208 TOM draw's visit to pine brook. 



among those dwarf rose-bushes; and there we shall find, 

 I'll be bound on it, good shooting. How very stupid of 

 me not to think of that spot ! You know, John, we always 

 find birds there, when they can't be found anywhere else." 

 On we went, after a re-invigorating cup of mountain- 

 dew, with spirits raised at the prospect of some sport at 

 last, and as we bagged the snipe which — Harry was right — 

 had fallen killed quite dead, the sun came out hot, broad, 

 and full. The birds were lying thick among the stunted 

 bushes and warm bubbling springs which covered, in this 

 portion of the ground, some twenty acres of marsh 

 meadow ; and as the afternoon waxed warm, they lay right 

 well before the dogs, which, having learned the conse- 

 quences of misdemeanor, behaved with all discretion. We 

 shot well! and the sport waxed so fast and furious, that 

 till the shades of evening fell, we had forgotten — all the 

 three — that our luncheon, saving the article of drams, 

 was still untasted; and that, when we assembled at seven 

 of the clock in Hard's cozey parlor, and shook out of 

 bag and pocket our complement of sixty-three well-grown 

 and well-fed snipe, we were in reasonable case to do good 

 justice to a right good supper. 



THE PARTING DRINK. 



Breakf.\st concluded, the next morning we pulled our 

 fen boots on, and on the instant up rattled Timothy, who 

 had disappeared a few minutes before, with the well- 

 known drag to the door, guns stowed away, dogs whimper- 

 ing, and sticking out their eager noses between the rail- 

 ings of the box — game bags well packed with lots of prog 

 and of spare ammunition. 



Away we rattled at a brisk pace, swinging round corner 

 after corner, skilfully shaving the huge blocks of stone, 

 and dexterously quartering the deep ravine like ruts which 

 grace tlie roads of Jersey — crossing two or three bridges 

 over as many of those tributaries of the beautiful Passaic, 

 which water this superb snipe-country — and reaching at 

 least a sweep of smooth level road parallel to a long tract 

 of meadows under the widow Mulford's. And here, mort 

 de ma vie! that was a shot from the snipe-ground, and 



