92 BIRDS OF THE PLAINS 



this clump, I instructed my beaters to throw stones into 

 it. This they did, but half a dozen stones, to say 

 nothing of as many chunks of clay and the most 

 frantic yells and shouts, elicited no response from the 

 partridge. I therefore moved on, and the moment I had 

 turned my back on the clump the bird flew out ! This 

 is typical of my experience as a partridge shooter ; the 

 birds almost invariably get up from cover at a moment 

 when I cannot possibly take a shot at them. Well 

 might I sing with Cowper — 



I stride o'er the stubble each day with my gun 

 Never ready to shoot till the covey is flown. 



For these reasons partridge shooting is to me a par- 

 ticularly exasperating form of sport. There are few 

 things more annoying than to hear — " the partridge 

 burst away on whirring wings," from a bush on which 

 you have just turned your back after having thrown 

 into it half the contents of a ploughed field ! 



I am not a bloodthirsty individual, and enjoy watching 

 birds through a field-glass quite as much as, if not more 

 than, shooting them with a gun, but there is something 

 in the call of the grey partridge which makes me want 

 to shoot him. His shrill " pateela, pateela, pateela," 

 seems to be a challenge. Grahame sings — 



Cheerily 

 The partridge now her tuneless call repeats. 



For " cheerily " write " cheekily " and you have a good 

 description of the call of our Indian grey partridge, 

 which may be heard in Madras every morning during 

 the winter months. 



