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Updated: May 15, 2025
He cast once more, and met his last strike, a heavy jar that broke the weakened line, in a broad, still expanse where white moths fluttered above the water in a cold, stagnant gloom. He saw the rotting wall of a primitive dam, the crumbling, fallen sides of a rude mill. Night fell augustly. The whippoorwills cried faint and distant.
Whippoorwills leave the neighboring boughs and retire to the heart of the woodlands; and robins and bluebirds, and thrushes and sparrows, in a grand hallelujah chorus, salute the sun on his flaming way. The howl of the wolf ceases; the voice of the water-fowl swells softly and sadly from the lake; and the cowbell's chime, and house-dog's bark, make harmony in the general song of Nature.
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