THE OPOSSUM. 393 



Its proceedings are so admirably related by Audubon, that I can do no better than present 

 the account in his own words, the words of one who has frequently been an eye-witness of the 

 scene which he so graphically depicts : 



"Methinks I see one at this moment slowly and cautiously trudging over the melting 

 snows by the side of an unfrequented pond, nosing as it goes for the fare its ravenous appetite 

 prefers. Now it has come upon the fresh track of a grouse or hare, and it raises its snout and 

 sniffs the pure air. At length it has decided on its course, and it speeds onwards at the rate 

 of a man's ordinary walk. It stops and seems at a loss in what direction to go, for the object 

 of its pursuit has either taken a considerable leap, or has cut backwards before the Opossum 

 entered its track. It raises itself up, stands for a while on its hind-feet, looks around, snuffs 

 the air again, and then proceeds ; but now, at the foot of a noble tree, it comes to a full stand. 

 It walks round the base of the large trunk, over the snow-covered roots, and among them finds 

 an aperture, which it at once enters. 



" Several minutes elapse, when it reappears, dragging along a squirrel already deprived of 

 life, with which in its mouth it begins to ascend the tree. Slowly it climbs. The first fork 

 does not seem to suit it, for perhaps it thinks it might there be too openly exposed to the view 

 of some wily foe, and so it proceeds, until it gains a cluster of branches, intertwined with 

 grape-vines, and there composing itself, it twists its tail round one of the twigs, and with 

 its sharp teeth demolishes the unlucky squirrel, which it holds all the while with its 

 fore-paws. 



"The pleasant days of spring have arrived, and the trees vigorously shoot forth their 

 leaves ; but the Opossum is almost bare, and seems nearly exhausted by hunger. It visits 

 the margin of creeks, and is pleased to see the young frogs, which afford it a tolerable repast. 

 Gradually the poke-berry and the nettle shoot up, and on their tender and juicy stems it 

 gladly feeds. The matin-calls of the wild turkey-cock delight the ear of the cunning creat- 

 ure, for it well knows that it will soon hear the female, and trace her to her nest, when it 

 will suck the eggs with delight. 



"Travelling through the woods, perhaps on the ground, perhaps aloft, from tree to tree, 

 it hears a cock crow, and its heart swells as it remembers the savory food on which it regaled 

 itself last summer in the neighboring farm-yard. With great care, however, it advances, and 

 at last conceaL itself in the very hen-house. 



"Honest farmer! why did you kill so many crows last winter? aye, and ravens too? 

 Well, you have had your own way of it ; but now, hie to the village and procure a store of 

 ammunition, clean your rusty gun, set your traps, and teach your lazy curs to watch the 

 Opossum. There it comes ! The sun is scarcely down, but the appetite of the prowler is 

 here ; hear the screams of one of your best chickens that has been seized by him ! The cun- 

 ning beast is off with it, and nothing now can be done, unless you stand there to watch the 

 fox or the owl, now exulting in the thought that you have killed their enemy and your own 

 friend, the poor crow. That precious hen under which you last week placed a dozen eggs or 

 so, is now deprived of them. The Opossum, notwithstanding her angry outcries and ruffled 

 feathers, has consumed them one by one ; and now, look at the poor bird as she moves across 

 your yard ; if not mad, she is at least stupid, for she scratches here and there, calling to her 

 chickens all the while. 



"All this comes from your shooting crows. Had you been more merciful or more pru- 

 dent, the Opossum might have been kept within the woods, where it would have been satisfied 

 with a squirrel, a young hare, the eggs of a turkey, or the grapes that so profusely adorn 

 the boughs of our forest-trees. But I talk to you in vain. 



"But suppose the farmer has surprised an Opossum in the act of killing one of his best 

 fowls. His angry feelings urge him to kick the poor beast, which, conscious of its inability - 

 to resist, rolls off like a ball. The more the farmer rages, the more reluctant is the animal to 

 manifest resentment ; at last there it lies, not dead but exhausted, its jaws open, its tongue 

 extended, its eyes dimmed ; and there it would lie until the bottle-fly shordd come to deposit 

 its eggs, did not its tormentor walk off. ' Surely,' says he to himself, ' the beast must be dead.' 



