Giles took all this for gospel, and the next morning he was on the spot ready prepared at the hour. He set his fowl up in the air and went to work with the incantation; all was going on prosperously and according to rule: he had got through the psalm tune, crowed as exactly like an old rooster as one could wish, and was just taking a thumping pinch of Scotch yellow to enable him to sneeze with more effect, when casting his eyes aloft he descried a monstrous hen-hawk upon the wing in the act of making a stoop at his enchanted fowl. Giles blurted out a tremendous sternutation, but the hawk was not to be sneezed out of his prey, for before he could rub away the tears which this explosion shook into his eyes, souse came the hawk upon the hen, and both were out of sight among the woods! Giles scratched his head and stared with wonder, but they never came back to give any account of themselves: he is certain although, that had he got through the incantation half a minute sooner, the hen would have been as safe as a thief in a mill. I have heard people say that he has still some expectation of their return, but I believe he has given up speculating in poultry. However, the memory of the story remains in those parts, and when a person does anything that shows uncommon wisdom, such as discovering that the Dutch have taken Holland, or that asses have ears, he is said to be akin to the witches, like Bob Lee’s hen. XVI. THE SHOOTING-MATCH. Shooting-matches are probably nearly coeval with the colonization of Georgia. They are still common throughout the Southern States; though they are not as common as they were twenty-five or thirty years ago. I was travelling in one of the north-eastern counties, when I overtook a swarthy, bright-eyed, smirky little fellow, riding a small pony, and bearing on his shoulder a long, heavy rifle, which, judging from its looks, I should say had done service in Morgan’s corps. “Good morning, Sir,” said I, reining up my horse, as I came beside him. “How goes it, stranger?” said he, with a tone of independence and self-confidence that awakened my curiosity to know a little of his character. “Going driving?” inquired I. “Not exactly,” replied he, surveying my horse with a quizzical smile, “I haven’t been a-driving _by myself_ for a year or two, and my nose has got so bad lately I can’t carry a cold-trail _without hounds to help me_.” Alone, and without hounds as he was, the question was rather a silly one; but it answered the purpose for which it was put, which was only to draw him into conversation, and I proceeded to make as decent a retreat as I could. “I didn’t know,” I said, “but that you were going to meet the huntsmen, or going to your stand.” “Ah, sure enough,” rejoined he, “that _mout_ be a bee, as the old woman said when she killed a wasp. It seems to me I ought to know you.” “Well, if you _ought_ why _don’t_ you?” “What _mout_ your name be?”