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diff --git a/36844-h/36844-h.htm b/36844-h/36844-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..523b7be --- /dev/null +++ b/36844-h/36844-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,8762 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01//EN" "http://www.w3.org/TR/html4/strict.dtd"> + +<html> + +<head> + + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=us-ascii"> + + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of In New England Fields And Woods, by Rowland E. Robinson. + </title> + + <style type="text/css"> + + body { + margin-left:10%; + margin-right:10%; + } + + #booktitle { + letter-spacing:3px; + } + + .cen, + .center, + .centered { + text-align:center; + font-weight:bold; + } + + div.center, + div.centered { + text-align:center; + } + + div.centered table { + margin-left:auto; + margin-right:auto; + text-align:left; + } + + div.inset14 { + margin-top:1em; + margin-bottom:1em; + margin-left:auto; + margin-right:auto; + width:14em; + text-indent:0; + } + + .figcenter { + padding:1em; + text-align:center; + font-size:0.8em; + border:none; + margin:0; + text-indent:1em; + margin:auto; + } + + .h1 { + font-size:2em; + margin:.67em 0; + } + + .h1, + .h2, + .h3, + .h4 { + font-weight:bolder; + text-align:center; + text-indent:0; + } + + h1, + h2, + h3, + h4, + hr { + text-align:center; + } + + .h2 { + font-size:1.5em; + margin:.75em 0; + } + + .h3 { + font-size:1.17em; + margin:.83em 0; + } + + .h4 { + margin:1.12em 0 ; + } + + hr.chapter { + margin-top:6em; + margin-bottom:4em; + } + + hr.tb { + margin:2em 25%; + width:50%; + } + + hr.thin { + margin-right:47%; + margin-left:47%; + margin-top:0%; + margin-bottom:0%; + width:6%; + } + + .noin { + text-indent:0; + } + + p { + text-align:justify; + margin-top:.5em; + margin-bottom:.5em; + text-indent:0; + } + + p.author { + text-align:right; + margin-right:10%; + } + + p.caption { + text-indent:0; + text-align:center; + font-weight:bold; + margin-bottom:2em; + } + + p.spacer { + margin-top:2em; + margin-bottom:3em; + } + + p.tb { + margin-top:2em; + } + + .pagenum { +/* visibility:hidden; remove comment out to hide page numbers */ + position:absolute; + right:2%; + font-size:75%; + color:gray; + background-color:inherit; + text-align:right; + text-indent:0; + font-style:normal; + font-weight:normal; + font-variant:normal; + } + + .sc, + .smcap { + font-variant:small-caps; + } + + .tdl { + text-align:left; + } + + .tdr { + text-align:right; + padding-right:1em; + } + + .topbox { + margin-left:25%; + margin-right:25%; + margin-top:5%; + margin-bottom:5%; + padding:1em; + color:black; + border:2px solid black; + } + + </style> + +</head> + +<body> + + +<pre> + +Project Gutenberg's In New England Fields and Woods, by Rowland E. Robinson + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: In New England Fields and Woods + +Author: Rowland E. Robinson + +Release Date: July 25, 2011 [EBook #36844] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IN NEW ENGLAND FIELDS AND WOODS *** + + + + +Produced by Katherine Ward, Matthew Wheaton and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + + + + + +</pre> + +<div> + +<br> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 372px;"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="372" height="600" alt="Cover" title="Cover"> +</div> + +<p class="caption">In New England Fields And Woods</p> + +<p class="spacer"> </p> + +<div class="topbox"> +<p class="h3">By Rowland E. Robinson</p> +<hr class="thin"> +<p class="noin">OUT OF BONDAGE. 16mo, $1.25. +<br> +IN NEW ENGLAND FIELDS AND WOODS. 16mo, $1.25. +<br> +DANVIS FOLKS. A Novel. 16mo. $1.25. +<br> +UNCLE 'LISHA'S OUTING. 16mo, $1.25. +<br> +A DANVIS PIONEER. 16mo, $1.25. +<br> +SAM LOVEL'S BOY. 16mo, $1.25. +<br> +VERMONT: A Study of Independence. In American<br>Commonwealths Series. With Map. 16mo, gilt top, $1.25. +<br> +HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & COMPANY, +<br> +<span class="smcap">Boston and New York.</span> +</p> +</div> + +<p class="spacer"> </p> + +<h1 id="booktitle">In New England Fields and Woods</h1> + +<p class="h3">By +<br> +Rowland E. Robinson</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 150px;"> +<img src="images/decoration1.jpg" width="150" height="191" alt="deco1" title=""> +</div> + +<p class="spacer"> </p> + +<p class="h4"><i>Boston and New York</i> +<br> +Houghton, Mifflin and Company +<br> +The Riverside Press, Cambridge</p> + +<p class="spacer"> </p> + +<p class="h4">Copyright, 1896, +<br> +<span class="smcap">By</span> ROWLAND E. ROBINSON. +<br> +<br> +<i>All rights reserved.</i></p> + +<p class="spacer"> </p> + +<p class="h4">TO</p> + +<p class="h4">THE MEMORY OF</p> + +<p class="h3">MY MOTHER</p> + +<p class="h4">THIS BOOK</p> + +<p class="h4">IS AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 16px;"> +<img src="images/decoration2.jpg" width="16" height="21" alt="deco2" title=""> +</div> + +<p class="spacer"> </p> + +<p>The weather and the changes of the seasons +are such common and convenient topics +that one need not apologize for talking about +them, though he says nothing new.</p> + +<p>Still less need one make an apology if +he becomes garrulous in relation to scenes +which are now hidden from him by a curtain +of darkness, or concerning some humble +acquaintances with whom he was once on +familiar terms, but who now and hereafter +can only be memories, though they are yet +near him and he may still hear their voices.</p> + +<p>So without excuse I offer this collection +of sketches, which with a few exceptions +were first published in the columns of "Forest +and Stream."</p> + +<p class="author">R. E. R.</p> + +<p class="spacer"> </p> + +<p><span class="pagenum">[vii]</span></p> + +<p class="h3">CONTENTS</p> + +<div class="centered"> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="Table of Contents" width="70%"> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">I.</td> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#I"><span class="smcap">The Nameless Season</span></a></td> + <td class="tdr">1</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">II.</td> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#II"><span class="smcap">March Days</span></a></td> + <td class="tdr">5</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">III.</td> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#III"><span class="smcap">The Home Fireside</span></a></td> + <td class="tdr">13</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">IV.</td> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#IV"><span class="smcap">The Crow</span></a></td> + <td class="tdr">17</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">V.</td> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#V"><span class="smcap">The Mink</span></a></td> + <td class="tdr">22</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">VI.</td> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#VI"><span class="smcap">April Days</span></a></td> + <td class="tdr">27</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">VII.</td> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#VII"><span class="smcap">The Woodchuck</span></a></td> + <td class="tdr">33</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">VIII.</td> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#VIII"><span class="smcap">The Chipmunk</span></a></td> + <td class="tdr">37</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">IX.</td> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#IX"><span class="smcap">Spring Shooting</span></a></td> + <td class="tdr">40</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">X.</td> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#X"><span class="smcap">The Garter-Snake</span></a></td> + <td class="tdr">43</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XI.</td> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#XI"><span class="smcap">The Toad</span></a></td> + <td class="tdr">48</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XII.</td> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#XII"><span class="smcap">May Days</span></a></td> + <td class="tdr">52</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XIII.</td> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#XIII"><span class="smcap">The Bobolink</span></a></td> + <td class="tdr">56</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XIV.</td> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#XIV"><span class="smcap">The Golden-Winged Woodpecker</span></a></td> + <td class="tdr">59</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XV.</td> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#XV"><span class="smcap">June Days</span></a></td> + <td class="tdr">63</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XVI.</td> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#XVI"><span class="smcap">The Bullfrog</span></a></td> + <td class="tdr">66</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XVII.</td> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#XVII"><span class="smcap">The Angler</span></a></td> + <td class="tdr">70</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XVIII.</td> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#XVIII"><span class="smcap">Farmers and Field Sports</span></a></td> + <td class="tdr">79</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XIX.</td> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#XIX"><span class="smcap">To a Trespass Sign</span></a></td> + <td class="tdr">84</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XX.</td> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#XX"><span class="smcap">A Gentle Sportsman</span></a></td> + <td class="tdr">88</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XXI.</td> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#XXI"><span class="smcap">July Days</span></a></td> + <td class="tdr">91</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XXII.</td> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#XXII"><span class="smcap">Camping Out</span></a></td> + <td class="tdr">98</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XXIII.</td> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#XXIII"><span class="smcap">The Camp-Fire</span></a></td> + <td class="tdr">103</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XXIV.</td> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#XXIV"><span class="smcap">A Rainy Day in Camp</span></a></td> + <td class="tdr">107</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XXV.</td> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#XXV"><span class="smcap">August Days</span></a></td> + <td class="tdr">113</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XXVI.</td> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#XXVI"><span class="smcap">A Voyage in the Dark</span></a></td> + <td class="tdr">118</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XXVII.</td> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#XXVII"><span class="smcap">The Summer Camp-Fire</span></a></td> + <td class="tdr">129</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XXVIII.</td> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#XXVIII"><span class="smcap">The Raccoon</span></a></td> + <td class="tdr">132</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XXIX.</td> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#XXIX"><span class="smcap">The Reluctant Camp-Fire</span></a></td> + <td class="tdr">141</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr"><span class="pagenum">[viii]</span>XXX.</td> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#XXX"><span class="smcap">September Days</span></a></td> + <td class="tdr">143</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XXXI.</td> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#XXXI"><span class="smcap">A Plea for the Unprotected</span></a></td> + <td class="tdr">148</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XXXII.</td> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#XXXII"><span class="smcap">The Skunk</span></a></td> + <td class="tdr">154</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XXXIII.</td> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#XXXIII"><span class="smcap">A Camp-Fire Run Wild</span></a></td> + <td class="tdr">158</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XXXIV.</td> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#XXXIV"><span class="smcap">The Dead Camp-Fire</span></a></td> + <td class="tdr">163</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XXXV.</td> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#XXXV"><span class="smcap">October Days</span></a></td> + <td class="tdr">168</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XXXVI.</td> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#XXXVI"><span class="smcap">A Common Experience</span></a></td> + <td class="tdr">172</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XXXVII.</td> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#XXXVII"><span class="smcap">The Red Squirrel</span></a></td> + <td class="tdr">178</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XXXVIII.</td> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#XXXVIII"><span class="smcap">The Ruffed Grouse</span></a></td> + <td class="tdr">182</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XXXIX.</td> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#XXXIX"><span class="smcap">Two Shots</span></a></td> + <td class="tdr">189</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XL.</td> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#XL"><span class="smcap">November Days</span></a></td> + <td class="tdr">196</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XLI.</td> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#XLI"><span class="smcap">The Muskrat</span></a></td> + <td class="tdr">201</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XLII.</td> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#XLII"><span class="smcap">November Voices</span></a></td> + <td class="tdr">205</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XLIII.</td> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#XLIII"><span class="smcap">Thanksgiving</span></a></td> + <td class="tdr">208</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XLIV.</td> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#XLIV"><span class="smcap">December Days</span></a></td> + <td class="tdr">211</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XLV.</td> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#XLV"><span class="smcap">Winter Voices</span></a></td> + <td class="tdr">216</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XLVI.</td> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#XLVI"><span class="smcap">The Varying Hare</span></a></td> + <td class="tdr">219</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XLVII.</td> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#XLVII"><span class="smcap">The Winter Camp-Fire</span></a></td> + <td class="tdr">224</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XLVIII.</td> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#XLVIII"><span class="smcap">January Days</span></a></td> + <td class="tdr">229</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XLIX.</td> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#XLIX"><span class="smcap">A New England Woodpile</span></a></td> + <td class="tdr">235</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">L.</td> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#L"><span class="smcap">A Century of Extermination</span></a></td> + <td class="tdr">251</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">LI.</td> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#LI"><span class="smcap">The Persistency of Pests</span></a></td> + <td class="tdr">255</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">LII.</td> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#LII"><span class="smcap">The Weasel</span></a></td> + <td class="tdr">260</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">LIII.</td> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#LIII"><span class="smcap">February Days</span></a></td> + <td class="tdr">263</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">LIV.</td> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#LIV"><span class="smcap">The Fox</span></a></td> + <td class="tdr">270</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">LV.</td> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#LV"><span class="smcap">An Ice-Storm</span></a></td> + <td class="tdr">276</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">LVI.</td> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#LVI"><span class="smcap">Spare the Trees</span></a></td> + <td class="tdr">281</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">LVII.</td> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#LVII"><span class="smcap">The Chickadee</span></a></td> + <td class="tdr">284</td> + </tr> +</table></div> + +<p class="spacer"> </p> + +<hr class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum">[1]</span></p> + +<p class="h1">IN NEW ENGLAND FIELDS AND WOODS</p> + +<hr class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="I" id="I"></a>I</h2> + +<p class="caption">THE NAMELESS SEASON</p> + +<p>In the March page of our almanac, opposite +the 20th of the month we find the +bold assertion, "Now spring begins;" +but in the northern part of New England, +for which this almanac was especially +compiled, the weather does not bear out +the statement.</p> + +<p>The snow may be gone from the fields +except in grimy drifts, in hollows and along +fences and woodsides; but there is scarcely +a sign of spring in the nakedness of pasture, +meadow, and ploughed land, now +more dreary in the dun desolation of lifeless +grass, débris of stacks, and black furrows +than when the first snow covered the +lingering greenness of December.<span class="pagenum">[2]</span></p> + +<p>It is quite as likely that the open lands +are still under the worn and dusty blanket +of snow, smirched with all the litter cast +upon it by cross-lot-faring teams, and wintry +winds blowing for months from every +quarter. The same untidiness pervades +all outdoors. We could never believe that +so many odds and ends could have been +thrown out of doors helter-skelter, in +three months of ordinary life, till the +proof confronts us on the surface of the +subsiding snow or lies stranded on the +bare earth. The wind comes with an +icier breath from the wintrier north, and +yet blows untempered from the south, +over fields by turns frozen and sodden, +through which the swollen brooks rush in +yellow torrents with sullen monotonous +complaint.</p> + +<p>One may get more comfort in the woods, +though the snow still lies deep in their +shelter; for here may be found the sugar-maker's +camp, with its mixed odors of +pungent smoke and saccharine steam, its +wide environment of dripping spouts and +tinkling tin buckets, signs that at last the +pulse of the trees is stirred by a subtle +promise of returning spring.<span class="pagenum">[3]</span></p> + +<p>The coarse-grained snow is strewn +thickly with shards of bark that the trees +have sloughed in their long hibernation, +with shreds and tatters of their tempest-torn +branches. But all this litter does +not offend the eye nor look out of place, +like that which is scattered in fields and +about homesteads. When this three +months' downfall of fragments sinks to +the carpet of flattened leaves, it will be +at one with it, an inwoven pattern, as +comely as the shifting mesh of browner +shadows that trunks and branches weave +between the splashes of sunshine. Among +these is a garnishment of green moss +patches and fronds of perennial ferns +which tell of life that the stress of winter +could not overcome. One may discover, +amid the purple lobes of the squirrelcup +leaves, downy buds that promise +blossoms, and others, callower, but of like +promise, under the rusty links of the arbutus +chain.</p> + +<p>One hears the resonant call of a woodpecker +rattled out on a seasoned branch +or hollow stub, and may catch the muffled +beat of the partridge's drum, silent since +the dreamy days of Indian summer, now<span class="pagenum">[4]</span> +throbbing again in slow and accelerated +pulsations of evasive sound through the +unroofed arches of the woodlands. And +one may hear, wondering where the poor +vagrants find food and water, the wild +clangor of the geese trumpeting their +aerial northward march, and the quick +whistle of the wild duck's pinions,—hear +the carol of an untimely bluebird and the +disconsolate yelp of a robin; but yet it is +not spring.</p> + +<p>Presently comes a great downfall of +snow, making the earth beautiful again +with a whiteness outshining that of the +winter that is past. The damp flakes +cling to every surface, and clothe wall, +fence and tree, field and forest, with a +more radiant mantle than the dusty snow +and slanted sunshine of winter gave them.</p> + +<p>There is nothing hopeful of spring but +a few meagre signs, and the tradition that +spring has always come heretofore.</p> + +<p>It is not winter, it is not spring, but a +season with an individuality as marked as +either, yet without a name.<span class="pagenum">[5]</span></p> + +<hr class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="II" id="II"></a>II</h2> + +<p class="caption">MARCH DAYS</p> + +<p>Back and forth across the land, in +swift and sudden alternation, the March +winds toss days of bitter cold and days of +genial warmth, now out of the eternal +winter of the north, now from the endless +summer of the tropics.</p> + +<p>Repeated thawing and freezing has +given the snow a coarse grain. It is like +a mass of fine hailstones and with no +hint of the soft and feathery flakes that +wavered down like white blossoms shed +from the unseen bloom of some far-off +upper world and that silently transformed +the unseemliness of the black and tawny +earth into the beauty of immaculate purity.</p> + +<p>One day, when the wind breathes from +the south a continuous breath of warmth, +your feet sink into this later coarseness +come of its base earthly association, with +a grinding slump, as in loose wet sand, so<span class="pagenum">[6]</span> +deep, perhaps, that your tracks are gray +puddles, marking your toilsome way.</p> + +<p>As you wallow on, or perch for a moment's +rest on a naked fence-top among +the smirched drifts, you envy the crows +faring so easily along their aerial paths +above you. How pleasant are the voices +of these returning exiles, not enemies +now, but friendly messengers, bringing +tidings of spring. You do not begrudge +them the meagre feasts they find, the +frozen apple still hanging, brown and +wrinkled, in the bare orchard, or the winter-killed +youngling of flock or herd, cast +forth upon a dunghill, and which discovered, +one generous vagabond calls all his +black comrades to partake of.</p> + +<p>Watching them as they lag across the +sky, yet swifter than the white clouds +drift above them, you presently note that +these stand still, as you may verify by +their blue shadows on the snow, lying +motionless, with the palpitating shadows +of the crows plunging into them on this +side, then, lost for an instant in the blue +obscurity, then, emerging on that side +with the same untiring beat of shadowy +wings. A puff of wind comes out of the<span class="pagenum">[7]</span> +north, followed by an angry gust, and +then a howling wintry blast that the +crows stagger against in labored flight as +they make for the shelter of the woods.</p> + +<p>You, too, toil to shelter and fireside +warmth, and are thankful to be out of the +biting wind and the treacherous footing. +The change has come so suddenly that +the moist, grainy snow is frozen before it +has time to leach, and in a little while +gives you a surface most delightful to +walk upon, and shortens distances to half +what they were. It has lost its first pure +whiteness wherewith no other whiteness +can compare, but it is yet beyond all +things else, and in the sunlight dazzles +you with a broad glare and innumerable +scintillating points of light, as intense as +the sun itself.</p> + +<p>The sunshine, the bracing air, the +swaying boughs of the pines and hemlocks +beckoning at the woodside, and the +firm smooth footing, irresistibly invite +you forth. Your feet devour the way +with crisp bites, and you think that nothing +could be more pleasant to them till +you are offered a few yards of turf, laid +bare by winds and sun, and then you realize<span class="pagenum">[8]</span> +that nothing is quite so good as the +old stand-by, a naked ground, and crave +more of it, even as this is, and hunger +for it with its later garnishing of grass +and flowers. The crows, too, are drawn +to these bare patches and are busy upon +them, and you wonder what they can find; +spiders, perhaps, for these you may see +in thawy days crawling sluggishly over +the snow, where they must have come +from the earth.</p> + +<p>The woods are astir with more life than +a month ago. The squirrels are busy and +noisy, the chickadees throng about you, +sometimes singing their sweet brief song +of three notes; the nuthatches pipe their +tiny trumpets in full orchestra, and the +jays are clamoring their ordinary familiar +cries with occasional notes that you do +not often hear. One of these is a soft, +rapidly uttered cluck, the bird all the time +dancing with his body, but not with his +feet, to his own music, which is pleasant +to the ear, especially when you remember +it is a jay's music, which in the main cannot +be recommended. To-day, doubtless, +he is practicing the allurements of the +mating season.<span class="pagenum">[9]</span></p> + +<p>You hear the loud cackle of a logcock +making the daily round of his preserves, +but you are not likely to get more than a +glimpse of his black plumage or a gleam +of his blood-red crest.</p> + +<p>By rare luck you may hear the little +Acadian owl filing his invisible saw, but +you are likelier to see him and mistake +him for a clot of last year's leaves lodged +midway in their fall to earth.</p> + +<p>The forest floor, barred and netted with +blue shadows of trunks and branches, is +strewn with dry twigs, evergreen leaves, +shards of bark, and shreds of tree-moss +and lichen, with heaps of cone scales,—the +squirrel's kitchen middens,—the +sign of a partridge's nightly roosting, +similar traces of the hare's moonlight +wanderings, and perhaps a fluff of his +white fur, showing where his journeys +have ended forever in a fox's maw.</p> + +<p>Here and there the top of a cradle +knoll crops out of the snow with its +patches of green moss, sturdy upright +stems and leaves and red berries of wintergreen, +as fresh as when the first snow +covered them, a rusty trail of mayflower +leaves, and the flat-pressed purple lobes<span class="pagenum">[10]</span> +of squirrelcup with a downy heart of +buds full of the promise of spring.</p> + +<p>The woods are filled with a certain +subtle scent quite distinct from the very +apparent resinous and balsamic aroma of +the evergreens, that eludes description, +but as a kind of freshness that tickles the +nose with longing for a more generous +waft of it. You can trace it to no source, +as you can the odors of the pine and the +hemlocks or the sweet fragrance of the +boiling sap, coming from the sugar-maker's +camp with a pungent mixture of +wood-smoke. You are also made aware +that the skunk has been abroad, that +reynard is somewhere to windward, and +by an undescribed, generally unrecognized, +pungency in the air that a gray +squirrel lives in your neighborhood. Yet +among all these more potent odors you +still discover this subtle exhalation, perhaps +of the earth filtered upward through +the snow, perhaps the first awakening +breath of all the deciduous trees.</p> + +<p>Warmer shines the sun and warmer +blows the wind from southern seas and +southern lands. More and more the<span class="pagenum">[11]</span> +tawny earth comes in sight among puddles +of melted snow, which bring the mirrored +sky and its fleecy flocks of clouds, +with treetops turned topsy-turvy, down +into the bounds of fields. The brooks +are alive again and babbling noisily over +their pebbled beds, and the lake, hearing +them, groans and cries for deliverance +from its prison of ice.</p> + +<p>On the marshes you may find the ice +shrunken from the shores and an intervening +strip of water where the muskrat +may see the sun and the stars again. +You hear the trumpets of the wild geese +and see the gray battalion riding northward +on the swift wind.</p> + +<p>The sun and the south wind, which +perhaps bears some faint breath of stolen +fragrance from far-off violet banks, tempt +forth the bees, but they find no flowers +yet, not even a squirrelcup or willow catkin, +and can only make the most of the +fresh sawdust by the wood-pile and the +sappy ends of maple logs.</p> + +<p>Down from the sky, whose livery he +wears and whose song he sings, comes +the heavenly carol of the bluebird; the<span class="pagenum">[12]</span> +song sparrow trills his cheery melody; +the first robin is announced to-day, and +we cry, "Lo, spring has come." But to-morrow +may come winter and longer +waiting.<span class="pagenum">[13]</span></p> + +<hr class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="III" id="III"></a>III</h2> + +<p class="caption">THE HOME FIRESIDE</p> + +<p>Weeks ago the camp-fire shed its last +glow in the deserted camp, its last thin +thread of smoke was spun out and vanished +in the silent air, and black brands +and gray ashes were covered in the even +whiteness of the snow. The unscared +fox prowls above them in curious exploration +of the desolate shanty, where +wood-mice are domiciled and to whose +sunny side the partridge comes to bask; +the woodpecker taps unbidden to enter +or departs from the always open door; +and under the stars that glitter through +the net of branches the owl perches on +the snowy ridge and mopes in undisturbed +solemnity.</p> + +<p>For a time, camping-days are over +for the sportsman, and continue only for +the lumberman, the trapper, and the +merciless crust-hunter, who makes his +secret lair in the depths of the forest.<span class="pagenum">[14]</span> +In the chill days and evenings that fall +first in the interim between winter and +summer camping, the man who makes +his outings for sport and pleasure must +content himself by his own fireside, +whose constant flame burns throughout +the year.</p> + +<p>Well may he be content when the untempered +winds of March howl like a +legion of wolves at his door, snow and +sleet pelt roof and pane with a continuous +volley from the lowering sky, or +when the chilly silence of the last winter +nights is broken by the sharp crack +of frozen trees and timbers, as if a hidden +band of riflemen were besieging +the house. Well may he be content, +then, with the snug corner of his own +hearthstone, around which are gathered +the good wife, the children, and his camp +companions, the dogs.</p> + +<p>Better than the camp, is this cosy comfort +in days and nights such as these, or +in those that fall within that unnamed +season that lies between winter and +spring, when, if one stirs abroad, his feet +have sorry choice between saturated +snow and oozy mould,—a dismal season<span class="pagenum">[15]</span> +but for its promise of brighter days, of +free streams, green trees, and bird songs.</p> + +<p>Better, now, this genial glow that +warms one's marrow than the camp-fire +that smokes or roasts one's front while +his back freezes. With what perfect +contentment one mends his tackle and +cleans his gun for coming days of sport, +while the good wife reads racy records +of camp-life from Maine to California, +and he listens with attention half diverted +by break or rust spot, or with +amused watching of the youngsters playing +at camping out. The callow campers +assail him with demands for stories, and +he goes over, for their and his own enjoyment, +old experiences in camp and +field, while the dogs dream by the fire +of sport past or to come,—for none but +dogs know whether dog's dreams run +backward or forward.</p> + +<p>Long-used rod and gun suggest many +a tale of past adventure as they bring to +mind recollections of days of sport such +as may never come again. The great +logs in the fireplace might tell, if their +flaming tongues were given speech, of +camps made long ago beneath their lusty<span class="pagenum">[16]</span> +branches, and of such noble game as we +shall never see,—moose, elk, deer, panther, +wolf, and bear, which are but spectres +in the shadowy forest of the past. +But the red tongues only roar and hiss +as they lick the crackling sinews of oak +and hickory, and tell nothing that ordinary +ears may catch. Yet one is apt to +fall dreaming of bygone days, and then +of days that may come to be spent by +pleasant summer waters and in the woods +gorgeous with the ripeness of autumn.</p> + +<p>So one is like to dream till he awakens +and finds himself left with only the dogs +for comrades, before the flameless embers, +deserted even by the shadows that +erstwhile played their grotesque pranks +behind him. Cover the coals as if they +were to kindle to-morrow's camp-fire, put +the yawning dogs to bed, and then to +bed and further dreaming.<span class="pagenum">[17]</span></p> + +<hr class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="IV" id="IV"></a>IV</h2> + +<p class="caption">THE CROW</p> + +<p>The robin's impatient yelp not yet attuned +to happy song, the song sparrow's +trill, the bluebird's serene melody, do +not herald the coming of spring, but attend +its vanguard. These blithe musicians +accompany the soft air that bares +the fields, empurples the buds, and fans +the bloom of the first squirrelcups and +sets the hyla's shrill chime a-ringing.</p> + +<p>Preceding these, while the fields are +yet an unbroken whiteness and the coping +of the drifts maintain the fantastic +grace of their storm-built shapes, before +a recognized waft of spring is felt or the +voice of a freed stream is heard, comes +that sable pursuivant, the crow, fighting +his way against the fierce north wind, +tossed alow and aloft, buffeted to this +side and that, yet staggering bravely onward, +and sounding his trumpet in the +face of his raging antagonist, and far in<span class="pagenum">[18]</span> +advance of its banners, proclaiming +spring.</p> + +<p>It is the first audible promise of the +longed-for season, and it heartens us, +though there be weary days of waiting +for its fulfillment, while the bold herald +is beset by storm and pinched with hunger +as he holds his outpost and gleans +his scant rations in the winter-desolated +land.</p> + +<p>He finds some friendliness in nature +even now. Though her forces assail him +with relentless fury, she gives him here +the shelter of her evergreen tents, in +windless depths of woodland; bares for +him there a rood of sward or stubble +whereon to find some crumb of comfort; +leaves for him ungathered apples on the +naked boughs, and on the unpruned +tangles of vines wild grapes,—poor +raisins of the frost,—the remnants of +autumnal feasts of the robins and partridges.</p> + +<p>Thankful now for such meagre fare +and eager for the fullness of disgusting +repasts, in the bounty of other seasons, +he becomes an epicure whom only the +choicest food will satisfy. He has the<span class="pagenum">[19]</span> +pick of the fattest grubs; he makes +stealthy levies on the earliest robins' +nests; and from some lofty lookout or +aerial scout watches the farmer plant +the corn and awaits its sprouting into +the dainty tidbits, a fondness for whose +sweetness is his overmastering weakness. +For this he braves the terrible scarecrow +and the dread mystery of the cornfield's +lined boundary, for this risks life and +forfeits the good name that his better +deeds might give him. If he would not +be tempted from grubs and carrion, what +a worthy bird he might be accounted. +In what good if humble repute might he +live, how lamented, die. O Appetite! +thou base belly-denned demon, for what +sins of birds and men art thou accountable!</p> + +<p>In the springtide days, the crow turns +aside from theft and robbery to the +softer game of love, whereunto you hear +the harsh voice attuned in cluttering +notes. After the wooing the pair begin +house building and keeping.</p> + +<p>It is the rudest and clumsiest of all +bird architecture that has become the +centre of their cares—such a jumble of<span class="pagenum">[20]</span> +sticks and twigs as chance might pile on +its forked foundations; but woe betide +the hawk who ventures near, or owl who +dares to sound his hollow trumpet in +the sacred precincts. At the first alarm +signal, as suddenly and mysteriously as +Robin Hood's merry men appeared at +the winding of his horn, the black clansmen +rally from every quarter of the +greenwood, to assail the intruder and +force him to ignominious retreat.</p> + +<p>When at last the young crows, having +clad their uncouth nakedness with full +sable raiment, are abroad in the world, +they, with unwary foolhardiness and incessant +querulous cries of hunger or +alarm, are still a constant source of anxiety +to parents and kindred. But in +the late summer, when the youngsters +have come to months of discretion and +the elders are freed from the bondage +of their care, a long holiday begins for +all the tribe. The corn has long since +ceased to tempt them, and the persecution +of man has abated. The shorn +meadows and the close-cropped pastures +swarm with grasshoppers, and field and +forest offer their abundant fruits.<span class="pagenum">[21]</span></p> + +<p>Careless and uncared for, what happy +lives they lead, sauntering on sagging +wing through the sunshine from chosen +field to chosen wood, and at nightfall +encamping in the fragrant tents of the +pines.</p> + +<p>At last the gay banners of autumn +signal departure, and the gathered clans +file away in straggling columns, flecking +the blue sky with pulsating dots of blackness, +the green earth with wavering +shadows. Sadly we watch the retreat of +the sable cohorts, whose desertion leaves +our northern homes to the desolation of +winter.<span class="pagenum">[22]</span></p> + +<hr class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="V" id="V"></a>V</h2> + +<p class="caption">THE MINK</p> + +<p>This little fur-bearer, whose color has +been painted darker than it is, singularly +making his name proverbial for blackness, +is an old acquaintance of the angler +and the sportsman, but not so familiar +to them and the country boy as it was +twoscore years ago.</p> + +<p>It was a woeful day for the tribe of +the mink when it became the fashion for +other folk to wear his coat, which he +could only doff with the subtler garment +of life.</p> + +<p>Throughout the term of his exaltation +to the favor of fashion, he was lain +in wait for at his own door and on his +thoroughfares and by-paths by the traps, +dead-falls, and guns of professional and +amateur trappers and hunters, till the +fate of his greater cousin the otter +seemed to overtake him. But the fickle +empress who raised him to such perilous<span class="pagenum">[23]</span> +estate, changing her mood, thrust him +down almost to his old ignoble but safer +rank, just in time to avert the impending +doom of extermination. Once more the +places that knew him of old, know him +again.</p> + +<p>In the March snow you may trace the +long span of his parallel footprints where, +hot with the rekindled annual fire of love, +he has sped on his errant wooing, turning +not aside for the most tempting bait, +halting not for rest, hungering only for +a sweetheart, wearied with nothing but +loneliness. Yet weary enough would +you be if you attempted to follow the +track of but one night's wandering along +the winding brook, through the tangle +of windfalls, and across the rugged ledges +that part stream from stream. When +you go fishing in the first days of summer, +you may see the fruits of this early +springtide wooing in the dusky brood +taking their primer-lesson in the art that +their primogenitors were adepts in before +yours learned it. How proud one +baby fisher is of his first captured minnow, +how he gloats over it and defends<span class="pagenum">[24]</span> +his prize from his envious and less fortunate +brothers.</p> + +<p>When summer wanes, they will be a +scattered family, each member shifting +for himself. Some still haunt the alder +thicket where they first saw light, whose +netted shadows of bare branches have +thickened about them to continued +shade of leafage, in whose midday twilight +the red flame of the cardinal flower +burns as a beacon set to guide the dusky +wanderer home. Others have adventured +far down the winding brook to +the river, and followed its slowing current, +past rapids and cataract, to where +it crawls through the green level of +marshes beloved of water fowl and of +gunners, whose wounded victims, escaping +them, fall an easy prey to the lurking +mink.</p> + +<p>Here, too, in their season are the +tender ducklings of wood duck, teal, and +dusky duck, and, all the year round, fat +muskrats, which furnish for the price of +conquest a banquet that the mink most +delights in.</p> + +<p>In the wooded border are homes ready +builded for him under the buttressed<span class="pagenum">[25]</span> +trunks of elms, or in the hollow boles of +old water maples, and hidden pathways +through fallen trees and under low green +arches of ferns.</p> + +<p>With such a home and such bountiful +provision for his larder close at hand, +what more could the heart and stomach +of mink desire? Yet he may not be satisfied, +but longs for the wider waters of +the lake, whose translucent depths reveal +to him all who swim beneath him, fry innumerable; +perch displaying their scales +of gold, shiners like silver arrows shot +through the green water, the lesser bass +peering out of rocky fastnesses, all attainable +to this daring fisher, but not his +great rivals, the bronze-mailed bass and +the mottled pike, whose jaws are wide +enough to engulf even him.</p> + +<p>Here, while you rest on your idle oar +or lounge with useless rod, you may see +him gliding behind the tangled net of +cedar roots, or venturing forth from a +cranny of the rocks down to the brink, +and launching himself so silently that +you doubt whether it is not a flitting +shadow till you see his noiseless wake<span class="pagenum">[26]</span> +breaking the reflections lengthening out +behind him.</p> + +<p>Of all swimmers that breathe the free +air none can compare with him in swiftness +and in a grace that is the smooth +and even flow of the poetry of motion. +Now he dives, or rather vanishes from +the surface, nor reappears till his wake +has almost flickered out.</p> + +<p>His voyage accomplished, he at once +sets forth on exploration of new shores +or progress through his established domain, +and vanishes from sight before +his first wet footprints have dried on the +warm rock where he landed.</p> + +<p>You are glad to have seen him, thankful +that he lives, and you hope that, +sparing your chickens and your share of +trout, partridges, and wild ducks, he too +may be spared from the devices of the +trapper to fill his appointed place in the +world's wildness.<span class="pagenum">[27]</span></p> + +<hr class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="VI" id="VI"></a>VI</h2> + +<p class="caption">APRIL DAYS</p> + +<p>At last there is full and complete assurance +of spring, in spite of the baldness +of the woods, the barrenness of +the fields, bleak with sodden furrows of +last year's ploughing, or pallidly tawny +with bleached grass, and untidy with the +jetsam of winter storms and the wide +strewn litter of farms in months of foddering +and wood-hauling.</p> + +<p>There is full assurance of spring in +such incongruities as a phœbe a-perch +on a brown mullein stalk in the midst of +grimy snow banks, and therefrom swooping +in airy loops of flight upon the flies +that buzz across this begrimed remnant +of winter's ermine, and of squirrelcups +flaunting bloom and fragrance in the face +of an ice cascade, which, with all its glitter +gone, hangs in dull whiteness down +the ledges, greening the moss with the +moisture of its wasting sheet of pearl.<span class="pagenum">[28]</span></p> + +<p>The woodchuck and chipmunk have +got on top of the world again. You +hear the half querulous, half chuckling +whistle of the one, the full-mouthed persistent +cluck of the other, voicing recognition +of the season.</p> + +<p>The song of the brooks has abated +something of its first triumphant swell, +and is often overborne now by the jubilant +chorus of the birds, the jangled, +liquid gurgle and raucous grating of the +blackbirds, the robin's joyous song with +its frequent breaks, as if the thronging +notes outran utterance, the too brief +sweetness of the meadowlark's whistle, +the bluebird's carol, the cheery call of +the phœbe, the trill of the song sparrow, +and above them all the triumph of the +hawk in its regained possessions of northern +sky and earth.</p> + +<p>The woods throb with the muffled +beat of the partridge's drum and the +sharp tattoo of the woodpecker, and are +filled again with the sounds of insect +life, the spasmodic hum of flies, the +droning monotone of bees busy among +the catkins and squirrelcups, and you +may see a butterfly, wavering among the<span class="pagenum">[29]</span> +gray trees, soon to come to the end of +his life, brief at its longest, drowned in +the seductive sweets of a sap bucket.</p> + +<p>The squirrels are chattering over the +wine of the maple branches they have +broached, in merrier mood than the +hare, who limps over the matted leaves +in the raggedness of shifting raiment, +fitting himself to a new inconspicuousness.</p> + +<p>We shall not find it unpleasant nor +unprofitable to take to the woods now, +for we may be sure that they are pleasanter +than the untidy fields. Where +nature has her own way with herself, she +makes her garb seemly even now, after +all the tousling and rents she gave it in +her angry winter moods. The scraps of +moss, bark, and twigs with which the +last surface of the snow was obtrusively +littered lie now unnoticed on the flat-pressed +leaves, an umber carpet dotted +here with flecks of moss, there sprigged +with fronds of evergreen fern, purple +leaves of squirrelcups, with their downy +buds and first blossoms. Between banks +so clad the brook babbles as joyously as +amid all the bloom and leafage of June,<span class="pagenum">[30]</span> +and catches a brighter gleam from the +unobstructed sunbeams. So befittingly +are the trees arrayed in graceful tracery +of spray and beads of purpling buds, +that their seemly nakedness is as beautiful +as attire of summer's greenness +or autumn's gorgeousness could make +them.</p> + +<p>Never sweeter than now, after the +long silence of winter, do the birds' +songs sound, and never in all the round +of the year is there a better time to see +them than when the gray haze of the +branches is the only hiding for their gay +wedding garments.</p> + +<p>If you would try your skill at still-hunting, +follow up that muffled roll that +throbs through the woods, and if you +discover the ruffed grouse strutting upon +his favorite log, and undiscovered by +him can watch his proud performance, +you will have done something better +worth boasting of than bringing him to +earth from his hurtling flight.</p> + +<p>Out of the distant fields come, sweet +and faint, the call of the meadowlark +and the gurgle of the blackbirds that +throng the brookside elms. From high<span class="pagenum">[31]</span> +overhead come down the clarion note of +the goose, the sibilant beat of the wild +ducks' wings, the bleat of the snipe and +the plover's cry, each making his way to +northern breeding grounds. Are you not +glad they are going as safely as their uncaught +shadows that sweep swiftly across +the shadowy meshes of the forest floor? +Are you not content to see what you see, +hear what you hear, and kill nothing but +time?</p> + +<p>Verily, you shall have a clearer conscience +than if you were disturbing the +voice of nature with the discordant uproar +of your gun, and marring the fresh +odors of spring with the fumes of villainous +saltpetre.</p> + +<p>In the open marshes the lodges of the +muskrats have gone adrift in the floods; +but the unhoused inmates count this a +light misfortune, since they may voyage +again with heads above water, and go +mate-seeking and food-gathering in sunshine +and starlight, undimmed by roof +of ice. As you see them cutting the +smooth surface with long, swift, arrowy +wakes, coasting the low shore in quest of +brown sweethearts and wives, whimpering<span class="pagenum">[32]</span> +their plaintive call, you can hardly +imagine the clumsy body between that +grim head and rudder-like tail capable +of such graceful motion.</p> + +<p>The painted wood drake swims above +the submerged tree roots; a pair of dusky +ducks splash to flight, with a raucous +clamor, out of a sedgy cove at your approach; +the thronging blackbirds shower +liquid melody and hail of discord from +the purple-budded maples above you. +All around, from the drift of floating and +stranded water weeds, arises the dry, +crackling croak of frogs, and from sunny +pools the vibrant trill of toads.</p> + +<p>From afar come the watery boom of a +bittern, the song of a trapper and the +hollow clang of his setting pole dropping +athwart the gunwales of his craft, the +distant roar of a gun and the echoes +rebounding from shore to shore.</p> + +<p>The grateful odor of the warming +earth comes to your nostrils; to your +ears, from every side, the sounds of +spring; and yet you listen for fuller confirmation +of its presence in the long-drawn +wail of the plover and the rollicking +melody of the bobolink.<span class="pagenum">[33]</span></p> + +<hr class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="VII" id="VII"></a>VII</h2> + +<p class="caption">THE WOODCHUCK</p> + +<p>Chancing to pass a besmirched April +snowbank on the border of a hollow, you +see it marked with the footprints of an +old acquaintance of whom for months +you have not seen even so much as this.</p> + +<p>It is not that he made an autumnal +pilgrimage, slowly following the swift +birds and the retreating sun, that you +had no knowledge of him, but because of +his home-keeping, closer than a hermit's +seclusion. These few cautious steps, +venturing but half way from his door to +the tawny naked grass that is daily edging +nearer to his threshold, are the first +he has taken abroad since the last bright +lingering leaf fluttered down in the Indian +summer haze, or perhaps since the +leaves put on their first autumnal tints.</p> + +<p>He had seen all the best of the year, +the blooming of the first flowers, the +springing of the grass and its growth,<span class="pagenum">[34]</span> +the gathering of the harvests and the +ripening of fruits, and possibly the gorgeousness +of autumn melting into sombre +gray. He had heard all the glad songs +of all the birds and the sad notes of farewell +of bobolink and plover to their summer +home; he had seen the swallows +depart and had heard the droning of the +bumblebee among the earliest and latest +of his own clover blossoms. All the +best the world had to give in the round +of her seasons, luxuriant growth to feed +upon, warm sunshine to bask in, he had +enjoyed; of her worst, he would have none.</p> + +<p>So he bade farewell to the gathering +desolation of the tawny fields and crept +closer to the earth's warm heart to sleep +through the long night of winter, till the +morning of spring. The wild scurry of +wind-tossed leaves swept above him unheard, +and the pitiless beat of autumnal +rain and the raging of winter storms that +heaped the drifts deeper and deeper over +his forsaken door. The bitterness of +cold, that made the furred fox and the +muffled owl shiver, never touched him +in his warm nest. So he shirked the +hardships of winter without the toil of a<span class="pagenum">[35]</span> +journey in pursuit of summer, while the +starved fox prowled in the desolate woods +and barren fields, the owl hunted beneath +the cold stars, and the squirrel delved in +the snow for his meagre fare.</p> + +<p>By and by the ethereal but potent spirit +of spring stole in where the frost-elves +could not enter, and awakening the earth +awakened him. Not by a slow and often +impeded invasion of the senses, but as by +the sudden opening of a door, he sees the +naked earth again warming herself in the +sun, and hears running water and singing +birds. No wonder that with such surprise +the querulous tremolo of his whistle is +sharply mingled with these softer voices.</p> + +<p>Day by day as he sees the sun-loved +banks blushing greener, he ventures further +forth to visit neighbors or watch his +clover, or dig a new home in a more favored +bank, or fortify himself in some +rocky stronghold where boys and dogs +may not enter. Now, the family may +be seen moving, with no burden of furniture +or provision, but only the mother +with her gray cubs, carried as a cat carries +her kittens, one by one to the new +home among the fresher clover.<span class="pagenum">[36]</span></p> + +<p>On the mound of newly digged earth +before it, is that erect, motionless, gray +and russet form a half decayed stump +uprising where no tree has grown within +your memory? You move a little nearer +to inspect the strange anomaly, and lo! +it vanishes, and you know it was your +old acquaintance, the woodchuck, standing +guard at his door and overlooking +his green and blossoming domain.</p> + +<p>Are you not sorry, to-day at least, to +hear the boys and the dog besieging +him in his burrow or in the old stone +wall wherein he has taken sanctuary? +Surely, the first beautiful days of his +open-air life should not be made so miserable +that he would wish himself asleep +again in the safety and darkness of winter. +But you remember that you were +once a boy, and your sympathies are divided +between the young savages and +their intended prey, which after all is +likelier than not to escape.</p> + +<p>He will tangle the meadow-grass and +make free with the bean patch if he +chances upon it, yet you are glad to see +the woodchuck, rejoicing like yourself in +the advent of spring.<span class="pagenum">[37]</span></p> + +<hr class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="VIII" id="VIII"></a>VIII</h2> + +<p class="caption">THE CHIPMUNK</p> + +<p>As the woodchuck sleeps away the +bitterness of cold, so in his narrower +chamber sleeps the chipmunk. Happy +little hermit, lover of the sun, mate of +the song sparrow and the butterflies, +what a goodly and hopeful token of the +earth's renewed life is he, verifying the +promises of his own chalices, the squirrelcups, +set in the warmest corners of +the woodside, with libations of dew and +shower drops, of the bluebird's carol, the +sparrow's song of spring.</p> + +<p>Now he comes forth from his long +night into the fullness of sunlit day, to +proclaim his awakening to his summer +comrades, a gay recluse clad all in the +motley, a jester, maybe, yet no fool.</p> + +<p>His voice, for all its monotony, is +inspiring of gladness and contentment, +whether he utters his thin, sharp chip or +full-mouthed cluck, or laughs a chittering<span class="pagenum">[38]</span> +mockery as he scurries in at his narrow +door.</p> + +<p>He winds along his crooked pathway +of the fence rails and forages for half-forgotten +nuts in the familiar grounds, +brown with strewn leaves or dun with +dead grass. Sometimes he ventures to +the top rail and climbs to a giddy ten-foot +height on a tree, whence he looks +abroad, wondering, on the wide expanse +of an acre.</p> + +<p>Music hath charms for him, and you +may entrance him with a softly whistled +tune and entice him to frolic with a +herds-grass head gently moved before +him.</p> + +<p>When the fairies have made the white +curd of mallow blossoms into cheeses +for the children and the chipmunk, it +is a pretty sight to see him gathering +his share handily and toothily stripping +off the green covers, filling his cheek +pouches with the dainty disks and scampering +away to his cellar with his ungrudged +portion. Alack the day, when +the sweets of the sprouting corn tempt +him to turn rogue, for then he becomes +a banned outlaw, and the sudden thunder<span class="pagenum">[39]</span> +of the gun announces his tragic fate. +He keeps well the secret of constructing +his cunning house, without a show of +heaped or scattered soil at its entrance. +Bearing himself honestly, and escaping +his enemies, the cat, the hawk, and the +boy, he lives a long day of happy inoffensive +life. Then when the filmy curtain +of the Indian summer falls upon the +year again, he bids us a long good-night.<span class="pagenum">[40]</span></p> + +<hr class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="IX" id="IX"></a>IX</h2> + +<p class="caption">SPRING SHOOTING</p> + +<p>The Ram makes way for the Bull; +March goes out and April comes in with +sunshine and showers, smiles and tears. +The sportsman has his gun in hand +again with deadly purpose, as the angler +his rod and tackle with another intention +than mere overhauling and putting +to rights. The smiles of April are for +them.</p> + +<p>The geese come wedging their way +northward; the ducks awaken the silent +marshes with the whistle of their pinions; +the snipe come in pairs and wisps +to the thawing bogs—all on their way +to breeding grounds and summer homes. +The tears of April are for them. Wherever +they stop for a day's or an hour's +rest, and a little food to strengthen and +hearten them for their long journey, the +deadly, frightful gun awaits to kill, maim, +or terrify, more merciless than all the<span class="pagenum">[41]</span> +ills that nature inflicts in her unkindest +moods.</p> + +<p>Year after year men go on making +laws and crying for more, to protect +these fowl in summer, but in spring, +when as much as ever they need protection, +the hand of man is ruthlessly +against them.</p> + +<p>When you made that splendid shot +last night in the latest gloaming that +would show you the sight of your gun, +and cut down that ancient goose, tougher +than the leather of your gun-case, and +almost as edible, of how many well-grown +young geese of next November did you +cheat yourself, or some one else of the +brotherhood?</p> + +<p>When from the puddle, where they +were bathing their tired wings, sipping +the nectar of muddy water, and nibbling +the budding leaves of water weeds, you +started that pair of ducks yesterday, and +were so proud of tumbling them down +right and left, you killed many more +than you saw then; many that you +might have seen next fall.</p> + +<p>When the sun was shining down so +warm upon the steaming earth that the<span class="pagenum">[42]</span> +robins and bluebirds sang May songs, +those were very good shots you made, +killing ten snipe straight and clean, and—they +were very bad shots. For in +November the ten might have been four +times ten fat and lusty, lazy fellows, +boring the oozy margins of these same +pools where the frogs are croaking and +the toads are singing to-day.</p> + +<p>"Well, it's a long time to wait from +November till the earth ripens and +browns to autumn again. Life is short +and shooting days are few at most. Let +us shoot our goose while we may, though +she would lay a golden egg by and by."</p> + +<p>Farmers do not kill their breeding +ewes in March, nor butcher cows that +are to calve in a month; it does not pay. +Why should sportsmen be less provident +of the stock they prize so dearly; stock +that has so few care-takers, so many +enemies? Certainly, it does not pay in +the long run.<span class="pagenum">[43]</span></p> + +<hr class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="X" id="X"></a>X</h2> + +<p class="caption">THE GARTER-SNAKE</p> + +<p>When the returned crows have become +such familiar objects in the forlorn unclad +landscape of early spring that they +have worn out their first welcome, and +the earliest songbirds have come to stay +in spite of inhospitable weather that +seems for days to set the calendar back +a month, the woods invite you more than +the fields. There nature is least under +man's restraint and gives the first signs +of her reawakening. In windless nooks +the sun shines warmest between the +meshes of the slowly drifting net of +shadows.</p> + +<p>There are patches of moss on gray +rocks and tree trunks. Fairy islands of +it, that will not be greener when they are +wet with summer showers, arise among +the brown expanse of dead leaves. The +gray mist of branches and undergrowth is +enlivened with a tinge of purple. Here<span class="pagenum">[44]</span> +and there the tawny mat beneath is uplifted +by the struggling plant life below +it or pierced through by an underthrust +of a sprouting seed. There is a promise +of bloom in blushing arbutus buds, +a promise even now fulfilled by the first +squirrelcups just out of their furry bracts +and already calling the bees abroad. +Flies are buzzing to and fro in busy +idleness, and a cricket stirs the leaves +with a sudden spasm of movement. The +first of the seventeen butterflies that shall +give boys the freedom of bare feet goes +wavering past like a drifting blossom.</p> + +<p>A cradle knoll invites you to a seat on +the soft, warm cushion of dead leaves +and living moss and purple sprigs of +wintergreen with their blobs of scarlet +berries, which have grown redder and +plumper under every snow of the winter. +This smoothly rounded mound and the +hollow scooped beside it, brimful now of +amber, sun-warmed water, mark the ancient +place of a great tree that was dead +and buried, and all traces by which its +kind could be identified were mouldered +away and obliterated, before you were +born.<span class="pagenum">[45]</span></p> + +<p>The incessant crackling purr of the +wood-frogs is interrupted at your approach, +and they disappear till the +wrinkled surface of the oblong pool +grows smooth again and you perceive +them sprawled along the bottom on the +leaf paving of their own color. As you +cast a casual glance on your prospective +seat, carelessly noting the mingling of +many hues, the brightness of the berries +seems most conspicuous, till a moving +curved and recurved gleam of gold on +black and a flickering flash of red catch +your eye and startle you with an involuntary +revulsion.</p> + +<p>With charmed eyes held by this new +object, you grope blindly for a stick or +stone. But, if you find either, forbear +to strike. Do not blot out one token of +spring's awakening nor destroy one life +that rejoices in it, even though it be so +humble a life as that of a poor garter-snake. +He is so harmless to man, that, +were it not for the old, unreasoning antipathy, +our hands would not be raised +against him; and, if he were not a snake, +we should call him beautiful in his stripes +of black and gold, and in graceful motion<span class="pagenum">[46]</span>—a +motion that charms us in the undulation +of waves, in their flickering reflections +of sunlight on rushy margins and +wooded shores, in the winding of a brook +through a meadow, in the flutter of a +pennant and the flaunting of a banner, +the ripple of wind-swept meadow and +grain field, and the sway of leafy boughs. +His colors are fresh and bright as ever +you will see them, though he has but to-day +awakened from a long sleep in continual +darkness.</p> + +<p>He is simply enjoying the free air and +warm sunshine without a thought of +food for all his months of fasting. Perhaps +he has forgotten that miserable necessity +of existence. When at last he +remembers that he has an appetite, you +can scarcely imagine that he can have +any pleasure in satisfying it with one +huge mouthful of twice or thrice the +ordinary diameter of his gullet. If you +chance to witness his slow and painful +gorging of a frog, you hear a cry of distress +that might be uttered with equal +cause by victim or devourer. When he +has fully entered upon the business of +reawakened life, many a young field-mouse<span class="pagenum">[47]</span> +and noxious insect will go into +his maw to his own and your benefit. +If there go also some eggs and callow +young of ground-nesting birds, why +should you question his right, you, who defer +slaughter out of pure selfishness, that +a little later you may make havoc among +the broods of woodcock and grouse?</p> + +<p>Of all living things, only man disturbs +the nicely adjusted balance of nature. +The more civilized he becomes the more +mischievous he is. The better he calls +himself, the worse he is. For uncounted +centuries the bison and the Indian +shared a continent, but in two hundred +years or so the white man has destroyed +the one and spoiled the other.</p> + +<p>Surely there is little harm in this +lowly bearer of a name honored in +knighthood, and the motto of the noble +order might be the legend written on +his gilded mail, "Evil to him who evil +thinks." If this sunny patch of earth is +not wide enough for you to share with +him, leave it to him and choose another +for yourself. The world is wide enough +for both to enjoy this season of its promise.<span class="pagenum">[48]</span></p> + +<hr class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="XI" id="XI"></a>XI</h2> + +<p class="caption">THE TOAD</p> + +<p>During our summer acquaintance +with her, when we see her oftenest, a +valued inhabitant of our garden and a +welcome twilight visitor at our threshold, +we associate silence with the toad, almost +as intimately as with the proverbially +silent clam. In the drouthy or too moist +summer days and evenings, she never +awakens our hopes or fears with shrill +prophecies of rain as does her nimbler +and more aspiring cousin, the tree-toad.</p> + +<p>A rustle of the cucumber leaves that +embower her cool retreat, the spat and +shuffle of her short, awkward leaps, are +the only sounds that then betoken her +presence, and we listen in vain for even +a smack of pleasure or audible expression +of self-approval, when, after a nervous, +gratulatory wriggle of her hinder +toes, she dips forward and, with a lightning-like +out-flashing of her unerring<span class="pagenum">[49]</span> +tongue, she flicks into her jaws a fly or +bug. She only winks contentedly to +express complete satisfaction at her performance +and its result.</p> + +<p>Though summer's torrid heat cannot +warm her to any voice, springtime and +love make her tuneful, and every one +hears the softly trilled, monotonous song +jarring the mild air, but few know who +is the singer. The drumming grouse +is not shyer of exhibiting his performance.</p> + +<p>From a sun-warmed pool not fifty +yards away a full chorus of the rapidly +vibrant voices arises, and you imagine +that the performers are so absorbed with +their music that you may easily draw +near and observe them. But when you +come to the edge of the pool you see +only a half-dozen concentric circles of +wavelets, widening from central points, +where as many musicians have modestly +withdrawn beneath the transparent curtain.</p> + +<p>Wait, silent and motionless, and they +will reappear. A brown head is thrust +above the surface, and presently your +last summer's familiar of the garden<span class="pagenum">[50]</span> +and doorstep crawls slowly out upon a +barren islet of cobble-stone, and, assured +that no intruder is within the precincts +sacred to the wooing of the toads, she inflates +her throat and tunes up her long, +monotonous chant. Ere it ceases, another +and another take it up, and from +distant pools you hear it answered, till +all the air is softly shaken as if with +the clear chiming of a hundred swift-struck, +tiny bells. They ring in the returning +birds, robin, sparrow, finch and +meadow lark, and the first flowers, squirrelcup, +arbutus, bloodroot, adder-tongue +and moose-flower.</p> + +<p>When the bobolink has come to his +northern domain again and the oriole +flashes through the budding elms and +the first columbine droops over the gray +ledges, you may still hear an occasional +ringing of the toads, but a little later the +dignified and matronly female, having +lost her voice altogether, has returned +to her summer home, while her little +mate has exchanged his trill for a disagreeable +and uncanny squawk, perhaps +a challenge to his rivals, who linger<span class="pagenum">[51]</span> +about the scenes of their courtship and +make night hideous until midsummer. +Then a long silence falls on the race of +toads—a silence which even hibernation +scarcely deepens.<span class="pagenum">[52]</span></p> + +<hr class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="XII" id="XII"></a>XII</h2> + +<p class="caption">MAY DAYS</p> + +<p>The lifeless dun of the close-cropped +southward slopes and the tawny tangles +of the swales are kindling to living green +with the blaze of the sun and the moist +tinder of the brook's overflow.</p> + +<p>The faithful swallows have returned, +though the faithless season delays. The +flicker flashes his golden shafts in the +sunlight and gladdens the ear with his +merry cackle. The upland plover wails +his greeting to the tussocked pastures, +where day and night rings the shrill +chorus of the hylas and the trill of the +toads continually trembles in the soft +air.</p> + +<p>The first comers of the birds are already +mated and nest-building, robin and +song sparrow each in his chosen place +setting the foundations of his house with +mud or threads of dry grass. The crow +clutters out his softest love note. The<span class="pagenum">[53]</span> +flicker is mining a fortress in the heart of +an old apple-tree.</p> + +<p>The squirrels wind a swift ruddy chain +about a boll in their love chase, and +even now you may surprise the vixen +fox watching the first gambols of her +tawny cubs by the sunny border of the +woods.</p> + +<p>The gray haze of undergrowth and +lofty ramage is turning to a misty green, +and the shadows of opening buds knot +the meshed shadows of twigs on the +brown forest floor, which is splashed with +white moose-flowers and buds of bloodroot, +like ivory-tipped arrows, each in a +green quiver, and yellow adder-tongues +bending above their mottled beds, and +rusty trails of arbutus leaves leading to +the secret of their hidden bloom, which +their fragrance half betrays.</p> + +<p>Marsh marigolds lengthen their golden +chain, link by link, along the ditches. +The maples are yellow with paler bloom, +and the graceful birches are bent with +their light burden of tassels. The dandelion +answers the sun, the violet the sky. +Blossom and greenness are everywhere; +even the brown paths of the plough<span class="pagenum">[54]</span> +and harrow are greening with springing +grain.</p> + +<p>We listen to the cuckoo's monotonous +flute among the white drifts of orchard +bloom and the incessant murmur of bees, +the oriole's half plaintive carol as of departed +joys in the elms, and the jubilant +song of the bobolink in the meadows, +where he is not an outlaw but a welcome +guest, mingling his glad notes with the +merry voices of flower-gathering children, +as by and by he will with the ringing cadence +of the scythe and the vibrant chirr +of the mower. Down by the flooded +marshes the scarlet of the water maples +and the flash of the starling's wing are +repeated in the broad mirror of the still +water. The turtle basks on the long incline +of stranded logs.</p> + +<p>Tally-sticks cast adrift are a symbol +that the trapper's warfare against the +muskrats is ended and that the decimated +remnant of the tribe is left in peace to +reëstablish itself. The spendthrift waste +of untimely shooting is stayed. Wild +duck, plover, and snipe have entered +upon the enjoyment of a summer truce +that will be unbroken, if the collector is<span class="pagenum">[55]</span> +not abroad at whose hands science ruthlessly +demands mating birds and callow +brood.</p> + +<p>Of all sportsmen only the angler, often +attended by his winged brother the +kingfisher, is astir, wandering by pleasant +waters where the bass lurks in the +tangles of an eddy's writhing currents, +or the perch poises and then glides +through the intangible golden meshes +that waves and sunlight knit, or where +the trout lies poised beneath the silver +domes of foam bells.</p> + +<p>The loon laughs again on the lake. +Again the freed waves toss the shadows +of the shores and the white reflections +of white sails, and flash back the sunlight +or the glitter of stars and the beacon's +rekindled gleam.</p> + +<p>Sun and sky, forest, field, and water, +bird and blossom, declare the fullness of +spring and the coming of summer.<span class="pagenum">[56]</span></p> + +<hr class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="XIII" id="XIII"></a>XIII</h2> + +<p class="caption">THE BOBOLINK</p> + +<p>The woods have changed from the +purple of swelling buds to the tender +grayish green of opening leaves, and the +sward is green again with new grass, +when this pied troubadour, more faithful +to the calendar than leaf or flower, comes +back from his southern home to New +England meadows to charm others than +his dusky ladylove with his merry song. +He seldom disappoints us by more than +a day in the date of his arrival, and never +fails to receive a kindly welcome, though +the fickle weather may be unkind.</p> + +<p>"The bobolinks have come" is as joyful +a proclamation as announces the return +of the bluebird and robin. Here no +shotted salute of gun awaits him, and he +is aware that he is in a friendly country. +Though he does not court familiarity, he +tolerates approach; and permits you to +come within a dozen yards of the fence<span class="pagenum">[57]</span> +stake he has alighted on, and when you +come nearer he goes but to the next, +singing the prelude or finale of his song +as he flies. Fewer yards above your +head he poises on wing to sing it from +beginning to end, you know not whether +with intent to taunt you or to charm you, +but he only accomplishes the latter. He +seems to know that he does not harm +us and that he brings nothing that we +should not lose by killing him. Yet +how cunningly he and his mate hide +their nest in the even expanse of grass. +That is a treasure he will not trust us +with the secret of, and, though there +may be a dozen in the meadow, we +rarely find one.</p> + +<p>Our New England fathers had as +kindly a feeling for this blithe comer to +their stumpy meadows, though they gave +him the uncouth and malodorous name +of skunk blackbird. He sang as sweetly +to them as he does to us, and he too was +a discoverer and a pioneer, finding and +occupying meadows full of sunshine +where had only been the continual shade +of the forest, where no bobolink had +ever been before. Now he has miles of<span class="pagenum">[58]</span> +grassy sunlit fields wherein he sings violet +and buttercup, daisy and clover into +bloom and strawberries into ripeness, +and his glad song mingles with the +happy voices of the children who come +to gather them, and also chimes with the +rarer music of the whetted scythe.</p> + +<p>Then, long before the summer is past, +he assumes the sober dress of his mate +and her monosyllabic note, and fades so +gradually out of our sight and hearing +that he departs without our being aware +of it. Summer still burns with unabated +fervor, when we suddenly realize that +there are no bobolinks. Nor are there +any under the less changeful skies +whither our changed bird has flown to +be a reed-bird or rice-bird and to find +mankind his enemies. He is no longer +a singer but a gourmand and valued only +as a choice morsel, doubtless delicious, +yet one that should choke a New Englander.<span class="pagenum">[59]</span></p> + +<hr class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="XIV" id="XIV"></a>XIV</h2> + +<p class="caption">THE GOLDEN-WINGED WOODPECKER</p> + +<p>The migrant woodpecker whose cheery +cackle assures us of the certainty of +spring is rich in names that well befit +him. If you take to high-sounding +titles for your humble friends, you will +accept <i>Colaptes auratus</i>, as he flies above +you, borrowing more gold of the sunbeams +that shine through his yellow +pinions, or will be content to call him +simply golden-winged. When he flashes +his wings in straight-away flight before +you, or sounds his sharp, single note of +alarm, or peers down from the door of +his lofty tower, or hangs on its wooden +wall, or clinging to a fence stake displays +his mottled back, you recognize the fitness +of each name the country folk have +given him—flicker, yellow-hammer, yarrup, +highhole or highholder, and what +Thoreau often termed him, partridge-woodpecker. +It is a wonder that the<span class="pagenum">[60]</span> +joyous cackle wherewith he announces +his return from his winter sojourn in the +South has not gained him another, and +that love note, so like the slow whetting +of a knife upon a steel, still another. +Perhaps it is because they are especially +sounds of spring and seldom if ever +heard after the season of joyful arrival +and love-making.</p> + +<p>During the same season you frequently +hear him attuning his harsh sharp voice +to its softest note of endearment, a long-drawn +and modulated variation of his +cackle. When household cares begin, +the lord and lady of the wooden tower, +like too many greater and wiser two-legged +folk, give over singing and soft +words. At home and abroad their deportment +is sober and business-like, and +except for an occasional alarm-cry they +are mostly silent.</p> + +<p>As you wander through the orchard +of an early midsummer day and pause +beside an old apple-tree to listen to the +cuckoo's flute or admire the airy fabric +of the wood pewee's nest, a larger scale +of lichen on the lichened boughs, you +hear a smothered vibrant murmur close<span class="pagenum">[61]</span> +beside you, as if the heart of the old tree +was pulsating with audible life. It is +startlingly suggestive of disturbed yellow-jackets, +but when you move around +the trunk in cautious reconnoissance, you +discover the round portal of a flicker's +home, and the sound resolves itself into +harmlessness. It is only the callow +young clamoring for food, or complaining +of their circumscribed quarters.</p> + +<p>Not many days hence they will be out +in the wide world of air and sunshine of +which they now know as little as when +they chipped the shell. Lusty fellows +they will be then, with much of their +parents' beauty already displayed in their +bright new plumage and capable of an +outcry that will hold a bird-eating cat +at bay. A little later they will be, as +their parents are, helpful allies against +the borers, the insidious enemies of our +apple-tree. It is a warfare which the +groundling habits of the golden-wings +make them more ready to engage in than +any other of the woodpecker clans.</p> + +<p>In sultry August weather, when the +shrill cry of the cicada pierces the hot +air like a hotter needle of sound, and the<span class="pagenum">[62]</span> +dry husky beat of his wings emphasizes +the apparent fact of drouth as you walk +on the desiccated slippery herbage of +meadow and pasture, the golden-wings +with all their grown-up family fly up before +you from their feast on the ant hills +and go flashing and flickering away like +rockets shot aslant, into the green tent +of the wild cherry trees to their dessert +of juicy black fruit.</p> + +<p>Early in the dreariness of November, +they have vanished with all the horde +of summer residents who have made +the season of leaf, flower, and fruit the +brighter by their presence. The desolate +leafless months go by, till at last +comes the promise of spring, and you are +aware of a half unconscious listening for +the golden-wings. Presently the loud, +long, joyous iteration breaks upon your +ear, and you hail the fulfillment of the +promise and the blithe new comer, a +golden link in the lengthening chain +that is encircling the earth.<span class="pagenum">[63]</span></p> + +<hr class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="XV" id="XV"></a>XV</h2> + +<p class="caption">JUNE DAYS</p> + +<p>June brings skies of purest blue, +flecked with drifts of silver, fields and +woods in the flush of fresh verdure, with +the streams winding among them in +crystal loops that invite the angler with +promise of more than fish, something +that tackle cannot lure nor creel hold.</p> + +<p>The air is full of the perfume of locust +and grape bloom, the spicy odor of pine +and fir, and of pleasant voices—the +subdued murmur of the brook's changing +babble, the hum of bees, the stir of +the breeze, the songs of birds. Out of +the shady aisles of the woods come the +flute note of the hermit thrush, the silvery +chime of the tawny thrush; and +from the forest border, where the lithe +birches swing their shadows to and fro +along the bounds of wood and field, +comes that voice of June, the cuckoo's +gurgling note of preparation, and then<span class="pagenum">[64]</span> +the soft, monotonous call that centuries +ago gave him a name.</p> + +<p>General Kukushna the exiles in Siberia +entitle him; and when they hear +his voice, every one who can break +bounds is irresistibly drawn to follow +him, and live for a brief season a free +life in the greenwood. As to many +weary souls and hampered bodies there, +so to many such here comes the voice of +the little commander, now persuasive, +now imperative, not to men and women +in exile or wearing the convict's garb, +but suffering some sort of servitude laid +upon them or self-imposed. Toiling for +bread, for wealth, for fame, they are +alike in bondage—chained to the shop, +the farm, the desk, the office.</p> + +<p>Some who hear, obey, and revel in +the brief but delightful freedom of June +days spent in the perfumed breath of +full-leafed woods, by cold water-brooks +and rippled lakes. Others listen with +hungry hearts to the summons, but cannot +loose their fetters, and can only answer +with a sigh, "It is not for me," or +"Not yet," and toil on, still hoping for +future days of freedom.<span class="pagenum">[65]</span></p> + +<p>But saddest of all is the case of such +as hear not, or, hearing, heed not the +voice of the Kukushna, the voices of the +birds, the murmurous droning of bees +amid the blossoms, the sweet prattle +of running waters and dancing waves. +Though these come to them from all +about, and all about them are unfolded +the manifold beauties of this joyous +month, no sign is made to them. Their +dull ears hear not the voices of nature, +neither do their dim eyes see the wondrous +miracle of spring which has been +wrought all about them. Like the man +with the muck-rake, they toil on, intent +only upon the filth and litter at their +feet. Sad indeed must it be to have +a soul so poor that it responds to no +caress of nature, sadder than any imposition +of servitude or exile which yet +hinders not one's soul from arising with +intense longing for the wild world of +woods and waters when Kukushna sounds +his soft trumpet call.<span class="pagenum">[66]</span></p> + +<hr class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="XVI" id="XVI"></a>XVI</h2> + +<p class="caption">THE BULLFROG</p> + +<p>The flooded expanse of the marshes +has shrunken perceptibly along its shoreward +boundaries, leaving a mat of dead +weeds, bits of driftwood, and a water-worn +selvage of bare earth to mark its +widest limits. The green tips of the +rushes are thrust above the amber shallows, +whereon flotillas of water-shield lie +anchored in the sun, while steel-blue +devil's-needles sew the warm air with +intangible threads of zigzag flight.</p> + +<p>The meshed shadows of the water-maples +are full of the reflections of the +green and silver of young leaves. The +naked tangle of button-bushes has become +a green island, populous with garrulous +colonies of redwings. The great +flocks of wild ducks that came to the +reopened waters have had their holiday +rest, and journeyed onward to summer +homes and cares in the further north.<span class="pagenum">[67]</span> +The few that remain are in scattered +pairs and already in the silence and seclusion +of nesting. You rarely see the +voyaging muskrat or hear his plaintive +love calls.</p> + +<p>Your ear has long been accustomed +to the watery clangor of the bittern, +when a new yet familiar sound strikes +it, the thin, vibrant bass of the first bullfrog's +note. It may be lacking in musical +quality, but it is attuned to its surroundings, +and you are glad that the +green-coated player has at last recovered +his long-submerged banjo, and is twanging +its water-soaked strings in prelude +to the summer concert. He is a little +out of practice, and his instrument is +slightly out of tune, but a few days' use +will restore both touch and resonance, +when he and his hundred brethren shall +awaken the marsh-haunting echoes and +the sleeping birds with a grand twilight +recital. It will reach your ears a mile +away, and draw you back to the happy +days of boyhood, when you listened for +the bullfrogs to tell that fish would bite, +and it was time for boys to go a-fishing.</p> + +<p>In the first days of his return to the<span class="pagenum">[68]</span> +upper world of water, this old acquaintance +may be shy, and neither permit nor +offer any familiarity. The fixed placidity +of his countenance is not disturbed by +your approach, but if you overstep by +one pace what he considers the proper +limit, down goes his head under cover of +the flood. Marking his jerky course with +an underwake and a shiver of the rushes, +he reappears, to calmly observe you from +a safer distance.</p> + +<p>Custom outwears his diffidence, and +the fervid sun warms him to more genial +moods, when he will suffer you to come +quietly quite close to him and tickle +his sides with a bullrush, till in an ecstasy +of pleasure he loses all caution, and +bears with supreme contentment the +titillation of your finger tips. His flabby +sides swell with fullness of enjoyment, +his blinking eyes grow dreamy and the +corners of his blandly expressionless +mouth almost curve upward with an +elusive smile. Not till your fingers +gently close upon him does he become +aware of the indiscretion into which he +has lapsed, and with a frantic struggle +he tears himself away from your grasp<span class="pagenum">[69]</span> +and goes plunging headlong into his +nether element, bellowing out his shame +and astonishment.</p> + +<p>Another day as you troll along the +channel an oar's length from the weedy +borders, you see him afloat on his lily-pad +raft, heeding you no more than +does the golden-hearted blossom whose +orange odor drifts about him, nor is he +disturbed by splash of oar nor dip of +paddle, nor even when his bark and her +perfume-freighted consort are tossed on +your undulating wake.</p> + +<p>As summer wanes you see and hear +him less frequently, but he is still your +comrade of the marshes, occasionally announcing +his presence with a resonant +twang and a jerky splash among the +sedges.</p> + +<p>The pickerel weeds have struck their +blue banners to the conquering frost, +and the marshes are sere, and silent, and +desolate. When they are warmed again +with the new life of spring, we shall listen +for the jubilant chorus of our old +acquaintance, the bullfrog.<span class="pagenum">[70]</span></p> + +<hr class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="XVII" id="XVII"></a>XVII</h2> + +<p class="caption">THE ANGLER</p> + +<p class="caption">I</p> + +<p>Angling is set down by the master +of the craft, whom all revere but none +now follow, as the Contemplative Man's +Recreation; but is the angler, while +angling, a contemplative man?</p> + +<p>That beloved and worthy brother +whose worm-baited hook dangles in +quiet waters, placid as his mind—till +some wayfaring perch, or bream, or bullhead +shall by chance come upon it, he, +meanwhile, with rod set in the bank, +taking his ease upon the fresh June +sward, not touching his tackle nor regarding +it but with the corner of an eye—he +may contemplate and dream day +dreams. He may watch the clouds +drifting across the blue, the green +branches waving between him and +them, consider the lilies of the field,<span class="pagenum">[71]</span> +note the songs of the catbird in the +willow thicket, watch the poise and +plunge of the kingfisher, and so spend +all the day with nature and his own lazy +thoughts. That is what he came for. +Angling with him is only a pretense, an +excuse to pay a visit to the great mother +whom he so dearly loves; and if he carries +home not so much as a scale, he is +happy and content.</p> + +<p>But how is it with him who comes +stealing along with such light tread that +it scarcely crushes the violets or shakes +the dewdrops from the ferns, and casts +his flies with such precise skill upon the +very handsbreadth of water that gives +most promise to his experienced eye; or +drops his minnow with such care into +the eddying pool, where he feels a bass +must lie awaiting it. Eye and ear and +every organ of sense are intent upon +the sport for which he came. He sees +only the images of the clouds, no branch +but that which impedes him or offers +cover to his stealthy approach. His ear +is more alert for the splash of fishes than +for bird songs. With his senses go all<span class="pagenum">[72]</span> +his thoughts, and float not away in day +dreams.</p> + +<p>Howsoever much he loves her, for +the time while he hath rod in hand +Mother Nature is a fish-woman, and +he prays that she may deal generously +with him. Though he be a parson, his +thoughts tend not to religion; though a +savant, not to science; though a statesman, +not to politics; though an artist, +to no art save the art of angling. So +far removed from all these while he casts +his fly or guides his minnow, how much +further is his soul from all but the matter +in hand when a fish has taken the +one or the other, and all his skill is taxed +to the utmost to bring his victim to +creel. Heresy and paganism may prevail, +the light of science be quenched, +the country go to the dogs, pictures go +unpainted, and statues unmoulded till he +has saved this fish.</p> + +<p>When the day is spent, the day's +sport done, and he wends his way homeward +with a goodly score, satisfied with +himself and all the world besides, he +may ponder on many things apart from +that which has this day taken him by<span class="pagenum">[73]</span> +green fields and pleasant waters. Now +he may brood his thoughts, and dream +dreams; but while he angles, the complete +angler is not a contemplative man.</p> + +<br> + +<p class="caption">II</p> + +<p>The rivers roaring between their +brimming banks; the brooks babbling +over their pebbled beds and cross-stream +logs that will be bridges for the fox in +midsummer; the freed waters of lakes +and ponds, dashing in slow beat of waves +or quicker pulse of ripples against their +shores, in voices monotonous but never +tiresome, now call all who delight in the +craft to go a-fishing.</p> + +<p>With the sap in the aged tree, the +blood quickens in the oldest angler's +veins, whether he be of the anointed +who fish by the book, or of the common +sort who practice the methods of the forgotten +inventors of the art.</p> + +<p>The first are busy with rods and reels +that are a pleasure to the eye and touch, +with fly-books whose leaves are as bright +with color as painted pictures, the others +rummaging corner-cupboards for mislaid +lines, searching the sheds for favorite<span class="pagenum">[74]</span> +poles of ash, ironwood, tamarack, or cedar, +or perhaps the woods for one just +budding on its sapling stump.</p> + +<p>Each enjoys as much as the other the +pleasant labor of preparation and the anticipation +of sport, though perhaps that +of the scientific angler is more æsthetic +enjoyment, as his outfitting is the daintier +and more artistic. But to each +comes the recollection of past happy days +spent on lake, river and brook, memories +touched with a sense of loss, of days that +can never come again, of comrades gone +forever from earthly companionship.</p> + +<p>And who shall say that the plebeian +angler does not enter upon the untangling +of his cotton lines, the trimming +of his new cut pole, and the digging of +his worms, with as much zest as his brother +of the finer cast on the testing and +mending of lancewood or split bamboo +rod, the overhauling of silken lines and +leaders, and the assorting of flies.</p> + +<br> + +<p class="caption">III</p> + +<p>Considering the younger generation +of anglers, one finds more enthusiasm +among those who talk learnedly of all<span class="pagenum">[75]</span> +the niceties of the art. They scorn all +fish not acknowledged as game. They +plan more, though they may accomplish +less than the common sort to whom all +of fishing tackle is a pole, a line, and a +hook. To them fishing is but fishing, +and fish are only fish, and they will go +for one or the other when the signs are +right and the day propitious.</p> + +<p>Descending to the least and latest +generation of anglers, we see the conditions +reversed. The youth born to rod +and reel and fly is not so enthusiastic in +his devotion to the sport as the boy +whose birthright is only the pole that +craftsman never fashioned, the kinky +lines of the country store, and hooks +known by no maker's name. For it is +not in the nature of a boy to hold to any +nicety in sport of any sort, and this one, +being herein unrestrained, enters upon +the art called gentle with all the wild +freedom of a young savage or a half-grown +mink.</p> + +<p>For him it is almost as good as going +fishing, to unearth and gather in an old +teapot the worms, every one of which is +to his sanguine vision the promise of a<span class="pagenum">[76]</span> +fish. What completeness of happiness +for him to be allowed to go fishing with +his father or grandfather or the acknowledged +great fisherman of the neighborhood, +a good-for-nothing ne'er-do-well, +but wise in all the ways of fish and their +taking and very careful of and kind to +little boys.</p> + +<p>The high-hole never cackled so merrily, +nor meadow lark sang sweeter, nor +grass sprang greener nor water shone +brighter than to the boy when he goes +a-fishing thus accompanied. To him is +welcome everything that comes from the +waters, be it trout, bass, perch, bullhead, +or sunfish, and he hath pride even in the +abominable but toothsome eel and the +uneatable bowfin.</p> + +<p>Well, remembering that we were once +boys and are yet anglers, though we seldom +go a-fishing, we wish, in the days +of the new springtide, to all the craft, +whether they be of high or low degree, +bent and cramped with the winter of +age or flushed with the spring of life, +pleasant and peaceful days of honest +sport by all watersides, and full creels +and strings and wythes.<span class="pagenum">[77]</span></p> + +<br> + +<p class="caption">IV</p> + +<p>In the soft evenings of April when the +air is full of the undefinable odor of the +warming earth and of the incessant rejoicing +of innumerable members of the +many families of batrachians, one may +see silently moving lights prowling along +the low shores of shallow waters, now +hidden by trunks of great trees that are +knee-deep in the still water, now emerging, +illuminating bolls and branches and +flashing their glimmering glades far +across the ripples of wake and light +breeze.</p> + +<p>If one were near enough he could see +the boat of the spearers, its bow and the +intent figure of the spearman aglow in +the light of the jack which flares a backward +flame with its steady progress, and +drops a slow shower of sparks, while the +stern and the paddler sitting therein are +dimly apparent in the verge of the gloom.</p> + +<p>These may be honest men engaged in +no illegal affair; they exercise skill of +a certain sort; they are enthusiastic in +the pursuit of their pastime, which is as +fair as jacking deer, a practice upheld by<span class="pagenum">[78]</span> +many in high places; yet these who by +somewhat similar methods take fish for +sport and food are not accounted honest +fishermen, but arrant poachers. If jacking +deer is right, how can jacking fish +be wrong? or if jacking fish be wrong, +how can jacking deer be right? Verily, +there are nice distinctions in the ethics +of sport.<span class="pagenum">[79]</span></p> + +<hr class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="XVIII" id="XVIII"></a>XVIII</h2> + +<p class="caption">FARMERS AND FIELD SPORTS</p> + +<div class="inset14"> +<p>"Happy the man whose only care<br> +<span style="margin-left:1em">A few paternal acres bound,<br></span> +Content to breathe his native air<br> +<span style="margin-left:1em">On his own ground."</span></p> +</div> + +<p>Happier still is such a one who has a +love for the rod and gun, and with them +finds now and then a day's freedom from +all cares by the side of the stream that +borders his own acres and in the woods +that crest his knolls or shade his swamp.</p> + +<p>As a rule none of our people take so +few days of recreation as the farmer. +Excepting Sundays, two or three days at +the county fair, and perhaps as many +more spent in the crowd and discomfort +of a cheap railroad excursion, are all that +are given by the ordinary farmer to anything +but the affairs of the farm. It is +true that his outdoor life makes it less +necessary for him than for the man +whose office or shop work keeps him<span class="pagenum">[80]</span> +mostly indoors, to devote a month or a +fortnight of each year to entire rest from +labor. Indeed, he can hardly do this +except in winter, when his own fireside +is oftener the pleasantest place for rest. +But he would be the better for more +days of healthful pleasure, and many +such he might have if he would so use +those odd ones which fall within his +year, when crops are sown and planted +or harvested. A day in the woods or by +the stream is better for body and mind +than one spent in idle gossip at the village +store, and nine times out of ten +better for the pocket, though one come +home without fin or feather to show for +his day's outing. One who keeps his +eyes and ears on duty while abroad in +the field can hardly fail to see and hear +something new, or, at least, more interesting +and profitable than ordinary gossip, +and the wear and tear of tackle and +a few charges of ammunition wasted will +cost less than the treats which are pretty +apt to be part of a day's loafing.</p> + +<p>Barring the dearth of the objects of +his pursuit, the farmer who goes a-fishing +and a-hunting should not be unsuccessful<span class="pagenum">[81]</span> +if he has fair skill with the rod and +gun. For he who knows most of the +habits of fish and game will succeed best +in their capture, and no man, except the +naturalist and the professional fisherman +and hunter, has a better chance to gain +this knowledge than the farmer, whose +life brings him into everyday companionship +with nature. His fields and woods +are the homes and haunts of the birds +and beasts of venery, from the beginning +of the year to its end, and in his streams +many of the fishes pass their lives. By +his woodside the quail builds her nest, +and when the foam of blossom has dried +away on the buckwheat field she leads +her young there to feed on the brown +kernel stranded on the coral stems. If +he chance to follow his wood road in +early June, the ruffed grouse limps and +flutters along it before him, while her +callow chicks vanish as if by a conjurer's +trick from beneath his very footfall. A +month later, grown to the size of robins, +they will scatter on the wing from his +path with a vigor that foretells the bold +whir and the swiftness of their flight in +their grown-up days, when they will stir<span class="pagenum">[82]</span> +the steadiest nerve, whether they hurtle +from an October-painted thicket or from +the blue shadows of untracked snow. +No one is likelier to see and hear the +strange wooing of the woodcock in the +soft spring evenings, and to the farmer's +ear first comes that assurance of spring, +the wail of the Bartram's sandpiper returning +from the South to breed in +meadow and pasture, and then in hollow +trees that overhang the river the wood +ducks begin to spoil their holiday attire +in the work and care of housekeeping. +The fox burrows and breeds in the +farmer's woods. The raccoon's den is +there in ledge or hollow tree. The hare +makes her form in the shadow of his +evergreens, where she dons her dress of +tawny or white to match the brown floor +of the woods or its soft covering of snow. +The bass comes to his river in May to +spawn, the pike-perch for food, and the +perch lives there, as perhaps the trout +does in his brook.</p> + +<p>All these are his tenants, or his summer +boarders, and if he knows not something +of their lives, and when and where +to find them at home or in their favorite<span class="pagenum">[83]</span> +resorts, he is a careless landlord. His +life will be the pleasanter for the interest +he takes in theirs, and the skill he +acquires in bringing them to bag and +creel.<span class="pagenum">[84]</span></p> + +<hr class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="XIX" id="XIX"></a>XIX</h2> + +<p class="caption">TO A TRESPASS SIGN</p> + +<p>Scene, <i>A Wood. An old man with a fishing-rod speaks</i>:—</p> + +<p>What strange object is this which I +behold, incongruous in its staring whiteness +of fresh paint and black lettering, +its straightness of lines and abrupt irregularity +amid the soft tints and graceful +curves of this sylvan scene? As I live, +a trespass sign!</p> + +<p>Thou inanimate yet most impertinent +thing, dumb yet commanding me with +most imperative words to depart hence, +how dost thou dare forbid my entrance +upon what has so long been my own, +even as it is the birds' and beasts' and +fishes', not by lease or title deed, but +of natural right? Hither from time immemorial +have they come at will and so +departed at no man's behest, as have I +since the happy days when a barefoot +boy I cast my worm-baited hook among<span class="pagenum">[85]</span> +the crystal foam bells, or bearing the +heavy burden of my grandsire's rusty +flint-lock, I stalked the wily grouse in +the diurnal twilight of these thickets.</p> + +<p>Here was I thrilled by the capture of +my first trout; here exulted over the +downfall of my first woodcock; here, +grown to man's estate, I learned to cast +the fly; here beheld my first dog draw +on his game, and here, year after year, +till my locks have grown gray, have I +come, sharp set with months of longing, +to live again for a little while the carefree +days of youth.</p> + +<p>Never have I been bidden to depart +but by storm or nightfall or satiety, until +now thou confrontest me with thy impudent +mandate, thou, thou contemptible, +but yet not to be despised nor unheeded +parallelogram of painted deal, with thy +legal phrases and impending penalties; +thou, the silent yet terribly impressive +representative of men whose purses are +longer than mine!</p> + +<p>What is their right to this stream, these +woods, compared with mine? Theirs +is only gained by purchase, confirmed by +scrawled parchment, signed and sealed;<span class="pagenum">[86]</span> +mine a birthright, as always I hoped it +might be of my sons and my sons' sons. +What to the usurpers of our rights are +these woods and waters but a place for +the killing of game and fish? They do +not love, as a man the roof-tree where-under +he was born, these arches and low +aisles of the woods; they do not know as +I do every silver loop of the brook, every +tree whose quivering reflection throbs +across its eddies; its voice is only babble +to their ears, the song of the pines tells +them no story of bygone years.</p> + +<p>Of all comers here, I who expected +most kindly welcome am most inhospitably +treated. All my old familiars, the +birds, the beasts, and the fishes, may fly +over thee, walk beneath thee, swim +around thee, but to me thou art a wall +that I may not pass.</p> + +<p>I despise thee and spit upon thee, thou +most impudent intruder, thou insolent +sentinel, thou odious monument of selfishness, +but I dare not lay hands upon +thee and cast thee down and trample +thee in the dust of the earth as thou +shouldst of right be entreated. To rid +myself of thy hateful sight, I can only<span class="pagenum">[87]</span> +turn my back upon thee and depart with +sorrow and anger in my heart.</p> + +<p>Mayst thou keep nothing but disappointment +for the greedy wretches who +set thee here.<span class="pagenum">[88]</span></p> + +<hr class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="XX" id="XX"></a>XX</h2> + +<p class="caption">A GENTLE SPORTSMAN</p> + +<p>All the skill of woodcraft that goes +to the making of the successful hunter +with the gun, must be possessed by him +who hunts his game with the camera. +His must be the stealthy, panther-like +tread that breaks no twig nor rustles the +fallen leaves. His the eye that reads +at a glance the signs that to the ordinary +sight are a blank or at most are an +untranslatable enigma. His a patience +that counts time as nothing when measured +with the object sought. When by +the use and practice of these, he has +drawn within a closer range of his timid +game than his brother of the gun need +attain, he pulls trigger of a weapon that +destroys not, but preserves its unharmed +quarry in the very counterfeit of life and +motion. The wild world is not made +the poorer by one life for his shot, nor<span class="pagenum">[89]</span> +nature's peace disturbed, nor her nicely +adjusted balance jarred.</p> + +<p>He bears home his game, wearing +still its pretty ways of life in the midst +of its loved surroundings, the swaying +hemlock bough where the grouse perched, +the bending ferns about the deer's couch, +the dew-beaded sedges where the woodcock +skulks in the shadows of the alders, +the lichened trunks and dim vistas of +primeval woods, the sheen of voiceless +waterfalls, the flash of sunlit waves that +never break.</p> + +<p>His trophies the moth may not assail. +His game touches a finer sense +than the palate possesses, satisfies a nobler +appetite than the stomach's craving, +and furnishes forth a feast that, ever +spread, ever invites, and never palls upon +the taste.</p> + +<p>Moreover, this gentlest of sportsmen +is hampered by no restrictions of close +time, nor confronted by penalties of +trespass. All seasons are open for his +bloodless forays, all woods and waters +free to his harmless weapon.</p> + +<p>Neither is he trammeled by any nice +distinctions as to what may or may not<span class="pagenum">[90]</span> +be considered game. Everything counts +in his score. The eagle on his craggy +perch, the high-hole on his hollow tree, +are as legitimate game for him as the +deer and grouse. All things beautiful +and wild and picturesque are his, yet he +kills them not, but makes them a living +and enduring joy, to himself and all who +behold them.<span class="pagenum">[91]</span></p> + +<hr class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="XXI" id="XXI"></a>XXI</h2> + +<p class="caption">JULY DAYS</p> + +<p>The woods are dense with full-grown +leafage. Of all the trees, only the basswood +has delayed its blossoming, to +crown the height of summer and fill the +sun-steeped air with a perfume that calls +all the wild bees from hollow tree and +scant woodside gleaning to a wealth of +honey gathering, and all the hive-dwellers +from their board-built homes to a +finer and sweeter pillage than is offered +by the odorous white sea of buckwheat. +Half the flowers of wood and fields are +out of bloom. Herdsgrass, clover and +daisy are falling before the mower. The +early grain fields have already caught +the color of the sun, and the tasseling +corn rustles its broad leaves above the +rich loam that the woodcock delights to +bore.</p> + +<p>The dwindling streams have lost their +boisterous clamor of springtide and wimple<span class="pagenum">[92]</span> +with subdued voices over beds too +shallow to hide a minnow or his poised +shadow on the sunlit shallows. The +sharp eye of the angler probes the green +depths of the slowly swirling pools, and +discovers the secrets of the big fish which +congregate therein.</p> + +<p>The river has marked the stages of +its decreasing volume with many lines +along its steep banks. It discloses the +muskrat's doorway, to which he once +dived so gracefully, but now must clumsily +climb to. Rafts of driftwood bridge +the shallow current sunk so low that +the lithe willows bend in vain to kiss +its warm bosom. This only the swaying +trails of water-weeds and rustling sedges +toy with now; and swift-winged swallows +coyly touch. There is not depth to +hide the scurrying schools of minnows, +the half of whom fly into the air in a +curving burst of silver shower before the +rush of a pickerel, whose green and mottled +sides gleam like a swift-shot arrow +in the downright sunbeams.</p> + +<p>The sandpiper tilts along the shelving +shore. Out of an embowered harbor a +wood duck convoys her fleet of ducklings,<span class="pagenum">[93]</span> +and on the ripples of their wake +the anchored argosies of the water lilies +toss and cast adrift their cargoes of perfume. +Above them the green heron +perches on an overhanging branch, uncouth +but alert, whether sentinel or +scout, flapping his awkward way along +the ambient bends and reaches. With +slow wing-beats he signals the coming +of some more lazily moving boat, that +drifts at the languid will of the current +or indolent pull of oars that grate on +the golden-meshed sand and pebbles.</p> + +<p>Lazily, unexpectantly, the angler casts +his line, to be only a convenient perch +for the dragonflies; for the fish, save +the affrighted minnows and the hungry +pickerel, are as lazy as he. To-day he +may enjoy to the full the contemplative +man's recreation, nor have his contemplations +disturbed by any finny folk of +the under-water world, while dreamily he +floats in sunshine and dappled shadow, +so at one with the placid waters and +quiet shores that wood duck, sandpiper, +and heron scarcely note his unobtrusive +presence.</p> + +<p>No such easy and meditative pastime<span class="pagenum">[94]</span> +attends his brother of the gun who, +sweating under the burden of lightest apparel +and equipment, beats the swampy +covers where beneath the sprawling alders +and arching fronds of fern the woodcock +hides. Not a breath stirs the murky +atmosphere of these depths of shade, +hotter than sunshine; not a branch nor +leaf moves but with his struggling passage, +or marking with a wake of waving +undergrowth the course of his unseen +dog.</p> + +<p>Except this rustling of branches, +sedges and ferns, the thin, continuous +piping of the swarming mosquitoes, the +busy tapping and occasional harsh call +of a woodpecker, scarcely a sound invades +the hot silence, till the wake of +the hidden dog ceases suddenly and the +waving brakes sway with quickening +vibrations into stillness behind him. +Then, his master draws cautiously near, +with gun at a ready and an unheeded +mosquito drilling his nose, the fern leaves +burst apart with a sudden shiver, and +a woodcock, uttering that shrill unexplained +twitter, upsprings in a halo of +rapid wing-beats and flashes out of sight<span class="pagenum">[95]</span> +among leaves and branches. As quick, +the heelplate strikes the alert gunner's +shoulder, and, as if in response to the +shock, the short unechoed report jars +the silence of the woods. As if out of +the cloud of sulphurous smoke, a shower +of leaves flutter down, with a quicker +patter of dry twigs and shards of bark, +and among all these a brown clod drops +lifeless and inert to mother earth.</p> + +<p>A woodcock is a woodcock, though +but three-quarters grown; and the shot +one that only a quick eye and ready +hand may accomplish; but would not +the achievement have been more worthy, +the prize richer, the sport keener in the +gaudy leafage and bracing air of October, +rather than in this sweltering heat, befogged +with clouds of pestering insects, +when every step is a toil, every moment +a torture? Yet men deem it sport and +glory if they do not delight in its performance. +The anxious note and behavior +of mother song-birds, whose poor +little hearts are in as great a flutter as +their wings concerning their half-grown +broods, hatched coincidently with the +woodcock, is proof enough to those who<span class="pagenum">[96]</span> +would heed it, that this is not a proper +season for shooting. But in some northerly +parts of our wide country it is woodcock +now or never, for the birds bred +still further northward are rarely tempted +by the cosiest copse or half-sunned hillside +of open woods to linger for more +than a day or two, as they fare southward, +called to warmer days of rest and +frostless moonlit nights of feeding under +kindlier skies.</p> + +<p>While the nighthawk's monotonous +cry and intermittent boom and the indistinct +voice of the whippoorwill ring out +in the late twilight of the July evenings, +the alarmed, half-guttural chuckle of the +grass plover is heard, so early migrating +in light marching order, thin in flesh but +strong of wing, a poor prize for the gunner +whose ardor outruns his humanity +and better judgment. Lean or fat, a +plover is a plover, but would that he +might tarry with us till the plump grasshoppers +of August and September had +clothed his breast and ribs with fatness.</p> + +<p>Well, let him go, if so soon he will. +So let the woodcock go, to offer his best +to more fortunate sportsmen. What<span class="pagenum">[97]</span> +does it profit us to kill merely for the +sake of killing, and have to show therefor +but a beggarly account of bones and +feathers? Are there not grouse and +quail and woodcock waiting for us, and +while we wait for them can we not content +ourselves with indolent angling by +shaded streams in these melting days +of July rather than contribute the blaze +and smoke of gunpowder to the heat and +murkiness of midsummer? If we must +shed blood let us tap the cool veins of +the fishes, not the hot arteries of brooding +mother birds and their fledgelings.<span class="pagenum">[98]</span></p> + +<hr class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="XXII" id="XXII"></a>XXII</h2> + +<p class="caption">CAMPING OUT</p> + +<p>"Camping out" is becoming merely +a name for moving out of one's permanent +habitation and dwelling for a few +weeks in a well-built lodge, smaller than +one's home, but as comfortable and almost +as convenient; with tables, chairs +and crockery, carpets and curtains, beds +with sheets and blankets on real bedsteads, +a stove and its full outfit of cooking +utensils, wherefrom meals are served +in the regular ways of civilization. Living +in nearly the same fashion of his +ordinary life, except that he wears a +flannel shirt and a slouch hat, and fishes +a little and loafs more than is his ordinary +custom, our "camper" imagines +that he is getting quite close to the primitive +ways of hunters and trappers; that +he is living their life with nothing lacking +but the rough edges, which he has ingeniously<span class="pagenum">[99]</span> +smoothed away. He is mistaken. +In ridding himself of some of its +discomforts, he has lost a great deal of +the best of real camp life; the spice of +small adventure, and the woodsy flavor +that its half-hardships and makeshift +appliances give it. If one sleeps a little +cold under his one blanket on his bed +of evergreen twigs, though he does not +take cold, he realizes in some degree the +discomfort of Boone's bivouac when he +cuddled beside his hounds to keep from +freezing—and feels slightly heroic. His +slumbers are seasoned with dreams of +the wild woods, as the balsamic perfume +of his couch steals into his nostrils; his +companions' snores invade his drowsy +senses as the growl of bears, and the +thunderous whir of grouse bursting out +of untrodden thickets. When he awakes +in the gray of early morning he finds +that the few hours of sleep have wrought +a miracle of rest, and he feels himself +nearer to nature when he washes his +face in the brook, than when he rinses +off his sleepiness in bowl or basin. The +water of the spring is colder and has a<span class="pagenum">[100]</span> +finer flavor when he drinks it from a +birch bark cup of his own making. Tea +made in a frying-pan has an aroma never +known to such poor mortals as brew +their tea in a teapot, and no mill ever +ground such coffee as that which is tied +up in a rag and pounded with a stone or +hatchet-head. A sharpened stick for a +fork gives a zest to the bit of pork "frizzled" +on as rude a spit and plattered on +a clean chip or a sheet of bark, and no +fish was ever more toothsome than when +broiled on a gridiron improvised of green +wands or roasted Indian fashion in a +cleft stick.</p> + +<p>What can make amends for the loss of +the camp-fire, with innumerable pictures +glowing and shifting in its heart, and +conjuring strange shapes out of the surrounding +gloom, and suggesting unseen +mysteries that the circle of darkness +holds behind its rim? How are the wells +of conversation to be thawed out by a +black stove, so that tales of hunters' and +fishers' craft and adventure shall flow till +the measure of man's belief is overrun? +How is the congenial spark of true companionship +to be kindled when people<span class="pagenum">[101]</span> +brood around a stove and light their +pipes with matches, and not with coals +snatched out of the camp-fire's edge, or +with twigs that burn briefly with baffling +flame?</p> + +<p>But it will not be long before it will be +impossible to get a taste of real camping +without taking long and expensive journeys, +for every available rod of lake shore +and river bank is being taken up and +made populous with so-called camps, and +the comfortable freedom and seclusion +of a real camp are made impossible +there. One desiring that might better +pitch his tent in the back woodlot of a +farm than in any such popular resort. +This misnamed camping out has become +a fashion which seems likely to last till +the shores are as thronged as the towns, +and the woods are spoiled for the real +campers, whom it is possible to imagine +seeking in the summers of the +future a seclusion in the cities that the +forests and streams no longer can give +them.</p> + +<p>Yet, let it be understood that make-believe +camping is better than no camping. +It cannot but bring people into<span class="pagenum">[102]</span> +more intimate relations with nature than +they would be if they stayed at home, +and so to better acquaintance with our +common mother, who deals so impartially +with all her children.<span class="pagenum">[103]</span></p> + +<hr class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="XXIII" id="XXIII"></a>XXIII</h2> + +<p class="caption">THE CAMP-FIRE</p> + +<p>If "the open fire furnishes the room," +the camp-fire does more for the camp. +It is its life—a life that throbs out in +every flare and flicker to enliven the +surroundings, whether they be the trees +of the forest, the expanse of prairie, +shadowed only by clouds and night, or +the barren stretch of sandy shore. Out +of the encompassing gloom of all these, +the camp-fire materializes figures as real +to the eye as flesh and blood. It peoples +the verge of darkness with grotesque +forms, that leap and crouch and sway +with the rise and fall and bending of the +flame to the wind, and that beckon the +fancy out to grope in the mystery of night.</p> + +<p>Then imagination soars with the updrift +of smoke and the climbing galaxy +of fading sparks, to where the steadfast +stars shine out of the unvisited realm +that only imagination can explore.<span class="pagenum">[104]</span></p> + +<p>The camp-fire gives an expression to +the human face that it bears in no other +light, a vague intentness, an absorption +in nothing tangible; and yet not a far-away +look, for it is focused on the flame +that now licks a fresh morsel of wood, +now laps the empty air; or it is fixed +on the shifting glow of embers, whose +blushes flush or fade under their ashen +veil. It is not the gaze of one who looks +past everything at nothing, or at the +stars or the mountains or the far-away +sea-horizon; but it is centred on and +revealed only by the camp-fire. You +wonder what the gazer beholds—the +past, the future, or something that is +neither; and the uncertain answer you +can only get by your own questioning of +the flickering blaze.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>As the outers gather around this +cheerful centre their lips exhale stories +of adventure by field and flood, as naturally +as the burning fuel does smoke and +sparks, and in that engendering warmth, +no fish caught or lost, no buck killed +or missed, suffers shrinkage in size or +weight, no peril is lessened, no tale shorn<span class="pagenum">[105]</span> +of minutest detail. All these belong to +the camp-fire, whether it is built in conformity +to scientific rules or piled clumsily +by unskilled hands. What satisfaction +there is in the partnership of building +this altar of the camp, for though +a master of woodcraft superintends, all +may take a hand in its erection; the +youngest and the weakest may contribute +a stick that will brighten the blaze.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>What hospitality the glow of the +camp-fire proclaims in inviting always +one more to the elastic circle of light +and warmth, that if always complete, yet +expands to receive another guest. A +pillar of cloud by day, of fire by night, it +is a beacon that guides the wanderer to +shelter and comfort.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>The Indian weed has never such perfect +flavor as when, contending with heat +and smoke, one lights his pipe with a +coal or an elusive flame, snatched from +the embers of the camp-fire, and by no +other fireside does the nicotian vapor so +soothe the perturbed senses, bring such +lazy contentment, nor conjure such pleasant<span class="pagenum">[106]</span> +fancies out of the border of dreamland.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>There is no cooking comparable with +that which the camp-fire affords. To +whatever is boiled, stewed, roasted, +broiled or baked over its blaze, in the +glow of its embers or in its ashes, it imparts +a distinctive woodsy flavor that it +distills out of itself or draws from the +spiced air that fans it; and the aroma +of every dish invites an appetite that is +never disappointed if the supply be large +enough.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>It cannot be denied that the camp +stove gives forth warmth and, with more +comfort to the cook, serves to cook food +of such tame flavor as one may get at +home. But though the serviceable little +imp roar till its black cheeks glow red +as winter berries, it cannot make shanty +or tent a camp in reality or impart to an +outing its true flavor. This can only be +given by the generous camp-fire, whose +flames and embers no narrow walls inclose, +whose hearth is on every side, +whose chimney is the wide air.<span class="pagenum">[107]</span></p> + +<hr class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="XXIV" id="XXIV"></a>XXIV</h2> + +<p class="caption">A RAINY DAY IN CAMP</p> + +<p>The plans of the camper, like those of +other men, "gang aft agley." The morrow, +which he proposed to devote to some +long-desired hunting or fishing trip, is no +more apt to dawn propitiously on him +than on the husbandman, the mariner, +or any other mortal who looks to the +weather for special favor. On the contrary, +instead of the glowing horizon and +the glory of the sunburst that should +usher in the morning, the slow dawn is +quite apt to have the unwelcome accompaniment +of rain.</p> + +<p>The hearing, first alert of the drowsy +senses, catches the sullen patter of the +drops on tent or shanty, their spiteful, +hissing fall on the smouldering embers of +the camp-fire, and with a waft of damp +earth and herbage stealing into his nostrils, +the disappointed awakener turns +fretfully under his blanket, then crawls<span class="pagenum">[108]</span> +forth to have his lingering hope smothered +in the veil of rain that blurs the +landscape almost to annihilation.</p> + +<p>He mutters anathemas against the +weather, then takes the day as it has +come to him, for better or for worse. +First, to make the best of it, he piles +high the camp-fire, and dispels with its +glow and warmth some cubic feet of +gloom and dampness. Then he sets +about breakfast-making, scurrying forth +from shelter to fire, in rapid culinary +forays, battling with the smoke, for +glimpses of the contents of kettle and +pan. His repast is as pungent with +smoke as the strong waters of Glenlivat, +but if that is valued for its flavor of peat-reek, +why should he scorn food for the +like quality?</p> + +<p>Then if he delights in petty warfare +with the elements, to bide the pelting +of the rain, to storm the abatis of wet +thickets and suffer the sapping and mining +of insidious moisture, he girds up his +loins and goes forth with rod or gun, as +his desire of conquest may incline him.</p> + +<p>But if he has come to his outing +with the intention of pursuing sport with<span class="pagenum">[109]</span> +bodily comfort, he is at once assured +that this is unattainable under the present +conditions of the weather. Shall he +beguile the tediousness of a wet day in +camp with books and papers?</p> + +<p>Nay, if they were not left behind in +the busy, plodding world that he came +here to escape from, they should have +been. He wants nothing here that reminds +him of traffic or politics; nothing +of history, for now he has only to do +with the present; nothing of travel, for +his concern now is only with the exploration +of this wild domain. He does not +wish to be bothered with fiction, idealized +reality is what he desires. Neither does +he care for what other men have written +of nature. Her book is before him and +he may read it from first hands.</p> + +<p>Looking forth from his snug shelter +on the circumscribed landscape, he +marvels at the brightness of a distant +yellow tree that shines like a living +flame through the veil of mist. The +blaze of his sputtering camp-fire is not +brighter. He notices, as perhaps he +never did before, how distinctly the +dark ramage of the branches is traced<span class="pagenum">[110]</span> +among the brilliant leaves, as if with +their autumnal hues they were given +transparency. Some unfelt waft of the +upper air casts aside for a moment the +curtain of mist and briefly discloses a +mountain peak, radiant with all the hues +of autumn, and it is as if one were +given, as in a dream, a glimpse of the +undiscovered country. He realizes a +dreamy pleasure in watching the waves +coming in out of the obscurity and dashing +on the shore, or pulsing away in +fading leaden lines into the mystery of +the wrack.</p> + +<p>In the borders of the mist the ducks +revel in the upper and nether wetness, +and with uncanny laughter the loon rejoices +between his long explorations of +the aquatic depth. A mink, as heedless +of rain as the waterfowl, comes stealing +along the shore, thridding the intricacies +of driftwood and web of wave-washed +tree roots, often peering out in inquisitive +examination of the quiet camp. +Less cautious visitors draw nearer—the +friendly chickadee, hanging from the +nearest twig; the nuthatch, sounding +his penny trumpet, accompanied by the<span class="pagenum">[111]</span> +tap of the woodpecker, as one creeps +down, the other up a tree trunk; the +scolding jays, making as noisy protest +over human intrusion as if they had just +discovered it; a saucy squirrel, scoffing +and jeering, till tired of his raillery he +settles down to quiet nut-rasping under +shelter of his tail.</p> + +<p>There are unseen visitors, too: wood-mice, +astir under cover of the fallen +leaves, and, just discernible among the +patter of the falling rain and of the squirrels' +filings, footfalls unidentified, till a +ruffed grouse starts new showers from +the wet branches in the thunder of his +flight.</p> + +<p>Narrowed to the width of tent or +shanty front, the background but a +pallid shroud of mist, the landscape yet +holds much for pleasant study. But if +the weather-bound camper exhausts this +or tires of it, he may turn to gun-cleaning +or tackle-mending. If a guide be +with him, he can listen to his stories of +hunting, fishing, and adventure, or learn +woodcraft of him and the curious ways +of birds and beasts. He may fashion +birch-bark camp-ware, dippers, cups, and<span class="pagenum">[112]</span> +boxes, or whittle a paddle from a smooth-rifted +maple. If he is of artistic turn, +he can pleasantly devote an hour to +etching pictures on the white under surface +of the fungus that grows on decaying +trees, and so provide himself with +reminders of this rainy day in camp.</p> + +<p>So, with one and another pastime, +he whiles away the sunless day, which, +almost before he has thought of it, +merges into the early nightfall, and he +is lulled to sleep by the same sound that +wakened him, the drip and patter of the +rain. And when he looks back to these +days of outing he may count this, which +dawned so unpropitiously, not the least +pleasant and profitable among them, and +mark with a white stone the rainy day +in camp.<span class="pagenum">[113]</span></p> + +<hr class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="XXV" id="XXV"></a>XXV</h2> + +<p class="caption">AUGUST DAYS</p> + +<p>With such unmistakable signs made +manifest to the eye and ear the summer +signals its fullness and decline, that one +awakening now from a sleep that fell +upon him months ago might be assured +of the season with the first touch of +awakening.</p> + +<p>To the first aroused sense comes the +long-drawn cry of the locust fading into +silence with the dry, husky clap of his +wings; the changed voice of the song +birds, no more caroling the jocund tunes +of mating and nesting time, but plaintive +with the sadness of farewell.</p> + +<p>The bobolink has lost, with his pied +coat, the merry lilt that tinkled so continually +over the buttercups and daisies +of the June meadows; rarely the song +sparrow utters the trill that cheered us +in the doubtful days of early spring. +The bluebird's abbreviated carol floats<span class="pagenum">[114]</span> +down from the sky as sweet as then, +but mournful as the patter of autumn +leaves. The gay goldfinch has but +three notes left of his June song, as he +tilts on the latest blossoms and fluffy +seeds of the thistles. The meadowlark +charms us no more with his long-drawn +melody, but with one sharp, insistent +note he struts in the meadow stubble +or skulks among the tussocks of the +pasture and challenges the youthful gunner. +What an easy shot that even, +steady flight offers, and yet it goes onward +with unfaltering rapid wing-beats, +while the gun thunders and the harmless +shot flies behind him. The flicker +cackles now no more as when he was a +jubilant new comer, with the new-come +spring for his comrade, but is silent or +only yelps one harsh note as he flashes +his golden wings in loping flight from +fence-stake to ant-hill.</p> + +<p>The plover chuckles while he lingers +at the bounteous feast of grasshoppers, +but never pierces the August air with +the long wail that proclaimed his springtime +arrival. After nightfall, too, is +heard his chuckling call fluttering down<span class="pagenum">[115]</span> +from the aerial path, where he wends +his southward way, high and distinct +above the shrill monotony of crickets +and August pipers. The listening sportsman +may well imagine that the departing +bird is laughing at him as much as +signaling his course to companion wayfarers.</p> + +<p>The woodland thrushes' flutes and +bells have ceased to breathe and chime, +only the wood pewee keeps his pensive +song of other days, yet best befitting +those of declining summer.</p> + +<p>The trees are dark with ripened leafage; +out of the twilight of the woodside +glow the declining disks of wild sunflowers +and shine the rising constellations +of asters. The meadow sides are +gay with unshorn fringes of goldenrod +and willow-herb, and there in the corners +of the gray fences droop the heavy clusters +of elderberries, with whose purple +juice the flocking robins and the young +grouse, stealing from the shadowed +copses along this belt of shade, dye their +bills.</p> + +<p>The brook trails its attenuated thread +out of the woodland gloom to gild its<span class="pagenum">[116]</span> +shallow ripples with sunshine and redden +them with the inverted flames of the +cardinals that blaze on the sedgy brink. +Here the brown mink prowls with her +lithe cubs, all unworthy yet of the trapper's +skill, but tending toward it with +growth accelerated by full feasts of pool-impounded +minnows. Here, too, the +raccoon sets the print of his footsteps on +the muddy shores as he stays his stomach +with frogs and sharpens his appetite +with the hot sauce of Indian turnip while +he awaits the setting of his feast in the +cornfields. The hounds are more impatient +than he for the opening of his +midnight revel, and tug at their chains +and whimper and bay when they hear +his querulous call trembling through the +twilight. They are even fooled to melodiously +mournful protest when their ears +catch the shriller quaver of the screech +owl's note.</p> + +<p>The woodcock skulks in the bordering +alders, and when forced to flight does +so with a stronger wing than when a +month ago his taking off was first legally +authorized. Another month will make +him worthier game; and then, too, the<span class="pagenum">[117]</span> +ruffed grouse need not be spared a shot, +as full grown and strong of pinion he +bursts from cover; nor need the wood +duck, now but a vigorous bunch of pin +feathers, be let go untried or unscathed, +when from his perch on a slanted log or +out of a bower of rushes he breaks into +the upper air with startling flutter of +wings and startled squeak of alarm.</p> + +<p>Summer wanes, flowers fade, bird +songs falter to mournful notes of farewell; +but while regretfully we mark the +decline of these golden days, we remember +with a thrill of expectation that they +slope to the golden days of autumn, +wherein the farmer garners his latest +harvest, the sportsman his first worthy +harvest, and that to him that waits, +come all things, and even though he +waits long, may come the best.<span class="pagenum">[118]</span></p> + +<hr class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="XXVI" id="XXVI"></a>XXVI</h2> + +<p class="caption">A VOYAGE IN THE DARK</p> + +<p>A few days ago, a friend who is kind +and patient enough to encumber himself +with the care of a blind man and a boy +took me and my twelve-year-old a-fishing. +It was with a fresh realization of my deprivation +that I passed along the watery +way once as familiar as the dooryard path, +but now shrouded for me in a gloom +more impenetrable than the blackness of +the darkest night. I could only guess at +the bends and reaches as the south wind +blew on one cheek or the other, or on my +back, only knowing where the channel +draws near the shore upon which the Indians +encamped in the old days by the +flutter of leaves overbearing the rustle of +rushes. By the chuckle of ripples under +the bow, I guessed when we were in mid-channel; +by the entangled splash of an +oar, when we approached the reedy border +where the water-lilies rode at anchor,<span class="pagenum">[119]</span> +and discharged their subtle freight +of perfume as they tossed in our wake. +I knew by his clatter, drawing nearer +only with our progress, that a kingfisher +was perched on a channel-side fishing-stake, +used in turn by him and bigger +but not more skillful fishers. I heard +his headlong plunge, but whether successful +or not the ensuing clatter did not tell +me, for he has but one voice for all expressions. +Yet as his rattling cry was +kept up till the rough edge of its harshness +was worn away in receding flight, +I fancied he was proclaiming an unusually +successful achievement. For the +sake of his reputation, he would never +make such a fuss over a failure, unless +he was telling, as we do, of the big fish +he just missed catching. At any rate, I +wished him good luck, for who would begrudge +a poor kingfisher such little fish +as he must catch! They would need +years of growth to make them worth our +catching or bragging over the loss of, and +by that time we may be done with fishing.</p> + +<p>Suddenly there was a roar of multitudinous +wings as a host of redwings upburst<span class="pagenum">[120]</span> +from springing and swaying wild +rice stalks, all of which I saw through +the blackness illumined for an instant +by memory,—the dusky cloud uprising +like the smoke of an explosion, the bent +rice springing up beneath its lifted burden, +the dull-witted or greedy laggards +dribbling upward to join the majority. +My companions exclaimed in one voice at +the rare sight of a white bird in the flock, +and by the same light of memory I also +saw it as I saw one in an autumn forty +years ago, when, with my comrade of +those days, I came "daown the crik" +duck-shooting, or trolling as to-day. +Again and again we saw this phenomenal +bird like a white star twinkling through +a murky cloud. The fitful gleam was +seen day after day, till the north wind +blew him and his cloud away southward.</p> + +<p>The pother of the blackbirds overhead +disturbed the meditations of a bittern, +who, with an alarmed croak, jerked his +ungainly form aloft in a flurry of awkward +wing-beats, and went sagging +across the marshes in search of safer +seclusion. I wished that he might find +it, and escape the ruthless gunners that<span class="pagenum">[121]</span> +will presently come to desolate these +marshes. Very different from his uprising +was that of a pair of wood ducks, +revealing their unsuspected presence +with startling suddenness, as they sprang +from water to air with a splash and +whistle of rapid wings and their squeaking +alarm cry, and then flew swiftly +away, the sibilant wing-beats pulsing out +in the distance. These, too, I wished +might safely run the gauntlet of all the +guns that will be arrayed against them +when the summer truce is broken. If +I had not been mustered out, or if my +boy were mustered in, no doubt I should +feel differently toward the inhabitants +of these marshes. Compulsory abstinence +makes one exceedingly virtuous, +and because I am virtuous there shall be +no cakes and ale for any one.</p> + +<p>The absence of the rail's cackle was +noticeable, a clamor that used to be +provoked at this season by every sudden +noise. We never got sight of the +"ma'sh chickens" as they skulked +among the sedges; and when the birds +were pressed to flight, rarely caught +more than a fleeting glimpse as they<span class="pagenum">[122]</span> +topped the rushes for an instant, and +dropped again into the mazes of the +marsh. But they were always announcing +a numerous if invisible presence +where now not one answered to our +voices or the noise of our oars.</p> + +<p>All this while our trolling gear was in +tow: the boy's a "phantom minnow" +bristling with barbs, a veritable porcupine +fish; mine a fluted spoon. The +larger fish seemed attracted by the better +imitation, or perhaps age and experience +had given them discernment to +shun the other more glaring sham, and +the best of them went to the boy's score; +but the unwise majority of smaller fish +were evidently anxious to secure souvenir +spoons of Little Otter, and in consequence +of that desire I was "high +hook" as to numbers. They were only +pickerel at best, though some of them, +bearing their spots on a green ground, +are honored with the name of "maskalonge" +by our fishermen. A scratch of +the finger-nail across the scaly gill-cover +gives proof enough to convince even a +blind man of the worthlessness of this +claim to distinction.<span class="pagenum">[123]</span></p> + +<p>Once I enjoyed an exaltation of spirit +only to suffer humiliation. There was +a tug at the hooks, so heavy that my +first thought was of a snag, and I was +on the point of calling out to my friend +to stop rowing. Then there was a +slight yielding, and the tremor that tells +unmistakably of a fish. "Now," said I, +with my heart but a little way back of +my teeth, "I am fast to something like +a fish, but I shall never be able to boat +him. He is too big to lift out with +the hooks, and I can't see to get him by +the gills, and so I shall lose him." As +he came in slowly, stubbornly fighting +against every shortening inch of line, I +almost wished he had not been hooked +at all only to be lost at last. When, +after a time, my fish was hauled near +the boat and in sight of my companions, +my catch proved to be no monster, but +a pickerel of very ordinary size hooked +by the belly, and so my hopes and fears +vanished together.</p> + +<p>I think distances are magnified to the +blind, for it seemed twice as far as it did +of old from the East Slang to the South<span class="pagenum">[124]</span> +Slang, as we passed these oddly named +tributaries of Little Otter.</p> + +<p>At last I sniffed the fragrance of +cedars and heard the wash of waves on +the southward-slanted shore of Garden +Island, and these informed me we were +at the lake. In confirmation thereof +was the testimony of my companions, +given out of their light to my darkness, +of an eagle's royal progress through his +ethereal realm, making inspection of his +disputed earthly possession. I was glad +to know that his majesty had escaped +the republican regicides who haunt the +summer shores.</p> + +<p>We made a difficult landing on the +mainland, on the oozy shore of mixed +sawdust and mud, and followed the old +trail to the old camping ground under +the rocks, a place full of pleasant memories +for the elder two of our trio, and offering +to the boy the charms of freshness +and discovery. For him the cliff towered +skyward but little below the eagle's +flight; its tiny caves were unexplored +mysteries, their coral-beaded curtains of +Canada yew and delicate netting of +mountain-fringe strange foreign growths.<span class="pagenum">[125]</span> +Through his undimmed eyes I had +glimpses of those happy shores whereon +the sun always shines and no cloud +arises beyond. What a little way behind +they seem in the voyage that has +grown wearisome, and yet we can never +revisit them for a day nor for an hour, +and it is like a dream that we ever dwelt +there.</p> + +<p>Bearing with us from this port something +not marketable nor even visible, +yet worth carrying home, we reëmbarked, +and the wind, blowing in my +face, informed me we were homeward +bound. One after another, we passed +five boats of fishing parties tied up at as +many stakes, the crews pursuing their +pastime with steadfast patience, as their +intent silence proclaimed. To me they +were as ships passed in the night. I +had no other knowledge of them than +this, except that my friend told me there +was a fat woman in each boat, and that +one of them boasted to us, with motherly +pride, of a big pickerel caught by her +little girl.</p> + +<p>A blended hum of bumblebees droned +in among us, and my companions remarked<span class="pagenum">[126]</span> +that one of the aerial voyagers +had boarded our craft, while I maintained +there were two, which proved to +be the fact; whereupon I argued that +my ears were better than their eyes, but +failed to convince them or even myself. +I welcomed the bees as old acquaintances, +who, in the duck-shooting of past +years, always used to come aboard and +bear us company for awhile, rarely alighting, +but tacking from stem to stern on a +cruise of inspection, till at last, satisfied +or disappointed, they went booming out +of sight and hearing over marshfuls of +blue spikes of pickerel weed and white +trinities of arrowhead. I cannot imagine +why bees should be attracted to the barrenness +of a boat, unless by a curiosity +to explore such strange floating islands, +though their dry wood promises neither +leaf nor bloom.</p> + +<p>I hear of people every year who forsake +leafage and bloom to search the +frozen desolation of the polar north for +the Lord knows what, and I cease to +wonder at the bees, when men so waste +the summers that are given them to enjoy +if they will but bide in them.<span class="pagenum">[127]</span></p> + +<p>We passed many new houses of the +muskrats, who are building close to the +channel this year in prophecy of continued +low water. But muskrats are +not infallible prophets, and sometimes +suffer therefor in starvation or drowning. +The labor of the night-workers was suspended +in the glare of the August afternoon, +and their houses were as silent as +if deserted, though we doubted not there +were happy households inside them, untroubled +by dreams of famine or deluge, +or possibly of the unmercifulness of +man, though that seems an abiding terror +with our lesser brethren. Winter +before last the marshes were frozen to +the bottom, blockading the muskrats in +their houses, where entire families perished +miserably after being starved to +cannibalism. Some dug out through +the house roofs, and wandered far across +the desolate wintry fields in search of +food. Yet nature, indifferent to all +fates, has so fostered them since that +direful season that the marshy shores +are populous again with sedge-thatched +houses.</p> + +<p>As we neared our home port we met<span class="pagenum">[128]</span> +two trollers, one of whom lifted up +for envious inspection a lusty pickerel. +"He's as big as your leg," my friend +replied to my inquiry concerning its +dimensions, and in aid of my further inquisitiveness +asked the lucky captor how +much the fish would weigh. "Wal, I +guess he ought to weigh abaout seven +pounds," was answered, after careful +consideration. We learned afterwards +that its actual weight was nine pounds, +and I set that man down as a very honest +angler.</p> + +<p>Presently our boat ran her nose into +the familiar mire of well-named Mud +Landing, and we exchanged oars for +legs, which we plied with right good +will, for a thunderstorm was beginning +to bellow behind us.<span class="pagenum">[129]</span></p> + +<hr class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="XXVII" id="XXVII"></a>XXVII</h2> + +<p class="caption">THE SUMMER CAMP-FIRE</p> + +<p>A thin column of smoke seen rising +lazily among the leafy trees and fading +to a wavering film in the warm morning +air or the hotter breath of noon, a flickering +blaze kindling in the sultry dusk +on some quiet shore, mark the place of +the summer camp-fire.</p> + +<p>It is not, like the great hospitable +flare and glowing coals of the autumn +and winter camp-fires, the centre to +which all are drawn, about which the +life of the camp gathers, where joke and +repartee flash to and fro as naturally and +as frequently as its own sparks fly upward, +where stories come forth as continuously +as the ever-rising volume of +smoke.</p> + +<p>Rather it is avoided and kept aloof +from, held to only by the unhappy +wretch upon whom devolves the task of +tending the pot and frying-pan, and he<span class="pagenum">[130]</span> +hovers near it fitfully, like a moth about +a candle, now backing away to mop his +hot face, now darting into the torrid +circle to turn a fish or snatch away a +seething pot or sizzling pan. Now and +then the curious and hungry approach to +note with what skill or speed the cookery +is progressing, but they are content to +look on at a respectful distance and to +make suggestions and criticisms, but not +to interfere with aid. The epicurean +smoker, who holds that the finest flavor +of tobacco is evoked only by coal or blazing +splinter, steals down upon the windward +side and snatches a reluctant ember +or an elusive flame that flickers out +on the brink of the pipe bowl, but most +who burn the weed are content now to +kindle it with the less fervid flame of a +match.</p> + +<p>And yet this now uncomfortable necessity +is still the heart of the camp, +which without it would be but a halting +place for a day, where one appeases hunger +with a cold bite and thirst with +draughts of tepid water, and not a temporary +home where man has his own +fireside, though he care not to sit near<span class="pagenum">[131]</span> +it, and feasts full on hot viands and refreshes +himself with the steaming cup +that cheers but not inebriates.</p> + +<p>Its smoke drifted far through the +woods may prove a pungent trail, scented +out among the odors of balsams and the +perfume of flowers that shall lead hither +some pleasant stranger or unexpected +friend, or its firefly glow, flashing but +feebly through the gloaming, may be a +beacon that shall bring such company. +In its praise may also be said that the +summer camp-fire demands no laborious +feeding nor careful tending, is always a +servant, seldom a master.<span class="pagenum">[132]</span></p> + +<hr class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="XXVIII" id="XXVIII"></a>XXVIII</h2> + +<p class="caption">THE RACCOON</p> + +<p>Summer is past its height. The songless +bobolink has forsaken the shorn +meadow. Grain fields, save the battalioned +maize, have fallen from gracefulness +and beauty of bending heads and ripple +of mimic waves to bristling acres of +stubble. From the thriftless borders of +ripening weeds busy flocks of yellowbirds +in faded plumage scatter in sudden +flight at one's approach like upblown +flurries of dun leaves. Goldenrod gilds +the fence-corners, asters shine in the +dewy borders of the woods, sole survivors +of the floral world save the persistent +bloom of the wild carrot and succory—flourishing +as if there had never +been mower or reaper—and the white +blossoms of the buckwheat crowning the +filling kernels. The fervid days have +grown preceptibly shorter, the lengthening +nights have a chilly autumnal<span class="pagenum">[133]</span> +flavor, and in the cool dusk the katydids +call and answer one to another out +of their leafy tents, and the delicate +green crickets that Yankee folks call +August pipers play their monotonous +tune. Above the katydid's strident cry +and the piper's incessant notes, a wild +tremulous whinny shivers through the +gloom at intervals, now from a distant +field or wood, now from the near orchard. +One listener will tell you that +it is only a little screech owl's voice, another +that it is the raccoon's rallying +cry to a raid on the cornfield. There +is endless disputation concerning it and +apparently no certainty, but the raccoon +is wilder than the owl, and it is +pleasanter to believe that it is his voice +that you hear.</p> + +<p>The corn is in the milk; the feast is +ready. The father and mother and well +grown children, born and reared in the +cavern of a ledge or hollow tree of a +swamp, are hungry for sweets remembered +or yet untasted, and they are +gathering to it, stealing out of the thick +darkness of the woods and along the +brookside in single file, never stopping to<span class="pagenum">[134]</span> +dig a fiery wake-robin bulb nor to catch +a frog nor harry a late brood of ground-nesting +birds, but only to call some laggard, +or distant clansfolk. So one fancies, +when the quavering cry is repeated +and when it ceases, that all the free-booters +have gained the cornfield and are +silent with busy looting. Next day's examination +of the field may confirm the +fancy with the sight of torn and trampled +stalks and munched ears. These are +the nights when the coon hunter is +abroad and the robbers' revel is likely +to be broken up in a wild panic.</p> + +<p>Hunted only at night, to follow the +coon the boldest rider must dismount, +yet he who risks neck and limbs, or +melts or freezes for sport's sake, and +deems no sport manly that has not a +spice of danger or discomfort in it, must +not despise this humble pastime for such +reason.</p> + +<p>On leaving the highway that leads +nearest to the hunting ground, the way +of the coon hunters takes them, in darkness +or feeble lantern light, over rough +and uncertain footing, till the cornfield's +edge is reached and the dogs cast off.<span class="pagenum">[135]</span> +Away go the hounds, their course only +indicated by the rustling of the corn +leaves, as they range through the field, +until one old truth-teller gives tongue +on the track of a coon who perhaps has +brought his whole family out on a nocturnal +picnic. The hounds sweep straight +away, in full cry, on the hot scent to hill +or swamp, where their steadfast baying +proclaims that the game is treed.</p> + +<p>Then follows a pell-mell scramble toward +the musical uproar. Stones, cradle +knolls, logs, stumps, mud holes, +brambles and all the inanimate enemies +that lie in wait for man when he hastens +in the dark, combine to trip, bump, +bruise, sprain, scratch, and bemire the +hurrying hunters.</p> + +<p>Then when all have gathered at the +centre of attraction, where the excited +hounds are raving about the boll of some +great tree, the best and boldest climber +volunteers to go aloft into the upper +darkness and shake the quarry down or +shoot him if may be. If he succeeds +in accomplishing the difficult task, what +a mêlée ensues when the coon crashes +through the branches to the ground and<span class="pagenum">[136]</span> +becomes the erratic centre of the wild +huddle of dogs and men.</p> + +<p>Fewer voices never broke the stillness +of night with sounds more unearthly +than the medley of raging, yelping, +growling, cheering, and vociferous orders +given forth by dogs, coon, and hunters, +while hillside and woodland toss to and +fro a more discordant badinage of echo. +The coon is not a great beast, but a +tough and sharp-toothed one, who carries +beneath his gray coat and fat ribs a stout +heart and wonderful vitality; and a +tussle with a veteran of the tribe of +cornfield robbers tests the pluck of the +dogs.</p> + +<p>If the coon takes refuge in a tree too +tall and limbless for his pursuers to +climb, there is nothing for them but to +keep watch and ward till daylight discovers +him crouched on his lofty perch. +A huge fire enlivens the long hours of +guard keeping. A foraging party repairs +to the nearest cornfield for roasting ears, +and the hunters shorten the slow nighttide +with munching scorched corn, +sauced by joke and song and tales of the +coon hunts of bygone years.<span class="pagenum">[137]</span></p> + +<p>The waning moon throbs into view +above a serrated hill-crest, then climbs +the sky, while the shadows draw eastward, +then pales in the dawn, and when +it is like a blotch of white cloud in the +zenith, a sunrise gun welcomes day and +brings the coon tumbling to earth. Or +perhaps not a coon, but some vagrant +house cat is the poor reward of the long +watch. Then the weary hunters plod +homeward to breakfast and to nail their +trophies to the barn door.</p> + +<p>When the sweet acorns, dropping in +the frosty night, tempt the coon to a +later feast, there is as good sport and +primer peltry. In any of the nights +wherein this sport may be pursued, the +man of lazy mould and contemplative +mind loves best the hunt deemed unsuccessful +by the more ardent hunters, +when the hounds strike the trail of a +wandering fox and carry a tide of wild +music, flooding and ebbing over valley +and hilltop, while the indolent hunter +reclines at ease, smoking his pipe and +listening, content to let more ambitious +hunters stumble over ledges and wallow +through swamps.<span class="pagenum">[138]</span></p> + +<p>When winter begins, the coon retires +for a long and comfortable sleep, warmly +clothed in fur and fat. A great midwinter +thaw awakens him, fooled out of +a part of his nap by the siren song of +the south wind, and he wanders forth in +quest of something. If food, he never +finds it, and as far as I have been able +to determine, does not even seek it. I +should imagine, reading the record of his +journey as he prints it in his course from +hollow tree or hollow ledge to other +hollow trees and hollow ledges, that he +had been awakened to a sense of loneliness +and was seeking old friends in +familiar haunts, with whom to talk over +last year's cornfield raids and frogging +parties in past summer nights—perchance +to plan future campaigns. Or is +it an inward fire and no outward warmth +that has thawed him into this sudden +activity? Has he, like many of his biggers +and betters, gone a-wooing in winter +nights?</p> + +<p>At such times the thrifty hunter who +has an eye more to profit and prime peltry +than to sport, goes forth armed only +with an axe. Taking the track of the<span class="pagenum">[139]</span> +wanderers, he follows it to their last +tarrying place. If it be a cave, they are +safe except from the trap when they +come forth to begin another journey; but +if it is a hollow tree, woe betide the poor +wretches. The hunter saps the foundation +of their castle, and when it crashes +to its fall he ignominiously knocks the +dazed inmates on the head. It is fashionable +for others to wear the coat which +becomes the raccoon much better than +them and which once robbed of he can +never replace.</p> + +<p>During the spring and early summer +little is seen of the raccoon. His tracks +may be found on a sandy shore or margin +of a brook and occasionally his call can +be heard, if indeed it be his, but beyond +these he gives little evidence of his existence. +There must be nocturnal excursions +for food, but for the most part old +and young abide in their rocky fortress +or wooden tower. They are reported to +be a playful family, and the report is +confirmed by the pranks of domesticated +members of it. Sometimes there will be +found in one of their ravaged homes a +rounded gnarl worn smooth with much<span class="pagenum">[140]</span> +handling or pawing, the sole furniture +of the house and evidently a plaything.</p> + +<p>This little brother of the bear is one +of the few remaining links that connect +us with the old times, when there were +trees older than living men, when all the +world had not entered for the race to +gain the prize of wealth, or place, or renown; +when it was the sum of all happiness +for some of us to "go a-coonin'." +It is pleasant to see the track of this +midnight prowler, this despoiler of cornfields, +imprinted in the mud of the lane +or along the soft margin of the brook, to +know that he survives, though he may +not be the fittest. When he has gone +forever, those who outlive him will know +whether it was his quavering note that +jarred the still air of the early fall evenings +or if it was only the voice of the +owl—if he too shall not then have gone +the inevitable way of all the wild world.<span class="pagenum">[141]</span></p> + +<hr class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="XXIX" id="XXIX"></a>XXIX</h2> + +<p class="caption">THE RELUCTANT CAMP-FIRE</p> + +<p>The depressing opposite of the fire +that is the warm heart of the camp is +the pile of green or rain-soaked fuel that +in spite of all coaxing and nursing refuses +to yield a cheerful flame. Shavings +from the resin-embalmed heart of a +dead pine and scrolls of birch bark fail +to enkindle it to more than flicker and +smoke, while the wet and hungry campers +brood forlornly over the cheerless centre +of their temporary home, with watery +eyes and souls growing sick of camp life.</p> + +<p>Night is falling, and the shadows of +the woods thicken into solid gloom that +teems with mysterious horrors, which +stretch their intangible claws through +the darkness to chill the backs of the +timid with an icy touch, and the silence +is terrible with unuttered howlings of +imaginary beasts.</p> + +<p>Each one is ready to blame the other +for the common discomfort, and all, the<span class="pagenum">[142]</span> +high priest, who so far fails to kindle +the altar fire. He is an impostor, who +should be smothered in the reek of his +own failure. Yet, as the group regard +him with unkind glances and mutterings +of disapproval, he perseveres, feeding +the faint flame with choice morsels of +fat wood and nursing it with his breath, +his bent face and puffed cheeks now a +little lightened, now fading into gloom, +till suddenly the sullenness of the reluctant +fuel is overcome, wings of flame flutter +up the column of smoke, and the +black pile leaps into a lurid tower of +light, from whose peak a white banner +of smoke flaunts upward, saluted by the +waving boughs that it streams among.</p> + +<p>Tent and shanty, familiar trees, and +moving figures with their circle of +grotesque, dancing shadows, spring into +sudden existence out of the blank darkness. +The magic touch of the firelight +dispels every sullen look, warms every +heart to genial comradeship; jokes flash +back and forth merrily, and the camp +pulses again with reawakened cheerful +life. Verily, fire worketh wonders in +divers ways.<span class="pagenum">[143]</span></p> + +<hr class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="XXX" id="XXX"></a>XXX</h2> + +<p class="caption">SEPTEMBER DAYS</p> + +<p>September days have the warmth of +summer in their briefer hours, but in +their lengthening evenings a prophetic +breath of autumn. The cricket chirps +in the noontide, making the most of +what remains of his brief life; the bumblebee +is busy among the clover blossoms +of the aftermath; and their shrill +cry and dreamy hum hold the outdoor +world above the voices of the song birds, +now silent or departed.</p> + +<p>What a little while ago they were our +familiars, noted all about us in their accustomed +haunts—sparrow, robin, and +oriole, each trying now and then, as if +to keep it in memory, a strain of his +springtime love song, and the cuckoo +fluting a farewell prophecy of rain. The +bobolinks, in sober sameness of traveling +gear, still held the meadowside thickets +of weeds; and the swallows sat in sedate<span class="pagenum">[144]</span> +conclave on the barn ridge. Then, looking +and listening for them, we suddenly +become aware they are gone; the adobe +city of the eave-dwellers is silent and +deserted; the whilom choristers of the +sunny summer meadows are departed to +a less hospitable welcome in more genial +climes. How unobtrusive was their exodus. +We awake and miss them, or we +think of them and see them not, and +then we realize that with them summer +too has gone.</p> + +<p>This also the wafted thistledown and +the blooming asters tell us, and, though +the woods are dark with their latest +greenness, in the lowlands the gaudy +standard of autumn is already displayed. +In its shadow the muskrat is thatching +his winter home, and on his new-shorn +watery lawn the full-fledged wild duck +broods disport in fullness of feather and +strength of pinion. Evil days are these +of September that now befall them. +Alack, for the callow days of peaceful +summer, when no honest gunner was +abroad, and the law held the murderous +gun in abeyance, and only the keel of +the unarmed angler rippled the still<span class="pagenum">[145]</span> +channel. Continual unrest and abiding +fear are their lot now and henceforth, +till spring brings the truce of close time +to their persecuted race.</p> + +<p>More silently than the fisher's craft +the skiff of the sportsman now invades +the rush-paled thoroughfares. Noiseless +as ghosts, paddler and shooter glide +along the even path till, alarmed by +some keener sense than is given us, up +rise wood duck, dusky duck, and teal +from their reedy cover. Then the ready +gun belches its thunder, and suddenly +consternation pervades the marshes. +All the world has burst forth in a burning +of powder. From end to end, from +border to border, the fenny expanse +roars with discharge and echo, and nowhere +within it is there peace or rest for +the sole of a webbed foot. Even the +poor bittern and heron, harmless and +worthless, flap to and fro from one to +another now unsafe retreat, in constant +danger of death from every booby gunner +who can cover their slow flight.</p> + +<p>The upland woods, too, are awakened +from the slumber of their late summer +days. How silent they had grown when<span class="pagenum">[146]</span> +their songsters had departed, rarely +stirred but by the woodpecker's busy +hammer, the chatter and bark of squirrels, +and the crows making vociferous +proclamation against some winged or +furred enemy. The grouse have waxed +fat among the border patches of berry +bushes, rarely disturbed in the seclusion +of the thickets but by the soft footfall +of the fox, the fleeting shadow of a cruising +hawk, and the halloo of the cowboy +driving home his herd from the hillside +pasture. Now come enemies more relentless +than beast or bird of prey, a +sound more alarming than the cowboy's +distant call—man and his companion +the dog, and the terrible thunder of the +gun. A new terror is revealed to the +young birds, a half-forgotten one brought +afresh to the old. The crows have found +fresh cause for clamor, and the squirrels +lapse into a silence of fear.</p> + +<p>Peace and the quietness of peace have +departed from the realm of the woods, +and henceforth while the green leaves +grow bright as blossoms with the touch +of frost, then brown and sere, and till +long after they lie under the white<span class="pagenum">[147]</span> +shroud of winter, its wild denizens shall +abide in constant fear and unrest.</p> + +<p>So fares it with the wood-folk, these +days of September, wherein the sportsman +rejoiceth with exceeding gladness.<span class="pagenum">[148]</span></p> + +<hr class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="XXXI" id="XXXI"></a>XXXI</h2> + +<p class="caption">A PLEA FOR THE UNPROTECTED</p> + +<p>Why kill, for the mere sake of killing +or the exhibition of one's skill, any wild +thing that when alive harms no one and +when killed is of no worth? The more +happy wild life there is in the world, the +pleasanter it is for all of us.</p> + +<p>When one is duck-shooting on inland +waters, sitting alert in the bow of the +skiff with his gun ready for the expected +gaudy wood duck, or plump mallard, or +loud quacking dusky duck, or swift-winged +teal, to rise with a splashing +flutter out of the wild rice, and there is +a sudden beating of broad wings among +the sedges with a startled guttural quack, +and one's heart leaps to his throat and +his gun to his shoulder, and then—only +an awkward bittern climbs the September +breeze with a slow incline, there is +a vengeful temptation to let drive at +the disappointing good-for-nothing. But<span class="pagenum">[149]</span> +why not let the poor fellow go? If you +dropped him back into the marsh to +rot unprofitably there, disdained even by +the mink, unattainable to the scavenger +skunk, what good would it do you? If +he disappointed you, you disturbed him +in his meditations, or in the pursuit of +a poor but honest living. Perhaps a +great heron too intent on his fishing +or frogging, or dozing in the fancied seclusion +of his reedy bower, springs up +within short range and goes lagging +away on his broad vans. He may be +taken home to show, for he is worth +showing even when killed. But if you +wish your friends to see him at his best, +bring them to him and let them see how +well he befits these sedgy levels—a +goodly sight, whether he makes his lazy +flight above them or stands a motionless +sentinel in the oozy shallows. The +marshes would be desolate without him, +or if one desires the charm of loneliness, +his silent presence adds to it.</p> + +<p>A kingfisher comes clattering along +the channel. As he jerks his swift way +over the sluggish water he may test +your marksmanship, but as he hangs<span class="pagenum">[150]</span> +with rapid wing-beats over a school of +minnows, as steadfast for a minute as a +star forever, needing no skill to launch +him to his final unrewarded plunge, do +not kill him! In such waters he takes +no fish that you would, and he enlivens +the scene more than almost any other +frequenter of it, never skulking and hiding, +but with metallic, vociferous clatter +heralding his coming. One never tires +of watching his still mid-air poise, the +same in calm or wind, and his unerring +headlong plunge.</p> + +<p>When one wanders along a willowy +stream with his gun, cautiously approaching +every lily-padded pool and shadowed +bend likely to harbor wood duck or teal, +and finds neither, and his ears begin to +ache for the sound of his gun—if a +green heron flaps off a branch before him +he is sorely tempted to shoot the ungainly +bird, but if the gun must be heard, +let it speak to a stump or a tossed chip, +either as difficult a target as he, and let +the poor harmless little heron live. Uncouth +as he is, he comes in well in the +picture of such a watercourse, which has +done with the worry of turning mills,<span class="pagenum">[151]</span> +left far behind with their noise and bustle +on foaming rapids among the hills, and +crawls now in lazy ease through wide intervales, +under elms and water maples +and thickets of willows.</p> + +<p>On the uplands, where the meadow +lark starts out of the grass with a +sharp, defiant "zeet!" and speeds away +on his steady game-like flight, remember +before you stop it, or try to, of how +little account he is when brought to +bag; and how when the weary days of +winter had passed, his cheery voice welcomed +the coming spring, a little later +than the robin's, a little earlier than +the flicker's cackle; and what an enlivening +dot of color his yellow breast +made where he strutted in the dun, bare +meadows.</p> + +<p>In some States the woodpeckers are +unprotected and are a mark for every +gunner. Their galloping flight tempts +the ambitious young shooter to try his +skill, but they are among the best friends +of the arboriculturist and the fruit-grower, +for though some of them steal +cherries and peck early apples, and one +species sucks the sap of trees, they are<span class="pagenum">[152]</span> +the only birds that search out and kill +the insidious, destructive borer.</p> + +<p>In some States, too, the hare is unprotected +by any law, and it is common custom +to hunt it, even so late as April, for +the mere sake of killing, apparently; or +perhaps the charm of the hound's music, +which makes the butchery of Adirondack +deer so delightful a sport to some, +adds a zest to the slaughter of these innocents—though, +be it said, there is +no comparison in the marksmanship required. +Alive, the northern hare is one +of the most harmless of animals; dead, +he is, in the opinion of most people, one +of the most worthless; so worthless that +hunters frequently leave the result of all +their day's "sport" in the woods where +they were killed. Yet the hare is legitimate +game, and should be hunted +as such, and only in proper seasons, +and not be ruthlessly exterminated. A +woodland stroll is the pleasanter if one +sees a hare there in his brown summer +suit, or white as the snow about him in +his winter furs.</p> + +<p>Where there are no statute laws for +the protection of game and harmless<span class="pagenum">[153]</span> +creatures not so classed, an unwritten +law of common sense, common decency, +and common humanity should be powerful +enough to protect all these. The fox +is an outlaw; it is every one's legal right +to kill him whenever and however he +may, and yet wherever the fox is hunted +with any semblance of fair play, whether +in New England with gun and hound, +or elsewhere with horse and hound, the +man who traps a fox, or kills one unseasonably, +or destroys a vixen and her cubs, +bears an evil reputation. A sentiment +as popular and as potent ought to prevail +to protect those that, though harmless, +are as unshielded by legislative enactments +as the fox, and much less guarded +by natural laws and inborn cunning.<span class="pagenum">[154]</span></p> + +<hr class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="XXXII" id="XXXII"></a>XXXII</h2> + +<p class="caption">THE SKUNK</p> + +<p>Always and everywhere in evil repute +and bad odor, hunted, trapped, and +killed, a pest and a fur-bearer, it is a +wonder that the skunk is not exterminated, +and that he is not even uncommon.</p> + +<p>With an eye to the main chance, the +fur-trapper spares him when fur is not +prime, but when the letter "R" has become +well established in the months the +cruel trap gapes for him at his outgoing +and incoming, at the door of every +discovered burrow, while all the year +round the farmer, sportsman, and poultry-grower +wage truceless war against him.</p> + +<p>Notwithstanding this general outlawry, +when you go forth of a winter +morning, after a night of thaw or tempered +chill, you see his authentic signature +on the snow, the unmistakable +diagonal row of four footprints each, or<span class="pagenum">[155]</span> +short-spaced alternate tracks, where he +has sallied out for a change from the +subterranean darkness of his burrow, or +from his as rayless borrowed quarters +beneath the barn, to the starlight or pale +gloom of midnight winter landscape.</p> + +<p>More often are you made aware of his +continued survival by another sense than +sight, when his far-reaching odor comes +down the vernal breeze or waft of summer +air, rankly overbearing all the fragrance +of springing verdure, or perfume +of flowers and new-mown hay, and you +well know who has somewhere and somehow +been forced to take most offensively +the defensive.</p> + +<p>It may be said of him that his actions +speak louder than his words. Yet +the voiceless creature sometimes makes +known his presence by sound, and +frightens the belated farm boy, whom +he curiously follows with a mysterious, +hollow beating of his feet upon the +ground.</p> + +<p>Patches of neatly inverted turf in +a grub-infested pasture tell those who +know his ways that the skunk has been +doing the farmer good service here, and<span class="pagenum">[156]</span> +making amends for poultry stealing, +and you are inclined to regard him with +more favor. But when you come upon +the empty shells of a raided partridge +nest, your sportsman's wrath is enkindled +against him for forestalling your +gun. Yet who shall say that you had a +better right to the partridges than he to +the eggs?</p> + +<p>If you are so favored, you can but admire +the pretty sight of the mother with +her cubs basking in a sunny nook or +leading them afield in single file, a black +and white procession.</p> + +<p>If by another name the rose would +smell as sweet, our old acquaintance is +in far better odor for change of appellation +from that so suggestive of his rank +offenses. What beauty of fair faces +would be spoiled with scorn by a hint of +the vulgar name which in unadorned +truth belongs to the handsome glossy +black muff and boa that keep warm those +dainty fingers and swan-like neck. Yet +through the furrier's art and cunning +they undergo a magic transformation +into something to be worn with pride, +and the every-day wear of the despised<span class="pagenum">[157]</span> +outlaw becomes the prized apparel of +the fair lady.</p> + +<p>If unto this humble night wanderer is +vouchsafed a life beyond his brief earthly +existence, imagine him in that unhunted, +trapless paradise of uncounted eggs and +callow nestlings, grinning a wide derisive +smile as he beholds what fools we mortals +be, so fooled by ourselves and one +another.<span class="pagenum">[158]</span></p> + +<hr class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="XXXIII" id="XXXIII"></a>XXXIII</h2> + +<p class="caption">A CAMP-FIRE RUN WILD</p> + +<p>Some wooden tent-pins inclosing a +few square yards of ground half covered +with a bed of evergreen twigs, matted +but still fresh and odorous, a litter of +paper and powder-smirched rags, empty +cans and boxes, a few sticks of fire wood, +a blackened, primitive wooden crane, with +its half-charred supporting crotches, and +a smouldering heap of ashes and dying +brands, mark the place of a camp recently +deserted.</p> + +<p>Coming upon it by chance, one could +not help a feeling of loneliness, something +akin to that inspired by the cold +hearthstone of an empty house, or the +crumbling foundations of a dwelling long +since fallen to ruin. What days and +nights of healthful life have been spent +here. What happy hours, never to return, +have been passed here. What +jokes have flashed about, what merry<span class="pagenum">[159]</span> +tales have been told, what joyous peals +of laughter rung, where now all is silence. +But no one is there to see it. +A crow peers down from a treetop to +discover what pickings he may glean, +and a mink steals up from the landing, +which bears the keelmarks of lately departed +boats, both distrustful of the old +silence which the place has so suddenly +resumed; and a company of jays flit silently +about, wondering that there are +no intruders to assail with their inexhaustible +vocabulary.</p> + +<p>A puff of wind rustles among the +treetops, disturbing the balance of the +crow, then plunges downward and sets +aflight a scurry of dry leaves, and out +of the gray ashes uncoils a thread of +smoke and spins it off into the haze of +leaves and shadows. The crow flaps in +sudden alarm, the mink takes shelter in +his coign of vantage among the driftwood, +and the jays raise a multitudinous +clamor of discordant outcry. The dry +leaves alight as if by mischievous guidance +of evil purpose upon the dormant +embers, another puff of wind arouses a +flame that first tastes them, then licks<span class="pagenum">[160]</span> +them with an eager tongue, then with +the next eddying breath scatters its +crumbs of sparks into the verge of the +forest. These the rising breeze fans till +it loads itself with a light burden of +smoke, shifted now here, now there, as +it is trailed along the forest floor, now +climbing among the branches, then soaring +skyward.</p> + +<p>Little flames creep along the bodies +of fallen trees and fluffy windrows of +dry leaves, toying like panther kittens +with their assured prey, and then, grown +hungry with such dainty tasting, the +flames upburst in a mad fury of devouring. +They climb swifter than panthers +to treetops, falling back they gnaw savagely +at tree roots, till the ancient lords +of the forest reel and topple and fall before +the gathering wind, and bear their +destroyer still onward.</p> + +<p>The leeward woods are thick with a +blinding, stifling smoke, through which +all the wild creatures of the forest flee +in terror, whither they know not—by +chance to safety, by equal chance perhaps +to a terrible death in the surging deluge +of fire. The billows of flame heave and<span class="pagenum">[161]</span> +dash with a constant insatiate roar, tossing +ever onward a red foam of sparks and +casting a jetsam of lurid brands upon +the ever-retreating strand that is but +touched with the wash of enkindling, +when it is overrun by the sea of fire.</p> + +<p>The ice-cold springs grow hot in its +fierce overwhelming wave, the purling +rills hiss and boil and shrink before it, +then vanish from their seared beds. All +the living greenness of the forest is utterly +consumed—great trees that have +stood like towers, defying the centuries, +with the ephemeral verdure of the +woodland undergrowth; and to mark +the place of all this recent majesty and +beauty, there is but smouldering ruin +and black and ashen waste. Little +farms but lately uncovered to the sun +out of the wilderness, cosy homesteads +but newly builded, are swept away, and +with them cherished hopes and perhaps +precious lives. What irreparable devastation +has been wrought by the camp-fire +run wild!</p> + +<p>Meanwhile the careless begetters of +this havoc are making their leisurely +way toward the outer world of civilization,<span class="pagenum">[162]</span> +serenely noting that the woods are +on fire, and complacently congratulating +themselves that the disaster did not come +to spoil their outing; never once thinking +that by a slight exercise of that +care which all men owe the world, this +calamity, which a century cannot repair, +might have been avoided.<span class="pagenum">[163]</span></p> + +<hr class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="XXXIV" id="XXXIV"></a>XXXIV</h2> + +<p class="caption">THE DEAD CAMP-FIRE</p> + +<p>A heap of ashes, a few half-burned +brands, a blackened pair of crotched +sticks that mark the place of the once +glowing heart of the camp, furnish food +for the imagination to feed upon or give +the memory an elusive taste of departed +pleasures.</p> + +<p>If you were one of those who saw +its living flame and felt its warmth, the +pleasant hours passed here come back +with that touch of sadness which accompanies +the memory of all departed pleasures +and yet makes it not unwelcome. +What was unpleasant, even what was +almost unendurable, has nearly faded out +of remembrance or is recalled with a +laugh.</p> + +<p>It was ten years ago, and the winds +and fallen leaves of as many autumns +have scattered and covered the gray +heap. If it was only last year, you fancy<span class="pagenum">[164]</span> +that the smell of fire still lingers in the +brands. How vividly return to you the +anxious deliberation with which the site +was chosen with a view to all attainable +comfort and convenience, and the final +satisfaction that followed the establishment +of this short-lived home, short-lived +but yet so much a home during its existence. +Nothing contributed so much to +make it one as the camp-fire. How intently +you watched its first building and +lighting, how labored for its maintenance +with awkwardly-wielded axe, how you inhaled +the odors of its cookery and essayed +long-planned culinary experiments +with extemporized implements, over its +beds of coals, and how you felt the consequent +exaltation of triumph or mortification +of failure.</p> + +<p>All these come back to you, and the +relighting of the fire in the sleepy dawn, +the strange mingling of white sunlight +and yellow firelight when the sun shot +its first level rays athwart the camp, the +bustle of departure for the day's sport, +the pleasant loneliness of camp-keeping +with only the silent woods, the crackling +fire, and your thoughts for company; the<span class="pagenum">[165]</span> +incoming at nightfall and the rekindling +of the fire, when the rosy bud of sleeping +embers suddenly expanded into a great +blossom of light whose petals quivered +and faded and brightened among the encircling +shadows of the woods. You +laugh again at the jokes that ran around +that merry circle and wonder again and +again at the ingenuity with which small +performances were magnified into great +exploits, little haps into strange adventure, +and with which bad shots and poor +catches were excused.</p> + +<p>At last came breaking camp, the desolation +of dismantling and leave-taking. +How many of you will ever meet again? +How many of those merry voices are +stilled forever, from how many of those +happy faces has the light of life faded?</p> + +<p>Who lighted this camp-fire? Years +have passed since it illumined the nightly +gloom of the woods, for moss and lichens +are creeping over the charred back-log. +A green film is spread over the ashes, +and thrifty sprouts are springing up +through them.</p> + +<p>You know that the campers were tent-dwellers, +for there stand the rows of<span class="pagenum">[166]</span> +rotten tent pins inclosing a rusty heap of +mould that once was a fragrant couch of +evergreens inviting tired men to rest,—or +you know they spent their nights in a +shanty, for there are the crumbling walls, +the fallen-in roof of bark which never +again will echo song or jest.</p> + +<p>This pile of fish-bones attests that +they were anglers, and skillful or lucky +ones, for the pile is large. If you are +an ichthyologist, you can learn by these +vestiges of their sport whether they satisfied +the desire of soul and stomach with +the baser or the nobler fishes; perhaps +a rotting pole, breaking with its own +weight, may decide whether they fished +with worm or fly; but whether you relegate +them to the class of scientific or +unscientific anglers, you doubt not they +enjoyed their sport as much in one way +as in the other.</p> + +<p>You know that they were riflemen, for +there is the record of their shots in the +healing bullet wounds on the trunk of a +great beech. For a moment you may +fancy that the woods still echo the laughter +that greeted the shot that just raked<span class="pagenum">[167]</span> +the side of the tree; but it is only the +cackle of a yellow-hammer.</p> + +<p>There is nothing to tell you who they +were, whence they came, or whither they +went; but they were campers, lovers of +the great outdoor world, and so akin to +you, and you bid them hail and farewell +without a meeting.<span class="pagenum">[168]</span></p> + +<hr class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="XXXV" id="XXXV"></a>XXXV</h2> + +<p class="caption">OCTOBER DAYS</p> + +<p>Fields as green as when the summer +birds caroled above them, woods more +gorgeous with innumerable hues and +tints of ripening leaves than a blooming +parterre, are spread beneath the azure +sky, whose deepest color is reflected +with intenser blue in lake and stream. +In them against this color are set the +scarlet and gold of every tree upon their +brinks, the painted hills, the clear-cut +mountain peaks, all downward pointing +to the depths of this nether sky.</p> + +<p>Overhead, thistledown and the silken +balloon of the milkweed float on their +zephyr-wafted course, silver motes +against the blue; and above them are +the black cohorts of crows in their straggling +retreat to softer climes. Now the +dark column moves steadily onward, now +veers in confusion from some suspected +or discovered danger, or pauses to assail<span class="pagenum">[169]</span> +with a harsh clangor some sworn enemy +of the sable brotherhood. Their gay-clad +smaller cousins, the jays, are for the +most part silently industrious among the +gold and bronze of the beeches, flitting +to and fro with flashes of blue as they +gather mast, but now and then finding +time to scold an intruder with an endless +variety of discordant outcry.</p> + +<p>How sharp the dark shadows are cut +against the sunlit fields, and in their +gloom how brightly shine the first fallen +leaves and the starry bloom of the asters. +In cloudy days and even when rain is +falling the depths of the woods are not +dark, for the bright foliage seems to +give forth light and casts no shadows +beneath the lowering sky.</p> + +<p>The scarlet maples burn, the golden +leaves of poplar and birch shine through +the misty veil, and the deep purple of +the ash glows as if it held a smouldering +fire that the first breeze might fan +into a flame, and through all this luminous +leafage one may trace branch and +twig as a wick in a candle flame. Only +the evergreens are dark as when they +bear their steadfast green in the desolation<span class="pagenum">[170]</span> +of winter, and only they brood +shadows.</p> + +<p>In such weather the woodland air is +laden with the light burden of odor, +the faintly pungent aroma of the ripened +leaves, more subtle than the scent of +pine or fir, yet as apparent to the nostrils, +as delightful and more rare, for in +the round of the year its days are few, +while in summer sunshine and winter +wind, in springtime shower and autumnal +frost, pine, spruce, balsam, hemlock, and +cedar distill their perfume and lavish it +on the breeze or gale of every season.</p> + +<p>Out of the marshes, now changing +their universal green to brown and +bronze and gold, floats a finer odor than +their common reek of ooze and sodden +weeds—a spicy tang of frost-ripened +flags and the fainter breath of the landward +border of ferns; and with these +also is mingled the subtle pungency of +the woodlands, where the pepperidge is +burning out in a blaze of scarlet, and the +yellow flame of the poplars flickers in the +lightest breeze.</p> + +<p>The air is of a temper neither too hot +nor too cold, and in what is now rather<span class="pagenum">[171]</span> +the good gay wood than green wood, +there are no longer pestering insects to +worry the flesh and trouble the spirit. +The flies bask in half torpid indolence, +the tormenting whine of the mosquito is +heard no more. Of insect life one hears +little but the mellow drone of the bumblebee, +the noontide chirp of the cricket, +and the husky rustle of the dragonfly's +gauzy wing.</p> + +<p>Unwise are the tent-dwellers who have +folded their canvas and departed to the +shelter of more stable roof-trees, for these +are days that should be made the most +of, days that have brought the perfected +ripeness of the year and display it in the +fullness of its glory.<span class="pagenum">[172]</span></p> + +<hr class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="XXXVI" id="XXXVI"></a>XXXVI</h2> + +<p class="caption">A COMMON EXPERIENCE</p> + +<p>The keenest of the sportsman's disappointments +is not a blank day, nor a +series of misses, unaccountable or too +well accountable to a blundering hand or +unsteady nerves, nor adverse weather, +nor gun or tackle broken in the midst of +sport, nor perversity of dogs, nor uncongeniality +of comradeship, nor yet even +the sudden cold or the spell of rheumatism +that prevents his taking the field +on the allotted morning.</p> + +<p>All these may be but for a day. To-morrow +may bring game again to haunts +now untenanted, restore cunning to the +awkward hand, steady the nerves, mend +the broken implement, make the dogs +obedient and bring pleasanter comrades +or the comfortable lonesomeness of one's +own companionship, and to-morrow or +next day or next week the cold and<span class="pagenum">[173]</span> +rheumatic twinges may have passed into +the realm of bygone ills.</p> + +<p>For a year, perhaps for many years, +he has yearned for a sight of some beloved +haunt, endeared to him by old +and cherished associations. He fancies +that once more among the scenes of +his youthful exploits there will return to +him something of the boyish ardor, exuberance +of spirit and perfect freedom +from care that made the enjoyment of +those happy hours so complete. He +imagines that a draught from the old +spring that bubbles up in the shadow of +the beeches or from the moss-brimmed +basin of the trout brook will rejuvenate +him, at least for the moment while its +coolness lingers on his palate, as if he +quaffed Ponce de Leon's undiscovered +fountain. He doubts not that in the +breath of the old woods he shall once +more catch that faint, indescribable, but +unforgotten aroma, that subtle savor of +wildness, that has so long eluded him, +sometimes tantalizing his nostrils with a +touch, but never quite inhaled since its +pungent elixir made the young blood +tingle in his veins.<span class="pagenum">[174]</span></p> + +<p>He has almost come to his own again, +his long-lost possession in the sunny +realm of youth. It lies just beyond the +hill before him, from whose crest he +shall see the nut-tree where he shot his +first squirrel, the southing slope where +the beeches hide the spring, where he +astonished himself with the glory of +killing his first grouse, and he shall see +the glint of the brook flashing down the +evergreen dell and creeping among the +alder copses.</p> + +<p>He does not expect to find so many +squirrels or grouse or trout now as thirty +years ago, when a double gun was a wonder, +and its possession the unrealized +dream of himself and his comrades, and +none of them had ever seen jointed rod +or artificial fly, and dynamite was uninvented. +Yet all the game and fish +cannot have been driven from nor exterminated +in haunts so congenial and +fostering as these, by the modern horde +of gunners and anglers and by the latter-day +devices of destruction, and he +doubts not that he shall find enough to +satisfy the tempered ardor of the graybeard.<span class="pagenum">[175]</span></p> + +<p>Indeed, it is for something better than +mere shooting or fishing that he has +come so far. One squirrel, flicking the +leaves with his downfall, one grouse +plunging to earth midway in his thunderous +flight, one trout caught as he can +catch him, now, will appease his moderate +craving for sport, and best and most +desired of all, make him, for the nonce, a +boy again. He anticipates with quicker +heartbeat the thrill of surprised delight +that choked him with its fullness when +he achieved his first triumph.</p> + +<p>At last the hilltop is gained, but what +unfamiliar scene is this which has taken +the place of that so cherished in his +memory and so longed for? Can that +naked hillside slanting toward him from +the further rim of the valley, forlorn in +the desolation of recent clearing, be the +wooded slope of the other day? Can +the poor, unpicturesque thread of water +that crawls in feeble attenuation between +its shorn, unsightly banks be the wild, +free brook whose voice was a continual +song, every rod of whose amber and silver +course was a picture? Even its fringes of +willow and alders, useful for their shade<span class="pagenum">[176]</span> +and cover when alive, but cut down +worthless even for fuel, have been swept +from its margin by the ruthless besom of +destruction, as if everything that could +beautify the landscape must be blotted +out to fulfill the mission of the spoiler.</p> + +<p>Near it, and sucking in frequent +draughts from the faint stream, is a +thirsty and hungry little sawmill, the +most obtrusive and most ignoble feature +of the landscape, whose beauty its +remorseless fangs have gnawed away. +Every foot of the brook below it is foul +with its castings, and the fragments of +its continual greedy feasting are thickly +strewn far and near. Yet it calls to the +impoverished hills for more victims; its +shriek arouses discordant echoes where +once resounded the music of the brook, +the song of birds, the grouse's drum call, +and the mellow note of the hound.</p> + +<p>Though sick at heart with the doleful +scene, the returned exile descends to his +harried domain hoping that he may yet +find some vestige of its former wealth, +but only more disappointments reward +his quest. Not a trout flashes through +the shrunken pools. The once limpid<span class="pagenum">[177]</span> +spring is a quagmire among rotting +stumps. The rough nakedness of the +hillside is clad only with thistles and +fireweed, with here and there a patch of +blanched dead leaves, dross of the old gold +of the beech's ancient autumnal glory.</p> + +<p>Of all he hoped for nothing is realized, +and he finds only woful change, irreparable +loss. His heart heavy with sorrow +and bursting with impotent wrath +against the ruthless spoiler, he turns his +back forever on the desolated scene of +his boyhood's sports.</p> + +<p>Alas! That one should ever attempt +to retouch the time-faded but beautiful +pictures that the memory holds.<span class="pagenum">[178]</span></p> + +<hr class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="XXXVII" id="XXXVII"></a>XXXVII</h2> + +<p class="caption">THE RED SQUIRREL</p> + +<p>A hawk, flashing the old gold of his +pinions in the face of the sun, flings +down a shrill, husky cry of intense +scorn; a jay scolds like a shrew; from +his safe isolation in the midwater, a loon +taunts you and the awakening winds +with his wild laughter; there is a jeer in +the chuckling diminuendo of the woodchuck's +whistle, a taunt in the fox's +gasping bark as he scurries unseen behind +the veil of night; and a scoff on +hunters and hounds and cornfield owners +is flung out through the gloaming in +the raccoon's quavering cry. But of all +the wild world's inhabitants, feathered or +furred, none outdo the saucy red squirrel +in taunts, gibes, and mockery of their +common enemy.</p> + +<p>He is inspired with derision that is +expressed in every tone and gesture. +His agile form is vibrant with it when<span class="pagenum">[179]</span> +he flattens himself against a tree-trunk, +toes and tail quivering with intensity of +ridicule as fully expressed in every motion +as in his nasal snicker and throaty +chuckle or in the chattering jeer that +he pours down when he has attained a +midway or topmost bough and cocks his +tail with a saucy curve above his arched +back.</p> + +<p>When he persistently retires within +his wooden tower, he still peers out +saucily from his lofty portal, and if he +disappears you may yet hear the smothered +chuckle wherewith he continues to +tickle his ribs. When in a less scornful +mood, he is at least supremely indifferent, +deigning to regard you with but the +corner of an eye, while he rasps a nut +or chips a cone.</p> + +<p>Ordinarily you must be philosophical +or godly to suffer gibes with equanimity, +but you need be neither to endure +the scoffs of this buffoon of the woods +and waysides. They only amuse you +as they do him, and you could forgive +these tricks tenfold multiplied if he had +no worse, and love him if he were but +half as good as he is beautiful.<span class="pagenum">[180]</span></p> + +<p>He exasperates when he cuts off your +half-grown apples and pears in sheer +wantonness, injuring you and profiting +himself only in the pleasure of seeing +and hearing them fall. But you are +heated with a hotter wrath when he reveals +his chief wickedness, and you catch +sight of him stealthily skulking along +the leafy by-paths of the branches, silently +intent on evil deeds and plotting +the murder of callow innocents. Quite +noiseless now, himself, his whereabouts +are only indicated by the distressful outcry +of the persecuted and sympathizing +birds and the fluttering swoops of their +futile attacks upon the marauder. Then +when you see him gliding away, swift +and silent as a shadow, bearing a half-naked +fledgeling in his jaws, if this is +the first revelation of such wickedness, +you are as painfully surprised as if you +had discovered a little child in some +wanton act of cruelty.</p> + +<p>It seems quite out of all fitness of nature +that this merry fellow should turn +murderer, that this dainty connoisseur +of choice nuts and tender buds, and +earliest discoverer and taster of the<span class="pagenum">[181]</span> +maple's sweetness, should become so +grossly carnivorous and savagely bloodthirsty. +But anon he will cajole you +with pretty ways into forgetfulness and +forgiveness of his crimes. You find +yourself offering, in extenuation of his +sins, confession of your own offenses. +Have not you, too, wrought havoc among +harmless broods and brought sorrow to +feathered mothers and woodland homes? +Is he worse than you, or are you better +than he? Against his sins you set his +beauty and tricksy manners, and for them +would not banish him out of the world +nor miss the incomparable touch of wild +life that his presence gives it.<span class="pagenum">[182]</span></p> + +<hr class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="XXXVIII" id="XXXVIII"></a>XXXVIII</h2> + +<p class="caption">THE RUFFED GROUSE</p> + +<p>The woods in the older parts of our +country possess scarcely a trait of the +primeval forest. The oldest trees have +a comparatively youthful appearance, +and are pygmies in girth beside the decaying +stumps of their giant ancestors. +They are not so shagged with moss nor +so scaled with lichens. The forest floor +has lost its ancient carpet of ankle-deep +moss and the intricate maze of fallen +trees in every stage of decay, and looks +clean-swept and bare. The tangle of +undergrowth is gone, many of the species +which composed it having quite disappeared, +as have many of the animals +that flourished in the perennial shade of +the old woods.</p> + +<p>If in their season one sees and hears +more birds among their lower interlaced +branches, he is not likely to catch sight +or sound of many of the denizens of the<span class="pagenum">[183]</span> +old wilderness. No startled deer bounds +away before him, nor bear shuffles awkwardly +from his feast of mast at one's +approach, nor does one's flesh creep at +the howl of the gathering wolves or the +panther's scream or the rustle of his +stealthy footsteps.</p> + +<p>But as you saunter on your devious +way you may hear a rustle of quick feet +in the dry leaves and a sharp, insistent +cry, a succession of short, high-pitched +clucks running into and again out of +a querulous "<i>ker-r-r-r</i>," all expressing +warning as much as alarm. Your ears +guide your eyes to the exact point from +which the sounds apparently come, but +if these are not keen and well trained +they fail to detach any animate form +from the inanimate dun and gray of +dead leaves and underbrush.</p> + +<p>With startling suddenness out of the +monotony of lifeless color in an eddying +flurry of dead leaves, fanned to erratic +flight by his wing-beats, the ruffed +grouse bursts into view, in full flight +with the first strokes of his thundering +pinions, and you have a brief vision of +untamed nature as it was in the old days.<span class="pagenum">[184]</span> +On either side of the vanishing brown +nebula the ancient mossed and lichened +trunks rear themselves again, above it +their lofty ramage veils the sky, beneath +it lie the deep, noiseless cushion of moss, +the shrubs and plants that the old wood +rangers knew and the moose browsed on, +and the tangled trunks of fallen trees. +You almost fancy that you hear the long-ago +silenced voices of the woods, so vividly +does this wild spirit for an instant +conjure up a vision of the old wild world +whereof he is a survival.</p> + +<p>Acquaintance with civilized man has +not tamed him, but has made him the +wilder. He deigns to feed upon apple-tree +buds and buckwheat and woodside +clover, not as a gift, but a begrudged +compensation for what you have taken +from him, and gives you therefor not +even the thanks of familiarity; and notwithstanding +his acquaintance with generations +of your race he will not suffer +you to come so near to him as he would +your grandfather.</p> + +<p>If, when the leaves are falling, you +find him in your barnyard, garden, or +out-house, or on the porch, do not think<span class="pagenum">[185]</span> +he has any intention of associating with +you or your plebeian poultry. You can +only wonder where he found refuge from +the painted shower when all his world +was wooded. If he invites your attendance +at his drum solo, it is only to fool +you with the sight of an empty stage, +for you must be as stealthy and keen-eyed +as a lynx to see his proud display +of distended ruff and wide spread of +barred tail and accelerated beat of wings +that mimic thunder, or see even the +leafy curtain of his stage flutter in the +wind of his swift exit.</p> + +<p>How the definite recognition of his +motionless form evades you, so perfectly +are his colors merged into those of his +environment, whether it be in the flush +greenness of summer, the painted hues +of autumn or its later faded dun and +gray, or in the whiteness of winter. +Among one or the other he is but a clot +of dead leaves, a knot upon a branch, +the gray stump of a sapling protruding +from the snow, or, covered deep in the +unmarked whiteness, he bursts from it +like a mine exploded at your feet, leaving +you agape till he has vanished from<span class="pagenum">[186]</span> +your sight and your ears have caught the +last flick of his wings against the dry +branches.</p> + +<p>In May, his mate sits on her nest, indistinguishable +among the brown leaves +and gray branches about her. Later, +when surprised with her brood, how conspicuous +she makes herself, fluttering +and staggering along the ground, while +her callow chicks, old in cunning though +so lately their eyes first beheld the world, +scatter in every direction like a shattered +globule of quicksilver and magically disappear +where there is no apparent hiding-place. +Did they con the first lesson +of safety in the dark chamber of the egg, +or absorb it with the warmth of the +brooding breast that gave them life?</p> + +<p>Listen, and out of the silence which +follows the noisy dispersion of the family +hear the low sibilant voice of the mother +calling her children to her or cautioning +them to continued hiding. Perhaps you +may see her, alertly skulking among the +underbrush, still uttering that tender, +persuasive cry, so faint that the chirp of +a cricket might overbear it. Scatter her +brood when the members are half grown<span class="pagenum">[187]</span> +and almost as strong of wing as herself, +and you presently hear her softly calling +them and assuring them of her continued +care.</p> + +<p>Among many things that mark the +changing season, is the dispersion of +this wildwood family. Each member is +now shifting for itself in matters of seeking +food, safety, pleasure, and comfort. +You will come upon one in the ferny +undergrowth of the lowland woods where +he is consorting with woodcock, frighten +another from his feast on the fence-side +elderberries, scare one in the thick +shadows of the evergreens, another on +the sparsely wooded steep of a rocky +hillside, and later hear the drum-beat of +a young cock that the soft Indian summer +has fooled into springtime love-making, +and each has the alertness that complete +self-dependence has enforced.</p> + +<p>Still, you may come upon them gathered +in social groups, yet each going his +own way when flushed. Upon rare occasions +you may surprise a grand convention +of all the grouse of the region +congregated on the sunny lee of a hillside. +It is a sight and sound to remember<span class="pagenum">[188]</span> +long, though for the moment you +forget the gun in your hands, when by +ones, twos, and dozens the dusky forms +burst away up wind, down wind, across +wind, signalling their departure with volleys +of intermittent and continuous thunder. +Not many times in your life will +you see this, yet, if but once, you will be +thankful that you have not outlived all +the old world's wildness.<span class="pagenum">[189]</span></p> + +<hr class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="XXXIX" id="XXXIX"></a>XXXIX</h2> + +<p class="caption">TWO SHOTS</p> + +<p>A boy of fourteen, alert, but too full +of life to move slowly and cautiously, is +walking along an old road in the woods, +a road that winds here and there with +meanderings that now seem vagrant +and purposeless but once led to the various +piles of cordwood and logs for +whose harvesting it was hewn. Goodly +trees have since grown up from saplings +that the judicious axe then scorned. +Beeches, whose flat branches are shelves +of old gold; poplars, turned to towers of +brighter metal by the same alchemy of +autumn; and hemlocks, pyramids of unchanging +green, shadow the leaf-strewn +forest floor and its inconspicuous dotting +of gray and russet stumps. How happy +the boy is in the freedom of the woods; +proud to carry his first own gun, as he +treads gingerly but somewhat noisily +over the fallen leaves and dry twigs,<span class="pagenum">[190]</span> +scanning with quick glances the thickets, +imagining himself the last Mohican on +the warpath, or Leather-Stocking scouting +in the primeval wilderness.</p> + +<p>Under his breath he tells the confiding +chickadees and woodpeckers what +undreamed-of danger they would be in +from such a brave, were he not in pursuit +of nobler game. Then he hears +a sudden rustle of the dry leaves, the +<i>quit! quit!</i> of a partridge, catches a +glimpse of a rapidly running brown object, +which on the instant is launched into +a flashing thunderous flight. Impelled +by the instinct of the born sportsman, +he throws the gun to his shoulder, and +scarcely with aim, but in the direction of +the sound, pulls trigger and fires.</p> + +<p>On the instant he is ashamed of his +impulsive haste, which fooled him into +wasting a precious charge on the inanimate +evergreen twigs and sere leaves +that come dropping and floating down +to his shot, and is thankful that he is +the only witness of his own foolishness.</p> + +<p>But what is that? Above the patter +and rustle of falling twigs and leaves +comes a dull thud, followed by the rapid<span class="pagenum">[191]</span> +beat of wings upon the leaf-strewn earth. +With heart beating as fast he runs toward +the sound, afraid to believe his senses, +when he sees a noble grouse fluttering +out feebly his last gasp. He cannot be +sure that it is not all a dream that may +vanish in a breath, till he has the bird +safe in his hand, and then he is faint +with joy. Was there ever such a shot? +Would that all the world were here to +see, for who can believe it just for the +telling? There never will be another +such a bird, nor such a shot, for him. +He fires a dozen ineffectual ones at fair +marks that day, but the glory of that +one shot would atone for twice as many +misses, and he need not tell of them, +only of this, whereof he bears actual +proof, though he himself can hardly accept +it, till again and again he tests it by +admiring look and touch.</p> + +<p>Years after the killing of grouse on +the wing has become a matter-of-course +occurrence in his days of upland shooting, +the memory of this stands clearest +and best. Sixty years later the old +wood road winds through the same +scene, by some marvel of kindliness or<span class="pagenum">[192]</span> +oversight, untouched by the devastating +axe, unchanged but by the forest growth +of half a century and its seemly and +decorous decay. A thicker screen of +undergrowth borders the more faintly +traced way. The golden-brown shelves +of the beech branches sweep more +broadly above it, the spires of the evergreens +are nearer the sky, and the yellow +towers of the poplars are builded +higher, but they are the same trees and +beneath them may yet be seen the gray +stumps and trunks mouldered to russet +lines, of their ancient brethren who fell +when these were saplings.</p> + +<p>The gray-bearded man who comes +along the old wood road wonders at the +little change so many years have made +in the scene of the grand achievements +of his youth, and in his mind he runs +over the long calendar to assure himself +that so many autumns have glowed +and faded since that happy day. How +can he have grown old, his ear dull to +the voices of the woods, his sight dim +with the slowly but surely falling veil of +coming blindness, so that even now the +road winds into a misty haze just before<span class="pagenum">[193]</span> +him, yet these trees be young and +lusty?</p> + +<p>As they and the unfaded page of memory +record the years, it was but a little +while ago that his heart was almost +bursting with pride of that first triumph. +Would that he might once more feel that +delicious pang of joy.</p> + +<p>Hark! There is the <i>quit! quit!</i> of +a grouse, and there another and another, +and the patter and rustle of their retreating +footsteps, presently launching +into sudden flight, vaguely seen in swift +bolts of gray, hurtling among gray tree +trunks and variegated foliage. True to +the old instinct his gun leaps to his +shoulder, and he fires again and again +at the swift target. But the quick eye +no longer guides the aim, the timely +finger no longer pulls the trigger, and +the useless pellets waste themselves on +the leaves and twigs.</p> + +<p>The woods are full of grouse, as if all +the birds of the region had congregated +here to mock his failing sight and skill. +On every side they burst away from him +like rockets, and his quick but futile +charges in rapid succession are poured<span class="pagenum">[194]</span> +in their direction, yet not a bird falls, +nor even a feather wavers down through +the still October air. His dim eyes refuse +to mark down the birds that alight +nearest; he can only vaguely follow their +flight by the whirring rush of wings and +the click of intercepting branches.</p> + +<p>He is not ashamed of his loss of skill, +only grieved to know that his shooting +days are over, yet he is glad there is +no one near to see his failure. He +makes renunciation of all title to the +name of a crack shot, too well knowing +that this is no brief lapse of skill, +but the final, inevitable falling off of the +quick eye and sure hand. Slowly and +sadly he makes his way to where the +shaded path merges into the sunny +clearing. There, from the cover of the +last bush, a laggard bird springs as if +thrown from a catapult, describing in +his flight an arc of a great circle, and +clearly defined against the steel-blue +sky.</p> + +<p>Again the gun springs instinctively to +the shoulder, the instantaneous aim is +taken well ahead on the line of flight, +the trigger pressed in the nick of time,<span class="pagenum">[195]</span> +the charge explodes, and out of a cloud +of feathers drifting and whirling in the +eddies of his own wing-beats, the noble +bird sweeps downward in the continuation +of the course that ends with a dull +thud on the pasture sward.</p> + +<p>The old sportsman lifts his clean-killed +bird without a thrill of exultation—he +is only devoutly thankful for the +happy circumstance which made successful +the last shot he will ever fire, +and that not as a miss he may remember +it. Henceforth untouched by him +his gun shall hang upon the wall, its +last use linked with the pleasant memory +of his last shot.<span class="pagenum">[196]</span></p> + +<hr class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="XL" id="XL"></a>XL</h2> + +<p class="caption">NOVEMBER DAYS</p> + +<p>In a midsummer sleep one dreams of +winter, its cold, its silence and desolation +all surrounding him; then awakes, glad +to find himself in the reality of the light +and warmth of summer.</p> + +<p>Were we dreaming yesterday of woods +more gorgeous in their leafage than a +flower garden in the flush of profusest +bloom, so bright with innumerable tints +that autumnal blossoms paled beside +them as stars at sunrise? Were we +dreaming of air soft as in springtime, of +the gentle babble of brooks, the carol of +bluebirds, the lazy chirp of crickets, and +have we suddenly awakened to be confronted +by the desolation of naked forests, +the more forlorn for the few tattered +remnants of gay apparel that flutter in +the bleak wind? To hear but the sullen +roar of the chill blast and the clash of +stripped boughs, the fitful scurry of wind-swept<span class="pagenum">[197]</span> +leaves and the raving of swollen +streams, swelling and falling as in changing +stress of passion, and the heavy +leaden patter of rain on roof and sodden +leaves and earth?</p> + +<p>Verily, the swift transition is like a +pleasant dream with an unhappy awakening. +Yet not all November days are +dreary. Now the sun shines warm from +the steel-blue sky, its eager rays devour +the rime close on the heels of the retreating +shadows, and the north wind sleeps. +The voice of the brimming stream falls +to an even, softer cadence, like the murmur +of pine forests swept by the light +touch of a steady breeze.</p> + +<p>Then the wind breathes softly from +the south, and there drifts with it from +warmer realms, or arises at its touch +from the earth about us, or falls from +the atmosphere of heaven itself, not +smoke, nor haze, but something more +ethereal than these: a visible air, balmy +with odors of ripeness as the breath of +June with perfume of flowers. It pervades +earth and sky, which melt together +in it, till the bounds of neither are discernible, +and blends all objects in the<span class="pagenum">[198]</span> +landscape beyond the near foreground, +till nothing is distinct but some golden +gleam of sunlit water, bright as the orb +that shines upon it. Flocks of migrating +geese linger on the stubble fields, and +some laggard crows flap lazily athwart +the sky or perch contentedly upon the +naked treetops as if they cared to seek +no clime more genial. The brief heavenly +beauteousness of Indian summer +has fallen upon the earth, a few tranquil +days of ethereal mildness dropped +into the sullen or turbulent border of +winter.</p> + +<p>In November days, as in all others, +the woods are beautiful to the lover of +nature and to the sportsman who in +their love finds the finer flavor of his +pastime. Every marking of the gray +trunks, each moss-patch and scale of +lichen on them, is shown more distinctly +now in the intercepted light, and the +delicate tracery of the bare branches +and their netted shadows on the rumpled +carpet of the forest floor, have a +beauty as distinctive as the fullness of +green or frost-tinted leafage and its silhouette +of shade.<span class="pagenum">[199]</span></p> + +<p>No blossom is left in woods or fields, +save where in the one the witch-hazel +unfolds its unseasonable flowers yellow +beneath cold skies, or a pink blossom of +herb-robert holds out with modest bravery +in a sheltered cranny of the rocks; +and where in the other, the ghostly +bloom of everlasting rustles above the +leafless stalks in the wind-swept pastures. +There are brighter flashes of color in +the sombre woods where the red winter-berries +shine on their leafless stems and +the orange and scarlet clusters of the +twining bitter-sweet light up the gray +trellis of the vagrant climber.</p> + +<p>No sense of loss or sadness oppresses +the soul of the ardent sportsman as he +ranges the unroofed aisles alert for the +wary grouse, the skulking woodcock, +full-grown and strong of wing and keen-eyed +for every enemy, or the hare flashing +his half-donned winter coat among +the gray underbrush as he bounds away +before the merry chiding of the beagles. +The brown monotony of the marshes is +pleasant to him as green fields, while the +wild duck tarries in the dark pools and +the snipe probes the unfrozen patches of<span class="pagenum">[200]</span> +ooze. To him all seasons are kind, all +days pleasant, wherein he may pursue +his sport, though the rain pelt him, chill +winds assail him, or the summer sun +shower upon him its most fervent rays, +and in these changeful days of November +he finds his full measure of content.<span class="pagenum">[201]</span></p> + +<hr class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="XLI" id="XLI"></a>XLI</h2> + +<p class="caption">THE MUSKRAT</p> + +<p>A little turning of nature from her +own courses banishes the beaver from +his primal haunts, but his less renowned +and lesser cousin, the muskrat, philosophically +accommodates himself to the +changed conditions of their common foster +mother and still clings fondly to her +altered breast.</p> + +<p>The ancient forests may be swept +away and their successors disappear, till +there is scarcely left him a watersoaked +log to use as an intermediate port in his +coastwise voyages; continual shadow may +give place to diurnal sunshine, woodland +to meadow and pasture, the plough tear +the roof of his underground home, and +cattle graze where once only the cloven +hoofs of the deer and the moose trod the +virgin mould, yet he holds his old place.</p> + +<p>In the springtides of present years as +in those of centuries past his whining<span class="pagenum">[202]</span> +call echoes along the changed shores, +his wake seams with silver the dark garment +of the water, and his comically +grim visage confronts you now as it did +the Waubanakee bowmen in the old days +when the otter and the beaver were his +familiars.</p> + +<p>Unlike the beaver's slowly maturing +crops, his food supply is constantly provided +in the annual growth of the +marshes. Here in banks contiguous +to endless store of succulent sedge and +lily roots and shell-cased tidbits of mussels, +he tunnels his stable water-portaled +home, and out there, by the channel's +edge, builds his sedge-thatched hut before +the earliest frost falls upon the +marshes. In its height, some find prophecy +of high or low water, and in the +thickness of its walls the forecast of a +mild or severe winter, but the prophet +himself is sometimes flooded out of his +house, sometimes starved and frozen +in it.</p> + +<p>In the still, sunny days between the +nights of its unseen building, the blue +spikes of the pickerel-weed and the +white trinities of the arrow-head yet<span class="pagenum">[203]</span> +bloom beside it. Then in the golden +and scarlet brightness of autumn the departing +wood drake rests on the roof to +preen his plumage, and later the dusky +duck swims on its watery lawn. Above +it the wild geese harrow the low, cold +arch of the sky, the last fleet of sere +leaves drifts past it in the bleak wind, +and then ice and snow draw the veil of +the long winter twilight over the muskrat's +homes and haunts.</p> + +<p>These may be gloomy days he spends +groping in the dark chambers of his hut +and burrow, or gathering food in the +dimly lighted icy water, with never a +sight of the upper world nor ever a sunbeam +to warm him.</p> + +<p>But there are more woful days when +the sun and the sky are again opened to +him, and he breathes the warm air of +spring, hears the blackbirds sing and the +bittern boom. For, amid all the gladness +of nature's reawakened life, danger +lurks in all his paths; the cruel, hungry +trap gapes for him on every jutting log, +on every feeding-bed, even in the doorway +of his burrow and by the side of his +house.<span class="pagenum">[204]</span></p> + +<p>The trapper's skiff invades all his +pleasant waters; on every hand he hears +the splash of its paddles, the clank of its +setting pole, and he can scarcely show +his head above water but a deadly shower +of lead bursts upon it. He hears the +simulated call of his beloved, and voyaging +hot-hearted to the cheating tryst +meets only death.</p> + +<p>At last comes the summer truce and +happy days of peace in the tangled jungle +of the marsh, with the wild duck +and bittern nesting beside his watery +path, the marsh wren weaving her rushy +bower above it.</p> + +<p>So the days of his life go on, and the +days of his race continue in the land +of his unnumbered generations. Long +may he endure to enliven the drear +tameness of civilization with a memory +of the world's old wildness.<span class="pagenum">[205]</span></p> + +<hr class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="XLII" id="XLII"></a>XLII</h2> + +<p class="caption">NOVEMBER VOICES</p> + +<p>With flowers and leaves, the bird +songs have faded out, and the hum and +chirp of insect life, the low and bleat of +herds and flocks afield, and the busy +sounds of husbandry have grown infrequent. +There are lapses of such silence +that the ear aches for some audible signal +of life; and then to appease it there +comes with the rising breeze the solemn +murmur of the pines like the song of +the sea on distant shores, the sibilant +whisper of the dead herbage, the clatter +of dry pods, and the fitful stir of fallen +leaves, like a scurry of ghostly feet fleeing +in affright at the sound of their own +passage.</p> + +<p>The breeze puffs itself into a fury of +wind, and the writhing branches shriek +and moan and clash as if the lances of +phantom armies were crossed in wild +mêlée.<span class="pagenum">[206]</span></p> + +<p>The woods are full of unlipped voices +speaking one with another in pleading, +in anger, in soft tones of endearment; +and one hears his name called so distinctly +that he answers and calls again, +but no answer is vouchsafed him, only +moans and shrieks and mocking laughter, +till one has enough of wild voices and +longs for a relapse of silence.</p> + +<p>More softly it is broken when through +the still air comes the cheery note of +the chickadee and the little trumpet +of his comrade the nuthatch and far +away the muffled beat of the grouse's +drum, or from a distance the mellow +baying of a hound and its answering +echoes, swelling and dying on hilltop +or glen, or mingling in melodious confusion.</p> + +<p>From skyward comes the clangor of +clarions, wild and musical, proclaiming +the march of gray cohorts of geese advancing +southward through the hills and +dales of cloudland. There come, too, +the quick whistling beat of wild ducks' +pinions, the cry of a belated plover, and +the creaking voice of a snipe. Then the<span class="pagenum">[207]</span> +bawling of a ploughman in a far-off field—and +farther away the rumble and shriek +of a railroad train—brings the listening +ear to earth again and its plodding busy +life.<span class="pagenum">[208]</span></p> + +<hr class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="XLIII" id="XLIII"></a>XLIII</h2> + +<p class="caption">THANKSGIVING</p> + +<p>Doubtless many a sportsman has +bethought him that his Thanksgiving +turkey will have a finer flavor if the +feast is prefaced by a few hours in the +woods, with dog and gun. Meaner fare +than this day of bounty furnishes forth is +made delicious by such an appetizer, and +the Thanksgiving feast will be none the +worse for it.</p> + +<p>What can be sweeter than the wholesome +fragrance of the fallen leaves? +What more invigorating than the breath +of the two seasons that we catch: here +in the northward shade of a wooded hill +the nipping air of winter, there where +the southern slope meets the sun the +genial warmth of an October day. Here +one's footsteps crunch sharply the frozen +herbage and the ice-bearded border of a +spring's overflow; there splash in thawed +pools and rustle softly among the dead +leaves.<span class="pagenum">[209]</span></p> + +<p>The flowers are gone, but they were +not brighter than the winter berries and +bittersweet that glow around one. The +deciduous leaves are fallen and withered, +but they were not more beautiful than +the delicate tracery of their forsaken +branches, and the steadfast foliage of +the evergreens was never brighter. The +song-birds are singing in southern woods, +but chickadee, nuthatch, and woodpecker +are chatty and companionable +and keep the woods in heart with a stir +of life.</p> + +<p>Then from overhead or underfoot a +ruffed grouse booms away into the gray +haze of branches, and one hears the +whirr and crash of his headlong flight +long after he is lost to sight, perchance +long after the echo of a futile shot has +died away. Far off one hears the intermittent +discharge of rifles where the +shooters are burning powder for their +Thanksgiving turkey, and faintly from +far away comes the melancholy music of +a hound. Then nearer and clearer, then +a rustle of velvet-clad feet, and lo, reynard +himself, the wildest spirit of the +woods, materializes out of the russet indistinctness<span class="pagenum">[210]</span> +and flashes past, with every +sense alert. Then the hound goes by, +and footstep, voice, and echo sink into +silence. For silence it is, though the +silver tinkle of the brook is in it, and the +stir of the last leaf shivering forsaken on +its bough.</p> + +<p>In such quietude one may hold heartfelt +thanksgiving, feasting full upon a +crust and a draught from the icy rivulet, +and leave rich viands and costly wines +for the thankless surfeiting of poorer +men.<span class="pagenum">[211]</span></p> + +<hr class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="XLIV" id="XLIV"></a>XLIV</h2> + +<p class="caption">DECEMBER DAYS</p> + +<p>Fewer and more chill have become +the hours of sunlight, and longer stretch +the noontide shadows of the desolate +trees athwart the tawny fields and the +dead leaves that mat the floor of the +woods.</p> + +<p>The brook braids its shrunken strands +of brown water with a hushed murmur +over a bed of sodden leaves between +borders of spiny ice crystals, or in the +pools swirl in slow circles the imprisoned +fleets of bubbles beneath a steadfast roof +of glass. Dark and sullen the river +sulks its cheerless way, enlivened but by +the sheldrake that still courses his prey +in the icy water, and the mink that like +a fleet black shadow steals along the +silent banks. Gaudy wood duck and +swift-winged teal have long since departed +and left stream and shore to these +marauders and to the trapper, who now +gathers here his latest harvest.<span class="pagenum">[212]</span></p> + +<p>The marshes are silent and make no +sign of life, though beneath the domes +of many a sedge-built roof the unseen +muskrats are astir, and under the icy +cover of the channels fare to and fro on +their affairs of life, undisturbed by any +turmoil of the upper world.</p> + +<p>When the winds are asleep the lake +bears on its placid breast the moveless +images of its quiet shores, deserted now +by the latest pleasure seekers among +whose tenantless camps the wild wood-folk +wander as fearlessly as if the foot of +man had never trodden here. From the +still midwaters far away a loon halloos +to the winds to come forth from their +caves, and yells out his mad laughter +in anticipation of the coming storm. A +herald breeze blackens the water with +its advancing steps, and with a roar of +its trumpets the angry wind sweeps +down, driving the white-crested ranks of +waves to assault the shores. Far up the +long incline of pebbly beaches they rush, +and leaping up the walls of rock hang +fetters of ice upon the writhing trees. +Out of the seething waters arise lofty +columns of vapor, which like a host of<span class="pagenum">[213]</span> +gigantic phantoms stalk, silent and majestic, +above the turmoil, till they fall in +wind-tossed showers of frost flakes.</p> + +<p>There are days when almost complete +silence possesses the woods, yet listening +intently one may hear the continual +movement of myriads of snow fleas pattering +on the fallen leaves like the soft +purr of such showers as one might imagine +would fall in Lilliput.</p> + +<p>With footfall so light that he is seen +close at hand sooner than heard, a hare +limps past; too early clad in his white +fur that shall make him inconspicuous +amid the winter snow, his coming shines +from afar through the gray underbrush +and on the tawny leaves. Unseen amid +his dun and gray environment, the ruffed +grouse skulks unheard, till he bursts away +in thunderous flight. Overhead, invisible +in the lofty thicket of a hemlock's +foliage, a squirrel drops a slow patter of +cone chips, while undisturbed a nuthatch +winds his spiral way down the smooth +trunk. Faint and far away, yet clear, +resound the axe strokes of a chopper, +and at intervals the muffled roar of a +tree's downfall.<span class="pagenum">[214]</span></p> + +<p>Silent and moveless cascades of ice +veil the rocky steeps where in more +genial days tiny rivulets dripped down +the ledges and mingled their musical +tinkle with the songs of birds and the +flutter of green leaves.</p> + +<p>Winter berries and bittersweet still +give here and there a fleck of bright +color to the universal gray and dun of +the trees, and the carpet of cast-off +leaves and the dull hue of the evergreens +but scarcely relieve the sombreness of +the woodland landscape.</p> + +<p>Spanning forest and field with a low +flat arch of even gray, hangs a sky as +cold as the landscape it domes and whose +mountain borders lie hidden in its hazy +foundations. Through this canopy of +suspended snow the low noontide sun +shows but a blotch of yellowish gray, rayless +and giving forth no warmth, and, +as it slants toward its brief decline, grows +yet dimmer till it is quite blotted out in +the gloom of the half-spent afternoon.</p> + +<p>The expectant hush that broods over +the forlorn and naked earth is broken +only by the twitter of a flock of snow +buntings which, like a straight-blown<span class="pagenum">[215]</span> +flurry of flakes, drift across the fields, +and, sounding solemnly from the depths +of the woods, the hollow hoot of a great +owl. Then the first flakes come wavering +down, then blurring all the landscape +into vague unreality they fall faster, with +a soft purr on frozen grass and leaves till +it becomes unheard on the thickening +noiseless mantle of snow. Deeper and +deeper the snow infolds the earth, covering +all its unsightliness of death and +desolation.</p> + +<p>Now white-furred hare and white-feathered +bunting are at one with the +white-clad world wherein they move, and +we, so lately accustomed to the greenness +of summer and the gorgeousness of +autumn, wondering at the ease wherewith +we accept this marvel of transformation, +welcome these white December +days and in them still find content.<span class="pagenum">[216]</span></p> + +<hr class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="XLV" id="XLV"></a>XLV</h2> + +<p class="caption">WINTER VOICES</p> + +<p>Out of her sleep nature yet gives forth +voices betokening that life abides beneath +the semblance of death, that her +warm heart still beats under the white +shroud that infolds her rigid breast.</p> + +<p>A smothered tinkle as of muffled bells +comes up from the streams through their +double roofing of snow and ice, and the +frozen pulse of the trees complains of its +thralldom with a resonant twang as of a +strained cord snapped asunder.</p> + +<p>Beneath their frozen plains, the lakes +bewail their imprisonment with hollow +moans awakening a wild and mournful +chorus of echoes from sleeping shores +that answer now no caress of ripples nor +angry stroke of waves nor dip and splash +of oar and paddle.</p> + +<p>The breeze stirs leafless trees and +shaggy evergreens to a murmur that is +sweet, if sadder than they gave it in the<span class="pagenum">[217]</span> +leafy days of summer, when it bore the +perfume of flowers and the odor of green +fields, and one may imagine the spirit of +springtime and summer lingers among +the naked boughs, voicing memory and +hope.</p> + +<p>Amid all the desolation of their woodland +haunts the squirrels chatter their +delight in windless days of sunshine, and +scoff at biting cold and wintry blasts. +The nuthatch winds his tiny trumpet, +the titmouse pipes his cheery note, the +jay tries the innumerable tricks of his +unmusical voice, and from their rollicking +flight athwart the wavering slant of +snowflakes drifts the creaking twitter of +buntings.</p> + +<p>The sharp, resonant strokes of the +woodman's axe and the groaning downfall +of the monarchs that it lays low, +the shouts of teamsters, the occasional +report of a gun, the various sounds of +distant farmstead life, the jangle of +sleigh bells on far-off highways, the +rumbling roar of a railroad train rushing +and panting along its iron path, and the +bellowing of its far-echoed signals, all +proclaim how busily affairs of life and<span class="pagenum">[218]</span> +pleasure still go on while the summer-wearied +earth lies wrapped in her winter +sleep.</p> + +<p>Night, stealing upon her in dusky +pallor, under cloudy skies, or silvering +her face with moonbeams and starlight, +brings other and wilder voices. Solemnly +the unearthly trumpet of the owl +resounds from his woodland hermitage, +the fox's gasping bark, wild and uncanny, +marks at intervals his wayward +course across the frozen fields on some +errand of love or freebooting, and, swelling +and falling with puff and lapse of +the night wind, as mournful and lonesome +as the voice of a vagrant spirit, +comes from the mountain ridges the +baying of a hound, hunting alone and +unheeded, while his master basks in the +comfort of his fireside.<span class="pagenum">[219]</span></p> + +<hr class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="XLVI" id="XLVI"></a>XLVI</h2> + +<p class="caption">THE VARYING HARE</p> + +<p>It is wonderful that with such a host +of enemies to maintain himself against, +the varying hare may still be counted as +one of our familiar acquaintances. Except +in the depths of the great wildernesses, +he has no longer to fear the +wolf, the wolverine, the panther, and the +lesser <i>felidæ</i>, but where the younger +woodlands have become his congenial +home, they are also the home of a multitude +of relentless enemies. The hawk, +whose keen eyes pierce the leafy roof +of the woods, wheels above him as he +crouches in his form. When he goes +abroad under the moon and stars, the +terrible shadow of the horned owl falls +upon his path, and the fox lurks beside +it to waylay him, and the clumsy raccoon, +waddling home from a cornfield +revel, may blunder upon the timid wayfarer.<span class="pagenum">[220]</span></p> + +<p>But of all his enemies none is more +inveterate than man, though he is not, +as are the others, impelled by necessity, +but only by that savagery, the survival +of barbarism, which we dignify by the +name of the sporting instinct.</p> + +<p>Against them all, how slight seem +the defenses of such a weak and timid +creature. Yet impartial nature, having +compassed him about with foes, has shod +his feet with swiftness and silence, and +clad his body with an almost invisible +garment. The vagrant zephyrs touch +the fallen leaves more noisily than his +soft pads press them. The first snow +that whitens the fading gorgeousness +of the forest carpet falls scarcely more +silently.</p> + +<p>Among the tender greens of early +summer and the darker verdure of midsummer, +the hare's brown form is as inconspicuous +as a tuft of last year's leaves, +and set in the brilliancy of autumnal +tints, or the russet hue of their decay, +it still eludes the eye. Then winter +clothes him in her own whiteness so he +may sit unseen upon her lap.</p> + +<p>When he has donned his winter suit<span class="pagenum">[221]</span> +too early and his white coat is dangerously +conspicuous on the brown leaves +and among the misty gray of naked +undergrowth, he permits your near approach +as confidently as if he were of a +color with his surroundings. Is he not +aware that his spotless raiment betrays +him, or does he trust that he may be +mistaken for a white stone or a scroll +of bark sloughed from a white birch? +That would hardly save him from the +keener-sensed birds and beasts of prey, +but may fool your dull eyes.</p> + +<p>In summer wanderings in the woods +you rarely catch sight of him, though +coming upon many faintly traced paths +where he and his wife and their brown +babies make their nightly way among +the ferns. Nor are you often favored +with a sight of him in more frequent +autumnal tramps, unless when he is fleeing +before the hounds whose voices +guide you to a point of observation. +He has now no eyes nor ears for anything +but the terrible clamor that pursues +him wherever he turns, however he +doubles. If a shot brings him down and +does not kill him, you will hear a cry so<span class="pagenum">[222]</span> +piteous that it will spoil your pleasant +dreams of sport for many a night.</p> + +<p>After a snowfall a single hare will in +one night make such a multitude of +tracks as will persuade you that a dozen +have been abroad. Perhaps the trail is +so intricately tangled with a purpose of +misleading pursuit, perhaps it is but the +record of saunterings as idle as your +own.</p> + +<p>As thus you wander through the +pearl-enameled arches, your roving +glances are arrested by a rounded form +which, as white and motionless as everything +around it, yet seems in some +way not so lifeless. You note that the +broad footprints end there, and then become +aware of two wide, bright eyes, +unblinkingly regarding you from the +fluffy tuft of whiteness. How perfectly +assured he is of his invisibility, and if +he had but closed his bright eyes you +might not guess that he was anything +but a snow-covered clump of moss. +How still and breathless he sits till you +almost touch him, and then the white +clod suddenly flashes into life and impetuous +motion, bounding away in a<span class="pagenum">[223]</span> +halo of feathery flakes as if he himself +were dissolving into white vapor.</p> + +<p>Happy he, if he might so elude all +foes; but alas for him, if the swift-winged +owl had been as close above +him or the agile fox within leap. Then +instead of this glimpse of beautiful wild +life to treasure in your memory, you +would only have read the story of +a brief tragedy, briefly written, with a +smirch of blood and a tuft of rumpled +fur.<span class="pagenum">[224]</span></p> + +<hr class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="XLVII" id="XLVII"></a>XLVII</h2> + +<p class="caption">THE WINTER CAMP-FIRE</p> + +<p>The chief requisite of a winter camp-fire +is volume. The feeble flame and +meagre bed of embers that are a hot +discomfort to the summer camper, while +he hovers over coffee-pot and frying-pan, +would be no more than the glow of a +candle toward tempering this nipping +air. This fire must be no dainty nibbler +of chips and twigs that a boy's +hatchet may furnish, but a roaring +devourer of logs, for whose carving the +axe must be long and stoutly wielded—a +very glutton of solid fuel, continually +demanding more and licking with its +broad red tongues at the branches that +sway and toss high above in its hot +breath.</p> + +<p>So fierce is it that you approach cautiously +to feed it and the snow shrinks +away from it and can quench of it only +the tiny sparks that are spit out upon it.<span class="pagenum">[225]</span> +You must not be too familiar with it, +yet it is your friend after its own manner, +fighting away for you the creeping +demon of cold, and holding at bay, on +the rim of its glare, the wolf and the +panther.</p> + +<p>With its friendly offices are mingled +many elfish tricks. It boils your pot +just to the point you wish, then boils +it over and licks up the fragrant brew +of celestial leaf or Javanese berry. It +roasts or broils your meat to a turn, +then battles with you for it and sears +your fingers when you strive to snatch +the morsel from its jaws, and perhaps +burns it to a crisp before your very +eyes, vouchsafing but the tantalizing fragrance +of the feast.</p> + +<p>Then it may fall into the friendliest +and most companionable of moods, lazily +burning its great billets of ancient wood +while you burn the Virginian weed, singing +to you songs of summer, its tongues +of flame murmuring like the south wind +among green leaves, and mimicking the +chirp of the crickets and the cicada's +cry in the simmer of exuding sap and +vent of gas, and out of its smoke blossom<span class="pagenum">[226]</span> +sparks, that drift away in its own +currents like red petals of spent flowers.</p> + +<p>It paints pictures, some weird or +grotesque, some beautiful, now of ghosts +and goblins, now of old men, now of +fair women, now of lakes crinkled with +golden waves and towers on pine-crowned +crags ruddy with the glow of sunset, +sunny meadows and pasture lands, with +farmsteads and flocks and herds.</p> + +<p>The ancient trees that rear themselves +aloft like strong pillars set to hold up +the narrow arch of darkness, exhale an +atmosphere of the past, in which your +thoughts, waking or sleeping, drift backward +to the old days when men whose +dust was long since mingled with the +forest mould moved here in the rage of +war and the ardor of the chase. Shadowy +forms of dusky warriors, horribly +marked in war paint, gather about the +camp-fire and sit in its glare in voiceless +council, or encircle it in the grotesquely +terrible movement of the war +dance.</p> + +<p>Magically the warlike scene changes +to one of peace. The red hunters steal<span class="pagenum">[227]</span> +silently in with burdens of game. The +squaws sit in the ruddy light plying +their various labors, while their impish +children play around them in mimicry +of battle and the chase.</p> + +<p>All then vanish, and white-clad soldiers +of France bivouac in their place—or +red-coated Britons, or Provincial rangers, +unsoldierly to look upon, in home-spun +garb, but keen-eyed, alert, and the +bravest of the brave.</p> + +<p>These dissolve like wreaths of smoke, +and a solitary white hunter, clothed all +in buckskin, sits over against you. His +long flint-lock rifle lying across his lap, +he is looking with rapt gaze into the +fire, dreaming as you are.</p> + +<p>So, growing brighter as the daylight +grows dim and the gloaming thickens +to the mirk, and paling again as daylight +creeps slowly back upon the world, +but always bright in the diurnal twilight +of the woods, the camp-fire weaves +and breaks its magic spells, now leaping, +now lapsing, as its own freaks +move it. Then, perhaps, when it has +charmed you far across the border of<span class="pagenum">[228]</span> +dreamland and locked your eyes in the +blindness of sleep, it will startle you +back to the cold reality of the wintry +woods with a crash and roar of sudden +revival.<span class="pagenum">[229]</span></p> + +<hr class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="XLVIII" id="XLVIII"></a>XLVIII</h2> + +<p class="caption">JANUARY DAYS</p> + +<p>In these midwinter days, how muffled +is the earth in its immaculate raiment, so +disguised in whiteness that familiar places +are strange, rough hollows smoothed to +mere undulations, deceitful to the eye +and feet, and level fields so piled with +heaps and ridges that their owners +scarcely recognize them. The hovel is +as regally roofed as the palace, the rudest +fence is a hedge of pearl, finer than a +wall of marble, and the meanest wayside +weed is a white flower of fairyland.</p> + +<p>The woods, which frost and November +winds stripped of their leafy thatch, are +roofed again, now with an arabesque of +alabaster more delicate than the green +canopy that summer unfolded, and all +the floor is set in noiseless pavement, +traced with a shifting pattern of blue +shadows. In these silent aisles the +echoes are smothered at their birth.<span class="pagenum">[230]</span> +There is no response of airy voices to +the faint call of the winter birds. The +sound of the axe-stroke flies no farther +than the pungent fragrance of the smoke +that drifts in a blue haze from the +chopper's fire. The report of the gun +awakes no answering report, and each +mellow note of the hound comes separate +to the ear, with no jangle of reverberations.</p> + +<p>Fox and hound wallow through the +snow a crumbling furrow that obliterates +identity of either trail, yet there are +tracks that tell as plain as written words +who made them. Here have fallen, +lightly as snowflakes, the broad pads of +the hare, white as the snow he trod; +there, the parallel tracks of another winter +masker, the weasel, and those of the +squirrel, linking tree to tree. The leaps +of a tiny wood-mouse are lightly marked +upon the feathery surface to where there +is the imprint of a light, swift pinion on +either side, and the little story of his +wandering ends—one crimson blood +drop the period that marks the finis.</p> + +<p>In the blue shadow at the bottom of +that winding furrow are the dainty footprints<span class="pagenum">[231]</span> +of a grouse, and you wonder why +he, so strong of wing, should choose to +wade laboriously the clogging snow even +in his briefest trip, rather than make +his easy way through the unresisting +air, and the snow-written record of his +wayward wanderings tells not why. +Suddenly, as if a mine had been sprung +where your next footstep should fall and +with almost as startling, though harmless +effect, another of his wild tribe +bursts upward through the unmarked +white floor and goes whirring and clattering +away, scattering in powdery ruin +the maze of delicate tracery the snowfall +wrought; and vanishes, leaving only +an aerial pathway of naked twigs to mark +his impetuous passage.</p> + +<p>In the twilight of an evergreen thicket +sits a great horned owl like a hermit in +his cell in pious contemplation of his +own holiness and the world's wickedness. +But this recluse hates not sin, +only daylight and mankind. Out in the +fields you may find the white-robed brother +of this gray friar, a pilgrim from +the far north, brooding in the very face +of the sun, on some stack or outlying<span class="pagenum">[232]</span> +barn, but he will not suffer you to come +so near to him as will this solemn anchorite +who stares at you unmoved as a +graven image till you come within the +very shadows of his roof.</p> + +<p>Marsh and channel are scarcely distinguishable +now but by the white domes +of the muskrats' winter homes and here +and there a sprawling thicket or button +bush, for the rank growth of weeds is +beaten flat, and the deep snow covers it +and the channel ice in one unbroken +sheet.</p> + +<p>Champlain's sheltered bays and coves +are frozen and white with snow or frost, +and the open water, whether still or +storm-tossed, black beneath clouds or +bluer than the blue dome that arches it, +looks as cold as ice and snow. Sometimes +its steaming breath lies close +above it, sometimes mounts in swaying, +lofty columns to the sky, but always +cold and ghostly, without expression of +warmth or life.</p> + +<p>So far away to hoary peaks that shine +with a glittering gleam against the blue +rim of the sky, or to the furthest bluegray +line of woodland that borders the<span class="pagenum">[233]</span> +horizon, stretches the universal whiteness, +so coldly shines the sun from the +low curve of his course, and so chilly +comes the lightest waft of wind from +wheresoever it listeth, that it tasks the +imagination to picture any land on all +the earth where spring is just awakening +fresh life, or where summer dwells amid +green leaves and bright flowers, the music +of birds and running waters, and of +warm waves on pleasant shores, or autumn +yet lingers in the gorgeousness of +many hues. How far off beyond this +world seems the possibility of such seasons, +how enduring and relentless this +which encompasses us.</p> + +<p>And then, at the close of the brief +white day, the sunset paints a promise +and a prophecy in a blaze of color on the +sky. The gray clouds kindle with red +and yellow fire that burns about their +purple hearts in tints of infinite variety, +while behind them and the dark blue +rampart of the mountains flames the last +glory of the departing sun, fading in a +tint of tender green to the upper blue. +Even the cold snow at our feet flushes +with warm color, and the eastern hills<span class="pagenum">[234]</span> +blush roseate against the climbing, darkening +shadow of the earth.</p> + +<p>It is as if some land of summer whose +brightness has never been told lay unveiled +before us, its delectable mountains +splendid with innumerable hues, +its lakes and streams of gold rippling to +purple shores seeming not so far before +us but that we might, by a little journey, +come to them.<span class="pagenum">[235]</span></p> + +<hr class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="XLIX" id="XLIX"></a>XLIX</h2> + +<p class="caption">A NEW ENGLAND WOODPILE</p> + +<p>When the charitable mantle of the +snow has covered the ugliness of the +earth, as one looks towards the woodlands +he may see a distant dark speck +emerge from the blue shadow of the +woods and crawl slowly houseward. If +born to the customs of this wintry land, +he may guess at once what it is; if not, +speculation, after a little, gives way to certainty, +when the indistinct atom grows +into a team of quick-stepping horses or +deliberate oxen hauling a sled-load of +wood to the farmhouse.</p> + +<p>It is more than that. It is a part of +the woods themselves, with much of +their wildness clinging to it, and with +records, slight and fragmentary, yet legible, +of the lives of trees and birds and +beasts and men coming to our door.</p> + +<p>Before the sounds of the creaking sled +and the answering creak of the snow are<span class="pagenum">[236]</span> +heard, one sees the regular puffs of the +team's breath jetting out and climbing +the cold air. The head and shoulders +of the muffled driver then appear, as he +sticks by narrow foothold to the hinder +part of his sled, or trots behind it beating +his breast with his numb hands. Prone +like a crawling band of scouts, endwise +like battering-rams, not upright with +green banners waving, Birnam wood +comes to Dunsinane to fight King Frost.</p> + +<p>As the woodpile grows at the farmhouse +door in a huge windrow of sled-length +wood or an even wall of cord +wood, so in the woods there widens a +patch of uninterrupted daylight. Deep +shade and barred and netted shadow turn +to almost even whiteness, as the axe saps +the foundations of summer homes of birds +and the winter fastnesses of the squirrels +and raccoons. Here are the tracks of +sled and team, where they wound among +rocks and stumps and over cradle knolls +to make up a load; and there are those +of the chopper by the stump where he +stood to fell the tree, and along the great +trough made by its fall. The snow is +flecked with chips, dark or pale according<span class="pagenum">[237]</span> +to their kind, just as they alighted +from their short flight, bark up or down +or barkless or edgewise, and with dry +twigs and torn scraps of scattered moss.</p> + +<p>When the chopper comes to his work in +the morning, he finds traces of nightly +visitors to his white island that have +drifted to its shores out of the gray sea +of woods. Here is the print of the hare's +furry foot where he came to nibble the +twigs of poplar and birch that yesterday +were switching the clouds, but have +fallen, manna-like, from skyward to feed +him. A fox has skirted its shadowy margin, +then ventured to explore it, and in +a thawy night a raccoon has waddled +across it.</p> + +<p>The woodman is apt to kindle a fire +more for company than warmth, though +he sits by it to eat his cold dinner, casting +the crumbs to the chickadees, which +come fearlessly about him at all times. +Blazing or smouldering by turns, as it is +fed or starved, the fire humanizes the +woods more than the man does. Now +and then it draws to it a visitor, oftenest +a fox-hunter who has lost his hound, +and stops for a moment to light his pipe<span class="pagenum">[238]</span> +at the embers and to ask if his dog has +been seen or heard. Then he wades off +through the snow, and is presently swallowed +out of sight by gray trees and +blue shadows. Or the hound comes in +search of his master or a lost trail. He +halts for an instant, with a wistful look +on his sorrowful face, then disappears, +nosing his way into the maw of the +woods.</p> + +<p>If the wood is cut "sled length," which +is a saving of time and also of chips, +which will now be made at the door and +will serve to boil the tea-kettle in summer, +instead of rotting to slow fertilization +of the woodlot, the chopper is one of +the regular farm hands or a "day man," +and helps load the sled when it comes. +If the wood is four foot, he is a professional, +chopping by the cord, and not +likely to pile his cords too high or long, +nor so closely that the squirrels have +much more trouble in making their way +through them than over them; and the +man comes and goes according to his +ambition to earn money.</p> + +<p>In whichever capacity the chopper +plies his axe, he is pretty sure to bring<span class="pagenum">[239]</span> +no sentimentalism to his task. He inherits +the feeling that was held by the +old pioneers toward trees, who looked +upon the noblest of them as only giant +weeds, encumbering the ground, and best +got rid of by the shortest means. To +him the tree is a foe worthy of no respect +or mercy, and he feels the triumph +of a savage conquerer when it +comes crashing down and he mounts the +prostrate trunk to dismember it; the +more year-marks encircling its heart, +the greater his victory. To his ears, its +many tongues tell nothing, or preach +only heresy. Away with the old tree +to the flames! To give him his due, he +is a skillful executioner, and will compel +a tree to fall across any selected stump +within its length. If one could forget +the tree, it is a pretty sight to watch the +easy swing of the axe, and see how unerringly +every blow goes to its mark, +knocking out chips of a span's breadth. +It does not look difficult nor like work; +but could you strike "twice in a place," +or in half a day bring down a tree twice +as thick as your body? The wise farmer +cuts, for fuel, only the dead and decaying<span class="pagenum">[240]</span> +trees in his woodlot, leaving saplings +and thrifty old trees to "stand up and +grow better," as the Yankee saying is.</p> + +<p>There is a prosperous and hospitable +look in a great woodpile at a farmhouse +door. Logs with the moss of a hundred +years on them, breathing the odors of the +woods, have come to warm the inmates +and all in-comers. The white smoke of +these chimneys is spicy with the smell +of seasoned hard wood, and has a savor of +roasts and stews that makes one hungry. +If you take the back track on a trail of +pitchy smoke, it is sure to lead you to +a squalid threshold with its starved heap +of pine roots and half-decayed wood. +Thrown down carelessly beside it is a +dull axe, wielded as need requires with +spiteful awkwardness by a slatternly woman, +or laboriously upheaved and let fall +with uncertain stroke by a small boy.</p> + +<p>The Yankees who possess happy memories +of the great open fires of old time +are growing few, but Whittier has embalmed +for all time, in "Snow-Bound," +their comfort and cheer and picturesqueness. +When the trees of the virgin forest +cast their shadows on the newly risen roof<span class="pagenum">[241]</span> +there was no forecasting provision for +winter. The nearest green tree was cut, +and hauled, full length, to the door, and +with it the nearest dry one was cut to +match the span of the wide fireplace; +and when these were gone, another raid +was made upon the woods; and so from +hand to mouth the fire was fed. It was +not uncommon to draw the huge backlogs +on to the hearth with a horse, and +sometimes a yoke of oxen were so employed. +Think of a door wide enough +for this: half of the side of a house to +barricade against the savage Indians and +savage cold! It was the next remove +from a camp-fire. There was further +likeness to it in the tales that were told +beside it, of hunting and pioneer hardships, +of wild beasts and Indian forays, +while the eager listeners drew to a closer +circle on the hearth, and the awed children +cast covert scared backward glances at +the crouching and leaping shadows that +thronged on the walls, and the great +samp-kettle bubbled and seethed on its +trammel, and the forgotten johnny-cake +scorched on its tilted board.</p> + +<p>As conveniently near the shed as possible,<span class="pagenum">[242]</span> +the pile of sled-length wood is +stretching itself slowly, a huge vertebrate, +every day or two gaining in length; a +joint of various woods, with great trunks +at the bottom, then smaller ones, gradually +growing less to the topping out of +saplings and branches. Here is a sugar-maple, +three feet through at the butt, with +the scars of many tappings showing on its +rough bark. The oldest of them may +have been made by the Indians. Who +knows what was their method of tapping? +Here is the mark of the gouge with which +early settlers drew the blood of the tree; +a fashion learned, likely enough, from the +aboriginal sugar-makers, whose narrowest +stone gouges were as passable tools +for the purpose as any they had for another. +These more distinct marks show +where the auger of later years made its +wounds. The old tree has distilled its +sweets for two races and many generations +of men, first into the bark buckets +of Waubanakis, then into the ruder +troughs of Yankee pioneers, then into the +more convenient wide-bottomed wooden +sap-tubs; and at last, when the march of +improvement has spoiled the wilderness<span class="pagenum">[243]</span> +of the woods with trim-built sugar-houses +and patent evaporators, the sap drips +with resounding metallic tinkle into pails +of shining tin. Now the old maple has +come to perform its last office, of warming +and cooking the food for a generation +that was unborn when it was yet a +lusty tree.</p> + +<p>Beside it lies a great wild-cherry tree +that somehow escaped the cabinet maker +when there was one in every town and +cherry wood was in fashion. Its fruit +mollified the harshness of the New England +rum of many an old-time raising and +husking. Next is a yellow birch with a +shaggy mane of rustling bark along its +whole length, like a twelve-foot piece of +the sea serpent drifted ashore and hauled +inland; then a white birch, no longer +white, but gray with a coating of moss, +and black with belts of old peelings, +made for the patching of canoes and +roofing of shanties.</p> + +<p>With these lies a black birch, whose +once smooth bark age has scaled and furrowed, +and robbed of all its tenderness +and most of its pungent, aromatic flavor. +Some of it yet lingers in the younger topmost<span class="pagenum">[244]</span> +twigs which the hired man brings +home to the little folks, who fall to gnawing +them like a colony of beavers. By +it is an elm, whose hollow trunk was the +home of raccoons when it stood on its +buttressed stump in the swamp. Near +by is a beech, its smooth bark wrinkled +where branches bent away from it, and +blotched with spots of white and patches +of black and gray lichen. It is marked +with innumerable fine scratches, the track +of the generations of squirrels that have +made it their highway; and among these, +the wider apart and parallel nail-marks +of a raccoon, and also the drilling of +woodpeckers. Here, too, are traces of +man's visitation, for distorted with the +growth of years are initials, and a heart +and dart that symbolized the tender passion +of some one of the past, who wandered, +love-sick, in the shadow of the +woods. How long ago did death's inevitable +dart pierce his heart? Here he +wrote a little of his life's history, and +now his name and that of his mistress are +so completely forgotten one cannot guess +them by their first letters inscribed in +the yesterday of the forest's years.<span class="pagenum">[245]</span></p> + +<p>Above these logs, rolled up on skids +or sled stakes, are smaller yet goodly +bodies of white ash, full of oars for the +water and rails for the land; and of black +ash, as full of barrel hoops and basket +splints, the ridged and hoary bark +shagged with patches of dark moss; and +a pine too knotty for sawing, with old +turpentine boxes gashing its lower part, +the dry resin in them half overgrown, +but odorous still; and oaks that have +borne their last acorns; and a sharded +hickory that will never furnish another +nut for boy or squirrel, but now, and only +this once, flail handles, swingles, and oxbows, +and helves for axes to hew down +its brethren, and wood to warm its destroyers, +and smoke and fry ham for +them; and a basswood that will give the +wild bees no more blossoms in July, hollow-hearted +and unfit for sleigh or toboggan, +wood straight rifted and so white +that a chip of it will hardly show on the +snow, but as unprofitable food for fires +as the poplars beside it, which, in the +yellow-green of youth or the furrowed +gray of age, have shivered their last.</p> + +<p>Still higher in the woodpile are white<span class="pagenum">[246]</span> +birches, yet in the smooth skin of their +prime, which is fit to be fashioned into +drinking cups and berry baskets, or to +furnish a page for my lady's album. Here +are hardhacks, some with grain winding +like the grooves of a rifle. This is the +timber the Indians made their bows of, +and which now serves the same purpose +for the young savages whom we have +always with us. There are sinewy blue +beeches, slowly grown up from ox-goads +and the "beech seals" of Ethan Allen's +Green Mountain Boys to the girth of a +man's thigh, a size at which they mostly +stop growing. A smaller trunk, like yet +unlike them, sets folks to guessing what +kind of wood it is. He will hit the mark +who fires at random the names "shadblow," +"service-berry," or "amelanchier." +If the axe had been merciful, in +early May its branches would have been +as white with blossoms as if the last April +snow still clung to them. Tossed on +a-top of all is a jumbled thatch of small +stuff,—saplings improvidently cut, short-lived +striped maple, and dogwood, the +slender topmost lengths of great trees, +once the perches of hawks and crows,<span class="pagenum">[247]</span> +and such large branches as were not too +crooked to lie still on the sled.</p> + +<p>The snow-fleas, harbingers and attendants +of thaws, are making the snow in +the woods gray with their restless myriads, +when the sled makes its last trip +across the slushy fields, which are fast +turning from white to dun under the +March winds and showers and sunshine.</p> + +<p>The completed woodpile basks in the +growing warmth, as responsive to the +touch of spring as if every trunk yet upheld +its branches in the forest. The buds +swell on every chance-spared twig, and +sap starts from the severed ducts. From +the pine drip slowly lengthening stalactites +of amber, from the hickory thick +beads of honeydew, and from the maples +a flow of sweet that calls the bees from +their hives across the melting drifts. +Their busy hum makes an island of summer +sound in the midst of the silent ebbing +tide of winter.</p> + +<p>As the days grow warmer, the woodpile +invites idlers as well as busy bees +and wood-cutters. The big logs are comfortable +seats to lounge on while whittling +a pine chip, and breathing the mingled<span class="pagenum">[248]</span> +odors of the many woods freshly +cut and the indescribable woodsy smell +brought home in the bark and moss, and +listening to the hum of the bees and +harsher music of the saws and axe, the +sharp, quick swish of the whip-saw, the +longer drawn and deeper ring of the crosscut, +and the regular beat of the axe,—fiddle, +bass-viol, and drum, each with its +own time, but all somehow in tune. The +parts stop a little when the fiddler saws +off his string, the two drawers of the long +bass-viol bow sever theirs, and the drummer +splits his drum, but each is soon outfitted +again, and the funeral march of the +woodpile goes on. Here is the most delightful +of places for those busy idlers +the children, for it is full of pioneers' +and hunters' cabins, robbers' caves and +bears' dens, and of treasures of moss and +gum and birch, and of punk, the tinder +of the Indians and our forefathers, now +gone out of use except for some conservative +Canuck to light his pipe or for +boys to touch off their small ordnance.</p> + +<p>It is a pretty sight to watch the nuthatches +and titmice searching the grooves +of the bark for their slender fare, or a<span class="pagenum">[249]</span> +woodpecker chopping his best for a living +with his sharp-pointed axe, all having +followed their rightful possessions +from the woods, taking perhaps the track +of the sled. It is wonderful to hear the +auger of the pine-borer, now thawed into +life, crunching its unseen way through the +wood. Then there is always the chance +of the axe unlocking the stores of deermice, +quarts of beechnuts with all the +shells neatly peeled off; and what if it +should happen to open a wild-bee hive +full of honey!</p> + +<p>If the man comes who made the round +of the barns in the fall and early winter +with his threshing-machine, having exchanged +it for a sawing machine, he +makes short work of our woodpile. A +day or two of stumbling clatter of the +horses in their treadmill, and the buzzing +and screeching of the whirling saw, gnaws +it into a heap of blocks.</p> + +<p>Our lounging-place and the children's +wooden playground have gone, and all +the picturesqueness and woodsiness have +disappeared as completely as when splitting +has made only firewood of the pile. +It will give warmth and comfort from<span class="pagenum">[250]</span> +the stove, but in that black sepulchre +all its beauty is swallowed out of sight +forever. If it can go to a generous +fireplace, it is beautified again in the +glowing and fading embers that paint +innumerable shifting pictures, while the +leaping flames sing the old song of the +wind in the branches.<span class="pagenum">[251]</span></p> + +<hr class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="L" id="L"></a>L</h2> + +<p class="caption">A CENTURY OF EXTERMINATION</p> + +<p>It seems quite probable that this +nineteenth century may be unpleasantly +memorable in centuries to come as that +in which many species of animate and +inanimate nature became extinct. It has +witnessed the extinction of the great +auk, so utterly swept off the face of the +earth that the skin, or even the egg of +one, is a small fortune to the possessor. +Reduced from the hundreds of thousands +of twenty-five years ago to the few hundred +of to-day, it needs but a few years +to compass the complete annihilation of +the bison. It is not improbable that the +elk and the antelope will be overtaken +by almost as swift a fate. The skin +hunters, and the game butchers miscalled +sportsmen, are making almost as speedy +way with them as they have with the +buffalo.</p> + +<p>The common deer, hedged within<span class="pagenum">[252]</span> +their narrowing ranges by civilization, +and hunted by all methods in all seasons, +may outlast the century, but they will +have become wofully scarce at the close +of it, even in such regions as the Adirondacks +which seem to have been set apart +by nature especially for the preservation +of wild life.</p> + +<p>The wild turkey is passing away, and +it is a question of but few years when he +shall have departed forever. In some +localities the next noblest of our game +birds, the ruffed grouse, has become almost +a thing of the past, and in some +years is everywhere so scarce that there +are sad forebodings of his complete disappearance +from the rugged hills of +which he seems as much a belonging +as the lichened rocks, the arbutus and +the wind-swept evergreens. One little +island on the New England coast holds +the handful that is left of the race of +heath hens.</p> + +<p>The woodcock is being cultivated and +improved and murdered out of existence +with clearing and draining and summer +shooting, and unseasonable shooting is +doing the same for many kinds of waterfowl.<span class="pagenum">[253]</span> +In the Eastern States a wild +pigeon is a rare sight now, and has been +for years; the netters and slaughterers +have done their work too thoroughly.</p> + +<p>Gentle woman is making an end of the +song-birds that she may trick her headgear +in barbaric and truly savage fashion. +The brighter plumaged small birds are +becoming noticeably scarce even in those +parts of the country that the milliners' +collector and the pot-naturalist have not +yet invaded, and such as the scarlet +tanager, never anywhere numerous, are +like to be soon "collected" out of living +existence. If they are to be saved, it +is by no dallying, nor slow awakening of +popular feeling in their behalf.</p> + +<p>There will be pine-trees, no doubt, for +centuries to come, but who that live +twenty years hence will see one of these +venerable monarchs of the woods towering +above all other forest growth, or see +any ancient tree, however historic or precious +for its age and beauty and majesty +and mystery of long past years, if it is +worth the cutting for timber or fuel?</p> + +<p>Even the lesser growths of the old +woods are passing away. Some, as the<span class="pagenum">[254]</span> +carpeting sphagnum and the sprawling +hobble bush, disappear through changed +conditions; others, as the medicinal +spikenard, sarsaparilla, and ginseng, and +the decorative running pine and the arbutus, +through ruthless, greedy gathering, +which leaves no root nor ripened seed +to perpetuate their kind.</p> + +<p>An old man may be glad that his eyes +are not to behold the coming desolation, +but he must be sad when he thinks of +the poor inheritance of his children.<span class="pagenum">[255]</span></p> + +<hr class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="LI" id="LI"></a>LI</h2> + +<p class="caption">THE PERSISTENCY OF PESTS</p> + +<p>From the sowing and planting of his +seed, almost indeed from the turning of +the furrow, the farmer enters upon a +contest with the weeds, for a place in +which his crops may grow, and if he or +the crops are not vanquished, as the +weeds never are, the warfare continues +till harvest time.</p> + +<p>While he, with infinite labor, prepares +the ground and sows his seed with all +care, praying that drouth may not wither +nor floods drown it, and that frosts may +not cut down the tender plants, the +winds of heaven and the fowls of the air +scatter broadcast the seeds of the noxious +weeds, or these lie dormant in the +ground awaiting opportunity. They germinate +in sterile places, fence corners +and nooks of the wayside, and flourish +alike in scorching sunshine and in sodden +soil.<span class="pagenum">[256]</span></p> + +<p>Weeds defy the latest and the earliest +frosts, grow with their roots in the +air; and cut down, spring up, grow on, +blossoming and ripening their seed in +creeping stealth and ever unscathed by +blight; and so flourish in spite of all +unkindliness of man or stress of nature, +that the husbandman wishes that they +might by some freak of demand become +the useful plants, his present crop the +undesired ones.</p> + +<p>Somewhat the same position in which +weeds stand opposed to the plants which +the husbandman depends upon for his +livelihood, vermin hold toward the beasts +and birds upon which the sportsman +depends for his recreation. While they +whose protection men endeavor to maintain +during the season of procreation, and +at times when scarcity of food prevails, +decrease often to complete extinction, the +vermin, whom the hand of man is always +against, continue to increase and multiply, +or at least hold their own. With +them as with the weeds nature seems to +deal with a kinder hand. She spares +and nourishes them, while she destroys +their betters.<span class="pagenum">[257]</span></p> + +<p>The snow crust, which walls the quail +in a living tomb, makes a royal banqueting +hall for the pestiferous field mice, +where they feast and revel in plenty, +secure from all their enemies, feathered +or furred. It impounds the deer, but +gives free range to the wolf and to his +as pitiless two-legged brother, the crust +hunter.</p> + +<p>The wet seasons that drown the callow +woodcock and grouse work no harm +to the ravenous brood of the hawk and +owl, nor to the litter of fox, mink, or +weasel. Wet or dry, hot or cold, the +year fosters them throughout its varied +round.</p> + +<p>Winged ticks kill the grouse, but the +owl endures their companionship with +sedate serenity and thrives with a swarm +of the parasites in the covert of his +feathers.</p> + +<p>The skunk has always been killed on +sight as a pest that the world would be +the sweeter for being rid of. In later +years the warfare against him has received +an impetus from the value of his +fur, but though this has gone on relentlessly +for many years, his tribe still live<span class="pagenum">[258]</span> +to load the air with a fragrance that incites +the ambitious trapper to further +conquest.</p> + +<p>All the year round, farmers and their +boys wage war upon the crows, but each +returning autumn sees the columns of +the black army moving southward with +apparently unthinned ranks, while, year +by year, the harried platoons of ducks +and geese return fewer and less frequent. +Those detested foreigners, the +English sparrows, increase and multiply +in spite of bitter winters and righteous +persecution, while our natives, the +beloved song-birds, diminish in numbers. +On every hand we find the undesirable +in animated nature, the birds +and beasts that we would gladly be rid +of, maintaining their numbers, while +those whose increase we desire are +losing ground and tending toward extinction.</p> + +<p>The prospect for the sportsman of the +future is indeed gloomy, unless he shall +make game of the pests and become a +hunter of skunks and a shooter of crows +and sparrows. Who can say that a hundred<span class="pagenum">[259]</span> +years hence the leading sportsmen +of the period will not be wrangling over +the points and merits of their skunk and +woodchuck dogs and bragging of their +bags of crows and sparrows?<span class="pagenum">[260]</span></p> + +<hr class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="LII" id="LII"></a>LII</h2> + +<p class="caption">THE WEASEL</p> + +<p>A chain that is blown away by the +wind and melted by the sun, links with +pairs of parallel dots the gaps of farm +fences, and winds through and along +walls and zigzag lines of rails, is likely to +be the most visible sign that you will +find in winter of one bold and persistent +little hunter's presence.</p> + +<p>Still less likely are you to be aware of +it in summer or fall, even by such traces +of his passage, for he is in league with +nature to keep his secrets. When every +foot of his outdoor wandering must be +recorded she makes him as white as +the snow whereon it is imprinted, save +his beady eyes and dark tail-tip. When +summer is green and autumn gay or sad +of hue she clothes him in the brown +wherewith she makes so many of her +wild children inconspicuous.</p> + +<p>Yet you may see him, now and then,<span class="pagenum">[261]</span> +in his white suit or in his brown, gliding +with lithe, almost snake-like movement +along the lower fence rails, going forth +hunting or bearing home his game, a +bird or a fat field-mouse. In a cranny of +an old lichen-scaled stone wall you may +see his bright eyes gleaming out of the +darkness, like dewdrops caught in a +spider's web, and then the brown head +thrust cautiously forth to peer curiously +at you. Then he may favor you with +the exhibition of an acrobatic feat: his +hinder paws being on the ground in the +position of standing, he twists his slender +body so that his forepaws are placed in +just the reverse position on the stone or +rail above him, and he looks upward and +backward.</p> + +<p>He may be induced to favor you with +intimate and familiar acquaintance, to +take bits of meat from your hand and +even to climb to your lap and search +your pockets and suffer you to lay a +gentle hand upon him, but he has sharp +teeth wherewith to resent too great liberties.</p> + +<p>While he may be almost a pet of a +household and quite a welcome visitor of<span class="pagenum">[262]</span> +rat-infested premises, he becomes one of +the worst enemies of the poultry-wife +when he is tempted to fall upon her +broods of chicks. He seems possessed +of a murderous frenzy, and slays as ruthlessly +and needlessly as a wolf or a human +game-butcher or the insatiate angler. +Neither is he the friend of the sportsman, +for he makes havoc among the +young grouse and quail and the callow +woodcock.</p> + +<p>The trapper reviles him when he finds +him in his mink trap, for all the beauty +of his ermine a worthless prize drawn in +this chanceful lottery. When every one +carried his money in a purse, the weasel's +slender white skin was in favor with +country folk. This use survives only in +the command or exhortation to "draw +your weasel." When the purse was +empty, it gave the spendthrift an untimely +hint by creeping out of his +pocket. In the primest condition of his +fur he neither keeps nor puts money in +your pocket now. He is worth more to +look at, with his lithe body quick with +life, than to possess in death.<span class="pagenum">[263]</span></p> + +<hr class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="LIII" id="LIII"></a>LIII</h2> + +<p class="caption">FEBRUARY DAYS</p> + +<p>In the blur of storm or under clear +skies, the span of daylight stretches +farther from the fading dusk of dawn to +the thickening dusk of evening. Now +in the silent downfall of snow, now in +the drift and whirl of flakes driven from +the sky and tossed from the earth by the +shrieking wind, the day's passage is unmarked +by shadows. It is but a long +twilight, coming upon the world out of +one misty gloom, and going from it into +another. Now the stars fade and vanish +in the yellow morning sky, the long +shadows of the hills, clear cut on the +shining fields, swing slowly northward +and draw eastward to the netted umbrage +of the wood. So the dazzling day grows +and wanes and the attenuated shadows +are again stretched to their utmost, then +dissolved in the flood of shade, and the +pursued sunlight takes flight from the<span class="pagenum">[264]</span> +mountain peaks to the clouds, from cloud +to cloud along the darkening sky, and +vanishes beyond the blue barrier of the +horizon.</p> + +<p>There are days of perfect calm and +hours of stillness as of sleep, when the +lightest wisp of cloud fleece hangs moveless +against the sky and the pine-trees +forget their song. But for the white +columns of smoke that, unbent in the +still air, arise from farmstead chimneys, +one might imagine that all affairs of life +had been laid aside; for no other sign of +them is visible, no sound of them falls +upon the ear. You see the cows and +sheep in the sheltered barnyards and +their lazy breaths arising in little clouds, +but no voice of theirs drifts to you.</p> + +<p>No laden team crawls creaking along +the highway nor merry jangle of sleigh +bells flying into and out of hearing over +its smooth course, nor for a space do the +tireless panting engine and roaring train +divide earth and sky with a wedge of dissolving +vapor. The broad expanse of +the lake is a white plain of snow-covered +ice: no dash of angry waves assails its +shore still glittering with the trophies of<span class="pagenum">[265]</span> +their last assault; no glimmer of bright +waters greets the sun; no keel is afloat; +the lighthouse, its occupation gone, +stares day and night with dull eyes from +its lonely rock, upon a silent deserted +waste.</p> + +<p>In the wood you may hear no sound +but your own muffled footsteps, the +crackle of dry twigs, and the soft swish +of boughs swinging back from your passage, +and now and then a tree punctuating +the silence with a clear resonant crack +of frozen fibres and its faint echo. You +hear no bird nor squirrel nor sound of +woodman's axe, nor do you catch the +pungent fragrance of his fire nor the +subtler one of fresh-cut wood. Indeed, +all odors of the forest seem frozen out +of the air or locked up in their sources. +No perfume drops from the odor-laden +evergreens, only scentless air reaches +your nostrils.</p> + +<p>One day there comes from the south +a warm breath, and with it fleets of +white clouds sailing across the blue +upper deep, outstripped by their swifter +shadows sweeping in blue squadrons +along the glistening fields and darkening<span class="pagenum">[266]</span> +with brief passage the gray woodlands. +Faster come the clouds out of the south +and out of the west, till they crowd the +sky, only fragments of its intense azure +showing here and there between them, +only now and then a gleam of sunlight +flashing across the earth. Then the blue +sunlit sky is quite shut away behind a +low arch of gray, darkening at the horizon +with thick watery clouds, and beneath +it all the expanse of fields and forest lies +in universal shadow.</p> + +<p>The south wind is warmer than yesterday's +sunshine, the snow softens till +your footsteps are sharply moulded as in +wax, and in a little space each imprint +is flecked thick with restless, swarming +myriads of snow-fleas. Rain begins to +fall softly on snow-covered roofs, but +beating the panes with the familiar patter +of summer showers. It becomes a +steady downpour that continues till the +saturated snow can hold no more, and +the hidden brooks begin to show in yellow +streaks between white, unstable +shores, and glide with a swift whisking +rush over the smooth bottom that paves +their rough natural bed; and as their<span class="pagenum">[267]</span> +yellow currents deepen and divide more +widely their banks, the noise of their +onflow fills the air like an exaggeration +of the murmur of pines, and the song of +the pines swells and falls with the varying +wind.</p> + +<p>After the rain there come, perhaps, +some hours of quiet sunshine or starlight, +and then out of the north a nipping +wind that hardens the surface of the +snow into solid crust that delights your +feet to walk upon. The rivulets shrink +out of sight again, leaving no trace but +water-worn furrows in the snow, some +frozen fluffs of yellow foam and stranded +leaves and twigs, grass and broken weeds. +The broad pools have left their shells of +unsupported ice, which with frequent +sudden crashes shatters down upon their +hollow beds.</p> + +<p>When the crust has invited you forth, +you cannot retrace your way upon it, +and the wild snow walkers make no +record now of their recent wanderings. +But of those who fared abroad before +this solid pavement was laid upon the +snow, fabulous tales are now inscribed +upon it. Reading them without question,<span class="pagenum">[268]</span> +you might believe that the well-tamed +country had lapsed into the +possession of its ancient savage tenants, +for the track of the fox is as big as a +wolf's, the raccoon's as large as a bear's, +the house cat's as broad as the panther's, +and those of the muskrat and mink persuade +you to believe that the beaver and +otter, departed a hundred years ago, +have come to their own again. Till the +next thaw or snowfall, they are set as +indelibly as primeval footprints in the +rocks, and for any scent that tickles +the hounds' keen nose, might be as old. +He sniffs them curiously and contemptuously +passes on, yet finds little more +promising on footing that retains but for +an instant the subtle trace of reynard's +unmarked passage.</p> + +<p>The delicate curves and circles that +the bent weeds etched on the soft snow +are widened and deepened in rigid +grooves, wherein the point that the fingers +of the wind traced them with is +frozen fast. Far and wide from where +they fall, all manner of seeds drift across +miles of smooth fields, to spring to life +and bloom, by and by, in strange, unaccustomed<span class="pagenum">[269]</span> +places, and brown leaves voyage +to where their like was never grown. +The icy knolls shine in the sunlight with +dazzling splendor, like golden islands in +a white sea that the north wind stirs +not, and athwart it the low sun and the +waning moon cast their long unrippled +glades of gold and silver. Over all winter +again holds sway, but we have once +more heard the sound of rain and running +brooks and have been given a promise +of spring.<span class="pagenum">[270]</span></p> + +<hr class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="LIV" id="LIV"></a>LIV</h2> + +<p class="caption">THE FOX</p> + +<p>Among the few survivals of the old untamed +world there are left us two that +retain all the raciness of their ancestral +wildness.</p> + +<p>Their wits have been sharpened by +the attrition of civilization, but it has +not smoothed their characteristics down +to the level of the commonplace, nor +contaminated them with acquired vices +as it has their ancient contemporary, the +Indian. But they are held in widely +different esteem, for while the partridge +is in a manner encouraged in continuance, +the fox is an outlaw, with a price +set upon his head to tempt all but his +few contemned friends to compass his +extermination.</p> + +<p>For these and for him there is an unwritten +code that, stealthily enforced, +gives him some exemption from universal +persecution. They, having knowledge<span class="pagenum">[271]</span> +of the underground house of many +portals where the vixen rears her cubs, +guard the secret as jealously as she and +her lord, from the unfriendly farmer, +poultry-wife, and bounty-hunting vagabond, +confiding it only to sworn brethren +of woodcraft, as silent concerning +it to the unfriendly as the trees that +shadow its booty-strewn precincts or the +lichened rocks that fortify it against +pick and spade. They never tell even +their leashed hounds till autumn makes +the woods gayer with painted leaves +than summer could with blossoms, how +they have seen the master and mistress +of this woodland home stealing to it +with a fare of field mice fringing their +jaws or bearing a stolen lamb or pullet.</p> + +<p>They watch from some unseen vantage, +with amused kindliness, the gambols +of the yellow cubs about their +mother, alert for danger, even in her +drowsy weariness, and proud of her impish +brood, even now practicing tricks of +theft and cunning on each other. They +become abetters of this family's sins, +apologists for its crimes, magnifiers of +its unmeant well-doing.<span class="pagenum">[272]</span></p> + +<p>When in palliation of the slaughter of +a turkey that has robbed a field of his +weight in corn they offset the destruction +of hordes of field mice, they are +reviled by those who are righteously exalted +above the idleness of hunting and +the foolishness of sentiment.</p> + +<p>At such hands one fares no better +who covets the fox, not for the sport he +may give, but for the tang of wild flavor +that he imparts to woods that have +almost lost it and to fields that lose +nothing of thrift by its touch.</p> + +<p>You may not see him, but it is good +to know that anything so untamed has +been so recently where your plodding +footsteps go. You see in last night's +snowfall the sharp imprint of his pads, +where he has deviously quested mice +under the mat of aftermath, or trotted +slowly, pondering, to other more promising +fields, or there gone airily coursing +away over the moonlit pastures. In +imagination you see all his agile gaits +and graceful poses. Now listening with +pricked ears to the muffled squeak of a +mouse, now pouncing upon his captured +but yet unseen prize, or where on sudden<span class="pagenum">[273]</span> +impulse he has coursed to fresh +fields, you see him, a dusky phantom, +gliding with graceful undulations of +lithe body and brush over the snowy +stretches; or, halting to wistfully sniff, +as a wolf a sheepfold, the distant henroost; +or, where a curious labyrinth of +tracks imprint the snow, you have a +vision of him dallying with his tawny +sweetheart under the stars of February +skies; or, by this soft mould of his furry +form on a snow-capped stump or boulder, +you picture him sleeping off the fatigue +of hunting and love-making, with all +senses but sight still alert, unharmed by +the nipping air that silvers his whiskers +with his own breath.</p> + +<p>All these realities of his actual life +you may not see except in such pictures +as your fancy makes; but when the +woods are many-hued or brown in autumn, +or gray and white in winter, and +stirred with the wild music of the +hounds, your blood may be set tingling +by the sight of him, his coming announced +by the rustle of leaves under +his light footfalls. Perhaps unheralded<span class="pagenum">[274]</span> +by sound, he suddenly blooms ruddily +out of the dead whiteness of the snow.</p> + +<p>Whether he flies past or carefully +picks his way along a fallen tree or bare +ledge, you remark his facial expression +of incessant intentness on cunning devices, +while ears, eyes, and nose are +alert for danger. If he discovers you, +with what ready self-possession he instantly +gets and keeps a tree between +himself and you and vanishes while your +gun vainly searches for its opportunity. +If your shot brings him down, and you +stand over him exultant, yet pitying the +end of his wild life, even in his death +throes fearing you no more, he yet +strains his dulled ears to catch the voices +of the relentless hounds.</p> + +<p>Bravely the wild freebooter holds his +own against the encroachments of civilization +and the persecution of mankind, +levying on the flocks and broods of his +enemy, rearing his yellow cubs in the +very border of his field, insulting him +with nightly passage by his threshold.</p> + +<p>Long ago his fathers bade farewell to +their grim cousin the wolf, and saw the +beaver and the timid deer pass away,<span class="pagenum">[275]</span> +and he sees the eagle almost banished +from its double realm of earth and sky, +yet he hardily endures. For what he +preserves for us of the almost extinct +wildness, shall we begrudge him the +meagre compensation of an occasional +turkey?<span class="pagenum">[276]</span></p> + +<hr class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="LV" id="LV"></a>LV</h2> + +<p class="caption">AN ICE-STORM</p> + +<p>Of all the vagaries of winter weather, +one of the rarest is the ice-storm; rain +falling with a wind and from a quarter +that should bring snow, and freezing as +it falls, not penetrating the snow but +coating it with a shining armor, sheathing +every branch and twig in crystal and +fringing eaves with icicles of most fantastic +shapes.</p> + +<p>On ice-clad roofs and fields and crackling +trees the rain still beats with a +leaden clatter, unlike any other sound of +rain; unlike the rebounding pelting of +hail or the swish of wind-blown snow.</p> + +<p>The trees begin to stoop under their +increasing burden, and then to crack +and groan as it is laid still heavier upon +them. At times is heard the thin, echoless +crash of an overladen branch, first +bending to its downfall with a gathering +crackle of severed fibres, then with a<span class="pagenum">[277]</span> +sudden crash, shattering in a thousand +fragments the brief adornments that +have wrought its destruction.</p> + +<p>Every kind of tree has as marked individuality +in its icy garniture as in its +summer foliage. The gracefulness of +the elms, the maples, the birches, the +beeches, and the hornbeams is preserved +and even intensified; the clumsy ramage +of the butternut and ash is as stiff as +ever, though every unbending twig bears +its row of glittering pendants. The +hemlocks and firs are tents of ice, but +the pines are still pines, with every +needle exaggerated in bristling crystal.</p> + +<p>Some worthless things have become +of present value, as the wayside thistles +and the bejeweled grass of an unshorn +meadow, that yesterday with its dun +unsightliness, rustling above the snow, +proclaimed the shiftlessness of its owner.</p> + +<p>Things most unpicturesque are made +beautiful. The wire of the telegraph +with its dull undulations is transformed +to festoons of crystal fringe, linking together +shining pillars of glass that yesterday +were but bare, unsightly posts.</p> + +<p>The woods are a maze of fantastic<span class="pagenum">[278]</span> +shapes of tree growth. Wood roads are +barricaded with low arches of ice that +the hare and the fox can barely find +passage beneath, and with long, curved +slants of great limbs bent to the earth. +The wild vines are turned to ropes and +cables of ice, and have dragged down +their strong supports, about whose prostrate +trunks and limbs they writhe in a +tangle of rigid coils. The lithe trunks +of second growth are looped in an intricate +confusion of arches one upon another, +many upon one, over whole acres +of low-roofed forest floor.</p> + +<p>The hare and the grouse cower in these +tents of ice, frightened and hungry; for +every sprout and bud is sheathed in +adamant, and scarlet berries, magnified +and unattainable, glow in the heart of +crystal globules. Even the brave chickadees +are appalled, and the disheartened +woodpecker mopes beside the dead trunk, +behind whose impenetrable shield he can +hear the grub boring in safety.</p> + +<p>Through the frozen brambles that lattice +the doorway of his burrow the fox +peers dismayed upon a glassy surface +that will hold no scent of quarry, yet<span class="pagenum">[279]</span> +perhaps is comforted that the same conditions +impose a truce upon his enemies +the hounds. The squirrel sits fasting +in his chamber, longing for the stores +that are locked from their owner in his +cellar. It is the dismalest of all storms +for the wood folk, despite all the splendor +wherewith it adorns their realm.</p> + +<p>One holds out his hand and lifts his +face skyward to assure himself that the +rain has ceased, for there is a continual +clattering patter as if it were yet falling. +But it is only the crackling of the icy +trees and the incessant dropping of +small fragments of their burden.</p> + +<p>The gray curtain of the sky drifts +asunder, and the low sun shines through. +It glorifies the earth with the flash and +gleam of ten million diamonds set everywhere. +The fire and color of every gem +that was ever delved burn along the borders +of the golden pathway that stretches +from your feet far away to the silver portals +of the mountains that bar our glittering +world from the flaming sky.</p> + +<p>The pallid gloom of the winter night +falls upon the earth. Then the full moon +throbs up behind the scintillating barrier<span class="pagenum">[280]</span> +of the hills. She presently paves from +herself to us a street of silver among the +long blue shadows, and lights it with a +thousand stars; some fallen quite to +earth, some twinkling among the drooping +branches, all as bright as the eternal +stars that shine in the blue sky above.<span class="pagenum">[281]</span></p> + +<hr class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="LVI" id="LVI"></a>LVI</h2> + +<p class="caption">SPARE THE TREES</p> + +<p>All the protection that the law can +give will not prevent the game naturally +belonging to a wooded country from +leaving it when it is deforested, nor keep +fish in waters that have shrunk to a +quarter of their ordinary volume before +midsummer. The streams of such a +country will thus shrink when the mountains, +where the snows lie latest and the +feeding springs are, and the swamps, +which dole out their slow but steady +tribute, are bereft of shade. The thin +soil of a rocky hill, when deprived of its +shelter of branches, will be burned by +the summer sun out of all power to help +the germination of any worthy seed, or +to nurture so noble a plant as a tree +through the tender days of its infancy. +It supports only useless weeds and +brambles. Once so denuded, it will be +unsightly and unprofitable for many<span class="pagenum">[282]</span> +years if not always. Some swamps at +great expense may be brought into tillage +and meadow, but nine times out of +ten, when cleared of the lusty growth of +woods, they bear nothing but wild grass, +and the streams that trickled from them +all the summer long in their days of wildness +show in August only the parched +trail of the spring course.</p> + +<p>Our natives have inherited their ancestors' +hatred of trees, which to them +were only cumberers of the ground, to +be got rid of by the speediest means; +and our foreign-born landholders, being +unused to so much woodland, think there +can be no end to it, let them slash away +as they will.</p> + +<p>Ledges and steep slopes that can bear +nothing but wood to any profit, are shorn +of their last tree, and the margins of +streams to the very edge robbed of the +willows and water-maples that shaded +the water and with their roots protected +the banks from washing. Who has not +known a little alder swamp, in which he +was sure to find a dozen woodcock, when +he visited it on the first day of the season +each year? Some year the first day<span class="pagenum">[283]</span> +comes and he seeks it as usual, to find +its place marked only by brush heaps, +stubs, and sedges; and for the brook +that wimpled through it in the days of +yore, only stagnant pools. The worst of +it is, the owners can seldom give any +reason for this slaughter but that their +victims were trees and bushes.</p> + +<p>The Yankee, with his proverbial thriftiness +and forecast, appears entirely to +lose these gifts when it comes to the +proper and sensible management of +woodlands. Can he not understand that +it is more profitable to keep a lean or +thin soil that will grow nothing well but +wood, growing wood instead of worthless +weeds? The crop is one which is slow +in coming to the harvest, but it is a sure +one, and is every year becoming a more +valuable one. It breaks the fierceness +of the winds, and keeps the springs from +drying up, and is a comfort to the eye, +whether in the greenness of the leaf or +the barrenness of the bough, and under +its protecting arms live and breed the +grouse, the quail and the hare, and in its +shadowed rills swim the trout.<span class="pagenum">[284]</span></p> + +<hr class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="LVII" id="LVII"></a>LVII</h2> + +<p class="caption">THE CHICKADEE</p> + +<p>The way to the woods is blurred with +a mist of driven snow that veils the +portal of the forest with its upblown +curtain, and blots out all paths, and gives +to the familiar landmarks a ghostly unreality. +The quietude of the woods is +disturbed by turbulent voices, the angry +roar and shriek of the wind, the groaning +and clashing of writhing, tormented trees. +Over all, the sunned but unwarmed sky +bends its blue arch, as cold as the snowy +fields and woods beneath it.</p> + +<p>In such wild weather you are not +tempted far abroad in quest of old acquaintances +of fields and woods, yet from +the inhospitable woods some of them +come to you. Among them all, none is +more welcome than that feathered atom +of life, the chickadee. With the same +blithe note that welcomed you to his +woodland haunts in spring, in summer,<span class="pagenum">[285]</span> +and in autumn, when he attended you +with such charming familiarity, amusing +you with pretty acrobatic feats, as he +flitted now before, now beside, now +above you, he hails you now, and asks +that hospitality be extended to him.</p> + +<p>Set forth a feast of suet on the window-sill, +and he will need no bidding to +come and partake of it. How daintily +he helps himself to the tiniest morsels, +never cramming his bill with gross +mouthfuls as do his comrades at the +board, the nuthatch and the downy woodpecker! +They, like unbidden guests, +doubtful of welcome or of sufferance +even, make the most of time that may +prove all too brief, and gorge themselves +as greedily as hungry tramps; while he, +unscared by your face at the window, +tarries at his repast, pecking his crumbs +with leisurely satisfaction. You half expect +to see him swept from your sight +like a thistledown by the gusty blast, but +he holds bravely to his perch, unruffled +in spirit if not in feathers, and defies +his fierce assailant with his oft-repeated +challenge.</p> + +<p>As often as you spread the simple<span class="pagenum">[286]</span> +feast for him he will come and sit at +your board, a confiding guest, well assured +of welcome, and will repay you +with an example of cheerful life in the +midst of dreariness and desolation. In +the still, bright days, his cheery voice +rings through the frosty air, and when +the thick veil of the snow falls in a wavering +slant from the low sky its muffled +cadence still heartens you.</p> + +<p>What an intense spark of vitality +must it be that warms such a mite in +such an immensity of cold; that floats +his little life in this deluge of frigid +air, and keeps him in song while we +are dumb with shivering! If our huge +hulks were endowed with proportionate +vitality, how easily we might solve the +mysteries of the frozen north!</p> + +<p>On some February day, when the first +promise of spring is drifted to you in the +soft south wind, the tenderness of spring +is voiced in his love-note, brief but full +of melody, and sweet as the evening song +of the wood pewee. When the spring +songsters come, he takes leave of you. +He has seen you safely through the winter, +and departs to the woods on affairs<span class="pagenum">[287]</span> +of his own. He is no longer a vagrant, +but at home in his own greenwood, yet +as unfretted by the cares of housekeeping +as he was by the heavy weariness of +winter.</p> + +</div> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of In New England Fields and Woods, by +Rowland E. 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