THE OSPREY. 



behind; the greenhorn becomes excited, con- 

 fused; doesn't know which to shoot at; fires 

 almost at random; misses oftener than he hits; 

 swears at his gun, at his shells, at the unfortu- 

 nate pusher, at everything hut himself, who 

 alone is at fault, and not unlikely tumbles 

 overboard. If he is of the right mettle, however, 

 he soon settles down to work, deliberately picks 

 his bird each time, and then there is but little 

 more missing. 



Sometimes birds will get up behind him and 

 out of the range of his vision. The pusher 

 cries '"Mark" when he wheel-, and tires. Nor 

 has the pusher a sinecure; he advances, stops 

 for a loading, goes forward, backwards, zigzag- 

 ging, retrieving the game; and so it continues 

 until the retreating tide forces the skill from 

 the marsh." 



With the outgoing tide the sound of dis- 

 charges diminished more and more, and there 

 was quite alull when ebb had reached its lowest 

 mark. 



Swallows of divers kinds were now gracefully 

 skimming over the stream, and the extensive 

 wild rice flats. They had returned to their 

 favorite hunting grounds from which they had 

 been frightened by the incessant tiring. What 

 a different picture these winged, peacefully glid- 

 ing denizens of the air presented from the 

 fretted, frightened, calling-, i- e st and peace 

 seeking birds of the morning. 



If some of the men who carried away among' 

 their bag, some of their little forms that day as 

 mangled corpses, which they, no doubt, termed 

 meat, had studied the birds a little more closely. 

 and had tried to gain an insight into their 



domestic affairs, I think they would, like myself, 

 perchance, have exchanged the gun for a 

 camera and carried home some scenes of wild 

 life, much more pleasing and interesting than 

 the remains of the feathered bits of life, which 

 furnished them with just one small morsel, a 

 single mouthful, at the price of a happy joyous 

 life. 



Here and there a Maryland Yellow-throat was 

 sneaking among the weeds or a curious Marsh 

 Wren who has escaped being shot, peered inquir- 

 ingly at us as we glided by, wondering very 

 likely what all this hubbub was about. The Red- 

 wings, Mob., links and English Sparrows had 

 had their lesson and heeded it. They kept their 

 distance admirably well. There was no ap- 

 proaching them now-, and I hope they will trans- 

 mit the lesson to their offspring if they live to 

 have them. 



At the railroad bridge we were pleasantly sur- 

 prised! Whole strings of swallows had come to 

 rest for a pace, from the chase. Hundreds of 

 Bank Swallows, with a fair sprinkling of White- 

 bellied, Rough-winged, and the beautiful, ever 

 graceful Barn Swallows were seated side by 

 side as our picture will show. 



We watched the Bank Swallows all summer. 

 We greeted them on their arrival in spring and 

 were happy to view them busily engaged in 

 digging their homes into the rain-stained clay 

 bank. Each day when the setting sun hearlded 

 the evening hour, we were pleased to see 

 their fairy forms glide swiftly o'er the 

 waters, dropping ever and anon to touch their 

 dainty breasts against its calm cool surface and, 

 rising shake themselves, and dip, and dip again. 





Bank Swallows. (Photographed by Bartsch.) 



