Zoological Gardens at Antwerp. I was 

 watching a yard of birds — three or four 

 Oneafoucfi hundred representatives of the pheasant 

 % ^ of family, from all over the earth, that were run- 

 ning about among the rocks and artificial 

 copses. Some were almost as wild as if in 

 their native woods ; others had grown tame 

 from being constantly fed by visitors. 



It was rather confusing to a bird lover, 

 familiar only with home birds, to see all the 

 strange forms and colors in the grass, and to 

 hear a chorus of unknown notes from trees 

 and underbrush. But suddenly there was a 

 touch of naturalness. That beautiful brown 

 bird with the shapely body and the quick, 

 nervous run, — no one could mistake him; 

 it was Bob White. And with him came a 

 flash of the dear New England landscape 

 three thousand miles away. Another and 

 another showed himself and was gone. 

 Then I thought of the woods at sunset, 

 and began to call softly. 



The carnivora were being fed not far 

 away; a frightful uproar came from the 

 cages. The coughing roar of a male lion 



