Rain cam at last', and fell continuously during 

 an entire night. Next morning (February 14th) 

 when I went out and looked up at the sky, covered 

 with gray hurrying clouds, I saw a flock of forty 

 or fifty large swallows speeding north ; and after 

 these I saw no more ; for on that first wet morn- 

 ing, before I had risen, the purple cloud had for- 

 saken the valley. 



I missed them greatly, and wished that they 

 had delayed their going, since it was easier and 

 more hopeful to ponder on the mystery of their 

 instinct when they were with me. That break in 

 the tenor of their lives; the enforced change of 

 habits ; the conflict between two opposite emotions 

 the ties of place that held them back, seen and 

 guessed in their actions, and the voice that called 

 them away, speaking ever more imperatively, 

 which so wrought in them that at moments they 

 were beside themselves noting all this, hearing 

 and seeing it at all hours of the day, I seemed to 

 be nearer to the discovery of some hidden truth 

 than when they were no longer in sight. But now 

 they were gone, and with their departure had van- 

 ished my last excuse for resting longer inactive 

 at that spot, at all events. 



I started afresh on my up-river journey, and 

 paid a long visit to an English estancia about 

 sixty miles from the town. I spent much of my 

 time there in solitary rambles, tasting once more 

 of the "sweet and bitter cup of wild Nature." 

 Her color was gray, her mood pensive as winter 



