THE WHIP-POOR-WILL. | 3” 
following morning avoided. The earth continued 
to heave before the wind, the birds to fly hither 
and thither, while the doctor was mindful of the 
gallipots in his store-room. 
In the bewilderment of his distress, forgetful 
of closing the door, spreading out his arms, jump- 
ing before his glass cases, and pushing back the 
falling jars, he assisted the catastrophe with so 
much success, that, before the shock was over, 
all his possessions were lost. The ladies, con- 
scious at length of their dishabille, and intimi- 
dated now from a different motive, fled in dismay 
to their several apartments. 
In the mountains, or more sterile portions of 
the Union, as in the open Barrens of Kentucky, 
it is that the curious note of the whip-poor-will 
is heard. It is seldom seen during the day, when 
it seeks some shady spot for its slumbers, hav- 
ing for a couch, generally, the low branches of 
trees and shrubs. Commencing its labours with 
the disappearance of the sun, it then passes over 
the bushes, sweeps repeatedly in different direc- 
tions over the fields, and skims the skirts of 
forests, alighting occasionally on the ground, to 
secure insects as its prey. Its flight is low, light, 
and swift. So noiseless is the motion of its wings, 
as to be inaudible by a person, even within a few 
feet of it,—it is recognized in the darkness only 
by the low murmuring sound it utters, and the 
4 
