2O6 GAME-BIRDS AT HOME. 



meanness, but if I could not find game myself I 

 did not want it. 



Thus, not being "native, and to the manner 

 born," I never became a genuine turkey-hunter; 

 and, hunting alone, never had the success I have 

 had with other game. But I have felt enough 

 bounding of the pulse in the deep woods to teach 

 me that the noblest of all American game is the 

 turkey. 



When in the morning of early spring the roll 

 of the old gobbler breaks upon your ear from 

 the distant timber along the river-bottom or the 

 mountain-side, your sleep is done. The tender 

 Boo woo woo of the pinnated grouse, the mel- 

 low Bob white of the quail, or the sweet Ril 

 wil lil of the upland plover all send their peculiar 

 thrill through your breast, yet they lull you to 

 sleep again. But when the wild gobble of the old 

 bird rings upon your ear from afar, nothing can 

 hold you in bed. Nor need any one tell you 

 it is useless to try to sneak close enough for a 

 shot at him. You are as determined to try it 

 as to run after a deer that has been started. 



With keen eye scanning every spot and motion 

 in the woods far ahead, you move with cautious 



