water, that would cause a duck to float for fifty yards before we could possibly retrieve it, and compel us to return against the swift current. Besides, the deep thickness of the branches overhead would scatter the charge of shot, making it almost impossible to shoot with effect.

To the north of us I saw ducks flying low, as if seeking a spot to feed; then saw them drop through the trees and disappear from sight, not returning. I knew that we had found their retreat, and that where they lit we would find shallow water, possibly a little land. We found it as I expected. Selecting an open place, as open as we could among the thick trees, we put our decoys out, and located ourselves so that the ducks when killed would fall above and be carried toward us by the current. We stood in water a foot deep. No sooner in the blind than five mallards bowed their wings above the decoys. A long shot, but I succeeded in making a double. Harry did not shoot, "afraid he would spoil my shot," said he. I then said to him, "Shells are plenty, and ducks also. You will never learn to shoot unless you try. Stay close to me and bang away at every bird that gets near you." "Another thing, Harry," said I, "hold well ahead of every bird you shoot at. shoot at. I know it's hard to do so, for the inclination is strong, indeed, hardly to be resisted on the part of a beginner, to shoot right at the duck. It looks so large and is such a nice object to fire at. Then again, he just can't shoot at the air-he will aim at the duck, then feeling he should obey, draws ahead. He is pointing at thin air, a foot or two ahead. Behind this thin air he sees a beautiful green head, glossy feathers, perhaps a bright sparkling eye, the thought

flashes through his brain, "What! shall I shoot at nothing, when behind it is a duck that I can surely kill? Fie on such advice! I am after ducks, not air, and this one is mine." He changes his aim, blazes away right at the duck, expecting of course to kill it,— misses it; the duck moves on, while the hunter, noticing a stray feather that a scattered shot had separated from the duck, calls his companion's attention to it, and says, "I hit him hard, look at the feathers fly."

This is the experience of every beginner.

"You have fired at least twenty times, and your ducks are still to be had. You haven't killed one, look in the boat; there are at least a dozen that I have killed. I thought I would let you make several misses, before your attention was called to the reason. You have the reason now, you are going to kill some birds, and if you will only follow my advice, you certainly cannot fail."

Just then a duck came towards us quacking loudly, entirely disarmed from suspicion. "Keep low," said I, "Remember what I said. Hold a foot ahead of her and she is yours. Kill her! I won't shoot."

The duck was a little to one side of us, and about 25 yards high. Harry fired and made a clean miss.

"Look here," said I, "You din'dt hold ahead of that duck. If you had you would have killed it. Here I have been giving you the benefit of my twenty years experience, and all it cost you was to try it. You promised you would, and forgot it within two minutes. after I got through talking."

I don't know but that I spoke petulantly, perhaps too much so; anyway it had its effect on Harry, for he turned to me with face flushed, and said, "Was that

your duck? Have you lost a duck? Ain't there any other ducks here that you can get, without kicking because that one got away? What in thunder is the use of making a fuss about one poor lonesome old maid of a duck, any way?"

"It wasn't the duck, Harry," said I," but it was your shooting at it, instead of ahead, as I told you to do. Now, frankly; didn't you shoot right at it?

"Well," said he, and he assumed the most confidential manner, "I cannot tell a lie. I did shoot at the duck, with my little gun."

The reader will probably imagine at this time that I embraced and forgave him, and told him I would rather he would miss a hundred ducks than tell a lie. Nothing of the kind; I simply told him to stand still, and not be splashing water over me.

"Will!" said he, "I am not much of a wing shot, but the probabilities are that I will hit a crow before long." How he expected to hit a crow was a mystery to me, as I hadn't seen one all day, and told him so. He merely smiled. The flight had decreased, and we were only getting an occasional shot. My sight was directed toward the north, watching a lone duck as it flew around undecided where to light. A slight sound attracted my attention, a gentle gurgling noise, like rivulets of water running over unbroken pebbles. It seemed to stop, then could be heard again with increased volume. The sound was not an unfamiliar one to me. I turned my head, and there stood Harry, with face upturned to the falling snow, pointing the base of a bottle almost perpendicularly, the neck partially in his mouth, while a peculiar suction caused the amber fluid to spurt down his willing throat. His left eye closed,

as if sighting the disappearing "crow," his right hand firmly clasped the bottle, while with his left he complacently rubbed his stomach.

"And this," said I, "is the crow you were so sure of hitting?"

"Yes," said he, "This is the crow referred to. Look at it."

I did so, and saw by the picture that it was an old crow, seven years old. I told him that from its looks he had hit it hard.

The ducks were uneasy, and while they would notice the decoys, they didn't show any great inclination to light among or near them. The wind blew strong, and I found it necessary to shoot from one to three feet ahead of them.

Harry did but little shooting, preferring to see me kill the birds. Once more I brought him to the scratch, and felt satisfied, that since he had been so successful in hitting that "crow" that his success there would embolden him, and fill him with renewed courage, and so it did.

The ducks were now flying pretty freely, and I determined the first good shot he should not only shoot, but kill. We didn't have to wait long. A lone drake came flying slowly over the trees, facing the wind. He was in no hurry, only seeking the right place to alight. He veered a little to the right before reaching us; now was a little to our side. No allowance was necessary to be made for his flight, but it was for the strong wind. Harry was covering the bird.

"Swing your gun, first on his body, then his head, then a foot ahead of him as near as you can," said I, "keep your gun slowly moving and pull.”

I stood behind him. It seemed as if I could see the gun follow my suggestions. The loud report rung through the woods, and the drake fell with a splash, dead in the water. Harry turned to me excited and delighted, throwing his wet arm around my neck, and tenderly said:

“William! thou hast taught me to kill the flying duck, and I thank thee for it! Many a time and oft have I tried in vain to do this thing, but have failed. Thy experience and thy skill hath disclosed to me the secret of thy success,—and I am indebted to thee for it."

Imagine the scene, dear reader-there in the solitude of the forest. I felt that the necessities of the occasion demanded a reply on my part, but appropriate language failed me he was embracing me tenderly. I came near telling him not to lean quite so heavily against me, but thought that entirely out of place, considering his eloquent speech. Gulping down a piece of apple, nearly choking myself, it brought tears to my eyes. Harry, not knowing the cause of the tears, thought they were the result of his eloquence. I had by this time regained my self-possession and said:

"If thy heart hath taught thee that thou art indebted to me, thy debt is cancelled. Did not thy friends trust thee to go to the deep woods with me, and should not I disclose to thee the secrets of mine experience? Follow but my advice. Thou may'st not hit the "crow" so often, but the swift flying duck will be at thy mercy."

"Will!" said he.

"What?" said I.

"Thou hast placed me under lasting obligation to thee for this day's sport. When the heat of the summer's sun hath caused