Hn tbe Moo^s wttb tbc Bow 



begins to stir in me. As the birds migrate 

 so do I. Where the palms and pines, the 

 magnoHas and the Hve-oaks flourish, there 

 I go in winter. When a green wave of 

 exploding buds and rapidly developing 

 leaves rolls gently northward, beginning 

 late in March on the Gulf-coast and reach- 

 ing Indiana with the last days of April, I 

 try to keep pace with the oscines. Steam 

 and sleeping-cars aid me at need, when 

 the springtide makes a flower-sprent dash, 

 or when the migrant songsters put on a 

 spurt of speed here and there. 



All the winter I have been entertained 

 by the wild fowl of the sea, the shore-birds, 

 the waders, the divers, the long-legged in- 

 habitants of marsh and rushy swale. I 

 have lost some valuable arrows in sloppy 

 jungles and on miry bayou shores, where 

 I shot at rare specimens and got them not. 

 Even the big sea opened its mouth and 

 swallowed a shaft or two, pile, feathers, 

 and all ; for the pelicans flew low over my 

 boat, flapping lazily, fine targets to tempt 

 the most saintly archer. The man at the 

 helm looked asquint at me and grinned 

 203 



