46 HAPPY HUNTING-GEOUNDS 



The ordinary duck, teal, widgeon, pochard, golden- 

 eye, and so forth, are too familiar to need much notice. 

 They all, however, afforded abundance of sport, and we 

 had many delightful evenings flighting by the corn 

 and potatoes at Killoran and Machrins. How well I 

 remember one beautiful autumn evening at the latter 

 place, when we went a party of four and made a very 

 good bag. I can still remember the sunset over the 

 Atlantic, and seem to hear the weird sounds and sights 

 as the light gradually faded into dusk, and dusk 

 deepened into darkness so impenetrable that the 

 whistle of wings overhead told in vain of invisible 

 flocks. There is always some enthusiast among a 

 flight-shooting party, who insists upon staying long 

 after accurate aim has become an impossibility ; and 

 it is not to be wondered at, for just as one is deciding 

 to make tracks, one hears another shot to the right or 

 left, or sees a distant wedge clear against the horizon 

 where a faint light still lingers. 



That September night ended in an adventure, for 

 the united weights of our party of four, and their 

 impedimenta, proved too much for the long-suffering 

 old buckboard, which split asunder with an un- 

 earthly groan, scattering ducks, guns, and cartridge 

 bags over the road, and pinning my nephew Dougal 

 between the two seats as they collapsed together. 

 How we laughed at his unhappy plight ; and yet 

 he might have been hurt had the old pony thought 

 proper to take fright and start, struggle, or run 

 away. Happily the beast was of a philosophical 

 disposition, and only too glad to be relieved of his 

 heavy load, and free to crop the rank grass under 

 the dyke. We had a long tramp before us, and it 



