Part 3

My Aunt Polly likes her cat er-nough sight better'n me, 'n' Keeps a-coddlin' it 'ith cream 'n' sometimes catnip tea. Seen some tracks behin' ther shed, an' nen I sez, sez I, "I'll catch yer, Mister Cotton-Tail, to make a rabbit pie;" So me'n' Tommy Baker found er empty cracker box; Thought we'd hev it big er-nough fer fear he wuz er fox, An' nen we propped ther cover up 'n' fixed it 'ith a spring 'At shut it suddin' 'ith a bang ez tight ez anything.

III.

We cut er fresh green carrot top 'n' put it in fer bait, Wuz both so sure we'd ketch him 'at we couldn't hardly wait; Pounded in some stakes each side 'n' made it good 'n' stout; If Mister Cotton-Tail got in he never could get out. Tom staid 'ith me till mornin', an' almos' 'fore it wuz light We run behin' ther shed 'n' foun' our trap all shet up tight; An' nen I shouted, "Got him!" 'n' Tom threw up his hat-- Blame 'f that ol' rabbit wasn't my Aunt Polly's cat!

"THE COUNTRY, THE COUNTRY!"

FROM A CLUB OF ONE, BY A. P. RUSSELL, L. H. D.[A]

Trees! Think of them! In the United States thirty-six varieties of oak, thirty-four of pine, nine of fir, five of spruce, four of hemlock, two of persimmon, twelve of ash, eighteen of willow, nine of poplar, and I don't know how many of the beautiful beech. I once counted over thirty different varieties of trees in the space of one acre. And the leaves--their number, their individuality, their variety of shape and tint, the acres of space that those of one great tree would cover if spread out and laid together! In the autumn to watch them fall--how slowly, how rapidly! Yet they say nobody ever saw one of them let go. Homer's comparison to the lives of men--how fine! Better than Lucian's to the bubbles. I remember very well one October day in Ohio. It was long ago--"in life's morning march, when my bosom was young." (I like to quote from that poem of Campbell's, it is incomparable of its kind.) A delightful tramp! Elderberries. (The great Boerhaave held the elder in such pleasant reverence for the multitude of its virtues, that he is said to have taken off his hat whenever he passed it.) Grapes. Haws. Pawpaws. (Nature's custard.) Spicewood. Sassafras. Hickory nuts. Nearly a primeval forest. Vines reminding one of Brazilian creepers. Trees that were respectable saplings when Columbus landed. The dead roots of an iron-wood--so like a monster as to startle. Behemoth I thought of. "He moveth his tail like a cedar.' Thistle-down. Diffused like small vices. Every seed hath wings. Here and there a jay, or a woodpecker. Grape-vines, fantastically running over the tops of tall bushes, grouping deformities, any one of which, if an artist drew it, would be called an exaggeration, worse than anything of Doré's. Trees, swaying and bowing to one another, like stilted clowns in Nature's afterpiece of the seasons. Trees incorporated, sycamore and elm, maple and hickory, modifying and partaking each other's nature; resembling so much as to appear one tree. A jolly gray squirrel, hopping from limb to limb, like a robin; swinging like an oriole; flying along the limb like a weaver's shuttle; scared away, at length, by a scudding cloud of pigeons, just brushing the tallest tree-tops, as if kissing an annual farewell. Clover. Sorrel. Pennyroyal. A drink of cider from a bit of broken crockery. ("Does he not drink more sweetly that takes his beverage in an earthen vessel than he that looks and searches into his golden chalices for fear of poison, and sleeps in armor, and trusts nobody, and does not trust God for his safety?") "All is fair--all is glad--from grass to sun!" Not a "melancholy" day. Keats' poem on Autumn comes to mind; and Crabbe's

"Welcome pure thoughts, welcome, ye silent groves; These guests, these courts, my soul most dearly loves."

Indian summer. Balzac's comparison to ripe womanhood. The significant worn walk round the mean man's field; its crooked outline impressively striking. All in all, a white day. Memory of it supplies these notes. They might be expanded into an essay. The country, the country! Though the man who would truly relish and enjoy it must be previously furnished with a large and various stock of ideas, which he must be capable of turning over in his own mind, of comparing, varying, and contemplating upon with pleasure; he must so thoroughly have seen the world as to cure him of being over fond of it; and he must have so much good sense and virtue in his own heart as to prevent him from being disgusted with his own reflections, or uneasy in his own company. Alas!

Footnote:

[A] By permission.

THE GOPHER.

The name of gopher, according to Brehm, is applied in some American localities to various other widely variant rodents. The zoölogists, who first described the animal, obtained their specimens from Indians, who had amused themselves by cramming both cheek pouches full of earth, distending them to such a degree that if the animal had walked the pouches would have trailed on the earth. These artificially distended pouches obtained for the gopher its name; the taxidermists who prepared the dead specimens endeavored to give them what was supposed to be a life-like appearance by following the practice of the Indians in distending the cheek pouches, and the artists who delineated the animal followed the models which were accessible to them, but too truly in their drawings. Owing to these circumstances, the pictures of gophers of even recent date represent really monstrous animals, when they honestly intend to familiarize us with the gopher.

The gopher may be found east of the Rocky Mountains and to the west of the Mississippi river, between the thirty-fourth and fifty-second parallel of north latitude. It leads an underground life, digging tunnels in various directions. Tunnels, of old standing, says Brehm, are packed hard and firm from constant use. Lateral passages branch off at intervals. The main chamber is situated under the roots of a tree at a depth of about four and one-half feet; the entrance tunnel is sunk down to it with a spiral direction. This chamber is large, is lined with soft grass, and serves for a nesting and sleeping-place. The nest in which the young, numbering from five to seven, are born about the beginning of April, is lined with the hair of the mother. It is surrounded with circular passages from which the tunnels radiate. Gesner found that a passage leads from the nest to a larger hole, the storeroom, which is usually filled with roots, potatoes, nuts, and seeds. When throwing up the earth the gopher exposes itself to view as little as possible and immediately after accomplishing its purpose plunges back into its hole. According to Audubon it appears above ground to bask in the sun. We have seen it sit at the entrance to its den with an air of bold indifference to the approach of danger and then suddenly vanish under ground. Its acute sense of hearing and great power of scent protect it from surprises.

Audubon kept several gophers in captivity for months, feeding them on potatoes. Their appetites were voracious, but they would drink neither water nor milk. They made incessant efforts to regain their liberty by gnawing through boxes and doors. They constantly dragged clothing and other similar objects together, utilizing them as bedding, first gnawing them to pieces. One of them, straying into a boot, instead of turning back, simply gnawed its way through the tip. The habit of gnawing was unendurable and Audubon incontinently got rid of them.

The gopher is very destructive to valuable trees and plants, for which reason man is its most dangerous enemy, the only other foes it has to fear being water and snakes.

This pretty little rodent is often found in populous neighborhoods. A few years ago the writer saw one rush into a hole under the root of a large osage orange bush in Woodlawn, Chicago. Curiosity led him to watch for the reappearance of the animal, which soon put its head cautiously above the entrance and eyed the intruder with as much interest as a weasel will often show under like circumstances. For several weeks the gopher was visible in the morning hours. We pointed it out to several persons, each of whom declared it to be a ground squirrel. There is a great difference in these small animals, but they are frequently confounded.

The name of gopher is applied in some American localities to various other rodents.

HANS AND MIZI.

DR. ALBERT SCHNEIDER.

Hans was a little blue-eyed German orphan who had been "adopted" by a man and wife because they thought they could make good use of him; but to their chagrin they were disappointed. Hans had been told again and again that he was an ungrateful, lazy, good for-nothing. This was also the reason why his master whipped him so frequently. Now Hans was only nine years old and, of course, he could not know that he was so thoroughly bad unless he was told and the telling of it accompanied by cuffs, in order to impress this fact more fully upon his dull brain.

It was really true that Hans was lazy and perhaps queer in many ways. He disliked hard work, preferring to wander about the fields and meadows, the ditches, pastures, and the trees of the nearby forest. He had been discovered lying in the grass watching the fleeting clouds overhead and listening to the sighing of the wind in the tall grass and the overshadowing trees. In his imagination the breezes whispered soothing words, soft and low. He watched the busy bees, the ants, and the black carrion beetles tugging great loads up hill.

Often he had observed a lady with two children about his age going by on their way to Sunday-school. With wistful eyes he would watch the romping of the children and listen to their exclamations of joy as they played among the flowers. Sometimes the kind lady would beckon to Hans and talk kindly to him and make him presents. Then little Hans would cry as though his poor heart would break. He hid the gifts in a secret nook in the granary which was also his sleeping place and often he would think of the kind lady and her happy children while the love-hunger shone in his eyes.

Mizi was only a half-starved, homeless, gray kitten which came to Hans while he was hoeing in the orchard. The two understood each other at once, and why should they not? Both were homeless, friendless, and soulless. Everybody knows that a cat, much less a stray kitten, has no soul. You may say that Hans was neither a cat nor a kitten, but some little boys of the neighborhood had sneeringly remarked that he was a "fraid-cat." Besides, his master had whipped all the spirit out of him. Therefore he, too, was without a soul. Hans petted Mizi and gave her some bread-crusts and hid her in the shed to keep her out of sight of his master. Mizi gained in flesh and became very fond of Hans, and at times would try to follow him, but Hans would take her back and put her in a more secure place. Mizi did not know of the cruel master and in spite of all precautions she finally made her escape and searched for Hans. She could not find him, so she mewed again and again and finally succeeded in attracting, not only the attention of Hans but also that of the master who promptly picked up a stone and hurled it at Mizi but fortunately missed her. It may be that Mizi was not so easily frightened as Hans, for in time she tried to get to him even if the master was near. Poor, ignorant Mizi, she did not know that this show of friendliness would get Hans into trouble. The master concluded that Hans was responsible for the presence of Mizi and ordered him to take her and kill her then and there. In agony and despair Hans ran to Mizi to frighten her away but she only rubbed her glossy fur against him and purred gently and only when the frenzied master attempted to grasp her out of the protecting arms of Hans did she attempt to flee--but too late! a vicious kick caught her in the side but she managed to escape under the protecting granary. In the evening Hans went to the shed and called "Mizi, Mizi," and poor, suffering Mizi dragged herself far enough so that little Hans might stroke her head. Hans brought some bread and milk but Mizi only mewed piteously. In the morning Hans found Mizi stiff and cold near the opening of the shed. Poor Hans, he sobbed and sobbed and called, "Mizi, Mizi," most piteously but Mizi did not answer; her sufferings were over.

GEOGRAPHY LESSONS.

It is possible for a pupil to study geography diligently every day and forget apparently nearly everything he learns. Both geography and history are studies which may be pursued in such a way that nearly all that is acquired in any given month is lost in the next month. Those who are inclined to doubt this have but to test a class where the text has been the subject of acquisition. Test them on what they learned a month previously and even those inclined to believe this statement will be astonished that so little is retained of what once seemed to be known so well.

Mr. A sweeps his barn with the doors open and the wind blowing against his work. He works with much energy and some apparent efficiency; but the wind brings back the chaff to such an extent that there is never much clear space on his floor. Mr. B takes advantage of the direction of the wind, and every stroke counts for success and is more than doubled in effect by the help of the wind. The chaff flies before him and his floor is clear in a short time.

I have seen a steamer in waters opening upon the Bay of Fundy pouring out black smoke, beating the water into foam, and apparently making great progress. But observation of the distant shore proved that she was actually standing still. The adverse tide was such that she could not contend with it successfully. So she dropped her anchor and saved coal and the wear of machinery. Two hours later she swung with her cable, the anchor was hoisted, and she moved rapidly in the desired direction without the aid of a pound of steam. In Passamaquoddy bay are so many islands and channels and such a great fluctuation of tide that the waters are racing in various directions at all times. Fishermen study their courses and never tack against the tide. Those who go out every day do not leave home at the same hour Tuesday as on Monday, but just fifty minutes later. They do not go and return over the same courses, for many times the strongest flow of tide does not run where there was the swiftest ebb. With them the proverb, "The longest way round is the shortest way home," is often true, and I have heard them quote those words frequently.

In psychology there are both a wind and a tide. The wind is what the pupil thinks of the subject--as to its usefulness in his future life. The tide is his natural interest in the thing for its own sake.

Wind and tide are sometimes both against us, and it is a poor skipper who lacks the sense to tie up for a short time or take another course when he finds both set against him.

But there are teachers who battle fiercely against the desires and interests of their pupils, bound to compel them to learn, making a tremendous fuss, filling families with tears and tremblings, threatenings, scoldings, and reviewings--all with no permanent results of value.

There is a natural interest in children for birds. It is so strong and absorbing that it amounts to a psychological tide. The things of the bird-world act upon the child-mind rather instinctively than mentally. The whole child is active and alert when the subject is such that it fully interests him. A little effective teaching just at that time is worth more than hours of perfunctory drudgery over a similar task presented in the wrong way.

There are birds wherever man lives. They differ in color, form, and habit according to environment. The pupil who seems to be interested least in the ordinary things of the text book in geography is the very one, as a rule, to be caught with the birds and animals of the various parts of the earth. The pupil who will not retain information about the products of a country may be induced to consider intelligently something about the fauna of that country and pass readily to an interested study of the flora, and from what grows there to what is shipped from that place.

THE MINK.

(_Putorius vison._)

This soft fur bearing animal has been described by Audubon and Prince De Wied. Its nearest relatives are very closely allied to the polecat and differ from it only by a flatter head, larger canine teeth, shorter legs, the presence of webs between the toes, a longer tail, and a lustrous fur, consisting of a close, smooth, short hair, resembling otter fur. Its color is a uniform brown. The fur of the American mink is much more esteemed than that of the European, as it is softer and of a more woolly character.

According to Audubon the mink ranks next to the ermine in destructive capacity, prowling around the farmyard or duck-pond, and its presence is soon detected by the sudden disappearance of young chickens and ducklings. Audubon had a personal experience with a mink which made its home in the stone dam of a small pond near the home of the naturalist. The pond had been dammed for the benefit of the ducks in the yard, and in this way afforded the mink hunting-grounds of ample promise. Its hiding-place had been selected with cunning, very near the house and still nearer the place where the chickens had to pass on their way to drink. In front of its hole were two large stones, which served the mink as a watch tower, from which it could overlook the yard as well as the pond. It would lie in wait for hours every day and would carry away chickens and ducks in broad daylight. Audubon found the mink to be especially plentiful on the banks of the Ohio river, and there observed it to be of some use in catching mice and rats. But it was also addicted to poaching and fishing. The naturalist observed it to swim and dive with the greatest agility and pursue and attack the quickest of fishes, such as the salmon and trout. It will eat frogs or lizards, but when food is plentiful it is very fastidious, preying upon rats, finches and ducks, hares, oysters and other shell fish; in short, Brehm says it adapts itself to the locality and knows how to profit by whatever food supplies it may be able to find. When frightened it gives forth a very fetid odor like the polecat.

The female gives birth to five or six young at about the end of April. If taken young they get to be very tame and become real pets. Richardson saw one in the possession of a Canadian lady who used to carry it about with her in her pocket. It is easily caught in a trap of any kind, but its tenacity of life renders it difficult to shoot. The European mink much resembles the American, except that it is somewhat smaller and its fur is coarser.

Upon a large farm in Michigan visited by the writer this summer ran a creek where the chickens, when the trough was dry--and dry it usually was--traveled to get a drink. In the bank of the creek a mink made his home, and not a week passed that one or more hens did not appear in the barnyard crippled or mangled in a manner painful to behold--painful, that is, to the visitor, but not apparently to the farmer, who only said: "It's that darned mink; some day, when I have time, I'll set a trap and catch him," and so went coolly on his way, leaving the poor maimed creatures to drag out a painful existence for days or weeks, hoping that nature would heal the wounds made by the mink.

Aside from the lack of thrift thus shown by the farmer--for the hens, when badly mangled, in time succumbed--the inhumane aspect of the case never seemed to strike him. The cultivation of his fields left no time for cultivating the finer feelings of the heart.

THE NEW SPORT.

JOHN WINTHROP SCOTT.

In the early days every man and boy knew how to use a gun. It was a necessity of life. It brought in meat for the family. The regular business of every holiday was to go to the woods and kill. The free life of the woods, the pleasure of ranging about for a purpose, and the excitement attending success in bagging game were among their greater pleasures.

Now we live in cities mainly. Even the country boy has less regard for the gun. The game and many of the birds and animals that are not game have been killed off, so that country boys now wish to give them a chance for their lives. Probably the worst murderers of songsters and innocent animals are the ignorant city youths who get only a day or two in the woods in a year.

Guns have been "improved" to such an extent that whether the gunner has any skill or not everything in sight can be killed because of the rapidity of fire and the number of chances for killing. A gun has been invented which pours a steady stream of rapid fire as long as you hold the trigger. It was invented for killing men on the battlefield; but there are other guns nearly as destructive that are used for "sport."

Public schools, Audubon societies, women's clubs, and other humanizing agencies have so modified the ideas of boys and young men that there are but few who hunt for sport.

The cheapening of the camera and its perfection for amateur use have placed a new shooting apparatus in their hands, and many young people of both sexes are now more or less expert in making exposures and developing. A shot with a camera is worth more than a shot with a gun. You have to eat or stuff the unfortunate bird or animal you shoot with a gun. When it is gone you have nothing to show for your skill.

The shot with a camera gives you a handsome picture with many thrilling details to relate. If you wish to boast you have the evidence at hand to corroborate your statement. The pictures last indefinitely, are easily stored, and may be duplicated at will.

Camera presents last Christmas far outnumbered the guns given. Boys and girls much prefer the new sport to the old. With the aid of the bicycle in getting about the country, young people are making trips to the country with loaded cameras and bringing in much more satisfactory game than they used to get with guns.

The skill some of them have manifested in getting a focus on some shy resident of the woods or fields is indeed remarkable. Imitations of brush heaps are made out of light stuff that may easily be carried about. These may be placed before the residence of a rabbit or woodchuck for several days before the attempt is made to get a shot from beneath. A great deal of caution is sometimes necessary to get the subject accustomed even to a strange brush heap, so he will act naturally at the instant the snap is made.