When ducks are scarce the confinement is wearisome; and when they are abundant the excitement, united to the awkwardness of position, often leads to terrible accidents. “Cribbed, cabined, and confined,” the duck-shooter lies for weary hours exposed to the cold winds of winter, unable to keep his blood in circulation by exercise, and is hardly remunerated by the sport; although, if money be his object, he may be paid by the commercial value of his game. It is this ignoble mode of warfare that, more than anything else, has brought discredit upon wild-fowl shooting; for the upland shooter, accustomed to the free motion and active exertion of his favorite pursuit, naturally feels disgusted at being thrust into a box scarcely large enough to contain his body, and which cramps his every motion. At the South, where the sportsman shoots from behind a blind, and calls to his aid the courage and intelligence of his faithful “retriever” to recover his game, the walk to and from the stand warms his blood, and he can move around at will. In the West, where duck-shooting is to be had in perfection, the sportsman pushes his light and narrow boat through the weeds and lilies of the marshes, and has many a long chase after wounded birds that will bring into play his muscles, and send the circulation through his veins. Even in shooting through the “sneak boxes” of Barnegat Bay, there is much exercise and a certain amount of liberty of motion; but in the battery, a man is a mere death-dealing machine, expected to mind neither cold nor cramp, and to demand neither comfort nor pleasure. One of the most necessary reforms in the game-laws would be the absolute prohibition of the use of a battery. At the South this was done by the good sense of the people; and many a stranger from Long Island, who was unaware of the customs of the country, and had brought with him his battery to teach the natives “New York tricks,” has been warned to move his quarters by the whistle of a rifle-ball skipping across the water. It is surprising that the gunners of the great South Bay did not long ago discover that their interest lay in discontinuing the use of this machine. For the first few years, perhaps, after its prohibition, they might not have as good success; but in time the birds would resume their old habits and renew their visits to what should be the paradise of both ducks and sportsmen. They all know and regret the diminution of wild fowl, and most of them are satisfied from what cause it arises; but as the immediate losses from a change would fall upon themselves heavily at first, they shrink from decided action.