Modest and thoroughly delightful recollections of ""bates"" and high pitches on the royal road to falconry by one of the few masters of the ancient sport, with many competent side excursions reflecting a love and understanding of all wild life. The author does some breathless portraits of the great birds soaring, whooping, in the power and beauty of full flight. He manages to create a whir of excitement so that the reader is perfectly willing to accompany Mr. Glasier on his rounds, training birds, scaling cliffs, sitting in lofty, chilly blinds for hours clutching a camera or even constructing a hood. The author is not one to shed tears when a game quarry escapes the lethal talons, and his descriptions of the wild life on the hills of Scotland are the selective observations of a skilled amateur naturalist. The dramatis personae are mainly birds with a few dogs in the field, a ferret or two, etc., but the humans are good company too.