By the kindness of Mrs. Edward Ellis I am now enabled to give a copy of an original water-colour drawing of the execution of this poor elephant. The drawing was made by a gentleman who was present, and I have had the original copied exactly by Mr. Briscoe the

artist.

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122

THE WILD DUCKS’ POND,

Eomse Tibur amem ventosus, Tibure Romam *

Thus wrote that most wonderful of men, Horace. He was, like many eminent literary men of the modern period, a Cockney—a Eoman Cockney; he was fond of pleasant, learned, and witty society, of good dinners, and of the Falernian—of the comet year, of course. Yet human nature is always human nature, and the fresh air and change of the country is always grateful to the brain-worker, whether he lived a thousand years ago in Eome or this very week in London. Even Horace, like some of ourselves sometimes, became hipped, out of sorts, and miserably melancholy. He tells us so as plainly as words can speak:—

To Celus, muse, my warmest wishes bear;

And if he kindly ask you how I fare, Say, though I threaten many a fair design,

Nor happiness, nor wisdom yet are mine—

Inconstant as the wind, I various rove ;

At Tibur, Eome; at Eome, I Tibur love.

Eeading I hate, and with unwilling ear

The voice of Comfort or of Health I hear

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Friends and physicians I with pain endure,

Who strive this languor of my soul to cure.

Whate’er may hurt me, I with joy pursue

Whate’er may do me good, with horror view Inconstant as the wind, I various rove

At Tibur, Eome; at Kome, I Tibur love. Epist. I. viii.

Having doubtless posted the above epistle to his friend, of course an invitation came as follows

Dear Horace, Why don’t you come here at once from Saturday to Monday? Shall be glad to see you, and will send the “ quadriga” to meet you. Did you see what Sallust says in the papers this morning? “ The poor Britons—there is some good in them after all—they produce an oyster.” I have just got a barrel given me. Come and try some of the products of this barbaric island; also a turbot finer than that which you mention in your Satires. Come at once. Yours ever, Celsus Albxnqvanus,

Horace could not go to his friend’s house by railway, for the same reason that Guy Fawkes (in the song) could not obtain certain articles he wanted for his firework u because they weren’t inwented, withdisplay—namely, a tow, row, row,” &c. We, however, of the present day are much more lucky, and we fly with the speed of an arrow to the domains of our country friends and back again in almost less than no time. Folks talk about hot and cold water baths, vapour baths, hot-air baths,

•Turkish baths, and other kinds of baths innumerable

but of all health-giving, invigorating baths, give me the good, pure, fresh-air bath, and this is how to take it Get an order from the authorities, and ride on an engine of the Great-Western express to Didcot and back, when it is blowing half a gale of wind, varied by a shower or two; wrap up warm, and never mind the cold; and you will imbibe such a stock of fresh air as no Turkish bath ever can or ever will give you. If a place on the engine is not to be had, open the window of the carriage, and take your fresh-air bath as it pours thousands of cubic feet of oxygen and ozone into the “ gas-pipe ” of your lungs. “ ’Stone, ’Stone cried the porter, as the train ran into Aldermaston station, having left Reading some ten minutes behind us. My kind host and friend Mr. Higford Burr, was there to welcome me to his hospitable mansion, Aldermaston Park, and away we went, literary, andtalking of all sorts of things—scientific, sporting. “ I want you to examine my decoy,” said he: “ it is swarming with wild ducks, and I shall soon begin to shoot some of them.” Accordingly, on the following afternoon—a beautiful,

startedbright, shining afternoon in December—off we to visit the ducks’ home. Across the beautiful and ancient park, amid the

Oaks, the brave old oaks,

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planted, probably, about Henry VIII. ’s time, and the head-quarters, in summer time, of fairies and elves, but who, delicate creatures as they are, I fancy hybernate in the old trees in the winter, and don’t come out much before the warm nights in June, when there are plenty of them in the park at Aldermaston. Amid the ferns, where the deer jumps suddenly up, stares round for an instant, and is off with the wings of the wind. Close to the herd of little rough- coated Scotch cattle, who stare at us with their big eyes. Pheasants get up with a startling whirr, and fly comparatively slowly and amazingly near us. Under the mistletoe boughs growing on thorns: mistletoe does not generally grow on oaks, and the Druids preserved that which did grow on oaks, because (at least so says the antiquary of our party) it was a rarity. The call for, and the intended entrapment of the young lady of the party to examine a most curious plant which, by a strange coincidence, happens to grow just under the mistletoe high up in the tree. The discovery by the lady aforesaid of the conceit, and her happy escape. The big dog and the little rabbit 10 to 1 on little White-tail; in he pops into his burrow, and the big dog is brought up by a furze bush and

looks silly And we laughed, Ha-ha And we chaffed, Ah-ah We soon came near the decoy. u Quiet! hush all of

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you!” said the Squire, “ or you will frighten the ducks. Catch the dogs, and lead them.” And we all became silent and submissive, and crept along like a row of Polytechnic ghosts. A few steps, and we see the pond. The utmost quiet is now necessary. A-—tisha ! u Who is that sneezing?” cries the Squirea—tisha! “ I wish you would be quiet.” Everybody looks at his or her neighbour to see if he or she sneezed, and looks 11 it was not 7, it was you; ” and the wag of the party points to the big, innocent-faced dog, as much as to say “ That’s the culprit that sneezed.” A titter from the party, and somebody begins to talk. The foremost file turns round, and threatens with a big walking-stick. The word " March!” is passed along, and away we go, twining like a long snake round a corner into a dry ditch. Along the ditch, which seems to have been purposely strewed with quantities of the most fragile sticks, that break under the foot like crackers on the 5th of November. And we arrive at last at the lookout house. The ladies get up the bank, and look through the peep-holes; the gentlemen crawl up and thrust up their heads in a long row, like masks at a pantomime.

is as still as the By Jove! what a sight!—everything inside of the exhausted receiver of an air-pump. Before us a sheet of water as calm as a looking-glass, and on its surface hundreds of apparently tufts of grass, also silent

and motionless. Presently a tuft of grass begins to move, other tufts follow it, and away go a long string of wild ducks and teal, paddling away in a row to some well-known hiding-place. These cunning creatures are on their guard; they know we are on the land as well as we know they are on the water, and they perform numerous evolutions, like Volunteers at a field-day, and then “ form squares ” and are quiet again.

At last the old wild duck, the sentry, is quite satisfied that there are strangers about. She sounds the loud trumpet of alarm—“ Quack, quack, q-u-e-e-r-k!” The army of ducks to a bird know the signal; in an instant a thick cloud of birds rises from the water, now covered with moving ripples and no longer motionless. Away they go like a swarm of bees; they are off for the night, towards the setting sun. No they are not; the leading duck, like the trumpeter of a cavalry regiment, sounds “Eight wheel,” and then “Forward.” Back they com e again over our heads, like a flock of gigantic desert locusts. The noise of a thousand wings strikes our ears —nature’s wondrous music, to be imitated neither by human voice nor human instrument. They see us; “ Sound a gallop I” says the Commanding Officer duck. No bullet would catch them now in a fair race. “ Skir-mishers out!” sounds the trumpeter, and they break up instantly into companies of twos and threes; these at once assume the triangle form, and go off far, far away

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into the deep bine sky. Less, less, less every minnte they become, till at last they vanish altogether-famous study of practical perspective, which must be highly interesting to the sportsman who has been out half the night in the cold, and has missed his shot after all in the dawn of the morning. u Look out, here is another lot of birds coming! ” Again a different sound of wings, like a minor key to the major of the wild ducks’ wings. Teal, are they? very well, my friends, fly your best now; but recollect cayenne pepper and a sliced lemon await those tender breasts of yours before Christmas-day; so you had better make the best of your time now. Splash, splash; the most courageous of the birds are coming back to the far end of the pond. Mark how they alight; they open their web feet, come down, as the Yankees say, “ slantindicular,” and break their fall into the water by pushing the water up before them in a long and continuous splash. The “ Manual of Deportment ” gives full instructions to young ladies, who need the same, as to u how to enter a drawing-room gracefully.” Doubtless, the old drake teaches the young lady ducks how to enter a pond with grace and elegance, and we see the result of her training exem-plified before us.

But it is near four o’clock; Sol, the red-faced, has just begun to dip over the Berkshire hills; the ladies want

their tea, and the ducks, doubtless, their supper. Our worthy host offers to lionize us round the pond, and show us where the ducks take their morning air-ings, and how he manages to shoot them when they are getting too thick. He also shows us an elaborate wire trap, that looks like a huge aviary with an ingenious contrivance to pull the door, from the hiding-house in the dry ditch, when the ducks have gone in it; but though the trap has been there many years with the door ivide open, and food inside for the ducks, they have never yet gone in, and it would seem that they never will go in. They are Berkshire ducks, with plenty of brains under their green and gold feathered winter caps, and not like their cousins the Dutch ducks, who seem to delight in being inveigled into danger and having their necks stretched by an

inglorious Laplander. “ Come along, come along there!” cries the Squire, from afar off. We form a V, like the wild ducks, to see if we walk more easily this way than in single file; and are soonwarming our hands round the cheerful fire, while the great metal griffins, the guardians of the logwood blaze, seem to welcome us after our delightful walk through this charming old Berkshire park.

ser. hi. K

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