A HALF-HOUR IN A MARSH 



THERE are little realms all around of which 

 many of us know nothing. Take, for 

 example, some marsh within a half -hour's trolley 

 ride of any of our cities or towns. Select one 

 where cat-tails and reeds abound. Mosquitoes 

 and fear of malaria keep these places free from 

 invasion by humankind; but if we select some 

 windy day we may laugh them both to scorn, and 

 we shall be well repaid for our trip. The birds 

 frequenting these places are so seldom disturbed 

 that they make only slight effort to conceal their 

 nests, and we shall find plenty of the beautiful 

 bird cradles rocking with every passing breeze. 



A windy day will also reveal an interesting 

 feature of the marsh. The soft, velvety grass, 

 which abounds in such places, is so pliant and 

 yielding that it responds to every breath, and each 

 approaching wave of air is heralded by an advanc- 

 ing curl of the grass. At our feet these grass- 

 waves intersect and recede, giving a weird sensa- 

 tion, as if the ground were moving, or as if we 

 were walking on the water itself. Where the 

 grass is longer, the record of some furious gale is 

 permanently fixed — swaths and ripples seeming 

 to roll onward, or to break into green foam. The 

 simile of a "painted ocean" is perfectly carried 



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