52 



WILD FOWL SHOOTING. 



Don't know as we will need them may be not ; really 

 don't think we will, but on the bow, in an old dirty 

 coffee-sack, they are not conspicuous ; and if noticed 

 at all, have the grim appearance of the butt of an old 

 log, or decayed stump, and they serve in no small 

 degree as a blind. I would as soon think of going 

 on a trip from home without change of collars and 

 cuffs, as to think of going hunting in my scull boat 

 without decoys. They are to me as much a part of 

 my outfit, as my boots, coat, indeed, as anything, ex- 

 cept my gun. 



Early the next morning we start by train, going up the 

 Mississippi from Clinton, 18 or 20 miles. Through 

 the courtesy of the conductor, our boat and luggage is 

 carried in the baggage car, and we are put off the train 

 midway between stations, at the point requested. The 

 train moves swiftly along, and you and I are 011 the 

 banks of the Mississippi, whose swift flowing current 

 runs so quietly at our feet. 



The day is an ideal one. Had we power to have se- 

 lected it, our choice would have been just such a day. 

 'Tis fall ; and the frequent rains in the North have 

 overflowed the Black, the Wisconsin, the Chippewa, 

 and numerous small rivers all pouring vast floods into 

 the Father of Waters. The river has steadily risen. 

 Sandbars are covered ; lowlands submerged. The 

 narrow channels have been filled, until, between the 

 marked shores, distinct by the aid of tall trees and 

 overhanging willows, the eye beholds one vast' sea of 

 water. Notice the boat at our feet ! no skiff, no float, 

 no punt, but the graceful elegance of her outline 

 attracts your admiration at once. If I have pride in her 

 appearance, it is a pardonable one, for she is new ; only 



