sly nobody had been much impressed; sweet to
all men are the light of women's eyes and the touch of women's lips. But
though he have experienced all these things, to the true sportsman and
the _moderate shot_, sweeter far is it to see the arched wings of the
driven bird bent like Cupid's bow come flashing fast towards him, to
feel the touch of the stock as it fits itself against his shoulder,
and the kindly give of the trigger, and then, oh thrilling sight! to
perceive the wonderful and yet awful change from life to death, the puff
of feathers, and the hurtling passage of the dull mass borne onward by
its own force to fall twenty yards from where the pellets struck it.
Next session the politician will be hooted down, next year perhaps
the reviewers will cut the happy writer to ribbons and decorate their
journals with his fragments, next week you will have wearied of those
dear smiles, or, more likely still, they will be bestowed elsewhere.
Vanity of vanities, my son, each and all of them! But if you are a true
sportsman (yes, even though you be but a moderate shot), it will always
be a glorious thing to go out shooting, and when you chance to shoot
well earth holds no such joy as that which will glow in your honest
breast (for all sportsmen are honest), and it remains to be proved if
heaven does either. It is a grand sport, though the pity of it is that
it should be a cruel one.

Such was the paean that John sang in his heart as he contemplated those
fine partridges before lovingly transferring them to his bag. But his
luck to-day was not destined to stop at partridges, for hardly had he
ridden over the edge of the boulder-strewn side, and on to the flat
table-top of the great hill which covered some five hundred acres of
land, before he perceived, emerging from the shelter of a tuft of grass
about a hundred and seventy yards away, nothing less than the tall neck
and whiskered head of a large _pauw_ or bustard.

Now it is quite useless to try and ride straight up to a bustard, and
this he knew. The only thing to do is to excite his curiosity and fix
his attention by moving round and round him in an ever-narrowing circle.
Putting his pony to a canter, John proceeded to do this with a heart
beating with excitement. Round and round he went; the _pauw_ had
vanished now, he was squatting in the tuft of grass. The last circle
brought him to within seventy yards, and he did not dare to ride any
nearer, so jumping off his pony