
OE DeDAYS IN OLD IRELAND: 
GREENHEART. 
I wonder how many readers of RECREA- 
TION are, like myself, graduates of what 
used to be one of the greatest schools in 
the world for anglers and wildfowl shoot- 
ers—the Western counties of Ireland. 
It is now 22 years since I had my first 
day’s shooting. I was only 13 years old, 
and the gun was a heavy, double, 12 gauge 
muzzle-loader, belonging to my father. Be- 
fore permitting me to go afield, the dear 
old gentleman had, with paternal caution, 
snicked the charger on the powder flask 
down to 2% drachms and fixed the nozzle 
Ounthe shot. pouch) to comespond: ~ Oi 
course he told me why he did-so; and in 
this as in all other matters where my wel- 
fare was concerned I found he was right. 
He also made me promise that I would 
load and use only one barrel at first; point- 
ing out the danger of charging the sec- 
ond barrel while the first was loaded and 
capped. With a good supply of ammuni- 
tion—and advice—I started, and verily 
would not have exchanged places with a 
lord. Possibly some readers will smile 
when I give my score for 5 hours of hunt- 
ing. It was, 11 green plovers (locally called 
lapwing), 6 golden plovers, and 3 teal. 
At that time wildfowl were so plentiful 
that I, a mere boy, using half of a gun too 
heavy for me, and charges too light for the 
weapon, made this good bag. A good shot 
who knew the country and the birds was 
then limited in his sport only by the quan- 
tity of game and ammunition he and his 
attendant could carry. 
During a mild winter—and the winters 
there are usually mild—the green meadows 
and dry uplands literally swarmed with 
plover and curlew. Day after day, from 
November to March, they were there, and 
never appeared to grow scarcer. So nu- 
merous were they, and so easy to ap- 
proach, that local sportsmen looked on 
them almost with loathing, despite the fact 
that all members of the plover family, 
when found away from salt water, are de- 
licious eating. By the way, in my callow 
days it was considered quite a feat for a 
man to succeed in killing a curlew. They 
seem to have as many lives as the pro- 
verbial cat, each life protected by shot proof 
armor, and guarded by innumerable eyes 
and ears. 
The more pretentious shooters turned 
their attention to snipe and duck shooting. 
Every reedy pool and marshy patch held 
-its half dozen or so of the long-bills; and 
the large tracts of bog and feniand shel- 
tered them in thousands. Should a hard 
frost set in, some of them, like the plover, 
migrated to the coast. Those that re- 
mained frequented springs and unfrozen 
rivulets, where they were sometimes 
trapped and snared in great numbers. At 
437 
the present time snipe and duck shooting 
in the British Islands go hand in hand, for 
this is the breech-loading age, and a vari- 
ety of ammunition can be carried and used 
as the occasion arises. In the days of the 
muzzle loader this was not so easy, and if 
the sportsman wanted ducks, he went out 
prepared for ducks only. 
Most of the duck shooting was done on 
the morning and evening flights, and by 
night, in favorable weather. Mallard, wid- 
geon, several kinds of diving ducks, shovel- 
ler and teal were there in numbers to delight 
the heart of even the most insatiable gun- 
ner. Teal were hardly considered worth 
powder and shot, and on flight shooting 
were usually allowed to pass unnoticed. 
On the Kilglass bottoms, within a few 
miles of where I lived, geese used to con- 
gregate in large numbers during late win- 
ter and early spring. How many queer 
devices we used to get within shot of them 
on the open plain! How many weary 
hours we used to spend (perhaps seated 
snugly im a foot or so of water at the 
bottom of some drain) in hopes they would 
feed or fly within range! Our hopes were 
sometimes crowned with glorious success, 
and sometimes with miserable failure. 
Besides the wildfowl, red game—pheas- 
ants, partridges and woodcocks—were 
abundant. The pheasants, hatched in the 
preserves, would often stray to the open 
farm lands and, in season, were lawful prey 
for any licensed shooter. As tillage was 
then almost entirely confined to the arable 
or higher ground, partridges were quite nu- 
merous, and several coveys could gener- 
ally be located within one parish. Good 
cock shooting was to be had in the coverts. 
These of course were strictly preserved for 
the owner and his friends. 
All the district of which I write teemed 
with bird life during the winter months, 
from crows to wrens and from jack-snipe 
to geese. Ah’s me! ~ Times have altered 
trade’s unfeeling train usurps the land,” 
or rather tries to improve it. The beau- 
tiful lakes which God made and stocked 
are stinking and unwholesome pools. The 
marshes and fens which He formed and 
peopled with feathered creatures are dry 
ands bare a ihe? fishare: gone, the: fowl 
are gone; and the fools who sanctioned 
it all, find they have paid a bitterly big price 
for their whistle. 
Nine tenths of the “improved” land, 
deprived of its periodical irrigation, has 
become worthless. Too stiff and cold to 
be economically tilled, it will grow noth- 
ing but dry. coarse grass, or gigantic this- 
tles; and the fool farmer who is paying 
rent and drainage tax for it. finds on his 
hands a white elephant of his own rais- 
ing. 
