IN THE CAMBRIDGE SWAMP 



ONCE a year, at least, I must visit the great 

 swamp in Cambridge, one of the institu- 

 tions of the city, as distinctive, not to say 

 as famous, as the university itself. It is 

 sure to show me something out of the ordi- 

 nary run (its courses in ornithology are said 

 to be better than any the university offers) ; 

 and even if I were disappointed on that 

 score, I should still find the visit worth 

 while for the sake of old times, and old 

 friends, and the good things I remember. 

 At the present minute I am thinking es- 

 pecially of that enthusiastic, wise-hearted, 

 finely gifted, greatly lamented nature-lover, 

 Frank Bolles, whom I met here for the first 

 time one evening when it was too dark to 

 see his face. We had come on the same 

 errand, to watch the strange aerial evolu- 

 tions of the April snipe. Who could have 

 supposed then that he would be dead so soon, 

 and the world so much the poorer? 



