MILL CREEK. 195 



While contemplating the pretty tree-toad in its cosey 

 quarters, I was startled by a multiplicity of sounds: a 

 passing flock of redwings, a family of pigeon-woodpeck- 

 ers, the hum of excited bees uncomfortably near, and 

 more strange than musical, more suggestive than enter- 

 taining, the hoarse, rattling cacophony of a yellow-breast- 

 ed chat. It fluttered up from a tangled thicket of briers 

 below me, and when in mid-air gave utterance to such 

 varied cries as would baffle a mocking-bird. 



How rudely, sometimes, our dreams of bliss are dis- 

 pelled ! The time came for me to descend, and I discov- 

 ered that my limbs had rebelled against their long con- 

 finement in a cramped position. I was very wide awake, 

 but they had gone to sleep, nor would they be awakened. 

 Clinging with my arms to the stout brandies, I kicked 

 at the outer air, and then for a moment, though it seemed 

 an hour, could not withdraw my legs to a more substan- 

 tial footing. Here was a veritable thorn clinging to my 

 pet rose, and one not easily got rid of. I as nearly lost 

 my life as I care to, and will not ignore my legs in the 

 future when I go a-climbing. So a word of advice. 

 However comfortable you may be, whether in a tree-top 

 or the laziest of rests aground, secure your comfort, if 

 not safety, by occasionally shifting your limbs. 



Scarcely had I reached my boat, when the dainty sand- 

 piper returned. It is larger than the common speckled- 

 breasted " teeter," as it is usually called, of more slender 

 build and darker plumage. 



The bird before me, which for quite insufficient rea- 

 son is often called the "solitary," and by some the 

 "wood-tattler" a much better name comes early or 



