58 



THE AQUARIUM, JULY, 1896. 



sends her little blades of grass to push 

 themselves up beside the flagstones ; 

 her ivy climbs the stone churches and 

 castles, hiding the ravages of time, and 

 her trees are the fullest representation 

 of herself — the agent of Him at whose 

 fiat the worlds emerged from chaos : — 

 But, to resume our walk : — Abounding 

 everywhere, and full of interest, are the 

 birds we meet with ; in the deep soli- 

 tudes of the woods the lugubrious caw- 

 ing of the crow grates upon the ear 

 with hollow voice, which has for ages 

 been an object of evil omen to the cred- 

 ulous and the ignorant ; the monoto- 

 nous sound of the distant woodpecker, 

 "■ tapping the bark of the hollow beech 

 tree," or making the woods resound 

 with his notes of laughter, takes up tlie 

 tale ; the bluebird, the titmouse, or 

 " chickadee," that happy, restless, easy- 

 going creature, who scorns to leave us 

 for the snows of winter, and picks up 

 a scanty living round the outhouses of 

 the farm ; the finch tribe, with their 

 never-ceasing cry, make the very copse 

 alive with their melody ; whilst the 

 bobolink on the wing, surveying the 

 grassy plains below him, chants forth 

 a jingling melody of short variable 

 notes, with such confusion and rapidi- 

 ty that it appears as if a whole colony 

 of birds were tuning their notes for 

 some great gathering in Nature's con- 

 cert hall. And as he is so well-known 

 a bird, I cannot refrain from dwelling 

 on his character a little while. Rivaling 

 the European lark, he is the happiest 

 bird of spring ; lie comes amidst the 

 pomp and fragrance of the season ; his 

 life seems all sunshine, all song. He is 

 to be found in the soft bosoms of the 

 freshest and sweetest meadows, and is 

 most in song when the clover is in 

 bloom. Near by we may see a giant 

 tyrant kingbird, poised on the topmost 



branch of some veteran ti-ee, who now 

 and then dashes down, assassin like, 

 upon some homebound honey-laden 

 bee, and then with a smack of his bill 

 resume his predatory watch. Over the 

 pool, the swifts, the martens and the 

 swallows seem to vie with each other 

 in acrobatic flight ; now skimming the 

 surface of the water, now making with 

 a touch of the wing, a scarcely jiercep- 

 tible ripple. 



Besides the birds, the butterflies 

 flicker and flit hither and thither, 

 small and large, white, grave and gay ; 

 grasshoppers are noisy beside long 

 stretches of green paths— improvident 

 fellows who sing all through the live- 

 long summer day, unmindful and heed- 

 less of coming storm and winter's stern 

 array ; and who would think, when 

 looking on the painted butterfly, flash- 

 ing its gaudy colors in the sunlight, 

 that a few weeks ago it was a groveling 

 worm, an emblem of destruction, a 

 caterpillar. How wondrous the change; 

 how beauteous the transformation. 

 How typical of the spirit of man, who, 

 fettered to the earth in the flesh shall 

 one day emerge from the chrysalis of 

 death and wing its flight to the bowers 

 of Eden. 



Bounding through the highest tree- 

 toj^s in fearless leaj^s, light and grace- 

 ful in form, with bright black eyes, 

 and nimbleness in every movement, the 

 squirrel enlivens the scene, who, after 

 scrutinizing round some moss-grown 

 branch for the disturber of his haunts, 

 hies away from our gaze with a defiant 

 chattering that seems to say — ''catch 

 me if you can " — to his nest in some 

 hollow limb, wliere his booty of acorns, 

 chestnuts or beechnuts is stored up for 

 winter use ; and we think, when fol- 

 lowing his nimble movements, how 

 some of our own species might relieve 



