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diff --git a/old/55805-0.txt b/old/55805-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 85a2190..0000000 --- a/old/55805-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,4516 +0,0 @@ -Project Gutenberg's Travels in a Tree-top, by Charles Conrad Abbott - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: Travels in a Tree-top - -Author: Charles Conrad Abbott - -Release Date: October 24, 2017 [EBook #55805] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TRAVELS IN A TREE-TOP *** - - - - -Produced by KD Weeks, ellinora and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive) - - - - - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - Transcriber’s Note: - -This version of the text cannot represent certain typographical effects. -Italics are delimited with the ‘_’ character as _italic_. - -The several full-page illustrations have been repositioned slightly to -avoid falling in mid-paragraph. The captions appeared on a separate -page. These illustrations were not included in the pagination. Multiple -unnumbered blank pages associated with them have been removed. - -Minor errors, attributable to the printer, have been corrected. Please -see the transcriber’s note at the end of this text for details. - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - - --------------------------------------------------------- - - BY CHARLES CONRAD ABBOTT - - --------------------------------------------------------- - - THE FREEDOM OF THE FIELDS. With Frontispiece by Alice - Barber Stephens, and three photogravures. Buckram, - ornamental, $1.50 - - TRAVELS IN A TREE-TOP. With Frontispiece by Alice - Barber Stephens, and three photogravures. Buckram, - ornamental, $1.50 - - _Abbott’s Fireside and Forest Library_ - - THE FREEDOM OF THE FIELDS AND TRAVELS IN A TREE-TOP. - Two volumes in a box. 12mo. Buckram, ornamental, - $3.00 - - RECENT RAMBLES; Or, In Touch with Nature. Illustrated. - 12mo. Cloth, $2.00 - - THE HERMIT OF NOTTINGHAM. A novel. 12mo. Cloth, - ornamental, $1.25 - - WHEN THE CENTURY WAS NEW. A novel. 12mo. Cloth, $1.00 - - A COLONIAL WOOING. A novel. 12mo. Cloth, $1.00 - - BIRD-LAND ECHOES. Profusely illustrated by William - Everett Cram. Crown 8vo. Cloth, gilt top, $2.00 - - THE BIRDS ABOUT US. Illustrated. 12mo. Cloth, $2.00 - - _Abbott’s Bird Library._ - - THE BIRDS ABOUT US and BIRD-LAND ECHOES. Two volumes - in a box. 12mo. Cloth, gilt top, $4.00 - - - - - _TRAVELS IN - A TREE-TOP_ - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - -[Illustration: - - _An Old-fashioned Garden_ - By Alice Barber Stephens -] - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - TRAVELS IN - ⧫ ⧫ A ⧫ ⧫ - TREE-TOP BY - CHARLES C. ABBOTT - -[Illustration] - - J. B. LIPPINCOTT CO. - PHILADELPHIA 1898 - - - - - COPYRIGHT, 1894 AND 1897, - BY - J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY. - - - - - CONTENTS - - _Page_ - _Travels in a Tree-top_ 9 - _A Hunt for the Pyxie_ 61 - _The Coming of the Birds_ 71 - _The Building of the Nest_ 83 - _Corn-stalk Fiddles_ 97 - _The Old Kitchen Door_ 103 - _Up the Creek_ 109 - _A Winter-Night’s Outing_ 119 - _Wild Life in Water_ 125 - _An Old-fashioned Garden_ 133 - _An Indian Trail_ 147 - _A Pre-Columbian Dinner_ 155 - _A Day’s Digging_ 167 - _Drifting_ 173 - _Footprints_ 187 - _Bees and Buckwheat_ 195 - _Dead Leaves_ 203 - - - - - ILLUSTRATIONS - - _Page_ - _An Old-fashioned Garden_ Frontispiece - By Alice Barber Stephens - - _The Chesapeake Oak_ 22 - - _The Old Drawbridge, Crosswick’s 116 - Creek_ - - _The Camp-Fire_ 187 - -[Illustration] - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - CHAPTER FIRST - - _TRAVELS IN A TREE-TOP_ - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - -A pearly mist shut out the river, the meadows, and every field for -miles. I could not detect the ripple of the outgoing tide, and the -heartiest songster sent no cheerful cry above the wide-spreading and -low-lying cloud; but above all this silent, desolate, and seemingly -deserted outlook there was a wealth of sunshine and a canopy of -deep-blue sky. Here and there, as islands in a boundless sea, were the -leafy tops of a few tall trees, and these, I fancied, were tempting -regions to explore. Travels in a tree-top—surely, here we have a bit of -novelty in this worn-out world. - -Unless wholly wedded to the town, it is not cheering to think of the -surrounding country as worn out. It is but little more than two -centuries since the home-seeking folk of other lands came here to trick -or trade with the Indians, wild as the untamed world wherein they dwelt; -and now we look almost in vain for country as Nature fashioned it. Man -may make of a desert a pleasant place, but he also unmakes the forest -and bares the wooded hills until as naked and desolate as the fire-swept -ruins of his own construction. It is but a matter of a few thousand -cart-loads of the hill moved to one side, and the swamp that the farmer -dreads because it yields no dollars is obliterated. He has never -considered its wealth of suggestiveness. “A fig for the flowers and -vermin. I must plant more corn.” - -But here and there the tall trees are still standing, and their tops are -an untravelled country. I climbed an oak this cool midsummer morning; -clambered beyond the mists, which were rolling away as I seated myself -far above the ground, safe from intrusion, and resting trustfully on -yielding branches that moved so gently in the passing breeze that I -scarcely perceived their motion. - -How much depends upon our point of view! The woodland path may not be -charming if the undergrowth too closely shuts us in. In all we do, we -seek a wider vision than our arm’s length. There may be nothing better -beyond than at our feet, but we never believe it. It is as natural to -ask of the distant as of the future. They are closely akin. Here in the -tree-top my wants were supplied. I was only in the least important sense -cribbed, cabined, and confined. - -Wild life, as we call it, is very discriminating, and that part of it -which notices him at all looks upon man as a land animal; one that -gropes about the ground, and awkwardly at that, often stumbling and ever -making more noise than his progress calls for; but when perched in a -tree, as an arboreal creature, he is to be studied anew. So, at least, -thought the crows that very soon discovered my lofty quarters. How they -chattered and scolded! They dashed near, as if with their ebon wings to -cast a spell upon me, and, craning their glossy necks, spoke words of -warning. My indifference was exasperating at first, and then, as I did -not move, they concluded I was asleep, dead, or a dummy, like those in -the corn-fields. The loud expostulations gave place to subdued -chatterings, and they were about to leave without further investigation, -when, by the pressure of my foot, I snapped a dead twig. I will not -attempt description. Perhaps to this day the circumstance is discussed -in corvine circles. - -It is difficult to realize the freedom of flight. Twisting and turning -with perfect ease, adapting their bodies to every change of the fitful -wind, these crows did not use their wings with that incessant motion -that we need in using our limbs to walk, but floated, rose and fell, as -if shadows rather than ponderable bodies. Until we can fly, or, rather, -ride in flying-machines, we cannot hope to know much of this flight-life -of birds, and it is the better part of their lives. But it was something -to-day to be with even these crows in the air. Following their erratic -flight from such a point of view, I seemed to be flying. We are given at -times to wonder a great deal about birds, and they have equal reason to -constantly consider us. Who can say what these crows thought of me? All -I can offer to him who would solve the problem is that their curiosity -was unbounded, and this is much if their curiosity and ours are akin. Of -course they talked. Garner need not have gone to Africa to prove that -monkeys talk, and no one can question that crows utter more than mere -alarm-cries. - -A word more concerning crows. What so absurd, apparently, as this? - - “A single crow betokens sorrow, - Two betoken mirth, - Three predict a funeral, - And four a birth.” - -Yet it is a very common saying, being repeated whenever a few, or less -than five, fly over. It is repeated mechanically, of course, and then -forgotten, for no one seems to worry over one or three crows as they do -when a looking-glass breaks or the dropped fork sticks up in the floor. -Seems to worry, and yet I strongly suspect a trace of superstition -lingers in the mind of many a woman. Those who will not sit as one of -thirteen at a table are not dead yet. Can it be that all this weakness -is only more concealed than formerly, but none the less existent? - -I watched the departing crows until they were but mere specks in the -sky, and heard, or fancied I heard, their cawing when half a mile away. -It is ever a sweet sound to me. It means so much, recalls a long round -of jolly years; and what matters the quality of a sound if a merry heart -prompts its utterance? - -I was not the only occupant of the tree; there were hundreds of other -and more active travellers, who often stopped to think or converse with -their fellows and then hurried on. I refer to the great, shining, black -ants that have such a variety of meaningless nicknames. Its English -cousin is asserted to be ill-tempered, if not venomous, and both Chaucer -and Shakespeare refer to them as often mad and always treacherous. I saw -nothing of this to-day. They were ever on the go and always in a hurry. -They seemed not to dissociate me from the tree; perhaps thought me an -odd excrescence and of no importance. No one thinks of himself as such, -and I forced myself upon the attention of some of the hurrying throng. -It was easy to intercept them, and they grew quickly frantic; but their -fellows paid no attention to such as I held captive for the moment. I -had a small paper box with me, and this I stuck full of pin-holes on -every side and then put half a dozen of the ants in it. Holding it in -the line of the insects’ march, it immediately became a source of -wonderment, and every ant that came by stopped and parleyed with the -prisoners. A few returned earthward, and then a number came together, -but beyond this I could see nothing in the way of concerted action on -the part of the ants at large looking towards succoring their captive -fellows. Releasing them, these detained ants at once scattered in all -directions, and the incident was quickly forgotten. Where were these -ants going, and what was their purpose? I wondered. I was as near the -tree’s top as I dared to go, but the ants went on, apparently to the -very tips of the tiniest twigs, and not one that I saw came down laden -or passed up with any burden. It is not to be supposed they had no -purpose in so doing, but what? There is scarcely an hour when we are not -called upon to witness just such aimless activity,—that is, aimless so -far as we can determine. - -Nothing molested these huge black ants, although insect-eating birds -came and went continually. One lordly, great-crested fly-catcher eyed -them meditatively for some seconds, and then my identity suddenly dawned -upon him. His harsh voice, affected by fear, was more out of tune than -ever, and, coupled with his precipitant flight, was very amusing. The -bird fell off the tree, but quickly caught himself, and then, as usual, -curiosity overcame fear. Students of bird-ways should never forget this. -The fly-catcher soon took a stand wherefrom to observe me, and, if -intently staring at me for thirty seconds was not curiosity, what shall -we call it? Is it fair to explain away everything by calling it mere -coincidence? It is a common practice, and about as logical as the old -cry of “instinct” when I went to school. To have said, when I was a boy, -that a bird could think and could communicate ideas to another of its -kind, would have brought down ridicule upon my head out of school, and -brought down something more weighty if the idea had been expressed in a -“composition.” I speak from experience. - -To return to the cheerier subject of curiosity in birds: our large hawks -have it to a marked degree, and advantage can be taken of this fact if -you wish to trap them. I have found this particularly true in winter, -when there is a general covering of the ground with snow. Food, of -course, is not then quite so plenty, but this does not explain the -matter. An empty steel trap on the top of a hay-stack is quite as likely -to be tampered with as when baited with a mouse. The hawk will walk all -around it, and then put out one foot and touch it here and there. If we -can judge from the bird’s actions, the question, What is it, anyway? is -running through its mind. I once played a trick upon a splendid black -hawk that had been mousing over the fields for half the winter. It often -perched upon a stack of straw instead of the lone hickory near by. Early -one morning I placed a plump meadow-mouse on the very top of the stack, -to which I had attached a dozen long strands of bright-red woollen yarn -and a bladder that I had inflated. This was secured to the mouse by a -silk cord, and all were so concealed by the snow and straw that the hawk -noticed the mouse only. The bird was suspicious at first: it was too -unusual for a mouse not to move when a hawk hovered above it. Then the -bird alighted on the stack and walked about the mouse, pecking at it -once, but not touching it. Then putting out one foot, he seized it with -a firm grip, the talons passing through the carcass, and at the same -time spread his wings and moved slowly towards the lone hickory that -towered near by. I was near enough to see every movement. It was evident -that the hawk did not look down at first, and saw nothing of the -streaming threads and bobbing bladder; but it did a moment later, and -then what a quickening of wings and hasty mounting upward! The hawk was -frightened, and gave a violent jerk with one foot, as if to disengage -the mouse, but it was ineffectual. The sharp claws had too strong a -hold, and the effect was only to more violently bob the bladder. Then -the hawk screamed and dashed into the trees near by, and was out of -sight. - -A curious and disappointing occurrence, while sitting aloft, was the -frequent discovery of my presence by birds and their sudden right-about -movement and departure. Occasionally I could see them coming as if -directly towards me, but their keen eyes noticed the unusual object, and -they would dart off with a promptness that showed how completely at home -they were while on the wing. Even the bluebirds, usually so tame, had -their misgivings, and came to rest in other trees. But if the birds were -not always about and above me, there were many below, and the sweet song -of the wood-robin from the tangled underbrush seemed clearer and purer -than when sifted through a wilderness of leaves. - -It was not until noon that the wood and open fields became silent or -nearly so, for the red-eye came continually, and, whether insect-hunting -in the tree or on the wing, it seemed never to cease its singing, or -querulous cry, which more aptly describes its utterance. To hear this -sound throughout a long summer day is depressing, particularly if you -hear nothing else, for the steady hum of insect-life hardly passes for -sound. It was only when I listened for it that I was aware that millions -of tiny creatures were filling the air with a humming that varied only -as the light breeze carried it away or brought it nearer and clearer -than before. There is a vast difference between absolute and comparative -or apparent silence. The former is scarcely ever a condition of the open -country unless during a still, cold winter night, and never of one of -our ordinary woodland tracts. We do find it, however, in the cedar -swamps and pine-land, even during summer. I have often stood in “the -pines” of Southern New Jersey and tried to detect some sound other than -that of my own breathing, but in vain. Not a twig stirred. The dark -waters of the pools were motionless; even the scattered clouds above -were at rest. It was to be absolutely alone, as if the only living -creature upon earth. But ere long a gentle breeze would spring up, there -was a light and airy trembling of the pines, and the monotone of a -whispered sigh filled the forest. Even this was a relief, and what a joy -if some lonely bird passed by and even lisped of its presence! The -_dee-dee_ of a titmouse at such a time was sweeter music than the choral -service that heralds the coming of a bright June morning. - -At noon, the day being torrid, there was comparative silence, and yet as -I looked about me I saw ceaseless activity in a small way. The ants were -still journeying, and red admiral and yellow swallow-tailed butterflies -came near, and the latter even passed high overhead and mingled with the -chimney-swifts. Had I been on the ground, walking instead of waiting, I -should have sought some sheltered spot and rested, taking a hint from -much of the wild life I was watching. - - AT NOONTIDE. - - Where cluster oaks and runs the rapid brook, - Repose the jutting rocks beneath the ferns; - Here seeks the thrush his hidden leafy nook, - And wandering squirrel to his hole returns. - - Afar the steaming river slowly wends - Its tortuous way to mingle with the sea; - No cheerful voice its languid course attends; - The blight of silence rests upon the lea. - - Where the wide meadow spreads its wealth of weeds, - Where the rank harvest waves above the field, - The testy hornet in his anger speeds, - And stolid beetle bears his brazen shield. - - Give them the glowing, fiery world they love, - Give me the cool retreat beside the stream; - While sweeps the sun the noontide sky above, - Here would I linger with the birds and dream. - -[Illustration: _The Chesapeake Oak_] - -And now what of the tree itself? Here I have been the better part of a -long fore-noon, and scarcely given this fine young oak a thought. A -young oak, yet a good deal older than its burden; an oak that was an -acorn when the century was new, and now a sturdy growth full sixty feet -high, straight of stem to its undermost branches and shapely everywhere. -Such trees are not remarkable of themselves, though things of beauty, -but at times how suggestive! Think of pre-Columbian America; then there -were oaks to make men marvel. “There were giants in those days.” -Occasionally we meet with them even now. A year ago I camped on the -shore of Chesapeake Bay near an oak that measured eighteen feet six -inches in circumference four feet from the ground, and in St. Paul’s -church-yard, not a great way off, are five big oaks, one of which is -twenty feet around shoulder high from the roots. Such trees are very -old. The church-yard was enclosed two centuries ago, and these were big -trees then, and so older by far than any monument of white men on the -continent, except possible traces of the Norsemen. If a tree such as -this in which I have been sitting is full to overflowing with -suggestiveness, how much more so a noble patriarch like that upon the -bay shore! It is usually not easy to realize the dimensions of a huge -tree by merely looking at it, but this mammoth impressed one at first -sight. The branches were themselves great trees, and together cast a -circular patch of shade, at noon, three paces more than one hundred feet -across. As a tree in which to ramble none could have been better shaped. -The lowest branches were less than twenty feet from the ground, and -after reaching horizontally a long way, curved upward and again outward, -dividing finally into the leaf-bearing twigs. Course after course -continued in this way, the size decreasing gradually, and the whole -forming, as seen from a distance, a magnificent dome-shaped mass. -Comparisons with the tree’s surroundings were full of suggestiveness. -The ground immediately about was densely covered with rank ferns and the -acorn sprouts of one or two years’ growth. Yet, where they were, it -seemed but a smoothly-shaven lawn, so insignificant were they when seen -with the tree; and the sproutland beyond, which would otherwise have -been a wood, was absolutely insignificant. Yet, in truth, everything -here was on a grand scale. The ferns were tall, and to prove it I sat -upon the ground among them and so shut out all view of the great tree -and its surroundings. I spent many hours seated upon different branches -of this oak, and every one had features all its own. From those nearest -the ground I surveyed the bird-life in the thicket beneath, and was -entertained by a pair of nesting cardinal red-birds that came and went -as freely as if quite alone, and whistled cheerfully morning, noon, and -night. I fancied I made friends with these birds, for early one morning -the male bird came to camp, as if to inspect my nest, thinking I was not -up, and he expressed his favorable opinion in most glowing terms. A pair -of doves, too, had a nest in sight, and their melancholy cooing seemed -out of tune here, where Nature had done her work so well. Once, at -least, while I was there, the bald eagle came for a few moments, and, -big bird as he is, was not conspicuous, and had not a flash of sunlight -fallen upon his yellow beak and white head, I should not have been aware -of his presence, as he certainly was not of mine. What I took to be a -duck-hawk, a few days later, interested me much more. He was a splendid -bird, and tarried but a short time. The leaves so concealed him that I -was not sure, having no field-glass at the time, but do not think I was -mistaken. The eagle did not appear to disturb the fish-hawk’s temper in -the least, but the great hawk did, and he was much excited until the -bird disappeared in the steam and smoke that as a great cloud rested -above Baltimore. - -The birds of this retired spot may be divided into two classes,—those of -the oak and of the sproutland growths about it, and the birds of the -air, principally swallows, which hung over the tree as a trembling -cloud. Never were swallows more numerous, except when flocked prior to -migration. In the tree and bushes were always many birds, yet often they -were far from each other. This gave me an excellent idea of what a great -oak really is. Birds quite out of sight and hearing of each other were -resting on branches from the same trunk. Although the middle of July, -there was no lack of song, and second nesting of many familiar birds is, -I judge, more common in Maryland than in New Jersey. Of all the birds -that came, the little green herons were the most amusing. A pair -doubtless had a nest near by, or young that were not yet on the wing. -They walked sedately along the level branches, as a man might pace up -and down his study, buried in deep thought. I listened carefully for -some expression of content, but they made no sound except when they were -startled and flew off. I was much surprised to find the beach-birds -occasionally darting among the branches, and once a spotted sandpiper -rested a moment near me. These birds we associate with water and the -open country, although this species is less aquatic than its fellows. -They were always in sight from the door of my tent, and always an -earlier bird than I. I recall now standing upon the beach long before -sunrise, marking the promises of the coming day, as I interpreted them. -The fish-hawks were ahead of me; so, too, the little sand-pipers. Their -piping at this time was very clear and musical. It was a delightful -accompaniment to the rippling water. The dear old song-sparrows were -quiet, and I was very glad; but with the first flooding of the sea with -sunlight they all sang out, and the Chesapeake was afar off and I in the -home meadows on the Delaware. I prefer novelty when away. It is well to -utterly forget, at times, that which we most prize. What boots it to -stand on the hill-top, if your thoughts are forever in the lowlands? -Twice, from the branches of the old oak, I saw a splendid sunset, but -nothing equal to the sunrise of to-day. With many a matter of this life -the beginning is better than the end. We had a superb sunset last night. -The color was gorgeous, but it was plain and commonplace compared to the -sunrise of to-day. Perhaps no tint was really brighter in one case than -in the other, but my mind was. The sunset was too closely linked with -the death of the day; there was the idea of a grand finale before the -curtain drops, and this tends to dull enthusiasm. It is not so with -sunrise. It is all freshness,—a matter of birth, of beginning, of a new -trial of life,—and with so happy an entrance, the exit should be one of -gladness only; but there is no trace of pity in Nature. In awful -certainty the night cometh. - -I was not surprised at every visit to this tree to find some new form of -life resting on its branches. A beautiful garter-snake had reached a low -branch by climbing to it from a sapling that reached a little above it. -There was no break in the highway that led to its very summit. The grass -leaned upon ferns, these upon shrubs, these again upon saplings, and so -the tree was reached. Any creeping thing could have climbed just eighty -feet above the earth with far less danger than men encounter clambering -over hills. - -And not only a zoological garden was this and is every other old tree, -but the oak had its botanic garden as well. When we consider that many -of the branches were so wide and level that one could walk upon them, it -is not strange that earth, dead leaves, and water should lodge in many -places. Indeed, besides the two gardens I have mentioned, the oak had -also an aquarium. But I cannot go into particulars. The parasitic -plant-life—not truly such, like the mistletoe—was a striking feature. -Maple seeds had lodged and sprouted, and in a saucer-shaped depression -where dust and water had lodged a starved hawkweed had got so far -towards maturity as to be in bud. - - * * * * * - -It may appear as utter foolishness to others, but I believe that trees -might in time become tiresome. Whether in leaf or bare of foliage, there -is a fixedness that palls at last. We are given to looking from the tree -to the world beyond; to hurrying from beneath their branches to the open -country. To live in a dense forest is akin to living in a great city. -There is a sense of confinement against which, sooner or later, we are -sure to rebel. We long for change. The man who is perfectly satisfied -has no knowledge of what satisfaction really is. Logical or not, I -turned my attention from the tree at last, and thought, What of the -outlook? Directly north, in the shallow basin, hemmed in by low hills, -lies the town. A cloud of smoke and steam rests over it, and barely -above it reach the church-spires and tall factory chimneys, as if the -place was struggling to be free, but only had its finger-tips out of the -mire of the town, of which I know but little. My wonder is that so many -people stay there, and, stranger still, wild life not only crowds its -outskirts, but ventures into its very midst. In one town, not far away, -I found the nests of seventeen species of birds, but then there was a -large old cemetery and a millpond within its boundaries. Time was when -through the town before me there flowed a creek, and a pretty wood -flourished along its south bank. The creek is now a sewer, and an open -one at that, and yet the musk-rat cannot quite make up his mind to leave -it. Stranger than this was seeing recently, in a small creek discolored -by a dyeing establishment, a little brown diver. How it could bring -itself to swim in such filth must remain a mystery. A queer old -character that had lived all his life in the country once said of the -nearest town, “It is a good place to dump what we don’t want on the -farm.” This old fellow would always drive me out of his orchard when -apples were ripe, but I liked him for the sentiment I have quoted. - -I am out of town now, and what of the world in another direction? -Turning to the east, I have farm after farm before me; all different, -yet with a strong family likeness. This region was taken up by English -Quakers about 1670 and a little later, and the houses they built were as -much alike as are these people in their apparel. The second set of -buildings were larger only and no less severely plain; but immediately -preceding the Revolution there were some very substantial mansions -erected. From my perch in the tree-top I cannot see any of the houses -distinctly, but locate them all by the group of Weymouth pines in front -and sometimes both before and behind them. The old-time Lombardy poplar -was the tree of the door-yards at first, but these, in this -neighborhood, have well-nigh all died out, and the pines replace them. -One farm-house is vividly pictured before me, although quite out of -sight. The owner made it a home for such birds as might choose to come, -as well as for himself, and what royal days have been spent there! There -was no one feature to attract instant attention as you approached the -house. The trees were thrifty, the shrubbery healthy, the roses -vigorous, and the flowering plants judiciously selected; but what did -strike the visitor was the wealth of bird-life. For once let me -catalogue what I have seen in and about one door-yard and what should be -about every one in the land. At the end of the house, and very near the -corner of the long portico, stood a martin-box, occupied by the birds -for which it was intended. In the porch, so that you could reach it with -your hand, was a wren’s nest, and what a strange house it had! It was a -huge plaster cast of a lion’s head, and between the grim teeth the bird -passed and repassed continually. It promenaded at times on the lion’s -tongue, and sang triumphantly while perched upon an eyebrow. That wren -certainly saw nothing animal-like in the plaster cast as it was, and I -have wondered if it would have been equally free with a stuffed head of -the animal. My many experiments with animals, as to their recognition of -animals as pictured, have demonstrated everything, and so, I am afraid I -must admit, nothing. In the woodbine on the portico were two nests,—a -robin’s and a chipping-sparrow’s. These were close to each other, and -once, when sitting in a rocking-chair, I swayed the woodbine to and fro -without disturbing either bird. In the garden were a mocking-bird, -cat-bird, thistle-finch, song-sparrow, brown thrush, yellow-breasted -chat, and red-eyed vireo. In the trees I saw a great-crested -fly-catcher, purple grakle, a redstart, spotted warbler, and another I -failed to identify. In the field beyond the garden were red-winged -blackbirds and quail, and beyond, crows, fish-hawks, and turkey-buzzards -were in the air; and, as the day closed and the pleasant sights were -shut out, I heard the clear call of the kill-deer plover as they passed -overhead, heard it until it mingled with my dreams. “Providence Farm” is -indeed well named, for the birdy blessing of Providence rests upon it; -but were men more given to considering the ways and wants of wild life, -we might find such pleasant places on every hand. Farms appear to be -growing less farm-like. The sweet simplicity of colonial days has been -well-nigh obliterated, and nothing really better has replaced it. On the -other hand, a modern “country place,” where Nature is pared down until -nothing but the foundation-rocks remain, is, to say the least, an -eyesore. There is more pleasure and profit in an Indian trail than in an -asphaltum driveway. - -Westward lie the meadows, and beyond them the river. Seen as a whole, -they are beautiful and, like all of Nature’s work, will bear close -inspection. The bird’s-eye view to-day was too comprehensive to be -altogether enjoyable: it was bewildering. How completely such a tract -epitomizes a continent! The little creek is a river; the hillock, a -mountain; the brushland, a forest; the plowed tract, a desert. If this -fact were not so generally forgotten we would be better content with -what is immediately about us. Mere bigness is not everything. So, too, -with animal life. We spend time and money to see the creatures caged in -a menagerie, and never see the uncaged ones in the thicket behind the -house. Every lion must roar, or we have not seen the show; a lion -rampant is everything, a lion couchant, nothing. There was no visible -violence in the meadows to-day; Nature was couchant, and I was thankful. -When the tempest drives over the land I want my snug harbor by the -chimney-throat. The sparks can fly upward to join the storm if they -will. The storms I enjoy are matters of hearsay. - -Take up a ponderous government quarto of the geological survey and -glance over the splendid plates of remarkable rocks, cañons, and high -hills, and then look out of your window at the fields and meadow. What a -contrast! Yes, a decided one, and yet if you take an open-eyed walk you -will find a good deal of the same thing, but on a smaller scale. You -have not thought of it before; that is all. I put this matter to a -practical test not long ago, and was satisfied with the result. The last -plate had been looked at and the book was closed with a sigh, and a -restless youth, looking over the wide range of fields before him, was -thinking of the grand mountains, strange deserts, and deep cañons -pictured in the volume on his lap, and comparing such a country with the -monotonous surroundings of his home. - -“What a stupid place this part of the world is!” he said at last. “I -wish I could go out West.” - -“Perhaps it is not so stupid as it looks,” I replied. “Let’s take a -walk.” - -I knew what the book described at which the lad had been looking, and -had guessed his thoughts. We started for a ramble. - -“Let us follow this little brook as far as we can,” I suggested, “and -see what a stupid country can teach us,” purposely quoting my -companion’s words, with a little emphasis. - -Not fifty rods from beautiful old trees the collected waters, as a -little brook, flowed over an outcropping of stiff clay, and here we -voluntarily paused, for what one of us had seen a hundred times before -was now invested with new interest. There was here not merely a smooth -scooping out of a mass of the clay, to allow the waters to pass swiftly -by; the least resisting veins or strata, those containing the largest -percentage of sand, had yielded quickly and been deeply gullied, while -elsewhere the stiff, black ridges, often almost perpendicular, still -withstood the current, and, confining the waters to narrow limits, -produced a series of miniature rapids and one whirlpool that recalled -the head-waters of many a river. - -Near by, where, when swollen by heavy rains, the brook had filled the -little valley, temporary rivulets had rushed with fury over the clay, -and cut in many places deep and narrow transverse channels. From their -steep sides projected many a pebble that gave us “overhanging rocks,” -and one small bowlder bridged a crevice in the clay, and was in use at -the time as a highway for a colony of ants. Near it stood slender, -conical pillars of slightly cemented sand, some six inches in height, -and every one capped with a pebble of greater diameter than the apex of -the supporting sand. These were indeed beautiful. - -“I have never seen them before,” remarked the boy. - -“Very likely,” I replied, “but you have crushed them under foot by the -dozens.” They were not to be overlooked now, though, and in them he saw -perfect reproductions of wonderful “monument rocks” which he had so -lately seen pictured in the ponderous government geological report. - -Withdrawing to the field beyond, where a bird’s-eye view of the brook’s -course could be obtained, we had spread out before us a miniature, in -most of its essentials, of a cañon country. The various tints of the -clay gave the many-colored rocks; the different densities of the several -strata resulted in deep or shallow ravines, fantastic arches, caverns, -and beetling precipices. On a ridiculously small scale, you may say. -True, but not too small for the eyes of him who is anxious to learn. - -A few rods farther down the stream we came to a small sandy island which -divided the brook and made a pleasant variety after a monotonous course -through nearly level fields. A handful of the sand told the story. Here, -meeting with so slight an obstruction as a projecting root, the sandy -clays from above had been deposited in part, and year after year, as the -island grew, the crowded waters had encroached upon the yielding banks -on either side, and made here quite a wide and shallow stream. Small as -it was, this little sand-bar had the characteristic features of all -islands. The water rippled along its sides and gave it a pretty beach of -sloping, snow-white sand, while scarcely more than half a foot inland -the seeds of many plants had sprouted, and along the central ridge or -backbone the sod was thick set, and several acorns, a year before, had -sprouted through it. We found snails, spiders, and insects abundant, and -faint footprints showed that it was not overlooked by the pretty -teetering sand-piper. - -Now came a total change. Abruptly turning from its former -straightforward course, the brook entered a low-lying swamp, crowded to -the utmost with dense growths of tangled vines and stunted trees. The -water was no longer sparkling and colorless, but amber-tinted, and in -many a shallow pool looked more like ink. Life here appeared in many -forms. Small mud-minnows, turtles, and snakes were found in the gloomy, -weed-hidden pools, and numberless insects crowded the rank growths above -as well as the waters beneath. The mutual dependence of vegetation and -animal life was here very striking. Previously we had found -comparatively little either in the brook or about it, but now our eyes -were gladdened not only with what I have mentioned, but birds, too, were -in abundance. - -Bent upon freeing my native county from the charge of stupidity, I led -the way through this “dismal swamp.” It was no easy task. Nowhere were -we sure of our footing, and it required constant leaping from root to -root of the larger trees. There was at times no well-defined channel, -and often we could hear the gurgling waters hurrying beneath our feet, -yet catch no glimpse of them. - -Here, too, other springs welled to the surface, and the augmented volume -of waters finally left the swamp a stream of considerable size, which, -after a tortuous course through many fields, entered a deep and narrow -ravine. After untold centuries the brook has worn away the surface soil -over which it originally flowed, then the gravel beneath, and so down to -the clay, thirty feet below. Upon this now rest the bowlders and such -coarser material as the waters could not transport. - -Clinging to the trees growing upon the sides of the ravine, we closely -followed the course of the troubled, bubbling, foamy waters, stopping -ever and anon to look at the exposed sections of sand and gravel here -shown in curious alternate layers. The meaning of the word “deposits,” -so frequently met with in descriptive geology, was made plain, and when -we noticed of how mixed a character was the coarse gravel, it was easy -to comprehend what had been read of that most interesting phase of the -world’s past history, the glacial epoch, or great ice age. The gravel -was no longer an unsuggestive accumulation of pebbles, but associated -rolled and water-worn fragments of a hundred different rocks that by the -mighty forces of ice and water had been brought to their present -position from regions far away. - -The ravine ended at the meadows, through which the waters passed with -unobstructed flow “to join the brimming river.” As we stood upon the -bank of the mighty stream I remarked, “This is a stupid country, -perhaps, but it has some merits.” I think the boy thought so, too. - - * * * * * - -The meadows are such a comprehensive place that no one knows where to -begin, if the attempt is made to enumerate their features. There is such -a blending of dry land and wet, open and thicket-grown, hedge and brook -and scattered trees, that it is bewildering if you do not choose some -one point for close inspection. From the tree-top I overlook it all, and -try in vain to determine whether the azure strip of flowering iris or -the flaunting crimson of the Turk’s cap lilies is the prettier. Beyond, -in damper soil, the glistening yellow of the sunflowers is really too -bright to be beautiful; but not so where the water is hidden by the huge -circular leaves of the lotus. They are majestic as well as pretty, and -the sparse bloom, yellow and rosy pink, is even the more conspicuous by -reason of its background. How well the birds know the wild meadow -tracts! They have not forsaken my tree and its surroundings, but for one -here I see a dozen there. Mere inky specks, as seen from my point of -view, but I know them as marsh-wrens and swamp-sparrows, kingbirds and -red-wings, that will soon form those enormous flocks that add so marked -a feature to the autumn landscape. It needs no field-glass to mark down -the passing herons that, coming from the river-shore, take a noontide -rest in the overgrown marsh. - -I had once, on the very spot at which I was now looking, an unlooked-for -adventure. For want of something better to do, I pushed my way into the -weedy marsh until I reached a prostrate tree-trunk that during the last -freshet had stranded there. It was a wild place. The tall rose-mallow -and wavy cat-tail were far above my head, and every trace of -civilization was effectually shut out. It was as much a wilderness as -any jungle in the tropics. Nor was I alone. Not a minute elapsed before -a faint squeak told me that there were meadow-mice in the hollow log on -which I sat. Then the rank grass moved and a least bittern came into -view and as quickly disappeared. I heard continually the cackle of the -king-rail, and the liquid twittering of the marsh-wrens was a delight. -The huge globular nests of these birds were everywhere about me; but the -birds did not think of me as having any evil designs upon them, so they -came and went as freely as if alone. This is bird-viewing that one too -seldom enjoys nowadays. Often, and very suddenly, all sound ceased and -every bird disappeared. I did not recognize the cause at first, but was -enlightened a moment later. A large bird passed over, and its very -shadow frightened the little marsh-dwellers. If not, the shadow and -fright were a coincidence several times that morning. The day, for me, -ended with the unusual chance of a close encounter with a great blue -heron. I saw the bird hover for a moment directly overhead, and then, -letting its legs drop, it descended with lead-like rapidity. I leaned -backward to avoid it, and could have touched the bird when it reached -the ground, it was so near. I shall never know which was the more -astonished. Certainly, had it chosen, it could have stabbed me through -and through. - -I was glad to be again on drier land and in open country. There had been -adventure enough; and yet, as seen from a distance, this bit of marsh -was but weeds and water. - -Southward there stands the remnant of a forest: second- and third-growth -woodland usually; for trees of really great age are now generally alone. -I can see from where I sit three primeval beeches that are known to be -over two centuries old, and not far away towered one giant tulip-tree -that since the country’s earliest settlement had stood like a faithful -sentinel, guarding the south bank of a nameless spring brook. Ever a -thing of beauty, it shone with added splendor at night, when the rising -full moon rested in its arms, as if weary at the very outset of her -journey. My grandfather told me that in his boyhood it was known as the -“Indian tree,” because a basket-maker and his squaw had a wigwam there. -That was a century ago, and often, of late years, I have hunted on the -spot for some trace of these redskins, but found nothing, although all -about, in every field, were old Indian relics, even their cherished -tobacco-pipes. Small, recent growths of timber, even where they have -succeeded an ancient forest, are not, as a rule, attractive. Their -newness is too evident, and, except for a few passing birds, they are -not apt to harbor much wild life. As I look at the mingled foliage of -oaks and elms, beeches, hickories, and wild cherry, I give little heed -to that before me and recall forests worthy of the name, doing precisely -what I have declared unwise. A naturalist could find more material in -these few acres of woodland than he could “work up” in a lifetime. I -have underrated them. From the little thicket of blackberry vines I see -a rabbit slowly loping, as if in search of food. It is a full-grown -fellow, and suggests the round of the traps in late autumn and the woods -in winter. - -I never knew a boy brought up in the country who was not at one time an -enthusiastic trapper. Just as mankind in the infancy of the world were -forced to pit their energy and skill against the cunning of the animals -needed for food or of such that by reason of their fierceness endangered -human life, so the country boy of to-day puts his intelligence to work -to circumvent the superiority of such animal life as by fleetness of -foot or stroke of wing can avoid the pursuer. It is a question largely -of brain against anatomical structure. No Indian, even, ever outran a -deer, nor savage anywhere by mere bodily exertion stopped the flight of -a bird. Men were all sportsmen, in a sense, when sport, as we call it, -was necessary to human existence. As centuries rolled by, such animals -and birds as came in daily contact with man necessarily had their sleepy -wits aroused, and now it is a case of cunning against cunning. We are -all familiar with such phrases as “wild as a hawk” and “shy as a deer.” -In the morning of man’s career on earth there were no such words as -“shy” and “wild.” They came into use, as words are constantly coming -into our language, because circumstances make them a necessity; and as -men were trappers before they were traders or tillers of the field, so -the words are old, and while animal life lasts they will be retained. - -Nowadays we generally outgrow this love of trapping, or it remains in -the love of sport with gun or rod. But, old Izaak Walton and Frank -Forrester to the contrary notwithstanding, I hold that nothing in -fishing or shooting has that freshness, that thrilling excitement, that -close touch with nature, that clings to our early days, when, in autumn -and winter, we went the round of the traps. How through the long night -we had visions of the rabbit cautiously approaching the box-trap on the -edge of the swamp! How clearly we saw in the corner of the weedy old -worm-fence the stupid opossum bungling along, and awoke with a start as -the clumsy creature sprang the trap from the outside! I pity the boy who -has not had such a distressing dream. - -No boy ever turned out before sunrise with a smiling countenance to milk -or help in any way with farm work; but how different when it was a -matter of the traps he had set the night before! The anticipation of -success is an all-sufficient incentive, and neither bitter cold nor -driving storm deters him. Of a winter dawn much might be said. No boy -ever was abroad so early that the squirrels were not before him, and in -the fading light of the stars he will hear the crows cawing and the -blue-jays chattering in the woods. To the naturalist, of course, such -time of day is full of suggestiveness; but the general belief that it is -a proper time to sleep will never be given up. Indeed, judging others by -myself, as the boy gets well on in his teens there is a growing -disposition to let the traps go until broad daylight and even until -after breakfast. This is unfortunate in two ways: there is a likelihood -of seeing animal life in the full flush of activity in the pre-sunlit -hours that is unknown as the day advances; the night-prowlers are all -gone to their dens, and the birds that roost in colonies have dispersed -for the day. One seldom overtakes a raccoon or a weasel at or near -noontide, and in the woods where a thousand robins have roosted there -may now not be one. Then, again, your visit to the traps may be -anticipated if you are too deliberate in starting on your rounds. This -is an experience that no boy of spirit can calmly undergo, and no -wonder. The rude box-trap was not easy to make, considering the usual -condition of tools upon a farm. The hunt for likely places whereat to -set it had been real labor. The long tramp in the gloaming when tired -out from a day at school; the early tramp, before sunrise perhaps, for -he must be on time at school that morning,—all this is to be considered; -but if success crowns the effort, all is well. On the other hand, to -find that some rascal has been ahead of you and your labor has gone for -nothing—— I never knew a boy to be a saint at such a time. - -I can recall a well-marked rabbit-path I once found, half a mile from -home, and with great secrecy carried one of my traps to the place. It -was on the next farm, and so I had to be more than usually careful. -Nothing could be done in daylight for fear the boys living on that farm -would find me out, and this sort of poaching was not tolerated. At first -I was successful, catching two fine rabbits, and then, alas! was so -elated that, boylike, I said too much. Some one must have tracked me, -for I caught no more, although it was evident that the trap had been -disturbed. Straightway I suspected treachery, and prepared for revenge. - -Now, auntie had a fur tippet, or “boa,” as she called it, which was just -six feet long. The moths one summer had ruined it, and for some time it -had been lying around uncared for and a plaything for the younger -children. This I appropriated, and fastened to one end of it a rabbit’s -head, with the ears wired up and with huge painted marbles bulging from -the sockets for eyes. It was a startling if not life-like creature. - -Armed with this, I started after dark to the trap, and soon had all in -readiness for my victim. I coiled the “boa” into the rear of the box and -placed the head near the opening of the trap. The “figure-of-four” -triggers were laid outside in such a way as to suggest that the trap had -been sprung by an animal. Then I went home. - -The next morning I went to school without visiting the spot, fearing I -might meet with the supposed offender. All day long I wondered. No boy -had any marvellous tale to tell and no one looked at all guilty. There -soon came over me a feeling that perhaps I had played a trick upon -myself, and by sundown I was rather reluctant to determine if anything -had happened; but go I did. The trap had evidently been disturbed. The -“boa” with the rabbit’s head was lying at full length outside and the -bushes were broken as if a bull had rushed through them. But who or what -had been there? - -Two days of most distressing doubt passed, and then came Saturday. I was -ill at ease and took no pleasure in my holiday; but about noon our -neighbor came over, and I heard him tell grandfather how, on Fifth-day, -while the family were at breakfast, Bill, the bound boy, came rushing -into the room and exclaimed, excitedly, “Something from the menagerie’s -broke loose and got in the rabbit-trap!” - -I had had my revenge. - -A wood, to be at its best, should be located on the shore of a lake or -river, or, perhaps better still, a river should run through it. Here are -my impressions of such a wood, from my note-book of 1892, under date of -May 1: - -Nothing could have been more fitting than to take a May-day outing at -such a place. The swift current of the Great Egg Harbor River rolled -resistlessly along, its waters black as night, save where, over the -pebbly shallows, it gleamed like polished amber. The wind that swayed -the tall crowns of the towering pines made fitting music, according well -with the rippling laugh of the fretted river, while heard above all were -the joyous songs of innumerable warblers. - -We had placed our boat upon a wagon six miles below our point of -departure, and partly realized on our way what this pine region really -was. The cedar swamp, the oak openings, the arbutus that gave color to -the narrow wagon-track, the absence of man’s interference,—all tended to -give us the full significance of that most suggestive word, wilderness. -We needed but to catch a glimpse of an Indian to see this part of -creation precisely as it was in pre-Columbian days. I sat for some time -in the boat before taking up the anchor. This was but the entrance, I -was told, to spots more beautiful, but it was hard to believe. Here was -a river hidden in a forest, and what more could one wish? The warblers -well knew that May-day had come again, and every one of the mighty host -greeted the brilliant sunshine. There seemed literally to be hundreds of -them. Flashing like gems were redstarts, light as swallows upon the -wing. Bright-spotted warblers, and others sombre gray, laughed as they -tarried on the trembling twigs; then, mounting into the sunlight, sang -loudly as they flew, or darted into gloomy nooks so hidden that not even -a sunbeam could follow them. - -The river with its attendant birds could not claim all the merit; the -land was no less beautiful. The oaks were not yet in leaf, but there was -no lack of green. The holly’s foliage was bright as May, the polished -leaves of the tea-berry shone as a midsummer growth, the ink-berry had -defied the winter’s storms, and the maples glowed as a great ruddy -flame. Really distinct as was every object, yet, as a whole, the outlook -was dreary, hazy, half obscure, as we looked directly into the wood, -where the drooping moss festooned the branches of the smaller oaks. - -No voyager ever set forth from so fair a port. - -My companion knew the route, and with an oar he took his place astern to -guide the boat safely down the swift stream. It was all right as it -proved, but at times I forgot that I had come to see the forest. -Instead, an element of doubt as to the guide’s ability came painfully to -the front. With devilish malignancy, as I thought, trees had prostrated -themselves and rested just beneath the water’s surface, or stood up, -with outreached arms, as if defying us. How we passed many a crook and -turn I cannot now remember. I was too much occupied with desperately -clutching at anything within reach to notice the “when” or “how,” but -there still remains the delicious sensation of suddenly shooting into -smooth water and feeling—brave as a lion. - -For several miles on either side of the stream we had a typical mixed -forest. The willow-oak predominated at times, and the delicate foliage, -so unlike other oaks, was very beautiful. The leaves appeared -translucent in the bright sunlight, fairly sparkled, and once made a -splendid background to scarlet tanagers that flashed through them. In -this long reach of dense woods there were fewer birds than at our -starting-point, or perhaps they held back as we passed. But other life -was not wanting. From many a projecting stump there slid many a turtle -into the dark waters, and a mink or musk-rat crossed our bow. Careful -search would no doubt have revealed numerous creatures, for here was a -safe retreat for all the fauna of the State. The deer are not yet quite -gone, possibly a few bears remain. Certainly the raccoon and otter must -be abundant. I was constantly on the lookout for minks, for the river -abounds in fish. This animal is sometimes mistaken for a huge snake, as -it rises several inches above the water at times, and has then a rather -startling appearance. An old fisherman on Chesapeake Bay told me that he -had seen a mink with a huge eel in its mouth come to the surface, and -then the wriggling fish and long, lithe body of the mink together looked -like two serpents fighting. I can readily imagine it. Birches, -liquidambars, and pines in clusters would next command attention, and -usually there was a dense undergrowth. Holding the boat, at times, we -could hear the water rushing through the roots of this tangled mass, and -found that what we had supposed was firm land afforded no certain -footing, and a bluff of firm earth was very welcome when we thought of -landing for a hasty lunch. This _firm_ earth did indeed support us, but -in reality it was the most unstable of shifting sands, being held in -place by reindeer-moss, partridge-berry, and other pine-barren growths. -Nothing was in sight but the scrubby pines, and we had to be very -careful that our fire did not get among the “needles” and dash through -the woods. I found here absolutely no birds. They seem all to prefer the -tracts covered by deciduous trees; but insect-feeders could have -flourished here. The steam of our dinner-pot brought more substantial -forms than mosquitoes, one house-fly being determined to share my -Frankfurter and successfully defying all attempts at capture. - -Again afloat, we soon came to the mouth of an inflowing stream called -Dead River, said to be very deep. This point was perhaps the wildest of -all. The open water here was very wide, and a forest of projecting -stumps of various heights showed plainly that we were on the edge of an -area of drowned land. In the distance was an unbroken background of -pines, which now looked black. At wide intervals could be seen huge -pines that had escaped the charcoal-burner or lumberman. The stems and -lower branches were, of course, concealed, but in the hazy atmosphere -the tops were as floating islands of darkest green, standing boldly out -against the pearly sky behind them. - -Here, at the mouth of Dead River, we beheld a pretty sight. A wood-duck -with her brood rushed over the water in a most lively manner, flecking -the black expanse with patches of white foam. Such incidents add much to -such a journey. An empty forest is as forbidding as an empty house. - -In the coves there were changes from the surrounding scenery that were -not to be overlooked. A rank growth of golden-club resting on the dark -waters was very striking. The picture was such as we see on a Claude -Lorrain glass. Near by fresh sphagnum in a shallow pool was bronze and -green: a place for frogs to squat unseen, but I could find none. How -often this happens! At the very places where we think animal life will -be in abundance we can find no trace of it. Then, looking up, we see but -trees. No break in the line that hems us in. Trees old and young, trees -living and dead, great and small; nothing but trees. - -The wind freshened as the day grew old, and doubly troubled were the -waters. There was no rest for them now, even in sheltered nooks, and it -was only by sturdy strokes of the oars that we made headway at all. -There was no perceptible current to bear us along as before. The waves -dashing against the bare trunks of trees long dead and now bent by the -wind added much to the wild scene. Novel as it all was, I could not -quite enjoy it. It was something to be contemplated from the shore, I -thought. I know I was laughed at, but the many “blind” stumps, or those -just beneath the surface, of which my companion spoke so unconcernedly -came too prominently to mind when I least expected them, and added much -significance to the fact that I cannot swim. - -As we neared home the scene abruptly changed, and the river was lost in -a wide expanse that might be called a lake if the fact was not so -evident that it is a mill-pond. This, however, did not detract from the -beauty of the surroundings, and before our final landing we drew up to a -bold bit of shore and searched, while it was yet day, for pyxie. There -was an abundance of blooming andromeda, too, and arbutus, with clubmoss -of richest green. I almost placed my hand on a centipede that glowed -like an emerald. It was resting on ruddy sphagnum, and made a splendid -picture. I could not capture the creature. An attempt to do so on my -part was followed by its disappearance with a suddenness that could be -likened only to the flashes of light that played upon its back. Here I -heard many frogs, but could find none. The rattle and peep were not like -the voices of those in the meadows at home, and I wondered about Cope’s -new tiger-frog and the little green hyla that is so rare here in Jersey. -Possibly I heard them both; probably not. - -We returned to prosy life when the boat was lifted over the dam, and the -incidents were few and commonplace in the short drift that carried us to -an old wharf, a relic of the last century. - - * * * * * - -What a difference between such a forest and a few hundred oaks and ashes -at home! and yet these are far better than treeless fields. It is these -few trees that hold many of our migratory birds, and through them, in -spring, troop the north-bound warblers. In the gloaming a small tract of -woodland widens out, and, seeing no open country beyond, what does it -matter, if we walk in a circle, whether it be one acre or one thousand? -There is good philosophy in “Small favors thankfully received.” Here in -this little wood are beautiful white-footed mice, a shy, nocturnal -jerboa, flying-squirrels, and, if I mistake not, a whole family of -opossums. Here, until autumn, are wood-robins that never weary us by -overmuch singing, and cat-birds, chewinks, and the rose-breasted -grosbeak. I do not complain, but as the summer passes I regret that -these birds have their appointed time and will soon be gone. Why so -soon? I often wonder, for their haunts do not lose their loveliness for -weeks after they have disappeared. - - No wall of green above, about, - They silently steal away; - With but a carpet of withered leaves, - The minstrel will not stay. - -But the spot is no “banquet-hall deserted,” for all that; the departure -of the summer birds is but to make way for those who have gladdened -Canadian woods for many weeks. The purple finch will soon be here, and -tree-sparrows in great companies, and the gentle white-throat; and -these, with our stately cardinal for a leader, will hold forth -melodiously, though the north winds blow and the angry east wind brings -the snow upon its wings. - -In the smile of winter sunshine there will be enacted another drama, but -now it is comedy rather than tragedy. There are no conflicting interests -now, no serious quarrels, no carking cares—the world is really in good -humor and our days of early darkness are misunderstood. - -Let him who doubts—and there are but few who do not—turn from the worn -lines of travel, go well out of the beaten path, and find, in the -way-side nooks his neighbors have neglected, most excellent company: -birds of brave heart that can sing in the teeth of a storm; and many a -creature, wrapped in his furry coat, laughs at the earnest efforts of -winter to keep him from his outings. - -Did I dare sit in this same oak when the leaves have fallen, I should -have strange tales to tell,—tales so strange that the summertide would -be commonplace in comparison. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - CHAPTER SECOND - - _A HUNT FOR THE PYXIE_ - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - -No storm raged to defeat a long-cherished plan, and we must laugh at -threatening clouds or miss many an outing. In dreams the pyxie had been -blooming for weeks, and to prove that not all dreams go by contraries, I -started on a flower-hunt. This is not always so tame and adventureless a -matter as one might think. There are wood-blooms that scorn even a trace -of man’s interference, and the pyxie is one of them. Nature alone can -provide its wants, and only where Nature holds undisputed sway can it be -found. To find this beautiful flower we must plunge into the wilderness. - -It was a long tramp, but never wanting a purpose for every step taken. -Each turn in the path offered something new, and if ever for a moment a -trace of weariness was felt, it was because even to our hungry eyes the -wilderness was overfull. Bewildering multitudes are more to be feared -than possible dangers. There is no escape from the former. Not a tree or -bush, not a bird or blossom, but to-day offered excellent reason why -with them we should spend our time; and how often they all spoke at -once! - -Except the ceaseless rattle of small frogs, there was no sound, for that -sad sighing of the tall pines seems but the rhythmic breathing of -silence; or, passing from the wet grounds to the higher, drier, and more -barren tracts, we heard only the crisp crackling of the reindeer-moss we -crushed at every step. Although - - “It is the bright day that brings forth the adder, - And that craves wary walking,” - -we gave no thought to possible danger,—for rattlesnakes are still to be -found. Not even when we stooped to pick the bright berries of -winter-green did we think of a coiled serpent buried in dead leaves; and -what opportunity for murder the serpent had as we buried our faces in -pillows of pink and pearly arbutus! - -At last we reached South River (in Southern New Jersey), and just here -was no place to tarry, unless to court melancholy. It was not required -that my companion should enumerate the reasons why the one-time farm -along the river-bank had been abandoned. A glance at the surrounding -fields told the whole story. There was, indeed, barrenness,—and very -different, this, from what obtains in localities near by to which the -same term is applied. In the so-called pine barrens there is a luxuriant -vegetation; but here about the deserted house and out-building there was -nothing but glistening sand, moss, and those pallid grasses that suggest -death rather than life, however feeble. And how widely different is it -to be surrounded by ruin wrought by man, and to be in a forest where man -has never been! Could I not have turned my back upon the scene and -looked out only upon the river, the day’s pleasure would have vanished. -But we were soon away, and a naturalist’s paradise was spread before us. -What constitutes such a place? Not necessarily one where man has never -been: it will suffice if Nature has withstood his interference; and this -is true of these pine barrens, this weedy wilderness, this silent -battle-field where the struggle for existence never ceases, and yet, as -we see it, peaceful as the fleecy clouds that fleck an April sky. - -Though the wind that swept the wide reach of waters close at hand still -smacked of wintry weather, there was a welcome warmth on shore. The oaks -even hinted of the coming leaf. Their buds were so far swollen that the -sharp outlines of bare twigs against the sky were rounded off. The ruddy -stems of the blueberry bushes gave to the river-bank a fire-like glow, -and yet more telling was the wealth of bright golden glow where the tall -Indian grass waved in all its glory. The repellent desolation of -midwinter, so common to our cold-soil upland fields, was wholly wanting -here; for, while nothing strongly suggested life as we think of it, even -in early spring, yet nothing recalled death, the familiar feature of a -midwinter landscape. - -The scattered cedars were not gloomy to-day. Their green-black foliage -stood out in bold relief, a fitting background to the picture of -Spring’s promises. That the sea was not far off is evident, for even -here, a dozen miles from the ocean, many of these trees were bent and -squatty at the top, as are all those that face the fury of storms along -the coast. Every one harbored north-bound migrating birds; restless, -warbling kinglets principally. No other tree seemed to attract these -pretty birds, many a flock passing by scores of oaks to the next cedar -in their line of march. The clustered pines were not similarly favored, -not a bird of any kind appearing about them, and life of all kinds was -wholly absent in the long aisles between their stately trunks. Our path -led us through one great grove where every tree grew straight and tall -as a ship’s mast. The light that filled this wood was strangely -beautiful. Nothing stood out distinctly. To have passed here in the -gloaming would have tried weak nerves. Even in the glare of noonday my -imagination was abnormally active, every stunted shrub and prostrate log -assuming some startling shape. Think of such a place after sunset! Let -an owl whoop in your ears when hedged in by thick-set trees! -Philosophize as one will in daylight, it goes for little now, and the -days of Indians, cougars, and all ill-natured beasts come trooping back. -This distrust of darkness is not mere cowardice, and I would accept no -one’s statement that he is wholly free of it. Every sound becomes unduly -significant when we are alone in a wilderness; often unpleasantly so, -even during the day, and - - “in the night, imagining some fear, - How easy is a bush supposed a bear!” - -Out of the pines and into the oak woods: the change was very abrupt, and -as complete as possible. Every feature of the surroundings was bathed in -light now, and the emergence from the pine forest’s gloom restored our -spirits. We are ever craving variety, and there was positive beauty in -every stunted oak’s ugliness, and from them we needed but to turn our -heads to see thrifty magnolias near the river-bank. These have no -special enemy, now that the beavers are gone, and thrive in the black -mud by the water’s edge; better, by far, than the gum-trees near them, -for these were heavy laden with pallid mistletoe,—to me a most repugnant -growth. - -We reached open country at last, and here were birds without number. How -quickly all else fades at such a time! The whole valley trembled with -the ringing whistle of a thousand red-wings. A few swallows—the first of -their kind to return—darted over the wide waters and rested on -projecting branches of trees that floods had stranded on the islands. -The sprightly kill-deers ran with such dainty steps over the sand that I -could not find their footprints. They, too, were pioneer birds, but none -the less light-hearted because alone. They sang with all their last -year’s earnestness, scattering music among the marshes where frogs were -now holding high carnival. They were very tame, at least so far as we -were concerned, but a little in doubt as to what a stray hawk might be -about. But they left us only to make room for others, and whether we -looked riverward or landward mattered not: it was birds, birds, birds! -Here a hundred sparrows in an oak, there a troop of snow-birds in the -bushes, a whistling titmouse sounding his piercing notes, the plaintive -bluebird floating overhead, the laugh of the loon at the bend of the -river, and buzzards searching for stranded herring where the seine had -been drawn. - -A flock of herons, too, passed overhead, and, had they not seen us, -might have stopped here on the river-shore. What an addition to a -landscape! and yet now so seldom seen. No birds can be more harmless -than they, yet not even the hawks are subject to greater persecution. -Not long since these birds were abundant, and a “heronry” was one of the -“sights” of many a neighborhood; but people now scarcely know what a -“heronry” is. The very word suggests how rapidly our large birds are -disappearing, and their roosting-places, where hundreds gathered and -nested, too, in season, are matters of “ancient history.” In fear and -trembling, the herons that linger about our watercourses singly seek -secluded trees wherein to rest, and, I fear, even then sleep with one -eye open. A fancy, on the part of women, for heron plumes has wrought a -deal of mischief. - -But where is the pyxie? We knew it must be near at hand, but why make -haste to find it? All else was so beautiful here, why not wait even -until another day? The river-bank was itself a study. At the top, sand -of snowy whiteness; then a ribbon of clay over which water trickled -carrying iron in solution, that was slowly cementing a sand stratum -beneath, where every degree of density could be found, from solid rock -to a paste-like mass that we took pleasure in moulding into fantastic -shapes, thereby renewing our dirt-pie days. - -A little later in the year, this bluff, now streaked and spotted, will -be green with the broad-leaved sundews, curious carnivorous plants that -here take the place of grasses. There is a filiform sundew that grows -near by, where the ground is high, if not dry; but it, too, waits for -warmer days. Not so the pyxie. Almost at first glance, as we left the -bluff, we saw it, sparkling white, nestled among the gray mats of -reindeer-moss, or fringed by shining winter-green still laden with its -crimson fruit. - -Here the earth was strangely carpeted. Sphagnum, beautiful by reason of -rich color, gray-green moss, and the object of our long tramp,—pyxie. No -botany does it justice, passing it by with the mere mention of its -barbarous name, _Pyxidanthera barbulata_. It might be thought the -meanest of all weeds, but is, in truth, the chiefest glory of this -wonderful region. - -Is it strange we regretted that Time would not slacken his pace? I know -not where else, in these northern regions, so much is to be seen, and so -soon. Spring, elsewhere, is the round year’s strangest child, often too -forward, and too often backward; but her accomplishments here and now -are beyond criticism. Such perfect work, and yet she is not out of her -teens. The day was April 1. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - CHAPTER THIRD - - _THE COMING OF THE BIRDS_ - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - -The moon in April is an important factor in the progress of that -event—the coming of the birds—which makes every spring memorable. While -not disposed to wait upon it too long, still, there is little doubt but -that the birds that have been wintering afar south travel very largely -by its light, and when it happens that the moon fulls between the middle -and the twenty-fifth of the month, the flights of thrushes, orioles, -wrens, and other migrants reach us a week earlier than when the nights -are dark during the same period. Temperature, storms, and general -backwardness of the season do not seem to have a like importance in bird -economy. - -Of course, by the coming of the birds I do not refer to the pioneers -that are in advance of every company. Indeed, I have seldom announced -the first of the season, but I have been met by the man who was at least -one day ahead of me; so firstlings are not favorites. - -There is every year the one memorable morning when we can say, in broad -terms, “The birds are here.” When the oriole whistles from the tallest -tree in the lawn; when the wren chatters from the portal of his old-time -home; when the indigo-finch sings in the weedy pasture; when lisping -warblers throng every tree and shrub; while over all, high in air, the -twittering swallows dart in ecstasy; and at last, the day-long concert -over, whippoorwills in the woods pipe their monotonous refrain. The -Indians were right: when there came such days as this, they had no -further fear of frost, and we need have but little. Our climate -certainly has changed slightly since their time, but we have in such a -bird-full day an assurance that the clinging finger-tips of Winter have -at last relaxed and his hold upon our fields and forests is lost. - -A word again of the advance guard. The brown thrush came on the -seventeenth of the month (April, 1892), when there were no leafy -thickets and the maples only were in bloom. What a glorious herald he -proved! and so he always proves. Before the sun was up I heard him in my -dreams, and later the fancy proved a fact. Perched at the very top of an -old walnut-tree, where the wintry world was spread before him, he sang -that song peculiarly his own. - - No hint of blushing roses on the hill, - The buds are sleeping yet upon the plain, - The blight of dreary winter clingeth still, - The forest weeps where falls the chilly rain. - - Scarce hopeful leaf-buds shrink—death’s solemn hush - Rests on the field, the meadow brook along, - Till breaks the day, O happy day! the thrush - Foretells the coming summer in a song. - -Two days later it was almost summer, and tripping along the river’s -pebbly beach were spotted sand-pipers. They were ahead of time this -year, I thought, but none the less happy because the trees were bare and -the water cold; but, stranger still, in the sheltered coves of the -mill-pond, that now reflected the gold of the spice-wood and the crimson -of the overhanging maples, there were warblers, merry as in midsummer, -and a pair, at least, of small thrushes. A bittern, too, stood in the -weedy marsh. There they had gathered on that sunny, summery day, as if -warm weather was an established fact; but how different the next -morning, when a cold north-east storm prevailed! How well it showed that -one such sunny day does not make a season! How clearly it proved that -birds have no prophetic insight! They were caught and suffered and -disappeared. Did they fly above the clouds and go to some distant point, -free of chilling rain, or did they hide in the cedar swamps? This -problem I did not essay to solve. In the few cedars along the -river-shore I found nothing but winter residents, but I made no careful -search. A few days later and spring-like conditions again prevailed and -every day some new bird was seen, but not until May 1 could we say, “The -birds have come.” - -These uncertain April days are not disappointing. We are not warranted -in expecting much of them, and whatsoever we do meet with is just so -much more than we had reason to look for,—an added bit of good luck that -increases our love for the year’s fourth month; but if no migrant came, -there is little likelihood that the pastures and rivershore would be -silent. There never was an April that had not its full complement of -robins and blithe meadow-larks, of glorious crested tits and gay -cardinals, of restless red-wings and stately grakles, and these are -quite equal to driving dull care away, and keeping it away, if the -migrants did not come at all. Even in March, and early in the month, we -often have a foretaste of abundant bird-life; an intimation of what a -few weeks will bring us. A bright March morning in 1893 was an instance -of this. I walked for miles along the river-bank with a learned German -who was enthusiastic about everything but what interested me. This may -not seem to be a promising outlook, but we undertook to convert each -other. I was to give up my frivolity, he determined. My effort was to -get his dry-as-dust whimsies out of him. The great ice-gorge of the past -winter was now a torrent of muddy waters and huge cakes of crystal that -rushed and roared not only through the river’s channel, but over half -the meadow-land that bordered it. It was, I admit, an excellent -opportunity to study the effects of such occurrences, for to them is due -the shaping of the valley, and gravel transportation, and all that; but -then there was the effect of light and shade upon the wonderful scene, -and beauty like this crowded out my taste for geology. The sky was -darkly blue, flecked with great masses of snow white-cloud that drifted -between the sun and earth, casting shadows that blackened the ice and -brought winter back again; but a moment later a flood of sunshine as -promptly changed all, and the bluebirds hinted of spring. Then, too, the -gulls and crows screamed above the roar and crunching of the ice as it -struck the scattered trees, while in every sheltered nook was a full -complement of song-sparrows. Why any one should bother about geology at -such a time I could not see; but my companion was intent upon problems -of the ice age, and continually remarked, “Now, if” or “Don’t you see?” -but I always cut him short with “See that crow?” or “Hear that sparrow?” -No, he had not seen or heard the birds, and neither had I his particular -impressions. At last the sunshine broke upon him, and he laughed aloud -when he saw the crows trying to steal a ride on ice-rafts that -continually upset. I was hopeful now, and he soon heard the birds that -sang, and whistled after a long line of kill-deer plover that hurried -by, every one calling to his fellows. It was something to know that the -coming of the birds can rouse a German out of his everlasting problems. -He had more to say of the springtide so near at hand than had I, and, -nosing over the ground, found nine vigorous plants in active growth, and -spoke so learnedly of _Cyperus_, _Galium_, _Allium_, and _Saponaria_ -that I as glibly thought, in jealous mood, “Confound him!” for now he -was taking possession of my province and showing me my littleness; but -then I had dragged him out of his problems. - -The truth is, I was in something like despair when we started out, for I -feared a lecture on physical geography, and, indeed, did not quite -escape; but the bitter was well mixed with the sweet, and he in time -listened with all my ardor to the birds that braved the boisterous wind -and were not afraid of a river wilder than they had ever seen before. -The day proved to be of more significance than as regards mere glacial -geology. It was a foretaste of what was coming in April. I drew a -glowing picture of what our April meant, and pictured a peaceful river -and violets and meadow blossoms as bright as they were fragrant. My -learned friend smiled, then grew enthusiastic; must come again to see -the birds as they arrived, and—must I say it?—spoke of beer. Alas! it -was Sunday. - -There are two reasons why April birds are particularly attractive. One -is, there are fewer of them, and again, there is practically no foliage -to conceal them. Better one bird in full view than a dozen half hidden. -Their songs, too, have a flavor of novelty, and ring so assuringly -through the leafless woods. The ear forever bends graciously to -promises, even though we know they will be broken; but birds, unlike -men, are not given to lying. When they promise May flowers and green -leaves they mean it, and, so far as history records, there has never -been a May without them, not even the cold May of 1816, when there was -ice and snow. But aside from their singing, April birds offer the -opportunity of studying their manners, which is better to know than the -number of their tail-feathers or the color of their eggs. The brown -thrush that sings so glibly from the bare branch of a lonely tree shows -now, by his way of holding himself and pointing his tail, that he is -closely akin to the little wrens and their big cousin, the Carolina -mocker, so called, which does not mock at all. Of all our April birds, I -believe I love best the chewink, or swamp-robin. To be sure, he is no -more a feature of April than of June, and many are here all winter; but -when he scatters the dead leaves and whistles his bi-syllabic refrain -with a vim that rouses an echo, or mounts a bush and sings his few notes -of real music, we forget that summer is only on the way, but not yet -here. Of all our birds, I always fancied this one was most set in his -singing, as he surely is in his ways; but Cheney tells us that "this -bird, like many others, can extemporize finely when the spirit moves -him. For several successive days one season a chewink gave me very -interesting exhibitions of the kind. He fairly revelled in the new song, -repeating it times without number. Whether he stole it from the first -strain of ‘Rock of Ages’ or it was stolen from him or some of his -family, is a question yet to be decided." Now, the chewink is a bird of -character, and, above all things, dislikes interference, and he sings -“for his own pleasure, for he frequently lets himself out lustily when -he knows he is all alone,” as Dr. Placzeck has said of birds in general. -I shall never forget a little incident I once witnessed, in which a -chewink and a cardinal grosbeak figured. They reached the same bush at -the same moment, and both started their songs. The loud whistle of the -red-bird quite smothered the notes of the chewink, which stopped -suddenly before it was through and, with a squeak of impatience, made a -dash at the intruder and nearly knocked him off his perch. Such haps and -mishaps as these—and they are continually occurring—can only be seen in -April or earlier, when we can see through the woods, and not merely the -outer branches of the trees when in leaf. In April we can detect, too, -the earliest flowers, and they fit well with the songs of the -forerunning birds. There is more, I think, for all of us in an April -violet than in a June rose; in a sheltered bit of turf with sprouting -grass than in the wide pastures a month later. We do not hurry in-doors -at the sudden coming of an April shower. The rain-drops that cling to -the opening leaf-buds are too near real gems not to be fancied a -veritable gift to us, and we toy with the baubles for the brief moment -that they are ours. The sunshine that follows such a shower has greater -magic in its touch than it possesses later in the year; the buds of the -morning now are blossoms in the afternoon, so quickening is the warmth -of the first few days of spring. The stain of winter is washed away by -an April shower, and the freshest green of the pasture is ever that -which is newest. There is at times a subtle element in the atmosphere -that the chemist calls “ozone,” but a better name is “snap.” It dwells -in April sunshine and is the inveterate foe of inertia. It moves us, -whether we will or not, and we are now in a hurry even when there is no -need of haste. The “spring fever” that we hear of as a malady in town -never counts as its victim the lover of an April outing. The beauty of -novelty is greater than the beauty of abundance. Our recollection of a -whole summer is but dim at best, but who forgets the beginnings thereof? -We passed by unheeding many a sweet song before the season was over, but -can recall, I venture to say, our first glimpse of the returning spring. -Though the sky may be gray, the earth brown, and the wind out of the -north, let a thrush sing, a kinglet lisp, a crested tit whistle, and a -tree-sparrow chirp among the swelling leaf-buds, and you have seen and -heard that which is not only a delight in itself, but the more pleasing -that it is the prelude announcing the general coming of the birds. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - CHAPTER FOURTH - - _THE BUILDING OF THE_ - _NEST_ - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - -There are probably very few children who are not more or less familiar -with birds’ nests, for they are not by any means confined to the -country, but are to be found in the shade trees of every village street, -to say nothing of the old-time lilac hedges, gooseberry bushes, and -homely shrubbery of fifty years ago. Even in our large cities there are -some few birds brave enough to make their homes in or very near the -busiest thoroughfares. As an instance, it was not so long ago that a -yellow-breasted chat—a shy bird—nested in the yard of the Pennsylvania -Hospital, at the corner of Eighth and Spruce Streets, Philadelphia, and -soon learned to mimic many a familiar street sound. Such instances as -these were more common before the unfortunate blunder of introducing the -English sparrow. But it is in the country only that we find boys really -posted in the matter of nests, and I wish I could add that they always -adopt the rules of “hands off” when these nests come under their notice. -It means far more mischief than most people think to disturb a nest, and -so let every boy decide that he will not be guilty of such wanton -cruelty. This, however, does not shut off every boy and girl in the land -from studying these nests, and a more delightful subject can never come -under youthful investigation. - -What is a bird’s nest? Every one knows, after a fashion, and yet few -have ever considered how much that bunch of twigs, hollow in a tree, or -hole in the ground really means. Like so much that is familiar, we -glance at it in a careless way and never stop to consider its full -significance. Except in a very few instances, a bird’s nest is never the -result of a single individual’s labor. Even if but one bird does all the -work, there has previously been a decision reached by two birds as to -where the nest shall be placed, and how much this means! At once we are -brought to consider that an interchange of thought has taken place. The -pair have discussed, literally, the merits and drawbacks of the -situation, and have had in mind not only their own safety, but that of -their offspring. The fact that they make mistakes at times proves this. -Were this not the case, or if nests were placed hap-hazard in any tree -or bush or anywhere on the ground, bird enemies would have a happy time -for a short season, and then birds, like many of the world’s huge -beasts, would become extinct. On the contrary, birds have long since -learned to be very careful, and their ingenuity in this apparently -simple matter of choosing a nest site is really astonishing. This, too, -has resulted in quickening their wits in all directions, and the bird -that is really a booby is scarcely to be found. - -Birds suffer at times from their misjudgment or over-confidence, and -this, it must be added, reflects upon us. The instances are numberless -where birds have quickly learned that certain people love them, and they -lose all fear. Again, naturally very timid birds soon learn when they -are free from persecution. The writer frequently passes in the cars by a -zoological garden on the bank of a river, and has been impressed with -the abundant illustration of birds’ intelligence to be noticed there. -The crows have learned that fire-arms are not allowed to be used -anywhere near, and so they fearlessly hop about not only the enclosure -of the garden, but the many tracks of the railroad just outside, showing -no timidity even when the locomotives rush by. Stranger still, wild -ducks gather in the river almost directly under the railroad bridge, and -do not always dive out of sight as the trains pass by, and I have never -seen them take wing, even when the whistle blew the quick, short, -penetrating danger signal. - -To come back to their nests: birds have other enemies than man to guard -against, and so are never in a hurry in the matter of determining where -to build. Time and again a location has been discovered to be unsuitable -after a nest has been commenced, and the structure abandoned. I have -observed this many times. Indeed, my own curiosity has led the birds to -move, they not quite approving my constant watching of what was going -on. I well remember seating myself once in a shady nook to eat my lunch, -and being almost attacked by a pair of black-and-white tree-creeping -warblers. Their actions were plainly a protest against my staying where -I was, and on looking about, I found that I had almost sat upon their -nest, which was then just completed, but contained no eggs. I visited -the spot the next day and found a single egg; but my coming was a -mistake, for the birds now believed I had sinister designs, and -abandoned their new-made home. - -The method of building, of course, varies as much as the patterns of -nests. Even when the same materials are used, they are differently -treated, and a nest of sticks only may in one case be merely thrown -together, as it were, while in another they are so carefully interlaced -that the structure is a basket, and holds together if held by the rim -only. Another, the same in general appearance, would immediately fall to -pieces if similarly treated. A reason for this is discoverable in some -cases, but not in all. If we examine a great many nests, the rule will -hold good, I think, that where they are very loosely put together, the -locality is such that no natural disturbing causes, as high winds, are -likely to bring disaster. Until I studied this point the occurrence of -exceedingly frail nests was ever a matter of surprise, for it is to be -remembered that the same species, as a cat-bird or cardinal red-bird, -does not build after a uniform fashion, but adapts its work to the spot -chosen for the nest. It would be very hazardous to say that a nest was -built by this or that bird, unless the builder was seen in possession. - -So difficult is it to watch a pair of birds while building, that the -method of their working is largely to be guessed at from the work -itself, but by means of a field-glass a good deal can be learned. It -would appear as if a great many twigs were brought for the foundation of -a nest, such as a cat-bird’s or song-sparrow’s, that were unsuitable. I -have occasionally seen a twig tossed aside with a flirt of the head very -suggestive of disappointment. The builders do not always carry with them -a distinct idea of what they want when hunting for material, and so -labor more than would be necessary if a little wiser. Very funny -disputes, too, often arise, and these are most frequent when wrens are -finishing their huge structures in a box or some corner of an -out-building. A feather, or a bit of thread, or a small rag will be -carried in by one bird and tossed out by the other with a deal of -scolding and “loud words” that is positively startling. But when the -framework of any ordinary open or cup-shaped nest is finally completed, -the lining is not so difficult a matter. Soft or yielding materials are -used that to a greater or less extent have a “felting property,” and by -the bird’s weight alone assume the shape desired. This is facilitated by -the bird in two ways: the builder sits down, as if the eggs were already -laid, and with its beak pushes the loose material between it and the -framework, and tucks odd bits into any too open crevices. While doing -this, it slowly moves around until it has described a complete circle. -This brings to light any defects in the outer structure, and the bird -can often be seen tugging away at some projecting end, or its mate, -outside of the nest, rearranging a twig here and there, while the other -bird—shall I say?—is giving directions. - -Surprise has often been expressed that the common chipping sparrow can -so neatly curl a long horse-hair into the lining of its little nest. It -cannot be explained, perhaps, but we have at least a clue to it. One end -of the hair is snugly tucked in among stouter materials, and then,—I ask -the question only,—as the bird coils it about the sides of the nest with -its beak, does it break or dent it, or is there some chemical effect -produced by the bird’s saliva? The hairs do not appear to be merely -dry-curled, for in that case they would unroll when taken from the nest, -and such as I have tried, when just placed in position, retained the -coiled condition when removed. But old hair, curled by long exposure to -the air and moisture, is often used, and this is far more tractable. -When we come to examine woven nests, such as the Baltimore oriole and -the red-eyed vireo, as well as some other small birds, build, there is -offered a great deal more to study, for how they accomplish what they -do, with their only tools their feet and beak, is not wholly known. That -the tropical tailor-bird should run a thread through a leaf and so bring -the edges together and make a conical-shaped bag, is not so very -strange. It is little more than the piercing of the leaf and then -putting the thread through the hole. This is ingenious but not -wonderful, because not difficult; but let us consider a Baltimore oriole -and his nest. The latter is often suspended from a very slender elm or -willow twig, and the bird has a hard time to hold on while at work. One -experienced old oriole has for years built in the elm near my door, and -occasionally I have caught a glimpse of him. I will not be positive, but -believe that his first move is to find a good stout string, and this he -ties to the twig. I use the word “tie” because I have found in many -cases a capitally-tied knot, but how the bird, or birds, could -accomplish this I cannot imagine. Both feet and beak, I suppose, are -brought into play, but how? To get some insight into the matter, I once -tied a very long string to the end of a thread that the oriole had -secured at one end and left dangling. This interference caused some -commotion, but the bird was not outwitted. It caught the long string by -its loose end and wrapped it over and over various twigs, and soon had a -curious open-work bag that served its purpose admirably. The lining of -soft, fluffy stuff’s was soon added. This brought up the question as to -whether the bird ever ties short pieces together and so makes a more -secure cable that gives strength to the finished nest. In examining -nests, I have seen such knots as might have been tied by the birds, but -there was no way to prove it. That they do wrap a string several times -about a twig and then tie it, just as a boy ties his fishing-line to a -pole, is certain. With my field-glass I have followed the bird far -enough to be sure of this. When at work, the bird, from necessity, is in -a reversed position,—that is, tail up and head down. This has an obvious -advantage, in that the builder can see what is going on beneath him, and -shows, too, how near the ground the nest will come when finished; but it -sometimes happens that he gets so absorbed in his work that a person can -approach quite near, but I never knew him to become entangled in the -loose ends that hang about him. - -The oriole at times offers us a wonderful example of ingenuity. It -occasionally happens that too slight a twig is selected, and when the -nest is finished, or, later, when the young are nearly grown, the -structure hangs down too low for safety or sways too violently when the -parent birds alight on it. This is a difficulty the bird has to contend -with, and he has been known to remedy it by attaching a cord to the -sustaining twigs and tying them to a higher limb of the tree, thus -securing the necessary stability. - -A more familiar evidence of the intelligence of birds is when the vireos -are disturbed by the presence of a cow-bird’s egg in their nest. To get -rid of it, they often build a new floor to the nest, and so leave the -offending egg to spoil. But there is displayed here an error of judgment -that I am surprised to find. The birds that take this trouble certainly -could throw the egg out, and, I should think, preserve their own eggs, -which invariably are left to decay when a new structure is reared above -the old. I believe even three-storied vireos’ nests have been found. - -There is one common swallow that is found well-nigh everywhere, which -burrows into the sand; and when we think of it, it seems strange that so -aerial a bird should build so gloomy an abode for the nesting season. -This bank swallow, as it is called, selects a suitable bluff, facing -water, and, with closed beak, turns round and round with its head to the -ground, thus boring a hole big enough to crawl into. It turns into a -gimlet for the time, and uses its beak as the point of the tool. This is -odd work for a bird that almost lives in the air; and then think, too, -of sitting in a dark cave, sometimes six feet long, until the eggs are -hatched. On the other hand, the barn swallow makes a nest where there is -plenty of light and air, and is a mason rather than a carpenter or -miner. The mud he uses is not mere earth and water, but is made more -adherent by a trace of secretion from the bird’s mouth; at least, my -experiments lead me to think so. To build such a nest would be slow work -did not the two birds work together and carry their little loads of -mortar with great rapidity. They waste no time, and use only good -materials, for I have noticed them, when building, go to a quite distant -spot for the mud when a pool was directly outside of the barn in which -they were building. To all appearance the nest is of sun-dried mud, but -the material has certainly undergone a kind of puddling first that makes -it more adherent, bit to bit, and the whole to the rafter or side of the -building. Again, these swallows have the knack of carrying a little -water on the feathers of their breasts, I think, and give the structure -a shower-like wetting from time to time. At last the structure “sets” -and is practically permanent. - -There are birds that build no nests, like the kill-deer plover and the -woodcock, and yet they exercise a faculty of equal value intellectually; -for to be able to locate a spot that will be in the least degree exposed -to danger is a power of no mean grade. The kill-deer will place its eggs -on sloping ground, but somehow the heaviest dashes of rain do not wash -out that particular spot. There are sand-pipers that lay their eggs on a -bit of dead grass, just out of reach of the highest tides. As we look at -such _nests_, we conclude that the birds trust a great deal to good -luck; but, as a matter of fact, the destruction of eggs when in no -nests, or next to none, is very small. Why, on the other hand, -woodpeckers should go to such an infinity of trouble to whittle a nest -in the firm tissue of a living tree, when a natural hollow would serve -as well, is a problem past finding out. I have even seen a woodpecker -make a new nest in a tree which already contained one in every respect -as good. - -Going back to the fields and thickets, it will be seen that birds, as a -rule, desire that their nests should be inconspicuous, and their efforts -are always largely in this direction in the construction. The foliage of -the tree or bush is considered, and when not directly concealed by this, -the nest is made to look marvellously like a natural production of the -vegetable world, as the beautiful nest of our wood pee-wee or the -humming-bird shows. These nests are then not merely the homes of young -birds, but are places of defence against a host of enemies. The parent -birds have no simple task set before them that can be gone through with -mechanically year after year. Every season new problems arise, if their -favorite haunts suffer change, and every year the birds prove equal to -their solution. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - CHAPTER FIFTH - - _CORN-STALK FIDDLES_ - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - -It is a merit of our climate that at no time of the year are we, as -children, shut out from healthy out-door pleasure. There are shady nooks -along our creeks and rivers and delightful old mill-ponds wherein we may -bathe in midsummer, and there are acres of glassy ice over which to -skate in midwinter. Spring and autumn are too full of fun to -particularize, the average day being available for scores of methods -whereby to make life a treasure beyond compare, spending it, to the mind -of a boy, in that most rational way, having sport. I do not know why we -always played marbles at one time of the year and flew our kites at -another: this is for the folk-lore clubs to fathom. Suffice it, that -there has been for centuries a time for every out-door amusement as -fixed as the phases of the moon. So much for the sport common to all -boys. And now a word concerning an old-time musical instrument that may -be now quite out of date,—the corn-stalk fiddle. - -This very primitive musical instrument is associated with the dreamy -Indian-summer days of late November. Then it discoursed delicious music, -but at other times it would have been “out of tune and harsh.” Did the -Indians give the secret to the children of our colonial forefathers? It -would be a pleasing thought whenever the toy comes to mind, as the mere -suggestion is a pleasant fancy. - -The husking over, the corn-stalks carted and stored in a huge rick by -the barn-yard, the apples gathered, the winter wood cut, and then the -long quiet, with almost nothing to do. Such was the routine when I was a -boy, and if the uncertain, dreamy days would only come, there was sure -to be a short round of pleasure wherein the fiddle figured more -prominently than all else. - -It was no small part of the fun to see Billy make a fiddle; it was such -a curious combination of mummery and skill. Having whetted his keen, -old-fashioned Barlow knife on the toe of his boot, he would flourish it -above his head with a whoop as though he was looking for an enemy -instead of a corn-stalk. Finding one that was glossy and long enough -between the joints, he would press it gently between his lips, trying -the several sections, and then selecting the longest and most glossy -one. So much of the proceeding was for our benefit, as the cunning old -fellow well knew that it added to his importance in our eyes. - -What followed was skill. Having cut off the stalk above and below the -ring-like joints, he had now a convenient piece about eight or ten -inches in length. This he warmed by rubbing it violently with the palm -of his hand, and then placing the point of the knife as near the joint -as practicable, he drew it quickly down to the next joint or lower end. -It must be a straight incision, and Billy seldom failed to make it so. A -parallel one was then made, not more than one-sixteenth of an inch -distant. A space of twice this width was left, and two or three more -strings were made in the same manner. These were freed of the pith -adhering to their under sides, and held up by little wooden “bridges,” -one at each end. The bow was similarly fashioned, but was made of a more -slender section of corn-stalk and had but two strings. - -It was indeed surprising how available this crude production proved as a -musical instrument. Youth and the environment counted for a great deal, -of course, and my Quaker surroundings forbidding music, it was a sweeter -joy because a stolen one. - -I can picture days of forty years ago as distinctly as though a matter -of the present. My cousin and myself, with Black Billy, would often -steal away and carry with us one of the smaller barn doors. This we -would place in a sunny nook on the south side of the stalk-rick, and -while the fiddle was being made, would part with our jackets that we -might dance the better. Billy was soon ready, and with what a joyful -grin, rolling of his huge black eyes, and vigorous contortion of the -whole body would our faithful friend draw from the corn-stalk every note -of many a quaint old tune! And how we danced! For many a year after the -old door showed the nail-marks of our heavily-heeled shoes where we had -brought them down with a vigor that often roused the energy of old -Billy, until he, too, would stand up and execute a marvellous _pas -seul_. Then, tired out, we would rest in niches in the stalk-rick, and -Billy would play such familiar airs as had penetrated even into the -quiet of Quakerdom. It was no mere imitation of the music, but the thing -itself; and it would be an hour or more before the fiddle’s strings had -lost their tension, the silicious covering had worn away, and the sweet -sounds ceased. - -Almost the last of my November afternoons passed in this way had a -somewhat dramatic ending. The fiddle was one of more than ordinary -excellence. In the height of our fun I spied the brim of my -grandfather’s hat extending an inch or two around the corner. I gave no -sign, but danced more vigorously than ever, and as the music and dancing -became more fast and furious the crown of his stiff hat appeared, and -then my grandfather’s face. His countenance was a study. Whether to give -the alarm and run or to remain was the decision of an instant. I gave no -sign, but kept one eye on him. “Faster!” I cried to Billy, and, to my -complete astonishment, the hat moved rapidly up and down. Grandfather -was keeping time! “Faster!” I cried again, and the music was now a -shrieking medley, and the broad-brimmed hat vibrated wonderfully fast. -It was too much. I gave a wild yell and darted off. Circling the barn -and stalk-rick, I entered the front yard with a flushed but innocent -face, and met grandpa. He, too, had an innocent, far-away look, but his -hat was resting on the back of his head and his checks were streaming -with perspiration, and, best of all, he did not seem to know it. - -“Grandpa,” I asked at the supper-table that evening, “does thee know why -it is that savage races are so given to dancing?” - -"Charles," he replied, gravely, and nothing more was said. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - CHAPTER SIXTH - - _THE OLD KITCHEN DOOR_ - - -The white porch, with its high roof and two severely plain pillars to -support it; the heavy door, with its ponderous knocker; the straggling -sweetbrier at one side; the forlorn yellow rose between the parlor -windows; the grass that was too cold to welcome a dandelion; the low box -hedge, and one huge box bush that never sheltered a bird’s nest; all -these were in front to solemnly greet that terror of my early -days,—company. - -To me these front-door features all meant, and still mean, restraint; -but how different the world that lingered about the old farm-house -kitchen door! There was no cold formality there, but freedom,—the -healthy freedom of old clothes, an old hat; ay, even the luxury of an -open-throated shirt was allowed. - -After a tramp over the meadows, after a day’s fishing, after the round -of the rabbit-traps in winter, what joy to enter the kitchen door and -breathe in the delectable odor of hot gingerbread! There were appetites -in those days. - -I do not understand the mechanism of a modern kitchen: it looks to me -like a small machine-shop; but the old farm kitchen was a simple affair, -and the intricacies and mystery lay wholly in the dishes evolved. It is -said of my grandmother that a whiff of her sponge-cake brought the -humming-birds about. I do know there was a crackly crust upon it which -it is useless now to try to imitate. - -But the door itself—we have none such now. It was a double door in two -ways. It was made of narrow strips of oak, oblique on one side and -straight on the other, and so studded with nails that the whole affair -was almost half metal. It was cut in two, having an upper and a lower -section. The huge wooden latch was hard and smooth as ivory. At night -the door was fastened by a hickory bar, which, when I grew strong enough -to lift it, was my favorite hobby-horse. - -The heavy oak sill was worn in the middle until its upper surface was -beautifully curved, and to keep the rain out, when the wind was south, a -canvas sand-bag was rolled against it. A stormy-day amusement was to -pull this away on the sly, and sail tiny paper boats in the puddle that -soon formed on the kitchen floor. There was mischief in those days. - -Kitchens and food are of course inseparably connected, and what -hunting-ground for boys equal to the closets where the cakes were kept? -I do not know that the matter was ever openly discussed, but as I look -back it seems as if it was an understood thing that, when our cunning -succeeded in outwitting auntie, we could help ourselves to jumbles. Once -I became a hero in this line of discovery, and we had a picnic behind -the lilacs; but, alas! only too soon we were pleading for essence of -peppermint. Over-eating is possible, even in our teens. - -Recent raids in modern kitchen precincts are never successful. Of late I -always put my hand in the wrong crock, and find pickles where I sought -preserves. I never fail, now, to take a slice of a reserved cake, or to -quarter the pie intended for the next meal. Age brings no experience in -such matters. It is a case where we advance backward. - -Of the almost endless phases of life centring about the kitchen door -there is one which stands out so prominently that it is hard to realize -the older actor is now dead and that of the young on-lookers few are -left. Soon after the dinner-horn was sounded the farm hands gathered at -the pump, which stood just outside the door, and then in solemn -procession filed into the kitchen for the noonday meal. All this was -prosy enough, but the hour’s nooning after it,—then there was fun -indeed. - -Scipio—“Zip,” for short—was not ill-natured, but then who loves too much -teasing? An old chestnut burr in the grass where he was apt to lie had -made him suspicious of me, and I had to be extra cautious. Once I nearly -overstepped the mark. Zip had his own place for a quiet nap, and, when -stretched upon the grass under the big linden, preferred not to be -disturbed. Now it occurred to me to be very funny. I whittled a cork to -the shape of a spider, added monstrous legs, and with glue fastened a -dense coating of chicken-down over all. - -It was a fearful spider. - -I suspended the sham insect from a limb of the tree so that it would -hang directly over Zip’s face as he lay on the ground, and by a black -thread that could not be seen I could draw it up or let it down at -pleasure. It was well out of sight when Zip fell asleep, and then I -slowly lowered the monster until it tickled his nose. It was promptly -brushed aside. This was repeated several times, and then the old man -awoke. The huge spider was just touching his nose, and one glance was -enough. With a bound and a yell he was up and off, in his headlong -flight overturning the thoughtless cause of his terror. I was the more -injured of the two, but never dared in after-years to ask Zip if he was -afraid of spiders. - -And all these years the front door never changed. It may have been -opened daily for aught I know, but I can remember nothing of its -history. - -Stay! As befitting such an occurrence, it was open once, as I remember, -when there was a wedding at the house; but of that wedding I recall only -the preparations in the kitchen for the feast that followed; and, alas! -it has been opened again and again for funerals. - -Why, indeed, should the front door be remembered? It added no sunshine -to the child’s short summer; but around the corner, whether dreary -winter’s storm or the fiercest heat of August fell upon it, the kitchen -door was the entrance to a veritable elysium. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - CHAPTER SEVENTH - - _UP THE CREEK_ - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - -There is greater merit in the little word “up” than in “down.” If, when -in a place new to me, I am asked to go “up the creek,” my heart leaps, -but there is less enthusiasm when it is suggested to go down the stream. -One seems to mean going into the country, the other into the town. All -this is illogical, of course, but what of that? The facts of a case like -this have not the value of my idle fancies. After all, there is a -peculiar merit in going up-stream. It is something to be going deeper -and deeper into the heart of the country. It is akin to getting at the -foundations of things. - -In the case of small inland streams, generally, the mouth is a -commonplace affair. The features that charm shrink from the fateful -spot, and we are put in a condition of anticipation at the start which, -happily, proves one of abundant realization at the finish. - -A certain midsummer Saturday was not an ideal one for an outing, but -with most excellent company I ventured up the creek. It was my friend’s -suggestion, so I was free from responsibility. Having promised nothing, -I could in no wise be justly held accountable. Vain thought! Directly I -suffered in their estimation because, at mere beck and nod, polliwogs -were not forthcoming and fishes refused to swim into my hand. What -strange things we fancy of our neighbors! Because I love the wild life -about me, one young friend thought me a magician who could command the -whole creek’s fauna by mere word of mouth. It proved an empty day in one -respect, animal life scarcely showing itself. To offer explanations was -of no avail, and one of the little company recast her opinions. Perhaps -she even entertains some doubt as to my having ever seen a bird or fish -or the coveted polliwog. - -It is one thing to be able to give the name and touch upon the habits of -some captured creature, and quite another to command its immediate -presence when we enter its haunts. This always should, and probably -never will, be remembered. - -But what of the creek, the one-time Big-Bird Creek of the Delaware -Indians? With ill-timed strokes we pulled our languid oars, and passed -many a tree, jutting meadow, or abandoned wharf worthy of more than a -moment’s contemplation. But, lured by the treasure still beyond our -reach, we went on and on, until the trickling waters of a hillside -spring proved too much for us, and, turning our prow landward, we -stopped to rest. - -Among old trees that afforded grateful shade, a spring that bubbled from -an aged chestnut’s wrinkled roots, a bit of babbling brook that too soon -reached the creek and was lost, and, beyond all, wide-spreading meadows, -boundless from our point of view—what more need one ask? To our credit, -be it said, we were satisfied, except, perhaps, that here, as all along -our course, polliwogs were perverse. Birds, however, considerately came -and went, and even the shy cuckoo deigned to reply when we imitated his -dolorous clucking. A cardinal grosbeak, too, drew near and whistled a -welcome, and once eyed us with much interest as we sat lunching on the -grass. What did he think of us? Eating, with him, is so different a -matter, and perhaps he could give us a few useful hints. The trite -remark, “Fingers came before forks,” has a significance in the woods, if -not in the town. While eating we listened, and I heard the voices of -nine different birds. Some merely chirped in passing, it is true, but -the marsh-wrens in the cat-tail thicket just across the creek were not -silent for a moment. Here in the valley of the Delaware, as I recently -found them on the shores of Chesapeake Bay, the wrens are quite -nocturnal, and I would have been glad to have heard them sing in the -moonlight again; for our enthusiasm would have been strengthened by a -few such glimpses of the night side of Nature. - -No bird is so welcome to a mid-day camp as the white-eyed vireo, and we -were fortunate in having one with us while we tarried at the spring. Not -even ninety degrees in the shade has any effect upon him, and this -unflagging energy reacts upon the listener. We could at least be so far -alive as to give him our attention. Mid-day heat, however, does affect -many a song-bird, and now that nesting is well-nigh over, the open woods -are deserted for hidden cool retreats, where the songster takes its -ease, as we, far from town, are taking ours. There is much in common -between birds and men. - -How, as we lingered over our glasses, counting the lemon-seeds embedded -in sugar, we would have enjoyed a wood-thrush’s splendid song or a -rose-breasted grosbeak’s matchless melody! but the _to-whee_ of the -pipilo scratching among dead leaves, the plaint of an inquisitive -cat-bird threading the briers, the whir of a humming-bird vainly seeking -flowers,—these did not pass for nothing; and yet there was comparative -silence that suggested a sleeping rather than a wakeful, active world. - -Here let me give him who loves an outing a useful hint: be not so -anxious for what may be that you overlook that which is spread before -you. More than once to-day our discussion of the “silence” of a -midsummer noontide drowned the voices of singing-birds near by. - -How often it has been intimated to us that "two’s company and three’s a -crowd"! but to really see and hear what transpires in the haunts of wild -life, _one_ is company and _two’s_ a crowd. We cannot heed Nature and -fellow-man at the same moment; and as to the comparative value of their -communications, each must judge for himself. - -Certainly the human voice is a sound which animals are slow to -appreciate. How often have I stood in silence before birds and small -animals and they have shown no fear! A movement of my arms would put -them on guard, perhaps; but a word spoken, and away they sped. Not a -bird, I have noticed, is startled by the bellow of a bull or the neigh -of a horse, and yet my own voice filled them with fear. Even snakes that -knew me well and paid no attention to my movements were startled at -words loudly spoken. It is a bit humiliating to think that in the -estimation of many a wild animal our bark is worse than our bite. - -A midsummer noontide has surely some merit, and when I failed to find -fish, frog, or salamander for my young friend, it became necessary to -point to some feature of the spot that made it worth a visit. To my -discomfiture, I could find nothing. Trees have been talked of overmuch, -and there were no wild flowers. The August bloom gave, as yet, only a -hint of what was coming. I had hit upon a most unlucky interim during -which no man should go upon a picnic. In despair and empty-handed, we -took to our boat and started up the creek. It was a fortunate move, for -straightway the waters offered that which I had vainly sought for on -shore. Here were flowers in abundance. The pickerel-weed was in bloom, -the dull-yellow blossoms of the spatterdock dotted the muddy shores, -bind-weed here and there offered a single flower as we passed by, and -never was golden-dodder more luxuriant. Still, it is always a little -disappointing when Flora has the world to herself, and while we were -afloat it was left to a few crows and a single heron to prove that she -had not quite undisputed sway. - -Up the creek with many a turn and twist, and now on a grassy knoll we -land again, where a wonderful spring pours a great volume of sparkling -water into the creek. Here at last we have an object lesson that should -bear fruit when we recall the day. Not a cupful of this clear cold water -could we catch but contained a few grains of sand, and for so many -centuries has this carrying of sand grains been in progress that now a -great ridge has choked the channel where once rode ships at anchor. An -obscure back-country creek now, but less than two centuries ago the -scene of busy industry. Perhaps no one is now living who saw the last -sail that whitened the landscape. Pages of old ledgers, a bit of diary, -and old deeds tell us something of the place; but the grassy knoll -itself gives no hint of the fact that upon it once stood a warehouse. -Yet a busy place it was in early colonial times, and now utterly -neglected. - -It is difficult to realize how very unsubstantial is much of man’s work. -As we sat upon the grassy slope, watching the outgoing tide as it -rippled and broke in a long line of sparkling bubbles, I rebuilt, for -the moment, the projecting wharf, of which but a single log remains, and -had the quaint shallops of pre-Revolutionary time riding at anchor. -There were heard, in fact, the cry of a heron and the wild scream of a -hawk; but these, in fancy, were the hum of human voices and the tramp of -busy feet. - -[Illustration: _The Old Drawbridge, Crosswick’s Creek_] - -The scattered stones that just peeped above the grass were not chance -bowlders rolled from the hill near by, but the door-step and foundation -of the one-time warehouse. The days of buying, selling, and getting gain -came back, in fancy, and I was more the sturdy colonist than the -effeminate descendant. But has the present no merit? We had the summer -breeze that came freighted with the odors gathered from the forest and -the stream, and there were thrushes rejoicing in our hearing that the -hill-sides were again as Nature made them. It meant much to us to tarry -in the shade of venerable trees spared by the merchants that once -collected here, whose names are now utterly forgotten. Stay! there are -two reminders of ancient glory. A beech that overhangs the brook has its -bark well scarred, and, now beyond decipherment, there are initials of -many prominent naturalists of Philadelphia. A few rods up-stream is -another beech that has remained unchanged. On it can be seen the -initials T. A. C., 1819; those of the celebrated paleontologist, Conrad, -born near here in 1803. - -The shadows lengthen; the cooler hours of eventide draw on; the languid -thrushes are again abroad; music fills the air. We are homeward bound -and hurrying down-stream. Our minds are not so receptive as when we -started. How shrunken to a few rods is every mile! Trees, flowers, and -birds are scarcely heeded; but the good gathered as we went up the creek -we bring away, and, once again in the dusty village street, we realize -that we have but to turn our back upon the town to find the world a -picture. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - CHAPTER EIGHTH - - _A WINTER-NIGHT’S - OUTING_ - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - -Not long since I was asked—and not for the first time—if I could date -the beginning of my taste for natural history pursuits or give any -incident that appeared to mark a turning-point in my career. - -It did not seem possible to do this, on first consideration; but a -recent living over of days gone by recalled an incident which happened -before I was eleven years old, and, as it was almost my first regular -outing that smacked of adventure, it is probable that it impressed me -more forcibly than any earlier or, indeed, later events. - -Heavy and long-continued rains had resulted in a freshet, and then three -bitter cold days had converted a wide reach of meadows into a frozen -lake. Happier conditions could not have occurred in the small boy’s -estimation, and, with boundless anticipation, we went skating. - -After smooth ice, the foremost requirement is abundant room, and this we -had. There was more than a square mile for each of us. The day had been -perfect and the approaching night was such as Lowell so aptly describes, -“all silence and all glisten.” - -As the sun was setting we started a roaring fire in a sheltered nook, -and securely fastening our skates without getting at all chilled, -started off. Then the fun commenced. We often wandered more than a mile -away, and it was not until the fire was reduced to a bed of glowing -coals that we returned to our starting-point. - -Here a great surprise awaited us. The heat had drawn from the wooded -hill-side near by many a meadow-mouse that, moved by the warmth or by -curiosity, ventured as near as it dared. These mice were equally -surprised at seeing us, and scampered off, but, it seemed to me, with -some show of reluctance, as if a chance to warm themselves so thoroughly -should not be missed. - -We freshened the fire a little and fell back a few paces, but stood near -enough to see if the mice would return. This they did in a few minutes, -and, to our unbounded surprise and amusement, more than one sat up on -its haunches like a squirrel. They seemed to be so many diminutive human -beings about a camp-fire. - -It was a sight to give rise to a pretty fairy tale, and possibly our -Indians built up theirs on just such incidents. These mice were, to all -appearances, there to enjoy the warmth. There was little running to and -fro, no squeaking, not a trace of unusual excitement, and, although it -was so cold, we agreed to wait as long as the mice saw fit to stay. - -This resolution, however, could not hold. We were getting chilled, and -so had to draw near. As we did this, there was a faint squeaking which -all noticed, and we concluded that sentinels had been placed to warn the -congregated mice of our approach. - -The spirit of adventure was now upon us, and our skates were but the -means to other ends than mere sport. What, we thought, of the gloomy -nooks and corners where thickets stood well above the ice? We had -shunned these heretofore, but without open admission that we had any -fear concerning them. Then, too, the gloomy gullies in the hill-side -came to mind. Should we skate into such darkness and startle the wild -life there? - -The suggestion was made, and not one dared say he was afraid. - -We thought of the fun in chasing a coon or skunk over the ice, and -bravely we ventured, feeling our way where we knew the ice was thin and -rough. - -At a bend in the little brook, where a large cedar made the spot more -dark and forbidding, we paused a moment, not knowing just how to -proceed. - -The next minute we had no time for thought. A loud scream held us almost -spellbound, and then, with one dash, we sought the open meadows. - -Once there, we breathed a little freer. We could see the fast-fading -light of the fire, and at last could flee in a known direction if -pursued. Should we hurry home? We debated this for some time, but were -more fearful of being laughed at than of facing any real danger, and -therefore concluded, with proper caution, to return. - -Keeping close together, we entered the ravine again, stopped near the -entrance and kindled a fire, and then, by its light, proceeded farther. -It was a familiar spot, but not without strange features as we now saw -it. - -Again we were startled by the same wild cry, but for a moment only. A -barn owl, I think it was, sailed by, glaring at us, as we imagined, and -sought the open meadows. - -We turned and followed, though why, it would be hard to say. The owl -flew slowly and we skated furiously, trying to keep it directly -overhead. Now we were brave even to foolhardiness, and sped away over -the ice, indifferent to the direction taken. To this day I have credited -that owl with a keen sense of humor. - -On we went, over the meadows to where the swift but shallow creek flowed -by, and then, when too late, we knew where we were. The ice bent beneath -us, then cracked, and in an instant we were through it, our feet well in -the mud and the water about our necks. Just how we got out I never knew, -but we did, and the one dry match among us was a veritable treasure. It -did not go out at the critical moment, but started ablaze the few twigs -we hastily gathered, and so saved us from freezing. As we dried our -clothes and warmed our benumbed bodies, I, for one, vowed never again to -chase an owl on skates, but to go at it more soberly. From that eventful -night the country has been attractive by reason of its wild life. It was -there I became—if indeed I ever have become—a naturalist. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - CHAPTER NINTH - - _WILD LIFE IN WATER_ - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - -“The antelope has less reason to fear the lion than has the minnow to -dread the pike. We think of timid antelopes and roaring lions, but the -former has good use of its limbs, and so a fighting chance for its life; -but the minnows have little advantage in the struggle for existence, and -none at all when the predatory fishes are in pursuit of them.” - -This was written in a note-book more than thirty years ago, and I let it -stand as evidence of how easy it is to be in error in matters of natural -history. - -When I went to school there was but one teacher of the five that knew -anything about such matters, and he had the old-time views. Then a fish -was a mere machine so far as intelligence was concerned. We were told of -the cunning of foxes and the instinct of ants and bees, but never a word -of fishes. - -The truth is, I might very properly speak of wild “wit” in the water -instead of “life,” for there can be not the shadow of a doubt but that -many of our fishes are really cunning. We need but watch them carefully -to be readily convinced of this. How else could they escape danger? - -The pretty peacock minnows throng the grassy beach at high tide, playing -with their fellows in water just deep enough to cover them, and are, -when here, very tame and careless. They even get stranded upon the airy -side of floating leaves, and enjoy the excitement. They realize, it -would seem, that where they are no pike can rush down upon them, no -snake work its way unseen among them, no turtle crawl into their -playground; but as the tide goes out and these minnows are forced nearer -to the river’s channel, they lose their carelessness and are suspicious -of all about them. - -To call this instinctive fear and result of heredity sounds well; but -the naturalist is brought nearer to the wild life about him when he -credits them simply with common sense. The charm of watching such “small -deer” vanishes if we lean too much on the learned and scientific -solutions of the comparative psychologist, and possibly, too, we wander -further from the truth. All I positively know is, that when danger -really exists the minnows are aware of it; when it is absent they throw -off the burden of this care, and life for a few hours is a matter of -pure enjoyment. - -Brief mention should be made of the protective character of the coloring -of certain fishes. If such are fortunate enough to be protectively -colored, there is little to be said; but are they conscious of this? -Does a fish that is green or mottled green and gray keep closely to the -weeds, knowing that it is safer there than when in open water or where -the bottom is covered with white sand and pebbles? This may be a rather -startling question, but there is warrant for the asking. Float half a -day over the shallows of any broad pond or stream, study with care and -without preconception the fishes where they live, and you will ask -yourself not only this question, but many a stranger one. If fish are -fools, how is it that the angler has so generally to tax his ingenuity -to outwit them? How closely Nature must be copied to deceive a trout! - -Having said so much of small fishes, what now of the larger ones that -prey upon them? A pike, for instance? Probably many more people have -studied how to catch a pike than have considered it scientifically. It -is tiresome, perhaps, but if a student of natural history really desires -to know what a fish actually is, he must watch it for hours, being -himself unseen. - -At one time there were several large pike in my lotus pond. Under the -huge floating leaves of this splendid plant they took refuge, and it was -difficult to catch even a glimpse of them. At the same time the schools -of minnows seemed to enjoy the sunlight and sported in the open water. -More than once, however, I saw a pike rush out from its cover, and -finally learned that it systematically lay in wait for the minnows; and -I believe I am justified in adding that the minnows knew that danger -lurked under the lotus leaves. - -The situation was not so hap-hazard a one as might appear at first -glance, and hours of patient watching convinced me that there was a -decided exercising of ingenuity on the part of both the pike and the -minnows; the former ever on the lookout for a victim, the latter -watchful of an ever-present danger. Day long it was a tragedy where -brute force counted for little and cunning for a great deal. - -Another very common fish in my pond was likewise very suggestive in -connection with the subject of animal intelligence. I refer to the -common “sunny,” or “pumpkin-seed.” A shallow sand-nest had been scooped -near shore and the precious eggs deposited. A school of silvery-finned -minnows had discovered them, and the parent fish was severely taxed in -her efforts to protect them. - -So long as this school of minnows remained together, the sunfish, by -fierce rushes, kept them back; but soon the former—was it accident or -design?—divided their forces, and as the parent fish darted at one -assaulting party, the other behind it made a successful raid upon the -nest. This continued for some time, and the sunfish was getting quite -weary, when, as if a sudden thought struck it, its tactics changed, and -it swam round and round in a circle and sent a shower of sand out into -the space beyond the nest. This effectually dazed the minnows. - -Little incidents like this are forever occurring and effectually set -aside the once prevalent idea that fish are mere living machines. Look a -pike in the eye and you will detect something very different from mere -instinctive timidity. - -But fish are not the only creatures that live in the water; there are -one snake and several species of turtles, and frogs, mollusks, and -insects innumerable. These are too apt to be associated with the land, -and, except the two latter forms, are usually thought of as taking to -the water as a place of refuge, but really living in the open air. This -is a great mistake. There is a lively world beneath the surface of the -water, and the tragedy of life is played to the very end, with here and -there a pretty comedy that wards off the blues when we look too long and -see nothing but the destruction of one creature that another may live. - -Here is an example of cunning or wit in a water-snake. A friend of mine -was recently sitting on the bank of a little brook, when his attention -was called to a commotion almost at his feet. Looking down, he saw a -snake holding its head above the water, and in its mouth struggled a -small sunfish. Now, what was the snake’s purpose? It knew very well that -the fish would drown in the air, and not until it was dead could it be -swallowed with that deliberation a snake loves. The creature was cunning -enough to kill by easy means prey that would otherwise be difficult to -overcome, for while crosswise in the snake’s mouth it could not be -swallowed, and if put down for an instant the chances of its recapture -would be slight. - -To suppose that a turtle, as you watch it crawling over the mud, has any -sense of humor in its horny head seems absurd; yet naturalists have -recorded their being seen at play, and certainly they can readily be -tamed to a remarkable degree. Their intelligence, however, shows -prominently only in the degree of cunning exhibited when they are in -search of food. The huge snapper “lies in wait,” and truly this is a -most suggestive and comprehensive phrase. I believe, too, that this -fierce turtle buries surplus food, and so gives further evidence of -intellectual activity. - -To realize what wild life in the water really is it must be observed -where Nature has placed it. It is perhaps not so much set forth by -exceptional incidents that the student happens to witness as by that -general appearance of common sense which is so unmistakably stamped upon -even the most commonplace movements. Writers upon animal intelligence do -not need to be constantly on the lookout for special exhibitions of -cunning in order to substantiate the claims they make in favor of life’s -lower forms. It is plainly enough to be seen if we will but patiently -watch whensoever these creatures come and wheresoever they go and the -manner of their going and coming. - -Do not be so intent upon watching for the marvellous that ordinary -incidents are not seen. In studying wild life everywhere, and perhaps -more particularly in the water, to be rightly informed we must see the -average individual amid commonplace surroundings. Doing this, we are not -misinformed nor led to form too high an opinion. It is as in the study -of humanity. We must not familiarize ourselves with the mountebank, but -with man. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - CHAPTER TENTH - - _AN OLD-FASHIONED - GARDEN_ - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - -The world at large is a most intricate machine, and parts viewed -separately give no hint of their importance to what appear quite -independent objects. Man may dissociate without destroying, but, when he -does so, his constant attention must then take the place of the acts -that Nature designed other conditions of life should perform. The -isolated plant, for instance, is destroyed by insects unless we protect -it by a glass covering or a poison-bath: Nature gave it to the birds to -protect the plant, and in so doing find food for themselves. This law of -interdependence is made very plain in the case of a modern garden or the -trim lawns of a large city, and in less degree applies to towns and -villages. The caterpillar nuisance that requires the collaring of -shade-trees with cotton-wool to protect their foliage illustrates this; -and what an example is a modern garden filled to overflowing with exotic -plants! An all-important feature is wanting,—birds; for, except English -sparrows, we have none, and these are worse than useless. - -It was not always so, and the cause of the deplorable change is not hard -to find. Whenever we chance, in our wanderings, to come upon some -long-neglected corner of colonial times, there we will find the bloom -and birds together. I have said “neglected;” not quite that, for there -was bloom, and the birds are excellent gardeners. - -Let me particularize. My garden is a commonplace affair, with the single -innovation of a tub sunk in the ground to accommodate a lotus,—so -commonplace, indeed, that no passer-by would notice it; and yet during a -single summer afternoon I have seen within its boundaries fifteen -species of birds. At that hottest hour of the midsummer day, two P.M., -while looking at the huge pink blossoms of the classic lotus, my -attention was called to a quick movement on the ground, as if a rat ran -by. It proved to be an oven-bird, that curious combination of thrush and -sand-piper, and yet neither, but a true warbler. It peered into every -nook and corner of the shrubbery, poised on the edge of the sunken -lotus-tub, caught a wriggling worm that came to the surface of the -water, then teetered along the fence and was gone. Soon it returned, and -came and went until dark, as much at home as ever in the deep recesses -of unfrequented woods. As the sun went down, the bird sang once with all -the spring-tide ardor, and brought swiftly back to me many a long -summer’s day ramble in the country. It is something to be miles away -from home while sitting on your own door-step. - -Twice a song-sparrow came, bathed in the lotus-tub, and, when not -foraging in the weedy corners, sang its old-fashioned song, now so -seldom heard within town limits. The bird gave me two valuable hints as -to garden management. Water is a necessity to birds as well as to any -other form of life, and shelter is something more than a mere -attraction. Was it not because the birds happened to be provided with -them to-day that I had, as I have had the summer long, more birds than -my neighbors? - -How seldom do we see the coral honeysuckle, and how generally the -trumpet-creeper has given place to exotic vines of far more striking -bloom, but, as will appear, of less utility! If the old-time vines that -I have mentioned bore less showy flowers, they had at least the merit of -attracting humming-birds, that so grandly rounded out our complement of -summer birds. These feathered fairies are not difficult to see, even -though so small, and, if so inclined, we can always study them to great -advantage. They become quite tame, and in the old-fashioned gardens were -always a prominent feature by reason of their numbers. They are not -forever on the wing, and when preening their feathers let the sunshine -fall upon them, and we have emeralds and rubies that cost nothing, but -are none the less valuable because of this. In changing the botanical -features of our yards we have had but one thought, gorgeous flowers; but -was it wise to give no heed to the loss of birds as the result? I fancy -there are many who would turn with delight from formal clusters of -unfamiliar shrubs, however showy, to a gooseberry hedge or a lilac -thicket with song-sparrows and a cat-bird hidden in its shade. We have -been unwise in this too radical change. We have abolished bird-music in -our eagerness for color, gaining a little, but losing more. We have paid -too clear, not for a whistle, but for its loss. But it is not too late. -Carry a little of the home forest to our yards, and birds will follow -it. And let me here wander to an allied matter, that of the -recently-established Arbor Day. What I have just said recalls it. - -To merely transplant a tree, move it from one spot to another, where -perhaps it is less likely to remain for any length of time than where it -previously stood, is, it seems to me, the very acme of folly. The -chances are many that the soil is less suitable, and so growth will be -retarded, and the world is therefore not one whit the better off. There -is far too much tree-planting of this kind on Arbor Day. In many an -instance a plot of ground has been replanted year after year. I fancy we -will have to reach more nearly to the stage of tree appreciation before -Arbor Day will be a pre-eminent success. Can we not, indeed, accommodate -ourselves a little more to the trees growing where Nature planted them? -I know a village well, where the houses are placed to accommodate the -trees that stood there when the spot was a wilderness. The main street -is a little crooked, but what a noble street it is! I recall, as I write -these lines, many a Friends’ meeting-house, and one country school, -where splendid oaks are standing near by, and to those who gather daily -or weekly here, whether children or grown people, the trees are no less -clear than the buildings beside them. The wanderer who revisits the -scenes of his childhood looks first at the trees and then at the houses. -Tree-worship, we are told, was once very prevalent, and it is not to be -regretted that in a modified form it still remains with us. - -As a practical matter, let me here throw out the suggestion that he will -be doing most excellent work who saves a tree each year. This is a -celebration that needs no special day set forth by legislative -enactment. How often I have heard farmers remark, "It was a mistake to -cut those trees down"! Of course it was. In nine cases out of ten the -value of the trees felled proves less than was expected, and quickly -follows the realization of the fact that when standing their full value -was not appreciated. Think of cutting down trees that stand singly or in -little groups in the middle of fields because it is a trouble to plant -around them, or for the reason that they shade the crops too much! What -of the crop of comfort such trees yield to both man and beast when these -fields are pastures? “But there is no money in shade-trees.” I cannot -repress my disgust when I hear this, and I have heard it often. Is there -genuine manhood in those who feel this way towards the one great -ornament of our landscape? - -It is not—more’s the pity—within the power of every one to plant a tree, -but those who cannot need not stand idly by on Arbor Day. Here is an -instance where half a loaf is better than no bread. Many a one can plant -a shrub. How often there is an unsightly corner, even in the smallest -enclosure, where a tall tree would be a serious obstruction, whereon can -be grown a thrifty bush, one that will be a constant source of pleasure -because of its symmetry and bright foliage, and for a time doubly -attractive because of its splendid blossoming! We know too little of the -many beautiful flowering shrubs that are scattered through every -woodland, which are greatly improved by a little care in cultivation, -and which will bear transplanting. We overlook them often, when seen -growing in the forest, because they are small, irregular, and often -sparse of bloom. But remember, in the woods there is a fierce struggle -for existence, and when this is overcome the full beauty of the shrub’s -stature becomes an accomplished fact. - -Here is a short list of common shrubs, every one of which is hardy, -beautiful in itself, and can be had without other cost or labor than a -walk in the country, for I do not suppose any land-owner would refuse a -“weed,” as they generally call these humble plants. The spicewood -(_Lindera benzoin_), which bears bright golden flowers before the leaves -appear; the shad-bush (_Amelanchier canadensis_), with a wealth of snowy -blossoms, which are increased in number and size by a little attention, -as judicious trimming; and the “bush” of the wild-wood can be made to -grow to a beautiful miniature tree. The well-known pinxter flower -(_Azalea nudicaule_) is improved by cultivation, and can be made to grow -“stocky” and thick-set, instead of scragged, as we usually find it. Its -bright pink blossoms make a grand showing in May. There is a little wild -plum (_Prunus spinosa_) which only asks to be given a chance and then -will rival the famous deutzias in profusion of bloom, and afterwards -remains a sturdy tree-like shrub, with dark-green foliage that is always -attractive. This, too, blooms before the foliage is developed, and hints -of spring as surely as the robin’s song. A larger but no less handsome -bush is the white flowering thorn (_Cratægus crus-galli_), and there are -wild spireas that should not be overlooked, and two white flowering -shrubs that delight all who see them in bloom, the deer-berry -(_Vaccinium stamineum_), and the “false-teeth” (_Leucothoe racemosa_). -All these are spring flowers. And now a word about an August bloomer, -the sweet pepper-bush (_Clethra alnifolia_). This is easily grown and is -a charming plant. - -It happens, too, that a place can be found for a hardy climber, and as -beautiful as the coral honeysuckles of our grandmother’s days is the -climbing bittersweet (_Celastrus scandens_). The plant itself is -attractive. Its vigorous growth soon covers the support provided for it, -and in autumn and throughout the winter its golden and crimson fruit -hangs in thick-set clusters upon every branch. - -Considering how frequently near the house there are unsightly objects, -and how depressing it is to be forever looking upon ugliness, it is -strange that the abundant means for beautifying waste places are so -persistently neglected. With one or more of the plants I have named, an -eyesore may be changed to a source of pleasure, and it was Beecher, I -think, who said, “A piece of color is as useful as a piece of bread.” He -never spoke more truly. - -And what of the old-time arbors, with the straggling grape-vine, and -perhaps a rude wren-box perched at the entrance? Is there better shade -than the grape-vine offers, a sweeter odor than its bloom affords, or -more charming music than the song of the restless house-wren? Certainly -there have been no improvements upon these features of the old-time -garden: yet how seldom do we see them now! We must travel far, too, to -find a martin-box. As a matter of fact, the bluebird, wren, and martin -might, if we chose, be restored to the very hearts of our largest towns. -People have no more terror for them than for the English sparrow, and -they can all hold out against these piratical aliens, if we would -consider their few and simple needs. The wrens need but nesting-boxes -with an entrance through which the shoulders of a sparrow cannot pass; -and the bluebirds and martins require only that their houses be closed -during the winter and very early spring, or until they have returned -from their winter-quarters. This is easily done, and when the birds are -ready to occupy the accommodations provided for them they will take -possession and successfully hold the forts against all intruders. This -is not a fancy merely, suggested as the basis of experimentation, but is -the result of the experience of several people in widely-separated -localities. I vividly recall visiting at a house in a large town, where -purple martins for more than fifty years had occupied boxes placed upon -the eaves of a one-story kitchen. - -While stress is laid upon the importance of regaining the presence in -town of these birds, it must not be supposed that they are all that are -available. There are scores of wild birds, known only to the -ornithologist, that can be “cultivated” as readily as the wild shrubbery -that under startling names figures in many a florist’s catalogue. Give -them a foothold, and they will come to stay. Orioles, thrushes, vireos, -fly-catchers, are not unreasonably afraid of man, and would quickly -acquire confidence if they were warranted in so doing. How long would a -scarlet tanager or a cardinal grosbeak remain unmolested if it appeared -in any city street? Here is the whole matter in a nutshell: the birds -are not averse to coming, but the people will not let them. This is the -more strange, when we remember that hundreds of dollars were spent to -accommodate the pestiferous imported sparrow, that is and always must be -a positive curse. Hundreds for sparrows, and not one cent for a -bluebird! While the mischief can never be undone, it can be held in -check, if we will but take the trouble, and this is a mere matter of -town-garden rearrangement; and why, indeed, not treat our ears to music -as well as our eyes to color and our palates to sweetness? Plant here -and there a bush that will yield you a crop of birds. That this may not -be thought merely a whim of my own, let me quote from the weather record -of Dr. John Conrad, who for forty years was the apothecary of the -Pennsylvania Hospital, in Philadelphia. This institution, bear in mind, -is in the heart of the city, not in its outskirts. Under date of March -23, 1862, he records, “Crocus and snow-drop came into bloom last week -and are now fully out.” Again, he says, “Orioles arrived on April 8, -after the fruit-trees burst into bloom.” Here we have a migratory bird -in the city three weeks earlier than its usual appearance in the -country, but I do not think the doctor was mistaken. I have positive -knowledge of the fact that he was a good local ornithologist. Under date -of June, 1866, Conrad writes, “A very pleasant June. Fine bright -weather, and only one week too warm for comfort. The roses bloomed well -(except the moss-rose) and for the most part opened better than usual. -The garden full of birds, and insects less abundant than usual. Many -blackbirds reared their young in our trees, and as many as sixteen or -twenty have been counted on the lawn at one time. Cat-birds, orioles, -thrushes, wrens, vireos, robins, etc., abound and make our old hospital -joyous with their sweet songs.” - -During the summer of 1892 I was twice in the hospital grounds, with -which I was very familiar during my uncle’s—Dr. Conrad’s—lifetime, and I -heard only English sparrows, although I saw two or three native birds. -It was a sad change. Think of being able to speak of your garden as -“full of birds,”—as “joyous with their sweet songs.” This, not long ago, -could truthfully be done. Will it ever be possible to do so again? - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - CHAPTER ELEVENTH - - _AN INDIAN TRAIL_ - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - -It was a strange coincidence. A farmer living near by employed an Indian -from the school at Carlisle, and now that the work of the summer was -over, this taciturn youth walked daily over a hill to a school-house -more than a mile away, and the path leading to it was an Indian trail. - -Not long since I met the lad on this very path returning from school, -and when he passed I stood by an old oak and watched him until lost -among the trees, walking where centuries ago his people had walked when -going from the mountain village and rock shelters along an inland creek -to the distant town by the river. - -As you looked about from the old oak there was no public road or house -in sight; nothing but trees and bushes, huge rocks, and one curious -jutting ledge that tradition holds is a veritable relic of prehistoric -time,—a place where council fires were lit and midnight meetings held. - -Whether tradition is true or not, the place was a fitting one whereat to -tarry and fall a-thinking. Happy, indeed, could the old oak have spoken. - -Many a public road of recent date has been built on the line of an old -trail, as many a town and even city have replaced Indian villages; but -take the long-settled regions generally, the ancient landmarks are all -gone, and a stray potsherd or flint arrow-point in the fields is all -that is left to recall the days of the dusky aborigines. - -Only in the rough, rocky, irreclaimable hills are we likely now to be -successful, if such traces as a trail are sought for. - -It was so here. Bald-top Hill is of little use to the white man except -for the firewood that grows upon its sides and the scattered game that -still linger in its thickets. As seen from the nearest road, not far -off, there is nothing now to suggest that an Indian ever clambered about -it. The undergrowth hides every trace of the surface; but after the -leaves drop and a light snow has fallen, a curious white line can be -traced from the base of the summit; this is the old trail. - -It is a narrow path, but for so long a time had it been used by the -Indians that, when once pointed out, it can still be followed without -difficulty. It leads now from one little intervale to another: from -farmer A to farmer B; but originally it was part of their long highway -leading from Philadelphia to Easton, perhaps. It matters not. Enough to -know that then, as now, there were towns almost wherever there was land -fit for dwellings, and paths that led from one to the other. It is clear -that the Indians knew the whole country well. The routes they finally -chose resulted from long experience, and were as direct as the nature of -the ground made possible. - -The study of trails opens up to us a broader view of ancient Indian life -than we are apt to entertain. - -We find the sites of villages on the banks of the rivers and larger -inflowing streams; travel by canoes was universal. No locality was so -favorable as the open valley, and here the greater number of Indians -doubtless dwelt. But the river and its fertile shores could not yield -all that this people needed: they had to draw from the resources of the -hills behind them. They soon marked the whole region with a net-work of -trails leading to the various points whence they drew the necessities of -life. The conditions of the present day are laid down on essentially the -same lines as then. - -An Indian town was not a temporary tent site, or mere cluster of -wigwams, here to-day and miles away to-morrow; nor did these people -depend solely upon the chase. Beside the trail over which I recently -passed was a great clearing that had been an orchard. We can yet find -many a barren spot that is rightly known to the people of to-day as an -Indian field. So persistently were their cornfields cropped that at last -the soil was absolutely exhausted, and has not yet recovered its -fertility. - -There was systematic bartering, too, as the red pipe-stone or catlinite -from Minnesota and obsidian from the more distant Northwest, found on -the Atlantic coast, as well as ocean shells picked up in the far -interior, all testify. There was also periodical journeying in autumn -from inland to the sea-coast to gather supplies of oysters, clams, and -other “sea food,” which were dried by smoking and then “strung as beads -and carried as great coils of rope” back to the hills to be consumed -during the winter. - -Many small colonies, too, passed the winters on the coast in the shelter -of the great pine forests that extended to the very ocean beach. It was -no hap-hazard threading of a wilderness to reach these distant points. -The paths were well defined, well used. For how long we can only -conjecture, but the vast accumulations of shells on the coast, often now -beneath the water, point to a time so distant that the country wore a -different aspect from what it now does; a time when the land rose far -higher above the tide and extended seaward where now the ocean rolls -resistlessly. - -Returning inland, let us trace another of these old-time paths from the -river-shore whereon the Indians had long dwelt, over hill and dale until -we reach a valley hemmed in by low, rolling hills. - -It is a pretty spot still, although marred by the white man’s work; but -why was it the goal of many a weary journey? - -Here is found the coveted jasper, varied in hue as autumn leaves or a -summer sunset. The quick eye of some wandering hunter, it may be, found -a chance fragment, and, looking closer, saw that the ground on which he -stood was filled with it; or a freshet may have washed the soil from an -outcropping of the mineral. Who can tell? It must suffice to know that -the discovery was made in time, and a new industry arose. No other -material so admirably met the Indian’s need for arrow-points, for the -blades of spears, for knives, drills, scrapers, and the whole range of -tools and weapons in daily use. - -So it came that mining camps were established. To this day, in these -lonely hills, we can trace out the great pits the Indians dug, find the -tools with which they toiled, and even the ashes of their camp-fires, -where they slept by night. So deeply did the Indian work the land -wheresoever he toiled that even the paths that led from the mines to the -distant village have not been wholly blotted out. - -The story of the jasper mines has yet to be told, and it may be long -before the full details are learned concerning the various processes -through which the mineral passed before it came into use as a finished -product. Much vain speculation has been indulged in; the fancied method -of reducing a thick blade to a thin one has been elaborately described, -although never carried out by any human being; in short, the impossible -has been boldly asserted as a fact beyond question. - -The Indian’s history can be read but in small part from the handiwork -that he has left behind. - -One phase of it, in the valley of the Delaware, is more clearly told -than all else,—the advance from a primitive to a more cultured status. -There were centuries during which jasper was known only as -river-pebbles, and its discovery in abundance had an influence upon -Indians akin to that upon Europe’s stone-age people when they discovered -the use of metals. At least here in the valley of the Delaware this is -true. - -It is vain to ask for the beginning of man’s career in this region; what -we find but hints at it. But he came when there were no trails over the -hills, no path but the icy river’s edge; only as the centuries rolled by -was the country developed to the extent of knowing every nook and corner -of the land, and highways and by-ways became common, like the roads that -now reach out in every direction. - -A “trail,” then, has a wealth of meaning, and those who made it were no -“mere savages,” as we so glibly speak of the Indians, thanks to the -average school-books. - -The haughty Delawares had fields and orchards; they had permanent towns; -they mined such minerals as were valuable to them; they had weapons of -many patterns; they were jewellers in a crude way, and finished many a -stone ornament in a manner that still excites admiration. They were -travellers and tradesmen as well as hunters and warriors. - -Although my day’s search for relics of these people had yielded but a -few arrow-points, potsherds, and a stone axe, when I saw the Indian on -his way from school, walking in the very path his people had made long -centuries ago, the story of their ancient sojourn here came vividly to -mind in the dim light of an autumn afternoon, when a golden mist wrapped -the hills and veiled the valleys beyond, and I had a glimpse of -pre-Columbian America. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - CHAPTER TWELFTH - - ._A PRE-COLUMBIAN - DINNER_ - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - -A ponderous geologist, with weighty tread and weightier manner, brought -his foot down upon the unoffending sod and declared, “These meadows are -sinking at a rapid rate; something over two feet a century.” We all knew -it, but Sir Oracle had spoken, and we little dogs did not dare to bark. - -Not long after I returned alone to these ill-fated meadows and began a -leisurely, all-day ramble. They were very beautiful. There was a wealth -of purple and of white boneset and iron-weed of royal dye. Sunflower and -primrose gilded the hidden brooks, and every knoll was banked with -rose-pink centaury. Nor was this all. Feathery reeds towered above the -marsh, and every pond was empurpled with pontederia and starred with -lilies. Afar off, acres of nut-brown sedge made fitting background for -those meadow tracts that were still green, while close at hand, more -beautiful than all, were struggling growths held down by the -golden-dodder’s net that overspread them. - -It does not need trees or rank shrubbery to make a wilderness. This -low-lying tract to-day, with but a summer’s growth above it, is as wild -and lonely as are the Western plains. Lonely, that is, as man thinks, -but not forsaken. The wily mink, the pert weasel, the musk-rat, and the -meadow-mouse ramble in safety through it. The great blue heron, its -stately cousin, the snowy egret, and the dainty least bittern find it a -congenial home. - -The fiery dragon-fly darts and lazy butterflies drift across the -blooming waste; bees buzz angrily as you approach; basking snakes bid -you defiance. Verily, this is wild life’s domain and man is out of -place. - -It was not always so. The land is sinking, and what now of that older -time when it was far above its present level,—a high, dry, upland tract, -along which flowed a clear and rapid stream? The tell-tale arrow-point -is our guide, and wherever the sod is broken we have an inkling of -Indian history. The soil, as we dig a little deeper, is almost black -with charcoal—dust, and it is evident that centuries ago the Indians -were content to dwell here, and well they might be. Even in colonial -days the place had merit, and escaped not the eager eyes of Penn’s -grasping followers. It was meadow then, and not fitted for his house, -but the white man built his barn above the ruins of his dusky -predecessor’s home. All trace of human habitation is now gone, but the -words of the geologist kept ringing in my ears, and of late I have been -digging. It is a little strange that so few traces of the white man are -found as compared with relics of the Indian. From the barn that once -stood here and was long ago destroyed by a flood one might expect to -find at least a rusty nail. - -The ground held nothing telling of a recent past, but was eloquent of -the long ago. Dull indeed must be the imagination that cannot recall -what has been here brought to light by the aid of such an implement as -the spade. Not only were the bow and spear proved to be the common -weapons of the time, but there were in even greater abundance, and of -many patterns, knives to flay the game. It is not enough to merely -glance at a trimmed flake of flint or carefully-chipped splinter of -argillite, and say to yourself, “A knife.” Their great variety has a -significance that should not be overlooked. The same implement could not -be put to every use for which a knife was needed; hence the range in -size from several inches to tiny flakes that will likely remain a puzzle -as to their purpose. - -Besides home products, articles are found that have come from a long -distance, and no class of objects is more suggestive than those that -prove the widely-extended system of barter that prevailed at one time -among the Indians of North America. There are shells and shell ornaments -found in Wisconsin which must have been taken there from the shores of -the Gulf of Mexico; catlinite or red pipe-stone ornaments and pipes -found in New Jersey that could only have come from Minnesota. Shell -beads are often found in graves in the Mississippi Valley that were -brought from the Pacific coast, and the late Dr. Leidy has described a -shell bead, concerning which he states that it is the _Conus ternatus_, -a shell which belongs to the west coast of Central America. This was -found, with other Indian relics, in Hartman’s Cave, near Stroudsburg, -Pennsylvania. Two small arrow-points found in New Jersey a year or more -ago proved to be made of obsidian. These specimens could only have come -from the far South-west or from Oregon, and the probabilities are in -favor of the latter locality. It is not unlikely that objects like the -above should find their way inland to the Great Lakes, and so across the -continent and down the Atlantic coast. On the other hand, arrow-points -could have had so little intrinsic value in the eyes of an Indian that -we are naturally surprised that they should have been found so far from -their place of origin. Obsidian has occurred but very rarely east of the -Alleghanies, so far as I am aware. In the Sharples collection, at West -Chester, Pennsylvania, is a single specimen, reported to have been found -near that place, and a few traces have since been discovered in the -uplands immediately adjoining these Delaware meadows, and really there -is no reason to suppose that objects of value should not have passed -quite across the continent, or been carried from Mexico to Canada. There -were no vast areas absolutely uninhabited and across which no Indian -ever ventured. - -It has been suggested that, as iron was manufactured in the valley of -the Delaware as early as 1728, the supposed obsidian arrow-points are -really made of slag from the furnaces, but a close examination of the -specimens proves, it is claimed, this not to have been the case, and at -this comparatively late date the making of stone arrow-points had -probably ceased. Just when, however, the use of the bow as a weapon was -discarded has not been determined, but fire-arms were certainly common -in 1728 and earlier. - -A careful study, too, of copper implements, which are comparatively -rare, seems to point to the conclusion that very few were made of the -native copper found in New Jersey, Maryland, and elsewhere along the -Atlantic coast, but that they were made in the Lake Superior region and -thence gradually dispersed over the Eastern States. The large copper -spear from Betterton, Maryland, recently found, and another from New -Jersey, bear a striking resemblance to the spear-heads from the -North-west, where unquestionably the most expert of aboriginal -coppersmiths lived. Of course, the many small beads of this metal -occasionally found in Indian graves in the Delaware Valley might have -been made of copper found near by, but large masses are very seldom met -with. - -Speaking of copper beads recalls the fact that a necklace comprising -more than one hundred was recently found on the site of an old Dutch -trader’s house, on an island in the Delaware. They were of Indian -manufacture, and had been in the fur trader’s possession, if we may -judge from the fact that they were found with hundreds of other relics -that betokened not merely European, but Dutch occupation of the spot. -This trader got into trouble and doubtless deserved his summary taking -off. - -It is not “a most absurd untruth,” as was stated not long ago in the -_Critic_ in a review of a New York history, that the Indians were “a -people of taste and industry, and in morals quite the peers of their -Dutch neighbors.” They had just as keen a sense of right and wrong. -There never was a handful of colonists in North America whose whole -history their descendants would care to have known. The truth is, we -know very little of the Indian prior to European contact. Carpet-knight -archæologists and kid-gloved explorers crowd the pages of periodical -literature, it is true, but we are little, if any, the wiser. - -It is supposed, and is even asserted, that the Indian knew nothing of -forks; but that he plunged his fingers into the boiling pot or held in -his bare hands the steaming joints of bear or venison is quite -improbable. Now, the archæologist talks glibly of bone awls whenever a -sharpened splinter of bone is presented him, as if such instruments were -only intended to perforate leather. They doubtless had other uses, and I -am sure that more than one split and sharpened bone which has been found -would have served excellently well as a one-tined fork wherewith to lift -from the pot a bit of meat. Whether or not such forks were in use, there -were wooden spoons, as a bit of the bowl and a mere splinter of the -handle serve to show. Kalm tells us that they used the laurel for making -this utensil, but I fancied my fragment was hickory. Potsherds -everywhere spoke of the Indians’ feasting, and it is now known that, -besides bowls and shallow dishes of ordinary sizes, they also had -vessels of several gallons’ capacity. All these are broken now, but, -happily, fragments of the same dish are often found together, and so we -can reconstruct them. - -But what did the Indians eat? Quaint old Gabriel Thomas, writing about -1696, tells us that “they live chiefly on _Maze_ or _Indian Corn_ rosted -in the Ashes, sometimes beaten boyl’d with Water, called _Homine_. They -have cakes, not unpleasant; also Beans and Pease, which nourish much, -but the Woods and Rivers afford them their provision; they eat morning -and evening, their Seats and Tables on the ground.” - -In a great measure this same story of The Indians’ food supply was told -by the scattered bits found mingled with the ashes of an ancient hearth. -Such fireplaces or cooking sites were simple in construction, but none -the less readily recognized as to their purpose. A few flat pebbles had -been brought from the bed of the river near by, and a small paved area -some two feet square was placed upon or very near the surface of the -ground. Upon this the fire was built, and in time a thick bed of ashes -accumulated. Just how they cooked can only be conjectured, but the -discovery of very thick clay vessels and great quantities of -fire-cracked quartzite pebbles leads to the conclusion that water was -brought to the boiling-point by heating the stones to a red heat and -dropping them into the vessel holding the water. Thomas, as we have -seen, says corn was “boyl’d with Water.” Meat also was, I think, -prepared in the same manner. Their pottery probably was poorly able to -stand this harsh treatment, which would explain the presence of such -vast quantities of fragments of clay vessels. Traces of vegetable food -are now very rarely found. A few burnt nuts, a grain or two of corn, -and, in one instance, what appeared to be a charred crab-apple, complete -the list of what, as yet, have been picked from the mingled earth and -ashes. This is not surprising, and what we know of vegetable food in use -among the Delaware Indians is almost wholly derived from those early -writers who were present at their feasts. Kalm mentions the roots of the -golden-club, arrow-leaf, and ground-nut, besides various berries and -nuts. It is well known that extensive orchards were planted by these -people. It may be added that, in all probability, the tubers of that -noble plant, the lotus, were used as food. Not about these meadows, but -elsewhere in New Jersey, this plant has been growing luxuriantly since -Indian times. - -Turning now to the consideration of what animal food they consumed, one -can speak with absolute certainty. It is clear that the Delawares were -meat-eaters. It needs but little digging on any village site to prove -this, and from a single fireplace deep down in the stiff soil of this -sinking meadow have been taken bones of the elk, deer, bear, beaver, -raccoon, musk-rat, and gray squirrel. Of these, the remains of deer were -largely in excess, and as this holds good of every village site I have -examined, doubtless the Indians depended more largely upon this animal -than upon all the others. Of the list, only the elk is extinct in the -Delaware Valley, and it was probably rare even at the time of the -European settlement of the country, except in the mountain regions. If -individual tastes varied as they do among us, we have certainly -sufficient variety here to have met every fancy. - -With a food supply as varied as this, an ordinary meal or an -extraordinary feast can readily be recalled, so far as its essential -features are concerned. It is now September, and, save where the ground -has been ruthlessly uptorn, everywhere is a wealth of early autumn -bloom. A soothing quiet rests upon the scene, bidding us to -retrospective thought. Not a bit of stone, of pottery, or of burned and -blackened fragment of bone but stands out in the mellow sunshine as the -feature of a long-forgotten feast. As I dreamily gaze upon the -gatherings of half a day, I seem to see the ancient folk that once dwelt -in this neglected spot; seem to be a guest at a pre-Columbian dinner in -New Jersey. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - CHAPTER THIRTEENTH - - _A DAY’S DIGGING_ - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - -As long ago as November, 1679, two Dutchmen, Jasper Dankers and Peter -Sluyter, worked their way laboriously across New Jersey from Manhattan -Island, and reached South River, as the Delaware was then called, at -least by the Hollanders. They were all agog to see the falls at the head -of tide-water, and spent a miserable night in a rickety shanty, which -was cold as Greenland, except in the fireplace, and there they roasted. -All this was not calculated to put them in excellent humor, and so the -next day, when they stood on the river-bank and saw only a trivial rapid -where they had expected a second Niagara, their disgust knew no bounds. -These travel-tired Dutchmen quickly departed, rowing a small boat -down-stream, and growling whenever the tide turned and they had to row -against it. - -When they reached Burlington, they recorded of an island nearly in front -of the village, that it “formerly belonged to the Dutch Governor, who -had made it a pleasure ground or garden, built good houses upon it, and -sowed and planted it. He also dyked and cultivated a large piece of -meadow or marsh.” The English held it at the time of their visit, and it -was occupied by “some Quakers,” as the authors quoted called them. - -One of these Dutch houses, built in part of yellow bricks, and with a -red tiled roof, I found traces of years ago, and ever since have been -poking about the spot, for the very excellent reasons that it is a -pretty one, a secluded one, and as full of natural history attractions -now as it was of human interest when a Dutch beer-garden. - -Had no one who saw the place in its palmy days left a record concerning -the beer, I could, at this late day, have given testimony that if there -was no beer, there were beer mugs, and schnapps bottles, and -wineglasses, for I have been digging again and found them all; and then -the pipes and pipe-stems! I have a pile of over five hundred. The Dutch -travellers were correct as to the place having been a pleasure-garden. -It certainly was, and probably the very first on the Delaware River. But -there was “pleasure,” too, on the main shore, for the men who referred -to the island stayed one night in Burlington, and, the next day being -Sunday, attended Quaker meeting, and wrote afterwards, “What they -uttered was mostly in one tone and the same thing, and so it continued -until we were tired out and went away.” Doubtless they were prejudiced, -and so nothing suited them, not even what they found to drink, for they -said, “We tasted here, for the first time, peach brandy or spirits, -which was very good, but would have been better if more carefully made.” -They did not like the English, evidently, for the next day they went to -Takanij (Tacony), a village of Swedes and Finns, and there drank their -fill of “very good beer” brewed by these people, and expressed -themselves as much pleased to find that, because they had come to a new -country, they had not left behind them their old customs. - -The house that once stood where now is but a reach of abandoned and -wasting meadow was erected in 1668 or possibly a little earlier. Its -nearest neighbor was across a narrow creek, and a portion of the old -building is said to be still standing. Armed with the few facts that are -on record, it is easy to picture the place as it was in the days of the -Dutch, and it was vastly prettier then than it is now. The public of -to-day are not interested in a useless marsh, particularly when there is -better ground about it in abundance, and whoever wanders to such uncanny -places is quite sure to be left severely alone. This was my experience, -and, being undisturbed, I enjoyed the more my resurrective work. I could -enthuse, without being laughed at, over what to others was but -meaningless rubbish, and I found very much that, to me, possessed -greater interest than usual, because of a mingling of late Indian and -early European objects. With a handful of glass, porcelain, and amber -beads were more than one hundred of copper; the former from Venice, the -latter the handiwork of a Delaware Indian. With a white clay pipe, made -in Holland in the seventeenth century, was found a rude brown clay one, -made here in the river valley. Mingled with fragments of blue and white -Delft plates, bowls, and platters, were sundried mud dishes made by -women hereabouts during, who can say how many centuries? How completely -history and pre-history here overlapped! We know pretty much everything -about Dutchmen, but how much do we really know of the native American? -After nearly thirty years’ digging, he has been traced from the days of -the great glaciers to the beginnings of American history; but we cannot -say how long a time that comprises. The winter of 1892-1893 was, so far -as appearances went, a return to glacial times. Ice was piled up fifty -feet in height, and the water turned from the old channel of the river. -The cutting of another one opened up new territory for the relic hunter -when the ice was gone and the stream had returned to its old bed. Many -an Indian wigwam site that had been covered deep with soil was again -warmed by the springtide sun, and those were rare days when, from the -ashes of forgotten camps, I raked the broken weapons and rude dishes -that the red men had discarded. It was reading history at first hands, -without other commentary than your own. The ice-scored gravel-beds told -even an older story; but no one day’s digging was so full of meaning, or -brought me so closely in touch with the past, as when I uncovered what -remained of the old Dutch trader’s house; traced the boundaries of the -one-time pleasure-garden, hearing in the songs of birds the clinking of -glasses, and then, in fancy, adding to the now deserted landscape the -fur-laden canoes of the Indians who once gathered here to exchange for -the coveted gaudy beads the skins of the many animals which at that time -roamed the forests. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - CHAPTER FOURTEENTH - - _DRIFTING_ - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - -Make an early start if you wish an eventful outing. Why know the world -only when the day is middle-aged or old? A wise German has said, “The -morning hour has gold in its mouth.” For many a rod after leaving the -wharf the river still “smoked,” and the scanty glimpses between the -rolling clouds of mist spurred the imagination. There was nothing -certain beyond the gunwales. The pale-yellow color of the water near at -hand and the deep-green and even black of that in the distance had no -daytime suggestiveness. It was not yet the familiar river with its -noonday glitter of blue and silver. - -It is not strange that the initial adventure to which the -above-mentioned conditions naturally gave rise occurred while this state -of uncertainty continued. Very soon I ran upon a snag. To strike such an -object in mid-river was rather startling. Was I not in or near the -channel? Steamboats come puffing and plowing here and sailing craft pass -up and down, so my only care had been to avoid them; but now there came -in my path the twisted trunk of an old forest tree and held me fast. All -the while the mist rose and fell, giving no inkling of my whereabouts. -In the dim, misty light what a strange sea-monster this resurrected -tree-trunk seemed to be! Its thick green coat of silky threads lay -closely as the shining fur of the otter, a mane of eel-grass floated on -the water, the gnarly growths where branches once had been glistened as -huge eyes, and broken limbs were horns that threatened quick -destruction. There was motion, too. Slowly it rose above the water and -then as slowly sunk from view. Could it be possible that some -long-necked saurian of the Jersey marls had come to life? Nonsense; and -yet so real did it seem that I was ready for the river-horse to rise - - “from the waves beneath, - And grin through the grate of his spiky teeth.” - -With such an uncanny keeper, I was held a prisoner. At last I struck it -with an oar to beat it back, and rocked the frail boat until I feared -plunging into the deep water and deeper mud beneath. Deep water? It -suddenly occurred to me to try its depth, and the truth was plain. I was -far from the channel, and might with safety have waded to the shore. As -usual, I had rashly jumped at conclusions. The mouth of an inflowing -creek was near at hand, and this sunken tree, a relic of some forgotten -freshet, had been lying here in the mud for several years. The tide -lifted and let fall the trunk, but the root-mass was still strongly -embedded. I knew the spot of old, and now, fearing nothing, was rational -again. - -Such sunken trees, however, are well calculated to alarm the unthinking. -It is said of one yet lying in the mud of Crosswicks Creek, that it rose -so quickly once as to overturn a boat. This is not improbable. That -occurrence, if true, happened a century ago, and the same tree has since -badly frightened more than one old farmer. I am told this of one of them -who had anchored his boat here one frosty October morning and commenced -fishing. While half asleep, or but half sober, the tree slowly raised up -and tilted the boat so that its occupant felt compelled to swim. His -view of the offending monster was much like my own fevered vision of -to-day. He not only swam ashore, but ran a mile over a soft marsh. To -him the _sea_-serpent was a reality, although he saw it in the _creek_. - -It is of interest to note that among the early settlers of this region, -for at least three generations, the impression was prevalent that there -might be some monster lurking in the deep holes of the creek or in the -river. The last of the old hunters and fishermen of this region, who had -spent all his life in a boat or prowling along shore, was ever talking -of a “king tortle” that for forty years had defied all his efforts to -capture it. “Mostly, it only shows its top shell, but I have seen it -fair and square, head and legs, and I don’t know as I care to get very -close, neither.” This was his unvaried remark whenever I broached the -subject. To have suggested that it was a sunken log, or in some other -way tried to explain the matter, would only have brought about his ill -will. I once attempted it, very cautiously, but he effectually shut me -up by remarking, “When this here creek runs dry and you can walk over -its bottom, you’ll larn a thing or two that ain’t down in your books -yet, and ain’t goin’ to be.” The old man was right. I do not believe in -“king tortles,” but there certainly is “a thing or two” not yet in the -books. Stay! How big do our snappers grow? Is the father of them all -still hiding in the channel of Crosswicks Creek? - -A description in an old manuscript journal, of the general aspect of the -country as seen from the river, bears upon this subject of strange wild -beasts and monsters of the deep, as well as on that of sunken trees that -endangered passing shallops. - -“As we pass up the river,” this observant writer records, "we are so -shut in by the great trees that grow even to the edge of the water, that -what may lye in the interior is not to be known. That there be fertile -land, the Indians tell us, but their narrow paths are toilsome to travel -and there are none [of these people] now that seem willing to guide us. -As we approached ffarnsworth’s the channel was often very close to the -shore, and at one time we were held by the great trees that overhung the -bank and by one that had been fallen a long time and was now lodged in -the water. As I looked towards the shore, I exclaimed, ‘Here we are -indeed in a great wilderness. What strangeness is concealed in this -boundless wood? what wonder may at any time issue from it, or fierce -monster not be lurking in the waters beneath us?’ Through the day the -cries of both birds and beasts were heard, but not always. It was often -so strangely quiet that we were more affected thereby than by the sounds -that at times issued forth. At night there was great howling, as we were -told, of wolves, and the hooting of owls, and often there plunged into -the stream wild stags that swam near to our boat. But greater than all -else, to our discomfort, were the great sunken trunks of trees that were -across the channel, where the water was of no great depth." - -What a change! and would that this old traveller could revisit the -Delaware to-day. My boat is free again and the mists are gone. Through -the trees are sifted the level sunbeams. There is at least a chance now -to compare notes. The forest is now a field, the trackless marsh a -meadow; wild life is largely a thing of the past; silence, both day and -night, replaces sound. No, not that; but only the minor sounds are left. -There are still the cry of the fish-hawk and the sweet song of the -thrush. No stags now swim the river, but there remain the mink and the -musk-rat. It has not been long since I saw a migration of meadow-mice, -and at night, I am sure, many an animal dares to breast the stream, a -mile wide though it be. Too cunning to expose itself by day, it risks -its life at night; and how tragic the result when, nearly at the -journey’s end, it is seized by a lurking foe; dragged down, it may be, -by a snake or a turtle! - -The world is just as full of tragedy as ever, and, let us hope, as full -of comedy. In a bit of yonder marsh, above which bends the tall wild -rice, there is daily enacted scene after scene as full of import as -those which caused the very forest to tremble when the wolf and panther -quarrelled over the elk or deer that had fallen. - -It has been insisted upon that a goal-less journey is necessarily a -waste of time. If on foot, we must keep forever on the go; if in a boat, -we must keep bending to the oars. It is this miserable fallacy that -makes so many an out-door man and woman lose more than half of that for -which they went into the fields. Who cares if you did see a chippy at -every turn and flushed a bittern at the edge of the marsh? If you had -been there before them, and these birds did the walking, you would have -gone home the wiser. It is not the mere fact that there are birds that -concerns us, but what are they doing? why are they doing it? This the -town-pent people are ever anxious to know, and the facts cannot be -gathered if you are forever on the move. Suppose I rush across the river -and back, what have I seen? The bottom of the boat. I came to see the -river and the sky above, and if this is of no interest to the reader, -let him turn the leaf. - -Does every storm follow the track of the sun? As the sun rose there were -clouds in the east and south and a haziness over the western sky. Had I -asked a farmer as to the weather probabilities, he would have looked -everywhere but due north. Why does he always ignore that quarter? There -may be great banks of cloud there, but they go for nothing. “Sou-east” -and “sou-west” are forever rung in your ears, but never a word of the -north. Sometimes I have thought it may be for this reason that about -half the time the farmer is all wrong, and the heaviest rains come when -he is most sure that the day will be clear. - -Looking upward, for the sky was clear in that direction now, I saw that -there were birds so far above me that they appeared as mere specks. Very -black when first seen, but occasionally they flashed as stars seen by -day from the bottom of a well. They could not be followed, except one -that swept swiftly earthward, and the spreading tail and curve of wings -told me it was a fish-hawk. What a glorious outlook from its -ever-changing point of view! From its height, it could have seen the -mountains and the ocean, and the long reach of river valley as well. If -the mists obscure it all, why should a bird linger in the upper air? The -prosy matter of food-getting has nothing to do with it. While in camp on -Chesapeake Bay, I noticed that the fish-hawks were not always fishing, -and often the air rang with their strange cries while soaring so far -overhead as to be plainly seen only with a field-glass. Every movement -suggested freedom from care as they romped in the fields of space. It is -not strange that they scream, or laugh, shall we say? when speeding -along at such rate and in no danger of collision. If I mistake not, the -cry of exultation is coincident with the downward swoop, and I thought -of old-time yelling when dashing down a snow-clad hill-side; but how -sober was the work of dragging the sled up-hill! The hawks, I thought, -were silent when upward bound. If so, there is something akin to -humanity in the hawk nature. - -I have called the cry of the fish-hawk a “laugh,” but, from a human -stand-point, do birds laugh? It is extremely doubtful, though I recall a -pet sparrow-hawk that was given to playing tricks, as I called them, and -the whole family believed that this bird actually laughed. Muggins, as -we named him, had a fancy for pouncing upon the top of my head and, -leaning forward, snapping his beak in my face. Once an old uncle came -into the room and was treated in this fashion. Never having seen the -bird before, he was greatly astonished, and indignant beyond measure -when the hawk, being rudely brushed off, carried away his wig. Now the -bird was no less astonished than the man, and when he saw the wig -dangling from his claws he gave a loud cackle, unlike anything we had -ever heard before, and which was, I imagine, more an expression of -amusement than of surprise. I think this, because afterwards I often -played the game of wig with him, to the bird’s delight, and he always -“laughed” as he carried off the prize. On the contrary, the unsuccessful -attempt to remove natural hair elicited no such expression, but -sometimes a squeal of disgust. - -In the _Spectator_ of October 1, 1892, page 444, I find a most -thoughtful article, entitled “The Animal Sense of Humor,” and I quote as -follows: “The power of laughter is peculiar to man, and the sense of -humor may be said, generally speaking, to be also his special property.” -Again, “We never saw the slightest approach to amusement in one animal -at the mistakes of another, though dogs, so far as we can venture to -interpret their thoughts, do really feel amusement at the mistakes of -men.” Possibly the author is right, but do not cats show a sense of -humor at the rough-and-tumble gambols of their kittens? Is not the sly -cuff on the ear that sends a kitten sprawling indicative of a sense of -fun on the part of tabby? Our author says, “so far as we can venture to -interpret their thoughts.” "Ay, there’s the rub." No one can tell how -far it is safe to venture, but I go a great deal beyond my neighbors. -Our author concludes, “In animals, as in man, humor is the result of -civilization, and not as we understand it, a natural and spontaneous -development.” I cannot subscribe to this. I know little of domestic -animals, but have got the idea of an animal’s sense of humor from wild -life, and confirmed it by what I have seen of cats and dogs. - -While I have been drifting, and using my eyes and ears instead of legs -and arms, as is advocated, the clouds, too, have been creeping this way, -and, while the morning is yet fresh, it is certainly going to rain. Had -I consulted the barometer, I would have known this; but then, knowing -it, might I not have stayed at home? Why not enjoy part of a day? That -the rain will soon be here does not diminish one’s pleasure, unless -there is a fear of getting wet, and this is all too common. I hope that -it does not mean that you have but one suit of clothes. - -The approaching rain, the increasing cloudiness, the shut-in appearance, -made the river exceedingly attractive. With the down-dropping clouds -dropped down the birds, and the swallows now skimmed the water as they -had been skimming the sky. The fish-hawks departed, but a host of -land-birds crossed the stream, as if comparing the shelter afforded by -the cedars on one side and pines on the other. These birds chattered as -they flew by, and turned their heads up- and downstream, as if curious -as to all that might be going on. Suddenly the water ceased to be -rippled, and far down-stream a cloud appeared to have reached the river. -It was the rain. It seemed to march very slowly, and every drop made a -dimple on the river’s breast. Then I could hear the on-coming host, the -sound having a distinct bell-like tinkle as each drop touched the -surface and disappeared. A curious effect, too, was produced by the wind -or the varying density of the cloud above, in that the drops were very -near together where I happened to be, and much farther apart and larger -some distance beyond the boat. I could of course make no measurements, -but appearances suggested that in the middle of the river the drops were -less numerous in the proportion of one to five. Does it usually rain -harder over land than over water? Heretofore I had seen the rain upon -the river while on shore, and was now very glad to have been caught -adrift, so as to observe it from a new point of view. It was a beautiful -sight, well worth the thorough wetting that I got and which drove me -home soon after with pleasant thoughts of my goalless journey. - -[Illustration: _The Camp-Fire_] - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - CHAPTER FIFTEENTH - - _FOOTPRINTS_ - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - -While the camp-fire was smoking, for the wood was green and I was -willing that my companion should worry over it, I strolled up the long, -sandy beach with no particular object in mind and quite ready to meet -and parley with any creature that I overtook. I saw only evidences of -what had been there, or what I supposed had been. There were tracks that -I took to be those of herons, and others that suggested a raccoon in -search of crayfish. Here and there a mouse had hurried by. What lively -times had been kept up at low tide within sight of the tent door! and -yet we knew nothing of it. But these tracks were not well defined, and -therefore why not misinterpreted? I have not suggested all the -possibilities of the case—— Here my meditations were checked by the call -to breakfast, but I took up the subject again as I walked alone in the -woods, for I was but the companion of a worker, not one myself. - -It occurred to me that when we read of hunters, or perhaps have followed -a trapper in his rounds, we have been led to think that footprints are -animal autography that the initiated can read without hesitation. To -distinguish the track of a rabbit from that of a raccoon is readily -done, and we can go much further, and determine whether the animal was -walking or running, made a leap here or squatted there; but can we go to -any length, and decipher every impress an animal may have made in -passing over the sand or mud? I think not. I have seen a twig sent -spinning a long distance up the beach at low tide, making a line of -equidistant marks that were extremely life-like in appearance. A cloud -of dead leaves have so dotted an expanse of mud that a gunner insisted -there had been a flock of plover there a few moments before he arrived. -All depends, or very much does, on the condition of the surface marked. -If very soft and yielding, the plainest bird-tracks may be distorted, -and a mere dot, on the other hand, may have its outline so broken as to -appear as though made by a bird or mammal. Still, tracks are a safe -guide in the long run, and, whether our opinion as to them be correct or -not, the rambler finds something worth seeing, and he goes on anything -but a wild-goose chase who sometimes finds himself mistaken. It is well -to check our confidence occasionally and realize the limits of our -power. - -Opportunity afforded while in camp, and I made a short study of -footprints. With a field-glass I noted many birds, and then going to the -spot, examined the impressions their feet had made. A night-heron did -not come down flatly upon its feet with outspread toes, and so the -tracks were quite different from the impressions made when the bird -walked. Crows, I noticed, both hopped and walked, and the marks were -very different, the former being broad and ill-defined in comparison -with the traces of the same bird’s stately tread. Had the bird not been -seen, any one would have supposed two creatures had been keeping close -company, or that some one individual had passed by in the very path of -another. The purple grakle and red-winged blackbird made tracks too much -alike to be distinguished, yet these birds have not the same size or -shape of foot. A water-snake came up over the mud and left a line of -marks upon the sand that could not be recognized as that of any animal, -except it might be a faint resemblance to the trail of a mussel. I -chased a dozen crayfish over a mud flat, and their backward and sidewise -leapings caused an old gunner to say there had been plover about. A -blue-winged teal made a long double line of dents in the sand before it -rose clear of the beach, and these were very like many a footprint I had -previously seen. What, then, must we think of the fossil footprints of -which so much has been written? As different species, a long series of -these impressions in the rock have been described and given -high-sounding titles. I am not entitled to an opinion, but have doubts, -nevertheless, of the wisdom of considering every slightly different form -as made by a different creature. I have given my reasons, and will only -add another instance, one of greater significance than all as bearing -upon the question. I startled a slumbering jumping-mouse last summer and -it bounded across the smooth sand bared by the outgoing tide. Its track -then was one made by its body rather than the extremities, and a curious -dent in the river-shore’s smooth surface it was; but before taking again -to the woods it walked in its peculiar way, and the little footprints -were quite distinct and unmistakably those of a small mammal. Had the -two sets of markings been preserved in a slab of sandstone, no -ichnologist would have recognized the truth, but probably would have -said, “Here is a case where some leaping creature has overtaken a small -rodent and devoured it.” - -Difficult as fossil footprints may be to decipher, they call up with -wonderful distinctness the long ago of other geologic ages. It is hard -to realize that the stone of which our houses are built once formed the -tide-washed shore of a primeval river or the bed of a lake or ocean gone -long before man came upon the scene. - -But the footprints of to-day concern me more. Looking over the side of -the boat, I saw several mussels moving slowly along and making a deep, -crooked groove in the ripple-marked sand, “streaking the ground with -sinuous trace,” as Milton puts it; and the school of blunt-headed -minnows made little dents in the sand wherever the water was shallow, -when they turned suddenly and darted off-shore. This sand seemed very -unstable, and a little agitation of the water caused many a mark to be -wiped out; and yet we find great slabs of ripple-marked and foot-marked -sandstone. I picked up such a piece not long ago on which were rain-drop -marks. This is the story of a million years ago; but who ever found -Indian moccasin-marks not two centuries old? The footprints that could -tell us many a wonderful story are all gone and the tale of a rain-drop -remains. This is a bit aggravating. Here where we have pitched our camp, -or very near it, was a Swedish village in 1650 and later, and for two -days I have been hunting for evidence of the fact,—some bit of broken -crockery, rusty nail, glass, pewter spoon, anything,—but in vain. -History records the village, and correctly, without a doubt, but there -are no footprints here, nor other trace to show that a white man ever -saw the place until our tent was pitched upon the beach. - -Towards evening I had occasion to renew my youth,—in other words, “run -on an errand,” as my mother put it,—and going half a mile through the -woods, I came to a narrow but well-worn path. This was so akin to my -footprint thoughts of the morning that I gladly followed it instead of -making a short cut. It was fortunate, for the path led directly to where -I wished to go, and our theoretical geography, as usual, was terribly -out of joint. As it was, on the edge of an old village I found a very -old man in a very old house. His memory as to the earlier half of the -century was excellent, and he gave me the desired information and more. -I spoke of the path through the woods, and he chuckled to himself. - -“Through the woodses, eh? Well, when I made the path, goin’ and comin’ -through the brush that wasn’t shoulder-high, there was no trees then. -That was more’n forty years ago.” - -"No, John, ’twa’n’t," piped a weak voice from the interior of the little -cottage; “’twa’n’t mor’n——” - -"Laws, man, don’t mind her. She disputes the almanac, and every winter -gets in New Year’s ahead of Christmas." - -I did not stop to argue the matter, but hurried campward, glad that, if -I could find no footprints of human interest and historic, I at least -had followed a path made forty years ago,—a path that had been worn -among bushes and now led through a forest. It was indeed suggestive. By -the camp-fire that night I vowed to plant a forest where now there was -but a thicket, and in my dreams I walked through a noble wood. - -Think how much might be done to beautify the world, and how little is -accomplished. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - CHAPTER SIXTEENTH - - _FOOTPRINTS_ - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - -The great storm of yesterday cleared the air as well as cleaned the -beaches, and the river was fresh and sparkling as though the tempest had -added new life, so that the listless midsummery water was now as -champagne, “with beaded bubbles winking at the brim.” The air was heavy -with sweetness and with song, the fields and meadows painted as the -rose. The buckwheat was in bloom, and a million bees were humming. The -pasture was gay with pink gerardia, or reflected the summer sky where -the day-flower blossomed. There was no commingling of these late -flowers. Each had its own acre, exercised squatter sovereignty, and -allowed no trespassing. The only evidence of man’s interference, except -the buckwheat-field, was a dilapidated worm-fence, and this is one of -several instances where beauty increases hand in hand with decay. The -older such a fence, the better; when merely a support for Virginia -creeper or the rank trumpet-vine, it is worthy the rambler’s regard. -Wild life long ago learned what a safe snug-harbor such ruined fences -offer. It puzzles even a mink to thread their mazes, and the shy rabbit -that has its “form” in a brier-hidden hollow of the crooked line feels -that it is safe. - -There are traces of these old fences of which no record remains, placed -perhaps by the very earliest settler in a tract that he had cleared and -which has since gone back to an almost primitive state. In an old -woodland I once traced a fence by the long line of cypripediums in -bloom, which were thriving in the mould of decayed fence-rails, a pretty -if not permanent monument to departed worth. - -A word more of these old fences in winter. When the snow beats across -the field, it stops here and gracefully curves above it, arching the -rails and vines until all is hidden, unless it be some lonely projecting -stake, by which alone it communicates with the outside world. I rashly -attempted once to go across-lots over a new country, and made a -discovery. The snow-bound fence was but a drift, I thought, but it -proved to be far different. The thick mat of hardy growths had kept back -the snow, which was but a roof and did not wholly exclude the light. For -some distance I could dimly make out the various growths, and each -little cedar stood up as a sentinel. A loud word sounded and resounded -as if I had spoken in an empty room or shouted in a long tunnel. The -coldest day in the year could not inconvenience any creature that took -shelter here, and I found later that life, both furred and feathered, -knew the old fence far better than I did. - -But this is the last day but one of August, and so nominally the end of -summer. Only nominally, for these flowery meadows and sweet-scented -fields contradict the almanac. This quiet nook in the Delaware meadows -offers no intimation of autumn until October, and late in the month at -that. The bees and buckwheat will see to this, or seem to, which is just -as much to the purpose. To-day along the old worm-fence are many -kingbirds, and, although mute, they are not moping. There is too much -insect life astir for that. With them are orioles and bluebirds, the -whole making a loose flock of perhaps a hundred birds. The bluebirds are -singing, but in a half-hearted, melancholy way, reminding me of an old -man who spent his time when over ninety in humming “Auld Lang Syne.” -Before the buckwheat has lost its freshness these birds will all be -gone, but at what time the bluebirds part company with the others I do -not know. They certainly do not regularly migrate, as do the others. -There was a colony of them that lived for years in and about my barn, -and one was as sure to see them in January as in June. No English -sparrows could have been more permanently fixed. - -When the buckwheat is ripe and the fields and meadows are brown, there -will be other birds to take their place. Tree-sparrows from Canada and -white-throats from New England will make these same fields merry with -music, and the tangle about the old fence will ring with gladness. But -it is August still, and why anticipate? High overhead there are black -specks in the air, and we can mark their course, as they pass, by the -bell-like _chink-chink_ that comes floating earthward. It is one of the -sounds that recall the past rather than refer to the present. The -reed-bird of to-day was a bobolink last May. His roundelay that told -then of a long summer to come is now but a single note of regret that -the promised summer is a thing of the past. It is the Alpha and Omega of -the year’s song-tide. Not that we have no other songs when the reed-bird -has flown to the Carolina rice-fields. While I write, a song-sparrow is -reciting reminiscences of last May, and there will be ringing rounds of -bird-rejoicing from November to April. Still, the initial thought holds -good: bobolink in May, and only a reed-bird in August; the beginning and -the end; the herald of Summer’s birth and her chief mourner; Alpha and -Omega. - -Where the brook that drains the meadow finds its way, the little -rail-birds have congregated. Many spent their summer along the -Musketaquid, where Thoreau spent his best days, but they bring no -message from New England. They very seldom speak above a whisper. Not so -the king-rail. He chatters as he threads the marsh and dodges the great -blue barrier that sweeps above the cat-tail grasses and has to be -content with a sparrow or a mouse. - -These late August days are too often overfull, and one sees and hears -too much,—so very much that it is hard to give proper heed to any one of -the many sights and sounds. But how much harder to turn your back upon -it! All too soon the sun sinks into the golden clouds of the western -sky. - -That was a happy day when the buckwheat was threshed in the field, on a -cool, clear, crisp October morning. The thumping of the Hails on the -temporary floor put the world in good humor. No bird within hearing but -sang to its time-keeping. Even the crows cawed more methodically, and -squirrels barked at the same instant that the flail sent a shower of -brown kernels dancing in the air. The quails came near, as if impatient -for the grains eyes less sharp than theirs would fail to find. It was -something at such a time to lie in the gathering heap of straw and join -in the work so far as to look on. That is a boy’s privilege which we -seldom are anxious to outgrow. A nooning at such a time meant a fire to -warm the dinner, and the scanty time allowed was none too short for the -threshers to indulge in weather prognostications. This is as much a -habit as eating, and to forego it would be as unnatural as to forego the -taking of food. As the threshers ate, they scanned the surroundings, and -not a tree, bush, or wilted weed but was held to bear evidence that the -coming winter would be “open” or “hard,” as the oldest man present saw -fit to predict. No one disputed him, and no one remembered a week later -what he had said, so the old man’s reputation was safe. - -The buckwheat threshed, the rest is all a matter of plain prose. Stay! -In the coming Indian summer there was always a bee-hunt. The old man -whom we saw in the buckwheat-field in October was our dependence for -wild honey, which we fancied was better than that from the hives. He -always went alone, carrying a wooden pail and a long, slender oaken -staff. How he found the bee-trees so readily was a question much -discussed. “He smells it,” some one suggested; “He hears ’em a-buzzin’,” -others remarked. Knowing when he was going, I once followed on the sly -and solved the mystery. He went without hesitation or turning of the -head to a hollow beech, and straightway commenced operations. I did not -stay to witness this, but came away recalling many a Sunday afternoon’s -stroll with him in these same woods. What he had seen in August he had -remembered in December, and, wise man that he was, said nothing -meanwhile. Why, indeed, should he throw aside the opportunity to pose as -one having superior knowledge, when others were so persistent in -asserting it of him? There is that much vanity in all men. - -But a year later his superior knowledge failed him. I had found the same -tree in my solitary rambles, and was there ahead of him. Still, I never -enjoyed my triumph. I felt very far from complimented when he remarked, -as an excuse for his failure, that “a skunk had been at the only -bee-tree in the woods. He saw signs of the varmint all about;” and when -he said this he looked directly at me, with his nose in the air. - -It is winter now, and when in the early morning I find cakes and honey -upon the breakfast-table, excellent as they are in their way, they are -the better that they call up the wide landscape of those latter August -days and of frosty October, for I see less of the morning meal before me -than of bees and buckwheat. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - CHAPTER SEVENTEENTH - - _DEAD LEAVES_ - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - -I have often wondered why the Indians did not call November the month of -dead leaves. The out-of-town world is full of them now. They replace the -daisies and dandelions in the open fields, the violets and azaleas in -the shady woods. They are a prominent feature of the village street. -Many will cling to the trees the winter long, but millions are scattered -over the ground. Even on the river I find them floating, borne slowly by -the tide or hurrying across the rippled surface, chased by the passing -breeze. - -The pleasure—common to us all—we take in crushing them beneath our feet -savors of heartlessness. Why should we not recall their kindness when, -as bright-green leaves, each cast its mite of grateful shade, so dear to -the rambler, and now, when they have fallen, let them rest in peace? We -should not be ugly and revengeful merely because it is winter. There is -nothing to fret us in this change from shade to sunshine, from green -leaves to brown. The world is not dead because of it. While the sun -looks down upon the woods to-day there arises a sweet odor, pleasant as -the breath of roses. The world dead, indeed! What more vigorous and full -of life than the mosses covering the rich wood-mould? Before me, too, -lies a long-fallen tree cloaked in moss greener than the summer -pastures. Not the sea alone possesses transforming magic; there is also -“a _wood_-change into something rich and strange.” Never does the -thought of death and decay centre about such a sight. The chickadee -drops from the bushes above, looks the moss-clad log over carefully, -and, when again poised on an overhanging branch, loudly lisps its -praises. What if it is winter when you witness such things? One swallow -may not make a summer, but a single chickadee will draw the sting from -any winter morning. - -I never sit by the clustered dead leaves and listen to their faint -rustling as the wind moves among them but I fancy they are whispering of -the days gone by. What of the vanished springtide, when they first -timidly looked forth? They greeted the returning birds, the whole merry -host of north-bound warblers, and what startling facts of the bird-world -they might reveal! There is no eye-witness equal to the leaf, and with -them lives and dies many a secret that even the most patient -ornithologist can never gain. How much they overhear of what the birds -are saying! to how much entrancing music they listen that falls not upon -men’s ears! What a view of the busy world above us has the fluttering -leaf that crowns the tall tree’s topmost twig! Whether in storm or -sunshine, veiled in clouds or beneath a starlit sky, whatsoever happens, -there is the on-looking leaf, a naturalist worth knowing could we but -learn its language. - -A word here as to the individuality of living leaves. Few persons are so -blind as to have never noticed how leaves differ. Of every size and -shape and density, they have varied experiences, if not different -functions, and their effect upon the rambler in his wanderings is by no -means always the same. At high noon, when the midsummer sun strives to -parch the world, let the rambler stand first beneath an old oak and then -pass to the quivering aspen, or pause in the shade of a way-side locust -and then tarry beneath the cedar, at whose roots the sunshine never -comes. It needs but to do this to realize that there are leaves and -leaves: those that truly shelter and those that tease you by their -fitfulness. - -It is winter now and the leaves are dead; but, although blighted, they -have not lost their beauty. Heaped in the by-paths of this ancient wood, -they are closely associated with the pranks of many birds, and for this -alone should be lovingly regarded. Even now I hear an overstaying -chewink—for this is a warm wood the winter long—tossing them in little -clouds about him as he searches for the abundant insects that vainly -seek shelter where they have fallen. The birds seem to seek fun as well -as food among the leaves. I have often watched them literally dive from -the overhanging bushes into a heap of leaves, and then with a flirt of -the wings send dozens flying into the air. It is hard to imagine any -other purpose than pure sport. When, as often happens, two or three -follow their leader, I always think of a string of boys diving or -playing leap-frog. “Coincidence,” cries old Prosy, with a wise shake of -his head. Perhaps; but I think old Prosy is a fool. - -The strange, retiring winter wren is equally a lover of dead leaves. He -plays with them in a less boisterous manner, but none the less delights -in tossing them to and fro. It is at such a time that a few notes of his -marvellous summer song occasionally escape him. The white-throated -sparrows fairly dance among or upon the heaped-up leaves, and play -bo-peep with the clouds of them they send aloft; and in February the -foxie sparrows play the same pranks. Squirrels and mice are equally at -home, and abandon all prudence when they frolic among the windrows. The -more clatter and cackle, the better they are pleased. When freed from -the restraint of fear, wild life is fun-loving to the very brim. - -Dead leaves are never deserted unless the weather is extremely cold or a -storm has prevailed until they are a sodden mat. Even from such a -wetting they soon recover and respond to the passing breeze’s gentlest -touch. Dead leaves are the matured fruit of summer, and what an -important part they really play as the year closes! They are not now of -the air, airy, but of the earth, earthy. Dead, it is true, yet living. -Passive, yet how active! They are whispering good cheer now to the -sleeping buds that await the coming of a new year, and faithfully guard -them when the storm rages. For such deeds we owe them our kindliest -thoughts. - -In the golden sunshine of this dreamy day the leaves have yet another -visitor that makes merry with them. The little whirlwind, without a -herald, springs laughingly upon them, even when the profoundest quiet -reigns throughout the wood. Touched by this fairy’s wand, the leaves -rise in a whirling pillar and dance down the narrow path into some even -more secluded nook. Dead leaves, indeed! Never did the wildest madcap of -a courting bird play livelier pranks. - -Time was when I would have searched the woods for winter-green and worn -it gayly. I am content to-day to carry a withered leaf. - - - - - INDEX - - A. _Allium_, 77. - _Amelanchier_, 140. - _Andromeda_, 57. - _Ants_, 14, 36. - _Arbutus_, 51, 57, 62. - _Arrow-point_, 156. - _Azalea_, 141. - - B. _Bear_, 54. - _Beaver_, 66. - _Beech_, 43. - _Birch_, 54. - _Bittern_, 73, 180. - _least_, 42. - _Bittersweet_, 142. - _Blackbird_, 32, 41, 67, 75, 189. - _Blueberry_, 64. - _Bluebird_, 18, 67, 143, 197. - _Boneset_, 155. - _Butterflies_, 20, 156. - _Buzzards_, 67. - - C. _Cardinal bird_, 23, 59, 75, 80, 87, 111, 144. - _Cat-bird_, 32, 59, 87, 137, 146. - _Caterpillar_, 133. - _Catlinite_, 150, 158. - _Cat-tail_, 42. - _Cedar_, 64. - _Celastrus_, 142. - _Centaury_, 155 - _Centipede_, 57. - _Chat_, 32, 83. - _Cherry, wild_, 43. - _Chewink_, 59, 80, 206. - _Chickadee_, 204. - _Chimney-swift_, 20. - _Clay_, 35. - _Clethra_, 141. - _Cougars_, 65. - _Cow-bird_, 93. - _Crayfish_, 187, 190. - _Crocus_, 145. - _Crow_, 11, 32, 47, 76, 86, 189, 200. - _Cyperus_, 77. - - D. _Day-flower_, 195. - _Deer_, 54, 179 - _Deer-berry_, 141. - _Deutzia_, 141. - _Diver_, 29. - _Dodder_, 116, 156. - _Dove_, 24. - _Dragon-fly_, 156. - _Ducks, wild_, 86; - _wood-_, 56. - - E. _Eagle_, 24. - _Eel_, 54. - _Elk_, 179. - _Elm_, 43. - - F. “_False-teeth_,” 141. - _Finch, indigo_, 72; - _purple_, 59; - _thistle_, 32. - _Fly-catcher_, 15, 32, 144. - _Frogs_, 58, 67. - - G. _Galium_, 77. - _Gerardia_, 195. - _Golden-club_, 56. - _Grakle_, 32, 75, 145, 189. - _Grosbeak, rose-breasted_, 59. - _Gulls_, 76. - _Gum-tree_, 66. - - H. _Harrier_, 199. - _Hawk, black_, 17. - _duck-_, 24. - _fish-_, 26, 32, 179, 181. - _sparrow-_, 182. - _Heron, blue_, 42; - _green_, 25; - _night_, 189. - _Herons_, 41, 67, 187. - _Herring_, 67. - _Hickory_, 17, 44. - _Holly_, 51. - _Honeysuckle_, 136. - _Humming-bird_, 136. - _Hyla_, 58. - - I. _Indian grass_, 64. - _relics_, 148, 152, 157, 160. - _Ink-berry_, 52. - _Iris_, 40. - _Iron-weed_, 155. - - J. _Jasper_, 151. - _Jay, blue-_, 47. - _Jerboa_, 59. - - K. _Kill-deer plover_, 32, 67, 77, 95. - _Kingbird_, 41, 197. - _Kinglet_, 65, 82. - _King-rail_, 42, 199. - - L._Leucothoe_, 141. - _Lindera_, 140. - _Liquidambar_, 54. - _Loon_, 67. - _Lotus_, 41, 134. - - M. _Magnolia_, 66. - _Maple_, 28, 52, 72. - _Martin_, 31, 143. - _Mink_, 53, 156, 179. - _Minnow, mud-_, 39. - _Minnows_, 126, 191. - _Mistletoe_, 28, 66. - _Mocking-bird_, 32. - _Moss, club-_, 57; - _reindeer_, 54, 62. - _Mouse, meadow-_, 17, 42, 156, 179. - _white-footed_, 59. - _Musk-rat_, 29, 53, 156, 179. - _Mussel_, 191. - - O._Oak_, 10, 21, 44, 64, 138. - _willow-_, 53. - _Obsidian_, 150, 159. - _Opossum_, 46, 59. - _Orioles_, 71, 90, 144, 197. - _Oven-bird_, 135. - _Owl, barn_, 123. - - P. _Panther_, 179. - _Partridge-berry_, 54. - _Pepper-bush, sweet_, 141. - _Pike_, 125. - _Pine, Weymouth_, 30. - _Pinxter flower_, 141. - _Pipilo_, 113. - _Plover_, 188. - _Plum, wild_, 141. - _Pontederia_, 155. - _Poplar, Lombardy_, 30. - _Primrose_, 155. - _Pyxie_, 57, 61, 68. - - Q. _Quail_, 32, 200. - - R. _Rabbit_, 44, 188, 196. - _Raccoon_, 47, 187. - _Rail-bird_, 199. - _Raven_, 146. - _Red-eye_, 19, 32. - _Redstart_, 32. - _Reed-bird_, 198. - _Reeds_, 155. - _Relics, Indian_, 43. - _Robin_, 32, 47, 75, 146. - _Rose-mallow_, 41. - _Roses_, 145. - - S. _Sand-piper_, 25, 38. - _Saponaria_, 77. - _Sedge_, 156. - _Shad-bush_, 140. - _Snake, garter-_, 27. - _water-_, 130, 179, 190. - _Snow-birds_, 67. - _Sparrow, chipping_, 32, 180. - _foxie_, 207. - _song-_, 25, 32, 76, 88, 135. - _swamp-_, 41. - _tree-_, 59, 82, 198. - _white-throated_, 59, 198, 207. - _Sphagnum_, 56, 57, 69. - _Spice-wood_, 73, 140. - _Spiders_, 37. - _Spirea_, 141. - _Squirrel, flying-_, 59. - _Sundew_, 69. - _Sunfish_, 129. - _Sunflower_, 41, 155. - _Swallow, bank_, 93; - _barn_, 94. - - T. _Tanager, scarlet_, 53, 144. - _Tea-berry_, 52. - _Teal, blue-winged_, 190. - _Thorn, white_, 141. - _Thrush, brown_, 32, 72, 82. - _Thrushes_, 71, 144. - _Titmouse_, 20, 67, 75. - _Trout_, 127. - _Trumpet-creeper_, 136. - _Tulip-tree_, 43. - _Turkey-buzzard_, 32. - _Turtle, snapping-_, 132, 179. - - V. _Vireo, red-eyed_, 32, 90; - _white-eyed_, 112. - - W. _Warbler, spotted_, 32, 51. - _tree-creeping_, 87. - _Warblers_, 51, 73, 205. - _Weasel_, 156. - _Whippoorwill_, 72. - _Winter-green_, 62, 69. - _Wolf_, 179. - _Wood-robin_, 18. - _Wren_, 31, 72, 142. - _Carolina_, 79. - _marsh-_, 41. - _winter_, 207. - - - - -[Illustration] - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - Transcriber’s Note - -Errors deemed most likely to be the printer’s have been corrected, and -are noted here. The references are to the page and line in the original. -The following issues should be noted, along with the resolutions. - - 95.10 Why, on the other hand, wood[ /-]peckers Added. - 140.9 and often sparse of bloom[,/.] But Replaced. - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Travels in a Tree-top, by Charles Conrad Abbott - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TRAVELS IN A TREE-TOP *** - -***** This file should be named 55805-0.txt or 55805-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/5/8/0/55805/ - -Produced by KD Weeks, ellinora and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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