BALLAD OF THE CUNNING PARTRIDGE
Reading edition
The partridge is a cunning bird, He likes not those who bring him down: From age to age he has preferred The shots that blaze into the brown, Whose stocks come never shoulder high, Who never pause to pick and choose, But on whose biceps you descry The black, the blue, the tell-tale bruise. Or should a stubborn cartridge swell, And jam, as it may chance, your gun, The sly old partridge knows it well, "Great Scott!" he seems to chirp "here's fun!" He gathers all his feathered tribe, They leave the stubble or the grass, And with one wild and whirling gibe Above your silent muzzles pass. Your scheme you carefully contrive, And, while each beater waves his flag, Your fancy, as they duly drive, Already sees a record bag. But lo! they baulk your keen desire, For, though with birds the sky grows black, Not one of them will face the fire, And every blessed bird goes back. For partridges I'll try no more; Why should I waste in grim despair? Take me to far Albania's shore, And let me bag the woodcock there. Or on the Susquehanna's stream I'll shoot with every chance of luck The gourmet's glory and his dream, The canvas-back, that juicy duck. Yea, any other bird I'll shoot, But not again with toil and pain I'll tramp the stubble or the root. Nor wait behind a fence in vain. For of all birds you hit or miss (I've tried it out by every test), Again I say with emphasis The partridge is the cunningest.
Hints to Beginners.—When going out before daylight after ducks, waders are advisable. Also, better tell your wife she need not come down (just when you expect the ducks) and ask if you are sure you are not getting your feet wet.
A NOVELTY
Mr. Cylinder (who always uses his host's cartridges). "What powder are these loaded with, my boy?"
Beater. "Ar doan't rightly know; but ar think they calls it serdlitz pooder!"
Disgusted Keeper (who has just beaten up a brace or so of pheasants, which young Snookson has missed "clane and clever"—to dog, which has been "going seek" and "going find" from force of habit). "Ah, Ruby, Ruby, bad dog! T' heel, Ruby, t' heel! Ah must apologise for Ruby, sir. You see, Ruby's been accustomed to pick 'em up!"
An extended tract of moor
A second laying
Heavy bags are difficult to secure
Extract from a private letter. "Our bag on the first was barely up to the average, although the mater, Milly, and self were out to help the men. We hunted in couples and threes, as it is a bit dull tramping along alone. And as the mater generally foozles her shots, I did most of her work too. By the way, how absurdly nervous men are 'gunning.'"
MR. MUGGS ON PARTRIDGE DRIVING
"What I like about the modern system of driving is the nice rest you can have between the beats."
Little Chickmouse rashly accepts the Offer of a Day's Partridge-shooting.—Gamekeeper (to Little C., who has kicked up a hare). "Now for it, sir!"
Chickmouse (who finds he can't get over his horror of firearms). "Well—fact is—I'd rather you'd——Look 'ere, you 'old the gun, and I'll pull the thingummy!!"
"A HIT! A PALPABLE HIT!"
"Oh, I beg your pardon! I did not see you, sir!"
"See me! Confound it, sir, you can see through me now!"
The State of the Game.—Lady Customer. "How much are grouse to-day, Mr. Jiblets?"
Poulterer. "Twelve shillings a brace, ma'am. Shall I send them——"
Lady Customer. "No, you need not send them. My husband's out grouse-shooting, and he'll call for them as he comes home!"
Educated. (From a Yorkshire moor).—Keeper (to the Captain, who has missed again, and is letting off steam in consequence). "Oh dear! Oh dear! It's hawful to see yer missin' of 'em, sir; but"—(with admiration)—"ye're a scholard i' langwidge, sir!"
Self-Confidence out Shooting.—Nephew. "Jump, uncle! I'll clear you!"
[But he didn't "clear" him, and old Brown says he'll carry the marks to his grave!
"I don't know what it is, Mark, but I can't hit a bird to-day!"
"Let's see your gun, sir. Ah!—well, I'd try what you could do with some cartridges in it, if I was you, sir!"
Breaking it Gently.—Son of the House (who wishes to say something polite about our friend's astounding shooting, but who cannot palter with the truth). "I should think you were awfully clever at books, sir!"
A TRUE SPORTSMAN (A last shot of the season)
Old Pothunter. "Always show mercy, my boy, always show mercy! Much better to shoot 'em sitting, and save poor things a nasty fall!"
[Does.
TRIALS OF A NOVICE Brown. "I wish I had the moral courage to go home!"
Sport!—Cockney Sportsman (eager, but disappointed). "I say, my boy, seen any birds this way?"
'Cute Rustic (likewise anxious to make a bag). "Oh, a rare lot, guv'nor—a rare lot—just flew over this 'ere 'edge, and settled in that 'ere field, close to Squire Blank's ricks."
[Cockney sportsman tips boy a shilling, and goes hopefully after ... a flock of starlings!
His Lordship (after missing his tenth rabbit). "I'll tell you what it is, Bagster. Your rabbits are all two inches too short, hereabouts!"
PLEASANT FOR HARRY
Fair Sportswoman. "Oh, Harry, I feel so excited, I scarcely know what I am doing!"
BLANK FIRING
Ancient Sportsman (whose sight is not what it used to be). "Pick 'em up, James, pick 'em up! Why don't you pick 'em up?"
Veteran Keeper. "'Cause there bean't any down, my lord!"
SPORT IN SPORT
(Game played by Dumb-Crambo, Junior)
Cartridges
Stubble and turn-up
Marking down
A breech loader
Hairs and part-ridges were scarce
Full cock
Boy (after watching old sportsman miss a couple of rocketers). "Have you shot often, uncle?"
Uncle. "Yes, my boy, a great deal. At one time, in Africa, I used to live by my gun."
Boy (thoughtfully). "Did you? And is that why you're so thin?"
Fitz. "I say, are all your beaters out of the wood?"
Keeper. "Yes, sir."
Fitz. "Are you sure?"
Keeper. "Yes, sir."
Fitz. "Have you counted them?"
Keeper. "No, sir; but I know they're a'right."
Fitz. "Then I've shot a roe deer!"
"Le Sport."—Keeper. "Why didn't you fire the other barrel, m'seer—the other barrel at the last bird?"
Monsieur Alphonse. "Bah! I did fire ze odher barrel! I do fire bodt barrels togezzer! And in my own country I do shoot ze lark at twenty, twenty-five, and sometimes dirty yards—when he stand quite still! Your dogs zey make ze birds to flyaway"—(insinuatingly)—"and zey must be fatigued. Here is money. Take zem, and buy zem somezings to eat! Leave me to make my own dogs myself!!"
Behind the Scenes.—Beater. "'Ere you are, Mr. Bags, 'ere's another one, but 'e bain't too fresh. I don't think 'e were killed to-day."
Keeper (sotto voce). "'Old your row, stupid! Of course he wasn't. We always puts a few down where the gov'nor's goin' to stand!"
The Laird (to little Tomkyns, who is being initiated into the mysteries of deer-stalking). "Don't move a step. Lie down where you are!"