officers and comrades, as a tiibnte of esteem 
and regard to departed worth and iu token of the 
respect, and affection in which their memory is 
held. " Be thou faithful unto death and I will 
give thee, a crown of Life*" 
FLIGHT SHOOTING IN CEYLON. 
Lifeless and dreary was the scene, yet fascinating 
beyond description. We were on one of the burn- 
ing sandbanks which separate the great laooons of 
Ceylon from the sea, the narrow boundary between 
the feeding and sleeping grounds of innumerable 
wildfowl. For many a weary mile, as far as the 
eye could reach, lay a shimmering line of sand ; on 
one side the still lagoon^ glassy and grey, steamed 
patiently under the sinking sun ; on the other, the 
limitless Indian Ocean stretched on and on to where 
the blue dome of the sky seemed to mingle with it 
and melt away into space. Long green waves 
rolled slowly in, and, passing the coral reef, 
crumbled into white-topped breakers, which 
boomed and thundered unceasingly upon the dazzl- 
ing beach. 
We had discovered the route taken by the pass- 
ing fowl to their favourite haunts, and lay hidden 
in the tussocks of coarse herbage waiting for the 
flight. The sun, setting in its glory of coloured 
light, seemed to set the world aflame, and turned 
to gold the distant inland mountain peaks which 
soared above the low-lying line of coconut palms 
that fringed the mainland shore. As if answering 
to its farewell blaze, a flock of whistling teal rose 
afar off, and with sibilant cries commenced their 
evening gyrations, preliminary to departing to 
their feeding grounds inland, liising one after 
another from their reedy sanctuaries, the 
flocks wheeled round in wide circles, utter- 
ing the while their hissing calls. Nearer and 
nearer they came, till suddenly the sound became 
shrill, as one flock unsuspectingly approached our 
ambush. Bang ! and a quick swerve, but too late ; 
a rapid succession of reports, followed by the sound 
of bodies thumping on the soft sand, greeted our 
anxious ears, 
With the exception of a few blue coots, which 
trailing their legs awkwardly behind them, sought 
refuge with a splash among the reeds of an adjacent 
islet, our shots caused little disturbance, and again 
the ' swish, swish ' of a closely packed flock of 
teal was distinctly audible as they swung round 
overhead. Pour barrels were emptied in their midst 
and some half-dozen left the ranks and fell with 
splash or thud, the rest being soon out of shot. 
Higher and farther circled the startled flocks, till 
at last they were mere specks in the deepening red 
of the western sky. 
Already the west mist was beginning to gather 
round the red-beds which lay scattered over the grey 
water, their graceful lines reflected to perfection 
on its still surface. For some time the occasional 
croak of a frog, or ' korok ' of a hidden coot, were 
the only sounds besides the eternal booming of the 
surf behind us. Suddenly the cry of a curlew 
sounded clearly in the evening air, and one's 
thought went backto the shingle banks and marshes 
Of England, where, with a biting wind driving in 
from a grey sea, one had so often heard the familiar 
note. It sounded strangely out of place on that la- 
goon; but there was little time for wandering steamy 
thoughts, as an answering call came back, and 
soon a small flock passed just out of shot, making 
for the flat beach upon which the tide was falling. 
They were the forerunners of the numerous birds 
that followed. Soon we descried a string of ele- 
gant flamingos heading straight for us, their long 
legs streaming out behind them. A moment of 
doubt, and then they were over-head. Picking out 
our birds we fired, and two of the graceful creatures 
crumpled up and fell with a crash into the reeds 
hard by. The sky was seared with lines of fowl, 
each winging its way to some favourite ground, 
and ever and anon the guns spoke out, till the 
short-lived light of the afterglow faded and made 
way for the approaching night. Then suddenly 
darkness came, and with it the myriad fire-flies 
which danced and circled aimlessly among the 
dank and sweating reeds— and another day was 
dead. 
As in the gathering gloom our canoe glides over 
the silent water, we can see the torches of the 
native fishermen burning luridly on the distant 
shore. Fainter and fainter grows the sound of the 
pounding breakers, till only a murmuring roar 
reaches us through the still night air. A heavy 
white mist gathers and obscures all from us but 
the glittering firmanment above. There is a 
casp-sound as our canoe grates on the mainland 
shore, and, stepping out, we gladly leave the 
great grey waters to whisper their secrets to the 
night. Our bag is heavy and our hearts are lioht. 
—Field, Sept. 17. Tom-Tit. 
