THE COMMON HILL PARTRIDGE. J I 



In the forests of the interior, in spring, it is often heard calling 

 at all hours of the day. The call is a single loud soft whistle, 

 and may be easily imitated so as to entice the bird quite close. 

 At other seasons it is never heard to call, except when disturbed." 



Hodgson notes that this species " tenants the deepest forests 

 at all elevations, keeping to their interior. I have seen them in 

 the very centres of the huge damp forests descending from the 

 summits of some of the higher hills. 



" They constantly perch. At the top of Pulchook I flushed a 

 covey of eight or ten, which flew widely scattered, all alighting 

 on the highest trees." 



I have never seen them alight on a tree, but more than once 

 have had them start out of trees over my head. 



Col. Tickell remarks : — 



" I have met with them in ones and twos, sometimes in a 

 small covey of five or six. They are not wild, trusting appa- 

 rently to the dense covert they frequent for safety ; and I have 

 sometimes sat down on the hill side, and, after remaining quiet 

 for a few minutes, heard their little feet pattering and scratch- 

 ing over the fallen leaves close to me. Now and then one 

 would emit a low soft whistle ; and in places under the bushes, 

 where no grass grew, one or two might be seen picking and peck- 

 ing as they glided along under the leaves. In these bare spots 

 they would sit or lie on their sides, scratching and throwing dust 

 over themselves. A very little movement would send them all 

 into covert as suddenly as if they had disappeared by magic, 

 and by striding hastily into the bush where they had been last 

 seen, it was possible sometimes to flush them and get one, or a 

 hasty right and left shot ; but a more difficult one cannot 

 be imagined, for they fly with the sudden startling flush and 

 flurry of the Partridge, with great speed, and so low over the 

 underwood as barely to afford aim enough to be reckoned even 

 a snap shot." 



This latter is true enough, and they afford no regular sport, 

 as it is perfectly useless looking after them ; but when shooting 

 Pheasants, the dogs continually put them up, and you may 

 often include three or four brace in the day's bag. Flying 

 as they do, they help to diversify the day's sport, as a Snipe 

 does at home when you are Pheasant-shooting. 



They are very good eating when you can get nothing better ; 

 when you can, put them in the Blaize Pot (or Hunter's Stew 

 as some call it) ; they do not repay separate cooking ; they are 

 too dry. 



I may note that, in some parts of the hills, the shepherds 

 do not like your killing these birds ; their call is precisely like 

 the whistle by which the shepherds call their flocks, and these 

 worthies will, in places, gravely maintain that the birds are 

 animated by the souls of their (the shepherds') deceased 

 confreres. 



