The Winged Beetle

97 SPORT AND MARRIAGE HOW dream from facts of nature swerves ! As I was shooting my preserves I would not have believed, I swear, How very tame the pheasants were. My spaniel to a setter blushed ; The bird would simply not be flushed. I beat one with a stick quite hard ; He only fluttered half a yard, Scolding me : “ Idiot and brute, Why in the devil don’t you shoot ? ” I turned upon my heel ; the bird Followed me home—it sounds absurd ! [My fault ! for getting the grand slam on Chateau Yquem and cold boiled salmon !] At last in anger, not for fun, I lifted my reluctant gun, Gave him both barrels, plain and choke, And blew him into bits. I woke. . . . . . . —How dreams reflect the facts of life ! I was in bed with my own wife.