158 



THE BIRDS AT THE TANK, 



Jtbntarg. 



HEN I go to the tank I 

 am generally on mur- 

 derous thoughts intent. 

 I go, therefore, gun in 

 hand, with my aide-de- 

 camp, the sagacious 

 Hubshee, at my heels. 

 He is called the Hubshee (videlicet, 

 Abyssinian), I may say parentheti- 

 cally, because his curly coat is as 

 black as King Theodore. Readers of 

 The Field have had abundance of in- 

 struction lately about the way to suit 

 yourself with a gun. You are to go 

 to your gunmaker, and try a dozen or two of guns, until 



