SHARP EYES. 57 



We think we have looked at a thing sharply until 

 we are asked for its specific features. I thought I 

 knew exactly the form of the leaf of the tulip-tree, 

 until one day a lady asked me to draw the outlines 

 of one. A good observer is quick to take a hint and 

 to follow it up. Most of the facts of nature, espe- 

 cially in the life of the birds and animals, are well 

 screened. We do not see the play because we do 

 not look intently enough. The other day I was 

 sitting with a friend upon a high rock in the woods, 

 near a small stream, when we saw a water-snake 

 swimming across a pool toward the opposite bank. 

 Any eye would have noted it, perhaps nothing more. 

 A little closer and sharper gaze revealed the fact that 

 the snake bore something in its mouth, which, as we 

 went down to investigate, proved to be a small cat- 

 fish, three or four inches long. The snake had cap- 

 tured it in the pool, and, like any other fisherman, 

 wanted to get its prey to dry land, although it itself 

 lived mostly in the water. Here, we said, is being 

 enacted a little tragedy, that would have escaped any 

 but sharp eyes. The snake, which was itself small, 

 had the fish by the throat, the hold of vantage among 

 all creatures, and clung to it with great tenacity. The 

 snake knew that its best tactics was to get upon dry 

 land as soon as possible. It could not swallow its 

 victim alive, and it could not strangle it in the water. 

 For a while it tried to kill its game by holding it up 

 out of the water, but the fish grew heavy, and every 

 few moments its struggles brought down the snake's 



