THE JERSEY COAST. 115 



actively about, or jumping up and taking short flights 

 to dry their wings. A happy murmur ran through 

 the flock, and so innocent and beautiful were they 

 that we remained watching them in silent admi- 

 ration, unwilling to disturb the romance of the 

 charming scene. The rich brown feathers of the 

 imposing raarlin formed an exquisite contrast to the 

 white and black of the elegant willet, as the different 

 species mixed unreservedly together. 



They did not exhibit the slightest alarm when our 

 boat, after we had ceased rowing, was borne towards 

 them by the wind, and allowed us to approach till it 

 grounded on the flat. Having feasted our eyes on 

 the magnificent spectacle, we at last gave the word 

 to fire. At the report they rose wildly, and receiving 

 the second discharge, made the best of their way to 

 safer quarters. Both barrels of my friend's gun 

 missed fire, and we gathered only seven birds, as the 

 flock, although numbering at least seventy birds, 

 was widely scattered and offered a poor mark. 



No sooner were we again ensconced in our blind, 

 than the exhilarating sport of the morning was 

 renewed — sport such as only those who have tried it 

 can appreciate — sport that makes the heart beat and 

 the nerves tingle — sport that overweighs humanity 

 and compels the remorseless slaughter of these beau- 

 tiful birds. Flock after flock, seen at great distance, 

 and watched in their approach through changing 

 hopes and fears, or darting unexpectedly from over 

 oui- heads and first noticed when rushing with ex- 

 tended wings down to our stools, presented their 



