DECEMBER. 



A COCK DRIVE IN SCOTLAND. 



By George Lindesav. 



A MONTH of hard frost had brought in a lot of cock, of whose 

 presence we had been well assured at sundry of our neighbour's 

 shoots, and we determined during the last week in January, with 

 the assistance of these friends, to have a final drive in the Birch 

 Wood. 



It is 9 a.m. on the day fixed. All have arrived, some with rather 

 rubicund visages after the early drive through the frosty air, but all 



keen as mustard. The only dog guest is my friend Frank R 's 



inseparable companion, " Abe," a huge, black, curly-coated retriever 

 of great strength, whose unerring sense of smell is only equalled 

 by the extreme delicacy with which he mouths his birds, and his 

 intense good nature. Doses, varying in quantity, of ginger-brandy 

 having been indulged in and pipes lit up, we march to the scene of 

 our day's sport. Everything is as hard as iron. As we tramp along 

 the woodland path our steps ring out with metallic sound. Im- 

 printed on the thin layer of snow, which covers the ground, are the 

 tracks of roe-deer, hares, and of wild birds ; while here and there 

 the hoar-frost, which everywhere sheaths the trees and undergrowth 

 with its glistening white needles, has been shaken off a clump of 



