"We do not pay any attention, in fowling on the plain, to the direction in which other birds fly, because they are generally shot at a period when the atmosphere is calm, and in sheltered spots; but we seek the snipe in wet places, when the weather is foggy, and the wind rages. We seldom or never shoot it but in the season of frosts and biting blasts; this is why we attach so much importance to the direction in which it mounts. But since it is certain that this direction is the same as other birds', why should we place ourselves in a different position when we take aim at it? There cannot be anything more difficult to shoot than a bird which rises as it approaches you. If the position is disadvantageous when we plant our foot firmly on even ground, what must it be when our footing is uncertain; perhaps on the root of a reed or some small stone?

"M. A. de Puibusque, to whom we owe a great many good works on Spanish literature, says, that 'fowling on the borders of ponds, in the neighbourhood of Narbonne, he himself felt the inconvenience of such a proceeding. The ground was composed of decayed vegetable matter— a bed of dark thick mud: he advanced through it, leaping from stump to stump, that he might not sink into the slime. All of a sudden a snipe rose at a few paces from him; the bird mounted in the air, and passed above his head. He threw himself back in order to take sure aim at it, and, losing his balance, fell backwards into the mud, where he lay half stifled, and had great difficulty in getting out, and was as black as if he had fallen into the river Styx.' For my part I think you must try to shoot snipe, like every other game, with the wind in your favour.

"There is likewise much discussion whether the sportsman should fire at the snipe the moment it rises, or wait until it has done turning and winding in the air. This, too, I think an idle question: fire when you can cover the bird, and, be it near or be it far, it will fall. The smallest grain of lead-the slightest touch is sufficient to bring it down. snipe most frequently remains on the spot where it has fallen, and scarcely moves; it is often only stunned, and the sportsman must not leave it in the vicinity of its haunts, or he may lose it. Snipes are observed to be incessantly employed in pecking the ground, and it may be remarked that they have the tongue terminating in a sharp point, proper for piercing the small worms, which probably constitute their food. "Besides the common snipe, there is another sort, called the double snipe; it has almost the same plumage, but is larger, and rises without uttering the same cry. It differs likewise in its flight, which is generally direct, and with few or no circlings. It does not haunt the same spots, but avoids the muddy pools, and seeks the clearer waters. It is much scarcer than the first-mentioned bird. There is also a third species, about the size of a lark. All the snipes have on their plumage stripes of a yellow colour, which descend from the head to the tail; on the small-sized snipe these stripes are very bright. We surname it la sourde-either because it rises slowly, and almost from beneath the feet of the sportsman, or because it ascends without uttering any cry. Concealed in reeds and rushes, it remains there with such pertinacity that it is necessary almost to walk upon it to make it rise. It has a heavy flight, and when you see it you may be sure its haunt is close by. Its fat is equally fine, and its flesh as well flavoured, as that of the common snipe.

"Nothing is more uncertain than the success of snipe-shooting. You are informed beforehand that a quantity of snipe have made their appearance; the marshes are full of them. You start directly on their track-you arrive at the spot-they are gone! A change in the direction of the wind has taken place; it is sufficient to make them all disappear! If the wind blows from the south, they will take flight again towards the north. If the frost hardens the ground and covers the streams with ice, they cannot plunge their great beaks into the mud where they seek for worms and insects; they must seek softer and more open ground: they look for this on the borders of the fountainheads-on the edge of the water-courses, where it never freezes.

"The sportsman who shoots among the bogs and marshes, should turn an attentive eye on every spot where he sets his foot. In order to fire well he must be firm on his footing; this is not an easy matter. The soil is soft and shaky; it is bristled over with a crowd of little mounds, formed by the roots of aquatic plants; most frequently he does not perceive these inequalities, covered as they are with rushes, which besides conceal numerous muddy pools. He must therefore crush the reeds, the tall grass, and weeds, under his feet in walking, as much as possible; these will form a sort of surface more solid than the miry ground, in which he would be sure to sink. Should he venture into marshes he has not been accustomed to, he must redouble his circumspection. There may be trenches cut or deep pits in the soil; the water and the aquatic plants often hide such holes, and when he fancies he is about to step on firm ground, he is on the point of getting a ducking. If you shoot in a meadow, distrust the round patches covered with verdure, whose freshness contrasts with the darker hue of tho surrounding grass. This deceitful appearance most probably hides an abyss; they are shifting grounds, of which the foot cannot find the bottom. These gulphs, which have swallowed up a great number of victims, and are called mortes, are common in some parts of France; once in, it is almost impossible to extricate yourself out of one. Should you go into the turf-bogs, be most careful how you step. The surface -always trembling beneath the feet-has been hollowed in a hundred different manners by the people employed in cutting turf. Time, likewise, and the action of water, often undermine the roads which have been marked out and reserved; it would not be prudent to venture alone into a turf-bog where you never had been before. An excellent precaution is adopted in many of our provinces-that of carrying a long pole swung across the back; this may be used to sound the ground, to help one over an abyss, or, in case of misfortune, to assist a companion.

"In haunts frequented by the snipe, we likewise meet with the waterrail; this bird is smaller than the land-rail or corn-crake, and its plumage is not so brilliant. It is, like the land-rail, always in motion; it travels round the tufts of reeds, dives beneath the water, and only rises at its last extremity, and runs along the stagnant pools as fast as the land-rail does over the fields. Sometimes, instead of traversing the water by swimming, it sustains itself on the broad leaves of aquatic plants. If, as it flies, it meets with a clump of alders or a thicket, it is sure to alight there, and remain concealed until the dogs, losing all trace of it, pass by. Water-hens, too, are to be found in the same spots. There are three species of them; the largest is very rare in France; it

almost equals the size of one of our domestic fowls; for my part, I have never met with any of them. The smallest is the most frequently seen; I have often found it in fenny grounds filled with reeds, which communicate with rivers; it makes its way, with surprising case, among reeds and sedges, and other aquatic plants, owing to the compression of its body, and its elongated toes. A great many sportsmen confound it with the water-rail, which it resembles in its habits. The middle-sized water-hen, which is generally called the water-chick, attains to nearly the size of a pigeon, but it is taller, and more slender some writers say that it is only to be found on large rivers, but I believe they are mistaken. I have met with the water-chick swimming and taking its pleasure in ponds, and drinking the green mantle of the standing pool; but it is true that it most commonly conceals itself among the rushes during the day, from whence it issues in the evening to seek its food. The water-hen has short wings, and is obliged to reside almost entirely near the spot where she seeks her food; she cannot make long journeys. Where the stream is selvaged with sedges, or the pond is edged with shrubby trees, she loves to make her haunt. She builds her nest of sticks and fibres, hiding it among the twigs, close down by the water: whether she makes pond-weed her food, or hunts among it for waterinsects, which are there in great abundance, is not known. This bird swims with great ease, and sits lightly on the water, holding its head erect; it dives with equal facility. When surprised in a narrow stream or ditch, it usually dives, concealing itself beneath the banks with nothing but its bill above water. Watch as long as you please, it is impossible to find it, as you cannot discern the tip of the bill above the surface. When on terra firma, it does not raise itself easily from the ground, and flutters its wings like the water-rail. Like this bird, too, the water-hen flies heavily, and hangs down its long claws; it is not by any means a difficult bird for the sportsman to bring down; but we must own the capture is not a rich one: however, it must be said in favour of the water-hen, that it may be eaten in Lent, being considered fasting food.

"The bird called the little water-rail, is a pretty bird about the size of a lark. Its plumage, of a deep bottle-green, is spotted with an infinite number of small white specks, in such a manner that one might say it was enamelled, and this has given it the name of the pearl-rail. Towards the end of autumn the pearl-rail becomes very fat, and is esteemed most delicate eating; it frequents the edges of ponds and marshes. When it is flushed it flies heavily, for it is of the family of the rails. It breeds in this country. Its nest is a little skiff, which it places on the water; it fastens it to the reeds with some blades of grass, which it has the address to twist together; the nest, thus retained by flexible bands, can rise or descend according as the water increases or diminishes. It deposits in this floating asylum seven or eight eggs of a reddish brown, marked with some patches of a brown still darker.

"Frequently, in the midst of a tuft of reeds, the sportsman may surprise the wild duck and the teal; he may likewise meet with the bittern, or starry-heron, as it is sometimes called. The bittern has the feet and neck not quite so long as the common heron; the beak is stronger at the base and sharper, which renders it more dangerous for dogs, against which it defends itself most courageously. It differs from

the heron chiefly in its colour, which is, in general, of a palish yellow, spotted and barred with black. The bittern lives on frogs and fish, which it catches during the night; when more nourishing food is wanting it feeds upon vegetables; thus it is always plump and fat. In the day time it hides itself, and sleeps among the high grass; it is a heavy-rising bird, and does not often escape the fowler. The Greeks, taking its character from its habitual indolence, have given it the title of 'The lazy.' The evening call of the bittern is so loud and solemn in its sound, that no one who has heard its booming once can forget it; it only repeats this call when it is undisturbed and in solitude; when it dreads the approach of an enemy it is perfectly silent. It was formerly held in much estimation at the tables of the great, and, like the heron, considered a delicate and fine-flavoured bird. It makes its nest in a sedgy margin, or among a tuft of rushes.

"We may also by chance meet among the reeds with the grey heron, although this bird prefers the running waters and the sandy shores. Perched on a single foot, it awaits-immoveable and patient, like the stork-until some fish comes within its reach. The heron was accounted in former days the noblest prize on which the falcon could pounce. It figured as the crowning dish upon the table of princes. It had a place in chivalry, and the vow made upon the dead body of a heron was never yet broken by a true knight. Almost all our chivalrous customs, however, have disappeared, and this is among the number of those which are no more. According as the surface of the country has been drained, and grounds formerly overflowed with water have been turned up by the spade, the waterfowl, and, above all, the herons, have nearly disappeared; the herons so much so, that these birds, without which in former days no banquet was considered as costly, are now very uncommon. I know numbers of sportsmen whose fowling-piece has never been levelled at one. I have often wished to know if this is a loss to the culinary art, and if the heron merited the praises which the ancients bestowed upon it. For my part, I found it to possess no flavour but that of a strong fishy taste, and pronounced it to be most detestable eating; and though a celebrated writer assures us that the bittern served up with onions is by no means a bad dish, I think we must renounce it and the heron as dainties which have no merit but that of ancient use.

“If, instead of following the edge of the pond, you enter more into the water, you will perhaps have the chance of finding-occupied in paddling among the rushes-some individual of the numerous wild duck tribe. The largest portion of them go to deposit their eggs in the marshes of the North towards the pole; but there always remain a few upon our lakes and ponds. They lay their eggs there; and the ducklings, which burst the shell towards the month of May, immediately follow their mother among the rushes. If, from the moment they break the shell, they are endowed with the faculty of swimming, they are not in the least able to sustain themselves in the air. Their feathers appear to grow slower than those of any other bird, and three months pass away before they have acquired the use of their wings; they have then attained to about half their full growth, and are called halbrans. This word comes from the German tongue, in which it is used to designate the young of the wild duck; but we employ it principally to point out the young wild ducks hatched on our ponds and lakes. Our tame ducks

do not differ much, as far as the plumage goes, from the wild ones. Everyone knows that the head of the female is gray, while that of the male is adorned with an emerald green. The wild duck has a more slender neck, and the membrane which unites the toes is finer and more delicate; the feet are of a polished black, and it is this above all which distinguishes it from the tame duck. It is excessively wild, and will never permit the approach of man; it is only by the force of stratagem that we can manage to reach it, and this is the reason why it is so necessary to study its habits. We are then obliged to employ a number of different means, according as this bird frequents the standing or the running waters. The young wild ducks, when we look for them in the months of August or September, are never far removed from the spot where they were hatched; it is therefore easy to come upon them by making the circuit of the pond. If the sportsman is so fortunate as to shoot the mother, a little artifice will make him master of the halbrans. He has only to let loose on the pond a tame duck, retained by the foot with a bit of pack-thread fastened to a stake. As soon as they hear it quack, the young wild ducks swim towards it, and the sportsman, concealed behind some tree, may shoot them at his leisure. It is only towards the end of October or the beginning of November that the flocks of wild duck arrive among us from the northern regions or the sea shores, to alight on our lakes and ponds. They make their appearance in small bands first, which in a little time become more numerous, and are recognised by their elevated flight in inclined planes or regular triangles. Their movements are made more by night than by day, and the whizzing of their flight discovers their passage. Their chief aim is to choose some lake in the neighbourhood of a marsh, where there is at the same time a cover of woods; in such a spot they will have a vast supply of insects; a wooded lake, therefore, in the neighbourhood of marshy ground, will be generally one of their favourite resorts. If in their flight, high above in the air, the voice of the mallard-whose cry is most peculiar is heard from the surface of some lake or pond, the band, who have left their northern retreats, will immediately descend; and where perhaps one solitary couple of wild ducks swam over its naked surface in the evening, hundreds of wild ducks will revel in it on the morrow. There is a great variety of these birds, all agreeing in the same general figure, habits, and mode of living, and only differing a little in their size and the colour of their plumage.'

CHARLEY SCUPPER'S RACING YACHT.

CHAPTER VI.

It was a delightful evening in the month of July when the Tippoo lay at anchor in one of the finest harbours on the eastern coast of England: the sun had gone down at exactly two minutes past eight, when, with the punctuality of naval discipline, the commodore of the yacht club had fired a gun from his schooner, denoting the time for