218 AMERICAN GAME. 
down, and I[hadn’t got no-guide to go by, so I let hom 
go then, but I was up next mornin’ bright and airly, 
and started up the stream clean from the bridge here, 
up through Garry’s back-side, and my bog-hole, and so 
on along the meadows to Aunt Sally’s run—and looked 
in every willow bush that dammed the waters back, 
like, and every bunch of weeds and brier-brake, all the 
way, and sure enough I found him, he’d been killed 
dead, and floated down the crick, and then the stream 
had washed him up into a heap of broken sticks and 
briers, and when the waters fell, for there had been a 
little freshet, they left him there breast uppermost—and 
I was glad to find him—for I think, Archer, as that shot 
was the nicest, prettiest, etarnal, darndest, long, good 
shot, I iver did make, anyhow; and it was so dark J 
could n’t see him.” 
Many of his friends and mine will recognize the char- 
acter, to whom I allude, as he figures largely in the 
pages of “The Warwick Woodlands,” from which the 
above extract is taken, of “ My Shooting-box,” and the 
other sporting scenes of Frank Forester, wherein nothing 
good or generous or kind is related of Tom Draw, that 
does not fall far short of the reality. 
Before closing this article, I will correct an error into 
which I perceive I have inadvertently fallen in the first 
page of it, wherein I said that this duck, alone of the 
family, has the habit of perching, roosting, and nesting 
on trees. 
