The Turnpike Road. 119 



does the rhythmic chop, chop, of the woodmen, as they strike 

 in alternate succession. The odor of the burning leaves and 

 grass, is like the fragrance from some giant pipe, and the 

 smoke goes upward in great clouds, as if some unseen 

 sylvan deity, were smoking the forest leaves. Thus he 

 puffs and puffs, and burns the withered leaves in the Fall; 

 and again in Spring after the snow, he lights his pipe once 

 more. Pussy willows, with their soft and downy catkins ; 

 azaleas, with their pink buds, and all the young and tender 

 plants that promised to array the fields with the freshness 

 of Spring, are burned by this sylvan smoker. 



It commonly takes two years for a sufficient growth to 

 spring up to make a secure winter retreat for the rabbits. 

 But, even then, they are rarely secure, and they spend 

 much of their time in fleeing from their enemies. Their 

 ears are ever open; their noses twitch in their efforts to 

 secure the latest scent, and bunny has a thousand frights 

 and suspicions in a day. Nevertheless, if you stand still 

 in the road, at evening, she may come within a few feet, 

 probably mistaking you for some upstart of a tree. Maybe 

 she will make her toilet while sitting on her hind legs be- 

 fore you, seeming all the time quite unconcerned until, 

 perhaps, a slight motion, a gentle swaying of your body, 

 attracts her attention, when she bounds most wonderfully 

 down the road. 



Unless a man is very hungry, it is a shame to kill poor 

 bunny, especially where her kind does not abound; but then 

 man is ever seeking a dinner, and it is only a sort of gas- 

 tronomic etiquette, that prevents many a mild faced little 

 tabby, from getting nearer to the fire than the hearth-stone. 



