3 i2 A YEAR OF SPORT AND NATURAL HISTORY. 



. and in a twinkling " Fan " has brought me my first cock of the day, 

 to the old lady's infinite satisfaction. 



Several shots ahead of us announce that game has gone forward, 

 and that the men in the ride are not idle, while the reiterated cry 

 of " Mark cock" tells that there is no lack of the birds. 



On emerging in the ride, preparatory to a fresh start, all show 

 symptoms of a struggle ; two of us confess to having come sur- 

 prising croppers ; the face of one man is bleeding freely, the result 

 of too close contact with a bramble-bush, and everybody is more 

 or less smothered with snow and hoar-frost. These, however, are 

 very minor griefs, and the same two guns having been again sent 

 forward, and the line of guns and beaters re-arranged, we once 

 more start on our necessarily slow and somewhat difficult march. 



As I am endeavouring to cross a collection of large moss-covered 

 boulders, the nails of my shooting-boots slip on a bit of smooth 

 rock, and, to the astonishment of my next neighbour, I disappear 

 from mortal gaze in a snow-filled cavity, just as a coney, alarmed 

 at my sudden advent, bolts out of it. With a little help from a 

 gillie, I emerge from my temporary retreat, smothered in snow and 

 with a good many aches about the legs, but thankful there are no 

 bones broken ; whisky is applied internally with manifest success, 

 and again we urge on our somewhat erratic career. In this bit the 

 thickness of the covert makes the bird-shooting very hard, and the 

 irregularities of the ground contribute materially to the escape of 

 the rabbits ; still we do not let everything off, and several woodcock 

 and a few conies are added to the general bag. The last beat 

 before lunch is expected to be the best, as a good deal of game 

 is believed to have gone on ; instead of only two guns, therefore, 

 three are sent forward to take their stand at the extreme end of the 



