AT NATURAL BRIDGE 271 



hardly be counted upon to hatch in any 

 other. 



As I passed up the road, on my way 

 homeward, a flock of eight nighthawks were 

 swimming overhead. Their genius runs, not 

 to architecture, but to grace of aerial mo- 

 tion. They do not shoot like the swifts, nor 

 skim and dart like the swallows, nor circle 

 on level wings like the hawks, but have an 

 easy, slow - seeming, wavering, gracefully 

 " limping " flight, which is strictly their own. 

 At the same time two buzzards met in mid- 

 air, one going with the breeze, the other 

 against it. I could have told the fact, with- 

 out other knowledge of the wind's course, 

 by the different carriage of the two pairs 

 of wings. So "the bird trims her to the 



Having the cerulean warbler question still 

 upon my mind, and seeing another hard- 

 wood hill within easy reach, I turned my 

 steps thither. Yes, I was hardly there be- 

 fore I heard a bird singing ; but the reader 

 may be sure I did not take my ear's word 

 for it. This was the fourth hilltop I had 

 visited to-day, and on every one the " rare " 

 warbler (but it is well known to be abun- 



