1 32 IN BIRD LAND 



short distance they fall a prey to the guns. Thus 

 the spring day passes, the many-tinted flowers of 

 the smiling and perfumed meadow seeming to be 

 quite out of keeping with such cruel extermination. 

 I suppose, such work has to be done ; but it does 

 not strike one as being genuine sport, this standing 

 beneath a tree to shoot helpless birds which cannot 

 fly many yards, or which even have to be hustled 

 out of their nests to become a mark for the 

 " sportsmen " below. I am fond of a little shoot- 

 ing myself, but sport of this kind seems to go 

 against one's humanity, or even self-respect. When 

 out shooting I like to see a bird killed at once, 

 and not left to die of wounds in its nest as is 

 the case with many of the young Rooks referred 

 to. 



There are times, as that of seed-sowing, when 

 without doubt it may be quite necessary to shoot 

 birds for scarecrows, or to diminish their numbers. 

 I remember an old peasant who sometimes had 

 duties of this kind fall to his lot. In one large 

 field many persons tried in vain to kill a Rook to 

 serve for a " scarecrow, " and so this old veteran 

 was given a chance. He had handled divers sorts 

 of guns in his time, but perhaps there was no make 

 he liked better than an old muzzle-loading rifle 

 converted into a shot-gun. This had a very long 



