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Updated: June 14, 2025
"What are you doing in that dog's kennel?" demanded Rose. "Playing Christmas," said Margy, with quivering voice. "I guess it isn't Christmas," said Mun Bun doubtfully. "I guess it's Fourth of July. Isn't it, Russ? They don't have shooters only on the Fourth of July."
On other days there was horse-trotting, music production, and for several days prize-shooting. The latter was admirably conducted: the targets were placed at the foot of the bank; and opposite, I should think not more than two hundred yards off, were shooting-houses, each with a room for the register of the shots, and on each side of him closets where the shooters stand.
Their mothers tentatively took houses in London or Paris, there came a period when their fathers or uncles, serious or anxious business men, the most unsporting of human beings, rented castles or manors with huge moors and covers attached and entertained large parties of shooters or fishers who could be lured to any quarter by the promise of the particular form of slaughter for which they burned.
Tartarin could have died, he thought this was a hoax: but no, all Tarascon was there, tossing their hats in the air and shouting his praises. There stood the brave Commandant Bravida, Costecalde the gunsmith, the President Ladeveze, the chemist and all the noble body of hat shooters, who pressed round their chief and carried him all the way down the steps.
First it sniffed and uttered a rumbling growl, it stretched out its forefeet and unsheathed its claws, then it got up, raised its head, shook its mane, opened its huge maw and directed at Tartarin a most ear-splitting roar. This was greeted by a cry of terror. Tarascon, in panic, rushed for the doors. Everyone, men, women, children, the hat shooters and even the brave Commandant Bravida himself.
"Lady Thornby and Lady Melton and Lily Opie and her sister are going out to the shooters' lunch," Laura said sweetly. "As you are going to be deprived of your lovely wife, Tristram, I will come, too."
Presently, however, a leash of English birds rose rather awkwardly at about forty paces straight in front of Edward Cossey, and Harold noticed that he left them alone, never attempting to fire at them. In fact he was one of those shooters who never take a hard shot if they can avoid it, being always in terror lest they should miss it and so reduce their average.
The booming of the guns of wild-fowl shooters out upon the water roused me before dawn, and I had ample time before the sun arose to prepare breakfast from the remnant of canned ox-tail soup left over from last night's supper. I was now in Delaware Bay, which was assuming noble proportions.
Thomas Vincent, whose name is not unknown in the literary world, will reap his reward of fame and respect from his townsmen, and of fair profit, which his public spirit deserves." The Morning Advertiser. "'The Records of the Woolwich District' deal with all the parishes which surround Shooters' Hill, necessarily dwelling most fully upon the northern slope.
I follow them mounting a fine white mule, which, with its gaudily galonne Arab pad and wrapper cloth, has a certain dignity of look; a double-barrelled gun lies across my lap; and a rude pair of holsters, the work of Hasan Turki, contains my Colt's six- shooters.
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