198 
FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS. 
less at twenty yards ! Him can no cur-dog flush in gun-shot 
of pot-hunting poucher. 
No ! gentle reader, him, whether he lies in the tufted fern and 
wintergreens, or the dry slope of some warm, westering hill¬ 
side, among second-growth of brown oak and chestnut; whether 
he wades among the shallow mud-pools, sheltered by fern, 
dock-leaves, and dark colt’s-foot, of some deep maple swamp, 
it needs the stealthy pace, the slow, cat-like, guarded motion, the 
instinctive knowledge of the ground, the perfect nose, and 
absolute docility, which belong only to the thorough dog of the 
thorough sportsman, to find certainly, and stand staunchly! 
Him, whether he flap up, seen for one second only, among the 
leafless stems, and lost the next among the tufted tops of the 
yet verdant alders; whether he soar away, with his sharp 
whistle, far, far above the red and yellow tree tops; whether he 
pitch now here, now there, sharply and suddenly, among the 
close saplings, it needs the eye of faith, the finger of instinct, 
the steady nerve, the deliberate celerity, the marking glance, 
which characterise the sportsman—the crack shot, who—as 
poor Cypress averred truly—is born like the poet, not made 
like the orator—to cut down at his speed; not wing-tipped or 
leg-broken, but riddled by the concentrated charge, turned 
over and over in mid air, arrested mercifully by quick and 
unerring death, and falling with a heavy thud , which tells good 
things of ten ounces’ weight, on the brown leaves of gorgeous 
autumn. 
My words are weak to describe the full charm of this noble 
pastime—noble, when followed as it should be, in the true ani¬ 
mus and ardor of the chase—but most ignoble when perverted 
to base, culinary, carnal, gluttonous, self-seeking purposes_ 
weak are they, when compared with the vivid and heart-thril¬ 
ling reality—yet even thus, they will have done their duty if they 
succeed in arousing the attention of the true friends of sports¬ 
manship throughout the land, to this most interesting subject. 
Certain it is that the Woodcock returns, whether old or young, to 
the same place where he was bred and where he has reared his 
