JULY 



And now I see an army of skaters advancing in 

 loose array, chasseurs or scouts, as Indian allies 

 are drawn in old books. Now the rays of the sun 

 have reached my seat, a few feet above the water. 

 Flies begin to buzz, mosquitoes to be less trouble- 

 some. . . . The birds begin to sing generally, and 

 if not loudest, at least most noticeably on account 

 of the quietness of the hour, a few minutes before 

 sunrise. They do not sing so incessantly and ear- 

 nestly, as a regular thing, half an hour later. 



THOEEAU: Summer. 



8 



One of the nighthawk's eggs is hatched. The 

 young is unlike any that I have seen, exactly like 

 a pinch of rabbit's fur, or down of that color, 

 dropped on the ground, not two inches long, with 

 a dimpling, somewhat regular arrangement of mi- 

 nute feathers in the middle, destined to become the 

 wings and tail. Yet it even half opened its eye, 

 and peeped, if I mistake not. Was ever bird more 

 completely protected, both by the color of its eggs 

 and of its own body that sits on them, and of the 

 young bird just hatched ? . . . There was one egg 

 still, and by the side of it this little pinch of down 

 flattened out and not observed at first. 



THOKBAU: Summer. 



