74 BOULDER KEVERIES. 



flicker the notes of jay, of vireo, of chat, from 

 the leafy coverts along the old rail fence the 

 distant scream of a high soaring hen-hawk 

 the droning of a bumblebee hovering above the 

 first opening flowers of the ironweed the 

 soughing of the breeze through the branches of 

 the maple above my head the continuous calls 

 and counter-calls of a flock of turkeys out for- 

 aging in this woodland pasture all are mingled 

 and reach my ear in a continuous medley. At 

 times, however, a brief respite is offered and 

 the blessed August silence that silence deep 

 and pure which nature can offer on a perfect 

 midsummer day enthralls me and begets that 

 peace of soul, that contentment of mind, which 

 nothing can enhance. 



Nor, while writing of sounds, must I forget 

 the serenade of that band of katydids about the 

 old farm-yard on yester-eve. They seemingly 

 tried to outdo themselves for my benefit. But to 

 them I was a nonentity an unknown being. ~No 

 thought of me or of my attentive ear lurked in 

 or passed through their brains, as they clashed 

 their cymbals in every shrub and tree around 



