'“Splendid shot, begad!—killed both,” said Oakley. “Ah, Mr. Green, we have no chance with you. Give him another gun at once.”
'“I should like a little brandy,” said Mr. Green, “for my feet are wet.”
'I gave him my flask, which he emptied at a pull; while, at the same time, animated with fresh vigour, he tramped manfully forward, without fear or dread. The firing still continued hotly around us; and as Mr. Green discharged his piece whenever he was bid, we calculated that in about an hour and a half he had fired above a hundred and fifty times. Wearied and fatigued by his exertions, at length he sat down upon a bank, while one of the gamekeepers covered the ground about him with ducks, hens, and turkey-cooks, as the spoils of his exertions.
'At Oakley's proposal we now agreed to go back to luncheon, which I need not tell you was a hot supper, followed by mulled claret and more punch. Here the cockney came out still better than before. His character as a sportsman raised him in his own esteem, and he sang “The Poacher” for two hours, until he fell fast asleep on the carpet. He was then conveyed to bed, where, as on the former day, he slept till late in the afternoon.
'Meanwhile, I had arranged another breakfast-party at Ross, where we arrived about seven o'clock in the evening—and so on for the rest of the week, occasionally varying the amusement by hunting, fishing, or coursing.
'At last poor Mr. Green, when called on one morning to dress, sent down Dan with his compliments that he wished to speak to me. I went to him at once, and found him sitting up in his bed.
'“Ah, Mr. Manon,” said he, “this will never do; it's a pleasant life, no doubt, but I never could go On with it. Will you tell me one thing—do you never see the sun here?”
'“Oh, bless you! yes,” said I; “repeatedly. He was out for two hours on last Patrick's Day, and we have him now and then, promiscuously!”
'“How very strange, how very remarkable,” said he, with a sigh, “that we in England should know so little of all this! But, to tell you the truth, I don't think I ever could get used to Lapland—it's Ireland I mean; I beg your pardon for the mistake. And now, may I ask you another question—Is this the way you always live?”