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diff --git a/old/65132-0.txt b/old/65132-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 9ffae9a..0000000 --- a/old/65132-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,3938 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Wild Pastures, by Winthrop Packard - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Wild Pastures - -Author: Winthrop Packard - -Illustrator: Charles Copeland - -Release Date: April 22, 2021 [eBook #65132] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: Steve Mattern, David E. Brown, and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was - produced from images generously made available by The Internet - Archive) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WILD PASTURES *** - - - - -WILD PASTURES - - -[Illustration: He was still sitting on his perch greeting the gold of - the morning sun with melodious uproar [_Page 31_] - - - - - WILD PASTURES - - BY - - WINTHROP PACKARD - - ILLUSTRATED BY - - CHARLES COPELAND - - [Illustration] - - BOSTON - - SMALL, MAYNARD AND COMPANY - - PUBLISHERS - - - - - COPYRIGHT, 1909 - - By Small, Maynard & Company - - (INCORPORATED) - - _Entered at Stationers’ Hall_ - - THE UNIVERSITY PRESS, CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A. - - - - - TO - - MY WIFE AND THE WEE BOY - - WHO HAVE MADE AND SHARED - THE PASTURE SUNSHINE - - - - -CONTENTS - - - PAGE - - WAYLAYING THE DAWN 1 - - STALKING THE WILD GRAPE 25 - - THE FROG RENDEZVOUS 47 - - A BUTTERFLY CHASE 69 - - DOWN STREAM 89 - - BROOK MAGIC 109 - - IN THE PONKAPOAG BOGS 131 - - SOME BUTTERFLY FRIENDS 151 - - THE RESTING TIME OF THE BIRDS 173 - - THE POND AT LOW TIDE 193 - - HOW THE RAIN CAME 215 - - - - -ILLUSTRATIONS - - - He was still sitting on his perch greeting the gold of - the morning sun with melodious uproar _Frontispiece_ - - OPPOSITE PAGE - - The fox may slink for an hour unscared, waiting with - watchful eye on the neighboring chicken coop 6 - - The mother bird, dancing and mincing along 38 - - Out from among the birches she sails gracefully, a - veritable queen of the fairies 64 - - There was the swish of wings, the snip-snap of a - bird’s beak, and it was all over 86 - - The way of the “kiver” is this. There is a single, - snappy, business-like bob, then another, then - three in quick succession 96 - - That such things are not seen oftener is simply - because people are dull and go to bed instead - of sitting out under the witch-hazel at midnight - of a full moon 114 - - Of a clear midsummer evening you may hear the - muskrat grubbing roots there ... and hear his - snort and splash when he dives at sudden sight - of you 142 - - Every boy who knows the country in summer knows - him by his rich, red coloration, his strong, black-bordered - wings with their black veins 160 - - The English sparrow has the true instincts of the - browbeating coward 180 - - The skunk doesn’t know where he is going and he - isn’t even on his way 198 - - My lone quail sat on a rock in the pasture, tipped - his head back a little, swelled his white throat, - and whistled 222 - - - - -WAYLAYING THE DAWN - - - - -WAYLAYING THE DAWN - - -The most beautiful place which can be found on earth of a June morning -is a New England pasture, and fortunate are we New Englanders who love -the open in the fact that, whatever town or city may be our home, the -old-time pastures lie still at our very doors. - -The way to the one that I know best lies through the yard of an old, -old house, a yard that stands hospitably always open. It swings along -by the ancient barn and turns a right angle by a worn-out field. Then -you enter an old lane leading to what has been for more than a century -a cow pasture. Here the close-cropped turf is like a lawn between the -gray and mossy old stone fences that the farmer of a century and more -gone grubbed from the rocky fields and made into metes and bounds. -There they stand to-day, just as he set them, grim mementos of toil -which the softening hand of time has made beautiful. Where cattle still -travel such lanes day by day these walls are undecorated, but many of -the lanes are untraveled and have been so these fifty years. Such are -garlanded with woodbine, sentineled by red cedars, and fragrant with -the breath of wild rose, azalea, and clethra. - -Side by side with this lawn-like lane is another which was once -traversed by the cattle of the next farm, but which has not been used -for a lifetime. In this the wild things of the wood are untrammeled, -save by one another, and they hold it in riotous possession. Just as -the first lane is tame and sleek this other is wild and unkempt. The -raspberry and blackberry tangle catches you by the leg if you enter, -as if to hold you until birch and alder, cedar and sassafras, look you -over and decide whether or not you are of their lodge. If you give them -the right grip you may pass. If not, you will be well switched and -scratched before you are allowed to go on. - -Here the wild grape climbs unpruned from wall to cedar, from cedar to -birch and from birch to oak, whence it sends its witching fragrance -far on the morning air. You may stalk a wild grape in bloom a mile by -the scent and be well rewarded by finding the very place where the air -tingles with it. - -This lane is wild, and the wild things of the woods that come on fleet -wing and nimble foot frequent it. You may never see a partridge in -the sleek lane, and if by chance the red fox crosses it he does so -gingerly and as if it were hot under foot. In the other, however, the -fox may slink for an hour unscared, waiting with watchful eye on the -neighboring chicken coop, the red squirrel builds his nest in the -cedar, and the partridge leads her young brood among the blackberry -bushes of an early morning. - -The azalea sends out its white fragrance from the one lane, and never a -buttercup, even, nods to the wind in the other; yet you love the smooth -shorn one best. It talks to you of the homely life of the farm, the -lazy cattle drowsing contentedly to the barn at milking time while the -farmer’s boy sings as he puts up the bars behind them. You love it best -because, however much you may love the wild things, the lure of the -home-leading and well-trodden paths is strong upon you. It is more than -a sturdy, rough-built stone wall that separates the two lanes; there is -all the long road from the wilderness down to civilization between them. - -[Illustration: The fox may slink for an hour unscared, waiting with - watchful eye on the neighboring chicken coop] - -For the story the pasture teaches us, more than anything else is the -story of how the fathers wrested the dominion of the New England earth -from the wilderness and of the way in which the wilderness still hems -their world about and not only waits the opportunity to spring upon us -and regain possession, but invests our fields like an invading army and -takes by stealth what it may not win by force. - -The pasture bars divide the world of the smooth-trodden lane and -the close-shorn fields from the picket line of the wilderness. Let -us pause a moment upon the line of demarcation. Behind us are the -entrenchments of civilization, the farmhouse and barn and other -buildings,--its fort. The town road is the military way leading from -fortified camp to fortified camp, the mowing field its glacis, and -the stone walls its outer entrenchments. These the cohorts of the -wilderness continually dare, and are kept from carrying only by the -vigilance of the farmer and his men. - -Let but this vigilance relax for a year, a spring month even, and -bramble and bayberry, sweet-fern and wild rose, daring scouts that they -are, will have a foothold that they will yield only with death. Close -upon these will follow the birches, the light infantry which rushes to -the advance line as soon as the scouts have found the foothold. These -intrench and hold the field desperately until pine and hickory, maple -and oak, sturdy men of the main line of battle, arrive, and almost -before you know it the farm is reclaimed. The wilderness has regained -its lost ground and the cosmos of the wild has wiped out that curious -chaos which we call civilization. - -In this debatable land of the pasture, this Tom Tiddler’s ground where -the fight between man and the encroaching wilderness goes yearly in -favor of the wilderness, dwell the pasture people. The woodchuck, the -rabbit, and even the fox have their burrows here, the woodchuck and the -rabbit finding the farmer’s clover field and garden patch a convenient -foraging ground, the fox finding the chicken coop and the rabbit -equally convenient. - -The pasture is the happy hunting-ground of the hawks and owls, though -they dwell by preference in the deep wood, the nearer approaching to -the forest primeval the better, but the crow often nests in a pine -among a group of several in the pasture. The pasture is peculiarly the -home of scores of varieties of what one might term the half wild birds, -the thrushes from honest robin down to the catbird, warblers, finches, -and a host of others who are as shy of the deep woods as they are of -the highway; and here, in those magic hours that come between the first -faint flush of dawn and sunrise, you may hear the full chorus of their -matins swell in triumphant jubilation. - -Here in Eastern Massachusetts the dawn comes early, very early, in -June. It will be a little before three that if you watch the east -you will see it flush a bit like the coming of color on the face of a -dark-tressed maiden who has had sudden news of the coming of her lover. -This flush of color fades again soon, and it is evident that it is all -a mistake, for the darkness grows thicker than ever, and night, like -that of the Apocalypse, is upon the face of the world. The dawn is long -coming when you wait for it. Joshua evidently has arisen and is holding -the sun in Syria as of old, that he may have time further to confound -his enemies. - -No one believes that there will be dawn at all. You cannot prove it by -the wood thrush. He sings best, indeed he sings only, in the shadow, -and often even in the darkest night he will send out a bell-like note -or two that has a soothing, sleepy tintinnabulation as of cow-bells -shaken afar off by drowsy cattle. No, the wood thrush is not a reliable -witness, but if you are wise in the ways of field and pasture before -dawn, you may take evidence from the chipping sparrow. He is the -earliest as he is one of the smallest of the morn-waking birds. In his -case the least shall be first. I do not know if he really sees the -dawn or if he smells it. There is a change in the air before there is -in the sky, and perhaps he notes it. Perhaps, too, being smaller, he -needs less sleep than the other birds, and his gentle inquiring note -is a plaint that the night is long rather than a prophecy that it is -ending. But it is he that first predicts with certainty the coming day, -and it will be many minutes after his first call before the growing -luminosity, a sort of pale halo that looms slowly about all things, -tells you that the sun is indeed coming. Even then you are likely to -hear no other bird note for what seems a long time. - -Then from a treetop in the open comes a sort of surprised ejaculation, -as if some one said, “Why, bless me! It is morning already,” and then a -burst of song from the full throat of a robin. It is as if he were the -chorister of a choir invisible, for he pipes but a single strain before -from treetop to treetop, near and heaven only knows how far, bursts -forth the mingled melody of a great chorus of robins ringing clarion -notes of jubilee. - -They have the overture to themselves all along in the open, for there -the song sparrow does not sing till some ten minutes later. Of these -again you shall hear a single bird, followed by a chorus in the -next breath, and close upon the heels of the sparrow voice come the -notes of innumerable warblers of many kinds whose songs you shall not -distinguish one from another and name unless you are an expert. Behind -these again come the chewinks and thrashers, not so early risers by any -means, and very late the catbird. The catbird is clever but, like many -clever people, he is lazy. - -Over to the other side of the pasture, a mile from the lane as the crow -flies, is a swamp which is part of the pasture, indeed, but a part of -the wilderness beyond, also. It was on the edge of this that I had -chosen to meet the dawn, picking my way to it through the darkness in -part by scent, for the swamp has a musky fragrance of its own, which -it sends far on the night air. Coming down the slope to it you pass -through a tangle of scrub oak that leads you to a lower region of -alders snarled with greenbrier--“horse brier” we call it familiarly. - -Here the ground begins to be soft, with occasional clumps of sphagnum -moss, which is like a gray-brown carpet of velvet, not yet made up, -but tacked together with yellow bastings of the goldthread. Among -the scrub oaks a stately pine here and there shoulders up, sending -you a reassuring sniff of pitchy aroma. The scrub oaks know their -allotted ground and cease wandering when their toes touch swamp water, -but the pines are more venturesome, and often lift with their roots -little mounds of firm brown carpeted ground in the midst of the quaky -sphagnum. Slender cedars crowd in from the swamp toward these pines, -plumed like vassal knights that rally to the support of their overlord. - -On one of these pine islands on the edge of the swamp an oven bird had -built her nest, and on this particular night in June she was in much -distress because she could not get into it. The oven bird builds a -nest on the ground among low bushes and vines, choosing often a spot -where pine needles are scattered among the dead leaves. She roofs this -nest with care--and dried grass--and builds a tunnel-like entrance to -it so that you may see neither the eggs nor the bird sitting on them. -You may step on an oven bird’s nest before you will see it, even when -looking for it, and you may know for a certainty that it is within a -definite small patch of ground, and yet hunt long before you find it. -The mother bird had been frightened from her nest by the crush of my -foot at its side in the darkness, and she did not dare come back, for I -had unwittingly sat down beneath the pine almost across the entrance. -Frightened for her nest as well as herself, she fluttered about like -a bird ghost, now dozing in the thicket for a time, then waking to -strangeness and fear, and making her plaint again. - -The wood thrush, brooding her eggs in the thicket near by, heard it and -was wakeful, and her mate, never far off, now and again lifted his head -from beneath his wing and drowsily tintinnabulated a reassuring note -or two, but I did not stir. I was not sure that I was the cause of the -oven bird’s trouble, and if so to move about in the darkness might well -bring her worse disaster. - -The false dawn reddened and vanished, the gray of the real dawn was -streaked and then flushed with rosy light shot through with gold, and -a thousand voices of jubilee rang from treetop to treetop the whole -pasture through and far out into the wood beyond, and still I waited, -stretched motionless. A man might have thought me dead, the victim of -some midnight tragedy, but the denizens of the pasture are wiser in -their own province than that. - -In the gray of that first dusk, that was hardly streaked with the -reassuring red of dawn, a crow slipped silent and bat-like from the -top of a neighboring pine. In that twilight of early dawn you could -not see him continually as he flapped along. The motions of his wings -gave him strange appearances and disappearances as if he dodged back -and forth, flitting up under cover of pillars of mist, yet there was -no mist there, only the uncertainties of early light which seems to -come in squads rather than in company front. This crow turned suddenly -in his flight as he neared my pine island in the swamp and lighted -in noiseless excitement on a dead limb. A moment he craned his neck, -peering sharply at my motionless figure. The crow is at times a -scavenger, and if there were dead men about he wanted to know it. For -that matter if there was anything else about he wanted to know it, for -the crow is likewise a gossip. A moment then he gazed at the motionless -figure, then he vaulted from the limb and the vigor of his call -resounded far and near as he flapped away eastward into the crimson. - -“Hi! Hi! Hi!” he shouted. “Fellow citizens, there’s a man in the woods -here. He is motionless, but he is only making believe dead. Look out -for him!” - -Far and near the cry rang and was taken up by others of his tribe who -passed the word along. “There’s a man in the woods!” they shouted, -“look out for him.” The birds singing near by ceased their songs for a -moment that they might have a look at the man, for they understand the -crow’s note of warning as well as if they too spoke his language. - -The thrushes were singing now, and after a while the catbird, lazy -reprobate, awoke. He too, like the crow, is a gossip, and more than -that he is a tease. He shook his head a little to straighten the -ruffled feathers of the neck, disturbed by their position for the -night. He stretched one leg and the wing on that side simultaneously, -then the other leg and the other wing, a bird yawn as expressive as -the human one. Then he cocked his head on one side with a gesture of -pleased surprise and excitement and said, “Mi-a-aw!” He too had seen -the invader of the swamp. - -The catbird is a good singer, that is, a good mimic. His taste is good, -too, for he imitates only the best. Here in the North he imitates the -brown thrush, no doubt, all things considered, our best vocalist. -So well does he imitate him that you shall not say of a surety that -this is the catbird singing and yonder is the thrush. In the South he -imitates the mocking-bird with equal fidelity. You would say on casual -acquaintance that he was our ablest singer and most exemplary bird as -he masquerades in the voices of others, but let him once be frightened, -or angered, or over-excited about anything and the reprobate part of -him reasserts itself and he says “Mi-a-aw!” Hence his name, the catbird. - -The catbird, however, has the courage of his convictions, and one of -these convictions is that he has the right to the satisfaction of -an ungovernable and enormous curiosity. Bait your bird trap in the -woods with something which strikes a bird as a curiosity that courts -immediate investigation and you will catch a catbird. Other birds -might start for it but the catbird would distance them. So, after -saying “Mi-a-aw!” a few times and drawing no response to his challenge, -he flew up to a twig within a foot of my head, sat there a moment, -motionless except his beady black eyes which traversed my form from -foot to head, finally resting on my eyes. Inadvertently I winked; that -was the only motion I made, but it was enough. With a flirt of his tail -and a flip of his wings the catbird was through the thicket and out -on the other side like a gray flash, scolding away at the top of his -voice and seeming to shout as the crow had, “There’s a man in the wood! -There’s a man in the wood! Look out for him!” - -The crimson and gold of the dawn had softened and diffused into -diaphanous mother-of-pearl mists of early day. The June morning miracle -was complete and it was high time I allowed the oven bird to come back -and be assured that her nest and eggs were safe. - - - - -STALKING THE WILD GRAPE - - - - -STALKING THE WILD GRAPE - - -It was to be a moonlight night, yet the moon was on the wane and -would not rise until eleven. It seemed as if the pasture birds missed -the moon, or expected it, for beginning with the June dusk at eight -o’clock one after another made brief queries from red cedar shelter -or greenbrier thicket. One or two indeed insisted on pouring forth -snatches of morning song, sending them questing through the darkness -for several minutes, then ceasing as if ashamed of having been misled. - -The cuckoo, of course, you may hear often on any warm night, springing -his watchman’s rattle chuckle from the denser part of the thicket. But -for the brown thrush to be announcing morning every half-hour through -the darkness was an absurdity to be accounted for only on the theory -that here was a gay young blood who was practising for a moonlight -serenade. And when the moon did come, touching the tops of the pines -first with a fine edging of gold, dropping a luminous benediction to -the birches and diffusing it lower and lower till the whole pasture was -gold and dusk, the ecstasy of the thrush knew no limit. He poured forth -a perfect uproar of liquid melody, punctuated with such hurroos and -whoops of delight that he made me wonder if his lady love would like -such college-song methods of serenading. - -I sat up from my couch on the green moss under the huckleberry bush to -listen. The people of the pasture seemed to have trooped up to the -call of the music. The red cedars, the birches, the huckleberry bushes -in the daytime have individuality indeed, but in the night-time they -have personality. They loom up in spots where by day you did not notice -them at all. Some red cedars stand erect and stiff as military men -might on sentinel duty, others gowned in black like monks of old group -together and seem to consult, while all about them mingling in gracious -beauty are the birches and the berry bushes,--the birches slender, -dainty aristocrats gowned in the thinnest of whispering silk, the berry -bushes sturdy and comfortable in homespun. You are half afraid of the -cedars, they are so black and seem to watch you so intently, more than -half in love with the birches, so graceful and enticing, as they lean -toward you in their diaphanous drapery, but it is the berry bushes -shouldering up to greet you in hearty bourgeois welcome that make you -feel at home. - -I listened to the thrush, but soon I found that I had only one ear to -do it with, for on the other side of me a bird was rapidly approaching -with greater and equally persistent clamor. It was a whip-poor-will, -seemingly roused to rivalry by the challenge of the thrush. So far as -I know the thrush paid no attention to him but simply kept up his song -in the birch near by, but the whip-poor-will came up little by little -till he seemed almost over my head, and I could hear plainly the hoarse -intake of breath between each call. Very brief gasps these intakes -were, for the whip-poor-wills fairly tumbled over one another without -cessation. - -Now the bird went away for a distance, again he came back, but always -he kept up his call, while the thrush never wavered from his perch in -the birch. A dozen times I waked in the night to find them still at -it, and when the gray of dawn finally silenced the whip-poor-will, -the thrush let out like a tenor that has just got his second wind. He -sang up the dawn and the grand matutinal bird chorus, and the last I -heard of him he was still sitting on his perch greeting the gold of the -morning sun with melodious uproar. - -A blind man who knows the pasture should know what part of it he is -in and the pasture people that are about him of a June morning simply -by the use of his other senses. The birds he would know by sound, the -shrubs and trees by smell. Each has its distinctive set of odors -differing with differing circumstances, but never varying under the -same conditions. The barberry fruit when fully ripe, especially if -the frost has mellowed it, has a faint, pleasant, vinous smell which, -with the crimson beauty of the clustered berries, might well tempt our -grandmothers to make barberry sauce, however much the men folk might -declare that it was but shoe-pegs and molasses. - -The blossoms are equally beautiful in their pendant yellow racemes -which seem to flood the bush with golden light, but the odor of the -blossoms, though the first sniff is sweet, has an after touch which is -not pleasant. Crush the leaves as you pass and you shall get a smell -as of cheap vinegar with something of the back kick of a table d’hôte -claret. Crush the leaves of the swamp azalea and get a strawberry-musk -flavor that is faint but delightful. - -Sniff as you shoulder your way through the high blueberry bushes and -you may note that the crushed leaves have a certain vinous odor like -one of the flavors of a good salad. The blossoms of the high-bush -blackberry, whose thorns tear your hands, have a faint and endearing -smell as of June roses that are so far away that you get just a whiff -of them in a dream. The azalea that a month later will make the moist -air swoon with sticky sweetness now gives out from its leaves something -that reminds you of wild strawberries that you tasted years ago. It is -as delicate and as reminiscent as that. - -Under your foot the sweet-fern breathes a resin that is “like pious -incense from a censer old,” the bayberry sniffs of the wax of altar -candles lighted at high mass in fairy land, and over by the brook the -sweet-gale gives a finer fragrance even than these. There are but three -members of this family,--the Myrica or Sweet-Gale family,--yet it is -one that the pasture could least afford to miss. The fragrance of their -spirits descends like a benediction on all about them, and I have a -fancy that it is steadily influencing the lives of the other pasture -folk. I know that the low-bush black huckleberry, the kind of the -sweet, glossy black fruit that crisps under your teeth because of the -seeds in it, grows right amongst sweet-fern whenever it can. Now if you -crush the leaves of the low-bush black huckleberry you shall get from -them a faint ghost of resinous aroma which is very like that of the -sweet-fern. Thus do sweet lives pass their fragrance on to those about -them. - -Many of these familiar odors had come to me during the night as I half -slept and half listened to the vocal duel between the thrush and the -whip-poor-will, but as I sprang to my feet at sunrise from my dent in -the pasture moss I got a whiff of another which seemed more subtly -elusive, more faintly fine than these, perhaps because, though I seemed -to recognize it, I could not name it. - -Many things I could name as I have named them here, but this escaped -me. It had in it some of that real fragrance, a joy without alloy, -which you get in late July or August from the clethra, the white alder -which lines the brook and the pond shore with its beautiful clusters of -odoriferous white spikes. But by no stretch of the imagination could I -bring the white alder to bloom in early June. Moreover, it had only a -suggestion of that in its purity of fragrance. There was more to this. -There was a spicy, teasing titillation that made me think of bubbles in -a tall glass, and it is a wonder that that thought did not name it for -me, but it didn’t. - -The sun was tipping the dew-wet bush tops with opal scintillations -that soak you to the skin as you shoulder through them, but that did -not matter; I was dressed for it, and so on I went, taking continual -shower-baths cheerfully, but always with that teasing, alluring scent -in my nostrils. Now and then I lost it; often it was confused and -overridden by other stronger odors. Once I forgot it. - -That was when I sprang over a stone wall and landed fairly in the -middle of a covey of partridges made up of a mother bird and what -seemed a small whirlwind of young ones no bigger than my thumb. My -plunge startled the mother so that she thundered away through the -bushes, a thing that a mother partridge, surprised with her young, will -rarely do. At the same moment the young scurried into the air. It was -like a gust among a dozen brown leaves, whirling them breast high for a -moment and then letting them settle to earth again. You go to pick them -up and they surely are brown leaves! It is as if some woodland Merlin -had waved his wand. They were young partridges, they are brown leaves. -It is as quick as that. - -Yet this was my lucky morning, for one of these little birds failed -to dematerialize, and I noted him wriggling down under a clump of -woodland grass and picked him up. He made pretense of keeping still -for a moment, then wriggled in fright in my hand, a pathetically -silent, frightened, bright-eyed little chick, mostly down. How his few -feathers helped him to make as much of a flight as he had is beyond my -conception. He must have mental-scienced himself up into the air and -down again. - -Holding him gently, I pursed my lips and drew the air sharply in -between lips and teeth. The result was a peculiar squeaking chirp which -I have often used on similar occasions with many different birds and -almost always with success. Then there came a sudden materialization. -Out of the atmosphere, apparently, appeared the mother bird, dancing -and mincing along toward me till she was very near, her head up, her -eyes blazing with excitement, her wings half spread and her feathers -fluttering. - -[Illustration: The mother bird, dancing and mincing along] - -It was a sort of pyrrhic dance by a creature as different from the -usual partridge as may be conceived. It lasted but a moment; at a -sudden, indescribable note from the mother bird the fledgling gave -an answering jump and slipped from my relaxed hold, fluttered and -dematerialized before my eyes just as the mother bird went into -nothingness in the same way. Truly, there are bogies in the wood, for -that morning I saw them at their work. It was the illusion and evasion -of old Merlin; no less. - -Going on down the pasture, I picked up the musky scent of the swamp I -was approaching, instead of the thing I sought. The scent of the swamp -is cool with humid humus, musky with the breath of the skunk-cabbage, -woodsy with that quaint exhalation which you get from the ferns, our -oldest form of plant life, still retaining and lending to you as you -pass the odor of the very forest primeval. These are the base, and they -carry the lighter and daintier odors as ambergris, a vile and dreadful -but very strong smell, carries the dainty scents of the perfumer, and -just as they in turn give you no hint of the ambergris which is their -base, so the odor of the swamp gives you little hint of these three but -is a delight of its own. - -Beyond the little corner which I must cross in the straight line I had -taken was a small hillock of open pasture, fringed on the farther side -with alder and button bush which stand ankle deep in the water of the -pond. Here on the little knoll daisies sent out that faint, hay-like -smell which is common to most of the compositæ. The squaw weed in the -meadowy edge between the swamp and the knoll had given me the same -fragrance. But standing on the top of the knoll while the soft morning -wind swept the daisy fragrance by me knee high, I caught, head high, -the elusive, alluring odor that I was seeking. It led me down to the -pond side and called me, dared me, to come on. Why not? I was dressed -for it, and I was wet to the skin with the drench of the morning dew -already. - -The cove was but a hundred yards across, and I stood on the bank -wishing to note carefully the direction I must take. The lazy morning -wind drifted across, just kissing the water here and there, leaving -the surface for the most part smooth. I wet my finger and held it -up, dropping it cool side down till it was level. It pointed exactly -toward the opposite point at the other side of the cove and between it -and the next one. There a low, sloping, broad flat rock hung with a -canopy of green leaves was the dock at which I might land conveniently, -and I splashed resolutely into the water, scaring almost to death -with my plunge a big green frog that was sunning himself on a little -foot-square cranberry bog island. He gave a shrill little yelp of -terror and dived before I could. - -Singular thing that little half squeak, half screech, of alarm. I have -heard a girl make an almost identical sound when coming suddenly on a -particularly fuzzy and well-developed caterpillar. Rabbit, dog, and -bird have it as well; indeed, it seems to be the one word which is -common to all races and to all articulate creatures. Like the scent of -brakes it began with the beginning of things and has survived all the -changes of creation. - -The muskrat ferry is a pleasant one. Little dancing sprites of mist, -the height of your head above water, tiptoe off the surface and slip -away as you swim toward them. You may see these only of a morning when -you take the muskrat ferry. They are invisible from the shore or from -the height of a canoe seat. - -It is probable that just as some of the pasture people make sounds too -shrill or too soft for our human ears to hear them, so there are other -things about the pasture less visible even than the little mist folk -that we might see were our sight fine enough or soft enough. - -Two-thirds of the way across a little puff of wind sparkled its way -out from the shore to meet me. It brought with it, full and rich, -the fragrance which had led me so long; and as I looked at the broad -leaves overhanging my rock port, their under sides and the young shoots -covered with a soft, cottony down, I laughed to think that I should -not have known what it was I sought. For it was there in plain sight; -indeed the rock was canopied with it. - -A long time I sat on that rock on the farther side of the cove, the -June sun warming me, the fragrance of the fox-grape blooms over my head -alluring, soothing, wrapping my senses in a dreamy delight. - -He who would attempt to classify and define the perfume that drifts -through the pasture from the bloom of the fox-grape may. I only know -that it makes me dream of pipes of Pan playing in the morning of the -world, while all the wonder creatures of the old Greek myths dance in -rhythm and sing in soft undertones, and the riot of young life bubbles -within them. - -The pasture, indeed, could ill afford to lose the pious incense from -the sweet-fern’s censer, the fragrance of the altar candles of the -bayberry, and the subtle essence of the sweet-gale. These are the holy -incense of the church of out-of-doors, and it is well that we should -always find them when we come to worship; yet he who would dare all -to steal for one elusive moment the fragrance of the deep heart of -delight, let him come to the pasture on just that rare, brief period of -all the year when the fox-grape sends forth its perfume. - - - - -THE FROG RENDEZVOUS - - - - -THE FROG RENDEZVOUS - - -The pasture meets the pond all along for a mile or so. It lays its lip -to it and drinks only here and there. It drinks deepest of all in a -cove. You will hardly know where pasture leaves off and cove begins, -the two mingle so gently. The pasture creatures here slip down into the -cove, and those of the pond make their way well up into the pasture. -You yourself, approaching the cove from the pasture side on foot, will -be splashing ankle deep in it before you know you are coming to it at -all, so well do the pasture bushes, standing to their knees in the cool -water, screen it from you. - -Coming from the pond side you might think you saw the margin in this -same screen of bushes, but there are roods of cove beyond and behind -them. The shrubs of the pasture love to come down and dabble their feet -in the warm pond water and sun themselves in the sheltered, fragrant -air. - -The afternoon sun has more resilience here than elsewhere. It bounds -with fervent flashes of elasticity from the glossy leaves of the -bushes that have waded out farthest and made islands of themselves. -The high-bush blueberries are the most daring of all, and stand in the -largest clumps farthest out. These, late in May with an off-shore wind, -shower the whole surface of the water with their fallen corollas. More -than once have I seen the cove white with them on Memorial Day, as if -the bushes, standing with bowed heads, strewed the waves with memorial -flowers for the pasture people who have died at sea. - -Earlier in the year the elms have made the whole surface of the cove -brown with their round, wing-margined seeds, and after the memorial -flowers of the blueberry bushes are gone the maples will send out -millions of two-sailed seed boats, reddening the whole surface with -their argosies as they go out to sea, wing and wing. Now all these -things have passed and the surface of the water is clean again to -dimple with the under-water swirl of a minnow-hunting pickerel or lap -lazily against your canoe with the dying undulations of the waves from -outside. - -After the bold blueberry bushes, less daring but still eager pasture -people have waded in and formed lesser island clumps of their own. -These were led by the sweet-gale, holding her dark-green silken skirt -daintily up, so fragrant-souled that she fears no evil, trailed by the -saucy wild rose, cheerful spiræa, gloomy cassandra, and chubby baby -alders. If you watch these you will note that they shiver in the lazy -breeze as if they feared the pass to which their temerity may have -brought them. Yet there they stand, and the miniature tides swirl about -their pink toes and die in the pools behind them, so closely grow the -sedges and little marsh plants that fill them until the fishes from the -cove nose about their stalks in vain attempt to enter. - -Just outside the bush fringe, where the maples are mirrored in -undulations, whirl and skip, each according to his kind, the surface -insects of the cove. Of these I hail with greatest joy, as any boy -should, the “lucky bug.” You know the one I mean. He is a third of -an inch long, almost as broad, oval, a sort of whaleback monitor -without any turret. He is hard shelled and a Baptist, judged from the -pertinacity with which he sticks to deep water, but a Baptist gone -sadly wrong, for he waltzes continually with his fellows. Round and -round they go in a mazy whirl that would make you dizzy if at the last -gasp they did not reverse. - -All boys who fish know that these bugs carry stores of luck within -their hard shells, and for one even to approach your line in his mad -waltz is a sign of coming success, and should he actually touch the -line and cling, it presages a big fish. But if you would propitiate -the gods in most definite fashion before you cast line you should -catch several lucky bugs, the more the better, bury them on the bank -with their heads to the shore, and recite over them an incantation as -follows: - - “Bug, bug, bug, - I’ve spit on the worms I dug; - Bug, bug, give me my wish, - A great big string of great big fish.” - -Properly managed this was never known to fail; if it does it is because -you have buried one or more of your bugs bottom up. - -It is not so easy to catch a lucky bug, however. He is a very modern -type of monitor, for his engine power is of the highest, steam is -always at the top notch, and he can dart away in a straight line -with all the concentrated fury of a torpedo boat. Moreover, he is -convertible, and I have seen him when completely surrounded by enemies -become a submarine and dive straight for the bottom and stay there. -He may have an oxygen tank; anyway, he doesn’t come up until he gets -ready, when he appears fresh and hearty and ready for another waltz. - -A fellow surface sailor of his, or rather skipper, is a different type -of bug. This is the water-strider, a veritable Cassius of the cove, -with the lean and hungry look of an overgrown, underfed mosquito. There -is no merry waltz with his fellows about this piratical-looking chap. -He spreads his four long legs like a Maltese cross, and the tips of -them are all that touch the water. These dent it into minute dimples, -but do not penetrate, and his bug-ship skips energetically about on -the four dents, hopping at times like a veritable flea. Sometimes he -jumps a half-inch high and skitters along the surface as a boy skips a -stone; again he poises, lowers his body till it all but rests on the -water, then raises it till he is high on four stilts, and all the time -not even his toes are wet. - -Entering the cove in mid-afternoon you might think the swooning -heat had left it no life awake other than the water insects and the -dragon-flies that race them in airship fashion above. Yet you have but -to ground your canoe on a sedgy shallow, sit motionless, and wait. Nor -have you to wait long. There is a breathless pause as if all things -waited to see what this leviathan of the outer deep meant to do next; -then a voice at your very elbow says reassuringly, “Tu-g-g-g!” That is -as near as you can come to it with type. There are no characters that -will express its guttural vehemence which strikes you like a blow on -the chest, or its sympathetic resonance. Take your violin, drop the G -string to a tension so low that it will hardly vibrate musically, then -twang it. That suggests the tone. But you know it well enough without -description. - -Immediately there comes an answering chorus of “tu-g-gs,” here, there, -in a score of places all along the shore line and among the island -clumps of bushes, prelude of frog talk galore for a moment or two, -followed by brief silence. Then, taking advantage of the oratorical -pause, an old-timer sets up a tremendously hoarse and vibrant bellow. -“A-hr-r-h-h-u-m-mm!” he says, “A-hr-r-h-h-u-m-mm!” with the accent -on the rum. You can hear him half a mile, and immediately there is a -“chug-squeak-splash” from a little fellow, as if, unable to furnish -the beverage at short notice, he became affrighted and without delay -decided that a sequestered nook on bottom between two stones was for -him. Then the cove goes to sleep again; you can almost hear the silence -snore. - -Little by little, if you look about you shall see them, some right -within reach of your paddle. I never know whether they slip under when -the canoe approaches and bob up again noiselessly after all is still, -or whether they are there all the time, only so well concealed by -nature that the eye does not note them at first; but I do know that you -never see them until you have waited a bit. Their brown backs are just -under water, their green-brown heads just enough above the surface so -that the nostrils will get air; and there they wait, motionless, for -hours and hours, for time and tide to serve luncheon. Even with only -the tops of their heads visible they make you laugh, for their pop eyes -are popped so high above the tops of their flat heads that they make -you think of automobile bug lights set well up above the motor hood. - -I note a shipwrecked June beetle clinging half drowned to a spear -of grass and I toss him over within six inches of a frog. There -is a splash, a gulp, and the beetle with his frantically clawing, -thorny-toed legs is passed on to kingdom come without a crunch. Once or -twice after that this frog stirred as if he had an uneasy conscience, -but he seemed to suffer no internal pangs, indeed he winked the -circular yellow lining of his eye at me these times as if he enjoyed -it. It had all the effects of smacking the lips. - -The afternoon dreams down from its pinnacle of hazy heat to the soft -level of eventide. Under the pines of the west side of the cove the -level sun slips in and seems to caress the green trunks, and the tops -above sing a little sighing song of contentment. Strange you have not -heard this before, for the wind has been there all the afternoon. But -it is toward nightfall that the cove wakes up and you hear many lisping -elfin sounds that you have never noticed during the mid-afternoon heat. -You hear the sedges talking in the undulations now. You did not hear -them before, yet the undulations have been gliding dreamily among the -sedges all day. The pasture birds are waking up their preludes of -evensong, and the sun across the cove to the west is glorifying all -the quivering canopy of green leaves through which it shines with a -luminous, diaphanous quality which makes magic all along that side of -the cove. - -You are on the borderland between the clear definition of reality and -the mystic haze of nightfall. To the west, looking away from the glow, -all is gently but clearly defined; to the east, looking into the golden -rose of the sunset through the shimmering illusion of leaves, lies the -pathway to the land that the king’s son saw in the Arabian Night’s tale. - -The nightly entertainment, the evening minstrel show, is about to begin -in the cove, an entertainment in which the frogs are the minstrels, an -all star performance, for every one of them is capable of being an end -man or interlocutor or soloist as the case may require. - -Already the audience is beginning to gather. First comes a gray -squirrel scratching down a maple trunk, his strong clawed hind feet -digging into the bark and holding him wherever he wishes them to, as -if he were an inverted lineman. Suddenly he sights the canoe and its -occupant and--blows up. Nothing else will express his sudden outpouring -of scolding and denunciation of this creature that has usurped a -front seat. The sounds burst out of him like the escaping steam from -a great mogul engine waiting on a siding for its freight, and he -quivers from head to foot, like the engine, with the intensity of the -ebullition. Suddenly there is a “quawk!” directly over his head, a -single cry shot out from the catarrhal throat of a night heron that is -just sailing down. The gray squirrel shoots three feet into the air, -lands on another maple, flashes up a birch and goes crashing through -the birch tops off into the woods, where you faintly hear him jawing -still. The night heron whirls with a great flapping and puts to sea -with more quawks of alarm. But these two were not especially wanted -at the concert. The night heron particularly is an unlovely bird in -appearance, voice, and manner. The skippers and the lucky bugs crowd -in together, each among its kind, close to the reedy margin, to be as -near the performers as possible, and behold, there come sailing in from -sea tiny argosies of dainty people, the loveliest free swimmers of the -pond. Golden heads nodding in gracious recognition, they come, slender -bodied and graceful, trailing long robes of filmy lace beneath them in -the water. - -The botanists, who shall be hung some day for their literalness, -have named these lovely denizens of the cove bladder-worts, or -_Utricularia_, if you wish the Latin form, because they float on their -air-inflated leaves and trail their roots beneath them, free in the -water, scorning the contaminating touch of earth. The off-shore wind of -noon had sailed these out well beyond the mouth of the cove, now the -evening breeze is bringing them in again for the concert. - -They should have been named after some dainty lady of the old Greek -mythology, some fair sailor lass who crossed the wake of Ulysses, -perchance, and lingers on placid seas waiting his return to this day, -for you will see their golden heads nodding along on the little -waves of the cove all summer. - -[Illustration: Out from among the birches she sails gracefully, a - veritable queen of the fairies] - -These are the patricians of the concert. There is a great tuning of -instruments going on already and a trying out of voices, yet for some -reason there is delay. Then comes the queen herself. The golden shimmer -on the eastern shore has faded and dusk dances up from the undergrowth -on the west. It is time, and out from among the birches she sails -gracefully, a veritable queen of the fairies, clad in ostrich plumes -and softest of white velvet, with the most beautiful trailing and -undulating opera cloak of softest, delicate green, trimmed with brown -and white. You may call her a luna moth if you will. The thing which -somewhat resembles her, stuck on a pin in your collection, may be that, -but this graceful, soaring creature, pulsing and quivering with life, -floating through perfumed dusk, is the queen of the fairies--no less. - -Her arrival is a signal for the olio to begin. Then, indeed, you learn -the astonishing number and variety of the frog performers within the -cove. The basso profundos sing “Ah-r-h-u-m-m” with amazing gusto. -Surely that waiter frog has got over his fright and brought it in -quantity. “T-u-g-gs” resound all about like the rattle of a drum corps. -There are altos whose voices sound like rasping a stick cheerfully -on a picket fence, others whose strain hath a dying fall of internal -agony outwardly expressed. A lone belated hyla pipes his plaintive -soprano, but the tenors are the strongest of all. The tree toad flutes -a fluttering, liquid tremolo, and the toad, the common toad, sits on -the grassy margin and swells his throat and sings “Wha-a-a-a-” in -long-drawn, dreamy cadence. - -You may imitate this sound after a fashion if you wish. Purse your lips -and say the French “Eu” in a long drawl once or twice, then the next -time you do it whistle at the same time. You will have a very tolerable -imitation of this dreamy note. It invites to slumber and it is time to -paddle home, for the dusk has deepened to darkness and there is little -more for you to see in the cove. - - - - -A BUTTERFLY CHASE - - - - -A BUTTERFLY CHASE - - -It was a great purple butterfly which led me over the brow of the -hill, one of the “white admirals,” curiously enough so called, though -this one had but four minute spots of white on him near the tips of -his wings. Some members of his genus have a right to the name for they -have broad bands of white across all four wings, but this one, the -_Basilarchia astyanax_, is a black sheep. - -Nevertheless he is a beautiful creature, well worth following under any -circumstances to note the ease and sureness of his floating flight and -admire the beauty of his velvety rufous-black, shoaling into lustrous -blue in the rounded crenulations of the after wings. This one I -thought worth following for another reason, however, for he seemed to -have something on his mind. Not that his flight was direct. A bird with -something to do goes to his work in a straight line; but a butterfly -must dance along, even if it were to a funeral in the family. And yet -with all this my blue and rufous-black white admiral carried in his -dancing progress something which told me he was troubled and led me to -follow him over the brow of the hill. - -The hill itself is worth noting. Here the glaciers which some thousands -of years ago planed off the rougher surface of eastern New England -dropped their chips in a vast terminal moraine of sand and gravel, -whose northern declivity is so steep that you may throw a stone from -its rim to the top of a pine growing on the level, eighty or ninety -feet below. I know many terminal moraines in New England; but I know no -other at once so high and so abrupt in its declivity. A few rods back -from its summit the trolley car clangs incessantly, and the speed-mad -automobilist tears hooting through. - -Along the crest, in spite of this, sleep peacefully the forefathers -of the hamlet. I like to feel that they neither note nor heed the -uproar of the highway; that they now and then cock a pleased ear to -the rumble of a passing hay-cart or the jog of a farmer’s horse, but -that the bedlam of modern hurry whangs by them unperceived. Rather they -turn their faces to the sough of the summer winds in the century-old -pines which shade the steep and sleep on, happy in the benediction -that descends from the spreading branches. Wonderful pines, these, so -shading the whole declivity that not more than a dapple of sunlight has -touched the ground beneath them for a century. - -Here the hepatica finds the cool, dry seclusion that it loves and lifts -shy blue eyes to you while yet the winter ice nestles beside it among -the pine roots. Here while the July sun distills pitchy aroma from the -great trees the partridge berry carpets favored spots with the rich -green of its little round leaves,--leaves no bigger than the pink nail -of your sweetheart’s little finger, a green figured with the scarlet -of last year’s berries and the white of its wee starry twin flowers. -Here, too, in July the pyrola lifts its spike of bells like a woodland -lily-of-the-valley and the pipsissewa shows its waxy flowers to the -questing bee. - -A butterfly, especially a large butterfly, rarely bothers with these -low-growing herbs, though each has its own delicious fragrance--and a -butterfly’s scent is keen. So my black white admiral alternately danced -and soared on down through the richly perfumed areas of the wood while -I plunged eagerly after, glissading the needle-carpeted slope, making -station from trunk to trunk lest a too headlong flight plunge me to -oblivion in what I knew was at the foot of the hill. - -Without, the perfervid July sun beat upon the landscape till the dust -of its concussion rose in a blue haze that loomed the nearby hills -into misty mountain tops and glamoured the whole world with tropical -illusion. To our hard-cornered, clear-cut New England it is the -midsummer which brings the atmosphere of romance. The swoon of Arabian -Nights is upon the landscape, and it is through such heat and through -such misty evasion that the Caliph of Bagdad was accustomed to set -forth incognito to meet strange adventures. - -At the foot of the hill, almost at the borderland which separates -this under-pine world from another far different, the resinous air is -shut in like the genie in the bottle. You feel the oppression of its -restraint and wonder, if like the fisherman you might uncork it, if it -would loom aloft in a dense cloud that would speak to you in a mighty -voice. Here my butterfly paused for the first time and lighted upon the -trunk of a pine, head high. - -Quietly I drew near. His wings were rising and falling in rhythmic -unconscious motion that was tremulous with what seemed eagerness. One -of them, I noted, had a little triangular bit snipped out of it with a -clean cut. Some insect-eating bird had snapped at him not long before, -and he had come within a half-inch of death. Yet this did not trouble -him; very likely he never knew it. It was something else which absorbed -him so that he took no notice of my close approach. And now I could see -that his proboscis was uncoiled and apparently he was eating rapidly. -Now the proboscis of any butterfly is simply a double-barrelled -tube through which he sucks honey or other moist nutriment. That a -_Basilarchia astyanax_, or any other butterfly for that matter, should -be able to draw nourishment from the dry, rough bark of a pine-tree was -sufficient cause for astonishment, and I drew eagerly nearer to see -what he was getting. - -It was a humid day and I was thirsty myself. What woodland brew could -be on tap here? In Ireland it used to be true that the Leprechauns, -the little men of the hedge, could make good beer of heath, and if you -could only catch and hold one he would tell you how. Here might be a -similar chance. My nose was within six inches of the white admiral’s -now and my eyes were bulging out with surprise as much as his do -naturally, for behold he had what butterfly never had before,--a little -red tongue on the tip of his proboscis, and with it he was nervously -licking the bark in its roughest places as hard as he could. - -I might have seen more had not my foot slipped on the glossy pine -needles, and while I clutched the trunk of the pine to save myself the -butterfly danced away, thinking, I dare say, that I was an abnormally -developed wood peewee and had just missed getting him for luncheon. -Evidently the south wind had blown up from the gulf more than an -Arabian Night’s atmosphere; it had sent along portions of the fauna as -well. A butterfly with a tongue on the end of his proboscis belongs in -the land where rocs pick up elephants in their talons and soar away -with them! - -Eagerly I sought to follow my _Basilarchia astyanax_ and learn more, -but it was not so easy. To follow his flight without care as to the -setting of my feet might well be to reach a country undiscovered -indeed, for from the very bottom of the northern declivity of the -terminal moraine well the springs of the fountain head, and out across -these he lightly floated, toward the sphagnum-bottom pasture swamp -beyond. - -I suppose it is well settled, geologically, that a river of pure water -flows from some distant northern point, Labrador perhaps, under the -eastern portion of Massachusetts. Driven wells find this water almost -everywhere. In places it rises to the surface in clear ponds which have -no apparent inlet, and from which little water flows, but which are -clear and sparkling at a good level the year round. Houghton’s Pond, in -the Blue Hill Reservation, is one of these nearest Boston. Walden Pond -is another, and there are plenty more. - -In other places still the water boils out of springs through quicksands -of unknown depths, flowing in clear streams through surrounding swamps -where trees have made firm ground alternating with bits of quaking -bog and open pools, where a misstep will drop you over your head in a -clinging mud that never gives up what it once gets. - -Such is the fountain head, and you would know you were coming to it -of a hot day even were your eyes shut, for the ice-cold water makes -its own atmosphere. We read of bodies of ice that have lasted since -the glacial age buried under these terminal moraines whence well such -cooling springs; I do not know about the ice, but I can testify to the -cold, sparkling water and the grateful atmosphere which it disseminates -on these our Arabian days. Yet you must mark well your going. Just -under the slope the water boils up through fine sand that dances in the -up current. A few feet farther down it wells more silently, and the -decayed vegetation of centuries has made a mud bank over the quicksand. -You may sink to the knee here and find bottom. A few steps farther on -you may drive a twenty-foot pole down through mud and sand and find -nothing to obstruct it. - -Yet Nature always provides the remedy. Mosses and swamp grass have -grown on the surface of this liquid mud and alders and swamp maple have -rooted in these and encouraged wild rose and elder and many another -shrub, till their intertwined roots have formed a surface which is in -part safe to the foot. And here is a world of itself in this hidden -pasture corner, for here linger the trout and the water-cress, and -many another shy woodland thing, driven to bay by the encroachments of -surrounding civilization. - -In early July you will find the water-cress in bloom in the open pools, -surrounded by quaking bog and alder shade. Toward this my butterfly -had gone, and I followed, balancing warily from clump to clump in the -grateful coolness, testing each foothold lest it drop me into the -clinging depths below whence nothing but a derrick might lift me. The -arethusa, daintiest of orchids, nodded its pink head at me from the -quaking sphagnum, daintily bowing me on, but I paused a moment. - -In the water right between my feet was a spotted turtle that had just -captured an appetizing, but by no means dainty morsel. This was a -terrapin-like bug that was more than a mouthful. His body, indeed, was -already out of sight, but claw-like legs protruded from both sides -of that isosceles triangle which a turtle’s mouth makes when it is -closed, and waved a frantic farewell to the passing under-water world. -The turtle was a long time in masticating his terrapin, but it was -a happy time. His whole body blinked contentedly, and he waved his -forelegs with a caressing out-push, a motion exactly like that of a -child at the breast. Then he wagged his head solemnly from side to side -as a wise turtle might who feels that such good lunches are put up by -fate only for the knowing ones of this watery world, and pushed himself -half way under the roots of a tussock for a nap. Soon the nether half -circle of his shell was motionless, with his hind legs drawn up within. -Only his little spike tail protruded, waving to a wee passing trout -the news that the millennium was at hand, and the turtle and the -bug-terrapin had lain down together in peace and prosperity, with the -bug-terrapin inside. - -I looked up for the butterfly. He was nowhere to be seen. Yet my trip -was to be worth while, for right in front of me was an open pool -surrounded by a quaking bog, a pool twenty feet across packed almost -solid with the white panicled heads of water-cress blooms in which -swarmed a myriad of bees. Their drone was like that at the front door -of a hive on a hot July day, yet it was not a monotone as that is. It -was rather like a grand chorus singing many parts, for these were all -wildwood bees of a dozen varieties. There was not a hive tender among -them. - -Lifting my admiring gaze from the pool with its white panicles and -swarming bees I saw further beauty beyond. On firmer ground nestling -lovingly against an old chestnut post was a great, glorious spike -of habenaria, the purple-fringed orchis. It is not uncommon, the -habenaria, in peaty meadows, but no man sees it for the first time in -the season without a great glow of delight, and I hastened over to give -it nearer greeting. Just as I reached it the butterfly came dancing -up, but not to sip the sweets of the wonderful great orchid. Instead -he lighted, right under my nose, on the roughest part of the old fence -post and began to lick this as he had the pine trunk. - -[Illustration: There was the swish of wings, the snip-snap of a bird’s - beak, and it was all over] - -I watched him again, hearing subconsciously the voice of a great -crested flycatcher over on a nearby tree, crying “Grief,” “Grief.” A -moment and the little red tongue which I had noted before seemed to -catch on the roughest part of the old fence post, and with a sudden -scrape the Basilarchia scraped it off. I looked in amaze, for now I saw -what it was. From the honey heart of some flower a little red worm had -become attached to the tip of the butterfly’s proboscis, and all this -licking of rough surfaces had been merely to get rid of him. - -Up into the bright sunshine danced my black white admiral. There was -the swish of wings, the snip-snip of a bird’s beak, and it was all -over. The cry of the great crested flycatcher had been a prophecy -indeed, and the white admiral had danced blithely out of existence. - -But the equatorial haze had more tropical enchantment in store, for -the midday sun was suddenly wiped out by an ominous figure. Some one -had uncorked that bottle which held the heat genie confined, and he -was looming from a black nimbus below into white piles of cumulus at -the zenith. His eyes flashed red lightnings and he spoke in thunder -tones. Somewhere over yonder I heard the great crested flycatcher -crying “Grief,” “Grief,” again. It might be my turn next, and I patted -the great orchid good-by and tiptoed through the sphagnum and climbed -the hill again. It had been a brief but pleasant trip. A butterfly -that found a tongue and a turtle that ate terrapin with a happy smile -may belong with the genie in the Arabian Nights, or with Alice in -Wonderland, or both. I know that I found them at the fountain head, -under the grove of immemorial pines, below the brow of the terminal -moraine where sleep the fathers of the hamlet. - - - - -DOWN STREAM - - - - -DOWN STREAM - - -If you have ever known fishing, real fishing, not the guide-book -kind, where you “whip” streams for fancy fish that bite mainly in -fancy--there will come a day in late July when it will be necessary for -you to go down stream. The excessive heat and humidity which has been -killing you off by inches and other people by wholesale for weeks will -suddenly vanish before a cool, dry northwester, a gladsome reminder to -the New Englander that there is such a thing as winter after all; thank -Heaven! - -You know that the drought diminished waters still fizz out from under -the dam and purl into the pool below the roadside where the sunfish -congregate under the water weeds. Beyond this they prattle down the -meadow under banks where the hard-hack stands pink and prim, where the -meadow-sweet loves the stream so much that it bends toward it and half -caresses, and where the meadow grasses in complete abandonment whisper -of it in every wind and bend down and surreptitiously kiss it as it -dimples by. Farther down where the woodland maples troop up to meet -it and the willows sit and bathe pink toes in the current is the big -rock, under which the current has dug a sandy cave in which linger big -yellow perch, ready to rush out and snatch the worm that comes floating -down stream. Here you will hesitate but finally pass on, for there is a -lure which you cannot withstand in the deep pool farther down. - -Because you are wise with the remembered wisdom of boyhood, you have -left at home the expensive rod and reel. Just back from the swamp edge -is a birch jungle where young trees stand as thick as canes in a Cuban -brake. Here you find your pole; as large as your thumb at the butt, -tapering, straight, clean and strong, fifteen feet to the tip. Cut it -and trim the limbs from it and bend to it your ten feet of stout line -at the end of which is a hook whose curve is as big as that of your -little finger nail. A cork that would fit a quart bottle will fit your -line if you gash it with your pocket-knife and slip the line in the -gash. It will hold wherever you put it, yet you may slide it up and -down at will. For the pool you should put it three feet from your -hook, for you will wish to “sink” that deep. Wind a wee bit of lead -about your line an inch above the hook, then pull out your bait box and -select a fat angle-worm. Break him in two in the middle and string him -on the hook so that the point is just inside the tip of his nose. Now -you are ready for what adventure may lurk under the bubbly foam of the -surface. - -A willow and a maple lean together in loving embrace over the entrance -to the deep pool. Above, their arms stretch toward one another and -intertwine; below, their roots meet under water and sway down stream, -forming a slippery steep down which the amber yellow water, singing -a happy little song to itself, coasts into the amber black depths of -the pool. Black alders stand cooling their feet all about the edge. -Crowding them into the water are the great oaks and maples whose -limbs yearn above the pool till they shut out the sun. Along one -side the current has cut deep to the rough rocks and the water flows -black and swift. On the other the back-wash circles leisurely and the -bottom shallows to a bank of sand where the sunfish build their nests -and the fresh-water clams burrow and put up suppliant mouths to the -food-bearing current. Inshore it lifts to a sand bar, where you may -stand and swing your pole without interference from the surrounding -trees. - -All day long the brook sings itself to sleep as it slips down the -slide into the slumberous depths of the pool. All day long the vivid -green dragon-flies flutter by with vivid black wings to bring luck -to your fishing, and the red-eyed vireo pipes his sleepy note in the -trees above. And all day long you shall catch fish if you will but -bait your hook and drop it in. First you will thin out the sunfish, -for they are the most alert and gamy of all. Talk about trout! You -should try landing a half-pound sunfish on a gossamer tackle and -a very slender pole. The sunfish is the _Lepomis gibbosus_ of the -ichthyologists and is a close relative of the rock bass, and just as -game. He has been irreverently dubbed “pumpkin seed” in some places, -from his shape, which is that of a pumpkin seed set up on edge. Here in -eastern Massachusetts he is just plain “kiver,” which is the old-time -uneducated New Englander’s pronunciation of the word “cover,” given -him, no doubt, because he is round and flat. He is as freckled as a -street urchin and as lively. He has business with your bait the moment -it drops near him, and the bobbing cork will show that it is he by the -jaunty vigor of its bobs. - -[Illustration: The way of the “kiver” is this. There is a single, - snappy, business-like bob, then another, then three in quick - succession] - -In fact, if you have learned the ways of the down-stream country you -will know every fish that takes your bait long before you have brought -him to the surface from the amber depths, just by the way in which he -bobs that floating cork. The way of the “kiver” is this. There is a -single, snappy, business-like bob, then another, then three in quick -succession in which he drags the cork half under. If you strike just -at the right time during the succession of three, when the line below -is taut with the strain of the float against the pull of the fish, you -shall have him. Otherwise your cork will lift from the water with a -humorous snort and you will hear little trills of derisive laughter in -the song of the stream cascading down the willow root chute. It will be -safer not to try him on the three bobs, but wait till the cork begins -to bore into the water and glide off across stream, showing that the -sunfish has made up his mind that it is a worm, a good one, and one -that he really wants. - -The mother sunfish just at this time of year has her nest in the -sand at the upper end of the bar, in shallow water. It is a circular -depression which she has scooped out and from which she has carefully -removed all pebbles and sticks. Here she has laid her eggs, and here, -day and night, she stands guard over them. If any other fish comes -along, even of her own kind, she will chase it away with a brustling -courage which is like that of a mother hen defending her chicks. So, -after you have caught the freelance sunfish of the pool, those which -have no family cares, do not drop your bait near her nest, for if -you do she will dart out and take it, and it is a pity to have the -brook lose her. She has made her nest in the one shallow spot where -the bright sunlight plays, and you may see every dapple of her lovely -sides as the light glances on them. Her every fin quivers as she floats -there, slowly turning from side to side, her bright eyes roving in -search of enemies to her offspring. She is a whole torpedo boat of -mother love and pent-up energy, and so let us leave her, for she makes -the whole pool seem homelike and hospitable. - -The yellow perch will come next to your hook, his tawny yellow sides -marked by bands of dark green, his back a darker green yet, and his -fins a rich red. He is the aristocrat of the pool, his family being one -of the very oldest in the fish domesday book. He lies in deeper water -than the sunfish, and his bite varies from a gentle nibble to a good -strong succession of pulls which finally end in the cork going down out -of sight altogether. Yet when he is at the bait you shall not mistake -any motion of that bob for the ones made by the sunfish. The perch has -a daintier, more gentlemanly touch. It is sure and strong, but it lacks -the roistering vitality of the sunfish. It is an aristocratic bite, -and you will recognize it as such without clearly knowing why,--which -is proof of his aristocracy. You will recognize it, too, from the -elegance of his figure and the chaste beauty of his attire. He gleams -in the sunlight. His yellow and green markings are as vivid as those of -the sunfish, yet arranged in exquisite taste, and he is dapper where -the other is bourgeois. - -Sink a little deeper now, for it is time you caught horn-pouts. The -horn-pout is also “bull-head,” and, irreverently I fear, “minister,” -because of the severity of his black attire, which is relieved only -by a white vest. But horn-pout is the best name, for his horns stick -out fierce and straight from either side of his gills like the waxed -mustachios of a stage Frenchman. They are sharp as needles and set as -firm as daggers in their sockets. When you outrage the dignity of a -horn-pout by pulling him out of the water he waggles these fins of -dagger-bone and makes a peculiar grumbling sound with them. It is as if -he said, “What! what! What’s all this? Who dares disturb my comfort?” -Then when you reach to take him off the hook he flips that nimble black -tail of his and jabs his dagger into your hand. It makes an ugly wound, -and the boys claim that it conceals venom; a sort of poisoned dagger. -The horn-pout bobs your floating cork usually twice or three times, -a very different bob from either that of the sunfish or the yellow -perch. It is a steady, solid down pull each time, taking the cork half -under water. Then he takes hold in earnest, and the float goes steadily -down and out, as if this were a matter of no child’s play, but meaning -something that is solid and substantial on the other end of the line. -Oftentimes this is true indeed, for the black-coated one may weigh a -pound or two and double your birch rod into a good half-circle before -he lets go his grip on the water. - -When you get down to the horn-pouts you have fishing indeed, but -all the time the climax of your day’s career is lurking down in the -cavernous depths where the stream has gullied far beneath the ledge, -for there, as thick as your wrist and three feet long, weighing a pound -to the foot of solid white flesh and muscle, is an eel. - -The eel is the strange misanthrope of the brooks and fresh-water ponds. -You may peer into the sunlit shallows and see the other fishes at their -work or play. They are companionable. If you will live on the pond -edge you may train the minnows, the sunfish, the yellow perch even, -to come up and eat out of your hand. I have watched a big horn-pout -lumbering about in the shady depths for an hour and seen him carefully -inspect a hookless worm which I had dropped to him, before he ate it, -noting with glee the gravity and self-importance with which he finally -decided that it was all right and that he would confer a favor upon it -by swallowing it whole. Yet never once have I seen or laid hands on an -eel in fresh water. There he goes his own mysterious way among the rock -crevices and along the mud of the ultimate depths. The other fishes -of the brook travel in schools; he goes alone. They were spawned up -stream; he was born on the sands of the fishing banks, a hundred miles -off shore. He came up stream as a young eel squirming through dams that -shut out other fishes. When the time comes for him to go back he will -go back the same way, waxed fat indeed, but still unseen, devious, -self-possessed, and uncannily shrewd. - -That he may live to go back he inspects carefully the worms which may -drop into the cool shadows where he lurks. When he is about to take -your bait you need to be keen to know what is going on, for he suspects -you, and your least untoward motion of rod or line will cause him to -slip back like a shadow into his cavern, and there will be no bite -from him on that hook after that. You will say that it cannot possibly -be a bite; the bob simply stops and the hook has no doubt caught on -a snag on bottom. If you are not wise enough to know better you will -pull up here lest you lose your hook, and in so doing you will lose -your eel, for he is simply testing you. He has hold of the very bottom -of that hook, below point and barb, and if you pull you pull it out of -his mouth without hooking him. Then in cynical glee he’ll wag himself -deeper into his cavern beneath the stones, and that is the last of him. -You may fish the pool for a week before he will forget his caution and -try another angle-worm. If, however, nothing rouses his suspicions the -bob will gradually sink lower till it is more than half submerged, -hang there for a little, give another sag downward, and so by degrees -be drawn cautiously under. Your eel is cannily carrying the hook down -into his cavern, where he may finish his meal at leisure. Now is the -crucial moment. He must not be allowed to get in among the stones, for -even if your strike hooks him he will twist himself desperately around -them and then twist the hook out. A steady quick pull and you feel -him on. Then indeed you “give him the butt,” as the fly fishermen say -gloryingly. Your lithe birch rod bends in your hands till the tip is -near your wrist as you lean desperately back with all your strength. -The hold of a three-foot eel on the water is tremendous. Until he tires -a bit it is almost as good as yours on the birch pole, but steadily, -inch by inch, you draw him away out into the pool, where the fight -is a fair one. Now his head is above water and his great lithe body -whirls like a propeller beneath. Again look out; for when he leaves the -water it will be as if he shot out, and you are liable to go with him, -backward into the bushes, where he will tie your line into ten thousand -knots, break out the hook, and run for the brook as a snake might. - -At the moment he leaves the surface you slow up. Up into the air he -shoots and drops till his tail welts the ground at your feet. Here let -him wriggle at the end of the taut line while you break a stout alder -switch with one hand, and as you drop him to earth belabor him with it. -This will stun him quicker than anything else, and you may then deal -with him as you will, only be quick about it, for he is very tenacious -of life. - -Then, if you are a true fisherman, you will wind up what line is left -you and go your way, for the pool has no more foemen worthy of your -steel. There will be but one eel to a pool, and to go on catching -sunfish would be insipid indeed. - - - - -BROOK MAGIC - - - - -BROOK MAGIC - - -Brook magic does not begin until you have passed the deep fishing-pool -and traversed the reedy meadow where the flagroot loves to go swimming -and the muskrats come to spice their midnight lunches with its pungent -root and pile the broad flags for winter nests. You may, if you are -alert, feel a touch of its witchery as you wind among the rocks and -black alders of the level swamp beyond, for here the ostrich-feather -fern lifts its regal plumes as high as your head, and if by any chance -you duck under these you have been near the portals of a world where -sorcery is rife, for fern seed has a mysterious power of its own, and -the ferns of the alder swamp are decorations on the road to the realm -of the witch-hazel, where all sorts of strange things may come to pass. - -The ferns and the witch-hazel are themselves mysterious and promoters -of mystery, and it is hard to tell which leads in waywardness and -subornation of sorcery. The ferns are the lingering representatives of -an elder world,--a world that was old before the first pine dropped -its cones or the leaves of the first deciduous tree fell on the first -greensward. Their ways are not the ways of modern plant life. - -Take the cinnamon fern, for instance, one of the commonest of our -woods. It grows up each spring like a tender and succulent herb, to -wither and die down in the fall as the grass does. But take a spade -into the woods with you and try to transplant a good-sized cinnamon -fern. You will fail, unless you have brought an axe along too, for the -seemingly herbaceous plant has an underground trunk, sometimes two or -three feet in diameter, almost as solid and firm in texture as that of -a tree. - -The fern shows no blossom to the world of butterfly or moth, no fruit -for the delectation of fox or field mouse. The curious little dots -growing along the margins of the leaves, which we call “fern seed” -by courtesy, grow no fern when planted. They simply grow a little -primitive leaf form which curiously imitates a blossom in its functions -and produces a new fern. - -But the witch-hazel is stranger yet in its ways. In the spring, when it -should by all tokens of the plant world be putting out blossoms, it is -busy growing nuts which are the product of last year’s blossoms. Then -in the late autumn, even November, you will find it in bloom, twisting -yellow petal fingers in mourning at the fall of its own leaves. - -[Illustration: That such things are not seen oftener is simply because - people are dull and go to bed instead of sitting out under the - witch-hazel at midnight of a full moon] - -Pluck one of the nuts of a midsummer evening and look it intently in -the face. Note the little shrewd pig eyes of the witch far ingrown in -it, the funny shrewish tip-tilted nose, the puffy cheeks and eyelids. -See that slender horn in the forehead, the sure mark of the witch. -No wonder that it has the name witch-hazel with such ways and such -faces growing all over it at a time when most other trees and shrubs -have but finished blossoming. But if you want further proof that this -shrub harbors witches you need but to examine its oval, wavy-toothed -leaves just at this time of the year and see the little conical red -witch-caps hung on them. There need be but little doubt that, sitting -under it at midnight of a full moon, you may see the witch faces detach -themselves from the limbs, put on these red caps and sail off across -the great yellow disk. That such things are not seen oftener is simply -because people are dull and go to bed instead of sitting out under the -witch-hazel at midnight of a full moon. - -To be sure there are scientific men, gray-bearded entomologists, who -will tell us that these little red caps are galls, the rearing-place of -plant aphids, caused by the laying of the mother insect’s egg within -the tissue of the leaf, but one might as well believe that the witches -hang their hats on the witch-hazel over night as to believe that the -laying of a minute egg in the tissue of a leaf could cause the plant -to grow a witch hat. - -No doubt these same wise men would explain to you that it is not -possible to become invisible by sprinkling fern seed on your head -during the dark of the moon and saying the right words, but did one of -them ever try it? - -It is appropriate that the witch-hazel should shade the portals through -which the brook enters the glen at the foot of the pasture, for the -path here enters you into a world of witchery where the glamour of the -place will hold you long of a summer afternoon. - -At the foot of the glen an ancient mill-dam once blocked the free -passage of the water and a mill-wheel vexed its current. Now only the -rude embankment remains with half-century old hickories and maples -growing on it, arching in and shading the glen with their imbricated -branches. No rust of mill-wheel, no trace of building remains, and -the very tradition of the mill and its owners is gone. No one to-day -knows whether it ground corn or sawed boards for the pioneer who built -it, who laid the sill of its dam so firm and level that the wear of -two centuries of swift water has not entirely obliterated it. At the -very bottom of the glen it forms a shallow pool where brook magic and -witch-hazel glamour shall show you many midsummer fantasies if you will -but look for them. - -It was in the glen that I found the first real relief from the heat of -midday. The grasses of the sun-parched pasture had crisped under foot -and broken off, so dry were they, all the way down to the sweet-flag -meadow. Here the brook water keeps all growing things lush and green, -but the glare of the sun is only the more intense. It follows you -into the alder swamp, and you may sit under the arching fronds of the -ostrich-plume ferns in vain. - -But after you have scrambled through them and ducked under the mock -benediction of the witch-hazel limbs that stretch above your head -while the witch-hazel faces grin a cynical “Bless you, my child,” you -feel that you are willing to take your chances with swamp witchery and -brook magic. For in the glen cool waters crisp over cold stones and the -breeze sighs up stream and fans you as you sit on the brink of the pool -and lean your head against the ledge from whose crannies drip the fairy -fronds of the rock fern. - -These are but little fellows of our fern world, and the magic which -distills from their fern seed is no doubt less potent than that from -greater ferns, but added to the witch-hazel glamour it makes brook -magic which will initiate you into many mysteries of the pasture world -if you are but patient. Sitting there with the tiny brown spores of the -rock fern dripping upon your shoulders with infinitesimal rattle, you -seem to see more clearly the glen life and to know the meaning of many -sounds hitherto only half understood. - -Always there is the sleepy song which the brook sings to itself in -summer,--a song to which the warble of the vireo in the overhead -leafage adds but a dreamy staccato. But if you listen through this -you shall presently hear the water goblins grumbling to themselves in -their abodes under flat stones. They are old and grumpy, these water -goblins, and they never cease to mumble to themselves about their -troubles. - -Very likely they complain incessantly because they are hungry and the -supply of demoiselle nymphs is running short. There are plenty of -demoiselles, flitting back and forth across the pools on glittering -black wings, which they fold closely to their iridescent green bodies -when they light. They are such ladylike dragon-flies that it is no -wonder that the name “demoiselle,” which French scientists with -admirable gallantry have given them, has stuck. With all their ladylike -short and modest flights and the saintly way in which they fold their -wings when they light on some leaf beside the pool, a folding as of -hands in prayer, the demoiselles are dragon-flies, and each prayer may -well be for the soul of some midge or other wee insect captured in the -short flight. - -The true dragon-fly--the one which rests with wings widespread--hunts -like a hawk, but the demoiselles seem to take their prey with a gentle -grace and charm of manner which ought to make the midge’s last moments -his happiest ones. I always suspect them of folding him in a perfumed -napkin and eating him with salad dressing and a spoon after they get -back to their boudoir, but I cannot prove this any more than I can that -it is really a water goblin that grumbles under the flat stone. - -Many a time I have turned the stones over suddenly, but I never yet -was quick enough to surprise the goblin. I have found him there, mind -you, but never in his true shape. Always he has managed to transform -himself into something different,--perhaps into a spotted turtle or -a grouchy horn-pout. I have even known him to turn into an ugly, -many-legged helgramite worm, not having time to make the more reputable -transformation. It is hard to catch a grumbling goblin asleep, -especially in a pool below the witch-hazels, where the brook magic is -strong. - -It is easier to see the demoiselle nymphs. They are not very beautiful -or seemingly very savory, and if the water goblins do eat them it -is no wonder they grumble. You may have seen a hawk-like dragon-fly -skimming about over an open pool dip in swallow fashion to the surface. -These sudden and repeated dips are not for a bath nor yet for a drink. -What you see is a female dragon-fly laying eggs which shall later -hatch and become under-water nymphs, the larvæ of the dragon-fly. But -the demoiselles, still rightly named, do nothing so brazen as that. -Instead, they pick out some nodding water weed, fold their wings a -little more tightly to their iridescent bodies and crawl down it into -the water. Here, in proper seclusion beneath the surface, they pierce -the reed’s stem with keen ovipositor and lay their eggs. Then they -saunter forth again and discreetly eat more midges with salad dressing -and a spoon. - -If you look closely among the water weeds in the transparent water -at the pool margin you may see the demoiselle nymphs crawling about, -breathing through feathers in their tails, and scooping up food with a -big shovel which sticks out under their chins. They show little traces -of their coming beauty. It is the awkward age of the demoiselle, and I -fancy each is right glad to do up the hair, get into long black skirts -with iridescent green bodices, and join the afternoon tea flitters. - -What the magic is in the brook, whereby these strange, awkward, -crawling creatures, living beneath the water, some day crawl up the -stem of a water weed, burst, stretch their wings and fly away the -saintly and demure demoiselles of the pool, I do not know--whether it -be distilled from the witch-hazel by the summer sun, or whether it -slips more mysteriously from beneath the breast-plate of the spore of -the polypody growing just above my head in the rock crevice. It must -be the same magic whereby the many-legged, crawling helgramite worm, -after living that sort of life sometimes for several years, one day -crawls ashore, goes to sleep beneath a stone, and in another month -wakes up and finds himself a _Corydalus cornutus_, a three-inch-long -bug with extraordinary wings and great horns,--a bug that might well -make one of those witches, met face to face on the moon’s disk, shriek -and fall off her broomstick. If he can be that thing, changed from a -helgramite worm, why can he not be a helgramite worm, changed from the -water goblin which you can hear grumbling beneath the flat stone at the -entrance to the pool beneath the witch-hazels? - -The answer is to be found neither in the rhyme of the poet nor in the -reason of the scientific man. - -Musing on these things I suddenly sat up from my quiet seat beneath the -rock ferns, for more magic yet was being displayed before my eyes. -Over on the further side, in the shallow eddy, the pool was troubled -a second, then there rose from it a wee sunfish, not more than three -inches long, rose from it tail first and began balancing across the -pool surface toward me, on his head. His tail quivered in the air, and -I could see his freckles growing in the yellow transparency of his -skin, yet, though I watched with wide eyes, he was two-thirds the way -across the pool toward me before I noticed beneath him the tip of the -nose and the wicked little dark eye of a water snake. At sight of him -the demoiselles should have shrieked and flown away, but they made no -move. I, however, indignant, arose, and seizing broken fragments of -rock was about to lacerate him and loose his prey when I quite suddenly -thought better of it. Had not I a few days before come down stream to -the deep pool above and carried off a string of perch, sunfish, pouts, -and an eel? Had not the water snake also a right to his dinner? - -I dropped my rock fragments, but there was no longer pleasure in -waiting to woo the demure coquetry of the demoiselles. The serpent had -entered Eden and the man was driven forth. I lingered only long enough -to see the grace and strength of the snake as he glided over the sill -of the old dam, now black and sinuous, now giving me a glimpse of the -vivid red of the under parts of his body, but always keeping his grip -secure on the little sunfish whom he was taking away to luncheon with -him. - -I climbed out of the glen, glad to go for once, but at the top of -the rock where the sunburnt pasture path begins again I was in for -another shudder, for here the dragon had entered fairy land. He came, -writhing his horrid length along the path, his scales shining in the -sun, his great mouth gaping, and up near his abnormally great head two -little impotent forelegs wriggling. Who wouldn’t turn and run before -such a creature as this? To be sure he was scarce three feet long, and -his curiously mottled-brown back was that of the common adder, one of -our harmless snakes, though he looks ugly enough to be stuffed with -venom. But this great gaping head and the wriggling forelegs; never did -flat-head adder have such a front as this! - -My compassion for snakes that had a right to their dinner vanished -before this creature. It is different when it seems as if you might be -the dinner. Those forelegs beckoned, and how could I tell but, in this -land of witch-hazel, fern seed, and brook magic, I might not shrink -sufficiently to be taken in by that huge mouth in that misapplied head? -Death were better,--that is, death for the dragon,--and I caught up a -jagged piece of the top of the glen and hurled it at him. It struck -the beast fair amidships. The dragon whirled and writhed for a second -or two and lay motionless, and behold! the head separated from the -body and began to limp away. Then first was the spell broken and I saw -clearly. It was simply a flat-head adder that had taken a good-sized -garden toad for his dinner, had swallowed him whole as far as the -forelegs, but failed to engulf these. It was the combination which made -the dragon. - -Somehow I haven’t cared for the glen since. The early glamour of brook -magic is pleasant, but I fear that, like the hasheesh of the Orient, -its end is very bad dreams. - - - - -IN THE PONKAPOAG BOGS - - - - -IN THE PONKAPOAG BOGS - - -I do not find in all my wanderings, afield or afloat, a more quaintly -delightful plant than the floating-heart. In my pasture world it grows -in one place only,--along the shallow edges of the bogs of Ponkapoag -Pond. I think no other pond or stream in this immediate region has -it, and so sweetly shy is it that you may pass it year after year -without noting its existence. It waits until the summer has marked -its meridian before it ventures to send up its dainty little _crêpe -de chine_ petals, each fairy-like bloom appearing for one day only in -the very throb of the mottled olive and bronze heart, which is a leaf. -The leaf itself is barely an inch across, the exquisite bloom less -than half that; yet once you know it you love it beyond all other bog -plants as being the most fairy-like of water-lilies, though it is not a -water-lily at all when it comes to botanical classification, being of -the gentian family. - -However, not to be a water-lily is not so bad if one may be classed -with the fringed and closed gentians which are to bloom later on the -landward edges of the bog. As the little blossom fades at nightfall, -its short stalk curls back beneath the water to ripen the seeds there, -hung just beneath the leaf from a peculiar bulb-like nodule just an -inch or so down on the petiole. The next morning another wee white bud -shoots up in the heart angle of the leaf and opens fragile petals in -the sun. - -I recall no other plant that sends up blooms from the leaf stalk in -this way. When the seeds have ripened I suspect the plant of setting -this bulb-like nodule free to float away to another shore, take root as -a real corm or tuber might, and produce more floating-hearts. - -This bog on the westerly shore of Ponkapoag Pond was not long ago made -a part of Boston’s park system, which thus moves ever sedately toward -the Berkshire hills, yet it is a bit of nature as wild and untrammeled -as it was in the days when Myles Standish may have looked down upon -it from the top of great Blue Hill, as it had stood unchanged in his -day for many and many a long century. So I fancy it will remain for -centuries to come, for Nature holds her own here well. Indeed, she -encroaches, for a bog grows wherever it has free water to grow into. -So, after many centuries, frequenters of the Blue Hill Reservation -will note a broad expanse of swamp land where once sparkled the waters -of this hundred-acre pond. For the way of the bog is this. - -All along its under-water front the obscure under-water weeds grow up -and die year after year, generation after generation, forming fertile -banks of beautiful soft mud, into whose lower depths the great thick -rootstocks of the pond-lilies push, and in which the fibrous roots of -the tape grass, the fresh-water eel grass, find a hold. The growth -and decay of these, with the water shield, with its jelly-protected -foliage, the yellow dog-lily, and in lesser depths the bulrush, add to -the growing bank as coral insects grow and die in tropic seas, until it -is near enough to the surface for the pickerel weed to find roothold. -Then indeed the bog steps forward with vigor, for the pickerel weed is -its firing line. All summer you shall see its blue banners flaunting -gayly in the southern breezes, tempting the land-loving bumble-bee to -sea, calling the honey-bee from the mile-distant hive, and offering -rest and luncheon to a myriad lesser insects, all with genial -hospitality. Its serried millions in close ranks breast the waves in a -broad blue line from one end of the bog to the other, a half-mile or so. - -Behind these are shallow pools, where again you find the white -water-lilies. Here they bloom in enormous profusion from late June -until early September, reaching their grand climax during late July. -On such a day, standing in the boat at the southerly end of the bog, -counting those within a given space and multiplying, I estimated that -there were ten thousand of the fragrant white blooms in sight. Twice -as many more were hidden by bulrush and pickerel weed. On Sundays -and holidays boatloads of trolley trippers paddle and push among -them and carry them off by the hundred, yet they make no mark on the -visible supply. The decay of the leaves and stems of these add to the -under-water foothold of the bog, but after all it must be the reedy -stems, sagittate leaves, and interwoven roots of the pickerel weed that -are its main foundation. - -Steadily seaward over the foundation thus laid progresses the long, -definite front of the saw-edged marsh grass. Once it interlocks its -roots along the mud surface formed for it, it leaves no room for the -freer-growing denizens of the shallows. In among the marsh grass grows -no flaunting flag of pickerel weed, no pure white nymphæa sends forth -its rich odor. - -Only the bog cranberry may hold its own in any quantity against the -throttling squeeze of those grass roots. Where these grow is the high -sea of the bog, its waves rising and falling in the free winds. Yet, -just as pickerel weed and water-lily give way before the advance of -the marsh grass, so it in turn falls on the landward side before the -advancing hosts of the swamp. - -A steady phalanx of swamp cedars pushes its foothold farther and -farther out upon it, year by year, scouting with button bush and black -alder and holding every inch that they obtain for it. Now and then -something happens to a brief area of marsh grass and cranberries so -that their dense packed minions faint and release their root grip on -the quaking mud. Every such opening is seized by the alder or the -button bush, and the cedars follow them; indeed, sometimes the cedars, -favored by the right wind or the right bird carriers at seeding time, -slip in first, and little island clumps of their dark bronze green -stand here and there over against the cadet blue of Blue Hill which -hangs like a beautiful drop-curtain always on the westerly sky. - -Once, a half-century ago or more, a farmer and his men came down from -the pastures, and for purposes of their own cut a ditch straight -through the middle of the bog to the open water. The hundreds of -scrawny night herons, sitting on pale blue eggs in scraggly nests in -the cedar swamp must have heard the cedars laugh as this went on. -It was the swamp’s opportunity. Where the farmer and his men with -incredible labor cut and tore away the marsh-grass roots the cedars -planted their seeds, and called upon the alders and the swamp maples -and the thoroughwort, the Joe Pye weed, and a host of other good -citizens of the swamp, to help them. - -So vigorous was the sortie and so well did they hold their ground that -you may trace the farmer’s wide ditch to-day only as a causeway down -which the swamp has come to build a great wooded area in the midst of -the bog, accomplishing in half a century what it might not have done in -five times that had it not been for human aid. Thus, slowly as you and -I count time, only an inch or two a year perhaps, yet all too rapidly -for the joy of future generations, the bog encroaches upon the pond and -the swamp follows towards complete possession, which as the centuries -go by will make the quaking sphagnum firm meadow land. - -For all you and I know, the Metropolitan Park Commission of the year -3908 will be fixing up a second Franklin Field here for the camping -ground of visiting Pythians. Meanwhile let us hasten to enjoy our bog -and its reedy borders. - -It is the home and the occasional resting place of many a wild free -creature. Of a clear midsummer evening you may hear the muskrat -grubbing roots there, see, perhaps, the moonlight glint on the long -V-shaped ripple which he makes as he swims, and hear his snort and -splash when he dives at sudden sight of you. You may chance upon a -disconsolate bittern sitting clumsily in dumpy patience as he waits for -food to splash up to him, and you may even hear him work his wheezy, -dislocated wooden pump, a cry as awkward and disconsolate as the bird. - -[Illustration: Of a clear midsummer evening you may hear the muskrat - grubbing roots there ... and hear his snort and splash when he dives - at sudden sight of you] - -The muskrats breed in the bog, the bittern had his grassy nest there, -and a myriad blackbirds have made the low bushes vocal with their -cheery whistles all summer. They are flocking now, getting the young -birds in training for the long flight south, but they still hang about -the bog and they still whistle merrily. Surely it is not environment -that makes temperament. Bittern and blackbird both frequent bogs, yet -the bittern is a lonely misanthrope, whom I more than half suspect of -being melancholy mad, while the blackbird is as cheery and as fond of -his fellows as a candidate. When you hear his whistle you half expect -him to light on a thwart, hand you a cigar, and ask after the baby. -But the blackbird’s election is sure anyway. - -Another loved and lovely denizen of these bogs is the wood duck. These -breed in the swamp, the mother bird building a grassy nest in a hollow -tree, where she lays from eight to fourteen buff-white eggs, and leads -her yellow fluffy ducklings to a nearby secluded pool for their first -swim. Later they come out into the bog, and ultimately make the pond, -where they learn to forage for themselves. By the first of August the -mother bird has sent them adrift, in the main, to paddle and flap their -way about as best they may. They are “flappers,” as the boys call them. -That is, they can make good speed along the surface by half running and -flapping vigorously, but they cannot yet fly enough to rise into the -air. - -One of these young wood ducks came out of the bog the other morning, -just at the gray of dawn, and swam over toward the boat landing. He -was quite near the shore when I took ship and rowed to seaward of -him, thus shutting him off from the open pond and from the bog. Then -for an hour or two followed what was to me the most interesting duck -hunting I have done for a long time. I could row as fast as he could -swim, and I continually edged him along the south shore, getting -nearer every minute. I have read much of the marvelous intelligence of -wild creatures. Yet I saw little of it in this chase. The duck knew -me for an enemy, on general principles, for I was a man, and I was -evidently coming after him. Even rudimentary intelligence should have -told him to flap for the bog as fast as he could. He did nothing of -the sort. He just edged along down the shore, evidently hoping that I -was light-minded, and would forget all about him in a minute or two -if let alone. But I kept at it until I was so near I could see every -one of his already handsome feathers and note the coloring of those -parts which had not yet reached the beauty of maturity. I could see the -yellow rim of his eye, and still he swam east and swam west but made no -real move to escape. - -Two things I wished to learn from my wood duck. One was how much -general intelligence and real quickness of wit he would show in -escaping. The other was how he carried his wings under water if, by -any fortunate chance, I should be able to see him swim after he went -down to escape me. But at first he was so irresolute that he neither -dived nor made any vigorous attempt to escape. I got so near, that to -avoid driving him up the bank into the woods I had to ease away a bit. -Finally, at my second approach, he did try to flap by the end of the -boat, but I spurted and headed him off. - -It was a long time, and it took much manœuvring to make him dive, but -it finally entered his head that he might avoid being cornered and -badgered by going under water. This he did, going on a slant just a -very little below the surface, probably because he was in too shallow -water to go much deeper, and coming up well to seaward. There he -preened his feathers, took a sip or two of water and, seemingly, waited -to be surrounded a second time. - -I rowed out, got on the off-shore side of him, and again began boating -him in toward the shore. He showed less uneasiness this time, but -dived and swam out again after considerable more pressing. Again and -again I repeated this, sometimes getting no sight of him under water, -again seeing him move along very plainly. At no time did I notice any -motion of the wings under water. I have been told that wild ducks when -swimming beneath the surface make most of their progress with their -wings, quite literally flying under water. This may be, but I have no -evidence of it in the under-water action of this one. - -Again, it has been sagely impressed upon me by old duck hunters that -you could tell in what direction from your boat a bird would rise by -noting the way in which his bill pointed when he went under. I think -it was Adirondack Murray in that famous loon-hunting chapter who -first made the point, and it has been insisted upon by many another -successor. But, bless you, my half-grown wood duck made no difficulty -of going down with his head toward the morning and coming up in -the sunset portion of the view. He took slants under water and cut -semicircles at will. But I couldn’t see him use his wings while beneath -the wave. - -Little by little he got over being excited by my presence. He began to -eat bugs off the lily pads as he went by, and now and then tip up for -an under-water search. Thus we coquetted with one another all along the -southern shore of the pond, and when I finally cornered him for a last -time in behind Loon Island he dove without embarrassment and began his -feeding as soon as he had again reached the surface. The chase was no -longer exciting, and I turned my attention to something else. Then he -swam out quite a little further into the pond, preened his feathers -carefully, tucked his head under his wing and went to sleep! - -Evidently he had decided that I was eccentric, but harmless, and the -best way to escape my attentions would be to leave me severely alone. - -And there you have it. I think the wood duck is beautiful, but not -very bright. Yet it occurs to me that some Sherlock Holmes of the -woods may prove, to the satisfaction of Dr. Watson anyway, that he is -preternaturally clever, in that this one, though still young, was keen -enough to see that from the first I had no evil intentions toward him. - - - - -SOME BUTTERFLY FRIENDS - - - - -SOME BUTTERFLY FRIENDS - - -At dusk all the edges of the pond are lighted with the white candles -of the clethra. Its fragrance has in it that fine essence which goes -to the making of the nectar and ambrosia of the gods. He who would sup -with them may do so by taking canoe of an early August twilight when -the purple arras of the coves glow softly golden with the reflected -light of the sunset’s afterglow. Then the coarser air seems to have -let the light slip from between its clumsy particles, leaving its more -ethereal essence still clinging to a more subtle interatomic fluid. - -The fragrance of the clethra seems always to me as fine as this spirit -of light in the ambrosial twilight of the ripened summer. It is no -air-borne delight like the resinous scent of the forest pines or the -pasture sweet-fern when the hot sun of midday distills them and the hot -wind of midday sends them far to you across the quivering fields. It is -something finer, softer, more silkily subtle, which, like the rose gold -of the afterglow of the sunset, tints the dusk of the cove between the -air atoms, not by way of them. - -Then, as the gold glimmers and fades and the pink faints in the cooling -purple of the dusk, and the outline of the cove shore slips from the -front of your eye to the chambers of memory behind it, so that you else -might see it best with the eyes shut, the white candles are lighted -and the eager moth sees by them to sup with you and me and the gods on -this essence of ambrosia, to tipple on this spirit of nectar which the -night reserves for those that love it. - -I do not know why the clethra which gleams so white in the dusk should -need anything more than its own white beauty to call the moth to its -wooing. Perhaps it does not need more. Perhaps all this fine fragrance -is but the overflow of its soul’s delight at being young and chastely -beautiful, and trembling in the ultra violet darkness on that delicious -verge of life that waits the wooer. I half fancy that this is true of -all perfume of flowers, that it is less a call to butterfly or bee to -come to their winning than it is a radiation of delight from their own -pure hearts at the dawning of the full joy of living. I am not always -willing to take the word of the scientific investigator on these points -as final. The scientists of the not very remote past have known so -much that is not so! - -It is possible that, just as a hunting-dog picks up a scent that is -strong in his nostrils and has no power in ours, so the flowers that we -call scentless send out an odor too faintly fine for our senses, yet -one that the antennæ of moth or bee may entangle as it passes and hold -for a certain clue. Perhaps the scents that are only faint to us carry -far for the butterfly, but if so, and if flower perfumes are made only -for the calling of insects, why need they be made so intoxicating to -the human senses? The scent of carnations is as pleasing to the soul -as a strain of beautiful music, and equally arouses high aspirations -and noble longings. So to me the odor of the clethra at nightfall is -a tenuous thread of ethereality that reaches far toward a realm of -spiritual ideals. It ought to go with a ritual and a vested choir. - -I do not find the odor of the pasture milkweed speaking thus to any -inner sense. It is just a gentle, lovable, stay-at-home smell that -surely does not float farther than the pasture bars. Yet of all the -plants that have bloomed within my world of garden and pasture this -summer it has been by far the most popular among insects. It is not -that it is the most attractive to the eye, in any of its forms, for -there are many flowers of colors more vivid and to be seen farther, -as well as of much stronger scent. Yet all day long you will find -it besieged by bees, from the aristocratic Italian worker from the -farmer’s best hive down to those scallawag bees that make no honey for -themselves but lead a vagabond life and lay their eggs in other bees’ -nests, leaving their young to grow up in unendowed orphan asylums. - -Many varieties of ants seek the milkweed blooms, and you shall find -about a large clump more sorts of wasps than you would believe existed, -yet it is the butterflies who most of all make it their rallying place. -Every butterfly in the whole region makes it his business to know each -large clump of milkweed, and to make the rounds at least daily. - -There, if you watch, you may see the pretty little pearl crescent, -whose range is from Labrador to Texas. The shy meadow browns flit -out from the shadow of the brook alders and feed for a moment before -they take fright at the fact that they are out in society and flit -desperately back again. The angle wings flip about like animated -question-marks, and fulvous fritillaries soar sedately, now and then -lighting to feed and fold their wings that you may see the big silver -spots of the under parts. And so you might name them all, almost every -butterfly of early August, all besieging the milkweed so eagerly that -you may hardly drive them away. - -The fact is they come neither for scent nor sight; they come for good -taste--which they find in the honey glands of the peculiarly shaped -bloom, which are obvious and sticky and within reach of all. I do not -think it is half so much the odor of the flower which draws them, be -it never so sweet or so strong, but memory of the honey dew sipped -there yesterday or last week. No doubt the love of the milkweed bloom -is an inherited tendency, also, bred in the bones from a line of -milkweed-frequenting ancestors infinitely long. - -Indeed, one of our most splendid butterflies is the _Anosia plexippus_, -otherwise known as the milkweed butterfly, rightly named also the -monarch. Every boy who knows the country in summer knows him by his -rich, red coloration, his strong, black-bordered wings with their black -veins. Every bird knows him too and lets him alone. On the first median -nervule of the hind wings of the butterfly is a scent bag whence he -dispenses an odor so disagreeable to the bird who would eat him that he -goes free, and is not afterward troubled. - -[Illustration: Every boy who knows the country in summer knows him by - his rich, red coloration, his strong, black-bordered wings with their - black veins] - -Along with the monarch sipping honey with eager industry from the -meadow milkweed, you will often see the viceroy, who, as a viceroy -should, closely imitates, but does not equal, the monarch. He -has neither the monarch’s vigor of flight nor his means of defence -from predatory birds, but his safety--so the students tell us--lies -in looking so much like his superior that he also is let alone. The -students go on to say that his is a good example of the imitative power -of insects whereby they escape destruction by seeming to the casual eye -to be something else. - -The viceroy, which is a _Basilarchia disippus_, thus looks not the -least like other members of his family, but consciously mimics the -coloring of the monarch for safety. Thus many tropical beetles contrive -to look like wasps that they may not be molested, and some insects look -like brown leaves and others like green ones. - -But do they contrive, imitate, mimic? It is no doubt true that because -of the resemblance they escape, but to say that they imitate or -contrive or mimic seems to me to be to assume a knowledge of the -workings of the inner consciousness of an insect that not even the -most careful student can have. I am more inclined to believe that the -so-called mimics are fortunate in an accidental resemblance and so -escape the destruction of their species which has fallen upon many a -less fortunate type. - -Yet no butterfly, however exquisite his coloring, or however strong -and graceful his flight, twangs with his fluttering wings the fine -heartstrings of romance as does the monarch. The first one that came -dancing down the sunlight to the sweet rocket in bloom in my garden -this spring brought to me a spicy odor of tropic isles. The beating of -his wings shed, as he passed, faint fragrance of Mexican jasmine, and -I thought I saw slip from them the infinitesimal dust of the pollen -of stephanotis lately blooming in the glades of Panama. Three months -before he floated serenely beneath my cherry tree he may well have -soared through the tropic glades where crumble the ruins of the palaces -of the Incas. - -His flight, seemingly as frail as that of a red autumn leaf sliding -down the October zephyr to carpet the nearby field with rustling -fragrance, has matched that of that rifle-ball of bird life, the -ruby-throated humming-bird. Together they sip the sweets of my sweet -rocket in the spring. Together they wing their way south to the region -of perpetual summer when the winds of late September promise frost. -Sometimes in this annual flight the monarchs pass the sandy stretches -of the New Jersey coast in swarms that, stopping at nightfall for rest, -refoliate with their folded wings the shrubs left bare by the autumn -gales. - -It may be that, like the birds, the knowledge of the route they must -follow is bred in the marrow of their butterfly bones by the constant -use of a million generations. It may be that they simply drift away -from the cool wind from the North toward the Southern sun that shines -so serenely in the bright autumn days. But whether through the -guiding hand of Providence, or inherited wisdom, or a fortunate tact -that acting from day to day produces the happy result, this Southern -movement in winter is the sole salvation of the species here in the -North. - -If they did not make these long flights we should have no Anosias with -us each summer, for unlike other butterflies the frost kills them in -whatever form they remain to brave it. All summer long their long, red -wings bear them bravely from one clump of milkweed to another. They -sip the honey which each floret of the umbels holds forth, the sticky -mass the size of a pinhead. They lay their eggs upon its leaves and the -black and yellow caterpillars hatch and feed there. Then they hang in a -green and gold chrysalis from a nearby twig till the imago, the perfect -butterfly, bursts its bonds and sails away to find more milkweed. There -may be several broods of a summer, but the frost stops all that. The -monarch may not winter here, nor may his eggs or chrysalids survive the -cold. - -Many butterflies, frail though they seem, do pass the New England -winter successfully. The _Antiopa vanessa_, otherwise known as -mourning-cloak or Camberwell beauty, a handsome brown fellow with blue -spots and a pale-yellow margin, well known to every one, flits joyously -through the woods with the very first warm days of spring. He has been -snugged up in some dry crevice, numbed and torpid, but very much alive, -all winter. The first genial warmth sets him free, and later I always -find his children browsing on the willow twigs over in the cove. They -are rough chaps, horrid with bristling black spines and with dull -red spots relieving their otherwise plain black hides. But they grow -fast, and by and by go out upon a twig and hang themselves, head down, -by a little silken rope, swinging there in the wind, simply a dead -caterpillar that has imitated Judas. - -One day the caterpillar part sloughs off. It is a fairly sudden -process. You may paddle by the willows in the morning and see all -your little Judases hanging in a row. Paddle back at noon and their -skins have shrivelled and slipped off, and you have chrysalids, queer, -impish-looking things, swinging there still, head down. You know they -are alive; indeed, if you poke them they will wiggle impatiently, but -they swing in the wind and give no other sign for a week or ten days. -Then they cast a second skin, and pop out full-grown butterflies that -stretch their wings for a time leisurely, then suddenly dash into the -air and go off over the hill like mad. The whole thing is so sudden! -The change, when it does come, is as if some woodland magician had -waved a willow wand and said “Abra-ca-dabra; presto, change!” Time and -again I have watched to see that caterpillar skin fall off, and again -to see the vanessa step forth from the domino in which it has been -masquerading, but they have always been too quick for me. - -Other butterflies survive in the chrysalis all winter and come forth -full-grown and fit in the spring. Such may speak to your listening -imagination through their beauty, which is often great, or through -their resurrection from seeming death, though if you will observe -them closely in the chrysalid form you will see that they are not -even seemingly dead. Evangelists who have held up the butterfly to us -as a prototype of that resurrection which we may expect if we are -good, evidently never closely observed the chrysalis of a good healthy -butterfly, else they had not been so sure of their corpse. - -Lately I have had chrysalids of the _Papilio asterias_, the common -eastern swallowtail, in my study. I found the fat black and yellow -worms on my parsley and caged them. They soon hitched themselves to the -wire netting by their tails, hanging from overhead on a slant, their -shoulders (so to speak) being supported by a single loop of silk. If -you did but tap on the wire netting or scratch it these chrysalids -would wiggle and jerk quite angrily, their action saying plainly, -“Can’t you let me alone? I’m just having a nap!” No; it is plainly -no death and resurrection which makes a butterfly. It is merely a -caterpillar who was dressed for the fancy ball all the time. He came -to the woodland hall in his greatcoat. This he sheds for a domino, in -which he masquerades for a time. Then he bursts forth for the final -festivities in a robe of princely beauty. - -My chrysalids did this only the other day. Wonderful creatures of -black and yellow came forth, stretched their wings till I could see -the dainty shading of blue and the peacock-feather eye of red and -black on the lower part of the secondary wings; then, as I opened the -window they dashed madly away as the vanessas do from willow twigs -in the cove. The butterfly has been held up to us as an example of -lazy dalliance. I have never watched one that was not as busy as a -politician on election day. Especially do those just wakened from the -chrysalis form rush away as if they knew all their work was before -them and they longed to be at it. - -Of them all the monarch is not the most beautiful, but I rank him as -surely the ablest. His annual migration shows him to have wonderful -strength of wing, and either much wisdom or an extraordinarily -developed instinct. Very likely he has both. Further, through accident -pure and simple, or else a spirit of adventure fostered by the joys of -long annual journey, he is steadily extending his habitat to embrace -the known world. Originally of North America only, he has within the -last dozen years taken ship for Australia, where he has multiplied -greatly in the warmer regions, and has wandered again over sea to -Java, Sumatra, and followed the flag into the Philippines. He is well -established at the Cape de Verde Islands, and is doing his best to be -happy in the pale sunshine of the south of England, whence specimens -are reported yearly. - - - - -THE RESTING TIME OF THE BIRDS - - - - -THE RESTING TIME OF THE BIRDS - - -This morning I heard the bluebirds again for the first time for weeks. -They came up from the pasture to the apple trees and sang their modest -little snatches of song in that shyly sweet, reserved yet fond, manner -which makes the bluebird the best loved of all our pasture birds. There -have been no bluebirds about my garden since the yegg raid of late May -and its resulting tragedy. Now they are back, but there is in their -call a note of sadness which indeed comes into the voice of every -bluebird as autumn approaches, though I think it is accentuated in mine -this year. - -When I say yegg I mean English sparrow, and if I could think of a worse -name, equally descriptive of him, I would give it. This is the story -of the foul deed, only one of many, no doubt, perpetrated by this -cowardly crew. In late March I put out in my garden three bird boxes -such as bluebirds love to inhabit. These were immediately inspected -by the neighborhood flock of English sparrows, just beginning to pair -off, and finally decided upon as undesirable, perhaps because I had -intentionally placed no perch before the door. - -The English sparrow will build his nest in any impossible place to -which he takes a fancy, but he greatly prefers, in choosing a new -site, one that has a convenient perch close by the entrance. So these -undesirable citizens decided that they did not care for my bird boxes -and let them alone, much to my delight. Then came the bluebirds, -bringing to our cold, raw spring their flashes of blue like bits of -a heaven that is fairer than ours, a blue that is hope and dreams of -happiness and all things noble yet gentle. There is no color like it as -it glints across pale April skies and blooms on trees that have been -bare and gray so long. So, too, no bird song is so dear as theirs. It -is but a wee, melodious phrase which says again and again, “Cheerily; -cheerily.” Yet it voices hope and contentment, and is so purely the -expression of the joy of gentle, kindly lives that it touches all that -is fond and kindly in the listener. - -Bluebirds will nest in the hollow of the pasture apple tree or in a -last year’s flicker’s abandoned hole in a decayed stump, but of all -places they most love a bird box near a dwelling, and, as I had hoped, -a pair came early in April to inspect mine. They looked them all over -appreciatively, seeming with delightful courtesy to the builder to find -it hard to choose, but finally settled upon one in the pear tree, and -began to build. - -Meanwhile the yeggs had been watching with jealous eyes, lurking in the -shrubbery, sneaking about the eaves and making sallies in small numbers -from around the barn. The English sparrow has been called pugnacious. -He is nothing of the kind. He does not love a fight. Bird to bird, -there is nothing too small to whip him. I have seen a chipping sparrow, -which is the least among the pasture sparrows, send the poltroon -scurrying to shelter with all his feathers standing on end. A cock -bluebird, fighting like a gentleman, and like a gentleman fighting -only when he must, will drive a half-dozen of them. The English sparrow -has the true instincts of the browbeating coward, and loves to fight -only when in overwhelming numbers he may attack a lone pasture bird -without danger to himself. - -So trouble began with the building, and for a week or so the warfare -raged from box to box, the cock bluebird boldly defeating superior -numbers again and again, only to have his gentle wife annoyed by other -villains while he drove the first away, and his nesting material -stolen in spite of him. Finally he resorted to what looked to me like -well-planned and carefully executed strategy, though it may have -been merely that fortune which favors the brave and persistent. The -pair abandoned the box in the pear tree and started building in the -one nailed against the side of the barn. The sparrows followed, of -course. Then the bluebirds went back to the pear-tree box. The sparrows -followed. The bluebirds then started building in the third box and -daily brought material to each of the three, though ostensibly, I -thought, to the second and third. At any rate the sparrows seemed -to concentrate their attention more on these boxes. Meanwhile the -bluebirds quietly completed the nest in the pear tree and later laid -their eggs there, in comparative peace. - -The sparrows did not build in either of the other boxes. They did not -want to. Neither did they care particularly about the material which -they stole, for they did not continue to take it after the bluebirds -had finished the pear-tree nest and were in a position to defend it. -Their action was simply hoodlumism of the lowest and most despicable -kind. - -[Illustration: The English sparrow has the true instincts of the - browbeating coward] - -This was bad enough, yet it was merely petty annoyance compared to -the deed without a name of which they were later to be guilty. The -two young birds in the bluebird box were more than half grown. The -blue was beginning to show in their wings along with the white of -the conspicuous, growing quills, and the fuscous margin was already -touching the breast feathers. The old birds, working with tremendous -energy to feed these hearty youngsters, were both busy and often away -from the nest together. - -At one such time the English sparrows descended upon this nest, -entered, drove the young birds out to die upon the ground, unnoticed in -the long grass, and started to take full possession. The bluebirds, -returning too late, drove them away with more than usual despatch. This -first called the affair to my attention. But I was too late. - -The young birds were dead and the sparrows were chattering in raucous -jubilation over it, now and then giving a squeak of fright or pain as -the male bluebird singled out an individual and attacked him with a -fury of which I had not believed him capable. Soon, however, he ceased, -and the two twittered mournfully about the tree for hours, again and -again poising in fluttering flight before the door of their despoiled -home and looking eagerly in, as if they could not believe that the -young were indeed gone. Later they went silently away. No doubt they -found another home in some hollow tree of the remote pasture and raised -another brood. But my boxes have stood tenantless ever since. - -The worst of it is there is little I could do either in the way of -prevention or revenge. I did get out my big old ten-bore duck gun, -which I have not had the heart to use on a bird, even a coot, for a -dozen years, and began cannonading the miscreants, but this was more -disturbing to the neighbors than to the sparrows. - -One of the gentlest nature lovers I ever knew, wise in bird ways and -very fond of all birds, used to say that he wished all the English -sparrows in the world had but one neck, and that he might have that -neck in his hands. I wish he might, too. - -So, after weeks of absence, the bluebirds have come back. Their -speckle-breasted young, which they would have brought up among my -apple trees and in the cloistered seclusion of the lilac bushes, have -grown up in the pasture instead, and very likely their plans for next -year will include the pasture wild-apple tree rather than my bird box, -and they are far shyer and less responsive to my advances than they -would have been. Their song has in it a plaint of autumnal regret. In -the spring they sang, “Cheerily; cheerily.” Now they say, “Going away; -going away.” It has in it something of the quality of “Lochaber no -more.” - -But it is not merely the bluebirds which have been silent for some -weeks and are now beginning to sing again. The time between early July -and mid-August is a period of retirement for all birddom. The mating -season, with its soul-stirring ecstasies, the labor of nest building, -the anxieties of brooding, have been followed by the tremendous -exertion of caring for that nestful of young birds. A healthy fledgling -will eat almost his own weight of food in a day, and by the time he -is able to fly and chase the old birds around for more the father and -mother are worn to a frazzle. I really believe the youngsters are -weaned only when their demand for food becomes so enormous with their -completed growth that the parents cease to supply it through sheer -physical exhaustion. - -I once reared a pair of young crows by hand, taking them from the home -nest in a big pine, leaving three others--quite enough I afterward -thought--for the parent birds. They were negroid, naked, pod-bodied -creatures at the time, with long clutchy claws, ridiculous stubs of -wings, and, ye gods, what mouths! When I fed them I used to clutch -something with one hand lest I fall in. And I was incessantly feeding -them. Anxious to treat them kindly and finding that frogs were a most -acceptable diet to them I depopulated the township of _Rana virescens_ -and allied species. Then I found that fish would do about as well, -and I fished until there began to be a shortage of angle-worms in the -community. Yet still the creatures grew apace and demanded more food. - -By and by they got big enough to use their wings and, recognizing me -as their undoubted parent, came flapping and clawing after me wherever -I went, yelling, “Caw, caw, ca-aw-aw,” in most heartrending crescendo. -Then did I realize to the full the responsibility of being a father -bird. Stuff those clamorous creatures as I might, they still pleaded -in agonizing tones for more, and no one not cognizant of the facts -would have believed that they were ever fed. The lamb that loved Mary -so, and followed her also, was not a circumstance to the clamorous -devotion of those two young crows toward me, their foster parent. - -My one fear for weeks was that the resident agent for the S. P. C. A., -who was a vigilant and tender-hearted lady of undoubted indiscretion, -would hear their evidently unanswered appeals and proceed against me. -She could have convicted me on the evidence in any district court in -Norfolk County; and yet those young birds were eating everything there -was in the place outside of cold storage. - -Such is the appetite of the growing bird. Yet there comes a time in -the passing of the summer when the youngsters are taught, or learn -through necessity, to forage for themselves and cease their fritinancy. -Then the thickets are strangely silent. The youngsters no longer yearn -noisily and they have not yet learned to sing. The old birds have -ceased singing. Indeed, there is nothing left of them but their bones -and feathers, and that atmosphere of conscious rectitude which comes -with successful completion of a noble and herculean task. And then even -their feathers begin to go, for the moulting season is at hand. - -No longer does the male scarlet tanager sit like a lambent flame in -the top of a tree and warble, “Look-up, way-up, look-at-me, treetop,” -His scarlet suit begins to fade, grow dingy, show signs of wear, and -finally go all to pieces while he sits mute and dumpy in the shadow. By -and by the scarlet will have changed completely to a dull olive-green, -like that of his inconspicuous mate, and though he still retains the -black of his wings and tail you would not know him. - -So the bobolink who swung so conspicuously on the meadow grass in June -in his black and white suit comes through the moulting season brown -as a sparrow. The vivid blue of the indigo bunting falls from him in -patches and is replaced by grayish brown in a large measure. - -No wonder that, utterly tired out and their brilliant plumage scattered -and changed to dull and rusty colors, the birds are silent for a time, -waiting for strength to recuperate. Some of them seem to retain enough -courage and vitality to sing mornings through the moulting season, -notably the robins. I suspect, though, that these faithful few--for the -robin singers of the morning of the first day of August will be as one -to twenty to those of the first day of June--are gay young sports who -did not care to marry, or who, disappointed in love, still sing to keep -their courage up. It is the best singers who are most strangely silent -now, as they have been for weeks; nor will most of them be heard until -next spring, hereabouts. - -My catbird was so sorrowfully unseen and unheard that I began to think -the cat had got him, till I hunted him up, down the hill among the -scrub oaks. He was as dilapidated and passé-looking as his nest in the -lilacs; as if, like it, the young birds had kicked him pretty nearly -to pieces before they got through with him. But he perked up a bit -when he saw me, flipped an apology for a tail, and miaued in a manner -that was humorously unlike him, it was so deprecatory. But that was a -week or ten days ago. Yesterday I heard some bird cooing a little song -to himself out in the arbor-vitæ trees at the foot of the garden, and -slipping quietly up found that it was the catbird again. He was quite -sleek in his new coat, and he was practising his song in a delightful -undertone, as if to be sure that he should not forget it altogether. - -In four or five weeks more he will begin to flip saucily across the -miles of country that separate him from his winter home in Southern -Florida, or perhaps farther yet in some stretch of primeval forest that -I myself have seen and loved in the heart of Santo Domingo. He will -not sing his song there, high on some giant ceiba or swinging on the -plume of some royal palm. He may not sing it again here on the tip of -the tallest white lilac bush, but I know that, there or here, he will -practise it now and then in that soft, sweet undertone which you would -not believe of a catbird, and be ready to send it forth in jubilant -peals when his strong wings bring him back again next May. My bluebirds -may winter with him; and if they do I have hopes that he may persuade -them to try my pear-tree box once more next spring. - - - - -THE POND AT LOW TIDE - - - - -THE POND AT LOW TIDE - - -All about the pond the woodland folk are enjoying shore dinners, for -it is the time of ebb tide, and a wonderfully low ebb at that. Not -for a score of years do I recall such low water. Where, on the ebb of -ordinary years, the crow has been able to find one fresh-water clam, he -may now feed till he can hold no more, for the drought has been long -and severe, and the pond has been drained to the very dregs. - -I say fresh-water clams, for that is the name commonly applied to -the creatures, though I know that I might more properly call them -river mussels, and if I wished to be severely scientific I should -say _Unio margaritifera_, though it is difficult to be sure of your -margaritifera, as there are about fifteen hundred species of unios -known to people who classify creatures, and most of these are found in -the rivers of this country. - -Little do the crows care for that. In the sunny coves they have their -clam-bakes, and as I slip slyly up I fancy I hear them smack their -mandibles. As I round the screen of shore-loving button bushes, I know -I shall come upon them, and I expect to find them seated in riotous -fellowship, with napkins spread across broad waistcoats, dipping -delicious mouthfuls in melted butter and tucking them away behind -the white napkins. I have always missed the napkins and the butter -dishes, but the shells are proof enough of what has been going on. If -the mother crow carries the table furnishings away with her when she -flies, that is no more than human picnickers do when driven from the -sea beach. - -The pond when full is ten feet deeper than it is now. In May the water -lapped the forest roots on its edges; now from the forest to the mud -of the very bottom where still the water lingers a strip of slanting -beach stretches for a hundred yards. The crows are not the only -creatures which have made tracks on this. Close by the edge in the soft -mud the heron has walked with dignity, leaving footmarks that proceed -precisely. The heron may not have large ambitions, but he is purposeful -and does not turn aside. The crows gurgled and ha-haed over their -clambake; the heron takes his fish course as solemnly as if he were -taking the pledge. - -All along you will see where the squirrels have come down to drink, -skipping vivaciously, taking a sip here, bouncing away to examine -something there, remembering that they came for a drink after all and -taking a good one, then hurrying back with long leaps in a straight -line for the trees. The squirrel is not solemn, far from it, but he -is business-like, and though there is humorous good fellowship in his -every hop, he nevertheless does not linger long from his work. - -[Illustration: The skunk doesn’t know where he is going and he isn’t - even on his way] - -Very different from this is the track of mister skunk. He wanders -aimlessly along, often as much sidewise as straight ahead. The skunk -doesn’t know where he is going and he isn’t even on his way. I never -see his tracks, whether on the pond shore or elsewhere, but I renew my -doubts as to his habits. He is out much too late at night. His tracks -show it. I think he had his drink before he came to the water. -Probably he too knows how toothsome are the unios and is searching for -them in his maudlin fashion. - -Then there are the muskrats. They do not have to wait for their clam -banquets till the water is low. They are expert divers and gather the -unios at such times as suit their fancy. You will see their tracks in -regular runways in the shallow water of the muddy coves, whence they -are apt to follow some trickling streamlet to the bank where the summer -burrows are at high water. - -Later, along the marshy edges you will find their winter teepees, piled -to conical heights with sods and roots, with a warm refuge above the -ice and an exit below, whence they may swim in search of food. The -tracks of the muskrats show every mark of the industrious villager. -They stick close to well-traveled paths, and though the muskrats are -out nights no one would for a moment question their temperance and -industry. Their characters are excellent ones, beyond suspicion, and -their tracks show it. - -On the pond shore at ebb tide the glaciers, too, have left their -tracks, though it is probably several hundred thousand years since any -have been this way. Where there are granite ledges you may know that -these were here before even the glaciers stalked solemnly by, for they -show where the ice in grumbling grandeur ground small stones against -them and gradually wore out ruts in the enduring granite by force of -attrition. - -The track of the glacier is like the trail of the serpent,--it leaves -no toe-marks, but its sliding progress is unmistakable. Side by side -with the ledge which shows these striæ you may see on the soft mud -imprints of this year’s leaves, dropped a moment there by the wind, -then whirled away again, but leaving their tracks behind them. This -mark of the season may be obliterated by a breath, or it may be covered -with sifting silt and finally harden into sandstone and bear the trail -of the leaf as far down the ages as has come that of the glacier. Here -are moments and æons elbowing one another for place. - -Other interesting records of past time may be read in Stumpy Cove, -which is still the wildest and most secluded of spots, though the -trolley tripper has found the pond and builds his bungalows on its -shore, sinks his tin cans in its waters, and scares the bullfrogs -with his phonograph. The tin cans will not last long, however. Fresh -water in motion is continually giving up oxygen, and this with the -humic acid of the mud bottom will soon scatter these disfigurations in -scales of brown oxide. But all these solvent forces, acting through two -centuries, have had little effect on the stumps of Stumpy Cove. - -The heart-wood is still sound, their interlaced roots tell the story -of what happened on the spot in the rich muck of the swamp, as Stumpy -Cove was then, before Myles Standish had set foot on Plymouth Rock or -the first white man had spied inland from the summit of Blue Hill. For -the pond as it is now is only about a hundred years old. For a hundred -years before that it was a meadow, flowed occasionally by the farmers -of the region about it. - -Before that Stumpy Cove was a great white-cedar swamp and the great -white cedars stood in it, two feet in diameter, their clean straight -trunks running up fifty feet or more without a knob or limb. This -natural meadow with hay for their cattle for the cutting, these cedar -swamps with their century-old growth, were what attracted the first -settlers to this region, and hardly had the dawn of the sixteenth -century come over the Blue Hills before their axes were at work in -Stumpy Cove and similar swamps all about, getting out shingle stuff for -the Boston market. But whereas in all the other swamps the young cedars -were allowed to grow in again for succeeding generations of woodsmen, -here new conditions arose. - -The meadow was flowed intermittently for a century; then the pond grew -out of it. Not only might no seedlings find roothold there, but the -very black muck in which they might grow was washed away from the -roots of the great stumps. These, in the main, have endured, losing -their bark and sap-wood, but with the heart-wood still firm after the -lapse of two centuries. - -Here at this ebb tide I read the record of growth of trees that had -their beginnings more than three centuries ago. These roots so twine -and intertwine that the original sap, drawn from the tender tips, must -have nourished any one of several trees indifferently, for heart-wood -joins heart-wood in scores of places near the stump and far from it, -showing that each tree stood not only on its own roots, but on those -of its neighbors all about it; not only was it nourished by its own -rootlets, but by those of trees near by. No gale could uproot these -swamp cedars. United they stood and divided they might not fall. It is -a curious method of growth, and I dare say it obtains in many swamps -where the white cedars stand close, but under no other circumstances -could it have been revealed to me, casually strolling that way three -centuries after it happened. - -At high water all these curious roots are submerged and you see only -the butts of the trees, numerous miniature islands on which many an -alien growth has made port. Here in June the dour and melancholy -cassandra disputes the footing of the wild rose, and the huckleberry -and sweet-fern twine in loving companionship, afloat as ashore. Here -intertwine the sheep laurel and the hard-hack, the meadow-sweet and the -marsh St. John’s-wort, garlanding the white skeletons of the ancient -trees and making them young again with the odorous promises of spring. - -In midsummer, among patches of green and gray moss, you will find tiny, -diamond-like globules glistening. These are the clear, dew-like drops -of glutinous liquid which gem the leaves of the _Drosera_, northern -representative of the Venus’s fly-trap. This, the _Dionaea_, catches -flies by means of a steel-trap leaf which closes on them when they -light on it. This other, the _Drosera_, is not so active. It attracts -insects with its honey dew, holds them with sticky glands, and grips -them, little by little, with bristles. It is a curious and beautiful -little plant, and one would hardly think it carnivorous to see it -adding its diamond ornaments to the floral decorations which beautify -the ancient stumps all summer long. - -Yet of all the life histories revealed by the pond at low tide I still -think that of the _Unionidæ_ the most interesting. You find them all -along above and below the margin of the shallow water, their shells -most wonderfully streaked with olive-green and pale-yellow in alternate -bands, till one might think he had found nodules of malachite which -the long-ago glacier had culled from some Labrador ledge and ground -to unsymmetrical ovoids before it dropped them on the old-time meadow -marge. In certain individuals and certain lights the shells of these -obscure creatures send out gleams of green and gold, like gems that -have soft fires within them. It is as if an opalescent soul dwelt -within, and the thin shell which a crow with his bill may puncture -with a blow was so constructed as to hold in the reds and blues of the -opalescence, but transmit the greens and gold. - -You find many with only the backs of their shells sticking out of the -mud. This may be the creature’s natural position, but I find far more -of them lying quietly on their sides in the shallow water, rocking -gently to and fro in the placid undulations as if they were there but -to show me their shining colors. But if you watch one intently for a -time you will see him open his shell cautiously and put out one foot. -This is his best, for it is all he has and he puts it foremost. It is -very white and clean, and it might as well be called his tongue, for -with it he licks his food. It is half as long as he is, and when he has -put it out as far as he can, or as far as he dares, a fine white fringe -grows on its outer margin. Thus he gathers in minute animalculæ or -refuse matter from the surface of the mud, for his stomach’s sake. - -It is a rather interesting thing to stand by and watch a _Unio -margaritifera_ daintily putting away his own particular brand of little -necks and mock turtle. At the least untoward sign of interest in the -affair, however, he shuts up like a clam, and you will need your -pocket-knife if you wish to see more of him. - -Where the water is only an inch deep or so over the soft ooze of the -bottom you will see where the unio has used this so-called foot as -a foot should be used, for he not only stands on it, but walks with -its help. These signs are curiously erratic marks drawn as with a -sharpened stick for a distance sometimes of yards. If you will inspect -the seaward end of this trail you will find a unio in it, generally -a young one, for it is he that has left the mark behind him in his -travels. For the unio at a certain age is a great traveller; that is, -when he is very young. The adults foot it, but the young before they -reach their full growth ride, some of them by what you might call the -lightning expresses of the pond world. - -If you will split a big one at this time of year you will be likely to -find within an astonishing number of eggs. These are carried in brood -pouches that seem to occupy pretty nearly all the space between the -shells. In seeing them you wonder vaguely where there was room for -the bearer of this amazing progeny. Just where they are these young -unios grow to maturity of a certain sort, forming minute shells which -have hooks, forming also peculiar organs of sense. The hooks and the -sense organs are provided that they may not miss that free ride which -is the privilege of every young unio if he is to reach the period of -adolescence. - -At the moment of being sent forth from the home shell the golchidium, -for that is what the scientific men call the unio at this stage -of the affair, begins to hunt, aided by his sense organs, for a -thoroughfare. Here he takes the first conveyance, whether the slow -coach of the sluggish horn-pout, the bream automobile, or the pickerel -flying-machine. To the first fish that comes by he attaches himself, -oftentimes to the gills, and there he rides and, like most travelers, -continues to develop. - -By and by, being “finished” by travel, he gets off his vehicle at some -convenient station, drops into the mud, and is ready to lecture, or -so I fancy it, before any of the unio women’s clubs on the world as he -has seen it. Not until then does the unio, and then only if he is a -margaritifera, begin to accumulate pearls. - -By what mystery of sunlight and shallow water the unio has acquired -the lucent green and gold of the epidermis of his outer shell I do not -know, any more than I know what pigments paint or what naiad fingers -hold the brush that paints the gold in the heart or the pinky green in -the outer sepals of the water-lily. The two find their sustenance in -the same mud. - -But even if I could tell this I might well pause in wonder over the -beauty of the inner shell of this pulseless creature of the ooze. -Perhaps the golchidium, darting back and forth beneath the ripples of -the surface during its days of travel, catches the radiant blue of the -sky, the rosy flush of dawn, and the glory of the rainbow all shivered -together in exultant light to make the nacre of the inner surface of -its growing shell. For nowhere else in nature may we find such softness -of coloring holding such gleams of azure and of fire. The opal beside -it is garish and crude. Mother-of-pearl we call it, for out of the same -source is born the gem which may be worth the price of a king’s ransom. - -The unio is the good girl of the fairy tale, for from its lips fall -pearls that confound the divers of the Orient. Not from Ceylon nor Sulu -nor the Straits of Sunda nor the Gulf of California have come such -pearls of bewildering color and fascinating shapes as have been taken -from the river mussels of our American streams. For all I know the -shallows of my pond may hold a necklace of such value that its fellow -has never yet circled the throat of a queen. If so I hope no one will -ever find it out, for an ebb tide such as this comes only once in a -score or so of years, and when the next one is here I want still to -find the beach beautiful with the green and gold and mother-of-pearl of -the unios. - - - - -HOW THE RAIN CAME - - - - -HOW THE RAIN CAME - - -The _Spiranthes gracilis_ is commonly called ladies’ tresses, which is -a very polite name for it, for nothing can be more beautiful than the -tresses of ladies. It is like its name in that it is beautiful, but not -otherwise, for it is a flower not of tresses, but of fine eyelashes -of pearl set in a spiral on jade. The rain this morning dropped -transparent, colorless pearl tears on the tips of these eyelashes, and -as they twinkled toward shy smiles the tears ran down the spiral to be -eagerly kissed away by the small grasses that always cling about the -feet of the spiranthes in mute adoration. - -Near by slender varieties of gerardia held up rosy cups to drink these -clear pearls, finding in them a medicine that shall cure all ills. -In the rain the fountain of youth wells up in the cup of every flower -that waits in the soft pasture grasses and the grasses themselves drink -eagerly. The cedars deck themselves in these clear pearls, wearing -garments fringed with them and ropes and necklaces without number, and -letting their prim propriety be so softened that they are no longer -firm and erect but take on curves of soft roundness that should go with -pearl-embroidered garments. - -Yesterday there was in all the pasture people a certain puritanical -sternness of demeanor, a set holding fast to the narrowing good of -life, a tightening of the muscles that are weary with a long strain but -may not for the good of the soul loose their firm grip, for yesterday -the pasture was dry and hard with the leanness of the long summer -drought. - -To-day has come the first of the fall rains and these puritans are -stern and set no longer, but relax into swaying curves of lissome -beauty that entrance you. It is as if, after coming as you thought to a -Sunday service of the old Calvinists, you found it transformed into a -grange picnic of wood nymphs. - -The pines indeed, which always stretch out their arms in Sabbath-like -benediction, seem asking a pious blessing on all these, their pasture -children; and they fold their slim leaves together like hands in a -soft prayer of thankfulness. But the soft rain cuddles them as well, -and before they know it they are decked with the clear pearls as for a -bridal and their plumes nod in reverence, yet are so beautiful in gems -and there is such a soft grace in their curves--they that stood so -grim and sombre before--that each tree seems like some bounteous and -beautiful woman, arrayed for wedding festivities, who yet bows a moment -at a sanctuary in prayer, even as she joins the guests. - -The rain had been long coming. A solitary quail predicted it; the first -I have heard since the severe cold and deep snows of three winters in -succession not long ago. I had thought every quail smothered in the -white depths or frozen by the bitter cold. Three years is a long time -not to hear a quail whistle, and this I believe to be no survivor of -the old stock, but one that has worked up from Southern fields where -the snows were less deadly during those rigid winters. - -It is pretty hard to tell whether a quail is simply announcing his own -name for all who care to hear, or making a weather prediction. Jotham, -one of the farmer’s men who knows all, says it is simple enough. In -an announcement he says, “Bob, Bob White.” The weather prediction is -different. Then he says, “Wet, more wet.” All you have to do is listen. - -This is like Jotham’s grandmother’s recipe for making soap. You -collected potash from the hearth, added water in an iron kettle, and -boiled till a certain thickness was reached. You would know this point -by placing an egg on the surface, and if the concoction was right the -egg would either sink or swim, the old lady was blessed if she could -remember which. This is a way that successful oracles have. That one at -Delphos did it. - -So, when my lone quail sat on a rock in the pasture, tipped his head -back a little, swelled his white throat and whistled, round and clear, -I went out to meet him, scanning the sky meanwhile for a change of -weather. The sky of the day before had been like a brass bowl shut -down over the gasping land. Shrubs of the upland hung their leaves -piteously, the tougher herbs wilted, and the tenderer ones dried up and -died. - -[Illustration: My lone quail sat on a rock in the pasture, tipped his - head back a little, swelled his white throat, and whistled] - -On such days when the long summer drought has wreaked its worst, when -the parched pasture lies on its back, open-mouthed, gasping for water, -when even the pond which has given so freely for the refreshment of -the pasture people has shrunk back upon itself till a rod-wide rim of -gravel and rough stones forbids them to come down and drink, I love -to go down to the water’s edge and marvel at the hedge hyssop. All -along the shore the summer drought forbids the water weeds to grow. -This rod-wide space is not for them. The flood of the winter and spring -denies other land plants a roothold; yet, just when you think the shore -is to be bare and barren for always, troops forth the hedge hyssop and -clothes it with verdure, lighted with a golden smile. - -The common name of the plant seems to me to express ingenuity rather -than purpose. It has nothing to do with hedges and is not a hyssop, -which is a garden plant belonging with thyme and lavender and other -sweet herbs beloved of old ladies in kerchief caps and figured gowns. -The hedge hyssop is none of these. Nine months of the twelve it bides -its time under water. During the other three it glows in golden -contentment on the sandy stretches left bare by this yearly receding -tide, climbing along the rocky shore and filling every crevice, lifting -its yellow cups to the glare of the brazen sky and distilling subtle -perfume to the antennæ of the little low-flying insects that are its -friends. Yet if its common name means little, that given it by the -botanists fits. _Gratiola aurea_ may well mean a plant that is golden -grace or a golden benediction, as you choose to take the Latin. - -The day before, then, I had no heart for the upland pasture, but -Jotham’s reading of the quail had been the right one, for yesterday the -brazen look was all blown out of the sky by the south wind. It did not -leave it clear blue, for that would have meant cooler and still dry, -but put into it a pallor that seemed to well up from all the horizon -round. It was not the pallor of clouds, for there was not even a -cumulus thunder head in sight, but the pallor that comes with the wind -that has a storm behind it, yet is to blow itself out before the storm -arrives. - -The cuckoo, flitting jerkily from one thicket to the next, noted this -pallor from the corner of his eye and thenceforth through the day -croaked to himself as he went his caterpillar-hunting rounds. “Clackity -clack; tut, tut; cow, cow, cow,” he clucked musically, which is his way -of saying, “Oh dear, it is going to rain and the caterpillars will be -all soggy.” Jotham says the early settlers out here in the Dorchester -backwoods taught the cuckoo to work for them, but that he was so lazy -that their descendants, getting better help, gave it up, and that the -cuckoo soon forgot all he knew about farm work except calling the cows. - -Every bluejay is a born tease, and in the late August drought goes -about crying “Rain, rain,” because he knows there will be no rain. -He does it merely to fool the pasture people and then chuckle in his -phonograph twang over their misery when no rain comes. - -Yesterday when he smelt the south wind and saw that sky pallor he -stopped calling “Rain, rain,” for he knew it was coming. Instead he -fluttered round and round the pasture, ducking in among the boughs -of the pines and ejaculating, as if he were surprised to find it so, -“Clear, clear.” I fancy all the wild creatures of wood and pasture -know the signs better than I do and could announce the rain if they -would long before I know that it is coming. All the outdoor world was -sure of it yesterday. With the very first show of that paleness in the -sky--or was it something in the touch of the wind?--the drooping plants -lifted their leaves to be ready for it. I could smell it in the falling -of the wind at sunset; they seemed to smell it in mid-forenoon while -yet the wind was rising. - -On such days looking across the pond toward wind and sun there is a -peculiar blink in the light reflected from the surface of the waves -which you do not see if fair weather is ahead of you. The pale sky -seems to reflect blackly in the water. Down to leeward the shore -poplars stand silvery white, a quivering, flashing silver under the -lash of the wind. The swamp maples lose their green and turn pale and -the willows lighten up in color. - -It is the turning of the leaves in the wind. You may say that they -would turn in any wind and show their lighter under sides, and this -is true, yet there is a difference in the appearance when it is a -rain-bringing wind. I cannot tell you why this should be, but the -difference is there. It may be that a moist wind relaxes the tension of -the petioles more than a dry one and thus lets the leaf lie flatter, -giving a little different look to the tree as a whole. The weather-wise -older people grew up on the land instead of within walls and they were -wont to say, “The leaves are turning in the wind and it is going to -rain.” Like the pasture people they knew. - -By nightfall the weather bureau suspected something but was not quite -sure what. They hung out the “possible rain” flag, and all the crows -in the pinewood, congregating now in bigger and bigger flocks, -practising, I take it, for their labor-day parade, went into fits of -laughter. “Haw, haw, haw!” they shouted, and whirled up into the sky -and took a look about and dashed down again, convulsed. “Haw, haw, haw! -Possible rain; here’s the sky just ready to spill out a twenty-four -hour soaker!” - -The wind went down with the sun, and the willow and maple leaves were -green again for a little before they faded into the growing purple of -the dusk, but with every faint sigh of the failing breeze the poplars -loomed white again with a radiant ghostliness which seemed to people -the rustling dusk with softly phosphorescent spooks. You will see these -other-world visitors to the pond shore only on such a night when the -wind is right. - -There was no glow of rich color in the sky at sunset. Instead the dusk -hung violet gray draperies all about the horizon,--curtains that veiled -but did not hide the evening stars, shutting them almost out near the -horizon and leaving them comparatively clear at the zenith. In such -dusk stars do not twinkle, they blink, and that is a sign of rain which -all the pasture people that have eyes know well. - -Those that have ears and no eyes may know what sort of a night it is -as well, for there is some quality in such an atmosphere which makes -sounds carry far. The rap of a paddle on a canoe seat a mile away up -the pond sounds right in your ear. A train roaring through the wood -three miles distant seems so near that you involuntarily look around -lest it be coming behind and run over you. On such nights speak low -if you do not wish the whole world to hear, for the air all about you -is a wireless telephone receiver tuned to your pitch. Those gray rain -curtains which the dusk has hung all about the horizon have made the -whole world a whispering gallery. - -Sometime in the night the wind dies. It passes away so peacefully that -no mirror held to its lips would note that last sigh. But the stars -have known it all the evening, and that is why their eyes blinked so. -It was to keep back the tears. Then the stars vanish and the night is -dark indeed. - -Scents carry far on such a night, not only those of the pasture world, -which are pleasant, but those of the more distant town, which sometimes -are not. The air is not only telephonic but telefumic. The distant -leather factory sends out a faint but characteristic odor by which -you might hunt it across country for a lustrum of miles. The sooty -emanation from my neighbors’ chimneys is pungent in my nostrils, though -their houses are a mile away. I think I can tell which is which, for -the fireplace smell differs from that of the furnace, as does that of -the parlor stove from the range. Agreeably these are forgotten, for -something has crushed sassafras leaves over on the pasture knoll and -the fine fragrance comes to drive away thoughts of the others. - -As the night was gray, which foretells rain, so the morning breaks -crimson, which announces it. No bird heralds this dawn, no chirping -insect sends its voice questing through its shades. The sky hardly -lightens up; it is rather that the darkness turns red. Nor does the -light come from the sky when it does come. It wells up from the earth -instead, for when the crimson is gone the sky is still black with -shadows, while the pasture grows distinct in a gray outline wherein is -no color. - -A stillness of expectation broods all things,--a stillness so intense -that the first rain-drop sounds like a pistol-shot as it strikes a -leaf near you. Then there is a volley and further silence for a brief -space, followed by a crepitation all about you. Those first heavy drops -have been followed by lighter ones, and this crepitation merges into a -steady drumming, which becomes a low roar to your ears made sensitive -by silence and faint sounds. The first of the fall rains has come, and -the summer suffering of the pasture people is at an end. - - - - -INDEX - - - - -INDEX - - - A - - Adder, flat-head, 128, 129 - - Admiral, white, 71, 72, 75, 78, 81 - - Alder, 5, 15, 40, 52, 82, 94, 108, 111, 112, 118, 140, 141, 158 - black, 139 - white, 35 - - Alice-in-Wonderland, 88 - - Ambergris, 40 - - Angle-worm, 94, 105, 106, 186 - - Ant, 158 - - Antiopa vanessa, 166 - - Aphids, 115 - - Arabian days, 81 - - Arabian Nights, 61, 79, 88 - - Arethusa, 83 - - Azalia, 4, 6, 33 - - - B - - Bagdad, Caliph of, 76 - - Baptist, 53 - - Barberry, 32 - - Basilarchia astyanax, 71, 77, 79, 87 - - Basilarchia disippus, 161 - - Bass, rock, 96 - - Bayberry, 8, 33, 45 - - Bee, 85, 86, 137, 155, 156, 157, 158 - bumble, 137 - - Beetles, 161 - - Berkshire hills, 135 - - Birch, 5, 8, 28, 29, 30, 93 - - Bittern, 142, 143 - - Blackberry, 56 - high-bush, 33 - - Blackbird, 143 - - Bladderwort, 64 - - Blueberry, high-bush, 50, 51 - - Bluebird, 175, 176, 177, 178, 179, 180, 181, 182, 184, 192 - - Blue Hill, 135, 140, 202, 203 - - Blue Hill Reservation, 80, 136 - - Bluejay, 226 - - Bobolink, 189 - - Brake, 43 - - Bream, 211 - - Bullhead, 101 - - Bulrush, 136, 138 - - Bunting, indigo, 189 - - Butterfly, angle-wing, 158 - Anosia plexippus, 160, 165 - Antiopa vanessa, 166 - fritillaries, 159 - meadow-brown, 158 - monarch, 160, 161, 162, 171 - mourning-cloak, 166 - pearl crescent, 158 - white admiral, 71, 72, 75, 78, 81 - - Button bush, 41, 140 - - - C - - California, Gulf of, 213 - - Calvinists, 219 - - Camberwell beauty, 166 - - Carnations, 156 - - Cassandra, 52, 205 - - Cassius, 155 - - Catbird, 10, 14, 20, 21, 22, 23, 190, 191, 192 - - Caterpillar, 43 - - Cedar, 4, 5, 6, 15, 27, 29, 139, 140, 141, 202, 204, 205, 218 - - Ceylon, 213 - - Chewink, 14 - - Clams, fresh-water, 95, 196 - - Clethra, 4, 35, 153, 155, 156 - - Compositæ, 41 - - Coot, 183 - - Corydalus cornutus, 125 - - Cranberries, 139 - - Crow, 14, 18, 19, 20, 185, 187, 196, 197, 228 - - Cuckoo, 27, 225 - - - D - - Daisy, 41 - - Delphos, 221 - - Demoiselles, 120, 121, 122, 124, 126, 127 - - Dionaea, 206 - - Dorchester backwoods, 225 - - Dragon, 128, 129 - - Dragon-flies, 56, 95, 120, 121, 122, 123 - - Drosera, 206 - - Duck, wood, 144, 145, 146, 149, 150 - - - E - - Eel, 103, 104, 106, 107, 108, 127 - - Eden, 127 - - Elm, 51 - - - F - - Fern, 40, 112, 119 - cinnamon, 112, 113 - ostrich-plume, 118 - rock, 118, 119 - - Fern seed, 111, 113, 116, 119 - - Field mouse, 113 - - Finches, 10 - - Flag, sweet, 117 - - Flagroot, 111 - - Flappers, 144 - - Flea, 56 - - Floating-heart, 133, 135 - - Florida, 191 - - Fly-catcher, great crested, 86, 87, 88 - - Flicker, 177 - - Fountain head, 81 - - Fox, 6, 9, 13 - - Franklin Field, 142 - - Frog, 57, 59, 61, 66, 186 - green, 42 - Rana virescens, 186 - - - G - - Gall, 115 - - Genie, 76, 88 - - Gentian, 134 - - Gerardia, 217 - - Goblin, water, 119, 120, 122, 125 - - Golchidium, 211, 212 - - Goldthread, 15 - - Grape, fox, 44, 45, 46 - wild, 5 - - Grass, fresh-water eel, 136 - marsh, 138, 139, 141 - tape, 136 - - Gratiola aurea, 224 - - Greenbrier, 15 - - - H - - Habenaria, 86 - - Hardhack, 92, 205 - - Hasheesh, 130 - - Hawk, 10 - - Helgramite worm, 124, 125 - - Hepatica, 74 - - Heron, 197 - night, 140 - - Hickory, 9, 116 - - Holmes, Sherlock, 150 - - Horn-pout, 101, 102, 103, 104, 122, 127, 211 - - Horse brier, 15 - - Houghton’s pond, 80 - - Huckleberry, 28, 29, 205 - low-bush black, 34 - - Humming-bird, ruby-throated, 163 - - Hyla, 66 - - Hyssop, hedge, 223 - - - I - - Incas, 163 - - - J - - Jasmine, Mexican, 163 - - Joe Pye weed, 141 - - Jotham, 221, 224 - - Judas, 167 - - June beetle, 59 - - - K - - “Kiver,” 96, 97 - - - L - - Labrador, 80 - - Ladies’ tresses, 217 - - Laurel, sheep, 205 - - Lepomis gibbosus, 96 - - Leprechaun, 78 - - Lilacs, 190 - - Lily, dog, 136 - water, 134, 136, 137, 139, 212 - - Lily-of-the-valley, 74 - - Lucky bug, 53, 54, 63 - - - M - - Malachite, 207 - - Maple, 9, 51, 52, 62, 82, 92, 94, 116, 141, 227, 229 - - Meadow-sweet, 205 - - Memorial Day, 50 - - Merlin, 37, 39 - - Metropolitan Park Commission, 142 - - Milkweed, 157, 158, 159, 160 - - “Minister,” 101 - - Minnow, 103 - - Mocking-bird, 21 - - Monarch butterfly, 160, 161, 162, 171 - - Monitor, 54 - - Moss, sphagnum, 15, 80, 83, 88, 142 - - Moth, 155 - luna, 65 - - Mourning-cloak butterfly, 166 - - Murray, “Adirondack,” 148 - - Muskrat, 43, 111, 142, 143, 199, 200 - - Myrica, 34 - - - N - - Night heron, 140 - - Nymphæa, 139 - - Nymphs, 120, 122 - - - O - - Oak, 5, 8, 9, 92 - scrub, 15, 190 - - Orchis, purple-fringed, 86 - - Oven bird, 16, 17, 23 - - Owl, 10 - - - P - - Pan, 45 - - Panama, 163 - - Papilio asterias, 169 - - Partridge, 6, 37 - - Partridge berry, 74 - - Perch, yellow, 92, 99, 100, 102, 103, 127 - - Pickerel, 51, 211 - - Pickerel weed, 136, 137, 138, 139 - - Pine, 9, 15, 16, 28, 60, 73, 74, 77, 88, 112, 154, 219, 228 - - Pipsissewa, 74 - - Plymouth Rock, 202 - - Polypody, 124 - - Ponkapoag pond, 133, 135 - - Poplars, 227, 229 - - Pumpkin seed, 96 - - Pyrola, 74 - - - Q - - Quail, 220, 222 - - - R - - Rana virescens, 186 - - Raspberry, 5 - - Robin, 10, 13, 189 - - Rocket, sweet, 162, 163 - - Rose, wild, 4, 8, 52, 205 - - - S - - Santo Domingo, 191 - - Sassafras, 5, 232 - - Sedges, 56, 60 - - Skipper, 63 - - Skunk, 198 - - Skunk-cabbage, 40 - - Snake, water, 126, 127 - - Sparrow, chipping, 12, 178 - English, 176, 178, 179, 180, 181, 183 - song, 13 - - Sphagnum moss, 15, 80, 83, 88, 142 - - Spiræa, 52 - - Spiranthes gracilis, 217 - - Squirrel, 197, 198 - gray, 62, 63 - red, 6 - - Standish, Myles, 135, 202 - - Stephanotis, 163 - - St. John’s-wort, marsh, 206 - - Strawberries, wild, 33 - - Stumpy Cove, 201, 202 - - Submarine, 54 - - Sulu, 213 - - Sunda, straits of, 213 - - Sunfish, 92, 95, 96, 98, 99, 100, 103, 126, 127 - - Sweet-fern, 8, 33, 35, 45, 154, 205 - - Sweet-gale, 34, 45, 52 - - - T - - Tanager, scarlet, 188 - - Terrapin, 84, 85, 88 - - Texas, 158 - - Thoroughwort, 141 - - Thrasher, 14 - - Thrush, 10, 20, 30, 31, 35 - brown, 21, 28 - wood, 11, 12, 17 - - Toad, 66, 129 - - Torpedo boat, 54, 99 - - Trout, 82, 84, 96, 122 - - Turtle, spotted, 83, 84, 85, 88 - - - U - - Ulysses, 64 - - Unio, 196, 199, 209, 210 - - Unio margaritifera, 195, 209, 14 - - Unionidæ, 207 - - Utricularia, 64 - - - V - - Venus’s fly-trap, 206 - - Viceroy butterfly, 161 - - Vireo, 119 - - - W - - Walden pond, 80 - - Warblers, 10, 14 - - Wasps, 161 - - Watercress, 82, 83, 86 - - Water shield, 136 - - Water-strider, 55 - - Watson, Doctor, 150 - - Whip-poor-will, 30, 31, 35 - - Wild rose, 4, 8, 52, 205 - - Willows, 92, 94, 98, 227, 229 - - Witch, 114, 125 - - Witch-caps, 115 - - Witch-hazel, 112, 113, 114, 115, 116, 117, 124, 125, 129 - - Woodbine, 4 - - Woodchuck, 9 - - - - -TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES: - - - Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_. - - Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. - - Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized. - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WILD PASTURES *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - 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