ANDY COTTER. 13 



ous cadences, two bars rest, and the whole lot 

 are at it again, while the wind gives a fitful 

 emphasis or softness to the concert that accords 

 so effectively with the savage landscape. The 

 fowler and his guide, having reached the edge 

 of the pond, are gratified with the sight of 

 four wild duck and a brace of their tiny kin- 

 dred, the teal, playfully, and with no apparent 

 dread of human interruption, disporting them- 

 selves on its gleaming inky round. As the 

 smoke from the barrels clears away, two of 

 the heavy birds are seen to have fallen. The 

 fading hues on the neck of the mallard (they 

 seem to fade at any rate) outrival the glories 

 of a pigeon's neck, or the bravest gem in the 

 tail of Juno's chariot peacock. The duck, 

 with brown and mottled dress, is far more 

 simply clothed. Yet her brilliant companion 

 is the most constant and affectionate of hus- 

 bands, and is content with the companionship 

 of his homely wife long after that period which 

 corresponds with the time of the white glove 

 on the knocker among the featherless bipeds. 

 Pipes are solemnly smoked after the mallard 

 and duck have been consigned to the bag, and 



