To A. J. O'B., 

 My Shooting Partner. 



I've samples sport and work, and gall and wine, 



My years for pension near the twenty-one — 



Here's to you, John ! Did ever you repine. 



Of birds divided, weie they yonrs or mine, 



The long years through ? Yon'revot that fort of Gun. 



So I revive by my fireside at Home 



Rich memories of the fields we used to roam. 



The snowy Spoonlnlls tack across the ; 



Tlie Curlew tunes liis melanclioly pi] : 



We're out for Driven Duck. I see tl Teal 



Climb for your second barrel ; past us steal 



Godwits and Hastered Stilts, or, may be. Snipe, 



And. mark ! a soaring Pintail (bless him") runs 



The fiery gauntlet of the waiting guns. 



Again the Geese sweep landwards from the shore ; 



Together on the Indus bank we walk ; 



We hunt the furtive Bustard as of yore ; 



Hark ! in the Suleimans a lone Chnkor 



Calls, or we hear the racy Salt Range talk. 



(jQod days they were, and, now I see their end. 



All for the sliaring sweeter, weien't they, friend ? 



Your Camel softly pads along the trail ; 



In the red dawn you hear tlie questing Owl ; 



You place your call-birds in the wheat for Quail ; 



Among the reeds, see! runs a water Kail 



Do you remeviher Mornis Jangle Fowl ? 



Ah ! When the strong winged Sandgrouse swoop and 



pack. 

 Over your butt, John, sometimes vAsli me back. 



R. C. B. 



