302 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS. 



following, likewise for the benefit of those who doubt 

 that certain fishes have voices : " The white perch of the 

 Ohio are noted for the musical sounds they make. The 

 sound is much like that produced by a silk thread placed 

 in a window where the wind blows across it." 



There is a gentle breeze that tiptoes by, an hour be- 

 fore sunrise, not rudely chilling animal or plant, but 

 softly rouses each from its slumber, kisses it "good- 

 morning," and is gone. It fanned my cheek as I passed 

 over the meadow, hurrying to my boat. 



As light a zephyr has rippled the waters at intervals 

 this afternoon, with no intimation of its coming until the 

 smooth surface was streaked with steel-blue bands that 

 noiselessly shot from shore to shore, and as silently dis- 

 appeared. I chanced in the path of one, and found it 

 laden with the sweet odor of ripening fox-grapes. 



The day closes. The shadows gather about the an- 

 cient bridge and soften its uncouth shapelessness until 

 it is but a cloud in the horizon. My pleasant outings 

 upon the creek are now but treasures of memory. "With 

 the perfumed breath of ripened summer, the song of a 

 dreaming bird, and the flush of the evening breeze to 

 cheer me, let me hurry away, 



"Nor cast one longing, lingering look behind." 



