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A Stranger from the North, Kodakery, September 1919

GAZING out across the Rancocas from our veranda in the early morning, we noticed a big grey hawk. Perched upon a high mossy stump, and silhouetted against the glory of the rising sun, he presented a very beautiful picture. THE GOSHAWK—Made with a Premo "He doesn't look like any hawk I ever saw before," quoth Marie, gazing at him through her binoculars. "I wonder if, by any chance, his breast plumage resembles that of a guinea hen," I asked, making a long guess.  Marie's glasses remained levelled for several moments; then came the news, and good news it was: "You're right, partner mine; he's a goshawk!" This most destructive of all hawks is very rare in New Jersey, his home being in the northland; therefore, his portrait is a thing greatly to be desired. 'Kill-dee! Kill-dee! Kill-dee!" sounded above our heads and a flock of killdeer plover scudded by. The mossy stump was vacant now, while above the plovers hung a cruel shape that

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