The Hancock Jeffersonian. [volume] (Findlay, Ohio) 1857-1870, 1857-08-07
The First Summer Letter.

lhe earth is fllled with heat, ana the
whole heaven is hot! The morning
greedily drinks mp the dew. The
plump stems, by noon, lose their tense
ness, and wilt down. The after.
noon rides over the subdued flowers.
We all seek the shade, and hold our
opel nccks to the winds, meanwhile
greatly admiring the insects on every
side, that grow more nimble with ev-
cry degree Of heat. With the ther-
momoter at 60 deg, flies are quite
sedate and thoughtful, at rs deg,
they grow gay and musical; but at S5
or 80 deg, they become wild with
excitement, and wlirl and dance
through the quivering air as if heat
was wine to them.
But we have taken to ourselves the
friendship Of mountains, and made
league with them against the sum-
mer fervor. They lift mp their groat
orb as a shield against the morning
sun, and when, turning their flank,
the sun comes down from the south,
they breath forth cool wind from
their hidden palaces, and we defy the
heat!
Every summer has its own por.
trait and peculiar individualism.--
This summer has brought around us
multitudes of birds beyond any for
mer ono. We are living in pleas
ant old house, around which fruit
trees have gro wn in which birds have
bred and lived unmolested from year
to year. 1t is but dozen wing: beats
from the house to the mountain
woods. Nothing can please med
ditative bird better than to have do
mestic scenes on one side, and the
seclusion OF the wilderness on the
other. A bird loves a kind Of shy
familiarity. Here we have a garden
door yard, an orchard, barn
grouped together--and then, on the
other hand the young forests ofscoop-
ed mountain side. So the birds
come down here for fnn, aud 90 NJ
there for reflection. This is theii
world; that is their cathedral. no.
tice that they are fond of congrega
tional singing; not only, but every
one sings his own tune, in his own
time, and to his own words. New
ertheless their singing sounds well
They begin when the stars fade il
the morning, and not an hour til
star.tme again do they leave un'
tremulous with music. The sweet
est OF them all is the song-sparrov
or song. finch; and it is most numer
Gus and most constant in its music
Two or three pairs seem to hav
nests in the yard, and apparent,
many ncighbors come to visit an
have q chat with them over q socia
worm.
, The Bobolink has ceased his song
This fantastic fellow only sings du
ring his love season. Then he take
to the duties Of life with great sobri
ETY.. He goes through his season
!, and flies off to the South to be ric
! bird. The song OF this bird sound
! to me as if they were trying to lang
> and sing at the same time. Thei
+, song is in snstches, like an old har
! per's preliminary touches before h
sounds forth the real tune; only the
: are always preluding, and neve
| come to the real subject IN after -
= Then we have gold finches or yellow
3 birds the egotistc 'phebes, that s
and call their own name for amust
!, ment; the pert AMI springy wrer
barn.swallows, and martins, robin
9 larks, and at night whippowills.-
8 Blessed be the whippowill til,
opens up 30 many volumes in I'll
;, mind and sets one thinking backwal
9 it, as | did, one ever heard the
Il in their youth, waking in the moor
+ light chamber to hear them sour
:. their notes, bold and plaintiff, upo
" the rock that stood in the edge of Il
= wheatfield! From that day to th
e the whippowill has had the luck
J. gather around him fond association
l. How little he knows, as he sings, u
/ concious messenger, what he is sa
'e ing to me!
Unnamed binds there are, | kno
y noth many. But have my book
l. | shall find you ont, every one OF yo
'e whose names are there written; al
~ il there be anything worth impartil
le our readers shall have the bonc
II thereof. Henry Ward Bcecher.
III Earth.