AN IDLER ON MISSIONARY RIDGE. 27 



stepping up to reconnoitre, there she sat in 

 her nest with four eggs under her. At that 

 moment a chat's loud voice was heard, and, 

 turning quickly, I caught the fellow in the 

 midst of a brilliant display of his clownish 

 tricks, ridiculous, indescribable. At a little 

 distance, it is hard to believe that it can be 

 a bird, that dancing, shapeless thing, balan- 

 cing itself in the air with dangling legs and 

 prancing, swaying motions. Well, that is 

 the chat's way. What more need be said ? 

 Every creature must express himself, and 

 birds no less than other poets are entitled 

 to an occasional " fine frenzy." 



My little excursion had brought me no- 

 thing new, and, like all my similar ventures 

 on Missionary Ridge, it ended in defeat. 

 The sun was too much for me ; to use a word 

 suggested by the place, it carried too many 

 guns. I took a long and comfortable siesta 

 under a magnificent chestnut oak. Then it 

 was near noon, and, with. my umbrella spread, 

 I mounted the hill to the railway, and waited 

 for a car. 



