RETURN TO TIFLIS. 319 



though you come down but slowly, you must rest 

 awhile on that old gnarled oak before your pinions 

 are strong enough to bear you away again, to die 

 in peace. Yet though the blood drops slowly from 

 your beak, you cling fiercely to the tough old 

 oak with iron claws worthy of their perch, and 

 look in silent, wondering rage at the foe scarce 

 thirty feet beneath. Then with one supreme effort 

 you launch yourself on your last voyage : again 

 the leaden hail strikes upward under the now failing 

 pinions, and the great lord of air furls his sails and 

 with a dull thud comes down, eyes still unclosed, 

 talons still drawn back to strike, and the curved 

 beak eager for other blood than the red stream that 

 dyes it now. Peace be with you, brave bird ; like 

 many another, when the shot had been fired, I 

 would have given the last rouble in my pocket not 

 to have fired it. Still as a hunter you lived, and, by 

 a just retribution, by a hunter's hand you died. 



After this the handsome form of the great black 

 woodpecker attracted our covetous eyes, and for 

 nearly a couple of hours his delusive whistle lured 

 Ivan and myself from tree to tree, always near us 

 yet never in sight. All things come to those who 

 wait, and at last his crimson crest was added to the 

 scalps of those already slain. During this day, too, 

 we were lucky enough to shoot that rare bird the 

 jncv-s St. John, a woodpecker much resembling our 

 common spotted woodpecker. A propos of wood- 



