nights of the last of September re 

 mind it that "the summer is over and 

 gone." The flight of this bird is em 

 ployed as a weather sign by country 

 people. When it soars high, they say 

 fair weather will continue, but when it 

 flies low, then rain is near at hand. 



The whippoorwill arrives, com 

 monly, the last of March, but often 

 not before the loth or I5th of April. 

 The chuckwills-widow comes three 

 weeks later. Both of these strange 

 birds rear one brood of two young. 

 The nest is placed upon the bare 

 ground, under a clump of low bushes, 

 or a dense holly, or other low-growing 

 tree. The eggs have the same mark 

 ings as those of the bull bat, or night 

 hawk, another very interesting migra 

 tory bird. 



The catbird and the wood sparrows 

 do not reach us till near the end of 

 April, and often May is far advanced 

 before these birds are noticed. The 

 last is one of the sweetest songsters of 

 our groves in summer, rivaling any 

 bird of our clime. It seeks the cool 

 est and darkest wood, where it pours 

 forth its notes hour after hour, being 



one of the earliest to begin its mating 

 lays. 



The humming bird is the latest vis 

 itor to corne to us in summer. This 

 diminutive aerial voyager is one of the 

 most charming of the migratory tribe, 

 and worthy all the admiration that has 

 been lavished upon it. It loves to- 

 sport in the flower gardens, where it 

 sips the nectar from the honeycups of 

 Flora's train. Only one species comes 

 to us, the well-known ruby- throat. 



But the young reader interested in 

 these things should begin observation,, 

 and make a list for himself of all the: 

 migratory birds in his locality. A. 

 good form for such a record may be: 

 found in Hewitt's " Book of the Sea- 

 sons," an English work, but one from* 

 which a great deal about nature can be 

 learned. 



We will close our too brief sketch 

 with the inquiry of Mrs. Kimball, of 

 Connecticut: 



" O, wise little birds, how do ye know 



The way to go, 



Southward and northward, to and fro? 

 Far up in ether piped they, 



' We but obey 

 A voice that calleth us far away.' " 



ACROSS THE WAY. 



GEO. KLINGLE. 



A distant line of misty hills, 



A stretch of meadow low, 

 With wreaths of brush a-skirt the 

 woods, 



Midst fabrics spun of snow: 

 A vista through the the forest trees 



A temple if you choose, 

 With pictured screen and arabesque, 



Mosaic's dusky hues, 

 Dim mullioned windows half confessed 



Beyond far-columned aisles, 

 And arches lost and found anew 



Through tracery's defiles; 

 A roof? ... we might perchance ascribe 



The misty, stooping sky 

 Beyond the wreaths of crystal 



Swung where winds go singing by. 

 Beneath, where worshiper might tread 



A glimpse of crystal tile, 



Caught through the weeds and tangled 

 reeds 



Which guard the near defile. 

 A myriad forms a-glint and white 



Close, close beneath the feet; 

 Fantastic hands that reach across 



A myriad hands to greet; 

 Low shrubs in fleecy, white array, 



Tall stems with hood and wings,. 

 And vines a-glint in crystal lace 



Wound through fantastic rings; 

 And grasses frosted into gems; 



Near by a bough bent down 

 With such a wealth of clinging leaves 



Stained deep in ruddy brown. 

 These and the woods' low breath of song 



Just now across the way; 

 To-morrow?... visions change, you know, 



To meet each hour of day. 



205 



