THE RUFFED GROUSE 



On either side of the vanishing brown 

 nebula the ancient mossed and lichened 

 trunks rear themselves again, above it 

 their lofty ramage veils the sky, beneath 

 it lie the deep, noiseless cushion of moss, 

 the shrubs and plants that the old wood 

 rangers knew and the moose browsed on, 

 and the tangled trunks of fallen trees. 

 You almost fancy that you hear the long- 

 ago silenced voices of the woods, so viv- 

 idly does this wild spirit for an instant 

 conjure up a vision of the old wild world 

 whereof he is a survival. 



Acquaintance with civilized man has 

 not tamed him, but has made him the 

 wilder. He deigns to feed upon apple- 

 tree buds and buckwheat and woodside 

 clover, not as a gift, but a begrudged 

 compensation for what you have taken 

 from him, and gives you therefor not 

 even the thanks of familiarity ; and not- 

 withstanding his acquaintance with gen- 

 erations of your race he will not surfer 

 you to come so near to him as he would 

 your grandfather. 



If, when the leaves are falling, you 

 find him in your barnyard, garden, or 

 out-house, or on the porch, do not think 

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