ss my appreciation of tate t

    I perceived clearly t it o the cow, and

    t lengticulation of Nature.

    Regularly at  seven, in one part of ter

    train ed their

    vespers for ting on a stump by my door, or upon the

    ridge-pole of to sing almost h as

    muces of a particular time,

    referred to tting of the sun, every evening.  I had a rare

    opportunity to become acquainted s.  Sometimes I

    once in different parts of the wood, by

    accident one a bar be I

    distinguis only ter eace, but often t

    singular buzzing sound like a fly in a spiders web, only

    proportionally louder.  Sometimes one would circle round and round

    me in t distant as if tetring, when

    probably I s eggs.  t intervals t the

    nig before and about dawn.

    ill, take up train,

    like mourning  u-lu-lu.  their dismal scream is

    truly Ben Jonsonian.  ise midnig is no  and blunt

    tu-u-,  jesting, a most solemn

    graveyard ditty, tual consolations of suicide lovers

    remembering ts of supernal love in the

    infernal groves.  Yet I love to heir doleful

    responses, trilled along times of

    music and singing birds; as if it earful side of

    music, ts and sig he

    spirits, ts and melancholy forebodings, of fallen souls

    t once in -he deeds of

    darkness, noing their wailing hymns or

    transgressions.  they give me a

    ney and capacity of t nature which