164 Sporting Sketches in Pen and Pencil. 



hanging dead. A vigorous shake brought hitn down, and from that time 

 I began to shoot at them flying ; and ere that season was out I got pretty 

 well on with them, and in the next two years I became a really decent 

 snipe shot, often getting my four or five couple with hardly a miss. I 

 also, too, became an experienced bog-trotter, a very necessary qualification 

 for a successful snipe shooter, and I could trot over a grass-green shaky 

 bog with the lightest grass crust above and liquid mud beneath, of any 

 depth you like, with a hop-and-a-skip, and never break the surface, and 

 where, had my foot but dwelt for half a second, I should have gone in 

 up to my waist, and perhaps my neck. 



This capability once stood me in good stead. I was chased by two 

 watchers. A moor, hitherto open to the public, had been taken in and 

 shut up by the proprietor. I knew nothing of this, and went to shoot 

 as usual. Half-way down I saw a fellow watching me from the road, 

 and the next moment he came halloaing after me. Not knowing what 

 this might mean, I took to my heels, and, being pretty light, I made a 

 good run of it; but just as I was making for a point on the other 

 side I saw another fellow waiting for me, so I had to double, and both 

 came after me. The double brought me nearer to the first man, who 

 could run a bit too, nearly as well as I could, and I felt that unless I 

 had a slice of luck I should be captured. Personally I did not care 

 about it, because I should only have gone before one of my father's 

 own friends, and perhaps one of my own, for we knew everybody round 

 about; but I didn't choose to be taken if I could help it. Suddenly a 

 bright idea flashed on my mind. I was now running down the moor, 

 through which a little trout stream meandered, and about half-way down 

 I knew there was a nice bit of shaky, so I made towards it. As I 

 approached it I slackened a trifle, to let the foe come nearer, which he 

 did, still shouting and swearing a trifle. With three or four light skips, 

 scarcely touching the surface, I was across. Of course, where I could 

 go my pursuer thought he could. I turned my head over my shoulder, 

 and "Splash! squash!" he was into it up to his waist. How he did 

 yell blue murder ! He made sure he was a gone coon. I, however, 

 merely trotted across to the road, leaving his friend to help him out, 



