352 DUCK-SHOOTING. 



ter, to watch the flight of the birds, I noticed that 

 they frequently crossed a reedy island in the middle 

 of the channel, and consequently proceeded to con- 

 ceal myself in what among onr association is called 

 the Little Bunker. It was an admirable location ; 

 the channel on each side did not exceed one hun- 

 dred yards in width, and the weather having be- 

 come thick, with an easterly wind blowing and a 

 slight rain driving, the promise of sport was ex- 

 cellent. 



Once fairly hidden, and my work commenced ; 

 bird after bird and flock after flock approached, 

 and although the boat, even while pressed in 

 among and steadied by the stiff reeds, was far 

 from firm, a goodly number was soon collected. 

 How much more exhilarating is this noble sport as 

 it is pursued in the West than upon our Atlantic 

 coast, where, stretched upon his back in a coffin-like 

 battery, the sportsman has to lie for hours cooling 

 his heels and exhausting his patience ! There he is 

 not confined to one position; but, after shooting 

 down a bird, has the excitement of pushing after it, 

 and, if it is only wounded, of following it, perhaps 

 in a long chase before it is retrieved ; and then he 

 must make all haste to return to the hiding-place, 

 over which the birds are flying finely in his absence, 

 and thus he keeps up a glow and fire of activity 

 and exercise. 



It is a glorious sight to see a noble flock of ducks 

 approach; to watch them with trembling alterna- 

 tions of fear and hope as they waver in their courne, 



