52 THE BIRD LIFE OF FORM BY. 



of that noisy buzzing, until it suddenly strikes me that it is 

 that awful clock, and that it is already 3-15. I jump out of 

 bed into the cold night air, and stuff that clock under the 

 bed clothes, where it still continues a discordant buzzing until 

 the machinery gives out. Meanwhile, I grope steadily round the 

 room and hit myself in some tender spot against every pro- 

 jection that can possibly be, in my endeavour to find the match 

 box. The usual scene occurs in the kitchen. All the butter is 

 gone. The old cat is lying stretched out in the corner, which 

 accounts for the butter. Then you can't imagine where on earth 

 you put your cap last night. Then another hunt for the pipe 

 and matches, and at last all is ready, and off you go into 

 the cold night air. 



Picking up the old fowler at his cottage (who is honestly 

 astonished to see you) puffing away at the pipe of peace, the 

 houses of Formby are soon left behind, and you strike across 

 the fields of the Marsh Farm towards the Alt mouth. 

 Fifty yards further, old Mat loads his gun. Twelve drachms 

 of powder are poured down the barrel, then a big wad and a 

 piece of the Liverpool "Echo" is rammed down on the top of 

 it, then three ounces of big buck shot and more Liverpool 

 " Echo," then he puts a cap on and all is ready. Old Mat's 

 gun is almost as well-known a character as himself. It is 

 known amongst the fishermen on the coast as " Sea-pie Samuel," 

 on account of a prodigious shot at oyster catchers, or as they 

 are locally called " Sea-pies," old Mat once made with it. 



