The Wild Turkey 251 



that toiler of the sea, the sturdy fish-hawk, and 

 robs him of his hard-won catch ! Surely, any one 

 familiar with the policy of America knows per- 

 fectly well that Uncle Sam never even glances 

 northward, or for a single instant suffers his 

 mighty thought to dwell upon those toiling fish- 

 hawks a bit to the nor'ard of, say — Maine ? 

 Perish the thought that we, the eagles, ever 

 could stoop to any fish-hawk's fish ! Hence, the 

 bluffing, but really cowardly, eagle, the stealer of 

 fish from weaker neighbors, is an emblem unap- 

 propriate, very ! 



How much better it would have been had the 

 emblem choosers selected the turkey. He struts 

 and gobbles a bit — most of us do ; but he 

 really is a grand fellow, handsome, wise, and (espe- 

 cially about Thanksgiving and Christmas times) 

 so far superior to the finest eagle that ever soared 

 or screamed, that even the hottest of patriots 

 would prefer him. 



In that, alas ! now far-away, time when the 

 sporting blood first began to assert itself, there 

 were hosts of turkeys within a few miles of my 

 old Ontario home. Farmers coming in with 

 bob-sleighs laden with wood, grain, meat, and 

 other products, usually had a turkey or two for 

 sale. Then a royal gobbler, killed with a single 

 ball, was the thing for the Christmas dinner and 

 the New Year sideboard. Indians from the big 



