112 AMERICAN GAME. 
ing, game-bag on shoulder and cudgel in hand, the two 
setters, just released from the chain, gambolling about 
in the highest spirits and most admirable condition, as 
was evineed by the moist coolness of their jet-black 
noses, and the silky gloss of their deeply feathered 
coats. 
“There is a piece of wild meadow here, Charley,” 
said Archer, pointing across a pair of bars to the right, 
“ which, before the banks were broke, and the tide got in, 
used to be the first in the country for spring shooting. 
There are a good many birds in it now, I dare say, for it 
has got plenty of covert, and they will seek covert in 
such a wind as this.” 
“Let us try it, then, if you say so.” 
“Tt is most infernal walking, but it wont do to stick 
at trifles. So here goes,” and suiting the action to the 
word, he strode across the fence, and at the first step 
was mid-leg deep in a soft rust-colored sludge, half 
semi-liquid mud and half semi-decomposed vegetable 
matter. A few floundering strides through this Sirbo- 
nian bog, brought them to drier, if not sounder ground, 
which was, in truth, even harder walking than before, 
as the soil was here so tenacious that it was difficult to 
draw the leg out of the mire, into which it sunk ankle 
deep. In places, this was covered by high reeds, stand- 
ing wide apart, with splashes of shallow water covering 
the surface, and here the bottom was harder; in others, 
a rank, short, rushy grass, which had probably been 
