same time. The fourth egg was addled.


The wee chicks were hardly bigger than a Cockchafer!

They proved very active at once, and were fed with the same food as

Californians. But, alas ! their step-mother was rather too clumsy

for such little things, and she crushed one of them in the narrow

breeding-box in which they were being brought up. So I let the

covey loose on a lawn, where they did very well until a neighbour’s

cat carried one off. I had to put back the last remaining youngster

with its nurse into a covered aviary, in which the poor orphan

fretted a good deal, trying to find an exit, as he had acquired a taste

for roaming at large. He was two months old when a very damp

and chilly autumn set in, and I found my poor bird dead one morning.

He was a most lovely and affectionate little pet, following me in

the garden like a dog when I took him out for a walk, and keeping

so close to my feet that I had to be very careful not to tread upon

him. He fed from the hand, and was never so pleased as when I took

him up, and then he would nestle in the palm of my hand enjoying

the warmth and chirping contentment.



