254 A YEAR OF SPORT AND NATURAL HISTORY. 



darts in zig-zag flight between the shafts, or with apparently lazy 

 wings goes down the long alley straight from you. There are 

 some men, and good shots too, who cannot hit a woodcock 

 going away from them so. His seeming slowness baffles them, 

 and they would rather take their chance at one darting right or 

 left through the netted branches. If shooting companions are 

 with one — and few of us like quite solitary sport — the cry of 

 " Mark cock" is sure to be frequent in this copse, for there is 

 favourite feeding found yonder in the soft mossy banks of a tiny 

 streamlet beside which holly trees grow. 



By some giant boulders in the next glade we may pause for 

 luncheon — a frugal meal — and, after one welcome pipe-, trudge on 

 towards the moor. Our path thither leads through a gorse brake, 

 where a friend's fox terriers are of timely use to draw for rabbits, 

 and I know no phase of rough shooting that has more fascination 

 than this. It is well to have a wire-haired terrier for working 

 the runs in gorse brakes or thorny thickets. His size enables 

 him to get through where a spaniel would be frequently caught 

 by the ears, and his pluck makes him regardless of scratches. 

 The one fault that mars his usefulness in other forms of shooting 

 is a merit among the furze bushes, where his freedom of tongue 

 serves as a guide to the way rabbits are running, and if he babbles 

 sometimes, one soon learns the difference between that and a 

 genuine cry. Once out of the brake, that fox terrier must be 

 kept well at heels, or, still better, in leading strings, for his 

 tendency is to range wide with frequent yelps, disturbing every 

 kind of game that may happen to be about. 



Now, with spaniels working close ahead, we make our way 

 across a stretch of short heather and reddening branches of the 



