IN THE MARSH. 25 
Three o’clock in the morning, with the moon dimly 
shining, I call at your home. Ofcourse you are up. 
What young hunter goes to bed with mind filled with 
pleasant anticipations of a day of sport is able to sleep 
out his allotted time? He still remains undiscovered. 
Asa dark shadows flits between me and the lighted lamp, 
I knowa youthful form is impatiently awaiting my com- 
ing. ‘The door is open, and cordial greeting invites me 
in. Fragrant and delicious there steals to me through 
the frosty air the aroma of boiling coffee, and as I glance 
back at the calm sky, it seems to me that thesilent stars 
glitter less coldly down on the slumbering earth. 
Thoughtful in you to have this coffee ready before our 
departure. It is wonderful the effect a cup of hot 
coffee has on one’s system when starting out at break 
of day; there is nothing equal to it. A cup of coffee 
and a sandwich then are not surpassed by the most 
elaborate menu at any other time. There is an indefin- 
able relish in it that every hunter knows and appre- 
clates. 
The frosty November air has laden all unprotected 
objects with a whitened shroud. The stillness of the 
surroundings, the purity of the atmosphere, causes the 
faint rappings of the oars against the boat’s side to re- 
sound with aloud crash. Don lies snugly at my feet, 
his favorite bed. You pull with youthful strength and 
vigor the light boat, until she skims over the water; 
then, as if to show the strength of your strong arms, 
your broad back bends to the oars, the ash blades quiver, 
the boat not sufficiently long to respond to the full force 
of those strong strokes surges ahead, displacing a huge 
volume of water at her bow; while waves of miniature 
billows retreat from the boat’s sides. As you raise the 
