68 WOODLAND IDYLS. 



strategy of man. Ever on the alert must be its 

 eye, ever ready for instant action the strong 

 muscles of its limbs, else it goes down without 

 warning in the great battle of life which every 

 instant and everywhere is being waged upon 

 the surface of this earth of ours. Even I, had 

 I been game hungry, might have leveled my 

 rifle at its eye and tried the magic of a leaden 

 pellet to quench the candle of its life. 



As I write the cotton-tail has vanished. It 

 perhaps caught a glimpse of me or scented some 

 closer enemy. A theme for my brain cells for 

 a little time it furnished. Long may it amble 

 over these, its native heaths! 



With a great squawking cry of alarm a crow 

 flaps from the top of a maple about 75 feet 

 away and almost on a level with my head. He 

 had noiselessly alighted there and after a time 

 spied me out. His cry is soon answered and in 

 the trees about me gather his family, ranting 

 and railing at me with their coarse crow jibes 

 and curses. I am like a hawk or owl whom 

 they pester and mock for hours at a time. If 

 I can get the sights of my rifle leveled at one 

 of them I shall let go, for I dislike to be the 

 target for a crow chorus. 



The crows hereabouts, egg and chicken thieves 

 and corn gluttons that they are, have measured 

 accurately the range of the old shot guns which 

 I and other hunters usually carry, and are care- 



