I recall an amusing incident: there lived out on the Brook Turnpike a certain lady who drove to church every Sunday to her carriage, a pair of rat- tailed sorrel horses that always came quietly down the street to the church, but when their mistress was once in the vehicle, and their heads were turned homewards, after services were over, they ran at a sharp gallop all the way until they reached the front gate at their home. "Life Gleanings", - T. J. Macon

Standing there, I looked down upon the back of the red- tailed hawk as he flew out over the earth beneath me. "Wake-Robin", - John Burroughs