WITH ROD AND GUN ON THE MARSHES 



E there any ten-pound 

 jack-fish hinter big ode 

 fleet, did ye say, mas- 

 ter ? Why, I tell 'ee we 

 mashmen reckons a ten- 

 pound jack-fish a diddy 

 little sprat." " Ah, you 

 reckon a ten-pound pike 

 a diddy Uttle sprat, do 

 you, Thomas ? Well, 

 take your net down to 

 the round pound and get 

 some nice lively bait, and I'll show you how to catch 

 some of your sprats to-morrow." 



The above interesting and learned conversation be- 

 tween the bailiff of a certain east-coast marshland island 

 and the writer was held, on one crisp, frosty morning, in 

 the roughly furnished sitting-room of the old-fashioned 

 homestead, that had been set apart from the rest of the 



rooms for the use of the owner of N Island and his 



shooting friends. 



For three whole weeks had I sojourned on that tiny 

 sea-washed island, waging war against the wildfowl for 

 which it is very justly noted, my sole companions the old 



red-headed baihff, his wife, and family of nine children 



22 



