90 UPLAND SHOOTING. 



growth, which would have carried us quite to the sky had 

 not our listeners refused to swallow, verbatim et literatim, 

 our proffered cup of joy. 



Does it make the retrospection less delightful to think 

 of the first successful shot as having been made at a sit- 

 ting bird, with a wof ul-looking gun, loaded with cheap 

 powder, newspaper wadding, and No. 1 shot? 



Was not the boy of whom we borrowed a jolly bit of 

 humanity, for one obliged to work on Saturdays, and did 

 he ever refuse to lend that venerable relic upon the 

 unsubstantial consideration of I O U eternal friendship? 



Did not the man who sold us the powder say it was 

 some he had bought for his own use, and he only parted 

 with a little of it because of the great love he bore us? 



Did he not say that he was out of No. 3. but that 

 with No. 1 we need not carry a club with which to give 

 the finishing stroke? 



And was not the newspaper equal to hornet' s-nest for 

 wadding? 



Indeed it was, for it brought a "free from care" 

 happiness we do not experience later in life, though 

 equipped with all that fancy dictates. 



In looking back upon my many trips afield in pursuit 

 of this noble bird of the uplands, it is with regret that I 

 recall the fact of having been denied the brief period of 

 ecstasy which nearly always accompanies the capture of 

 the first specimen. It is a thousand miles to the scene 

 of that first exploit, yet distance and time are obliterated 

 at a glance, for I see a smooth-flowing, beautiful river, 

 between woods of maple, and beech, and oak. The sun 

 shines upon a light skiff which contains an indulgent 

 father and a ten-year-old, happy boy. On one of the 

 longer reaches, the boat is met by a lone Indian in a 

 light canoe, who, without flourish of rhetoric, tells of a 

 flock of wild turkeys to be found at the bend above. 



