WOODCOCK. 129 



assembled with incredible alacrity, from the well-known excellence of the covers, abounding, 

 as they do, with holly and arbutus. Each of the party had fully made up his mind 

 that at least no exertions on his part should be wanting to bag the white Woodcock; 

 and even if it should not be found, the day's sport would certainly be superb. 



On arriving at the ground, the snow still continued to fall, although not heavy, which 

 freezing as it fell, was of but little inconvenience to the party. The guns were stationed 

 so as to give as small a chance of escape as possible to this 'rara avis,' if found. The 

 first cover was closely beat, and although affording first-rate sport, still the object of 

 every one's hopes and expectations had not appeared. While walking to the next cover, 

 a passenger, judging solely from their long faces, would have laughed in his sleeve at 

 the effect which the want of sport had upon the sportsmen's spirits. 



A few minutes' walk brought us to the next cover, abounding with that attractive 

 canopy to Woodcock, the holly tree, (for to this it grows in Ireland,) and the arbutus, 

 which abundantly clothed both sides of an abrupt though short glen, giving an outlet 

 for a spring which rises in the centre of the Avood, surrounded by rocky elevations; on 



these the shooters chiefly took their stations. Captain St. Q had placed himself 



on the outside. Some of the beaters having beat through to the end, were standing or 

 lying about. Xo white Woodcock had appeared; the Captain with another of the party 

 were moving off to the next cover, when one of the beaters, Cornelius O'Brien, all 

 through the most sanguine about finding it, just peeped out of the cover, to see if, in 

 his opinion, the guns were keeping a good look out. To his dismay he saw Captain St. 



Q walking off, thinking the cover beat. Corny rushed at him, hallooing out, "Oh ! 



Captain, jewel! Oh, your honour, may the saints protecht ye; but ye have laved her 

 behand ye. Oh ! glory to your sowl, come back and finish her. Och, is it to be laving 

 her you are, after his honour's raising all the gintlemen in the country to kill her, and 

 may be the crature dancing in her delight at decaving so many English gintlemen, for 

 she 's a 'cute little darling ? I tell your honour the very best spot is laved, and it is 

 I who ought to know it too. Oh! your honour will come back?" 



Who could have withstood this appeal? Captain St. Q ■ returned, certainly not 



expecting to see the bird, notwithstanding all Corny had been saying. 



Corny went to the spot alluded to, hallooed out a few times, cock, cock, cock, hey 

 cock, followed by a loud, deep — mark ! mark ! and an Irish screech that I cannot describe. 

 Past went a bird like a white pigeon — off went the gun — bang — bang — to make sure — 

 whiz — and down it came, with a cheer from the beaters echoing through and through the 

 wood, almost exceeding the exhilarating cheer, when, after a long unsuccessful draw, a fox 

 slips away over a fine country in full view of an almost hopeless field. Up Corny runs 

 stumbling over every impediment in his hurry, until he catches it; then, as proud as a 

 duke, he walks with the bird in his hand up to the party, saying — "Oh! your honour 



