The turkey is indigenous to America, and not found wild in any other part of the world. He resides in unsettled sections of timbered countries, from Mexico to the forests of Canada, and is the wildest, most intelligent and untamable of all the birds. When taken directly from the shell, and reared either by hand or with domesticated turkeys, he will, when grown, separate from friends and accustomed comrades, and instinctively seek the more attractive life of the forest. No care and kindness can in one or two generations overcome the fear of man and love for the wilds, and it requires many generations of skilled schooling to extinguish the desire for roving and give to him that contented and confiding disposition which characterizes the domesticated bird. The writer does not believe it possible for a bird that has been reared in a state of nature, and felt the charms of the wilderness, to ever become reconciled to any other conditions of life. He once brought down a young full-grown female bird and captured her. When she found resistance useless, she cried most pitifully. She had suffered no injury excepting a broken tip of one wing, which was amputated and dressed. The bird was kept in a large cage in the back yard for two years, remaining concealed during the day and partaking of food and water late in the evening, and then in the absence of every object of fear. In due time she was removed to a garden overgrown with bushes of currants, gooseberries, raspberries, etc., interspersed with strawberry plants, and with her a pair of tame turkeys. Here she remained over two years without manifesting the least indication of making the acquaintance of her civilized relations. A misplaced board on the fence gave her the boon so much desired--freedom. It was the beginning of summer when she escaped and was searched for, but seen no more until the following spring, when she was noticed several times near the tame turkeys, and this always very early in the morning. That she could get there at that hour, or get there at all from the timbered land near a mile distant, through farms and fences, seemed remarkable, as she could not fly. After harvest of that year she frequented the stubble fields near the timber, with four well-grown half-breeds, as wild as herself. The next spring she commenced visiting her old acquaintances again, but, unfortunately, fell in sight of a pot-hunter, and was brought in as a great prize. But those who had kindly cared for the misfortunes of the bird, and now looked upon her lifeless form, had feelings which the word indignation failed to express. The turkey propagated in foreign countries soon becomes degenerated, and in every way much inferior to the American type, the high standard of which in this country is kept up by infusion of wild blood and liberal forest ranges adapted to the nature of the bird.