198 EXPERIENCES OF SPORT. 



measter, oil couple up the dogs, there be a fine 

 covey of eighteen in the tornops there." This 

 is no sport for me. 



A man to make a good bag in France must 

 be a stout walker, not sitting on every gate he 

 comes near, or spending a couple of hours over 

 his luncheon, and turning out so full of chicken 

 and ham, washed down by copious doses of 

 Bass's bitter or doubtful champagne, that he 

 can neither walk nor see, swearing his gun- 

 maker is a muff, that the infernal thing is not 

 properly sighted, is too straight or crooked in 

 the stock, or that Eley is a humbug, and his 

 cartridges not worth a tinker's rap. This, I 

 say, won't do for France ; you must walk, and 

 be content with a moderate bag. To me the 

 great charm of French shooting is its wild- 

 ness, and its perfect independence. You never 

 know what you may have a shot at next a 

 rabbit, a quail, a landrail, or hare ; then whirr 

 goes a covey, and before you have nailed two 

 or three brace of these you may have a dozen 

 shots at other different sorts of game. This is 

 the shooting to give me pleasure. You will 

 find little interruption if you go the right way 



