BY THE WAYSIDE 
59 
was sport if they’d come up to my place in 
]S!orth Dakota. Why, they’ll take one of them 
little half starved sickly looking rabbits they 
got out there ,and start their big well-fed 
blooded dogs after ’em, and run ’em to the 
finish. Rabbit’s sure to get killed, anyhow. 
‘Taint fair. Often thought I'd like to fit out 
a course, say three mile long, and then put on 
one of our big Dakota Jack rabits. They’re 
big, bony, nice, long legged fellows, twice or 
three times as big as the Cotton-tails round 
here. Ears as long as that,” measuring with 
his knife, his chief table implement, the 
.length of the vinegar bottle in the caster which 
always adorns the table of the country hotel, 
“yes, full five inches long. They’re col¬ 
ored just like their surroundings, gray in 
summer and white in winter. They’ll crouch 
down on the ground, an’ lay their long ears 
out in front, an’ let you come within two 
feet of ’em before they’ll stir. You can’t see 
them, neither, till you get right onto them.” 
“Pretty good runners?” we ventured, en¬ 
couragingly. 
“Well, of course, there’s young rabbits and 
old rabbits, and I never see a blooded dog after 
one of ’em. But I’ve had lots of fun with one 
old jack rabbit that used to live in a straw- 
pile on my place. I used to get my pack of 
seven dogs after him, just to see the old 
feller run. Had one white dog thought he 
could run some. Rabbit used to enjoy it, too. 
Why, I’ve seen him sit and watch us coming 
toward him. When the dogs come pretty 
near, he’d light out a little, till they’d all got 
started. He’d look back over his shoulder till 
they’d all got in line, and he ’bout two rods 
ahead. Then when everything was ready, 
he’d let out a link or two, and then another 
an’ another. I watched ’em once or twice till 
I got the course—always led the same way, 
through the woods, ’long a stretch of smooth, 
hard road, and ’round home again by our 
elevator. When I knew the track, I’d start 
the dogs off, then take the short cut over to 
the elevator, and see the finish. Down they’d 
come, Jack first, the white dog about eight 
rods behind, and then the others about eight 
rods behind him. There was just a streak 
of rabbit an’ then a streak of dog. Then the 
rabbit’d make for the elevator to get under it, 
and I’d call the game off, an’ the rabbit got the 
race. Never’d let the dogs go near that build¬ 
ing. ’Twouldn’t be fair; he’d won the race, an’ 
was entitled to the honors. Like to see a race 
like that when there’s a chance for the rab¬ 
bit.” 
"Did the dog ever catch him?” we put in 
again, as we rose and filed out of the din¬ 
ing room. 
“No, never come anywhere near it. You 
see that rabbit could run just as fast as he 
wanted to. Many a time I’ve had some fun, 
seeing them two race it. That’s a kind of 
sport I like.” R. M. 
ALBINO SPARROWS AT KILBOURN. 
There is within the village of Kilbourn, Wis., 
a freak of nature among the feathered tribe 
that flutter among trees or build their nests 
in the cornice of the store buildings. It is a 
pair of albino sparrows. They are of the 
English sparrow family and live, act, and chirp 
as do their mates; but unlike the others they 
are of a light creamy color, and contrast viv¬ 
idly when seen hopping about with their lit¬ 
tle brown companions. Where they came from 
01 where they were raised is still a mistery. 
In the past three or four years they have been 
seen by many people in different parts of the 
v illage, and have been known to raise a fam¬ 
ily of little birds each year, but always the 
young are brown and gray the same as the 
original English sparrow. 
Guy 0. Glazier, Kilbourn, Wis. 
Here is an extract from a recent letter writ¬ 
ten by an appreciative subscriber in Antigo. 
I read the little paper and pass it on to 
tlo more work for the birds. I have been 
studying birds for four years and now know 
by heart over one hundred. It is a very fas¬ 
cinating study to me. Have had a Northern 
Shrike in my yard all morning and have been 
watching him scare those little ruffians, Eng¬ 
lish sparrows. 
Do you know the story of a Japanese mai¬ 
den who, finding that a morning glory had 
twined about the handle of her bucket would 
not break it, but went elsewhere for water? 
Sir Edwin Arnold’s translation or verse about 
it is: 
“The morning glory 
Her leaves and bells lias bound 
My bucket handle round 
I could not break the bands. 
Of those soft hands. 
The bucket and the well to her I left. 
Lend me some water, for I come bereft.” 
E. G. P. 
