they come from the far, far 'south—they light
on the lower parts of the island; and, lighting
on the nets, are taken irrecoverably. In
the months of August and September, when
quail-netting is more than a speculation, an
exciting sport: it becomes the excuse and
the motive of all the dancing and love-
making of the island.

"Will you come and see the quail-netting?"
Of course I would; so off I set about nine or
ten o'clock at night, and on a large open
space, underneath the widely extended nets
I found a numerous party of peasantry.
Quails were the excuse, but I question much
whether love had not quite as much to do
with the meeting; for many a pretty
coquette was there, whose spadilla in her
hair shone brightly, and whose eyes shone
still brighter. Many a sailor too, with his
red Phrygian cap, who seemed longing, if he
had not been too sheepish, to have a word
with the fair. The tambourine at length
struck up, and the scuorno vanished; and,
darting into the very midst of the bevy of
damsels, the youths took the hands of their
favourites, and away they footed the Tarantella,
till the quails really did come. Then,
forgetting love and the Tarantella, all sprang
to the nets. It is an exciting moment when
the victims begin to enter the island; for as
it is dark, the netter having only his ear
for his guide, a soft sound, half-twitter, half-whistle,
announces their approach. At times,
too, as they rush upon their fate, one feels
the disturbance in the air occasioned by their
rapid flight. Bluff, bluff, bluff—sharply and
rapidly in they come at every moment. Down
fall the nets; and, in a trice, they are taken.
Then all hands haul those treacherous meshes
up again.

Before the quails reach land, however,
they have met with some not very friendly
salutes at sea; for many sportsmen—in the
spring especially, when the birds fly low,
after their wearisome journey—go out
in boats, and shoot them. As day dawns,
the men on the peaks descry them from
afar, and set up a strange shrill shriek to
frighten them and drive them in the direction
of the nets. The sportsman, all at
once profiting by the warning, looks round,
levels his gun, and has the first chance.
They are wearied enough after their long
flight; so much so, that many drop into the
sea just as they heave in view of what they
had been looking to as their temporary home.
Should they, however, escape the fowler in
his boat, and those wide, gaping, insatiable
nets on land, they have but a slight hope;
for men with hand-nets, and a horde of
bumpkin sportsmen, with rusty guns,
traverse and beat up every inch of ground.
With his huge weapon fastened at either side
to a long cane, or series of canes, the hand-netter
moves along: his skeleton mongrel
before him. Nor does he move at random;
for, with certain others of his company, he
has his looker-out who, from his craggy
point, has marked the spots where all the
escaped quails have alighted and nestled down
for the day. Stealing on, according to
directions which are shouted out in a lusty voice,
he at length comes over the lair; he opens
wide his net, and lowering it, stretches it out
before him; his cur snuffs eagerly about him
and gives a short bark of satisfaction: up goes
the quail, and, in nine cases out of ten, is taken
in and done for. The fowler throws his net on
the ground, carefully unfolds it, and the poor
animal is taken out and transferred to a large
bag, or in default of a bag, to the bosom,
where it nestles within a loose shirt.

It is fearful, sometimes, to watch these
hand-netters creeping along the face of a
rock and jumping from crag to crag, when
a false step or a moment's dizziness must
precipitate them into the sea some hundreds
of feet below them; more especially, too, when
there is a breeze, and the heavy net which he
carries in his hands sways backwards and
forwards with every puff. Yet I have never
heard of an accident. It is a keen and joyous
sport to those engaged in it, and I believe
they would to a man prefer it, with
all its danger and uncertainty, to any more
regular and lucrative occupation. Unlike the
netters, the gunners cannot pursue their sport
within sixty palmi of a fixed net; a very
vexatious, however necessary, regulation, and
one which often leads to blows. Perhaps
the great cause of excitement connected with
quail-shooting is the very uncertainty of the
sport. I have been out every day for a
week without finding a bird; for, as the quail
is only a temporary visitor, one has to wait
for a variety of happy influences until it ventures
on its trackless passage through the
air. One day a baffonia, and another day a
west wind, turns up to retard the voyage,
so that the appetite becomes whetted for the
amusement. At length they come in such
numbers as to astonish the novice, and the
whole population, man, woman, and child,
turn out as on a fête day. Pop, pop, pop, is
heard in every direction; the rocks ring with
the shouts of the lookers-out; the netters
cover every inch of ground, and boys and
girls, like a string of ants, are running
continually to Marina with bags and baskets of
game to be shipped off for Naples. Like
young chickens, as numerous and as tame, I
have seen them run along the ground amidst
the corn, under the vines and olives, in broods,
and have shot them as they ran. Even on the
wing it is not a difficult bird to bring down,
for its flight is generally short, descending and
ascending, and thus describing the arc of a
circle; except when the wind is violent, when
you see it swept before the storm without
rule or order.

Once, however, that it nestles in the ground,
it is diflicult to turn it up; so that one may
pass close to it without its rising; turn your
dog upon it with the same result; and I have