88 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS. 



my farmer-neighbors upon tliis bird, in its relation to 

 the weather, are very funny. If by chance niglit-hawks 

 are seen early in the afternoon, the farmer will smiling- 

 ly rub the palms of his hands together and exclaim, 

 "fine weather, fine weather;" but if too busy to observe 

 them until evening, then the lower flight of the birds is 

 marked with a troubled countenance, and it is peevishly 

 announced that it will soon rain. A more worthless 

 barometer than a night-hawk it is difiicult to imagine ; 

 yet two centuries of experience with them has not les- 

 sened the faith of the illogical farmers. 



The flying ants soon proved more troublesome than 

 mosquitoes, as they covered my hat and shoulders, and 

 commenced crawling over me in a most annoying man- 

 ner. I hurried away, and recklessly brushed them from 

 me with my bundle of botanical specimens, to the ruin- 

 ation of the latter, and, I was glad to find, destruction 

 of the former. Once free, I walked with great haste 

 towards home, fearing further delays, and recalled an 

 exodus of winged ants I had observed with some care 

 years ago. 



Late in the afternoon of October 6, 1S72, my atten- 

 tion was called to a great multitude of large-sized insects 

 that filled the air, and aj^peared to be some unusual form 

 of insect life, judging of them from a distance. Closer 

 inspection showed them to be a brood of red ants that 

 had just emerged from their underground home and 

 w^ere now for the first time usino; their delicate winirs. 

 The sky at the time was wholly overcast; the wind 

 strong south-east ; thermometer (j(j° Fahr. Taking a fa- 



