94 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST. 



more rustling to the winds and to the leaping motions 

 of the sqairrel. Small tortoises may be seen basking 

 in the sunshine, upon tlie logs that extend into the 

 ditches, and as we draw near, we see their glistening 

 armor, as with awkward haste they plunge into the 

 water. The ices which had accumulated on the flats 

 of the sea-shore, have entirely disappeared ; and the 

 little fishes, that congregate about the edges of the salt- 

 water creeks, already make a tremulous motion of the 

 waters, as upon our sudden approach, they dart away 

 from the shallows into the deeper sea. 



The sun has sunk below the belt of the horizon. 

 The wind is still, and the countless lakes that cover the 

 meadows which will soon be waving with grass, reflect 

 from their mirrored surfaces a perfect image of every 

 bird and cloud that floats above them. The bright- 

 eyed evening star now shines alone. The lowing of 

 cattle is heard only at intervals from the farm yards ; 

 and the occasional sound of distant bells is borne 

 softly in the hush of day's decline. The birds are 

 silent in the woods, save now and then a solitary one, 

 that greeted perhaps by a lingering sunbeam, reflected 

 from a radiant cloud, will sing a few twittering notes 

 of welcome. But nature is not silent. The notes of 

 a countless myriad of little piping musicians, rise in a 

 delightfully swelling chorus, from every lake and stream, 

 now loudening with an increased multitude of voices, 

 then gradually dying away into a momentary silence. 

 These sounds are the charm of an April evening, and 

 in my early days I used to listen to them with more 

 pleasure than to the sweetest strains of music, as pro- 

 phetic of the reviving beauties of nature. And now, 

 when the first few piping notes fall upon my ear, my 



