48 MUTTON BIRDS 



which before taking to the photography 

 of birds seemed unlikely to trouble or annoy 

 until the Judgment Day, now harasses the mind. 

 I find myself constantly considering my past. 



What piece of idiotic folly have I just com- 

 mitted? Was that branch moved at the last 

 moment really properly replaced? Might not 

 the screen of fern fronds have been brushed 

 aside as I crept in ? Am I perfectly certain that 

 the waterproof thrown down near the nest was 

 ever picked up again? Even unlikely things 

 throng the mind. A cruel fear that constantly 

 besets me is lest McLean in retiring the veriest 

 trifle will keep a bird away should have care- 

 lessly broken his neck within view of the nest. 



These are the troubles that are aging me pre- 

 maturely. The public has resolutely forborne 

 to read my verse ; my stock has perished whole- 

 sale; my banker has on occasion written me 

 letters such as no gentleman should address to 

 another. But these miseries are as nothing to 

 those borne with the knowledge that repentance 

 comes too late, that atonement is impossible, 

 that punishment must follow instantly. 



This feeling, however, that my actions in the 

 field, must, so to speak, be paid for cash down, 

 is having the happiest effect on my general 

 character. It is making a good man of me at 

 last. But, if the pains are severe so are the 

 pleasures of this pastime correspondingly sweet. 

 The woodlands become full of a new mystery. 

 The knowledge grows that utterly wild creatures 

 are peering and inspecting with craned necks 

 and cautious tread, thrusting the fronds apart 

 that screen their tracks, pushing through cur- 

 tains of greenery that, as the birds pass, brush 



