Reed-bird Shooting

By H.P. Leland.

Three men and bull-dog ugly,

two guns, and a terrier lame:

They'd better set themselves up for game!

But no! I see, by the cocking

Of that red-haired Paddy's eye,

He's been 'reeding' to much for you, Sir,

Any such game to try!

 

'Whist, Jamey, me boy! kape dark there,

Who hould the big bull-dog in:

There's a bloody big cloud of rade-birds

That nade a peppering'!'

'Chip-bang!' speaks the single-barrel;

'Flip-booong!' roars the old 'Queen-Anne'

There's a Paddy stretched out in the mud-hole,

A kicked over, knocked-down man!

 

the big-bluu-dog's eyes stick out,

And the terrier's barks begin;

The Paddy digs out of the deep mud,

And then the 'discoursin'' comes in:

'Oh Jamey, ye pricious young blag-guard,

I know ye're the divil's son!

How many fingers' load, thin,

Did ye put in this damned old gun?'

 

'How many fingers? Be jabers!

I nivir put in a one!

D'ye think I'd be afther ramming

Me fingers into the gun?'

'Well give me the powdher, Jamey!'

'The powdher! as sure as I'm born,

I put it all in yer muskit,

As I had ne'er a powdher-horn!'

Philadelphia, August, 1853.

December 1853. The Knickerbocker, or New York Monthly Magazine 42(6): 613.