EDITORIAL 



263 



We have had occasion several times to in- 

 sist upon the fact that wild animals and wild 

 birds are only wild because they are perse- 

 cuted. And we have cited numerous in- 

 stances where ruffed grouse, quail and va- 

 rious similar creatures, when unmolested, 

 have become tame and mixed with the ani- 

 mals in the farmyard. A Wabash corre- 

 spondent to the Cincinnati Inquirer says, 

 in confirmation of this, that Farmer Lit Lof- 

 land had a quail's nest near his barnyard in 

 which an old quail hatched a brood of little 

 ones. No sooner were they out of the eggs 

 than they proceeded to make themselves at 

 home with the domestic fowl and continually 

 followed the chickens around and, as far as 

 appearances and actions went, they might 

 have descended from as long a line of do- 

 mesticated birds as the barnyard fowl them- 

 selves. 



According to The Maine Woods, certain 

 Cumberland, Maine, hamlets are overrun 

 with skunks. "Suits of clothes hang on the 

 clothes-line for weeks without there being 

 the slightest danger of their being stolen, 

 and the air is filled with unmistakable skunk 

 signs." They say that even the microbes 

 have left the place, disgusted. 



It must be that some of our frenzied finan- 

 ciers have taken refuge in these Cumberland 

 towns to escape the investigating committees. 

 It is probably their clothes that are hanging 

 on the line. 



The other night when one of the members 

 of the Camp Fire Club came home from one 

 of the banquets of the club he found his wife 

 waiting for him with that grim look on her 

 face with which all married men who remain 

 out nights are only too familiar. He tried to 

 quietly slip up to his room, but his wife 

 barred the way. 



"Pardon me, my dear," said the late 

 camper, "I don't feel like talking tonight," 

 and she replied, "Don't let that bother you 

 at all, sir, I'll do all the talking tonight." And 

 she did. 



There were no locks to his bedroom, but 

 before his wife got half through he made a 

 bolt for the door. 



"Will you, Mr. Jones," said she 

 "Join me in a cup of tea?" 

 "I should be delighted," said he. 

 "But is there room for you and me?" 



Many a great American, like the late la- 

 mented President Garfield, has built castles 

 in his mind, although he used to drive a 

 tandem team, with a canal boat hitched be- 

 hind. 



Little Lord Fauntleroy was about as un- 

 American a character as was ever devised. 

 He was a sissy sort of a little chap and the 

 production of a feminine mind; but do not 

 think that Recreation is hard upon the la- 

 dies, for that is our weak spot. What we 

 wanted to say is that the feminine traits 

 belong to the feminine sex and not to ours. 

 We well remember our first sweetheart, God 

 bless her litle soul. She was twelve years 

 old and inspired in us our first attempt to 

 poetry in lines like this : 



Oh, Laura Dad, 



Pray don't get mad, 



At this harmless little rhyme, 



For we intend to ask your dad 



If you can't be our Valentine. 



And then there was that other girl, when 

 we were but seventeen years old. She was 

 one of those bargain-counter girls, age thirty- 

 five marked down to nineteen and a half. 

 Every time her name was mentioned our 

 seventeen-year-old heart beat a tattoo upon 

 our seventeen-year-old ribs. We thought 

 she was the boss girl, and the man who mar- 

 ried her tells us we are not in the least mis- 

 taken, and that she's the boss now. 



Her father owned a bull terrier, and the 

 dog did not waste any affection upon us, but 

 the bargain-counter girl would say, "Re- 

 member that nothing can hurt you. Don't 

 you know that you are a Christian Scien- 

 tist?" "Yes," was the reply. "That's all 

 right, but the dash bull dog don't know it." 



Mr. Baines of the Bison Society, is a 

 smart man and reminds us of what Uncle 

 Enos said. "You see that nigger there? 

 That's Booker Washington. He's the smart- 

 est nigger in the whole world." "He's not 

 as smart as the Lord," ventured Uncle Enos' 

 wife. "No, dat's so, but he's young yet." 



'Tis said that intimacy breeds contempt, 

 but certain supposititious nature writers' 

 books show a contempt for nature which 

 was never bred from intimacy. 



