234 HAPPY HUNTING-GROUNDS 



before I raise the gun to my shoulder ; in my opinion 

 there is no surer way of missing a high pheasant than 

 to begin to take aim too soon. It is very high, but I 

 think the choke-bore will reach it, and sure enough, 

 when I swing the barrels well in front of it and pull 

 the trigger, the kind bird collapses and falls, stone 

 dead as I think in the pride of my heart. Not a bit 

 of it ! He falls with a thud which one would have 

 thought would break every bone in his body and 

 extinguish the last spark of life if haply any lingered ; 

 yet he lifts his head and runs off as if nothing had 

 happened, but, of course, is gathered by the retriever 

 that is waiting behind with the keeper before he has 

 gone any distance. In the Paradise of Birds a 

 book now nearly forgotten, but one which will well 

 repay the perusal of anyone who loves natural history, 

 delicate wit, and true poetry Courthope puts into 

 the mouth of the nightingale the following verses : 



" Man that is born of a woman 

 Man her un- web-footed drake, 

 Featherless, beakless, and human, 

 Is what he is by mistake. 

 For they say that a sleep fell on nature 

 In the midst of the making of things, 

 And she left him a two-legged creature, 

 But wanting in wings. 



Therefore ye birds in all ages, 

 Man, in his hopes of the sky, 

 Caught us and clapped us in cages, 

 Seeking instruction to fly. 



But he never can mount as the swallows 

 Who dash round his steeples to pair, 

 Or hawk the bright flies in the hollows, 

 Of delicate air." 



