AN OCTOBER DIARY. 273 



growth renders somewhat problematical, the brilliant 

 crimson of the gum-tree's foliage at once strikes me as 

 the prominent feature of the spot, so far as the eye is 

 concerned. If there could be but music with this, I 

 thought — and straightway a Carolina wren, up from 

 gome leafy depth, mounted a dead branch of an oak 

 near by and whistled "welcome" in wren-like fashion. 

 Except for us two the place seemed deserted. The 

 moaning tree-tops, waving in the wind, the crisp clatter 

 of dry leaves as they fell singly on the thicket below, 

 the hum of a few bees fretting for the absent flowers, 

 were the only sounds that disturbed the quiet of this 

 long-neglected nook. Desirous of better luck, I gazed 

 searchingly through the trees, hoping that something 

 was as quietly watching me as I was hunting for it ; 

 and it proved so. As is often the case, when disappoint- 

 ment began to tell heavily, I saw move slowly a sliort 

 distance an object that seemed unlike the mere wind- 

 tossed trembling of leafy twigs. Drawing still nearer, I 

 readily recognized it. There, in a tall gum-tree, largely 

 overgrown by a fox-grapevine, sat a small raccoon. 



Probably no one of our few remaining mammals has 

 figured more extensively in recent literature than the 

 raccoon, and none is more accurately known, perhaps, 

 as to its habits ; and yet, when I chance upon one in 

 wild woods, and see it going about its business, in an 

 unconcerned way, it is pretty sure to attract my atten- 

 tion and check my progress. This was the case to-day. 

 While scarcely larger than an opossum, with habits 

 not more fraught with danger from men or dogs ; good 

 climbers and excellent burrowers, raccoons seem steadily 



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