CHRISTOPHER IN HIS SPORTING JACKET 



noch. Is that the pluffer at partridge-pouts who had 

 nearly been the death of poor Ponto? Lord Kennedy 

 himself might take a lesson now from the straight and 

 steady style in which, on the mountain brow, and up 

 to the middle in heather, he brings his Manton to the 

 deadly level ! More unerring eye never glanced along 

 brown barrel ! Finer forefinger never touched a trig- 

 ger! Follow him a whole day, and not one wounded 

 bird. All most beautifully arrested on their flight by 

 instantaneous death! Down dropped right and left, 

 like lead on the heather old cock and hen, singled 

 out among the orphaned brood, as calmly as a cook 

 would do it in the larder from among a pile of plu- 

 mage. No random shot within no needless shot out of 

 distance covered every feather before stir of finger 

 and body, back, and brain, pierced, broken, shattered ! 

 And what perfect pointers ! There they stand, still as 

 death yet instinct with life the whole half-dozen! 

 Mungo, the black-tanned Don, the red -spotted 

 Clara, the snow-white Primrose, the pale yellow 

 Basto, the bright brown, and Nimrod, in his coat of 

 many colours, often seen afar through the mists like a 

 meteor. 



So much for the Angler's and the Shooter's Prog- 

 ress now briefly for the Hunter's. Hunting, in this 

 country, unquestionably commences with cats. Few 

 cottages without a cat. If you do not find her on the 

 [19] 



