144 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 



admonish them of the destruction of their close cover, they 

 find the necessity for migration before them, and sudden- 

 ly, in a night, they depart. Flight must seem a strange 

 faculty to them as they journey for many miles; and 

 when they return one would naturally expect to find them 

 flying rather than running from their foes ; but this is 

 seldom the case. Those that year after year summer in 

 the mucky meadow are practically wingless as apteryges. 

 Would, if the necessity of migration no longer continued, 

 the rail birds lose their flight power ? It is not improb- 

 able. So admirably adapted are they for living in their 

 wet and weedy haunts, and so averse are they now to leav- 

 ing them, that, through disuse, it is quite natural that 

 one or more powers should be lost. I do not think that 

 in the short journeys peculiarities of the season may 

 render necessary these birds always fly. When a sudden 

 rise in the river has occurred in summer, the rail birds 

 have been found running about the meadows adjoining 

 the marshes from which they have been driven ; and a 

 high freshet has sometimes forced them to the upland 

 fields. They seem never to wander farther than is neces- 

 sary from their chosen haunts, and return to them as soon 

 as the receding waters will permit. Such facts I have in- 

 terpreted as indicating a great indisposition to wander, and 

 particularly to fly to distant and more pleasant quarters. 



A June landscape is incomplete without water. Best 

 of all, the river ; but if not this, then a creek, a brook, or 

 even the quiet mill-pond. However pleasant the day may 

 be, the breeze cool, the blossoms bright, the shade dense, 

 the sunshine tempered, there still is something wanting. 

 The world has an unfinished look when there is no water 

 in view, and wild life is largely of the same opinion. I 

 have often found many an upland field almost deserted 

 when the meadows and the river bank were crowded. 



