The Wood Thrush's Liquid Notes 
stalked leaves and blunt, short heads of bloom. In sum¬ 
mer the spearmint sends up its gracefully tapering spires 
of pale purple blossoms which are bunched in numerous 
separated clusters along the axis of the spike—a pretty 
sight that many overlook. It is said that mice have a parti¬ 
cular dislike for the smell of mint, and that a handful 
of the leaves thrown in a mouse-infested closet will drive 
the little pests away. 
June 2. —I find it*profitable at times to vary my coun¬ 
try rambles by sitting on a log by the pathside and sim¬ 
ply being still. My coming causes some consternation 
among the various small deer whose lives are laid in these 
pleasant wild places, and for a few minutes they will be 
shy of me, but by and by, when stillness has merged me 
into their permanent landscape, the play is on again. 
Robin runs and struts about the ground, showing off his 
spring vest and tilting his yellow beak in the sunlight; a 
wood wren flies in from the outer air carrying an unlucky 
worm, and, perching upon the fence, has luncheon, wip¬ 
ing her bill upon the rail when it is over. There a chip¬ 
munk sits and scolds, and here, leisurely loping, comes 
Br’er Rabbit, stopping now and then to enjoy the view 
till his bright eye lights on me, then if I move but a 
finger he is off through the brush, his white ball of a tail 
shining for a moment like a cotton meteor and is lost to 
sight. 
The wood thrush’s liquid notes dropping meditatively 
from above, the drowsy hum of foraging bees, the wood¬ 
pecker’s steady rat-tat-tat as he makes a xylophone of a 
distant tree, are like lullabies, and I am about dozing off, 
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