5()2 THE LOVE-CHILD. 



a view to the pit, for the bird was a craven. He might perhaps have 

 been proof against natural spurs, but one touch of the steel settled 

 him. If he did not kill his cock at the second or third stroke, he was 

 sure to be beaten. Still he had frequently been entered in a main, on 

 the ground of his wonderful agility and precision : if his antagonist, 

 however game, happened to be clumsy, it was two to one that Blue 

 Peter's bird gave him " cold pudding." Mousey that was the little 

 rascal's name had killed oftener, and been beaten oftener, than any 

 other ten birds in the county ; still he looked as fresh, clean, and 

 scathless, as though he had passed his whole life at " a walk ; " in 

 fact, he had never received any punishment always turning tail, as 

 he did, at the first scratch he received. Of late he had become utterly 

 useless in the pit ; for experience had taught him wisdom, and he 

 would not even face an enemy whose heels were armed. Still he was 

 a merry, bustling, foppish, conceited little fellow, and suited Blue 

 Peter's purposes much better than a bird of more sterling qualities, 

 and less assassinating agility. He struck out like lightning, and the 

 touch was usually as fatal. 



The poacher, after having poised him, laterally, for a few moments 

 on his palm, took him in both hands, and threw him gently on his 

 clipped wings. The little Bobadil came to the ground brimful of 

 pride, and assuming the most gallant attitude imaginable, instantly 

 uttered not that prolonged drawl, by which mere dunghills are dis- 

 tinguished but three sharp, shrill, brief, and business-like notes of 

 defiance to all within hearing. His challenge was directly answered 

 by a cock pheasant in the copse, " Tuck, tucca-tuc ; tuck, tuck, 

 tuck !" responded Mousey, as though he were amazed at the presump- 

 tion of the unseen champion, whom another crow brought boldly into 

 the arena. 



Blue Peter and I had already retired behind a tree. The pheasant, 

 on alighting, commenced a crow, which he was not permitted to com- 

 plete ; for Mousey springing at him, while the gallant victim was in 

 the act of enunciation, entered his head at one eye, and brought out 

 the cold keen point of his steel spur at the other. Blue Peter imme- 

 diately ran forward, twisted the sprawling, struggling pheasant's 

 neck, and threw the carcase to his little assassin. Mousey, as soon as 

 its convulsive struggles had ceased, leaped upon it, and crowed with 

 rejoicing emphasis. At its second repetition, the appeal was answered, 

 and presently another pheasant, as Blue Peter observed, " volunteered 

 to do the agreeable." He was speedily murdered; but not before 

 to quote another observation of my friend, e ' he had fetched Mousey 

 such a wipe on the conk, as made him look over his left wing, and begin 

 to consider." The pheasant, however, fell from the force of his own 

 blow, and while attempting to get back his leg from among his long 

 wing feathers, through which it had passed, the little gladiator finished 

 him. 



We should have had more sport, had not something occurred in the 

 copse, which induced Peter to pick up the pheasants, thrust them 

 desperately with his foot into the heart of a blackberry bush, catch the 

 cock, plunge him into the canvas bag, hurl the latter beneath the 

 underwood which fringed the ditch, and prepare to make off. ' e There's 



