82 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS. 



Again afloat, I took a long, last look, and while the 

 beauty of the bloom upon its shores, and the crowded, 

 branch-locked towering trees above were being scruti- 

 nized, in hopes of some novelty I had failed to see, the 

 cars came rumbling over the high bridge. It was a 

 strange combination of the natural and artificial, which 

 on the whole was far from pleasing, yet was not barren 

 of fruit for the contemplative rambler. The cars dis- 

 turbed a number of swallows, which had been resting 

 on the timbers of the trestle, and until now had made 

 no sound, and been quite unsuspected. Certainly for 

 two hours a hundred swallows of two species had been 

 sitting still, neither flying at short intervals nor twitter- 

 ing above a whisper. I have seen something akin to 

 this, later in the month, when telegraph - wires would 

 be lined with these birds, but then they were more or 

 less restless and twittered continually. I could not but 

 think how unsafe it is to declare such and such a creat- 

 ure wanting in any locality, where it rightfully belongs, 

 because we do not happen to see it. 



The day was drawing to a close as I left "Watson's 

 Crossing fairly behind me and floated leisurely with the 

 tide for half a mile, until timber-land was again reached, 

 The intervening open tract is all a pasture meadow, 

 well in grass, but not to the exclusion of many flowers. 

 Purple and yellow, of course ; it is almost in vain to look 

 for other colors. Here where cows were grazing grew 

 rank vervain, with its tapering purple spires, that im- 

 parted a Tyrian hue over all the landscape ; and it was 

 a positive relief to reach a drooping willow — although 

 an exotic — a broad -leaved catalpa, or tropical sumac. 



