shoots. I see in my walks where she has
cropped the tops of the small, bushy, soft maples, cutting them
slantingly as you would with a knife, and quite as smoothly. Indeed, the
mark was so like that of a knife that, notwithstanding the tracks, it
was only after the closest scrutiny that I was convinced it was the
sharp, chisel-like teeth of the rabbit. She leaves no chips, and
apparently makes clean work of every twig she cuts off.

The hare is nocturnal in its habits, and though a very lively creature
at night, with regular courses and run-ways through the wood, is
entirely quiet by day. Timid as he is, he makes little effort to conceal
himself, usually squatting beside a log, stump, or tree, and seeming to
avoid rocks and ledges where he might be partially housed from the cold
and the snow, but where also--and this consideration undoubtedly
determines his choice--he would be more apt to fall a prey to his
enemies. In this, as well as in many other respects, he differs from the
rabbit proper. He never burrows in the ground, or takes refuge in a den
or hole, when pursued. If caught in the open fields, he is much confused
and easily overtaken by the dog; but in the woods, he leaves his enemy
at a bound. In summer, when first disturbed, he beats the ground
violently with his feet, by which means he would express to you his
surprise or displeasure; it is a dumb way he has of scolding. After
leaping a few yards, he pauses an instant, as if to determine the degree
of danger, and then hurries away with a much lighter tread.

His feet are like great pads, and his track in the snow has little of
the sharp, articulated expression of Reynard's, or of animals that climb
or dig. Yet it is very pretty, like all the rest, and tells its own
tale. There is nothing bold or vicious or vulpine in it, and his timid,
harmless character is published at every leap. He abounds in dense
woods, preferring localities filled with a small undergrowth of beech
and birch, upon the bark of which he feeds. Nature is rather partial to
him, and matches his extreme local habits and character with a suit that
corresponds with his surroundings,--reddish gray in summer and white in
winter.

V

THE MUSKRAT

It sometimes looks as if the muskrat were weather-wise and could
forecast the coming season. I doubt if a long series of observations
would bear out the truth of this remark, yet I have noticed that in his
nest-building he sometimes hits the