To-day I was present at an interesting breakfast, given by the Pigeon Club. This title by no means implies that the members are gentle and harmless as doves:[87]--on the contrary, they are the wildest young fellows in England, and the poor pigeons have nothing to do with the matter but to be shot at. The arena was a large grass-plat surrounded by a wall. On one side was a row of tents; in the largest of which a table was spread with viands, from one o'clock till six, and furnished with a constant supply of iced moselle and champagne. About a hundred members and some guests were present; and they shot, ate and drank, by turns. The pigeons were placed in a row, eight at a time. Cords are fastened to the doors of their houses, which meet at the shooting-stand; when one is pulled it opens the door, and the pigeon flies out. The man who shot last pulls for his successor,--but standing behind him, so that the latter cannot see which cord he pulls, and is therefore uncertain which of the eight pigeons will fly out: if the pigeon falls within the wall after his fire, it is reckoned his; if not, it does not count. Every man has a double-barrelled gun, and may use both barrels. The two most famous shots in England, are Captain de Roos and Mr Osbaldistone. They shot for a wager of a thousand pounds which is not yet decided. Neither missed once; and Captain de Roos's birds never fell twelve paces from the spot, and scarcely fluttered, but dropped like stones almost the moment he fired. Never did I see such admirable shooting. A pretty little spaniel belonging to the Club fetched every pigeon, and performed his duty like a machine, without either delay, neglect or hurry. At last the whole party shot for a golden vase of two hundred pounds value, (the annual prize of the Club,) which was won by Captain de Roos. I did not get away from this jolly breakfast till seven o'clock, when I went to a little theatre, as yet unknown to me, called Sadler's Wells, which is a good three-quarters of a mile (German) from my dwelling. I went in a hackney coach. When I wanted to go home, towards one o'clock, I could find no coach in this out-of-the-way place, and all the houses were shut. This was the more disagreeable, as I had really not the least idea in what part of the town I was. After wandering about the streets in vain for half an hour in search of a coach, I resigned myself to the idea of finding my way home on foot, with the aid of a watchman, when a stage coach came by which was going my way, and with which I happily regained my Penates about two o'clock.--The peculiarity of this theatre is that it contains real water, in which element the actors splash and dabble about by the hour together, like ducks or water rats: 'au reste,' nothing can surpass the nonsense of the melodrame, nor the horror of the singing by which it was accompanied. _June 20th._