THE BITTERN oT 
The boy evidently took us for a pair of igno- 
ramuses from the city. 
“T guess it’s a frog,” he answered. But when 
the sounds were repeated he shook his head and 
confessed honestly that he didn’t know what 
made them. 
It was too bad, I thought, that he did not 
stick to his frog theory. It would have made so 
much better a story! He appeared to feel no 
curiosity about the matter, and we allowed him 
to pass on unenlightened. 
Not all Wayland people are thus poorly in- 
formed, however, and we shortly learned, to our 
considerable satisfaction, that they have a most 
felicitous local name for the bird. They call 
him “plum-pudd’n’,” which is exactly what he 
himself says, only that his u is in both words 
somewhat long, like the vowel in “full.” To 
get the true effect of the words they should be 
spoken with the lips nearly closed, and in a deep 
voice. 
A few days after this excursion I found a bit- 
tern in a large wet meadow somewhat nearer 
home. At the nearest he was a long way olf, 
and as I went farther and farther away from 
him, I remarked the very unexpected fact that 
the last syllable to be lost was not the second, 
which bears so sharp an accent, but the long 
