THE PHARISEE OF THE JUNGLE 
‘That self-applauding bird, the peacock, see ; 
Mark what a sumptuous Pharisee is he. 
Meridian sunbeams tempt him to unfold 
His radiant glories, azure, green and gold. 
He treads as if, some solemn music near, 
His measured steps were governed by his ear, 
And seems to say, ‘ Ye meaner fowl, give place ! 
I am all splendour, dignity and grace,’” 
HE peacock has been the innocent cause of 
many a fight between the British soldier 
and the Indian villager. We can hardly 
wonder at a great desire on the part of Mr. 
Thomas Atkins to shoot the bird, for, as it rises labo- 
riously out of a wheat-field, about four feet in front of 
the sportsman, it forms a mark which it is impossible to 
miss, and, when it has fallen, it is a grand trophy. 
Every feather of the bird is a poem of beauty. It is, 
therefore, not surprising that, in those parts of India 
where the bird is held sacred, the soldier sometimes 
overlooks the notices which prohibit the shooting of it. 
The sacredness of the peacock is the one Hindu 
superstition with which I am able to sympathize; 
unfortunately the superstition is very local, and the 
result is that in the few districts in which it prevails the 
most gorgeous of Indian birds is fairly common, while 
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