1S6 WILD FOWL SHOOTING. 
one day, with blunt arrows. I would now willingly 
tramp all day to kill as many with breech-loader. 
Quail are very fond of grain of nearly all kinds, 
especially corn and buckwheat; and in such fields they 
will surely be found. They are fond of seeds, berries, 
and in old cattle paths they get the cream of their 
existence. 
The old saying about “the early bird catching the 
worm” is true here. The early hunter is the suc- 
cessful one. He should start out in the gray of the 
morning, and when the sun is showing his genial face, 
banishing the frost from trees, grass and stubble, the 
keen dog should be widely ranging through expectant 
places, and his master should be no laggard. There is 
no sport excelled by this. The bracing, keen air, the 
tireless setter, the expected game, the broad fields, the 
panorama stretched before the hunter, clothed in purple, 
green, yellow and brown, all serve to make the hunt 
intensely exciting. Nature, touched by the withering 
hand of Jack Frost, presents a picture never to be for- 
gotten. The constant anticipation of finding the hidden 
bird, the ceaseless watching of the bounding dog, as he 
leaps joyously forward, sweeping his silken tail to and 
fro over the grass, is a sight so grand that it fills the 
very soul of the hunter with delight. 
** When Autumn smiles, all beauteous in decay 
And paints each checkered grove with various hues, 
My setter ranges in the new shorn fields 
His nose in air erect; from ridge to ridge, 
Panting he bounds, his quartered ground divides 
In equal intervals, nor careless leaves 
One inch untried. At length, the tainted gales 
His nostrils wide inhale ; quick joy elates 
His beating heart, which awed by discipline 
Severe, he dares not own, but cautious creeps, 
Low, cowering step by step, at last, attains 
His proper distance, there he stops at once. 
