preserve the old birds; but the supply is getting less and less every year. It is a pity, for the Merlin is "the lady's hawk," being singularly gentle, and perfectly easy to train. In fact, it trains itself; the mistake beginners make is in thinking a Merlin requires training at all. I remember when I was a beginner I was told by an experienced falconer (Mr. Charles Holford), "My dear fellow, it is you that want training, not the hawk." And he was right. The great drawback with Merlins is that they are practically useless after October, when the Lark-hawking ends, and should then be given their liberty. I fear these little hawks too often fall victims to misplaced confidence. They often, when in a wild state, play round the falconer like Hobbies; and the Merlin seems to have such an instinctive love of sport, and such a trusting confidence—such a feeling of good-fellowship—towards the sportsman, that it will accompany him for hours when beating a Snipe-bog. For myself, I should be sorry to make a friend of the person who not long since wrote to 'The Field' to boast of having wantonly slaughtered one of a pair of Merlins that were thus following him on Dartmoor. When Merlins follow the gunner in this fashion it may often be with an eye to the chance of his putting up a Lark, their natural quarry, for them. But this is not always the case, I think, since wild Merlins have often followed me, and settled on the ground close to me when I have been exercising Goshawks on unlikely ground for Larks.
For Sparrowhawks I dare not say much. No hawk will do so much or such good work when properly trained. It is extremely plucky—one of mine pulled down a Rook after a long flight; but it is, without exception, the hardest hawk to manage that a beginner could select, especially if a nestling; and in a game country, as a wild bird, it is certainly most mischievous. If a Sparrowhawk once discerns a coop with a lot of tame-bred young Pheasants, not one of them will escape while the hawk has its life and liberty, though I do not think it is nearly so mischievous to young game naturally reared, constantly shifting quarters, and clever at concealment. Even in my own case, lover of hawks though I am, I must confess that a Sparrowhawk passing within range of me when covert-shooting on a friend's property gives rise to a sharp internal conflict between my duty to my friend and my duty to Falconry. Fortunately for my peace of mind, the hawk usually takes advantage of the few seconds' grace thereby arising, to make himself scarce,
