GENERAL AND MISCELLANEOUS 425 



one could not be completely described without describ- 

 ing the other. I am that rock by the pond-side. 



Sept. 7, 1857. Returning to my boat, at the white 

 maple, I see a small round flock of birds, perhaps black- 

 birds, dart through the air, as thick as a charge of shot, 

 — now comparatively thin, with regular intervals of sky 

 between them, like the holes in the strainer of a water- 

 ing-pot, now dense and dark, as if closing up their 

 ranks when they roll over one another and stoop down- 

 ward. 



March 17, 1858. Sitting' under the handsome scarlet 

 oak beyond the hill, I hear a faint note far in the wood 

 which reminds me of the robin. Again I hear it ; it is 

 he, — an occasional peep. These notes of the earliest 

 birds seem to invite forth vegetation. No doubt the 

 plants concealed in the earth hear them and rejoice. 

 They wait for this assurance. 



March 18, 1858. How much more habitable a few 

 birds make the fields ! At the end of winter, when 

 the fields are bare and there is nothing to relieve the 

 monotony of the withered vegetation, our life seems 

 reduced to its lowest terms. But let a bluebird come 

 and warble over them, and what a change ! The note 

 of the first bluebird in the air answers to the purling rill 

 of melted snow beneath. It is eminently soft and sooth- 

 ing, and, as surely as the thermometer, indicates a higher 

 temperature. It is the accent of the south wind, its ver- 

 nacular. It is modulated by the south wind. The song 

 sparrow is more sprightly, mingling its notes with the 

 rustling of the brash along the watersides, but it is at 

 the same time more terrene than the bluebird. The 



