88 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS. 



my farmer-neighbors upon this bird, in its relation to 

 the weather, are very funny. If by chance night-hawks 

 are seen early in the afternoon, the farmer will smiling- 

 ly rub the palms of his hands together and exclaim, 

 " fine weather, fine weather ;" but if too busy to observe 

 them until evening, then the lower flight of the birds is 

 marked with a troubled countenance, and it is peevishly 

 announced that it will soon rain. A more worthless 

 barometer than a night-hawk it is difficult to imagine ; 

 yet two centuries of experience with them has not les- 

 sened the faith of the illogical farmers. 



The flying ants soon proved more troublesome than 

 mosquitoes, as they covered my hat and shoulders, and 

 commenced crawling over me in a most annoying man- 

 ner. I hurried away, and recklessly brushed them from 

 me with my bundle of botanical specimens, to the ruin- 

 ation of the latter, and, I was glad to find, destruction 

 of the former. Once free, I walked with great haste 

 towards home, fearing further delays, and recalled an 

 exodus of winged ants I had observed with some care 

 years ago. 



Late in the afternoon of October 6, 1872, my atten- 

 tion was called to a great multitude of large-sized insects 

 that filled the air, and appeared to be some unusual form 

 of insect life, judging of them from a distance. Closer 

 inspection showed them to be a brood of red ants that 

 had just emerged from their underground home and 

 were now for the first time using their delicate wings. 

 The sky at the time was wholly overcast; the wind 

 strong south-east ; thermometer 66° Fahr. Taking a fa- 



