gets all the big uns out and puts 'em in the big trout - pond. Every big varmint about the place, what there is left of 'em, knows when the trout Foxes gets hold of the big trout easy in some places where they run; the water don't cover 'em. They like fish when it comes handy

run up.

to 'em.

"Them herons are the worst of the lot. One of the gents told me they was thought a lot of in times gone by, and belonged to a ancient family, and they ought to be protected. That is the way he said it. And if herons was destroyed as they had been the race would die out, and a connectin'link in nature would be lost. I only wish it was lost, or that he had to keep that ancient family, as he called 'em-when the trout run up, anyway. It reads nice in print when their friends reads what they write; but they don't do keeperin for a livin', or they'd drop talk like that!

soon.

"Joe told me you was goin' away from these parts Well, he'll miss you certain, for he's reg'lar took to ye, if he did take ye for a looneytic first off. So shall I, for the matter o' that. You draw in that book of yours and put things down only to amuse

yourself and a few friends because you're fond of all

live things?"

"Yes."

"Well, there's time wuss wasted than doin' that. Did ye ever send any of it to be printed?"

"Not a line."

"Quite as well perhaps ye didn't, the way you looks at things. One place where I was keeper before I come about here-it's some time ago now —master used to have a friend come to see him, a reg'lar natʼralist, a big gun, no mistake! Well, he showed me some of his books.

There was a lot What then? I

of it wrong; I proved it to be so. got the sack. People that never see things, and then give a full and pertic'lar account, knows more about 'em than men that have watched their movements all their lifetime, you may depend on't."

I bid my friend good night, and promise to see him again before I go. The old cottage comes in sight, and I am glad of it, feeling a little tired after my wanderings by the mill-stream.

CHAPTER IX.

ON FOWLERS AND WILD-FOWLING.

FIRST on our list of wild-fowlers come that class who shoot to fill the stomachs of those at home, either with the fowl themselves or with the money these bring when sold. When I was young, money was much more hardly earned than it is now; and it required no small amount of manoeuvring on the part of the fowlers, and a very accurate knowledge of the different localities along our coast, with their varying food-supplies, to meet with even an ordinary amount of success.

In my native fishing village, wild-fowling and fishing were almost inseparably connected; even the mechanics of our community were devoted to both of these pursuits, so far as their daily callings

race.

permitted. The men of the coast-line are a distinct Whether they hail from Romney Marsh or from the wild shores of Northumberland, they quickly fraternise when they come across each other; and although their dialects may differ, their mode of thought and habits of life are the same. They change little. I have just returned from a visit to the dreary flats, and found them swept over by the storms that have lashed round our shores of late. The men were just what they were in my boyhood, in thought and action entirely unlike the folks dwelling inland.

Naturalists they do not profess to be; but they know all the fowl, web-footed and hen-footed, and their plumage, sex, haunts, and habits, as well as any farmer's wife knows the ways of her own poultry. I have before me a list of the wild-fowl, with their local names. To mention a few of the family of the divers, we have the sprat diver, the magpie diver-this bird's plumage being black and white, and again the little magpie diver, the morillon or rattle-wings, and the buffle-headed duckcalled by our folks "the harlekin," springs and dives like a flash.

because this bird

66

The cussed"

redshank or pool-snipe was dubbed the red-legged yelper, with very good reason. Wild geese, the Brent goose excepted, were all called grey geese, a very comprehensive title with the shooters.

Our line of coast was, from its formation, peculiarly adapted to all the fowl that visited our shores. Where sea-grass grows and the succulent salt-water algæ flourish, the fowl congregated in past times, and they do so now in diminished numbers, to feed on these plants. A great amount of wild country is still left to us; I have lately returned from parts where some who have challenged my statements would have been found dead, if they had attempted to travel over them in the gloaming. Quicksands and morasses are still numerous enough within thirty miles of London, to say nothing about wilder country beyond. In fifty years' time these morasses may be drained; but the wild hillsides covered with firs and heather will remain as they have ever been, the feeding and playing grounds of our wild creatures. Man has tried to cultivate some of this wild ground, and has failed in all his efforts. The marks of his ploughshare can yet be seen in places, showing this. They must remain what