Midsummer Night Alarms 



desperately still. A harmless little 

 screech owl was trilling somewhere in 

 the dark recesses of the grove. That 

 was all. But it didn't sound a bit like 

 the clang of the motorman's bell, nor 

 yet like a Klaxon horn. If it had it 

 would doubtless have sent us all into 

 a sound slumber at once, so readily 

 does one accustom his ear-drums even 

 to the operations of a boiler factory 

 running nights next door. We were 

 tired, and had sought the pillows early. 

 But first one and then another member 

 of the household called out in protest 

 against the infinite quiet of the night. 

 The katydids had not yet reported. 

 Their date here is about the fifteenth 

 of August, the month so dear to insects 

 of high and low degree. That orches- 

 tra, therefore, had not yet commenced 

 its rasping rhapsodies. And so the 

 hours dragged their weary length 

 along, until a white-robed figure pres- 

 ently put in a stealthy appearance 

 at my bedside, by way of informing 



is?] 



