sight again, five hundred feet in the air. 

 Then he folds his wings and drops Hke 

 lead, down, down to earth. 



If you twitter as he does, he will almost 

 drop on your head, which is very alarm- 

 ing at the time. He may think that you 

 are his rival and wish to fight, and it is 

 a relief to see him unfold his wings and 

 sail away to swark at a respectful 

 distance. 



What does he do this for? Can any 

 naturalist tell? He is singer, acrobat, 

 tumbler, swarker, all in one, and all for 

 love of his dear lady. 



The song seems appropriate, as a 

 serenade in the moonlight is perhaps as 

 old as the moon herself ; but to sing a 

 song and disappear from sight and hear- 

 ing, and then drop five hundred feet, is 

 a strange way of making one's self 

 charming to one's love, but this is the 

 woodcock's manner of doing it. 



Sometimes he strikes the wires in his 

 headlong, reckless fall. A man told me 

 of finding four under the wires in one 

 day — "better luck than hunting." 



Mudlark would be a better name than 



skylark for, his habitat is in swampy 

 places, where he drills countless holes in 

 the mud, seeking worms. P'or this rea- 

 son his eyes are placed on the back of 

 his head to keep them out of the mud 

 and that he may see his enemies coming 

 up behind when he is drilling. Poor 

 little hunted, demented bird! But is he 

 as demented as he seems? I found one 

 that could not fly, and though accustomed 

 to the ways of birds near their nests, 

 chased it hundreds of yards. She fell 

 on the ground and fluttered right at my 

 feet. Again and again the hand was 

 almost upon her, when she quickly arose 

 and with a derisive squark of satisfac- 

 tion, "Now you are far enough away 

 from my nest," soared over the treetops. 

 Absurd little bird ! Here at least he 

 shall lead his innocent life, undisturbed 

 by dog or gun, singing his fairy-like 

 solos at the rising of the moon, perform- 

 ing his aerial gymnastics, standing on his 

 head and falling down upon his rivals 

 and at the feet of his adorable little 

 brown lady. Lovers do strange deeds, 

 but the woodcock in love does the 

 Hattie Reynolds. 



A LITTLE FORESTER, 



For those who love nature, much 

 pleasure can be had by a ramble through 

 wood or field. Summertime is, of course, 

 the best season for bird study, but for 

 those interested in the study of our wild 

 animals, a walk in the winter woods, 

 with a light fall of snow on the ground, 

 is advisable. 



It is then that the four-footed creatures 

 are most easily observed, for the lack of 

 foliage causes lack of concealment, and 

 their goings and comings are more or 

 less public to mankind. Almost as much 

 interest may be had in observing the 

 tracks of the animals as in the animals 

 themselves. As the wild denizen moves 

 here and there on its own private busi- 

 ness, it leaves behind it a written outline, 

 a perfect history of its doings. 



Along the bank of the creek the broad 

 trail of the musk-rat may be seen issuing 

 from the airhole in the ice, and crossing 

 the bit of woods to the desolate cornfield, 

 where, perchance, are left a few scatter- 

 ing ears. Or, again, an apple orchard 

 may afford a few frozen tidbits to eke 

 out the winter diet of rushes and mus- 

 sels. 



The nightly wanderings of the cotton- 

 tail rabbit are boldly outlines in the soft, 

 white, telltale mantle of snow, and in 

 the same way the footprints of the 

 squirrel may be traced as, in the warmest 

 hours of the day, he journeys about from 

 tree to tree. 



Among the daintiest of the tracks may 

 be seen a delicate trail, like a dotted 

 chain, leading you on from rock to 



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