‘ 1 It’s pretty A long quiet. No more ducks appear. nearly all over now,” sings out the Squire, for the first time breaking the silence; “ you can come out of the ditch now, I think.” “ Splendid fun, Squire,” we exclaim, “ though only twenty minutes of it; and look at the ducks! But who was the third gun on your pond?” “ Ah 1” said the Squire, “ it’s the head-keeper: I told him last night to come up, and I gave him what I thought was a place just for a chance shot, but you see he has had more shots than any of the others. I will sound for him.” The Squire then blew upon a little horn, which sounded exactly like those used on Belgian and French railways, and which can be heard an immense distance *—a most capital instrument for signals in the field. This was the signal for everybody to stop shooting, come out of their hiding-places, and collect forces. The

under-keepers appear as if from the ground, and one of them unpadlocks a little boat, and paddles out to pick up the ducks. What a sight was there in the early morning! Here a widgeon floating on his back, his head sunk deep in the water, his feet stretched out like sails to a boat; there a duck floating, as in life, on her breast, with her head and neck in the water, as if feeding among the weeds; far away a teal—a mass of feathers, evidently shot from behind, and much de-nuded of its plumage. Somebody has shot the king of the pond. Look at him; the poor old fellow is floating on his side, with one wing thrown open, as a man opens his coat lappel when about to say a good thing after dinner; his glossy, emerald-green head reflects the bright rays of the morning sun, which his acute and

!wary eye—now alas closed—shall never see again. His full, plump breast is covered with feathers and down, stratified and arranged, till they form a water

pillow soft as cotton wool, yet as impenetrable to water as a sheet of macintosh. His beautiful orange-coloured feet, but so lately puddling about the oozy banks anc* mud of the fair river Kennett, are now stiff and cramped in death! You are, indeed, a splendid fellow, and it seems almost cruel to kill you. a Here, hie in, good dog! fetch him out.”

The faithful retriever—deaf though he be—sees the king of the duck-pond; he goes a little way into the

water, whines “ How cold it is!” and at last, summoning up courage, plunges in—like a noble-hearted dog as he is—swims for the bird, takes him in his mouth, with a delicate touch such as a courtier might envy when hand-ing her glove to the fair lady of his choice, and swims back towards the bank, looking with his great beautiful eyes for the expected pat and “ Good dog!” which his kindhearted master is sure to give him. Here comes the keeper from going round the pond, with the dog and the boat. Well done! what a fine lot of birds! Put them down, and let us examine them. Where are my pocket-scales? Drake, 3 lb. 1 oz.; drake, 3 lb., &c., &c.; drake, 2 lb. 15 oz., (a good bird), lb., &c.; widgeon, 1 lb. 14 oz.; teal, f lb., &c., &c.—not a bad lot for about twenty minutes’ shooting. Halloa! what makes this great mallard rattle so!—he has been eating something precious hard. I will soon see what it is. Here is my dissecting-knife. Acorns, by Jove! and what a lot ofthem—a good large handful. We will plant some in commemoration of this fellow’s memory. 1 wonder where he got them. He has found out some snug feeding-ground, and selfishly kept the news to himself, for none of the others have acorns in their pouches. A splash, a rush in the weeds in the pond close by where the dissection is going on; the dogs stare and whine, and prepare to jump in. Everybody turns

round.

“ What is it?” “ A rat,” says one, “ A moorhen,” says another. “ Shoot, whatever it is,” says the Squire. in an instant; and as fine Bang! goes Mr.Wolley’s gun a jack as ever I saw springs some two feet out of the water. He flounders about, and as he is just escaping, a second shot settles him. The dogs jump in, but will not mouth him; so the Squire, who has wading boots on, goes in and catches him by the eyes.

“Well, I am glad,” said he, “ we have bagged this rascal; this accounts for the disappearance of my young ducks from the pond. He is as plump as a Christmas pig, and you may depend upon it he has eaten his own weight in young ducks in the course of his life, and I am very pleased to get rid of him out of the pond.” “ Give him to me,” said I, “he is another subject for the scalpel, and I should like to see where the shots have struck. See here, his head has five or six shot-marks upon it: where are the shots? ”

I examine most carefully, but they have not penetrated, they have not gone into the bone of the head. The fish, then, must have been stunned by the concussion of the water more than by the actual blow of the shot. This is very curious, for I did not know that water could stop shot like this.

“But how about breakfast; are not you hungry,

gentlemen? Let us be off, it’s nearly nine o’clock,” said

the Squire. We pack up our warm wraps, and give them to the under-keepers; beating the ground as we go home, bagging a hare and a squirrel, which latter the Squire declares is capital eating, and which he shoots on purpose for me to try and report upon. We soon arrive home, and during breakfast discuss the events of the morning, and particularly how it was that the jack was killed without the shots having entered his head. This curious fact led to a long correspondence, in the course of which many remarkable facts were elicited. I refer my reader to the Appendix.

143

JACK-FISHING ON THE AVON.

We came down the incline into Salisbury by the express train at a fearful pace; round the curves and over the embankment we flew with a speed that took one’s breath away, and dashed into the station like a comet. A rush for a fly (for it was a fair day) and off we went to the Star Hotel, Fordingbridge, where we were cordially welcomed by the civil and obliging landlord and his wife, Mr. and Mrs. Bill, and our friend Mr. Cholmondeley Pennell, who preceded us in order to try experiments on the Hampshire jack, which were said to abound in the deep waters of the won. “What sport? ” said I. u I have had four days’ fishing and have caught thirty jack out of thirty-six runs (the largest fish running between 61b. and 91b.), with a spinning bait. The water, however is very bright, and the weeds very high. I have got an order for a splendid place to-morrow, and hope we shall have luck.”

Accordingly, on the following morning we got ready for the start. Great cans with the bait, the rods, luncheon, tackle, &c., were all placed in the landlord’s

four-wheeler, and in we jumped. “ I will drive,” said Pennell; “ all right behind? let go.” The ostler let go but not an inch would our noble steed proceed; she put back her ears, shook her head, 'and made an attempt to kick, foiled, however, by the kicking-strap. The ostler then tried persuasion, but it was no use—-the mare reared back, and made another false start. The coachman then touched her with the whip and we were off at last, first a walk and then a trot and then a gallop. We had not gone ten yards before the mare all of a sudden turned right round in the shafts; she first wheeled to the right and then suddenly to the left, the four-wheeler going in the opposite direction. She then began to kick, and backed right into the railing. Out went the landlord and ostler from behind, the coachman and myself from in front. I was nearest the railing, and

took a Leotard-like leap at it, mercifully not falling, for in an instant down came the mare on her side with a crash, breaking both shafts short off, and kicking and plunging furiously. She did not, however, touch me, though I was between her and the railing; but it was a very narrow escape. We disentangled the mare, who was not much hurt; picked up the live bait which were flopping about in the dusty road; and walked back to the hotel as dignified as circumstances would permit. Another horse was then put into a borrowed dog- cart, and we had just got to the place of the former accident.

when the shafts began to elevate their noses in a most unpleasant manner; the old grey seemed to be walking on his toes, being almost lifted off his legs. “ Out with you, gentlemen,” said the landlord, “ or we shall all be over again;” so we all jumped off like artillery-men from a gun-carriage. “ Is this what you call going out jack-fishing, Pennell?” said I. “ I don’t see much chance to-day. We have been just two hours getting ten yards from the door, the live bait is dead bait, and one of the rods is

smashed.” “ Never mind,” said P., “ let’s go into the garden and catch more bait.” So we got into the landlord’s punt and began to fish for roach and gudgeon. I discovered at the bottom of the boat a huge wooden mallet with a broken handle, a

terrible-looking instrument. “ What is this instrument for?” said I. “ Oh, that’s what we use to knock the jack on the head,” said Pennell, “ they are such tremendous big

jack about here.” Hearing this I thought no more of the accident, and

fair start.away we went once more,—this time getting a

We soon arrived at the mill, where we found the keeper awaiting us, who told us his master had sent him down to attend upon us. lie seemed rather surprised at our small baits, “For,” said he, “in the

SER. III. L

winter we generally use very large tackle, and fish with a roach from half to three-quarters of a pound in weight; but I think Mr. Pennell’s tackle very good to spin over the weeds, which are terrible thick about.”

The keeper was right; the river was one mass of dense solid forests of weeds, which waved about in the rapid stream like great sea snakes. Between them, however, were here and there streets and lanes of beautiful deep water, looking almost ink colour on account of its depth and the darkness of the weeds, the water itself, however, being as clear as crystal. “ Any big jack, about here, keeper?” said I. “ I will show you one, sir, at once, and you shall judge for yourself.” We proceeded to a little house built over a stream, which was railed in. “ Look there, sir,” said the keeper. “ Go quietly.” I looked over, and there lay a giant jack, sunning himself, and basking, like a great dog, in the shallows. I crept quietly up, and looked over. He was indeed a monster. He lay as still as a log of wood, just moving his gill-flaps, and looking straight at me with his savage-looking eyes, which, by the way, he did not turn about like a roach or a gold fish. He supported his great body on his ventral fins, and gently feathered the water with his pectoral and caudal fins. I moved the water with the end of my vod; in an instant he was off like an arrow, stirring up

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