WILD-FOWL SHOOTING ASHORE BY NIGHT. 283 



which, to them, are rich feeding-grounds, as are also shallow waters 

 and the margins of lakes and rivers. Although, on first alighting 

 they take up a position in the centre of inland pools and flooded 

 meadows, as soon as they gain confidence and feel assured of the 

 safety of their retreat, they swim to the brink of the water and 

 commence their dabblings in the shallowest places, where they can 

 obtain easy access to the bottom. Ducks in particular, in frosty 

 weather, feed close along the water's edge, as the mud there does not 

 freeze so readily. 



On these excursions the shore-gunner must never forget, whilst 

 stalking wild-fowl, that their ears are ever open to suspicious sounds, 

 and that they invariably take wing on the slightest intimation of an 

 enemy's approach. The least rustle, noise, or crackle under-foot, 

 whether of crispy snow, briar, or shingle, will assuredly alarm them 

 if it reaches their ears ; and then, perhaps the gunner's best or only 

 chance during the night is gone. 



When frozen out of the river, and unable to use a punt because of 

 the complete blockade of ice, or when driven from my customary 

 pursuit of punting, my inclination has often led me to night- 

 excursions on the shore with dog and gun ; and, if I may be excused 

 for so frequently thrusting narratives of my own adventures upon my 

 readers, I would venture to place before them a somewhat stir- 

 ring incident, as the best means of giving a faithful descrip- 

 tion of the pleasures and hardships of this particular branch of the 

 sport. 



It was past twelve o'clock on a cold snowy night, when, after 

 walking several miles along the shore by a river- side, I halted at the 

 foot of a large oak tree, whose hundred arms, when loaded with 

 green foliage, had sheltered me on many a summer's day from the 

 scorching rays of the sun. Whilst partaking of a sandwich and 

 draught of sack, I stood musing on the tales the old tree could tell 

 of merry-makings, pic-nic parties, and rural frolics which had taken 

 place in that retired locality, under the auspices of warm summer 

 weather ; when, suddenly, my faithful dog " Sambo" aroused me from 

 my reverie by a low whining noise. I instantly forgot the summer 

 scenes, and listened to the signal. Would that all my friends were 

 faithful as that dog ! But human nature is too prone to err ; too apt 

 to raise, by false professions, hope where hope is vain. I never knew 

 that dog deceive me. Nay ! I would not keep a dog that told a lie. 

 I listened ! but hearing nothing, attacked another sandwich, and took 



