hing can be more refreshing than
the _aplomb_ with which their victims, stricken down from that dizzy
height, strike water, reeds, or sand.

Among the many varieties of fowl--varying from wild swan to
widgeon--that are slain here, the canvas-back holds, by common consent,
the pre-eminence for delicacy of flavor and tenderness of meat; but I
confess I have thought almost as highly of an occasional "red-head" in
perfect condition.

This, the most celebrated of all ducking points on the Chesapeake, is
rented by a club, the members of which are all resident in Baltimore, or
its neighborhood; the number, I think, is limited to twelve. When they
muster in force, the sleeping accommodation must necessarily be limited,
as Mr. Russell describes it; but there is room and verge enough in the
quaint old homestead of the proprietor for any ordinary party. The burly
host himself is quite in keeping with the place, and bears his part
right jovially in the rough-and-ready revels that contrast not
disagreeably with the social amenities left behind in the city. I spent
some very pleasant hours of sunshine and twilight at the "Colonel's";
(he has as good a right to the title as many more pretentious
dignitaries), though the "flying" was indifferent on both my visits. On
the first occasion, though several varieties of fowl were bagged, we
only secured one canvas-back, which was courteous enough to tumble to
the stranger's gun. Sooth to say, the first interview with the
uncompromising contraband who hakes you _is_ a trial, and it is bitterly
cold work for feet and fingers, when you first come into your "blind"
under the early dawn; but the blood soon warms up as the warning cries
from the markers become more frequent; the pulse quickens as the dark
specks or lines loom nearer, defined against the dull red or silvery
gray of the sky-line; chills and shivers are all forgotten, as your
first "red-head," pioneer of a whole "skeen" from the river--crashes
down yards behind you, on the hard, wet sand that fringes the bay.

In the genial October weather, during which comes the cream of the
flying, the sojourn at Carroll's Island must be enviably delightful. But
much I fear, that next autumn's prospects look brighter for the fowl
than for their sedulous persecutors. Who can say what changes may have
been wrought in the fortunes of some of those cheery sportsmen before
next season shall open. Perhaps ere that the echoes of the Chesapeake
will be