In Apathetic August 43 



As it proves, life has simply been turned 

 into a new channel, and I have been wan- 

 dering up and down the dry bed of the 

 spring-tide river. April and August are as 

 far apart as the poles. These dreamy, lazy, 

 apathetic August days are far more so in 

 name than in faft ; the trouble is with our- 

 selves. 



Following in the wake of the departing 

 blackbirds, I hurry, aftually hurry, to the 

 meadows. What though the catbirds enter 

 a complaint ! They must be patient at the 

 intrusion, even as I am sometimes when 

 dull neighbors call. There is room enough 

 for them and myself, but they will not think 

 sp. In this respeft man has a good deal of 

 the catbird nature. I followed the black- 

 birds in a general way over the pastures and 

 through many a tangle of fruit-laden black- 

 berries. It was not necessary there should 

 be a goal. The novelty of August activity 

 was a sufficient incentive. When I came to 

 a stand-still in the shade of an old sassafras, 

 I found a red-eyed vireo quite excited over 

 my presence, and a short search showed me 

 that its nest was not yet empty. The poor 

 bird's babies overfilled the nest, and in a few 



