186 
FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 
equally good by nature, the one of which has never been hunted 
but by one master, and the other by every one whom he has 
been pleased to follow. 
I have taken the opportunity of making these observations 
on dog-breaking, and dog-hunting, in this place, because in 
summer Woodcock shooting, above any other phase of the 
sport, an implicit obedience, great steadiness, and perfect 
staunchness is required in the dog. In Quail, or Snipe-shooting, 
you can see your dog the greater part of the time ; you can 
observe his every motion; and can usually, if you are quick- 
sighted and ready-witted, foresee when he is about to commit a 
fault in time to check him. In summer shooting, woe betide 
you, if you entertain so wild a hope. You hunt darkling, 
catching sight of your four-footed companion only by snatches, 
often judging him to be on the point, because you have ceased 
to hear the rustle of his sinuous movement through the bushes ; 
or because you have not seen his form gliding among the water- 
flags or fern, so recently as you should have done, had he turned 
at his regular distance, and quartered his ground without 
finding game. It is not once in ten, nay ! in twenty times, that 
you see him strike his trail, draw on it, become surer, and stand 
stiff. You lose him for a moment, look for him, where he ought 
to be , and find him because he is there , pointing as you expected. 
A step or two forward, with your thumb on the hammer, and 
the nail of your forefinger touching the inside of your trigger- 
guard. Still he stands steady as a rock; and you know by 
the glare of his fixed eye, and the frown of his steadfast brow, 
and the slaver on his lip, that the skulking Cock is within ten 
feet of his nose, perhaps within ten inches. You kick the skunk- 
cabbages with your foot, or tap the bunch of cat-briars with your 
gun-muzzle, and flip-flap ! up he jumps, glances, half-seen fo*. 
a second, between the stems of the alder bushes, and is lost to 
sight among the thick foliage of their dark green heads, before 
jour gun-butt has touched your shoulder. But your eye has 
taken in his line—the trigger is drawn, the charge splinters 
the stems and brings down a shower of green leaves, and 
