n the palate, dissipates the thought, and you
unhesitatingly pronounce it the most delicious morsel you ever tasted.
In they come, hot and hot; and, like Oliver, you ask for more, but with
better success. Your host, when he sees you flagging, urges, "one" more
cut. You hesitate, thinking a couple of ducks a very fair allowance. He
replies,--"'Pon my word, it's such light food; you can eat a dozen!" A
jovial son of Aesculapius, on whom Father Time had set his mark, though
he has left his conviviality in all the freshness of youth, is appealed
to. He declares, positively, that he knows nothing so easy of digestion
as a canvas-back duck; and he eats away jollily up to his assertion. How
very catching it is!--each fresh arrival from the kitchen brings a fresh
appetite to the party. "One down, t'other come on," is the order of the
day. Those who read, may say "Gormandizer!" But many such, believe me,
if placed behind three, or even four, of these luscious birds, cooked
with the artistic accuracy of the Maxwell Point _cuisine_, would leave
a cat but sorry pickings, especially when the bottle passes freely, and
jovial friends cheer you on. Of course, I do not allude to such people
as enjoy that "soaked oakum," called "bouilli." To offer a well-cooked
canvas-back duck to them, would, indeed, be casting pearls
before--something. Neither would it suit the fastidious taste of those
who, not being able to discern the difference between juice and blood,
cook all flavour and nourishment out of their meats, and luxuriate on
the chippy substance which is left.--But time rolls on; cigars and toddy
have followed; and, as we must be at our posts ere dawn, to Bedfordshire
we go.

Ere the day had dawned, a hasty cup of coffee prepared us for the
morning's sport; and, lighting the friendly weed, we groped our way to
our respective blinds, full of hope and thirsting for blood. Alas! the
Fates were not propitious; but few birds crossed, and those mostly out
of range. However, I managed to bag half a dozen before I was summoned
to nine o'clock breakfast, a meal at which, it is needless to say, the
"glorious bird" was plentifully distributed. After breakfast, I amused
myself with a telescope, watching the ducks diving and fighting for the
wild celery which covers the bottom of these creeks and bays, and which
is generally supposed to give the birds their rich and peculiar flavour.
They know the powers of a duck-gun to a T; and, keeping beyond its