Pheasants' Doomsday
A wise pheasant would go abroad before the middle of November. He would leave the fallen beech-mast for the pigeons, and turn a deaf ear to the persuasive whistling of the maize-laden keeper. Since the issue of his death-warrant on October 1, the pheasant has fared well—he has never known the want of a hearty breakfast. But sooner or later comes a morning when he must breakfast on the remnants of a last good supper. If he wonders why, he never thinks he has been denied his food because a big breakfast is not good to fly on, because a full crop will lessen his value in the eyes of the game-dealer, and because it is intended that he shall fly high, and give a sporting shot. So he is kept short, like a pig whose time has come to be made into pork. But no doubt even his short life has been worth the living.
