A wisp of snipes utter their well-known cry and scud over the heath; one of these is secured.

The rest fly towards a little pool of dark water lying at a considerable distance from the common, a well-known rendezvous for those birds.

Cautiously approaching, down wind, I reach the margin.

Up springs a snipe; but just as my finger is on the trigger, and when too late to alter my intention, a duck and mallard rise from among the rushes and wheel round my head.

One barrel is fortunately left, and the drake comes tumbling to the ground.