Where Town and Country Meet 



may hear it often when the corn is milky 

 in the ear, and the "coons" steal out to 

 gnaw and trample down the cornstalks, that 

 they may get at the sweet young kernels in 

 the husk. The coon-hunt by moonlight, 

 with a good dog or two, is to the Northern 

 boy what the 'possum-hunt of song and 

 story is to his cousin of the South. How 

 often have I lain, with my companions, 

 in the warm sand bordering the cornfield, 

 waiting with dogs in leash until we heard 

 the rustling of coons in the corn, and that 

 clear, whistling cry that floats so far over 

 silent field and woodland. Then a wild rush 

 up the edge of the corn, a crashing and 

 clamor of dogs among the stalks, and in a 

 few minutes we have the coons up a tree, 

 where we can shoot them at our leisure. 



Among the most mysterious sounds of 

 a summer night is the "booming" of the 

 night hawk. From far up in the sky a sud 

 den hollow, rushing sound is heard, continu 

 ing, perhaps, for a couple of seconds, and 

 then ceasing as abruptly as it began. This 

 sound is produced by the night hawk diving 

 from his lofty poise among the clouds. So 

 like an arrow does he drop, for hundreds of 



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