THE "CRACK-SHOTS." No. I.

A club, under the imposing style of the "Crack-Shots," met every Wednesday evening, during the season, at a house of public entertainment in the salubrious suburbs of London, known by the cla.s.sical sign of the "Magpye and Stump." Besides a trim garden and a small close-shaven gra.s.s-plat in the rear (where elderly gentlemen found a cure for 'taedium vitae' and the rheumatism in a social game of bowls), there was a meadow of about five or six acres, wherein a target was erected for the especial benefit of the members of this celebrated club; we say celebrated, because, of all clubs that ever made a noise in the world, this bore away the palm-according to the reports in the neighbourhood. Emulation naturally caused excitement, and the extraordinary deeds they performed under its influence we should never have credited, had we not received the veracious testimony of--the members themselves.

After the trials of skill, they generally spent the evenings together.

Jack Saggers was the hero of the party; or perhaps he might be more appropriately termed the "great gun," and was invariably voted to the chair. He made speeches, which went off admirably; and he perpetrated puns which, like his Joe Manton, never missed fire, being unanimously voted admirable hits by the joyous a.s.sembly.

Their pleasures and their conversation might truly be said to be of a piece.

"Gentlemen"--said Jack, one evening rising upon his legs--"Do me the favour to charge. Are you all primed and loaded? I am about to propose the health of a gentleman, who is not only an honour to society at large, but to the 'Crack-Shots' in particular. Gentlemen, the mere mention of the name of Brother Sniggs--(hear! hear!)--I know will call forth a volley!--(Hear! hear!) Gentlemen, I give you the health of Brother Sniggs! make ready, present and fire!"

Up went the gla.s.ses, and down went the liquor in a trice, followed by three times three, Jack Saggers giving the time, and acting as "fugle-man."

Sniggs, nervously fingering his tumbler of "half and half," as if he wanted the spirit to begin, hemmed audibly, and

"Having three times shook his head To stir his wit, thus he said,"

"Gentlemen, I don't know how it is, but somehows the more a man has to say, the more he can't! I feel, for all the world, like a gun rammed tight and loaded to the muzzle, but without flint or priming----"

"Prime!" exclaimed Jack Saggers; and there was a general t.i.tter, and then he continued; "as we cannot let you off Sniggs, you most go on, you know."

"Gentlemen," resumed Sniggs, "I feel indeed so overloaded by the honors you have conferred on me, that I cannot find words to express my grat.i.tude. I can only thank you, and express my sincere wish that your shots may always tell."

And he sat down amidst unbounded applause. "By no means a-miss!" cried Jack Saggers.

"A joke of mine, when I knocked down a bird the other morning," said Sniggs: "you must know I was out early, and had just brought down my bird, when leaping into the adjoining field to pick it up, a bird-catcher, who had spread his nets on the dewy gra.s.s, walked right up to me."

"I've a visper for you, Sir," says he, as cool as a cuc.u.mber; "I don't vish to be imperlite, but next time you shoots a bird vot I've brought to my call, I'll shoot you into a clay-pit, that's all!"

"And pray what did you say, Sniggs?" asked Jack Saggers. "Say?--nothing!

but I looked unutterable things, and--shouldering my piece--walked off!"

THE "CRACK-SHOTS." No. II.

"Sniggs's rencontre with the bird-catcher reminds me of Tom Swivel's meeting with the Doctor," observed Smart.

"Make a report," cried Jack Saggers.

"Well, you must know, that I had lent him my piece for a day's shooting; and just as he was sauntering along by a dead wall near Hampstead, looking both ways at once for a quarry (for he has a particular squint), a stout gentleman in respectable black, and topped by a shovel-hat, happened to be coming in the opposite direction. With an expression of terror, the old gentleman drew himself up against the unyielding bricks, and authoritatively extending his walking-stick, addressed our sportsman in an angry tone, saying: 'How dare you carry a loaded gun pointed at people's viscera, you b.o.o.by?' Now Tom is a b.o.o.by, and no mistake, and so dropping his under jaw and staring at the reverend, he answered: 'I don't know vot you mean by a wiserar. I never shot a wiserar!'"

"Devilish good!" exclaimed Saggers; and, as a matter of course, everybody laughed.

Pa.s.sing about the bottle, the club now became hilarious and noisy; when the hammer of the president rapped them to order, and knocked down Sniggs for a song, who, after humming over the tune to himself, struck up the following:

CHAUNT

When the snow's on the ground and the trees are all bare, And rivers and gutters are turned into ice, The sportsman goes forth to shoot rabbit or hare, And gives them a taste of his skill in a trice.

Bang! bang! goes his Joe, And the bird's fall like snow, And he bags all he kills in a trice.

CHORUS.

Bang! bang! goes his Joe, And the bird's fall like snow, And he bags all he kills in a trice.

II.

If he puts up a partridge or pheasant or duck, He marks him, and wings him, and brings him to earth; He let's nothing fly--but his piece--and good luck His bag fills with game and his bosom with mirth.

Bang! bang! goes his Joe, And the bird's fall like snow, And good sport fills his bosom with mirth.

CHORUS.

Bang! bang! et. etc.

III.

When at night he unbends and encounters his pals, How delighted he boasts of the sport he has had; While a kind of round game's on the board, and gals Are toasted in b.u.mpers by every lad.

And Jack, Jim, and Joe Give the maid chaste as snow That is true as a shot to her lad!

CHORUS.

And Jack, Jim and Joe Give the maid chaste as snow That is true as a shot to her lad!

The customary applause having followed this vocal attempt of Sniggs, he was asked for a toast or a sentiment.

"Here's--'May the charitable man never know the want of--'shot.'" said Sniggs.

"Excellent!" exclaimed Saggers, approvingly; "By Jupiter Tonans, Sniggs, you're a true son of--a gun!"

THE "CRACK-SHOTS."--No. III.

"Sich a lark!" said Bill Sorrel, breaking abruptly in upon the noisy chorus, miscalled a general conversation; "sich a lark!"

"Where?" demanded Saggers.

"You've jist hit it," replied Sorrel, "for it vere worry near 'Vare vhere it happened. I'd gone hout hearly, you know, and had jist cotched sight of a bird a-vistling on a twig, and puttered the vords, 'I'll spile your singin', my tight 'un,' and levelled of my gun, ven a helderly gentleman, on t'other side of the bank vich vos atween me and the bird, pops up his powdered noddle in a jiffy, and goggling at me vith all his eyes, bawls pout in a tantivy of a fright, 'You need'nt be afear'd, sir,' says I, 'I aint a-haiming at you,' and vith that I pulls my trigger-bang! Vell, I lost my d.i.c.ky! and ven I looks for the old 'un, by Jingo! I'd lost him too. So I mounts the bank vere he sot, but he vas'nt there; so I looks about, and hobserves a dry ditch at the foot, and c.o.c.king my eye along it, vhy, I'm blessed, if I did'nt see the old fellow a-scampering along as fast as his legs could carry him. Did'nt I laugh, ready to split--that's all!"

"I tell you what, Sorrel," said the president, with mock gravity, "I consider the whole affair, however ridiculous, most immoral and reprehensible. What, shall a crack-shot make a target of an elder?

Never! Let us seek more appropriate b.u.t.ts for our barrels! You may perhaps look upon the whole as a piece of pleasantry but let me tell you that you ran a narrow chance of being indicted for a breach of the peace!

And remember, that even shooting a deer may not prove so dear a shot as bringing down an old buck!"

This humorous reproof was applauded by a "bravo!" from the whole club.