REMINISCENCES OF THE LEWS. 179 



shoot witliin a yard of him as lie dips through 

 the hags ; but, fortunately catching a glimpse 

 of him stealing over the flat, you just touch 

 the tip of his wing with a stray shot, and stop 

 him. Loaded : Jock walks up to him, and 

 ascertaining that he positively is there, rolls 

 himself with great glee on the moss. 



A word about old Tom's little son Jock. 

 Alas ! both father and son are gone to the 

 place where the good doggies go. Jock was 

 by Tom out of a black- and- tan setter bitch of 

 great speed and nose ; but having been let run 

 riot in her youth, she was never properly broken. 

 He was a little black curly-haired dog, with a 

 rat tail, just like a small Irish or Norfolk water- 

 spaniel retriever. He was beautifully shaped, 

 as strong as a little bull, and could go fast and 

 for ever. His nose was wonderful, and he 

 would find more game in a day than any dog I 

 ever owned. But he had a peculiarity — a 

 fault, indeed. When he got on an old cock 

 grouse, he seemed to know what a dodgy, wary 

 old scoundrel he had to deal with, and there- 

 fore liked, if possible, to get near and keep his 

 eye upon him. This done, he would stop look- 

 ing at him all day. In the process, however, 

 he sometimes sprang a bird ; though, as he 

 generally found three birds for any other dog's 



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