DUCK-SHOOTING. FSi 
time my friend selected a spot near a sort of semi- 
island, that was submerged or not, according to the 
state of the water, and near which was a favorite 
roosting-place. 
The sun was leisurely dropping down the west- 
ern sky, throwing his slanting rays across the broad 
bay, and lighting up the distant club-house as by a 
fire. The fringe of land, trees, and bushes, that 
shut out the horizon and rose but little above the 
water level, was growing dim and hazy of outline. 
The wind had died away; and stillness, but for the 
quacking of the ducks, the splashing of the coots, or 
so-called mud-hens, and the occasional report of a 
gun, reigned supreme. A lethargy seemed to have 
fallen upon the birds; a distant flock alone would at 
long intervals greet our eyes, and for some time our 
evening’s sport bade fair to prove a failure. 
However, as the sun was about to sink, the birds 
began to arrive, at first one or two at a time, then 
more rapidly and in larger flocks, till at last 1t was 
one steady stream and whirr of wings. Faster than 
we could load, faster than we could shoot, or could 
have shot had we had fifty guns, from all quarters 
and of all kinds they streamed past ; now the sharp 
whistle of the teal, then the rush of the mallard, 
sometimes high over our heads, at others darting 
close beside us; by ones, by twos, by dozens, by 
hundreds, crowded together in masses or stretched 
in open lines, in aJl variety of ways, but in one un- 
interrupted flight. 
Such shooting rarely blesses the fortunate sports- 
