How I Became a Naturalist 53 



My companions in our village were at times what the 

 present- more refined state of society might term ' ' doubt- 

 ful." They lived by the gun, but they were good to me, 

 and would take me with them over the Saltings, close to 

 heel, ready to drop or crawl at a motion when the water- 

 spaniel got the scent of fowl. Sure shots and true field- 

 naturalists, they knew them all and where to find them. 

 I owe my early insight into bird-life to these men and to 

 an inborn love of all living creatures. Coming past the 

 long, shallow pools, my companions would point out the 

 various waders, their bodies reflected in the clear water by 

 the light of the setting sun, ar>d the tern, with his shuttle- 

 cock flight, catching insects and small fish. 



The man with whom I went out oftenest told me of a 

 struggle he once had with a great sea-eagle that was shot 

 in the wing on the rabbit-links in the marsh just enough 

 to prevent his rising. 



I remember, too, one of my school companions, not 

 much more than a boy, going out with a borrowed boat 

 and a gun and shooting a wild swan — a fine Hooper — 

 dead with his first shot on a rising tide. 



A good mile from our village stood the grand old parish 

 church, with its massive square tower built of flint stones, 

 a prominent object, which can be seen from far over the 

 water. The interior of the church is very beautiful. 



When I was about twenty years of age domestic changes 

 caused me to leave my old marshland home. I parted 

 with my old companions and kind friends with sorrow. 

 Just as I was going a hamper was brought. It was a 

 parting gift and contained water-biids and waders cap- 

 tured by the fishermen and their lads. 



A very good authority remarks : — Verily, one man's 

 meat is another's poison, and the iron-bound ground which 

 puts a stop to hunting and spoils other winter sport comes 

 as a boon to the fowler. Early and late he is enjoying 

 sport. He steals off in the morning, and obtains a bag, 

 often before his neighbours are out of bed. Again, in the 

 evening he is flight-shooting, sheltered, if possible, from 

 the keen wintry blast, until silhouetted against the western 

 sky he sees a thin line which warns him of the approach 



