We spoke no word—all beauties vied
To charm our souls; and, satisfied,
We felt no care, no doubt, no fear—
For there we vowed, in accents dear,
To walk life’s pathway side by side.
Howell Stroud England.
WINTER SHOOTING IN FLORIDA.
BY F. CAMPBELL MOLLER.
WITH the middle of December the upland shooting in the Eastern States comes virtually to an end. To be sure, a couple of weeks remain before the curtain of legal protection descends over the game still to be found in the dead fields and snow-whitened coppices on the first day of the new year, but the remnants of the quail bevies are wild, and, in much shot-over districts, begin to approach in their watchful behavior and antics the typical wariness of the hawk. As for the ruffed-grouse, one needs to be a thorough workman, both in shooting and stalking, to render even a tolerable account of these birds. The last woodcock was seen nearly a month ago, this mid December day, as one fired and missed him among the black alders, and he is up and away on the next stage of his journey to the swamp-lands of the Carolinas or the Mississippi.