THE POET BOWLES. 67 



miles an hour.* The result was anything but satisfac- 

 tory, for I wasted my powder and shot, and seldom put 

 a pheasant into the bag. On the keeper joining me, I 

 told him plainly, that as his lordship had given me only 

 one day's shooting, I had come with the full expectation 

 of returning to Shaftesbury with well-filled game-bags, 

 which I had a slight chance of doing, in having covers 

 beaten, situated as that he had just gone through on 

 such a windy day, that he must take me to covers well 

 sheltered and well stocked with game, and unless he did 

 this, his fee would be silver instead of gold. This had 

 the desired effect, and I returned to Mr. Bowles entirely 

 satisfied with my day's sport. I have not mentioned 

 the gentleman who attended me as my sporting com- 

 panion, although he had not been idle. It was the 

 Eev. J. Bowles, better known as the poet Bowles, 

 author of " The Sorrows of Switzerland," and many 

 other excellent poems, and subsequently canon of the 

 Salisbury Cathedral, where I believe he died. I met 

 this gentleman for the first time at the house of his 

 brother, Mr. Chai-les Bowles, solicitor at Shaftesbury, 

 with whom I was staying for a few days, for the object 

 of having some shooting in the neighbourhood. On the 

 morning appointed for my shooting at Lord Arundel's, 

 to the great astonishment of Mr. C. Bowles and myself, 

 the poet proposed going to shoot with me, if his brother 

 would lend him a gun. " What ! " exclaimed my host, 



" you go out shooting with Captain H (I had 



then a troop in the Oreys), " why you have never in 

 your life had a gun in your hand ; " adding, " it is very 



* The svriSt is siipposed to fly at the rate of 180 miles au hour, and 

 the swallow at 150. 



