SWAMP WIIITE-OAK BEXD. Ill 



the boat back to the water, and i^roceeded a few rods 

 down the stream, wlien I came to a stretch of weedy, open 

 meadow, airlow with brilliant color. Ilere 



The golden dodder's tangled net, 

 'With waxen blossoms thickly set, 

 Enwraps the vervain's pnrple spire; 

 O'erspreads the rose with thread-like fire; 

 And like a gilded serpent twines 

 The mazy host of tangled vines. 



One large thicket of impenetrable growths was a ckister 

 of blackberry canes ; and here, too, was a grand display of 

 color. The canes were nearly leafless, but still covered 

 with a generous yield of fruit. This was but half ripe 

 and bright crimson, with here and there at pleasing in- 

 tervals a twio^ with coal-black berries. 



When absence of contrast has long prevailed, how 

 heartily is the crimson and black, the purple and gold, 

 the cardinal -flower among sedges, greeted. For weeks 

 the upland fields have been glowing with rich yellow, 

 in itself a pleasing color, but how tiresome to live amid 

 acres of blooming partridge-pea, to the exclusion of even 

 an occasional blade of c^rass. 



This pretty meadow — weedy, my farmer neighbors 

 call it — is bounded by a few large trees ; and as I ap- 

 proached them I heard a gentle tapping high overhead, 

 which I attributed to a woodpecker. While seated in 

 the boat, I looked into every tree as best I could, but 

 caught no glimpse of the bird. I looked skyward until 

 my neck ached, but in vain. Then, very naturally, I 

 "got mad." The tapping was remarkably constant, yet 

 the bird was playing bopecp very successfully. It must 



