WILD TURKEY HUNTING. 15 
strike off at a speed, that, as has been said of the os- 
trich, ‘‘ scorneth the horse and his rider.” 
As a general thing, turkey-hunters, if they be of 
literary habits, read Isaak Walton, and Burton’s “ Ana- 
tomy of Melancholy,” and all—learned or unlearned— 
are, of course, enthusiastic disciples of the rod and line. 
The piscator can be an enthusiastic admirer of the ope- 
ra, the wild turkey-hunter could not be, for his taste 
never carries him beyond the simple range of natural 
notes. Herein, he excels. 
Place him in the forest with his pipe, and no rough 
Pan ever piped more wilily, or more in harmony with 
the scenes around him. The same tube modulates the 
sound of alarm, and the dulcet strains of love; it plays 
plaintively the complaining notes of the female, and, in 
sweet chirrups, calls forth the lover from his hiding- 
place; it carols among the low whisperings of the fledg- 
ling, and expresses the mimic sounds of joy at the trea- 
sure of food, that is discovered under the fallen leaf, or 
half hidden away in the decaying wood. 
And all this is done so craftily, that ears, on which 
nature has set her stamp of peculiar delicacy, and the 
instinct, true almost as the shadow to the sunlight; are 
both deceived. 
The wild turkey-hunter is a being of solitude. There 
is no noise or boisterous mirth in his pursuit. 
Even the dead leaf, as it sails in circuitous motion 
to the earth, intrudes upon his caution, and alarms the 
