266 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS. 



tliem, and summer after summer passed without success 

 attending them. ]S"ot one hut was too swift for me. 

 Time after time I struck at them with long switches, 

 always aiming well ahead, yet never succeeding in ac- 

 comphshing more than the amputation of their tails. 

 They seemed always bent upon going forward, and 

 dodged me successfully when I attempted to check 

 their progress. " Forward !" was their motto ; forward 

 they went, and disappeared. 



I could never find their nests, nor see their young; 

 never could discover their winter retreats, nor learn 

 how far they are affected by the weather. They came 

 and went along the sunny highway of the ancient fence ; 

 travelled it from April till October, and were gone. 

 Strangers as they were, I always hailed them as my 

 friends, and look for them now, listening for their fleet- 

 ing footsteps where the hot sunshine falls, and seeing 

 them only wlien, with closed eyes, I recall the happy 

 wanderings of many a year ago. 



Even when the grasping farmer raids upon the pretty 

 tangle of wild growths that another furrow may be add- 

 ed to his field, the naked fence becomes no eyesore to 

 the wanderer. Wild life will love it still, though shorn 

 of half its glory. But set in its little wilderness, it is a 

 country worthy of exploration, and fruitful, be it in sum- 

 mer or in winter, of strange adventure, curious knowl- 

 edge, and facts that are treasures to him who delves for 

 Nature's mysteries. 



The voyage of to-day was but the rounding of a little 



