AT THE ESTUARY 



bankless river spreads vaguely, and the tide comes 

 up, but the wild-fowler has marked it down, and is 

 ready for the stalk. There is no pursuit or watching 

 of game touched more with the charm of wild 

 places than this of the cold, lorn flats, glooming one 

 time, glistening another with auroran glory. I like 

 the idea that, so steeped in the spirit of their en- 

 viron do the natives of such spots become, some- 

 thing of the very sounds here pass into their voices ; 

 just as it has been strongly fancied that there are 

 echoes of the crying gulls in the voices of folk 

 in aloof fishing villages. And may there not be 

 some faint echo of the sea in the song of the 

 fisher? 



In the copse all the woodcock are in. Go out 

 without gun or thought of woodcock ; it really 

 seems you are sure to flush one or two. The 

 keeper, on his round the other day, flushed seven in 

 the six or seven years' old hazel shoots along the 

 brow of the wood all within range. One winter 

 afternoon, walking home after rabbit shooting, I saw 

 three woodcocks, first a pair such a right and left ! 

 and then a single bird, fly across the road to their 

 feeding ground, I think in the blind track among 

 the oaks ; I had just taken my cartridges out. But 

 though woodcock and water-fowl have been coming 

 in fast of late, there are still young birds about, 

 lately fledged. I found in the coppice a fortnight 

 ago a wood pigeon with fluff still on its head, within 

 a few hundred yards of the spot where I found one 

 late in November four years ago. At Alford, in 



299 



