222 UPLAND AND MEADOW. 



always came on the 2l8t, they kept themselves hidden 

 for a few days. It is quite certain that those who live 

 alonjr the sea-shore are as a rule far better observers of 

 animal life than the benighted inland folk ; and as they 

 are positive of the fish-hawk's regular habits, let no in- 

 lander dare dispute it. 



July 24. — Among the fruit-trees in the garden sat an 

 indigo-bird that sang sweetly for a long time; but in 

 spite of the shower of last evening, it seemed to have in 

 its throat the dust of the past desiccated week. 



How quickly our pleasant places might be converted 

 into deserts, were rain withheld, is to be realized in sum- 

 mer when a dry week occurs. Nature does not store 

 up a reserve supply of moisture, to provide against 

 drought, and vegetation, in particular, suffers first and 

 most. The leaves, of late, have rattled as I touched 

 them ; but now their May-day elasticity has come back, 

 thanks to the passing shower. 



A nest of white-eyed greenlets has been in sight, but 

 out of reach, for a week past, and to-night I determined 

 to see the contents. Young birds, by this time, of 

 course, and ready to fly, perhaps. After a scramble 

 through briers and some climbing, I got a view of the 

 nest from above. The contents, a young cowpen-bird. 

 I removed it, out of spite, and sat the shivering chick 

 on the top rail of the fence. The silly greenlets scolded, 

 instead of thanking me, and fed the fraud with as much 

 care as though it had not murdered their own offspring. 



It is strange that these birds should be so intelligent 



