brown arrays the female, often adorned, however, with spots and lines.

"Close by the borders of the fringed lake,

And on the oak's expanding bough, is seen
(What time the leaves the passing zephyrs shake,
And gently murmur through the sylvan scene)
The gaudy pheasant, rich with varying dyes,
That fade alternate, and alternate glow,
Receiving now his colours from the skies,

And now reflecting back the watery bow.
He flaps his wings, erects his spotted crest;
His flaming eyes dart forth a piercing ray;
He swells the lovely plumage of his breast,

And glares a wonder of the orient day."

The pheasant is now found in a state of nature in almost every part of the old continent, except the northern, but it is not known in America. It bears confinement tolerably well, and produces a great many eggs in that state. The eggs are often put under a common fowl to be hatched by this means a great many are reared every year, and afterwards let loose into the woods, which are preserved, or kept free from intruders were it not for this, the breed would probably be soon extinct.

Luxury keeps up a demand for these birds, and the sportsman makes them an easy prey.

"See! from the brake the whirring pheasant springs,
And mounts exulting on triumphant wings:
Short is his joy; he feels the fiery wound,
Flutters in blood, and panting beats the ground.
Ah! what avail his glossy, varying dyes,
His purple crest, and scarlet-circled eyes;
The vivid green his shining plumes unfold,

His painted wings, and breast that flames with gold!"

Sagacity is not so apparent in this bird as in many others. When roused, it will frequently perch on the first tree; and so intent is it on the dogs, that the sportsman is allowed a very near approach. At the time of their perching, too, pheasants often crow, or make a chuckling noise. While thus exposed to destruction, to say nothing of other devices, the poacher catches them with wire-nooses, twisted horse-hairs, and even with a brier set at the edge of a wood, for they always run to feed in the neighbouring fields morning and evening.

The instinct of a sitting bird is, as in all other cases, fully adapted to its circumstances. In the wild state, when relaxation is necessary, the wearied pheasant first covers her eggs, and then, instead of running from the nest, instantly takes wing. Thus she has been observed betaking herself to flight immediately from her nest in the grass, and, on her return, keeping on the wing till she dropped upon it. The reason of her so doing ex

hibits the care which the great Benefactor exercises over the humblest of his creatures. Were the parent to run along the ground from her nest, a scent would be produced, and a track made, by which some cunning foe might despoil her; but by this precaution, there is no clue to such a robbery. On it depends the safety of the nest and its little brood; and, doubtless, the same precaution is taught by instinct to most birds which have their nests on the ground.