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THE O0LOG1ST. 



neath one of the trees in the narrow 

 belt of natural growth elders at the 

 head of the lake, and counts more kinds 

 of Warblers and suchlike in half an 

 hour than you big woodsy fellows of 

 Pennsylvania and Michigan can iden- 

 tify in a week!) From the high plateau 

 of my Wilder home, Heron Lake, in 

 summer, appears as a narrow belt of 

 silver, girding the greenery of the field 

 and meadow, five miles to the south. 

 But, in mid March of this year, as I 

 came down to "look over the .ground," 

 it lay, as a sombre, gray possibility in 

 the vague distance, whence and whith- 

 er came and weut great phalanxes of 

 Mallards, impelled by hunger; and 

 dazed by the mist and the sleet that 

 swept and drove, here, there, and , 

 everywhere. 



On April 3d this region gave one a 

 kindlier welcome. There lay the lake, 

 and Gulls were wheeling and whirling, 

 Ring-bills, maybe, for they did not come 

 near, nor linger long. The evening of 

 April 6 a flock of my favorite White- 

 fronted Geese sounded their haut-boy 

 call, and early next morning, on the 

 wings of the warm south wind, came a 

 wave of migration, gi eat flocks of Can- 

 vas-backs, in lines and V's, and cres- 

 cents, their wings silvery gleaming, and 

 among them all, one solitary Snow 

 Goose. 



Next morning the clear, resonant 

 bassoon of the Sandhill Cranes called 

 the eye upward to where the stately 

 forms were sailing northward, "half- 

 mile" high, or gun-shot low, in squads 

 and companies of six, nine, fifteen, 

 iorty-five: why didn't they come down 

 and nest, as they used to twenty-five 

 years ago. It was too much,— this super- 

 abundant sign of bird life. My car 

 (with horse and carriage) not yet ar- 

 rived, I set out for Heron Lake on foot. 

 Just launching my boat, I hear again 

 the Sandhill's trumpet call, and, look! 

 seventy-five, passing, low down, across 

 the lake-arm, barely out of range! 



I near an island. Blue-winged Teals 

 arise from the grass; a Gad wall drake 

 whistles by, unheeding boat or man, a 

 gaudy Shoveller winds his watchman's 

 rattle, across the bay;and a white cloud 

 of Forster's Terns came whirling and 

 gliding past with strident calls. 



A large island tempts me ashore. 

 From growths of reed and grass, with 

 water hip deep, the Mallards rise, sud- 

 denly, and escape my gun. In a shal- 

 low pool are Green-wings feeding, and 

 here on the margins, are springing the 

 tender shoots of Vallisneria and now I 

 know what calls hither those rafts of 

 Canvas-backs that are whitening the 

 distant waves, rising, now and then, 

 for very unrest and lurking fear. 



About mid-afternoon the incessant 

 passing of the ducks, beyond my range 

 became monotonous, when suddenly a 

 pair of Canada Geese appears, above 

 the near cane brake horizon, perhaps a 

 half mile away. The distance was rid- 

 iculous, but what sportsman would not 

 have grasped his gun afresh, and wait- 

 ed a nearer approach, with beating 

 heart. The birds were passing slowly 

 over a small island clad with canebrake 

 of unusual luxuriance, when suddenly 

 four bellowing shots rolled out in deli- 

 berate succession from beneath the 

 birds. With renewed eagerness I 

 watched the Geese 'move onward, un- 

 ruffled, expecting instantly the spasm- 

 odic lift of wing and the wheeling fall, 

 for these birds fly far when hit and die 

 hard. Suddenly, sure enough, one 

 bird poises her wings and lowers her 

 course, slowly, steadily and drops in the 

 midst of a bare, fire scorched shallow 

 on the lake margin, over a mile awa3 r . 

 Quickly I take oar to help the success- 

 ful sportsman find his bird. 



As I near the island where the shots 

 were fired I see upon rounding a point 

 a whole raft of Ducks, gracefully riding 

 the restless waves. Cautiously I hug 

 the grassy margins, and leap ashore 

 and steal across .the island through 



