To Mountain Tarn 



moor marshy, there may be matter for rarer 

 boast. The jacksnipe will be back. They are 

 close-lying birds, with a habit disconcerting to 

 the beginner of springing up just under the 

 dog's nose, and within a few feet of the sports- 

 man. 



So, in the covert, when a touch of frost was on 

 the ground. There is all the difference in the 

 world in hitting a pheasant rising heavily to the 

 branches, or driven across some clear space, and 

 catching a woodcock, as it flits from shadow to 

 shadow, or appears for a moment against the sky 

 over the tree-tops. There was an irresistible 

 temptation to fire. To fire and miss, and fire 

 again ; and not be satisfied with less than three 

 hits out of four. The mystery, the surprise, the 

 uncertainty, all wove themselves into the web of 

 excitement, with its woof of charm, and a couple 

 of brace were something to be proud of. 



The other day the young laird was out with 

 his two liver-coloured Irish spaniels. I watched 

 him as he crossed the turnip field. The sound of 

 shooting came from the further distance. At 

 midday he brought in his bag. Among the 

 many partridges came forth lighter birds, with 

 the golden-spotted plumage. Occupants for a 

 little of the same bag, the two were not of the 

 same order. A chance shot had brought them 

 down. " What an expanse ! " said the shooter. 

 And he pulled out the wing to its full extent, 



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