Lord Marcus Beresford 



late John Jones, though, no doubt, familiar to a good many, 

 will bear repeating here. Meeting the other one day in the 

 street. Lord Marcus remarked, " You're very fond of shooting, 

 aren't you, Mr. So-and-so?" "I should rather think I ham, 

 my Lord," was the enthusiastic reply. " Have you ever shot 

 a woodcock ? " went on his tormentor. *' Never had the chance 

 yet, my lord, I'm sorry to say, though it's long been my 

 hambition to do so," rejoined his victim. " Then bring your 

 gun up to my place to-morrow morning," said Lord Marcus, 

 "and your darling wish shall be gratified, for you're as sure to 

 find a woodcock in the corner of the paddock as we stand here." 



Accordingly, the next morning the inhabitant of the town 

 where the salts come from, who had hardly had a wink of sleep 

 all night for thought of the sport he was to enjoy on the 

 morrov/, wended his way with his gun over his shoulder to the 

 residence of Lord Marcus Beresford, who, after proffering 

 the usual liquid refreshment, escorted his guest in person to 

 the paddock at the back, which they had hardly entered when 

 his lordship exclaimed, "There's your woodcock!^' pointing 

 as he spoke to a recumbent figure in the far corner of the 

 enclosure. 



" Why, it's a horse ! " exclaimed our sportsman, in disgust, 

 as the recumbent one rose slowly to its feet, and, coming towards 

 them, revealed the well-known personality of Woodcock, the 

 veteran hurdle racer, who, when at his best, could always be 

 relied on at a pinch — and it occurred very often — to get the 

 stable out of a difficulty. 



355 



