186 FRANK FORESTER S FIELD SPORTS. 



equally good by nature, tlie one of which has never been hunted 

 but by one master, and the other by every one v^^hom he has 

 been pleased to follow. 



I have taken the opportunity of making these observations 

 on dog-breaking, and dog-hunting, in this place, because in 

 summer Woodcock shooting, above any other phase of the 

 sport, an implicit obedience, great steadiness, and perfect 

 staunchness is required in the dog. In Q,uail, or Snipe-shooting, 

 you can see your dog the greater part of the time ; you can 

 obsei-ve his every motion ; and can usually, if you are quick- 

 sighted and ready-witted, foresee when he is about to commit a 

 fault in time to check him. In summer shooting, woe betide 

 you, if you entertain so wild a hope. You hunt darkling, 

 catching sight of your four-footed companion only by snatches, 

 often judging him to be on the point, because you have ceased 

 to hear the rustle of his sinuous movement through the bushes ; 

 or because you have not seen his form gliding among the water- 

 flags or feni, so recently as you should have done, had he turned 

 at his regular distance, and quartered his ground without 

 finding game. It is not once in ten, nay ! in twenty times, that 

 you see him strike his trail, draw on it, become surer, and stand 

 stiff. You lose him for a moment, look for him, where he ought 

 to he, and find him because he is there, pointing as you expected. 

 A step or two forward, wdth your thumb on the hammer, and 

 the nail of your forefinger touching the inside of your trigger- 

 guard. Still he stands steady as a rock ; and you know by 

 the glare of his fixed eye, and the frown of his steadfast brow, 

 and the slaver on his lip, that the skulking Cock is within ten 

 feet of his nose, perhaps within ten inches. You kick the skunk- 

 cabbages with your foot, or tap the bunch of cat-briars with your 

 gun-muzzle, and flip-flap ! up he jumps, glances, half-seen for 

 a second, between the stems of the alder bushes, and is lost to 

 sight among the thick foliage of their dark green heads, before 

 your gun-butt has touched your shoulder. But your eye has 

 taken in his line — the trigger is drawn, the charge splinters 

 the stems and brings dovra a shower of green leaves, and 



