A TRAGEDY OF NATURE. 19 Y 



hawk, standing near the base of the thorn, was 

 striking savagely at the heron, while the latter 

 uttered the sound which first attracted my ear. 

 It was the cry of a mother defending her young 

 and was different from any note which I had 

 ever heard the heron make. It was a sound of 

 alarm, of hatred, of savage attack, all blended 

 into one. Such tragedies are doubtless of daily 

 occurrence along this stream, yet seldom come to 

 the notice of man. 



From May to September or later is a gala 

 time for the dragon -flies along this woodland 

 stream. Hovering o'er the surface of every 

 pool ; lazily winging their way across its depths, 

 or resting daintily upon a blade of sedge or 

 swamp grass; flitting here and there in dizzy, 

 zigzag flight, hawking for insects as they go, 

 their life seems ever a lively and enchanting 

 one. I note a female rising and falling at in- 

 tervals of two or three seconds, at each down- 

 ward impulse inserting the curved abdomen 

 slightly below the surface, and presumably de- 

 positing an egg. Probably twenty or more spe- 



