AN OLD SPORTSMAN. 73 



life in the air, and flops into a small pool a 

 dozen yards off. 



" Mark ! sir, mark /" says Callaghan, in a low 

 eager tone to me ; and, alas ! ten yards, at 

 least, out of range, ten splendid mountain 

 duck skim along swift as partridges, and then 

 dart aloft and wheel and wheel higher and 

 higher until they fall backwards to " Shana- 

 bogue, bad luck to 'em," Mr. Callaghan 

 opines. Here we shot a teal and three water 

 hens, besides ten brace of snipe, between us. 

 When we met at the point of junction, we sat 

 down in the heather, lit our pipes, drank a 

 stoup of water with a dash of spirits in it, and 

 concerted our next move. 



" There's a covey of pitteridges on Carey's 

 land, av ye'd like to after 'em, gintlemen," re- 

 marks Mr. Callaghan. But this proposition 

 is received with disfavour. Our wish is to 

 make as big a bag of snipe as possible ; and, as 

 many of those we have sprung may lie on the 

 wet mountain, we once more shoulder our 

 guns, and take to the limitless brown slopes. 

 The cover here between the withered fern, the 

 heather, stray patches of rush, and shallow 



