WILD SPORTS m THE SOUTH. 



CHAPTEE I. 



TUKKEY- HUNTING. 



" flourish, hidden deep in fern, 



Old oak I love thee well, *. . 



A thousand thanks for what I learn, 

 And what remains to tell." 



Tennyson. 



A goodly sight is a tree ! Its trunk, supporting a thousand 

 branches that interweave the blue air with their tracery ; lithe to 

 the wind, stubborn to the storm, the pillars bend but do not 

 break, in the leafy aisles of Pan's cathedral. Its roots, far-reaching, 

 with tiny fibres probe the earth for moisture, and send the life- 

 blood through the arteries to the fragrant blossoms and the topmost 

 leaves that " clap their little hands in glee with one continuous 

 sound." To its shadow not only the beasts of the field come for 

 shelter, but millions of insects seek a home under the folds of its 

 bark, or weave their cradles in its rocking boughs. On its 

 branches the birds build their nests, and in its hollows the 

 squirrel and the hooting-owl conceal their young, and the wild bee 

 stores its sweets, while both day and night the buds breathe their 

 perfume, and the wind, the leaves, and its feathered guests, chant 

 an anthem of praise. 



How it doth delight the heart to look down the forest, where 

 trees of every form stand in countless numbers, and their shade, 

 with its twilight, makes a new climate, where new flora gem the 

 sheltered earth, where parasite plants and vines festoon the trees, 



A 



