THE DEOWNED LANDS. 2l9 



grass shut out the wind, and it was warm and still, like 

 summer in the grassy bower, while bright little fish darted 

 aside on either bow of the boat. Then came a flopping 

 soand, a rattle of the reeds, and the brazen cry that so 

 many thousand times, in a thousand hearts, has sent the 

 blood leaping with its old memory-haunted tone, 

 " Qua-ack! qua-ack ! quack!" Some notes in this world 

 are clearer, and some more rhyming, but there are few 

 that when repeated, even far away, will so picture to the 

 mind, in the twinkling of an eye, the. extended reach of 

 sedge, the downy reeds, glassy water, and yonng hopes, 

 with which it is so intimately associated. 



With the alarm cry two ducks broke forth, scattering 

 the floss of the cat-tails in clouds about them, their long 

 necks stretching out as though straining to be away. I 

 aimed at the drake as he poised himself to bear away, 

 and with the report of the piece he fell, head and wings 

 pendent, with a splash on the water — a dead shot, I knew 

 by the way he came down. The duck had gained some 

 distance by this time, going straight away, as if te-rror 

 chased her. ISTo fear of her escape ; the success of my 

 first shot gave me confidence, and I knew the power of 

 the httle Mullen gun I held at my shoulder. Canny John 

 Mullen, in his grim little smithy in Ann street, working 

 away with his brogue and cunning hand — how often I 

 have thanked him when he never knew it ! " Quack ! 

 quack !" The sound was faint from the distance when I 

 fired, but the duck rolled over and over, with its wings 

 spinning, till it was lost to sight. 



