* * * * *
_A real_ EVERY-DAY _English Dialogue_.
(From the Examiner.)
_A._ (Advancing) “How d’ye do, Brooks?”
_B._ “Very well, thank’ee; how do _you_ do?”
_A._ “Very well, thank’ee; is Mrs. Brooks well?”
_B._ “Very well, I’m much obliged t’ye. Mrs. Adams and the children are
well, I hope?”
_A._ “Quite well, thank’ee.”
(A pause.)
_B._ “Rather pleasant weather to-day.”
_A._ “Yes, but it was cold in the morning.”
_B._ “Yes, but we must expect that at this time o’year.”
(Another pause,--neckcloth twisted and switch twirled.)
_A._ “Seen Smith lately?”
_B._ “No,--I can’t say I have--but I have seen Thompson.”
_A._ “Indeed--how is he?”
_B._ “Very well, thank’ee.”
_A._ “I’m glad of it.--Well,--good morning.”
_B._ “Good morning.”
Here it is always observed that the speakers, having taken leave, walk
faster than usual for some hundred yards.
[Illustration: ~Wild Fowl Shooting in France.~]
Or where the Northern ocean, in vast whirls
Boils round the naked melancholy isles
Of farthest Thulé, and th’ Atlantic surge
Pours in among the stormy Hebrides;
Who can recount what transmigrations there
Are annual made? what nations come and go?
And how the living clouds on clouds arise?
Infinite wings till all the plume-dark air
And rude, resounding shore, are one wild cry.
_Thomson._
To a sporting friend, the editor is indebted for the seasonable
information in the accompanying letter, and the drawings of the present
engravings.
_Abbeville_, _Nov._ 14, 1825.
Dear Sir,
It is of all things in the world the most unpleasant to write about
nothing, when one knows a letter with something is expected. It is true
I promised to look out for pious _chansons_, miraculous stories, and
other whims and wonders of the French vulgar; and though I do not send
you a budget of these gallimaufry odds and ends, whereon I know you have
set your heart, yet I hope you will believe that I thoroughly determined
to keep my word. To be frank, I had no sooner landed, than desire came
over me to reach my domicile at this place as fast as possible, and get
at my old field-sports. I therefore posted hither without delay, and,
having my gun once more in my hand, have been up every morning with the
lark, lark shooting, and letting fly at all that flies--my conscience
flying and flapping in my face at every recollection of my engagement
to you. I well remember your telling me I should forget you, and my
answering, that it was “impossible!” Birds were never more plentiful,
and till a frost sets them off to a milder atmosphere, I cannot be off
for England. I am spell-bound to the fields and waters. Do not, however,
be disheartened; I hope yet to do something handsome for your “hobby,”
but I have one of my own, and I must ride him while I can.
It strikes me, however, that I can communicate something in _my_ way,
that will interest _some_ readers of the _Every-Day Book_, if you think
proper to lay it before them.
Every labouring man in France has a right to sport, and keeps a gun. The
consequence of this is, that from the middle of October, or the
beginning of this month, vast quantities of wild-fowl are annually shot
in and about the fens of Picardy, whither they resort principally in the
night, to feed along the different ditches and small ponds, many of
which are artificially contrived with one, two, and sometimes three
little huts, according to the dimensions of the pond. These huts are so
ingeniously manufactured, and so well adapted to the purpose that I send
you two drawings to convey an idea of their construction.
All wild-fowl are timorous, and easily deceived. The sportsman’s huts,
to the number of eight or ten, are placed in such a situation, that not
until too late do the birds discover the deception, and the destruction
which, under cover, the fowlers deal among them. To allure them from
their heights, two or three tame ducks, properly secured to stones near
the huts, keep up an incessant quacking during the greater part of the
night. The huts are sufficiently large to admit two men and a dog; one
man keeps watch while his companion sleeps half the night, when, for the
remainder, it becomes his turn to watch and relieve the other. They have
blankets, a mattress, and suitable conveniences, for passing night after
night obscured in their artificial caverns, and exposed to unwholesome
damps and fogs. The huts are formed in the following manner:--A piece of
ground is raised sufficiently high to protect the fowler from the wet
ground, upon which is placed the frame of the temporary edifice. This is
mostly made of ozier, firmly interwoven, as in this sketch.
[Illustration]
This frame is covered with dry reeds, and well plastered with mud or
clay, to the thickness of about four inches, upon which is placed, very
neatly, layers of turf, so that the whole, at a little distance, looks
like a mound of verdant earth. Three holes, about four inches in
diameter, for the men inside to see and fire through, are neatly cut;
one is in the front, and one on each side. Very frequently there is a
fourth at the top. This is for the purpose of firing from at the
wild-fowl as they pass over. The fowlers, lying upon their backs,
discharge guess shots at the birds, who are only heard by the noise of
their wings in their flight. Fowlers, with quick ears, attain
considerable expertness in this guess-firing.
The numbers that are shot in this way are incredible. They are usually
therefore sold at a cheap rate. At forty sous a couple, (1_s._ 8_d._
English) they are dear, but the price varies according to their
condition.
In the larger drawing, I have given the appearance of the country and of
the atmosphere at this season, and a duck-shooter with his gun near his
hut, on the look out for coming flocks; but I fear wood engraving,
excellent as it is for most purposes, will fall very short of the
capability of engraving on copper to convey a correct idea of the
romantic effect of the commingling cloud, mist, and sunshine, I have
endeavoured to represent in this delightful part of France. Such as it
is, it is at your service to do with as you please.
For myself, though for the sake of variety, I have now and then crept
into a fowler’s hut, and shot in ambuscade, I prefer open warfare, and
I assure you I have had capital sport. That you may be acquainted with
some of these wild-fowl, I will just mention the birds I have shot here
within the last three weeks, beginning with the godwit; their names in
French are from my recollection of Buffon.
_The Godwit._
Common Godwit, _la grand barge_.
Red Godwit, _la barge rousse_.
Cinereous Godwit, (_Bewick_).
Cambridge Godwit, (_Latham_).
Green-shanked Godwit, _la barge variée_.
Red-legged Godwit, _le chevalier rouge_.
Redshank, _le chevalier aux pieds rouges_.
_Sandpipers._
Ruffs and Reeves, _le combattant_.
Green Sandpiper, _le bécasseau, ou cul-blanc_.
Common Sandpiper, _la guignette_.
Brown Sandpiper, (_Bewick_.)
Dunlin, _la brunette_.
Ox-eye, _l’alouette de mer_.
Little Stint, _la petite alouette de mer_, (_Brisson_) &c. &c.
_Curlews._
Curlew, _la courles_.
Whimbiel, _le petite courles_.
_Heron._
Common, _le heron hupe_.
Bittern, _le butor_.
Little Bittern, _le blongois_.
_Ducks._
The common Wild Duck, _le canard sauvage_.
Gadwell, or Gray, _le chipeau_.
Widgeon, _le canard siffleur_.
Pochard, _penelope_, _le millovin_.
Pintail, _le canard à longue queue_.
Golden-eye, _le garrot_.
Morillon, _le morillon_.
Tufted Duck, _le petit morillon_. (_Brisson._)
Gargany, _la sarcelle_.
Teal, _la petite sarcelle_.
If you were here you should have a “gentleman’s recreation,” of the most
delightful kind. Your propensity to look for “old masters,” would turn
into looking out for prime birds. The spotted red-shanks, or barkers, as
they are sometimes called, would be fine fellows for _you_, who are fond
of achieving difficulties. They come in small flocks, skimming about the
different ponds into which they run to the height of the body, picking
up insects from the bottom, and looking as if they had no legs. They are
excessively wary, and above all, the most difficult to get near.
Confound all “black letter” say I, if it keeps a man from such
delightful scenes as I have enjoyed every hour since I came here; as to
picture-loving--come and see _these_ pictures which never tire by
looking at. I like a good picture though myself, and shall pick up some
prints at Paris to put with my others. You may be certain therefore of
my collecting something for you, after the birds have left, especially
wood cuts. I shall accomplish what I can in the scrap and story-book
way, which is not quite in my line, yet I think I know what you mean. In
my next you shall have something about lark-shooting, which, in England,
is nothing compared with what the north of France affords.