180 WINTER HABITS AND HARDSHIPS. 



of killing him. Quails jump up with a loud whir, which may easily 

 startle the sportsman and spoil his aim ; hence he must make himself: 

 proof against any such tremor of surprise before he can hope to have 

 success. 



As the wild winds of November smite the open fields and break the 

 bruised reeds the quail retreats to the depths of the swamp or the shelter 

 of a dense thicket, and keeps life in him the best way he can during the 

 cold and stormy days — hunting the swamp and stubble for soft-shelled 

 nuts and seeds, torpid beetles, the hard fruits and seed-cases of various 

 grasses and weeds, some of which, like the skunk cabbage, taint his flesh 

 with their flavor. The forlorn covey huddle together and allow the 

 snow to cover them, trusting to shake it off in the morning ; but some- 

 times a crust freezes upon the surface, and the poor birds find themselves 

 in a prison from which they cannot break out before they starve to 

 death. Great numbers miserably perished in this way in New Jersey 

 in the winter of 1835-36, and again in Massachusetts in the winter of 

 1866-67. 



This habit of huddling together is one very characteristic of quails 

 all the year round. At evening they select some spot of low ground, 

 where the long grass affords shelter and warmth, and encamp, sleeping 

 in a circle, shoulder to shoulder, with their heads out, keeping each other 

 warm, and all ready to escape at an instant's notice without tumbling 

 over one another. A good roosting place once found, they go back to 

 it night after night, leaving it in the morning just before sunrise to seek 

 their breakfast. 



Unless the winter be unusually mild, the farmer will frequently find 

 quails associating with his cattle in the pasture, and even following them 

 home to glean the grain that falls about the barn-yard, and pick up the 

 scraps thrown to the chickens. I am happy to say that this delightful 

 confidence is not often abused, and many persons take pains to foster 

 bevies which they find spending the winter in some copse or brushy hill- 

 side near the house, by daily sprinkling grain or clover-seed upon the 

 snow where the hungry birds may come and get it. It is reward enough 

 — if the benefactor cares not to preserve them for the selfish pleasure 

 of shooting them the following autumn — to see the pert air with which 

 one of the cocks will perch himself on a fence rider, or walk sedately 

 along a stone wall in the early sunlight of a glistening January morning. 



As a delicate article of food the quail is greatly prized, and during 

 the time allowed by law our markets are filled with bunches of them. 

 Various devices in the shape of snares, nets, and traps have been and 



