TUE DRAWBRIDGE. 259 



course, necessary for a naturalist to climb trees, to leap 

 fences, to cross quicksands ; and one devoid of skill can 

 readily come to grief. How confidently, but a few 

 days ago, I sprang to the top rail of a fence near by, 

 and spinning quarter way around, not simply did I face 

 in tlie direction I desired to go, but screwed myself fast 

 to an unseen projection of that same top rail — then 

 dangled hopelessly among the weeds. The result was 

 as likely to be serious as ludicrous, but fortune favored 

 me so far as to grant a release, with a large percentage 

 of an important garment left as toll with that inexorable 

 fence. Besides the loss of time, it was exasperating to 

 stand amid briers with half -clad limbs, and see how 

 easily all the trouble might have been avoided. It was 

 -worse to return in so dilapidated a condition and run 

 the gantlet of anxious inquirers as I sought the clothes- 

 press. 



The history of a chestnut rail can be read almost with- 

 out an effort. IIow vividly there comes to me the pict- 

 ure of one old woodman, as he shouldered his keen axe 

 and started for the woods ! How plainly I see him in 

 the snow-clad forest, resting a moment from his work, 

 and telling of some wild hunt or strange mishap that 

 befell him when a boy ! Then, too, looms up the patient 

 ox-team, with the load of rails upon the sled ; and better 

 than all, the pile of gnarly sticks not even the wood- 

 man's axe could conquer, and which, in due time, blazed 

 in that cavernous fireplace before which I passed so 

 many glorious winter nights — nights, if a storm raged, 

 which were sure to recall the thrilling stories of those 



