OUTDOORS 



marsh country, and add appreciably to the 

 pleasures of those who love to drift idly 

 over the lakes or penetrate reedy edges of 

 lonely bays and inlets. The bull-frog, with 

 his thunderous gutturals, chants basso notes 

 in the deepening twilight, and these echoes are 

 carried across the lily-pads and bulrush-beds. 

 The heron floats westward with the dying 

 sun, and himself seems a faint, gray frag- 

 ment of belated cloud, blown by on tardy 

 winds. The bittern, rising awkwardly from 

 the reeds on elongated wing, doubles his legs 

 under him and manages to swing away like 

 a balloon, shifted from side to side by op- 

 posing air-currents. And the lone loon, 

 black-headed and alert, rocking in secluded 

 cove or silent bay, laughs loud and mock- 

 ingly at the twilight as the sun fades behind 

 the hills. 



The chorus of frogs dies away and is for- 

 gotten. The flight of the heron, dim as 

 passing mist, melted like mist and claimed 

 no remembrance. The bittern's scrambling 

 exit left the reeds tenantless, with only the 

 night-winds creeping through where his un- 

 gainly body had made broken spaces. But 



58 



