A True Conservationist Is A Man Who

Look At That Mallard As He Floats On The Lake; See His Elevated Head Glittering With Emerald Green, His Amber Eyes Glancing In The Light! Even At This Distance, He Has Marked You, And Suspects That You Bear No Goodwill Towards Him, For He Sees That You Have A Gun, And He Has Many A Time Been Frightened By Its Report, Or That Of Some Other. The Wary Bird Draws His Feet Under His Body, Springs Upon Then, Opens His Wings, And With Loud Quacks Bids You Farewell.

I Looked Long And Carefully At The Picture Of A Stag Painted By Landseer - The Style Was Good, And The Brush Was Handled With Fine Effect, But He Fails In Copying Nature, Without Which The Best Work Will Be A Failure.

All Trembling, I Reached The Falls Of Niagara, And Oh, What A Scene! My Blood Shudders Still, Although I Am Not A Coward, At The Grandeur Of The Creators Power; And I Gazed Motionless On This New Display Of The Irresistible Force Of One Of His Elements.

The Worse My Drawings Were, The More Beautiful Did The Originals Appear.

There Is The Morass, Wherein You Plunge Up To Your Knees, Or The Walking Over The Stubborn, Dwarfish Shrubbery, Whereby One Treads Down The Forests Of Labrador; And The Unexpected Bunting Or Sylvia Which Perchance, And Indeed As If By Chance Alone, You Now And Then See Flying Before You, Or Hear Singing From The Ground Creeping Plant.