2i6 MY MOOR 



go down a swampy dell with birch covert — 

 just the place for a blackcock, if blackcock 

 there were. There are none (alas !), but as 

 I go along the far side a fine old cock 

 pheasant rises wild before me and goes 

 rockettino- across the s^len. I follow him 

 with my eye, till all at once he collapses 

 and falls heavily on the other side. Well 

 done, R. ! Towards the bottom the dogs 

 bustle out a rabbit, which I secure, and then 

 we knock off. A brace of pheasants, a leash 

 of partridges, a couple of hares, a couple of 

 rabbits, a woodcock, and a snipe — eleven 

 head — is a red-letter day for my moor, and 

 the variety is charming, making up, to my 

 mind, for much. 



All days on the moor are not so good, but 

 we generally get a few head. This was my 

 worst day this season : Began by shooting 



