238 THE MALLARD. 



raise him from the ground. But the free-born, the untamed Duck of the 

 swamps, — see how he springs on wing, and hies away over the woods. 



The Mallards generally arrive in Kentucky and other parts of the Western 

 Country, from the middle of September to the first of October, or as soon as 

 the acorns and beech-nuts are fully ripe. In a few days they are to be found 

 in all the ponds that are covered with seed-bearing grasses. Some flocks, 

 which appear to be guided by an experienced leader, come directly down on 

 the water with a rustling sound of their wings that can be compared only to 

 the noise produced by an Eagle in the act of stooping upon its prey, while 

 other flocks, as if they felt uneasy respecting the safety of the place, sweep 

 around and above it several times in perfect silence, before they alight. In 

 either case, the birds immediately bathe themselves, beat their bodies with 

 their wings, dive by short plunges, and cut so many capers that you might 

 imagine them to be stark mad. The fact, however, seems to be, that all this 

 alacrity and gaiety only shews the necessity they feel of clearing themselves 

 of the insects about their plumage, as well as the pleasure they experience 

 on finding themselves in a milder climate, with abundance of food around 

 them, after a hard journey of perhaps a day and a night. They wash 

 themselves and arrange their dress, before commencing their meal; and in 

 this other travellers would do well to imitate them. 



Now, towards the grassy margins they advance in straggling parties. See 

 how they leap from the water to bend the loaded tops of the tall reeds. 

 Woe be to the slug or snail that comes in their way. Some are probing the 

 mud beneath, and waging war against the leech, frog, or lizard that is 

 within reach of their bills; while many of the older birds run into the woods, 

 to fill their crops with beech-nuts and acorns, not disdaining to swallow also, 

 should they come in their way, some of the wood-mice that, frightened by 

 the approach of the foragers, hie towards their burrows. The cackling they 

 keep up would almost deafen you, were you near them; but it is suddenly 

 stopped by the approach of some unusual enemy, and at once all are silent. 

 With heads erected on out-stretched necks, they anxiously look around. It 

 is nothing, however, but a bear, who being, like themselves, fond of mast, is 

 ploughing up the newly fallen leaves with his muzzle, or removing an old 

 rotting log in search of worms. The Ducks resume their employment. But 

 another sound is now heard, one more alarming. The bear raises himself on 

 his hind legs, snuffs the air, and with a loud snort gallops off towards the 

 depths of his cane-brake. The Ducks retreat to the water, betake themselves 

 to the centre of the pool, and uttering half-stifled notes await the sight of 

 the object they dread. There the enemy cunningly advances, first covered 

 by one tree, then by another. He has lost his chance of the bear, but as he 

 is pushed by hunger, a Mallard will do for the bullet of his rusty rifle. It is 



