REMINISCENCES OF THE LEWS. 143 



wounded birds. When lie hit them, he did 

 it in earnest — the same whack with which he 

 dehvered his flies — and there was no difficulty 

 in finding his bird, or rather what was left of 

 him, which was not much. When he shot a 

 snipe, which did not often happen, the bird 

 vanished into thin air — the long neb alone 

 remaining to tell of what genus it had been. 

 The only thing I ever knew that stood his style 

 of shooting was a wild goose, and even that 

 was not safe to eat after his killing. Occa- 

 sionally kind friends gave him a chance at a 

 deer ; and then was he not in his glory ? He 

 drilled such holes through his quarry, that I 

 don't think the Chassepot could have sur- 

 passed his weapon. For all this, Shippy was 

 a charming camarado, always cheerful, always 

 full of resource ; and I was only too delighted 

 whenever I could get him to accompany me 

 over to the wild west side, to look after all 

 sorts of imaginary things. 



Then Shippy had a gig like no other gig I 

 ever saw ; a pair of wheels on a very wide axle- 

 tree, on which was fixed a kind of revolving 

 box, in shape somewhat like the carriages of 

 the roundabouts of immortal memory in the 

 palmy days of Bartholomew Fair. Whether 

 there were any springs I forget now; but, 



