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innocently on the still water, glancing at the rabbits frisking in the glades of the wood, the creeper actively flitting up the lichened tree trunk, and listening to the hum of the insects dancing in the lanes of green light that stream between the tree-tops from the outer glare?

But, see, the game has begun. One of the halfdozen lads who have wormed their way in among the rhododendrons has landed a fine tench. You see to your worm, and let it sink gently down by the floodgate in an open space between the lily leaves. You watch it intently for a few minutes; but the attention is distracted by a furry little water-rat swimming along by the edge of the bank. How quietly, and yet quickly, it gets along! With an Englishman's instinct, you seize a stick and raise it with a murderous intent, for the little creature is within arm's reach; but pity asserts her sway, and the rat is allowed to visit in peace his wife and family. But the float is bobbing up and down. There! it rises slowly, and at last reclines quietly on its side. That is a sure indica

What a determined

tion of a tench, and you strike. way your victim has of boring down into the mud but you are too much for him, and without any splash he is safely landed-a curly-finned, muscular-backed fish of three-quarters of a pound in weight. As the

evening closes in the bites become more numerous, and the float is taken down or off with more of the perch's rush. At last it is too dark to see the bites, and a piece of white paper is fixed to the float to make it more conspicuous. When that is of no avail the line is shortened, and you fish by feel. The spirit of rivalry that erewhile prevailed among us, leading to frequent cautionings not to make any noise or splash the water, for fear of spoiling sport, has given way under the influence of success to careless laughter and fun as fish after fish is lost in the long and dew-wet grass, or falls back into the water after a hasty strike. At last it is positively impossible to fish any longer. Some hooks have been lost in the weeds, which it was not light enough to avoid; and one (I will not say who) is not astonished that he has had no bites for the last ten minutes when he discovers his hook in his coat sleeve instead of in the water.

Then there was the walk home, blundering through the wood and stumbling over fallen branches. We held on to each other for support; but, in truth, it was the blind leading the blind. However, there is comfort in companionship, even if it is all in a heap at the bottom of a ditch.

Uneventful as such an evening may be, yet the memory thereof is passing sweet. Well-earned suc

cesses and triumphs leave their mark for a time; but there is ever something of pain mingled with them. These quiet enjoyments are bright resting-places in a man's life, whereon he loves to ponder. They come back sometimes so vividly, that one strives to grasp and secure them for ever. Moved by such an impulse, I have seated myself down and fixed a memory brought up by a chance allusion.

IX.

WATCHING FOR WILD DUCKS

No sort of shooting has such enthusiastic votaries as wildfowl shooting, or followers who will take so much trouble and undergo so much privation and inconvenience. Perhaps the cause of this is that the human mind has an irresistible hankering after what is difficult, and a pleasure in overcoming difficulty for the sake of overcoming alone. For my part, although I am extremely fond of wildfowl shooting, I cannot seriously argue that the amount of pleasure gained-putting aside the feeling just alluded to—in any way compensates for the discomforts attending its pursuit, yet I always pursue it when I have the chance, and would uphold the sport most strenuously were I able to do so. Of course there are many modes of

getting at wildfowl, but perhaps the most seductive is watching for the ducks at night as they come to some favourite feeding-place. To do this the night should be clear and starlit enough to enable you to see the ducks against the sky or water. Moonlit nights are not so favourable. A north-east wind and a keen frost are also most useful aids. Of course one must be well hidden from the birds, their powers of sight being very great. Sometimes a tub is sunk in the ground on the edge of the pool or marsh where the ducks assemble, and if this be partly filled with dry straw the shooter may keep himself tolerably warm as he lies ensconced in it. It is seldom, however, that such a shelter has been prepared beforehand, and more frequently the driest ditch one can find has to be chosen. But, whenever it is possible, a boat should be used. The following short sketch will, I think, give the reader a fair idea of what watching for wildfowl really is.

It was one New Year's Eve. The winter had been very mild and open up to Christmas Day, and then a heavy fall of snow occurred, followed by a sharp frost, which brought the wildfowl down from the moors and mountain tarns to the more sheltered river, the greater part of which was free from ice. The day had been clear and cloudless; there was a light breeze

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