50 AMERICAN GAME BIRD SHOOTING. 
by the hostess, and we crowned our labor with a feast fit 
for the daintiest of epicures, for the bird was in the 
finest condition. 
Lying in ambush, and alluring turkeys to it by ap- 
pealing to their erotic feelings, may not be the highest 
form of sport, yet it is far superior to grouse-shooting on 
preserved moors, or pheasant battues, which are really a 
“slaughter of the innocents.” It is not pulling a trig- 
ger and bagging a bird that constitutes true sport—that, 
really, ought to be the secondary consideration—it is the 
opportunity which a love of the gun affords for rambling 
amidst delightful scenes and of communing with nature 
in her various moods. What can be more interesting 
than to ride on horseback, day after day, from sunrise 
to sunset, over hills and through woods and valleys, and 
camp each evening in some wild or picturesque nook, or 
seek shelter in a lonely farm-house, where eternal hospi- 
tality reigns and every wayfarer is made welcome. 
When a party of men start out on a turkey-hunting 
expedition, they may travel for days without meeting a 
flock, in some regions, whereas they may be able to dis- 
charge their guns twenty times a day in others. It is 
the uncertainty of finding, and the difficulty of outwit- 
ting, the birds that makes their pursuit so infatuating 
to true sportsmen, and not the mere killing; hence, the 
enthusiasm of successful turkey-hunters is quite pardon- 
able. The gobble of the bird is a blood-quickening song, 
which some men love better than any refrain in an opera; 
while the death of a male adult makes them feel like 
victorious generals. That the pursuit of the bird is very 
attractive is quite evident, when we consider that men 
are Willing to ‘‘rough” it, in the literal sense of the 
word, by riding fifteen or twenty miles a day over 
mountains, across streams, through dense forests and al- 
most impenetrable thickets, and pull down and put up 
fences for the sake of bagging a gobbler. 
