THE PHEASANT THAT WOULD NOT FALL. 21 



deceived in supposing that the sportsman would keep 

 his appointment in regard to the duel, and that I set 

 him down, therefore, as some nameless impostor, who, 

 if the farmer could find him out, ought to be pro- 

 ceeded against by law. The farmer felt convinced 

 that one of them was " a tarnation nasty little 

 French Jarman kind of a Rooshian swindler or 

 sharper, who wouldn't mind committing murder, as 

 them foreigneering fellers always did, and never had 

 no business with a gun ! " 



What quantities of game we then had ! When the 

 Duke of York shot with us, which he did, one day, 

 after Mr. Greville had kept his Royal Highness wait- 

 ing for an hour and a half, he bagged in the same 

 space of time more than ever he had killed anywhere 

 else. He had three guns and two loaders, and 

 yet, more than once, I handed him my gun, because 

 the others were not ready. I saw him kill three hares 

 at one shot. My brother Morcton was not a good 

 courtier, but, wishing to please our Royal guest, of 

 course it was my duty to be so. A pheasant was flying 

 over the boughs of an ash tree ; his Royal Highness shot 

 at it, and probably one shot struck the beak. The 

 pheasant spun round and caught hold of a twig, to 

 which he clung. I said, " Sir, your Royal Highness 

 will perhaps give him another barrel, as he is hung in 

 the boughs." Bang, bang, bang, bang, went his Royal 

 Highness, with four more shots at him, and missed 

 him every time. "Moreton," I said, "just give that 

 dead bird a barrel from where you stand : he won't 

 fall out of the tree from this direction." Up went my 

 brother's gun, who hated killing the game, with such 

 a look of contempt at me over the thumb of his 

 trigger-hand ere he took his sight, tliat I could hardly 



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