If, on the contrary, they charge as decent dogs should and do charge, so soon as thy gun be loaded, lift them, with a “Hold up, good lads!” and cast them gently onward, checking them with a “Steady, dogs!” if they show disposition to be rash, until they point the dead bird, if killed, or draw on him, if running. Then, with a “Toho! Steady!” walk to their point; pick up the bird under their noses, praising them the while, or bid them “Fetch!” according to the circumstances of the case; but if they retrieve the bird without pointing him, or even after pointing him, until told to “fetch,” let chastisement not hide her head.
This, rest assured, friend is the way to do it.
For the rest, whether thou wear fen-boots, or shoes and trowsers, or, as I use, by deliberate preference, arch-boots, corduroy shorts, and leggins, suit thine own fancy; but let thy shooting-jacket be roomy on the chest and shoulders, and well supplied with ample pockets. Let thy gun be—for my choice—of 31 inches, 12 or 14 gauge, 7¾ to 8 pounds. Let thy powder be Brough’s diamond grain, or John Hall’s glass—on no account any other—thou mayest get it of Henry T. Cooper, in Broadway, New York—thy shot No. 8—thy caps Starkey’s central fire, or Moore & Gray’s, or Westley Richards’—by no means _French_, or Walker’s, the first of which _fly_, while the latter are, I think, corrosive. Forget not to have in thy pocket a dog-whip, a stout knife, a yard or two of strong cord, a pocket-flask, replenished, as thou wilt, with old Otard, or as I recommend thee, Ferintosh or Glenlivat whisky—stick in the seam of thy waistcoat a strong darning-needle, headed with sealing-wax, it is the only true and responsible gun-picker; and so, good sport to thee, and health and temper to enjoy it!—as good sport, gentle reader, as I trust myself to enjoy this coming week of April, the rain-gods and the river-gods permitting, and the nymphs remembering us, as their long-time adorer, in their kind orisons.
[5] Frank Forester’s Field Sports of North America. Vol. i. p 161.
WHAT is it to the fields of heaven Light hath given, Radiance glowing, unexpected, And from soft imbosomed bowers, And od’rous flowers, Hath sweet Spring to us directed?