IPQlben <3ra08 10 <5reen 



woods is hunting par excellence, and the game we 

 bag, if we do bag it, has not yielded up its little life 

 to satisfy our whim. It is not unlikely the sound 

 heard was that of a bird, and of some very small 

 bird at that, but the distinctness of the utterance 

 suggests larger game. A song, for instance, that 

 if heard in the open fields would be scarcely no- 

 ticed, here in the woods fairly fills the air, and is 

 even echoed and re-echoed down the leafy aisles* 

 We are not alone after all, and with this pleasing 

 thought we go deeper and deeper into the forest. 

 Every sensation is intensified as we progress. Con- 

 stant expectation renders us more bold, and if we 

 turn a corner suddenly and find an owl staring us in 

 the face, or a grouse goes booming away from our 

 feet, we are not startled, but thrilled with a healthy 

 excitement. 



There is a road through the woods, seldom used 

 and so should be grassy, but the ruts are lined 

 with sun-dews instead: grass-like, in a general 

 way, but with club-head or shepherd's crook end- 

 ings; but what mischief they are up to when 

 small insects come their way. The glistening 

 freshness is sweetened even that it may be more 

 tempting, and woe to the fly that stops to take a 

 sip. It is not only caught but eaten! Not all 

 plants are content with air and water for a food 

 supply. These sun-dews are carnivorous, and so 

 is their cousin, the fly-trap, that grows in North 

 Carolina; but we need not travel so far to find 

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