184 RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. 



" mucky meadow," there remains a clump of large maples, 

 pin-oaks and birches, which have somehow been spared 

 by the former owners of the land. They are mine now 

 and are safe. This out-of-the-way corner is a whole libra- 

 ry of natural history to him who knows how to read it 

 through. I do not believe I ever can do so, but I have 

 made some progress, and this is what I have learned. 



Where the ancient creek makes an abrupt turn to the 

 east, and where now the mucky meadow begins, stand 

 these maples and oaks. Perhaps they are not very old, 

 but doubtless their ancestors stood there before them ; and 

 in the hollows of those earlier trees the forefathers of the 

 owls that are now here, lived, and hooted and screamed 

 in the ears of the superstitious Indians, who trapped the 

 otters and beavers that then abounded in these waters. 



The mucky meadow itself has both a geological and 

 an archaeological history, full of interest ; but these are 

 subjects upon which I can not dwell at this time, my only 

 object being to call attention to its many merits in an 

 ornithological point of view. 



It is here, at the first intimation of the coming spring, 

 that the red-winged blackbirds congregate and fill the 

 air with their delightful music. It is here, in mid-sum- 

 mer, that the swamp-sparrow loves to dwell, and vies 

 with the marsh-wrens in enlivening the rank growth of 

 aquatic grasses. It is here that the little soras or rail- 

 birds congregate, and thread their way through the dense 

 growth that mats the meadow. It is here that, in early 

 autumn, the bob-o-links, in russet dress, swing from the 

 tall reeds and repeat in mournful monotone their tire- 

 some "chink" "chink." Let us pass these by and 

 wait until October. With the first white frost there 

 comes a change in the foliage. If the summer has been 

 wet (very rarely the case of late years) the leaves will 



