370 DUCK. SHOOTING. 



necks glistened within ten yards of the barrel. Then, 

 as I suddenly rose to my feet, what a glorious medley 

 of flashing bars on terrified wings, of shiny cinnamon 

 breasts, white-banded tails, with curls of burnished 

 green, red legs and beaded eyes, rose whirling and 

 quacking upward! There, too, I have watched the 

 geese winding slowly down out of the blue sky until 

 near the centre of the lake, then, with set and silent 

 wing, and every honking throat hushed as if in death, 

 every neck and head immovable, drift slowly along a 

 few feet above the water, until, as close as the corner 

 of the ceiling where I sit writing, I could see their eyes 

 sparkle in the sunligh':. And then what an uproarious 

 zviff, wiff, wiff of sheering wings, what a honk-wonk- 

 onk-kwonk, and what a confusion of white collars and 

 black necks, of gray wings and swarthy feet, would 

 crowd upon my eye as I rose and looked along the gun ! 

 It is sad to think that such scenes are fading fast 

 into the things that were. There are, perhaps, parts of 

 our country where the scenes of Senachwine twenty 

 years ago are still repeated. But it may be doubted if 

 they are repeated on so grand and varied a scale ; and, 

 even if they are, it will not be for long. The increasing 

 interest in game protection will preserve many kinds of 

 game to such an extent that our children's children may 

 see shooting of some kind better than we now see. But 

 no legislation can recall from the past the mighty 

 hordes of wildfowl that once darkened the waters of 

 the West, that dotted its skies and made its cornfields 

 alive with roaring wings. Nor can any public senti- 



