238 The Rabbit Battue. 



that nine caps out of ten told a good tale. It used to be beautiful 

 to see Mr. Johnson roll rabbit after rabbit over without hardly ever 

 missing a shot. There was a wonderful knack in this rabbit- 

 shooting. A quick shot did not see his rabbit six times out of ten. 

 "Keep your eye on the grass, and fire well forward," was Johnson's 

 motto : and I am sure that I have seen him pick a rabbit so close 

 out of a dog's mouth (as it were), that it was a miracle how he 

 could miss the dog ; and as both rolled over in a confused mass I 

 often thought that " Dead, Prince, dead !" shouted in his husky 

 voice, might apply to the dog as well as the rabbit. But, as he was 

 wont to observe in his blunt way, " If men like us keepers, who 

 always have the gun in their hands, can't shoot, I should like to 

 know who can!" 



Thus we go on beating the whole quarter of the forest slowly 

 backwards and forwards, firing on an average, I suppose, two shots 

 in the minute, when we are in motion. We do not waste much 

 time in loading, and sometimes the cannonade runs along the whole 

 line. Now and then the cry of "Mark cock!" puts every one on 

 his mettle, for to kill a cock is the height of every man's ambition j 

 and though our forest was not a very noted one for cocks, we generally 

 used to bring to bag three or four couple in a day's rabbiting. 



But our friends the farmers are getting thirsty, and begin to ask 

 if it is not almost lunch-time. The lunch is to meet us at the 

 well-known spot, an old oak in the middle riding, and we begin to 

 draw towards it. Sure enough, as soon as we come in sight of the 

 old tree, there stands the keeper's pony, quietly grazing under it 5 

 and Joe, the under-keeper, lying on the grass, keeping ward and 

 watch over the provision-basket and the ale. The party soon 

 settle down ; and although every one of us played a tolerable knife 

 and fork at breakfast, we appear to have found our appetites again, 

 for the cold round of beef and rabbit-pie provided from Mr. Johnson's 

 larder very soon began to look small. The ale is from the village ale- 

 house, and a "shilling whip" among the non-professionals pays for 

 this, and leaves a trifle over for the under-keeper. As soon as the 

 serious business of the lunch is over, the short pipes are brought 



