WILD FOWL SHOOTING. 



The day is beautiful, the purity of the atmosphere, 

 the stillness of the open water, as it peeps now and then 

 through the floating ice, reminds me of a day, two 

 years ago, when hunting on this same broad stream, I 

 saw a sight that held me spell-bound, and for a time 

 mute with astonishment and admiration. 



There was a party of us camped for the night about 

 four miles south of Bellevue. The first night it turned 

 cold, and the morning following the air seemed filled 

 with frost. The slightest sounds were carried to almost 

 phenomenal distances ; our voices, unusually clear that 

 morning, seemed to possess increased strength and vol- 

 ume. Conversation in ordinary tones echoed and re- 

 echoed through the woods. When the sun rose the sky 

 was cloudless : his bright rays pierced through the 

 deep and almost impenetrable gloom ; the frost disap- 

 peared and rose in clouds of vapor, on every side, the 

 trees were laden with the most beautiful frost I ever 

 saw. Our first view was taken when in the mid- 

 dle of the river, as we were slowly and gently sculling 

 across. 



All at once as if some huge curtain was raised, the 

 sun glared over the tops of the adjacent hills and the 

 frost-laden trees were exposed to our view, as if by 

 magic. We were west of an island, and had a distinct 

 view of the lights and shadows caused by the sun shin- 

 ing through the trees. In the darkest shadows the 

 frost, dull and lifeless, had the appearance of hammered 

 silver ; then as the light grew stronger, the frost turned 

 to a brighter silver, and when the full rays were turned 

 on, it sparkled and scintillated in the morning light. 

 No diamond ever showed more variable and brilliant 

 hues than did the frost that morning, as it quivered 



