lOI 



CHAPTER VI. 



MY FIRST WOODCOCK. 



"About forty years ago, 

 The sad time I well remember, 

 'Twas on a drear and murky night 

 In the dark month of November." — Old Song. 



Ox such a night as the above, in the year 

 184 — , a friend and I started off to drive to 

 Gloucester, in order to catch a mail coach 

 which started from there for South Wales 

 very early in the morning. We had seen an 

 advertisement in the '^ Times/ addressed to 

 "sportsmen and lovers of wild shooting," 

 in which the proprietor of a certain hotel, 

 not one hundred miles from Builth, offered 

 shooting (free to persons staying at his hotel) 

 over a large extent of rough, wild country, 

 having a sprinkling of game of all kinds, 

 including plenty of snipe and woodcock. I 



