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  The common light-sheathed Scirpus Eriophorum still . . . (Journal, 11:142).

  The farmer is obliged to hide his melon-patch in the midst of his coat or potatoes, far away. I sometimes stutnhlc on it as I tern going across lots. I see one today where the watermelons are intermixed with carrots in a carrot-bed, and so concealed by the general resemblence of leaf, etc., at a little distance . . .

    ‘swinging slow with sullen roar,’

had ‘Left the vale to solitude and me,’ and the very air scarcely dared breathe, lest it should disturb the universal calm. Then did I use, with eyes upturned to gaze upon the clouds, and, allowing my imagination to wander, search for flaws in their rich drapery, that I might get a peep at that world beyond, which they seem intended to veil from our view. Now is my attention engaged by a truant hawk, as, like a messenger from those ethereal regions, he issues from the bosom of a cloud, and, at first a mere speck in the distance, comes circling onward, exploring every seeming creek, and rounding every jutting precipice. And now, his mission ended, what can be more majestic than his stately flight, as he wheels around some towering pine, enveloped in a cloud of smaller birds that have united to expel him from their premises.

  Some of the boys had been up ringing the Academy bell.