214 PARTRIDGE. 
satisfied. Unlike most pets, he died a natural dedth on the 
Ist. of January, 1843.’ 
Bishop Stanley writes, ‘We are not indeed without imstances 
of wild Turkeys at this day in our own country, and a 
curious anecdote has reached us of a friendship taking place 
between a flock of these birds and a Partridge. It occurred 
at, Tyninghame, in Scotland, where there is a breed of Turkeys 
which never enter into the poultry-house or yard, but roost 
in the trees, and live chiefly on beech-mast and anything else 
they can pick up, though they are tame enough to come about 
the house to be fed in the time of frost and snow. About 
eight or ten years ago, a cock Partridge, full grown, suddenly 
joined himself to a flock of these Turkeys, and remained with 
them constantly during the whole summer, autumn, and 
winter: at night he slept under the trees in which they 
roosted; in the day he fed with them, and was not the least 
frightened or disturbed by people walking among them. He 
took great liberties with the old Turkey cock; when he saw 
him going to pick up a worm or any seed, he used to run 
under him between his legs and snatch it out of his mouth, 
the Turkey cock never resenting the indignity. arly in the 
spring he left them, as it was supposed to find himself a 
mate for the pairing-season, but in the beginning of autumn 
he rejoined his old friends, and continued with them as 
formerly until the next pairing-time, when he again disappeared, 
but returned no more, having probably been killed.’ 
He adds—‘In a gentleman’s family one was reared which 
became so familiar, that it would attend the parlour at 
breakfast and other times, and would afterwards stretch itself 
before the fire, seeming to enjoy the warmth, as if it were 
its natural bask on a sunny bank. The dogs of the house 
never molested it, but unfortunately it one day fell under the 
paws of a strange cat, and was killed.” The hen Partridge, 
which alone sits, displays great pertinacity in keeping on her 
nest, and offers a bold resistance to any feathered plunderers; 
but if quietly approached, will suffer herself sometimes to 
be touched, and even to be removed with the eggs, which 
she will continue to sit upon and will hatch; but then, with 
her brood, she will naturally endeavour to return to the 
fields. The young, if approached, will sometimes lie close, 
‘with listening ears and watchful eyes,’ but if the intruder 
comes too near, will start off with a faint cry. 
In winter they sometimes pack together in large companies 
