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Rh instance, which avoids Louisiana, and yet passes farther to the southward every autumn. Other cases of the same kind might be named. A well-authenticated story is also told by Mr. Wilson of a wild goose which had been tamed on Long Island, but the following spring flew away to join a passing flock on its way to the northward. The succeeding autumn, as the farmer was standing in his barn-yard, he observed a flock of wild geese on the wing; one of these left the flock and alighted near him, proving to be his old pet. Now, the party which the goose joined was probably the same as that with which she returned, and here they were passing directly over the same farm, going and coming.

The flocks that pass over our own little lake note it, perhaps, as the last in the long line of inland waters, the thousand lakes of all sizes passed on their way from the arctic seas. There is no sheet of fresh water of any size to the southward and eastward of our own. Possibly, the celebrated canvas-backs pass us every year on their way to the Chesapeake, for the mouth of our own river is favorite ground with those celebrated birds. Very few of the canvas-backs remain in this State; only a very small number are seen occasionally in the Hudson.

Saturday, 28th.—The woods are fading fast, losing their leaves rapidly. Here and there, however, we yet see a birch or aspen, perhaps on the lake shore, perhaps on the mountain-side, still vividly yellow. Seen thus amid the dull and dreary woods, they look like forgotten torches, burning among the wrecks of past revels.

Monday, 30th.—Mild, gray day; air soft and spring-like. Toward evening walked to the glen, along the Green Brook. Met