PARTRIDGE SHOOTING. 171 



breast the partridge has its foe, to say nothing 

 of such a winter as that preceding the last. 

 Living in the country, it gives us pleasure to 

 say, that every year we do something in the 

 way of lessening its enemies, by shooting, trap- 

 ping, or breaking up the nests of hawks, hunt- 

 ing the fox and the coon, smashing the traps, 

 bamboozling the boy, and conspiring against 

 the cock-tailed cur. As to grimalkin, woe unto 

 her, should we once catch a glimpse of her 

 furred skin skulking in the hedge, or crouching 

 in the grass from the dogs. Not all the war- 

 locks in weird-land not all the carlins which 

 chased Tarn O'Shanter, could avert her doom 

 for a single instant. Bleed she must, be she 

 brindle, tortoise shell, black, white, yellow, or 

 gray, and as wise in her moods as Whittington's 

 or that of my lord Marquis of Carrabas. 



" Swift from the tube the leaden vengeance flies, 

 And Ponto laughs as poaching pussy dies." 



There is scarcely a season passes but we are 

 called upon to add another tail or two to the 

 talley. Last year we shot a torn among the 

 cedars on Stone Hill, grouse hunting, no doubt, 

 and on returning home were forced to inflict 

 the penalty of the law upon another, a splendid 

 fellow, the very minion of a nursery hearth-rug, 



