canvas-backs from the Chesapeake are exceptionally fine, and they must be 

 brought from those far-famed flats for their delicacy and flavor to be known 

 and appreciated. But no greater mistake can be made, as there are many places, 

 especially among the lakes in the West, where the wild celery grows in pro- 

 fusion, and the canvas-backs from those localities are equal, in gastronomic 

 qualities, to any fed and killed on the Chesapeake. 



It has seemed to me that this species has become much scarcer in the 

 past few years ; certainly many places where it used to be abundant in the 

 winter are now almost deserted by this duck ; but it cannot be wondered at if 

 it is so, for when we consider the persecutions it suffers from gunners striving 

 to obtain the high price it brings in the market, and the thousands that are 

 shipped to Europe — poor things that have been kept frozen or packed in ice 

 until all the flavor has departed — it is surprising that there are many left. With 

 no effort made to preser^•e it from extinction, but every kind of scheme employed 

 for its destruction, we must become accustomed to witness the noblest game 

 duck that ever flew gradually disappear from our land. 



Phoebe 



It is a wee sad-colored thing 



As shy and secret as a maid 

 That, ere in choir the robins sing, 



Pipes its own name like one afraid. 



It seems pain-prompted to repeat 



The story of some ancient ill. 

 But Phoebe! Phoebe! sadl\ s'^ccet 



Is all it says, and then is still. 



It calls and listens. Earth and sky, 



Hushed by the pathos of its fate, 

 Listen: no whisper of reply 



Comes from its doom-dissevered mate. 



Phoebe! is all it has to say 



In plaintive cadence o'er and o'er. 

 Like children that have lost their way, 



.\nd know their names, but nothing more. 



— James Russell Loicell. 



565 



