114 JULY. 



the surface of the waters, so lightly as hardly to impress 

 a dimple on the glossy sheen ; and multitudes of fishes 

 are gambolling among their long stems in the clear depths 

 below. Among the fragrant white lilies are interspersed 

 the more curious though less delicate flowers of the yel- 

 low lily ; and in clusters here and there upon the shore, 

 where the turf is dank and tremulous, the purple sarrace- 

 nias bow their heads over lands that have never felt the 

 plough. The alders and birches cast a beautiful shade 

 upon the mirrored border of the lake, the birds are sing- 

 ing melodiously among their branches, and clusters of 

 ripe raspberries overhang the banks as we sail along their 

 shelvy sides. 



But we listen in vain on our rural excursions for the 

 songs of multitudes of birds that were tuneful a few 

 weeks since. The chattering bobolink, merriest bird of 

 June, has become silent ; he will soon doff his black coat 

 and yellow epaulettes, and put on the russet garb of win- 

 ter. His voice is heard no more in concert with the gen- 

 eral anthern of Nature. He has become silent with all 

 his merry kindred, and, instead of the lively notes poured 

 out so merrily for the space of two months, we hear only 

 a plaintive chirping, as the birds wander about the fields 

 in scattered parties, no longer employed in the cares of 

 wedded life. But there are several of our warblers that 

 still remain tuneful. The little wood-sparrow sings more 

 loudly than ever, the vireo and wren still enliven the 

 gardens, and the hermit-thrush daily utters his liquid 

 strains from his deep sylvan retreat upon the wooded 

 hills. 



In the place of the birds myriads of chirping insects 

 pour forth during the heat of the day a continual din of 

 merry voices. Day by day are they stringing their harps 

 anew, and leading out a fresh host of musicians, making 

 ready to gladden the autumn with the fulness of their 



