left the low country; the plains lie beneath us; we touch at least upon the borders of the “everlasting hills.”
Saturday, 12th.—Thermometer 87. The birds seem to mind the heat but little. True, the full gush of summer song is over, and the change is decided from May and June; but many of the little creatures sing very sweetly yet. A wren gave us this morning as fine a song as one could wish for, and all his family sing yet. The song-sparrows also are in voice, and so are the greenlets. The goldfinches also sing; we heard one this afternoon as musical as in May; generally, however, their note differs at present from what it was earlier in the season. Their families are now mostly at large, and one sees the birds moving idly about, as if no longer thinking of the nest. At this moment their flight is more irregular than at first; they rise and they drop carelessly with closed wings, moving hither and thither, often changing their course capriciously, and while in motion, they repeat over and over again a series of four notes, with the emphasis on the first. In short, many of our little friends are seen about the fields and gardens yet, and the country is by no means silent, though the most musical season is over. Perhaps one enjoys these occasional songs all the more from their being heard singly, having become more of a favor than in June. But certainly August is not the voiceless month some people seem to fancy it.
Monday, 14th.—Very warm. Thermometer 83 in the shade. It is not often that this valley suffers so much from drought; the last month has been unusually dry. This morning a few light clouds were seen about sunrise, and they were anxiously watched, with the hope of a shower; but as the sun rose, they melted away.
There is no walking out of the woods, and even in the shade of
