matter birds, or flying well,
Or fly at all, or sporting weather,
If fools with guns can't hit a feather!"

"Ay, there's the rub, indeed,'" said Don,
Putting his gravest visage on;
"In vain we beat our beaten way,
And bring our _organs_ into play,
Unless the proper killing kind
Of _barrel tunes_ are play'd behind:
But when _we_ shoot,--that's me and Squire--
We hit as often as we fire."

"More luck for you!" cried little Woolly,
Who felt the cruel contrast fully;
"More luck for you, and Squire to boot!
_We_ miss as often as we shoot!"

"Indeed!--No wonder you're unhappy!
I thought you looking rather snappy;
But fancied, when I saw you jogging,
You'd had an overdose of flogging;
Or p'rhaps the gun its range had tried
While you were ranging rather wide."

"Me! running--running wide--and hit!
Me shot! what, pepper'd?--Deuce a bit!
I almost wish I had! That Dunce,
My master, then would hit for once!
Hit me! Lord, how you talk! why, zounds!
He couldn't hit a pack of hounds!"

"Well, that must be a case provoking.
What, _never_--but, you dog, you're joking!
I see a sort of wicked grin
About your jaw you're keeping in."

"A joke! an old tin kettle's clatter
Would be as much a joking matter.
To tell the truth, that dog-disaster
Is just the type of me and master,
When fagging over hill and dale,
With his vain rattle at my tail,
Bang, bang, and bang, the whole day's run,
But _leading_ nothing but his gun--
The very shot I fancy hisses,
It's sent upon such awful misses!"

"Of course it does! But p'rhaps the fact is
Your master's hand is out of practice!"

"_Practice_?--No doctor, where you will,
Has finer--but he cannot kill!
These three years past, thro' furze and furrow,
All covers I have hunted thorough;
Flush'd cocks and snipes about the moors;
And put up hares by scores and scores;
Coveys of birds, and lots of pheasants;--
Yes, game enough to send in presents
To ev'ry friend he has in town,
Provided he had knock'd it down:
But no--the whole three years together,
He has not giv'n me flick or feather--
For all that I have had to do
I wish I had been missing too!"

"Well,--such a hand would drive me mad;
But is he truly quite so bad?"

"Bad!--worse!--you cannot underssore him;
If I could put up, just before him,
The great Balloon that paid the visit
Across the water, he would miss it!
Bite him! I do believe, indeed,
It's in his very blood and breed!
It marks his life, and, run all through i