MONTAUK POINT. 181 
former, the latter will pour into our sympathetic 
ears wonderful accounts of their sport, and rival one 
another in recounting the long shots and the good 
shots they have made, the numbers of birds they 
have killed, and the pounds of bass they have caught. 
Under the influences of a delicious supper and 
moderate “nightcap,” we seek our couch with fond 
visions of the great flocks, and hopeful dreams that 
we will do as well on the morrow. At earliest dawn 
we spring from our bed, and rushing to the primitive 
little casement have only time to rejoice in the pro- 
mise of a fine day, ere we note the welcome cry of 
our noble prey hurrying westward over the beach. 
To don our shooting costume, to grasp our gun 
and ammunition, to load ourselves with the basket 
containing decoys and incidentals, and to emerge 
into the cool air of the September morning, require 
but a few minutes; we hasten across the sandy hil- 
locks to our appointed spot, marked by a hollow 
scooped out for the concealment of former visitants, 
and by the quantity of feathers and cigar-stumps 
lying loosely around; and with hands trembling 
with impatience, we distribute the stools in what 
seems to us to be the most artistic and seductive 
manner,—for the birds are now beginning to fly 
just within a tantalizing yet impracticable range, and 
we long for action. 
How wild, how glorious is the hour and the scene! 
The heavy boom of the ocean, which rolls almost at 
our feet, is relieved by the soft, mellow notes of the 
sea-birds which float through the air in varied yet 
