merely of waves, and, according to Dr. Larmor, of systems of electrons, or nuclei of permanent etherial strains, in rapid motion.

How are we to reconcile these three diverse presentments of the ether? Perhaps the best answer I can offer is to remind you that throughout the history of science truth has ever been the offspring of diversity rather than of uniformity. Three men describing a neighbour's house might very well give discordant and yet not untrue accounts of it, accordingly as their own windows looked upon its front, its back, or one of its sides. It may be--I do not venture to say it is-that each of these seemingly diverse theories of the ether expresses something that is true about that aspect of the subject which chiefly has presented itself to its author.

W. A. SHENSTONE.

THE WILLOW GROUSE IN NEWFOUNDLAND.

BY HIS HONOUR JUDGE PROWSE, LL.D.

As truly as the salmon is king of the river, dear alike to the angler and the epicure, so in a similar way the grouse is lord of the moor, the finest of all game birds, beloved of both the gourmand and

the gunner.

From every point of view Tetrao lagopus is an interesting study. Its national importance is shown by the way the subject of grouse disease is discussed by all the leading journals and scientific authorities in Great Britain. Parliament is prorogued in honour of the little brown bird. The House of Commons rises on the Twelfth, and coveys rise on the wing for sporting M.P.s.

From a natural history point of view the grouse affords the ornithologist a most attractive subject for discussion. Tetrao scoticus, the so-called red grouse (amongst the older writers the 'moor fowl'), is a unique species indigenous to the British Isles, and does not naturally occur beyond these limits.

On the other side of the Atlantic, in North-East America, we find another bird, Tetrao salicensis (the willow grouse), so absolutely similar to the red grouse that in their summer plumage hardly the slightest difference can be found between them. No distinction can be discovered in their voice, their eggs, their build, their habitat, their food, or in their anatomical details.

The young willow grouse are very active and vigorous; they are not hatched quite so early as in Scotland, but the parent birds mate at the same time as in the Old Country. The young Tetrao salicensis at first has no signs of white. It is exactly the same in colour and form as the Scotch bird, perhaps a shade lighter. Only in August does it begin to show white feathers on the tips of the wings. By the end of September the brood cannot be distinguished from the old birds. Both species are very susceptible to weather changes. In fogs the willow grouse frequent high bare hills. On the first coming up of a north-easter every bird leaves the moor and hides in the thick spruce woods. They wander

about a great deal. Whilst their main habitat is the moor, and their food seeds, berries, and insects, they often frequent wet, boggy lands. The sportsman easily recognises their whereabouts by their tracks around the bogs and the round holes made in the sand where the birds have been rooting and dusting their feathers. Scotch birds on moors near the sea-coast have almost the same habits.

I should add that our ptarmigan is an exact reproduction of the Tetrao rupestris of the Old World, and has the same peculiarities and habitat.

With all these striking resemblances between the willow grouse and Tetrao scoticus a very interesting question presents itself. Why does the Scotch grouse remain always red, whilst its exact counterpart, the willow grouse, turns white in winter? This ornithological problem puzzles the naturalist. It is now, however, generally conceded that the more widely distributed willow grouse is the parent stock, and Tetrao scoticus simply a variety, a sport.

The effect of environment on the bird is very distinct and very remarkable. This can be accurately observed on islands. For instance, the Newfoundland willow grouse from its habitat and superior food is larger than, and in every way superior to the same species on Labrador and the North American continent. Again, this grouse on a small insular locality, like Bell Island (the great iron-producing locality near St. John's), where the food is inferior and the range restricted, is little more than half the size, and in every way a poorer specimen than the grand birds of the large Southern moors.

Amongst the Newfoundland birds there has never been the smallest sign of grouse disease. They are always hardy, strong, and vigorous. No doubt this is due to their environment, and to their being never crowded. The coveys are always far apart. Each brood has a large and varied range. They, 'the survivals of the fittest,' have to fight with climate, a long, cold spring, hard winters, numerous enemies, predatory birds, foxes, and latterly the American lynx, which has become numerous through the immense increase of the varying hare (the blue hare of Scotland), introduced into the island about thirty years ago from Nova Scotia. For sport there is no finer game bird in the world than the Newfoundland willow grouse, especially the birds on the south and west coast. They are fine and strong on the wing, remarkably

so on moors that are most shot over. In the interior, where the birds never see the face of man, they are as tame as chickens.

No one can doubt that they would readily mate with their congeners in Scotland. The introduction of such a new and vigorous strain, of strong constitutions, powerful to resist disease, should have an immense influence in checking this terrible plague. To be successful the experiment must be carried on with plenty of the new birds-mature, vigorous specimens. It should also extend over a large area with a wide and varied range.

Let me give my readers some information about grouse-shooting in this ancient colony. In the Old Country this delightful amusement is the pastime of princes, the sport for millionaires; in this colony the recreation alike of fishermen and farmers, open to everyone who can beg, borrow, or buy a gun and steal a dog.

Anyone who has happened to be in Scotland about August 11 will not readily forget the scenes at the Scotch stations, especially such a one as Perth. The endless gun-cases, the splendid setters and pointers straining at the leash, the eager, gaitered, and wellgot-up sportsman, the gillies in the garb of Old Gael, all bound for the land of the bonnie heather. Punch describes a worried Scotch railway porter, wrestling with a lot of pointers and setters:

'What am I going to do with these tam dogs? They have all aiten their tuckets.'

The sporting demonstration in this old colony on the opening day does not quite come up to this fine show. At the railway station on September 14 you will find a small band of keen sportsmen in very shabby old coats, some good dogs, and some young gentlemen very proud of their new gaiters and general get-up.

The journey down to the barrens, as the moors are called locally, is always pleasant. You are out for a holiday. There is a freedom from all restraint; all earthly anxiety, worries, cares, and troubles are for the moment utterly banished away. The fresh, sparkling water, the sweet breath of the pine-woods, the fresh, breezy air, all combine to make the jaunt delightful.

Over and above all there is the joyous anticipation of good sport on the morrow.

Every now and then there are kindly greetings on the road. You meet your old friends of former trips. What about the birds, Tramore?' His real name is Tom Foley, the nickname is given him because he comes from Waterford, and rather brags about its beauties. It is an awful joke on your humble servant

as judge and magistrate, and his companion, Admiral Sir William Kennedy, that for two days we employed and lived with two of the most notorious shebeen-keepers in the whole district. It only came to my knowledge about Tramore and my other friend's illicit business years after the event-after their deaths, too. Tramore is not going with you, so he says, with arch simplicity and transparent honesty. You see, I'm tuk up with the v'yage (the cod fishery), and so I don't be follyin' the country. But the byes that bes after the cows seed a few scattered coveys about the Burnt Hills and the look-out. I don't be thinking they're powerful plenty at all.' You have not hired Tom and you are passing his place, so 'in course' you get a very pessimistic report.

By and by as you get near your destination you meet another of the 'liviers,' or resident fishermen. With an air of simple candour and veracity he says, 'How be the birds? Well, I never heard tell of the like. Bat Malone came acrass the country from beyant, tudder day, may be week agone last Sunday. He had nara dog, he niver went off the pat, and begob he put tin fine coveys to wing.'

I knew one gifted artist of this kind who promised an exalted personage fine sport. Come out to me, Sir William, and I shall show you thirteen full coveys.' After a hard day's tramp the gallant knight saw and shot one old cock.

However, all things come to an end, and before nightfall you arrive at your destination, either a camp in the woods or a fisherman's house.

It is worth while to make the journey for such a kindly welcome. The old man and the boys are soon puffing away at your tobacco. The guns are always a special object of attraction, and the dogs are as well known as their master. Bang's and Shot's exploits are told over again. The camp and all the odds and ends of your outfit are turned out and critically examined. In the meantime the missus and girls are busy getting your supper. A wise man, you go to bed early, and don't take too much of the 'craytur.'

There is no need to rouse you next morning. You are away before dawn. The dread of some keener sportsman cutting you off lends wings to your movements, so before sunrise you are climbing the steep hillsides that lead up from the settlement to the grouse moors. You breast the long ascent. It takes it out of you a bit. At the top you pause for a moment to draw breath and recover your wind. The sun is just gilding the Eastern hills