stration was in order to prove to them how it all 
nested, compressed and compacted into a whole 
and came up the river_ with us in the canoe. 
Their wonder they made manifest. 
At the very start they would have it no other 
way, but that—“You-all chaps come to the house 
and spend the night with us!”—Which courtesy, 
required some very delicate handling on our 
part to enlighten them as to our very earnest de¬ 
sire to occupy our own camp for the night; but 
during our later camp fire chat, we accepted 
their hearty invitation to take a trip through the 
corn fields back from the river and have a crack 
at the wild doves, in the morning. 
The moon is descending in the southern sky 
hanging the sleeping bags to the limbs of the 
cedars with their dew damp coverings to the 
south to dry in the sunshine. Launching the 
canoe 'we are off up the river 10 the house, 
which we find to be a neat commodious bunga¬ 
low and our hosts astir, whose jovial greetings 
are hearty and sincere. 
Preparations for the shooting are quickly dis¬ 
patched. The average Southerner is brisk and 
prompt in matters appertaining to sport afield or 
afloat; but his procrastinating behindhand meth¬ 
ods are marked by a personified listlessness 
along other lines, especially so of his process of 
going about his sunny country, his unexpeditious 
mode of travel requiring his carriers to conform 
to his disburdened convenience. 
behind the shocks with the flight in view, mark 
it down, stalk it, flush it and blaze away. 
It is early afternoon when we again assemble 
at the team. My bag is two brace, Montie has 
nine birds, the whole bag of fourteen brace and 
a single, twenty nine birds in all. We pluck 
them on our way back to the house leaving a 
trail of feathers flying from our chariot as 
we jolt through the woods. 
With solicitude we await the conclusions of 
the darkey chap in the kitchen. The delectable 
odors wafted to us from his sanctum augmenting 
the vacuous sensations beneath our belt buckles. 
The sun is a descending ball of fire in the west 
when we are finally ushered into the dining 
room to dinner. 
ere we unroll our sleeping bags over a mattress 
of ferns and crawl into them for the night. 
Roll in your blankets soft and warm, 
In the open under the sky; 
Lulled to your rest by the strains you love best— 
The croon of the stream’s lullaby. 
Astir in your bed at dawn, you note the crys¬ 
tal beauty of the dew glistening pendants in 
their settings of bronze, green and gold. The 
water-proof cover of your bag is silvered with 
them, the soft breezes of early morning whis¬ 
per through the withered grasses and under¬ 
growth about you and frisk with the mist on the 
river, your (blankets are cozy and you snuggle 
down in them to doze until rosy sunshine calls 
you to be up and doing. 
Breakfast over, we set the camp to rights, 
An Easy Portage. 
We assemble at the bam, each with his ord¬ 
nance in hand, to board the plantation wagon, 
drawn by mules, our conveyance to the fields of 
slaughter. Gleefully we vibrate over the crude 
hewed roads through the forest where we have 
a glimpse at intervals of a dilatory lumber in¬ 
dustry taking place among 'the pines. Clearing 
the woods, the corn fields stretch their expanse of 
parched, vapid vistas in sear gray shocks, amid 
their short spear-like stubble throughout the 
fields to the distant blue of the sky beyond. 
We tether the team to the trees at the edge 
of the clearing, the hunt is without dogs and we 
separate to cover the field, with instructions to 
cross the road beyond to the next, cover it and 
return. The going is a stumble over the old corn- 
hills with your gaze on the skyline, to seek cover 
Pray, gentlemen, come sit ye down. 
Partake of God’s bounty, His earth, 
Has furnished her yield from wildwood and 
field—; 
Be thankful—and dine ye with mirth. 
Steaming soup—Perch and smoking sweet po¬ 
tatoes, the fish fried to a golden crispness that 
permits one to split them in halves, lift the back 
bone, scrape away the thin belly parts leaving 
naught before you but a creamy white boneless 
cutlet. Then our own game broiled; boiled rice 
served with a rich gravy, crimson sweet peppers, 
filled with a cold-slaw, and finally, home made 
wine from the juice of the wild scuppermong 
grape. 
Later, on the moon-lit porch, with dgars 
(Continued on page 64.) 
