TIClben Grass is Orccn 



the country was young and fresh happened again. 

 The sights and sounds that caught the Indian's 

 attention before Penn landed held me to-day, as 

 I stood under the intertwined branches of the old 

 oaks, through which the sunlight struggled almost 

 in vain. Song after song came from far and near, 

 and every trace of harshness was strained out by 

 the leaves, the dew-drops, and the flitting sun- 

 beams. Here is the great merit of the early morn- 

 ing freshness ; and we too are well awake, and 

 every sense is receptive. The birds grew merrier 

 steadily, and I wondered what species uttered some 

 unfamiliar note, in more than one instance. I 

 could but guess, and fancied that there were early 

 morning notes that no one ever heard at noontide. 

 Until we reach the truth by accident it is better to 

 conjecture than to slaughter birds to ascertain a 

 fact without which we can survive and be happy. 

 I do not believe that ornithologist would be con- 

 tent who had fathomed every mystery of the bird- 

 world. Better to be forever wondering what this 

 and that signifies, and pass your days in hopes of 

 discovery. That something new may turn up adds 

 a zest to every morning walk, noontide meditation, 

 or evening stroll. 



But it is raining ! My pleasant train of thought 

 was sadly shocked to hear the patter of rain-drops 

 on the broad oak leaves. Raining undoubtedly, 

 and yet there is sunshine in the open fields. How 

 prone we are to jump at conclusions. I was not 

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