The Cecil Whig. [volume] (Elkton, Md.) 1841-current, 1872-10-05

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these withered plains, kindled by some
reckless creature for wantonness or his
own convenience, or, oftener, by the care
less match or finished cigar, or ashes shak-
en- from the universal pipe, the very black
ness of desolation is left behind the flames.
The loss, to tillers Of the prairie, is often
appalling: barns, stacks. corn, even the
very home ITSELF Said one of Sherman S
veterans to me, recently, raising himself to
his full six feet, his eye flashing as when
he stormed McAllister: "M Mr.. c., if should
catch a man firing the prairie at this place,
as God helps me, would shoot him down
in his deed" Only few miles from me.
an emigrant, travelling in his close-covered
wagon aoiM the uind, was overtaken by the
flames, coming down on him unseen
Horses, family, wagon, were all destoyed
in a moment; and himself lived barely long
enough to tell the tale. Yet every night,
from this to winter, the red sky in every
direction will show the appearance i'll the
distance of a burning Chicago.
To those, however, who love to follow
The game of the prairies, the alteration by
frost has many compensations.
The change in the habits of the feather
ed denzens of the prairie is as great as in
the prairie itself. The grouse-or shall
we say chickens, as the custom s9-which
yesterday lay in the stubble, under the
very nose of your dog and muzzle of your
gun, and which, in the grass, you could
not kick up ,cih your boot, now gather in
flocks of from fifty to one hundred and
fifty; and, under the warning spring and
cackle of some old drummer of past de-
cade, rise in the distance and fly booming
on for miles, to the infinite disgust of man
and dog, who have not yet even suspected
their presence. The green and the blue
winged teal now gather in clusters in every
prairie pond, preparatory to their early
flight southwark, from the autumn frosts.
The mallard, bred in the locality, are join
ed by their brethren from the North; and
in vast numbers alternate from the corn
and stubble-fields TO the water, giving
promise of unfailing shooting till long after
snow. The great whooping crane-the
white and the brown-visit the corn,
morning and evening; then stand in fiocks,
far out on the warm prairie, or soar in the
midday sun, mere snow-fakes in the vast
hight they delight in.
The brant, with noisy brattle, and the
wild goose, with his wellknown "honk"'
seek the luscious cornfields which they
remember so we'll since they left them last
Spring, or even the year before. All this
exuberance of feathered life, with the fine
bracing air and the cloudless sky-that
glory of all glories Of the west-in place Of
the sweltering heat of August, make the
man of the gun almost reconciled to the
death of grass and flower, and to the faded
look of the prairie.
The vast variety of the game of the prai-
RE, in autumn, cannot be better set forth
than by the detail of a single days shoot
ing. That will now attempt.
In the first place we must have our
horse and buggy. So long are the stretch
es from field to field, or from pond to pond
and so heavy and abundant is the game, that
anything like going out on afoot, and SO
returning, is out of the question. A goose
will weigh 12 pounds: a brant, 6; a NAL
lard or chicken, to pounds: it is impos-
sible to lug game like this around or even
to get it home.
Therefore, with old Peter to do the dis
tances and the burden, and my little ten
year-old, with his own happy chat and
enjoyment of the thing, to hold him, on
occasion; behold us afield. We come to
the cornfields, skirting the vast prairie. 1t
is yet morning, and the grouse and NAL
lard have not done feeding. Leaving my
little boy to keep the road, enter the
field. Bess, my dog, takes to her work,
at once, ranging among the stalks and rap
ping a perfect tattoo on them with her
tail, in her eager quest for game. We
pass but little way, when "whir-r !
whir-r - far ahead, out of scent and out
of shot, rises whole pack of fifty birds,
and are off, far as the eye can follow them
Bess crouches; looks back; fears reproof;
and is evidently much relieved when kindly
hidden to {" hold up" Slowly and carefully
she now does her work; often looking
back, that she may not lose me in the will
derness of CORN these sagacious crea-
lures want mans company in their hunt,
and soon she has her reward. Down the
wind-we must always hunt against or
across it-comes that scent that electrifies
the bird-dog, and sets every nerve tingling.
With eye fixed, lip quivering, the whole
body in melted tensions she steals on. No
nosing the ground; no ignoble tracking;
breast high her delicate brown head is
borne, and, for her, the universe lies in that
tainted air. She stops; looks once around
at me; then becomes fixed as stone. A
brown, round, and lusty, and cackles his
defiance, as over the tall stalks he sweeps
with his powerful wings. But am ready,
too; moment for raising my gun, cock
Ing IL DIS IL 10 iaiocu, thcu Iie eApiooioii,
and the bird falls heavily to the earth,
while the flock feathers come floating by
me, down the wind. Up rises another at
the report, as near and as swift; the trusty
trigger is true to the touch, and he, too,
falls. A moment, and am again loaded for
use Parker breech loader-and, at the
word, Bess "seeks dead!' Nosing it for a
moment, she shows evident pleasure at my
praise, -praise costs little and goes great
way, with both dogs and men-then, on the
word. she passes to the other bird. But it
is not there A few feet, and she has the
track; it was wing broken, and has made
good run Of many rod, in our delay. 1t