220 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS. 



had wooed the birds of the neighborhood to rest there- 

 in, until now their dream-songs floated creekward, and 

 blended with the ceaseless hum and rattle of the tireless 

 crickets. Before me the never -resting current of the 

 stream glittered in the moonlight, and the vast marshy 

 meadow beyond was a wilderness of weeds teeming 

 with noisy life. From the tall trees upon the bluff there 

 came a troop of noisy herons, that after circling high 

 overhead and sailing far over the meadows, returned to 

 the shallows of the creek, and ranged themselves in con- 

 venient shadows in wait for fish. Would it not be worth 

 the labor to watch them through the night ? 



From the rippling waters there leaped many a fish ; 

 even what I took to be a sturgeon plashed and rolled over 

 the sand-bar, to the terror of all smaller fry, as their bod- 

 ies glancing in the moonlight proved. Every projecting 

 stick supported its full complement of turtles. Musk- 

 rats crossed and recrossed the creek, leaving long lines 

 of silvery bubbles in their wakes. The whippoorwills 

 were holding high carnival on every prostrate tree in 

 the woods, and over all there fell a shower of uncertain 

 light as the myriads of fire-flies were wafted hither and 

 yon by every passing breeze. Would it not be worth 

 the while to watch all these even until dawn ? 



Now, I have always contended that animals of all 

 kinds were unreliable weather prophets, and not a creat- 

 ure of the many that were abroad to-night but expected 

 to remain. Why not ? There was no indication of any 

 change in the weather, and be it man or insect, all was 

 favorable for an outing, with no other shelter than the 

 starry sky. Would that I possessed a pocket aneroid, 



