114 WOODLAND IDYLS. 



changing every second, the one receding, the 

 other lengthening. Falling as they do on the 

 luxuriant growth of grass and leaf, together 

 they give the woodland green a charm, a beauty, 

 a loveliness which words cannot express. Peace 

 seemeth here to reign and quiet to have her 

 abiding place; yet strife is ever present and 

 warfare never ending. Every bird and insect, 

 every mammal and reptile if abroad, has eyes 

 open and ears alert for the slightest move or 

 sound which will betoken the presence of an 

 enemy, or of something on which it can make a 

 meal. Even I, sitting quietly here, have the 

 rifle by my side and am looking and listening 

 for crow or squirrel. But my rifle is not dan- 

 gerous. It can as yet do little more than fright- 

 en. Twice have I shot at and missed that ani- 

 mated atom of a mammal, a gray-squirrel. Were 

 it not for the sunnies and goggle-eyes which 

 nibble at my hook, I fear that my meat each 

 meal would have to be a smoked morsel of a 

 domestic pig. 



As I sit here waiting for game, I feel that I 

 too am game for smaller forms. A double har- 

 vest of chiggers will I doubtless gather, and a 

 mosquito every few seconds tries to drill a hole 

 through my skin. Yea, verily, nature is not as 

 peaceful as it seems to be. 



The larger hackberry butterfly 41 is again in 



41 Apatura dyton Bd. 



