

THE LAST OF THE OSPREYS 



IT has recently been made matter of complaint 

 against the Christchurch fishermen that they shoot the 

 ospreys, which yearly visit their land-locked harbour. 

 The complaint is perfectly justified, and the worst of 

 it is that nothing will induce the men to take the 

 modern view of the matter, and think that a live 

 osprey is a " thing of beauty " which ought to be " a 

 joy for ever." On the contrary, they think they look 

 better stuffed, and if not, that they are worth more to 

 sell than a wild goose or a couple of duck. 



" Did you ever shoot an osprey ? " I asked of a 

 young fellow, the eldest of a family of brothers who 

 were working their salmon-nets in turn. He was as 

 fine a young Englishman as I ever saw, with light 

 curling yellow hair, blue eyes, straight nose, and 

 dressed in the most picturesque costume for that Norse 

 type, a white jersey and flat sailor's cap. 



" No, I never had that pleasure / " he replied, in the 

 polite phrase which these men seem naturally to affect. 

 But he had tried often enough, and it was interesting, 

 though deplorable, to hear what trouble he had taken 



