A WALK ALONG THE COAST. 177 



As I wander in the wilds and the woods, by river and glade, 

 on every side the changing foliage of the different trees dis- 

 plays an endless variety of beautiful colours. Every thicket 

 and grove has its rich mixture of emerald green, bright 

 brown, and different shades of gold and red. 



Every day, too, has its interest in the eyes of the dweller 

 on this coast, for the arrivals and departures of different birds 

 are unintermitting. An infinite variety of wild fowl come 

 over from the north and north-east, while our summer visit- 

 ants, such as the landrail, cuckoo, swallow, and most of the 

 insect-eating birds, disappear. One of my most favourite 

 walks is along the coast, beginning at the mouth of the river 

 and following the shores of the bay till I reach the open 

 firth ; then after continuing along the beach for three or four 

 miles, I return through the wild uncultivated ground which 

 divides the sea-shore from the arable lands. At this season 

 the variety of birds which are to be seen in the course of this 

 walk is astonishing. Starting from home soon after sunrise, 

 with, a biscuit in my pocket, my gun or rifle on my arm, and 

 my constant canine companion with me, I am independent 

 for the day. Bright and bracing is the autumn morning; 

 the robin sings joyously and fearlessly from the topmost 

 twig of some rosebush, as I pass through the garden, while 

 the thrushes and blackbirds are busily employed in turning 

 up the leaves which already begin to strew the walks as they 

 search in conscious security for the grey snails, repaying in 

 kind for the strawberries and cherries they have robbed us 

 of ; and welcome are they to their share of fruit in the sea- 

 son of plenty. 



The partridges as I pass through the field seem aware that 

 I am not bent on slaughter, but on a quiet walk of 

 observation ; and instead of rising and flying off as I pass 

 them, simply lower their ,heads till I am beyond them, and 

 then begin feeding again on the stubbles. 



From the pools at the end of the river a brace or two of 

 teal and snipes, or perhaps of mallards, rise, and probably one 

 or two are bagged, as I make no scruple of shooting these 

 birds of passage when they give me an opportunity. 



Looking quietly over the bank of the river, I see a couple 

 of goosanders fishing busily at the tail of a pool. They are 

 not worth eating, and I do not just now want a specimen ; 

 so after watching them for a short time, as they fish for 

 small trout, I walk on, leaving them unmolested. If, how- 



