w months while
attached to the army in Sicily. In this situation we will leave them for
an hour, happy in the society of each other, while we trace the route of
John Moseley and his companion, in their pursuit of woodcock, on the same
day.

"Do you know, Moseley," said Jarvis, who began to think he was a favorite
with John, now that he was admitted to his _menus plaisirs_, "that I have
taken it into my head this Mr. Denbigh was very happy to plead his morals
for not meeting me. He is a soldier, but I cannot find out what battles he
has been in."

"Captain Jarvis," said John, coolly, "the less you say about that business
the better. Call in Rover."

Now, another of Jarvis's recommendations was a set of lungs that might
have been heard half a mile with great ease on a still morning.

"Why," said Jarvis, rather humbly, "I am sensible, Mr Moseley, I was very
wrong as regards your sister; but don't you think it a little odd in a
soldier not to fight when properly called upon?"

"I suppose Mr. Denbigh did not think himself properly called upon, or
perhaps he had heard what a great shot you were."

Six months before his appearance in B----, Captain Jarvis had been a
clerk in the counting-room of Jarvis, Baxter & Co., and had never held
fire-arms of any kind in his hand, with the exception of an old
blunderbuss, which had been a kind of sentinel over the iron chest for
years. On mounting the cockade, he hail taken up shooting as a martial
exercise, inasmuch as the burning of gunpowder was an attendant of the
recreation. He had never killed but one bird in his life, and that, was an
owl, of which he took the advantage of daylight and his stocking feet to
knock off a tree in the deanery grounds, very early after his arrival. In
his trials with John, he sometimes pulled trigger at the same moment with
his companion; and as the bird generally fell, he thought he had an equal
claim to the honor. He was fond of warring with crows and birds of the
larger sort, and invariably went provided with small balls fitted to the
bore of his fowling-piece for such accidental rencontres. He had another
habit, which was not a little annoying to John, who had several times
tried in vain to break him of it--that of shooting at marks. If birds were
not plenty, he would throw up a chip, and sometimes his hat, by way of
shooting on the wing.

As the clay was excessively hot, and the game kept close, John felt
willing to return from such unprofi