Midsummer Memoranda 



who run about when but a day or two old 

 as wide-awake, chipper, and fluffy-clad as 

 chicks of that age, feeding and drinking 

 and helping themselves without assistance, 

 though only a trifle bigger than a thimble. 



They consequently make about as dainty 

 and delightful a spectacle as may be found 

 in nature. 



Years ago (really at an altogether remote 

 period in my career) I used to find that a 

 few full-grown Quail insisted occasionally in 

 getting into certain pyramidal wooden rab- 

 bit-traps of which I then had supervision 

 every winter. The statute of limitations 

 having run in the matter about a dozen 

 times over, both as to traps and birds, 

 I have no hesitation in saying that my duty 

 to release these victims was generally 

 honored in the breach — friends of mine in 

 those days considering quail-on-toast a 

 deHcacy not to be Hghtly disregarded. 



The big, high-sailing birds that float 

 along through the upper atmosphere — with 

 widely-extended, motionless wings, above 

 the shimmering heat and stillness of an 



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