For the subject of our natural history picture to-day we have some Grouse. There is a nice little family of grouse, consisting of papa, mamma, and four children, all taking a pleasant walk among the heath and fern. At the same time the old birds are searching for the wild berries, the buds of the heath, and the seeds which form their principal food. Look how eager the young ones are to have their share of some nice berries, which mamma grouse has just found!

These birds are only met with on moors or wild heaths, and chiefly in mountainous countries; indeed Scotland is the country where they are now principally found, and people often go there on purpose for the grouse-shooting. I daresay some of my little readers already know that grouse-shooting begins on the 12th of August, a great day for sportsmen. From the way in which game is now preserved in England, partridge-shooting has come to be a tamer sport than it used to be. Many brace of partridges may sometimes be brought down during a short walk over cultivated fields, and such sport seems less manly than taking long fatiguing walks over breezy moors, as sportsmen have to do in search of grouse.

The grouse is a very wild and shy bird, and both skill and caution are required in approaching them; they live in flocks, called “packs,” and form their nests, as partridges do, upon the ground. Their plumage is a rich brown, mottled with paler spots; the tail is black, with the exception of four of the feathers, which have red marks on them: over the eye also is a rough bare red spot. The bill of the grouse is short, arched, and very strong; and the legs of this bird, as the winter approaches, become feathered. As an article of food, the grouse is very delicate, and has an excellent flavour.

The bird I have been describing is the red grouse; that is in fact the common grouse. But there is also found in Scotland, though less frequently, the black grouse, which is a much larger bird. The red grouse is rather bigger than a partridge.

I once made the acquaintance of a tame grouse—one at least that had been domesticated. The gentleman it belonged to had picked it up out of its nest when a tiny thing on the moors in Scotland; and being a great bird-fancier, and having a collection, he had brought it in a cage to his house in Kent. When I saw Peter—that was the name given the grouse,—he was quite tame, but very ill-tempered. You might take him up if you pleased, but he always pecked the hand that did so. Peter was supposed to live habitually in a wicker cage, but in truth he had pretty well the run of the house. More than once he had taken flight beyond the premises, but had returned for his food. One day however he was missed, and never came back. His fate may be surmised from the fact that about the same time a party of gentlemen in the neighbourhood, being out shooting—it was September—were surprised to find a grouse among the game they had killed.