78 SEAFOWL SHOOTING SKETCHES. 



How, in old times, the good long- bowman, kinsmen of those who 

 won at Crecy, must have quietly stalked the long-necked bird, 

 and when the whistling shaft had pierced its body, proudly placed 

 its plumes in his cap. But woe betide the wretch who, 

 unqualified, destroyed a heron. In this respect, at least, the old 

 times were not good. In those days birds must have been much 

 more numerous, and previous to the invention of guns much more 

 difficult to secure. There was one great advantage, though, 

 about the bow and arrow. When the sportsman missed his mark 

 frequently, owing to the absence of noise, there would be an 

 equally good chance for another shot ; that is, of course, when 

 the bird was not in flight to begin with. It is almost to be 

 regretted that guns were ever invented. The only really necessary 

 use for them is to destroy dangerous animals. 



But to return to the heron. In Craven's " Young Sportsman's 

 Manual," there is a beautiful steel plate from a painting by G. 

 Lance, engraved by J. W. Archer, of the heron. The bird is 

 flying with its legs outstretched over a desolate-looking marsh 

 at eventide. The head, with pendent plume, is drawn back ; 

 the long, sword-like bill pointed forward, and is strongly sug- 

 gestive of a Lifeguardsman rushing forward to the charge. 

 The picture has haunted me for years, and caused an intense 

 longing to outwit and win one of these birds a longing so far 

 ungratified. 



I have, however, been present when one was shot opposite 

 Guide's House, and it deserves more than a passing reference. 

 We were pulling to the side of the river purposing landing for 

 refreshments, when Lyons called out, " There's a heron." Look- 

 ing over my shoulder, I sang out, " There are two of them," and 

 round went the boat towards the opposite side. The herons, 

 meanwhile, played about in the air, and finally settled behind the 

 wall. As we neared them the oars touched the bottom, and the 

 boat's keel grated on the sand. Still I forced her on, and it was 

 hard work, as there were five of us. Suddenly L. jumped up, 

 and let drive with both barrels. The first told, and down came 

 the heron with a broken wing, in the back water on the other 

 side of the wall. 



L.'s spaniel, a wonderfully clever dog (who literally "earns 

 his master many a pound ") dashed at the bird, which, as the 

 dog approached, opened a beak like a pair of scissors, and twist- 

 ing round his neck, faced the dog on every side so that L. had to 

 give it another shot, when the long neck drooped, and the dog 

 dragged it to us. The other bird wisely decamped. 



THE KINGFISHER 



The most beautiful little bird we have, at least as regards 

 plumage. Our bird, too, is brighter in colour than tropical birds 



