128 



WILD SPORTS IN THE SOUTH. 



tures, and the droll remarks of the men, who were in the greatest 

 glee at the success of the hunt. The shore birds were running 

 before us, or wheeling over our heads, and Lou Jackson was telling 

 their names, and how their coming marked the progress of the 

 year. The sands were hard and level, just rippled by the sea. 

 The day was waning in that clearness of atmosphere and stillness 

 of decay that marks the early fall, ere a leaf has dried enough to 

 rustle. Mike's ugly face seemed to draw a reflection from the 

 season ; Poke's laugh was as musical as the waters, and, wearied 

 with the day's exertion, I scarcely knew how pleasantly the 

 moments were falling, until now, when looking them over through 

 the telescope of years. 



