242 THE WILD TURKEY. 



wandering along with his thoughtless playfellows. Once 

 he was caught in a pen, but escaped through an 

 overlooked hole in the top ; and three feathers of 

 last year's fan decayed beneath the weight of a spring 

 trap. 



All this experience has rendered him a very deep 

 bird, and he will sit on a stump plumiog himself when 

 common hunters are charming away, but never so 

 wisely as to deceive him twice. They all reveal them- 

 selves and their crafty designs by overstepping the 

 modesty of nature : they woo him too much ; his loves 

 are far more coy, far less intrusive. 



Poor bird! He does not know that the hunter is 

 spreading his snare for him, and is even then so sure 

 of his victim, as to be revolving in his mind whether his 

 goodly carcase shall be a present to a newly-married 

 friend, or be served up in savoury fumes upon his own 

 bachelor but hospitable board. 



The last cluch heard by the gobbler fairly roused 

 him, and he presses forward ; at one time he runs with 

 speed, then stops, as if not yet quite satisfied ; something 

 holds him back ; still he lingers only for a moment in 

 his course, until coming to a running stream where he 

 will have to fly ; the exertion seems too much for him. 



Parading with stately strut in the full sunshine, he 

 walks along the margin of the clear water, admiring his 

 fine figure reflected in the sylvan mirror; and then, 

 like some vain lover, tosses his head, as if to say, ' Let 



