DUCK-SHOOTING. 387 



hiding-places, and killing a goodly number in spite 

 of their sharp ears and strong wings. 



Of the particular shots, the numerous misses, the 

 various mishaps, it were vain to tell. A baptism in 

 the shallow bay-water is regarded as a necessary 

 initiation, and not being dangerous, the ceremony is 

 frequently repeated. Good shots are rarer than bad 

 ones, even with the best marksmen, and perhaps the 

 author would have to vindicate truth by telling some 

 awkward blunders of his own, and thus forfeit the 

 reader's respect for ever. It is sufficient for the read- 

 er to recall the best day's sport at ducks he ever 

 had, to imagine his own shooting considerably im- 

 proved, his strength and activity augmented, and his 

 promptest deliberation surpassed ; and he will have 

 a faint idea of our performance. It is enough to 

 say the birds were there, and we were there. 



Towards night we occupied a series of points 

 above the Gap, as it is called — an opening between 

 the island where the house is situated and the land 

 beyond — and waited for the evening flight The 

 wind had died away, and as the sun was setting, the 

 mallards came in from the lake to pass the night. 

 Innumerable flocks, one after another, appeared from 

 behind the trees, and passing overhead, settled down 

 into the reeds. By twos, threes, or hundreds in a 

 flock, in straight, even lines of battle, or bent like 

 the two sides of a triangle, or in long single file, their 

 wings whistling in the still air, or producing reports 

 like pop-guns as they flirted or touched one another 

 — ^immense numbers moved over us. 



