In Defence of Desolation. 177 



" gobbets of venison," but snapped my eyes 

 thankfully at them for aiding so materially in 

 disproving the assertion that cloudy, storm- 

 threatening autumn days are desolate. 



The day was darkening, but I was not de- 

 terred. Turning towards the marshy meadows, 

 I startled a whippoorwill, some straggler, linger- 

 ing a full two months after all his brethren had 

 sought the sunnier climes of the Gulf States ; 

 but let no straggling, over-staying bird surprise 

 you. As I know from careful examination, in- 

 sect life has not been lacking until now, and if 

 it was a matter of food only, there has been no 

 reason why all our whippoorwills should not 

 have eaten their Thanksgiving dinners with us. 



On the wide stretch of marshy meadows the 

 outlook is at first forbidding, more so than on the 

 upland fields or the wooded hill-side ; but it is 

 necessary only to accommodate oneself to the 

 new surroundings to be assured that chaos has 

 not come again because of your standing on a 

 marshy meadow, with threatening clouds over- 

 head and a fierce east wind blowing. It is Na- 

 ture in a savage mood, but this has naught to 

 do with desolation. I gave no further heed to 



