I learn that one farmer, seeing me standing a long time still in the midst of a pool (I was watching for hylodes), said that it was his father, who had been drinking some of Pat Haggerty’s rum, and had lost his way home. So, setting out to lead him home, he discovered that it was I . . .

  See a white-throated sparrow by Cheney’s wall, the stout, chubby bird. After sundown. By riverside.—The frogs and toads are now fairly awake . . .