Produced by Malcolm Farmer, William Flis, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. VOL. 103. November 5, 1892. CONVERSATIONAL HINTS FOR YOUNG SHOOTERS. LUNCH (_continued_).--Perhaps the best piece of advice that I can give you, my young friend, is that--for conversational purposes--you should make a careful study of the natures and temperaments of your companions. Watch their little peculiarities, both of manner and of shooting; pick up what you can about their careers in sport and in the general world, and use the knowledge so acquired with tact and discretion when you are talking to them. For instance, if one of the party is a celebrated shot, who has done some astonishing record at driven grouse, you may, after the necessary preliminaries, ask him to be good enough to tell you what was the precise number of birds he shot on that occasion. Tell him, if you like, that the question arose the other day during a discussion on the three finest game-shots of the world. If you happen to know that he shot eighteen hundred birds, you can say that most people fixed the figure at fifteen hundred. He will then say,--"Ah, I know most people seem to have got that notion--I don't know why. As a matter of fact, I managed to get eighteen hundred and two, and they picked up twenty-two on the following morning." Your obvious remark is, "By Jove!" (with a strong emphasis on the "by") "what magnificent shooting!" After that, the thing runs along of its own accord. With a bad shot your method is, of course, quite different. For example:-- _Young Shot_. I must say I like the old style of walking up your birds better than driving, especially in a country like this. I never saw such difficult birds as we had this morning. You seemed to have the worst of the luck everywhere. _Bad Shot_. Yes--they didn't come my way much. But I don't get much practice at this kind of thing--and a man's no good without practice. _Y.S._ That was a deuced long shot, all the same, that you polished off in the last drive. When I saw him coming at about a hundred miles an hour, I thanked my stars he wasn't my bird. What a thump he fell! _B.S._ Oh, he was a fairly easy shot, though a bit far off. I daresay I should do well enough if I only got more shooting. I'm not shooting with my own gun, though. It's one of my brother's, and it's rather short in the stock for me. That starts you comfortably with the Bad Shot. You soothe his ruffled vanity, and give him a better appetite for lunch. Now, besides the Good Shot, and the Bad Shot--the two extremes, as it were, of the line of shooters--you might subdivide your sportsmen further into--