_Perdix Cinerea loquitur_
'Tis the voice of the sportsman. I hear him complain,
"All my hopes of big bags have been damped by the rain.
With birds shy and scarce, flooded furze and no stubble,
To beat dripping covers is scarce worth the trouble."
Aha! The wind's ill that blows nobody good,
True, the wet has proved fatal to many a brood,
Parent birds have made moan over eggs swamped and addled,
When our covers were lakes in which ducks might have paddled,
But partridges drowned when they'd scarce chipped the shell,
Yet,--yes, on the whole, 'tis perhaps just as well.
Water! Better than fire; and a cold in the head
Is not _quite_ so bad as a dose of cold lead.
Prime time for swell vassals of powder and shot!
What's September to them, without plenty to pot?
Oh! won't they fume, as they look out this morn
On these damp furzy swamps, and yon drenched standing corn?
Poor grumbling gun-maniacs! Isn't it fun?
In the game "Birds _v._ Barrels" we birds will score one
Just for once, I should hope. In this beautiful bog
I am safe, I should fancy, from man, gun, and dog.
They may bag a few birds on the skirts of the wheat,
But I don't think _this_ cover will pay 'em to beat.
St. Partridge be bothered! St. Swithin's _my_ Saint,
May his rainy rain last, _I_ shall make no complaint.
No! Farmers and sportsmen may grumble together--
For my part, I rather approve of the weather.
[_Left chuckling._
* * * * *
[Illustration: HINTS TO BEGINNERS. GROUSE DRIVING
Birds coming straight towards you sometimes offer a very unsatisfactory
shot.]
* * * * *
OVER THE STUBBLE.--_Mr. Winchester Poppit_ (_at the luncheon by the
coppice_). I must say that I like to see partridges driven.
_Captain Treadfoot Trotter_ (_who believes in shooting over dogs_). No
doubt, Mr. Poppit, you'd like to see the poor birds driven in a coach,
or a tandem, or a curricle; or, if I may judge by the way you sent my
pointer round the last field, ye'd wish to put 'em in a circus!
* * * * *
WILD SPORTS.--_The Sportsmen_ (_from the wood_). "Hullo, Tonsonby!
You've had a good place. We've heard you blazing away all the afternoon.
How many have you bagged?"
_Tonsonby_ (_a town man_). "O, bother your tame pheasants. I've tree'd a
magnificent tom cat here, and had splendid sport, but I can't hit him.
You come and try!"
* * * * *
[Illustration: RATHER STARTLING
"Well, Count! Any sport this morning?"
"Hélas! mon ami, very sad sport! I 'ave shot three beautiful misses!"
[_He means he has missed three beautiful shots._
]
* * * * *
[Illustration: HER "FIRST"
_Miss Nimrod._ "Oh, dear! he's pointing! Which end do I shoot at?"]
* * * * *
[Illustration: Out after partridges. Unluckily, tripped up just as Di's
cousin got in the way. Thought Di rather unnecessarily sympathetic, as
he was by no means dangerously hit.]
* * * * *
[Illustration: RISKY
_Mr. O'Fluke_ (_whose shooting has been a bit wild_). "Very odd, Robins,
that I don't hit anything?"
_Robins_ (_dodging muzzle_). "Ah, but a'm afeard it's ower good luck to
continue, sir!"]
* * * * *
[Illustration: MR. TUBBING'S SHOOTING PONY]
[Illustration: RATHER PROUD OF IT.--_Landlord_ (_who is having a shoot
for his tenant-farmers_). "Good Heavens, Mr. Mangold! That bird can't
have been more than a couple of feet over Mr. Butter's head!"
_Mr. Mangold._ "Oh! That's what _I_ call _shootin'_!"]
* * * * *
[Illustration: MISTAKEN VOCATION.--_Major Missemall_ (_an enthusiast on
sporting dogs_). "Confound the brute! That's the dog I was going to run
in the retriever trials, too. But I won't now."
_Friend._ "I wouldn't. I'd reserve him for the Waterloo Cup."]
* * * * *
[Illustration: DERISION.--_Bagnidge_ (_to his friend's keeper_).
"Tut-t-t-t--dear me! Woodruff, I'm afraid I've shot that dog!"
_Keeper._ "Oh no, sir, I think he's all right, sir. He mostly drop down
like that if anybody misses!!"]
* * * * *
[Illustration: ECHO ANSWERS.--_Short-sighted swell_ (_to gamekeeper, who
has been told off to see that he "makes a bag"_) "Another hit, Wiggins!
By the way--rum thing--always seem to hear a shot somewhere _behind_ me,
just after I fire!"
_Wiggins_ (_stolidly_). "Yes, sir, 'zactly so, sir. Wunnerfle place for
echoes this 'ere, sir!"]
* * * * *