WALKING UP 177 



_ 



Walsingham at his place, Merton in Norfolk, 

 probably the best shooting property for its size in 

 England, we were walking up a narrow and rather 

 bare field of swedes. A covey rose wild, a long way 

 in front, and out of shot of him, and for what reason 

 I know not, for there was no half-moon, they turned 

 and came back over my head at a good pace. I was 

 luckly enough to kill a right and left, not very difficult, 

 but satisfactory overhead shots. Poor old Buckle, 

 the famous keeper so lovingly remembered in the 

 Badminton Library, and by every one who ever shot 

 at Merton, was toiling along some twenty yards behind 

 me. He had years before been shot in the stomach 

 by a poacher, and always went 'a bit short.' As the 

 two dead birds came clattering down by him, and he 

 turned to pick them up, he said to me : ' Well, that's 

 a thing I couldn't ever do so long as I've lived, and I 

 dessay I've seen a deal more shooting than you have, 

 too.' So, no doubt, he had, and from a privileged 

 person of his experience a remark in the nature of 

 a compliment was nothing but gratifying. 



The hints, suggestions or descriptions, I have 

 ventured to give so far on walking up partridges, have 

 been, as I said, mainly addressed to those who shoot 

 in organised parties on well-preserved estates. But I 

 must not neglect my friend B., of whom I spoke above, 



