50 WILD FOWL SHOOTING. 
of corn, or killing them in mid winter, as they come 
into the air-holes covered with decoys and tempting bait. 
And still, these men with all their experience have 
never hunted them from a sculling boat. 
Duck hunting is no childish sport. When mild, 
pleasant weather, gentle, soothing winds, gurgling, 
murmuring brooks, sweet-smelling, delicate, fragrant 
flowers invite us out for a day to the woods or beside 
the streams, where in indolence we lie, half waking, 
then lulled into a lazy slumber by the sighing winds, or 
warbling thrush, or kept awake by the cawing crow, as 
it flies over our heads in its accustomed straight line, or 
the laughing jay, as it teeters on the tip of some tall 
tree, industriously yelling at us because of our intrusion, 
—such scenes as these we all recall. They are bright 
spots, oases in the desert of our lives. 
But the duck season, as the reader well knows, is not 
at such a time, but entirely the opposite. It seems as 
if at such times, the elements combine to disgust and 
discourage the hunter. And yet, a person experiences 
so many pleasant days while duck shooting, that it seems 
as though the elements have been so impartial, that 
we are not justified in complaining. It is but natural 
then, having to hunt at a time of the year when we can 
but expect cold and inclement weather, we should 
lighten our burdens when possible, and accept the 
advantage where offered. 
And now I want you, my reader, to go with me for 
but a day. <A day isn’t long in your life of years. You 
can readily recall not one, but many passed with 
Nature. Grant me your time and presence but for a 
brief day, and together we will go, and you shall see 
much that will be new to you. Youshall see how ducks 
