nearest to the pool, that no fish may escape. They swim up here in the
daytime in shoals, perch especially; but the night poachers are often
disappointed, for the fish seem to retire to deeper waters as the
darkness comes on. A black mass of mud-coated sticks, rotten twigs, and
thorn bushes, entangled in the meshes, is often the only result of much
toil.

Once now and then, as when a preserved pond is netted, a tremendous take
occurs; but nets are rather gone by, being so unwieldy and requiring
several men to manage effectually. If they are not hung out to dry
properly after being used, they soon rot. Now, a large net stretched
along railings or a hedge is rather a conspicuous object, and brings
suspicion on the owner. It is also so heavy after use that until wrung,
which takes time, a strong man can barely carry it; and if a sudden
alarm comes it must be abandoned.

It is pleasant to rest awhile on the parapet in the shadow of the
bushes. The low thud-thud of sculls in the rowlocks of a distant punt
travels up the water. By-and-by a hare comes along, enters on the
bridge, and almost reaches the gate in the middle before he spies
anything suspicious. Such a spot, and, indeed, any gateway, used to be a
favourite place to set a net, and then drive the hares towards it with a
cur dog that ran silent. Bold must be the man that would set a net in a
footpath now, with almost every field preserved by owner or tenant. With
a bound the hare hies back and across the meadow: the gun comes to the
shoulder as swiftly.

On the grass lit by the moon the hare looked quite distinct, but the
moment the gaze is concentrated up the barrel he becomes a dim object
with no defined outline. In shooting on the ground by twilight or in the