THE ANATOMY OF SHOOTING
Men we Never Meet
1. The man who makes no excuses for shooting badly; such as—1. The light was in his eyes; 2. He was bilious; 3. There was something wrong with his cartridges; 4. Too many cigars the night before; 5. Some particular eatable or drinkable taken the night before; 6. Or that morning; 7. He was afraid of hitting that beater; 8. We were walking too fast; 9. He hadn't got his eye in; 10. Or his eye was out; 11. He didn't think it was his bird; 12. It was too far off; 13. He always thought there was something the matter with that gun.
2. The man whose dog hasn't a good nose.
3. The man who can't "shoot a bit sometimes."
4. The man who hasn't some particular theory as to—1. The very best gun; 2. Cartridges; 3. Charges of powder and shot; 4. Best tipple to shoot on; 5. Best sort of boots; 6. Gaiters; 7. And equipment generally.
5. The man who doesn't change the said theory every season.
6. The man who hasn't sometimes said he couldn't shoot after lunch.
7. Or that he could shoot better after lunch.
8. The man who on your remarking that your friend George Lake is a good shot, doesn't answer that you should see Billy Mountain (or someone else) and then you would know what shooting really was.
9. The man who hasn't a friend who "can't hit a haystack."
10. The friend who owns it.
11. The man who doesn't like to be considered a good shot.
12. The man who, being a bad shot, doesn't comfort himself by thinking he knows a worse.
13. The man who hasn't made a longer shot than anyone in the company.
14. The man who, having made it, doesn't tell the story.
15. And who, having told the story, doesn't tell it more than once.
Finally, Mr. Punch is never likely to meet the man who, having read the above, will not own that it is strictly true of those who pursue the pleasant pastime of shooting when, as the eminent Burton puts it, "they have leisure from public cares and business."
The First of September. (Our sporting French friend, voted dangerous, has been given a beat to himself.)—Chorus. "Well, Count, what luck?"
Count. "Magnifique! I have only shot one! Mais voilà! Qu'il est beau! The King partridge! Regardez ses plumes! N'est ce pas?"
Marking black game
Small bags—one brace
"Every Excuse."—Brigson (excited). "Hullo!—There goes a——" (Ups with his gun!)
His Host (clutching his arm). "Good Heavens!—You're not going to shoot that fox?"
Brigson. "My dear f'ller! wh'-wh'-why not? This is the last day I shall have this season—and I—I feel as if I could shoot my own mother-in-law—if she rose!"
Giving 'em both barrels
Dropped his bird