Those who have once tasted the joys and vicissitudes incident to 

 the pursuit and capture of these birds need no second introduction, but 

 freely confess to its undeniable lure and fascination transcending all 

 other forms of sport. Whether the quarry be the wild swan, the grey 

 goose or wavey down from the polar seas, or the mallard, teal or royal 

 canvasback out of the great nurseries of the Canadian north the game 

 is always worth the candle to your inveterate duck hunter who asks 

 for nothing sweeter in life than the magic and all-encompassing charm 

 of his autumnal marshes. 



True, like in everything else, the "King of Sports" has its ups and 

 downs. Birds may not fly or decoy today, but your ever hopeful 

 duckshooter knows the time will come when they surely will. The 

 weather and wind, those twin essentials for complete success, may not 

 be as propitous as he would have ordered, but sooner or later, his 

 optimism tells him, it is bound to change for the better. 



And so, whether in the bright sunlight of October days or mayhap 

 under the dissolving skies of inclement November, it is all in the day of 

 sportsman's toil to your "dyed in the wool" ducker, who as the wild- 

 fowl seasons multiply over his head learns of delights and experiences 

 such as never come within the prosaic life of the confirmed city 

 dweller, and giving him more than ample cause as he looks back over 

 the receding years to thank his lucky stars for the day that saw him 

 born with a love for the gun and all that goes with it. 



CHARLES B. MORSS. 



Haverhill, Mass. 



