MY WOODLAND INTIMATES 



posed to be the completion of a picture of this 

 kind. A sportsman emerging from the cover, of 

 the trees; and, in advance of him, coming occa- 

 sionally to view among the long meadow grasses, 

 a dog in eager search of the little being whose 

 happy world darkened with that sudden flash 

 from the gun. 



I spent a delightful hour yesterday afternoon 

 under that old locust-tree on the far river-bank. 

 For some reason or other an abundance of grub 

 and insect life, probably it is an extremely pop- 

 ular haunt just now. While I watched, wood- 

 peckers of two or three varieties busily investi- 

 gated its trunk; flycatchers made lightning-like 

 sallies and lunges at small winged prey in its 

 neighborhood ; worm-eating warblers their little 

 striped heads coming constantly to view during 

 the conscientious journeys went carefully from 

 leaf to leaf, scrutinizing each possible lurking- 

 place of vegetation enemies ; and up aloft, forming 

 a sort of exclusive haute societe, was a company 

 of bluebirds. 



The locust-tree had many other visitors that 

 afternoon shy little creatures that kept well in 

 the sheltering arms of the branches while I 

 watched, and took their departure from the side 



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