OUednesday, Febttua^y 14th, 1894. 37 



some do three, breech-loaders, a man might have 

 made considerable havoc among his birds while 

 these intricate manoeuvres were going on. But the 

 triumph of each successful shot would not have been 

 so great, or celebrated with so much joy, and even 

 reckoned worthy of being recorded in history. 



My father's old keeper had lived in the days of 

 flint-lock guns, and been one of the few who could 

 shoot a bird on the wing with that sort of weapon. 

 No easy feat ; as half or quarter of a second had to 

 be allowed for the interval between the flash in the 

 pan and the igniting of powder in the breech. But 

 these guns seem to have possessed power and wide 

 scope, as the old fellow, who was truth itself, said, 

 that with a single barrel he once pulled down a 

 covey of seven, as they passed through a narrow 

 opening in a hedge. 



His brother used often to accompany him in his 

 pursuit of game, but was not very skilful with his 

 weapon, and did not bring much to bag. But he 

 always considered that he had hit the object fired 

 at. A hare would go away with the whole load in 

 his side, and a woodcock mortally wounded, and 

 ought to have known that it was so, would persist 

 in flying on as if nothing was the matter. The 

 report of this man's "piece" was usually followed 

 by a cry — and a very squeaky, quavering cry it was — 

 of " Mark, Sam, crippled cock, er's a crippled, er's 



