CHRISTOPHER IN HIS SPORTING JACKET 



approachable reeds and rushes, and hut-crested knoll 

 — a hut built perhaps by some fowler, in the olden 

 time — yon central Isle! But be still as a shadow — for 

 lo ! a batch of Whig-seceders, paddling all by them- 

 selves towards that creek — and as surely as our name 

 is Christopher, in another quarter of an hour, they 

 will consist of killed, wounded, and missing. On our 

 belly — with unhatted head just peering over the 

 knowe — and Muckle-mou'd Meg slowly and softly 

 stretched out on the rest, so as not to rustle a windle- 

 strae, we lie motionless as a mawkin, till the coterie 

 collects together for simultaneous dive down to the 

 aquatic plants and insects of the fast-shallowing bay; 

 and, just as they are upon the turn with their tails, 

 a single report, loud as a volley, scatters the unspar- 

 ing slugs about their doups, and the still clear water, 

 in sudden disturbance, is afloat with scattered feathers, 

 and stained with blood. 



Now is the time for the snow-white, here and there 

 ebon -spotted Fro — who with burning eyes has lain 

 couched like a spaniel, his quick breath ever and anon 

 trembling on a passionate whine, to bounce up, as if 

 discharged by a catapulta, and first with immense 

 and enormous high-and-far leaps, and then, fleet as 

 any greyhound, with a breast-brushing brattle down 

 the brae, to dash, all fours, like a flying squirrel fear- 

 lessly from his tree, manv yards into the bay with one 



