Far off, upon the silver mere, would
rise a puff of smoke from a punt, invisible from its flatness and its
white paint. Then down the wind came the boom of the great
stanchion-gun; and after that sound another sound, louder as it
neared; a cry as of all the bells of Cambridge, and all the hounds of
Cottesmore; and overhead rushed and whirled the skein of terrified
wild-fowl, screaming, piping, clacking, croaking, filling the air
with the hoarse rattle of their wings, while clear above all sounded
the wild whistle of the curlew, and the trumpet note of the great
wild swan.
They are all gone now. No longer do the ruffs trample the sedge into
a hard floor in their fighting-rings, while the sober reeves stand
round, admiring the tournament of their lovers, gay with ears and
tippets, no two of them alike. Gone are ruffs and reeves,
spoonbills, bitterns, avosets; the very snipe, one hears, disdains to
breed. Gone, too, not only from Whittlesea but from the whole world,
is that most exquisite of English butterflies, Lycaena dispar--the
great copper; and many a curious insect more.
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