253 UPLAND AND MEADOW. 



it to take the place of the original limb. If experimen- 

 tation in this direction conld be kept up for a century 

 or two, I doubt not but that, at least, a race of tailless 

 terrestrial salamanders could be produced. 



A student of nature needs good ears as well as eyes; 

 and when, after long practice, he can identify the in- 

 numerable sounds that he hears — name to himself the 

 owner of every voice — he has acquired the faculty sec- 

 ond only in importance to sight, in thoroughly enjoying 

 a country ramble. To-day, September 21, autumn really 

 begins, and as I entered the woods the first bird-notes 

 heard were those of a characteristic winter songster, 

 the crested tit. Then the complaint of the nuthatches 

 sounded among the hickories. This, the meagre list ; 

 but the day was hot, dry, and dusty, as have been each 

 of the twenty days before it. A third bird-note would 

 have been remarked upon by many — a most monotonous 

 chirp or squeak — but it was, in fact, the alarm-cry of a 

 chipmunk, that, watching every movement, uttered its 

 quickly repeated warning a dozen times to every rod I 

 progressed. The cries of small mammals have not re- 

 ceived the attention of naturalists as they should have 

 done. My attention was recently called to this in watch- 

 ing a pair of meadow-mice. Now, when one of these 

 lazy creatures is picked up it will give only a faint 

 squeak, that, in all probability, you will not notice. But 

 the pair I have mentioned proved that they can speak 

 loudly when occasion requires. They were busily en- 

 gaged among the dead leaves, nibbling at some particle 

 of food, I thought at the time. Presently one of them 



