Dr. R. W. Shufeldt, of Washington, 

 a distinguished naturalist, has made 

 many photographs of wild life in the 

 United States, and embellished his own 

 works with reproductions of these pic- 

 tures which are so very interesting and 

 difficult to secure. 



The telephoto lens is a great help in 

 taking the more timid subjects. Audu- 

 bon used a telescope to get the most 

 familiar glimpses of these little inhabi- 

 tants of the forests long before the dry 

 plate was invented. What would he 

 not have given to have been the pos- 

 sessor of a means of taking instantly 



all the details and attitudes of the wild 

 birds he loved so well! 



The camera is now adding daily to 

 the accurate knowledge we possess of 

 the things of nature, and every young 

 person should own one and become 

 familiar with its rare qualities and use- 

 fulness. It is very gratifying to think 

 that sport in the woods now means 

 something superior to the old bloody 

 work our boys formerly pursued with 

 guns. With a copy oi the book above 

 mentioned a boy is equipped with sug- 

 gestions and directions enough to keep 

 him busy and well employed for several 

 seasons. 



MOLE CRICKET LODGE. 



BERTHA SEAVEY SAUNIER. 



TUT R. and Mrs. Mole Cricket had 

 /yi folded their hands for the 

 ± Y winter. The busy season 

 wag over, for the ground was 

 all hard with the foot tread of Jack 

 Frost and the snow lay all over the 

 lodge — a solid, warm cover that 

 squeaked and crunched quite musically 

 when little Boy Will rode back and 

 forth on it with his sled Dasher. 



Shadows lay rather heavily in the 

 lodge. The caverns and galleries 

 which had been built in warmer times 

 were hung with darkness and all was 

 still in slumber. 



Side by side in the chamber, just 

 under the long, dead grass and the 

 white snow, with a roof formed of tiny 

 roots and loose earth, lay Mr. and Mrs. 

 Mole Cricket. 



It was the same chamber in which 

 had lain the little white e2:gs that the 

 warm sun had hatched, and from it the 

 young crickets had gone out, already 

 valiant, to burrow their own galleries, 

 and seek their own food. 



Slumber had gone on in the chamber 

 for many weeks when, at a sudden 

 sound, Mr. Cricket moved. We fancy 

 he was cross at being disturbed. 

 "What's that?" he said. 



"Boy Will," answered his wife. 

 "He's digging up the snow to make a 

 snow man, and shouting." 



"He'll make us cold," grumbled Mr. 

 Cricket. 



"Then we must go to the cavern." 



"But we can't — I'm as stiff as a stick." 



"I believe I am, too." 



The earth that covered their roof 

 was very sandy and loose, when not 

 frozen, and as it was, it yielded readily 

 to persistent thumps such as now fell 

 about it. The snow was soggy — just 

 right for building purposes — and Boy 

 Will, in his enthusiasm, scraped up a 

 shovelful of dirt with the last bit of 

 snow that covered the lodge. His 

 sharp eyes saw something black lying 

 beneath the little dead roots that had 

 in the summer belonged to his forget- 

 me-nots. He took the shovel — it was 

 his mother's stove shovel — and care- 

 fully pried the dark bundle up, and 

 with his little red fingers separated it 

 from its wrappings. 



"Aha!" he said, and ran into the 

 house. "Look a-here!" he cried as he 

 ran up to his father's desk. "Well, 

 well!" said his father, looking at the 

 objects through gold-bowed spectacles, 

 "that's the same sort of fellow that we 

 teased last summer with a grass blade." 



"Tell me," said Boy Will, in wonder, 

 "don't you remember the little hole in 

 the garden, and when I put in a spear 

 of grass how the fellow grabbed it 

 with his jaws? I drew him out and 

 there was Sir Mole Cricket that does 

 so much mischief in the garden." 



"Oh yes; and now here are two; but 



they are dead." '. 



iDiq 



