35° Foreign Game 



vestigate. When the bird flushed and the light 

 shone fairly on the plumage, I so greatly admired 

 it that the stone struck exactly in the centre of 

 that beautiful pheasant's back. It was a great 

 chance shot, and for a moment there was jubila- 

 tion. 



Then came a nasty realization that this particu- 

 lar bird and all of its kin were protected by a law 

 which carried a penalty about as long as the 

 wonderful throw. However, there was the dead 

 pheasant, a particularly fine one too, and there I 

 was, looking at it, and, incidentally, looking to see 

 if anybody else was looking. 



Presumably a God-fearing, law-abiding citizen 

 would have gone in and informed on himself, and 

 got fined, or jailed, to the value of fifty odd dollars. 

 I didn't. Instead, I sneaked the bird into the 

 brush and carefully removed and folded the skin ; 

 then, with the body in a pocket and the skin 

 inside my vest, I strode in righteousness through 

 the land, keeping wide of bird-dogs and convers- 

 ing with no man till my room was reached. A 

 trifle of arsenic from the druggist's cured the skin, 

 then I fared kitchenward and had the body cooked. 

 It was by no means bad — that is, for a skinned 

 bird. 



That there will come a time when our landed 

 gentry will have their pheasant-shooting after the 

 English fashion — keepers, beaters, and all — is 



