FALCONRY, OR "HAWKING."

BY ZITELLA COCKE.

The training of hawks was a recognized profession in the last century. There were men who devoted their lives to it, and drew immense salaries for their labor. Louis XIII., who was devoted to this sport, and always rode out with his falconer and falcon for a hunt before going to mass in the morning, paid his trainer by the day a sum which seemed fabulous. Poor Louis XVI. did not care for the sport, and dismissed trainers and falcons from his service as an unnecessary expense.

So much time and pains were taken in the training of these birds that it was the occasion of a regular technical language, understood only by those who were versed in the art and the sport. Training the bird was called "manning it." Jesses were part of the bird's equipment, and consisted of narrow strips of strong leather fastened to its leg, by which it could be held when not on the hunt. Flat gold or silver rings called "varvels" were attached to the end of these jesses, with the owner's name and address written upon them. Bells were frequently tied to the leg of the bird, so that when it flew out of sight it could be traced by sound of the bell. To teach the bird to do what was called "jumping to the fist" was a great art, and took great time and care to accomplish. And a pretty sight it must have been—a sight quite worthy of being portrayed in Queen Matilda's embroidered tapestry—to see the bird, eager and impatient, about to spring to its master's fist. The graceful motion could not, of course, be represented in a picture, but as we imagine it, we cannot wonder that hunting with hawks was even more fascinating than hunting with hounds. And then to see it spring from the gauntleted fist into the air, and soar far away until it became a mere speck in the sky, yet never forgetting its resting-place, and returning to it after a flight of many a mile.

And this glove, or gauntlet, upon the hand of the falconer, and sometimes the monarch, was an important feature of the equipment. It was made of thick buckskin, and the royal gauntlets were wondrously adorned with gold and silver threads, and even jewels, set in forms of flowers and family crests. The bird itself often wore a helmet bedecked with plumes and jewels, to be removed, however, when it was pluming itself for flight. The call to the hawk was a spirited cry—"Yo-ho-hup—yohup—yohup"; and another, "Helover—helow—helow—helover."

When the bird was taken out and exercised, with a view to keeping him in good physical condition, as well as in thorough acquaintance with the various things taught him by his trainer, it was called "weathering."

The distance accomplished by these birds in a short time seems almost incredible, and this circumstance alone would make them a terror to their victims. Few birds could compete with the falcon. Its flight was as rapid as it was untiring, keeping always a little above the victim, and swooping down upon it in such a way as to make resistance impossible. In the air the heron itself was unable to resist his assailant, but if the two fell to the earth the heron had the advantage, and the falcon rarely escaped without losing one or both eyes. It was the eye always at which the heron aimed. A German Duke is said to have wept bitterly when his favorite falcon, falling to the earth with a heron in his talons, lost both of its eyes in the encounter which took place on the ground.

Lovers of dogs insisted that the hawk came to the "lure" only—the "lure" being the feed which constitutes a part of the training—and was never actuated by an affection for its master. But lovers of falconry declare the falcon to be capable of warm and lasting affection. A Colonel Johnson, of the Rifle Brigade, was ordered to Canada with his battalion. He had devoted much time and expense to the "manning," or training, of two falcons, and he took them with him across the Atlantic. During the voyage, after feeding them, he would fly them every day. Sometimes they sailed far out of sight, but always returned to the master. One evening, after a longer flight than usual, one of the falcons returned alone; the other, the chief favorite, was missing. Colonel Johnson made up his mind that he would never see his falcon again, but one day, after the arrival of the regiment in America, he saw a paragraph in a Halifax newspaper announcing that the captain of an American schooner had in his possession a fine hawk, which had suddenly made its appearance on board his ship during his passage from Liverpool. Colonel Johnson believed this bird to be his much-prized falcon, and obtaining leave of absence, started in pursuit of it. He went to Halifax, saw the captain of the schooner, and asked permission to see the bird. The captain refused the request, "guessed" that he would keep the bird himself, and asserted his disbelief in the Englishman's story. Colonel Johnson proposed that his claim to the ownership of the bird should be put to the test by an experiment. It was this: Colonel Johnson was to be admitted to an interview with the hawk, which had shown no partiality for any person since its arrival in the New World, and had repelled the caresses of its new owner. If at this meeting it exhibited unequivocal signs of recognition such as would convince the by-standers that Colonel Johnson was its original master, the American captain was to surrender all claim to it. Several Americans present admitted this test to be perfectly reasonable, and the captain was persuaded to acquiesce. He went up stairs, and returned with the falcon. The door was hardly opened before the bird jumped from the captain's fist and perched upon the shoulder of its long-lost master, rubbing its head against his cheek, taking hold of his buttons and champing them playfully in its beak, and evincing by every way in its power its delight and affection. The verdict was unanimous. Even the hard-hearted captain relented, and the falcon was restored to its rightful owner.