372 DUCK-SHOOTING. 



I had to pick up early, as it would be no joke to 

 be lost in those monotonous marshes during the 

 night. To get out after dark would have been im- 

 possible, and almost equally impossible for any 

 assistance to reach me. 1 was fain to be satisfied 

 with a moderate bag, and lose the evening's flight 

 rather than lose myself. When I arrived at the 

 club house, I found that with the aid of my impro- 

 vised stools I had made the second-best bag of the 

 day. Comparative stranger as I was to the marshes, 

 this result was more than satisfactory. My supper 

 tasted all the better in consequence, but I did not 

 say anything about the means which I had taken to 

 bring about the result. 



That evening, when we had collected around the 

 social fire and lighted our still more social pipes, 

 the president referred to the fact that the night 

 before, after I had gone to my welcome couch, the 

 rest of the members had been repeating stories and 

 called upon the unlucky man to fulfill a promise he 

 had made to give some personal experience of trout 

 fishing. 



Unlucky Man. — " But my adventure occurred 

 on Long Island, whither I had gone to learn trout- 

 fishing. I had a new rod of Conroy's best and most 

 expensive pattern, a book full of flies, a basket, a 

 bait-box, a net, a gaff, and all things appurtenant, 

 and was especially proud of my fishing suit, which a 

 brother of the angle had kindly selected for me. My 

 boots came above my knees, and were of yellow Eus- 

 sian leather, with which my brown pants matched ad- 



