394 Missouri Agricultural Ueport. 



Mr. President, I am a devotee of the rod and gun, and from the 

 standpoint of a sportsman — which I claim to be — my pulse always beats 

 quick and fast when I behold that seed time has past, and the fruitage 

 of the earth has come to its own. Under the spell of Nature's enchan- 

 tress, September and October are mighty flower gardens rioting in the 

 blazonry of bloom. "Magnificent Autumn ! He comes not like a pilgrim 

 clad in russet weed; he comes not like a hermit clad in gray. But he 

 comes like a warrior with the stain of blood upon his brazen mail. His 

 crimson scarf is rent. His scarlet banner drips with gore." The call, 

 "Bob Wliite," is silent, but from stubble, pasture, tangled copse, and 

 corn fields, standing rank on rank like Hussars in their uniforms of gold 

 and silver and wherever his fancy leads, we now hear his peculiar covey 

 call. It falls upon the impatient ear of the sportsman with unmeasured 

 delight. Tired of the grind of the busy mill of business, the weary 

 sentinels of the fortress of his brain give warning that it is only the 

 wine of Nature which quickens the sluggish blood ; will bring new light 

 to care-worn eyes, and paint the pallid cheek with the ruddy glow of 

 health. As he fills his pockets with shells, his faithful dog leaps about 

 him, eager to match his gift of nose with the cunning of this winsome 

 bird. The east is already crimson with the coming of a perfect day. 

 The Frost King has scattered his jewels with lavish hand, and from bough 

 and twig and stiffened blade of grass, like diamonds in the corona of 

 Queens, they glow and flash with many colored fires, heralding the grow- 

 ing glory of the sun. Bob White is ready for him in perfect strength 

 of wing and limb, feeling assured that if these fail, his mimicry of 

 plumage with his surroundings may defeat the ' ' tainted gale, ' ' as pointer 

 or setter ranges far and wide in search of it. But not so. There is a 

 stiffening of the muscles. Like an exquisitely carved statue, fresh from 

 the hands of a master, the dog "stands." There is a roar of wings, the 

 air is full of smoke. Again the quest is taken up, and so through the 

 hours of the too short day, over hill and plain, with few birds perhaps, but 

 with renewed health and strength, the weary hunter turns homeward. 

 The day is done. Lights appear as he draws near home. Loved ones 

 run to meet him at the gate, their faces shining with expectant hope as 

 they inquire, "What luck?" As he turns to enter man's only asylum 

 of perfect rest there comes faintly the covey call again, as — 



"Shrill and shy from the dusk they cry. 



Faintly from over the hill ; 

 Out of the gray where shadows lie. 

 Out of the gold where sheaves are high, 

 Covey to covey, call and reply, 



Plaintively, shy and shrill." 



