The Confessions of a Sportsman.

"Vell, for three year, as sure as the Septembers comes, I takes the
field, but somehow or another I never takes nothin' else! My gun's a
good 'un and no mistake!--Percussions and the best Dartford, and all that
too. My haim ain't amiss neither; so there's a fault somewhere, that's
certain. The first time as I hentered on the inwigorating and manly
sport, I valks my werry legs off, and sees nothin' but crows and that
'ere sort o' small game.

"I vos so aggrawated, that at last I lets fly at 'em in werry spite, jist
as they vos a sendin' of their bills into an orse for a dinner.

"Bang! goes the piece;--caw! caw! goes the birds; and I dessay I did for
some on 'em, but I don't know, for somehow I vos in sich a preshus hurry
to bag my game, that I jumps clean over vun bank, and by goles! plump
into a ditch on t'other side, up to my werry neck!

"The mud stuck to me like vax; and findin' it all over vith me, and no
chance o' breaking a cover o' this sort, I dawdled about 'till dusk, and
vos werry glad to crawl home and jump into bed. I vos so 'put out' that
I stayed at home the rest o' that season.

"The second year come, and my hardor vos agin inflamed. 'Cotch me
a-shootin' at crows,' says I.--Vell, avay I goes a-vhistling to myself,
ven presently I see a solentary bird on the wing; 'a pariwidge, by
jingo!' says I--I cocks--presents, and hits it! Hooray! down it tumbles,
and afore I could load and prime agin, a whole lot o' 'em comes out from
among the trees. 'Here's luck' says I; and jist shouldered my piece, ven
I gets sich a vop behind as sent me at full length.