GROUSE AND WOODCOCK SHOOTING 103 



their great hooks. The pickerel, like the redskin, 

 is by no means epicurean in habit, however, and 

 the silent anglers appeared to capture those fish with 

 their rough tackle almost as fast as they were able to 

 bait the hooks, and haul in board. Mallard, pochard, 

 garrot, and blue-wing teal, paddled in and out of the 

 small channels amongst the tall reeds, and water-plan- 

 tains. They kept well out of range of the shore, however, 

 and, although an occasional snapshot might have been 

 taken at coots as they stole through the dense reed cover, 

 we did not deem them worthy of a cartridge. 



An hour's walk took my companion and myself to a 

 narrow forest path, known as Indian Trail, which ran 

 through some of the most beautiful sylvan scenery 

 imaginable. The foliage of the giant trees and under- 

 growth was beginning to assume its glorious autumnal 

 tints ; the woods were still gay with brilhantly tinted 

 flowers, and gorgeously plumaged birds, including the 

 Baltimore oriole, blue jay, scarlet tanager, purple grakle, 

 and blue bird, which flitted across the narrow forest trail. 



At length we arrived at a roughly constructed trestle 

 bridge, spanning a charming little trout stream, from 

 which, my companion told me, he had often 'ticed a 

 creel of speckled beauties before breakfast. To the 

 right of the bridge, looking up the stream, was a long strip 

 of thick covert nearly a mile in length, with a clump of 

 tall copper beech-trees at the farther end, and several 

 acres of dry brake and raspberry canes growing round 

 them. To the left, following the downward course of the 



