ODORS OF AUGUST. 37 



left for me only the fox squirrel and few of 

 them do I find. 



The odors arising from the valley on these 

 cool moist August morns are almost as sweet 

 as those given forth from the earth mold when 

 before the breath of the south wind its shroud 

 of snow melts in March or early April. Up 

 they come, that of peppermint, of everlasting, 

 of pennyroyal, of fully ripened blue-grass 

 stems, of half decayed oaken bark, of a double 

 score of other things, all meeting, mingling and 

 forming a potpourri of fragrance which my 

 nostrils feast upon. Of the five senses the nat- 

 uralist while in the open gains through sight 

 most pleasure; then through hearing, smelling, 

 tasting and touching in the order named. 

 Thanks. to the fates which rule over my des- 

 tiny my sense of smell is yet as good as ever, 

 however dimmed my eye or dulled my sense of 

 hearing. 



In passing by the cuckoo's nest I note that 

 the young ones have begun to hatch. The 

 mother glowers at me more fiercely as I ap- 

 proach and when she flys, like a jack in a box 

 there pops up a big head attached by a slender 

 neck to a bigger body. A broad mouth opens 

 wide and gives forth a low chuckle of expecta- 

 tion, while the head wags to and fro once or 

 twice, then feebly falls. Blind, weak, yet damp 

 from the moisture of the mother egg, how help- 



