(_By an Absent-minded Sportsman_)
Well, I'm blest! I'm pretty nearly
Speechless, as I watch that bird,
Saving that I mutter merely
One concise, emphatic word--
What that is may be inferred!
English prose is, to my sorrow,
Insufficient for the task.
Would that I could freely borrow
Expletives from Welsh or Basque--
One or two is all I ask!
Failing that, let so-called verses
Serve to mitigate my grief
Doggerel now and then disperses
Agonies that need relief.
(Missing birds of these is chief!)
Blankly tramping o'er the stubbles
Is a bore, to put it mild;
But, in short, to crown my troubles,
_One_ mishap has made me riled,
Driv'n me, like the coveys, wild.
For at last I flush a partridge,
Ten yards rise, an easy pot!
Click. Why, bless me, where's the cartridge?
Hang it! there, I clean forgot
Putting _them_ in ere I shot!
* * * * *
[Illustration: "TURN ABOUT."--_George._ "I say, Tom, do take care! You
nearly shot my father then!"
_Tom._ "Sh! Don't say anything, there's a good fellow! Take a shot at
mine!!"]
* * * * *