A SUMMER AT HOME. 237 



in that brief time. How rapidly, for instance, we 

 thought. Once a thing of the past, I ran out of doors, in 

 hopes of a repetition of the phenomenon, so as to have 

 a more satisfactory experience of the sensation which a 

 mild earthquake produces ; but no second quaking oc- 

 curred. Going to the meadows, I found no water 

 spilled from the ditches, and the happy-go-lucky fishes 

 were moving about as unconcernedly as ever. 



After it had been thoroughly discussed, we all con- 

 cluded it was as much of an earthquake as we cared to 

 experience, and unlike John Gilpin, if another occurs, 

 may we not be there to see. 



August 12. — Again, this morning, I heard the charm- 

 ing whistling of the upland plover. The birds were 

 high overhead and flying westward, as usual. It is 

 curious that I never see them flying eastward, and, as 

 they must necessarily come and go across the state, why 

 should they be silent on their eastward trips ; do they 

 pass over in that direction only at night ? 



When pasturing sheep was much more usual than 

 now, the golden plover was, during this month, a com- 

 mon bird on our closely cropped fields. They were sure 

 to be found where the sheep were grazing, and it was 

 often sorely vexatious to the gunner that, manoeuvre as 

 he would, he could get no shots, on account of the prox- 

 imity of the sheep. The plover, if flushed at all, would 

 skim the ground, about as high as a sheep's back, and 

 twist in and out among them, until beyond range, when 

 away they would go, with a shrill whistling laugh of 

 defiance. 



