Bag yah ne \ i} oa | Ff see i uF ie My cel 53 1 hese Pe Be y iy > | ‘TREE-TOP P CHARLES ay F cnanurs G7 SBOTT | i Es eR : ? " ReRReRENDE AYE ARR CARS dh Saleh RR ENA RA ITI Y OF F CONGRESS HDD pooo44#eObSse KUPs, KASS Oss DELIVERED 7S “ect 11 i807 * UNITED STATES GF AMERICA. |) Vad Z ae Tne BK cate y No wes ‘ LE HN aut , IW f i nek Ty ‘3 ef - BY CHARLES CONRAD ABBOTT LS Tue FREEDOM OF THE FigLtps. With Fron- tispiece by Alice Barber Stephens, and three photogravures. Buckram, orna- mental, $1.50 TRAVELS IN A TREE-Top. With Frontispiece by Alice Barber Stephens, and three photo- gravures. 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. tzmo. Buckram, ornamental, $3.00 Recent Ramses; Or, In Touch with Na- ture. Illustrated. z2mo. Cloth, $2.00 Tue Hermit oF NotrincHam. A novel. tzmo. Cloth, ornamental, $1.25 WHEN THE CENTURY was New. A novel. tzmo. Cloth, $1.00 A Cotontat Wooinc. A novel. i12mo. Cloth, $1.00 Birp-Lanp EcHogs. Profusely illustrated by William Everett Cram. Crown Svo. Cloth, gilt top, $2.00 Tue Birps Asour Us. Illustrated. z2mo. Cloth, $2.00 Abbott's Bird Library. THe Birps Asour Us and Birp-Lanp Ecuogs. Two volumes in a box. s2mo. Cloth, gilt top, $4.00 TRAVELS IN 4A TREE-TOP aye Ebi a fl ae tha ie ia Y a) Ihe t ; z ae hg Wag vi ma TRAVELS IN -A Poko ee TREE = TOR By C. are T JB. OPC CO, PHILADELPHIA 1698 CopyriGHT, 1894 AND 1897, BY J. B. Lippincott Company. ConTENTS Giravelsv tt a Uree=fopy ewe cai Ne | 6 AMPLE Ur he. byecse. NM an pai. ae a). Sika Gaming of the Birds oes). Tbe Budding of the Nest. 33. Corn-stalk Fiddles. .... si ieeieans PELE OR CORN Non taht Me Tania a ag A Winter-Night’s Outing. . 1... . VAL af Crem Water (3 0 te (sieves) An Old-fashioned Garde . . 1. ss EEG AECL SGLE. MS SONS ETN) 08, Ben ANDI SGM DISET AE A REI ON MT DEEN OS oe Ay arsib ist cons un yy Houiprimis . 5 6. 8 orl Nel eee tet ts Bees PON BUCROUE CALA nes oll) 2 aan a LDIGEE VEO TARYSINSIS Ae SANE Oe RET pS fitniey Oe Last, ILLUSTRATIONS Page yy 5 “ An Old-fashioned Garden . . Frontispiece By Alice Barber Stephens We ibes Chesapeake Oak 0) ia) ay se vee 22 Vv The Old Drawbridge, Crosswick’s Creek 116 BERGA EAGAN eae sau ohn ott sity oh) EY, RT ITAL. Cah pat aEae va Moh, ues PRL eo Eee CHAPTER FIRST TRAVELS IN A TREE-TOP 5 | PEARLY mist shut out the river, PNK GRA the meadows, and every field for ZN) miles. I could not deteét 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 9 10 Travels ina Tree-top 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 ob- literated. 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 mid- summer morning; clambered beyond the mists, which were rolling away as I seated myself far above the ground, safe from intru- sion, and resting trustfully on yielding branches that moved so gently in the passing breeze that I scarcely perceived their motion. _ Howmuch depends upon our point of view! | The woodland path may not be charming if the undergrowth too closely shuts usin. In all we do, we seek a wider vision than our arm’s length.) ‘There may be nothing better Travels ina Tree-top i111 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 discrimi- nating, 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 casta spell upon me, and, craning their glossy necks, spoke words of warning. My indif- ference 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. Per- 12 Travels ina Tree-top haps 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, adapt- ing 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 some- thing 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 areakin. 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. Travels in a Tree-top 13 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 re- peated whenever a few, or less than five, fly over. Itis 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 weak- ness 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? 2 14 ‘Travels in a Tree-top I was not the only occupant of the tree; there were hundreds of other and more active travellers, who often stopped to think or con- verse 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-tem- pered, 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 inahurry. ‘They seemed not to dis- sociate 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 hur- rying throng. It was easy to intercept them, and they grew quickly frantic; but their fel- lows paid no attention to such as I held cap- tive 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 Travels ina Tree-top 15 came together, but beyond this I could see nothing in the way of concerted aétion on the part of the ants at large looking towards suc- coring their captive fellows. Releasing them, these detained ants at once scattered in all di- rections, and the incident was quickly forgot- ten. 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 inseét-eating birds came and went continually. One lordly, great-crested fly- catcher eyed them meditatively for some sec- onds, 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 16 ‘Travels in a Tree-top fear. Students of bird-ways should never for- get this. The fly-catcher soon took a stand wherefrom to observe me, and, if intently staring at me for thirty seconds was not curi- osity, what shall we call it? Is it fair to explain away everything by calling it mere coincidence? It is a common prattice, and about as logical as the old cry of < instiné’”’ when I went toschool. ‘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 some- thing more weighty if the idea had been ex- pressed in a “composition.” I speak from experience. To return to the cheerier subject of curi- osity in birds: our large hawks have it to a marked degree, and advantage can be taken of this faét 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 ose OT nena sierra it ewe ene ne a Travels ina Tree-top 17 all around it, and then put out one foot and touch it hereandthere. If we can judge from the bird’s actions, the question, What is it, anyway ? isrunning 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 J 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 in- flated. 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 touch- ing 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 evi- dent that the hawk did not look down at first, b ae 18 Travels ina Tree-top 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 vio- lently 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 dis- covery of my presence by birds and their sudden right-about movement and departure. Occasionally I could see them coming as if di- rectly towards me, but their keen eyes noticed the unusual object, and they would dart off with a promptness that showed how com- pletely 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 thap when sifted through a wilderness of leaves. Travels ina Tree-top 1g It was not until noon that the wood and open fields became silent or nearly so, for the red-eye came continually, and, whether inseét- 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 inseét-life hardly passes for sound. It was only when I lis- tened for it that I was aware that millions of tiny creatures were filling the air with a hum- ming that varied only as the light breeze car- ried it away or brought it nearer and clearer than before. ‘There is a vast difference be- tween absolute and comparative or apparent silence. ‘The former is scarcely ever a con- dition of the open country unless during a still, cold winter night, and never of one of our ordinary woodland tra¢ts. We do find it, however, in the cedar swamps and pine-land, even during summer. JI have often stood in “‘the pines” of Southern New Jersey and tried to deteét some sound other than that of my own breathing, but in vain. Not atwig stirred. ‘The dark waters of the pools were motionless; even the scattered clouds 20 Travels ina Tree-top 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 trem- bling 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 aétivity in a small way. The ants were still journeying, and red ad- miral 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. Travels ina Tree-top 21 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. 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 22 Travels in a Tree-top 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 sit- ting 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 im- pressed one at first sight. The branches were themselves great trees, and together cast a cir- cular 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 Travels ina Tree-top 23 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 ab- solutely insignificant. Yet, in truth, every- thing 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 feat- ures 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 cheer- fully morning, noon, and night. I fancied I made friends with these birds, for early one 24 ‘Travels ina Tree-top 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 coo- ing 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, in- terested 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 Travels ina Tree-top 25 the birds of the air, principally swallows, which hung over the tree as a trembling cloud. Never were swallows more numer- ous, 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 sand- piper rested amoment near me. These birds we associate with water and the open country, a 3 26 Travels in a Tree-top 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 prom- ises 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 Dela- ware. 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 sun- set last night. The color was gorgeous, but it was plain and commonplace compared to the sunrise of to-day. Perhaps no tint was Travels ina Tree-top 27 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 enthu- siasm. 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 con- sider that many of the branches were so wide 28 Travels in a Tree-top 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 foli- age, 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 per- fe€tly satisfied has no knowledge of what satis- faction really is. Logical or not, I turned Travels ina Tree-top 29 my attention from the tree at last, and thought, What of the outlook? MDire€tly 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 won- der 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 mill- pond 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 establish- ment, a little brown diver. How it could bring itself to swim in such filth must re- main a mystery. A queer old character that had lived all his life in the country once said ahs 30 ~=©Travels in a Tree-top 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 direftion? ‘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 Revo- lution there were some very substantial man- sions erected. From my perch in the tree- top I cannot see any of the houses distinély, but locate them all by the group of Weymouth pines in front and sometimes both before and behind them. ‘The old-time Lombardy pop- lar 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 Travels ina Tree-top 31 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 vig- orous, and the flowering plants judiciously se- leéted ; but what did strike the visitor was the wealth of bird-life. For once let me cat- alogue 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 re- passed continually. It promenaded at times on the lion’s tongue, and sang triumphantly while perched upon aneyebrow. ‘That wren certainly saw nothing animal-like in the plas- ter 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 ani- 32 Travels in a Tree-top mals as pictured, have demonstrated every- thing, and so, I am afraid I must admit, noth- ing. In the woodbine on the portico were two nests,—a robin’s and a chipping-spar- row’s. ‘These were close to each other, and once, when sitting in arocking-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 sawa 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, ] heard the clear call of the kill-deer plover as they passed overhead, heard it until it mingled with my dreams. ‘< Provi- dence 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 Travels in a Tree-top 33 well-nigh obliterated, and nothing really bet- ter 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 alto- gether enjoyable: it was bewildering. How completely such a traét epitomizes a conti- nent! The little creek is a river; the hil- lock, a mountain; the brushland, a forest; the plowed traét,adesert. 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 be- hind 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- c 34 ‘Travels ina Tree-top 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, cafions, 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, anda restless youth, looking over the wide range of fields before him, was thinking of the grand mountains, strange deserts, and deep canons pictured in the volume on his lap, and comparing such a country with the monoto- nous 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.” Travels in a Tree-top 35 “© Perhaps it is not so stupid as it looks,” Treplied. <¢ 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 colleéted 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 cur- rent, 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 36 Travels in a Tree-top 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 sup- porting sand. ‘These were indeed beautiful. «©T have never seen them before,” re- marked 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 perfeét repro- duétions of wonderful ‘*monument rocks” which he had so lately seen piétured 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 canon country. The various tints of the clay gave Travels in a Tree-top B7 the many-colored rocks; the different densi- ties 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 obstruétion 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 chara¢teristic feat- ures 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 inseéts 4 38 Travels in a Tree-top abundant, and faint footprints showed that it was not overlooked by the pretty teetering sand-piper. Now camea total change. Abruptly turn- ing 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. Smal] mud-minnows, turtles, and snakes were found in the gloomy, weed- hidden pools, and numberless inse¢ts crowded the rank growths above as well as the waters beneath. ‘The mutual dependence of vege- tation 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 abun- dance. 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 Travels in a Tree-top 39 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 sur- face, 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 mate- rial 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 fre- quently met with in descriptive geology, was made plain, and when we noticed of how mixed a chara¢ter was the coarse gravel, it was easy to comprehend what had been read of that most interesting phase of the 40 Travels in a Tree-top 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 re- gions 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, per- haps, 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 feat- ures. ‘There is such a blending of dry land and wet, open and thicket-grown, hedge and brook and scattered trees, that it is bewilder- ing 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 Travels ina Tree-top 41 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 traéts!' They have not forsaken my tree and its surround-. ings, 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- 4* 42 Travels in a Tree-top 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 twit- tering of the marsh-wrens wasadelight. ‘The huge globular nests of these birds were every- where about me; but the birds did not think of meas 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 sawthe bird hover for a moment directly overhead, and then, let- Travels ina Tree-top 43 ting 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. Cer- tainly, had it chosen, it could have stabbed me through and through. I was glad to be again on drier Jand 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 44 Travels ina Tree-top 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 wood- land 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 enthu- silastic trapper. Just as mankind in the in- Travels ina Tree-top 45 fancy 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 supe- riority 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 ana- tomical struéture. 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 contaét 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 asa 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, be- cause circumstances make them a necessity ; and as men were trappers before they were traders or tillers of the field, so the words 46 Travels in a Tree-top 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 orrod. But, old Izaak Walton and Frank Forrester to the contrary notwithstand- ing, I held 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 Travels ina Tree-top 47 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 aétivity 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, con- sidering the usual condition of tools upon a 48 Travels in a Tree-top 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 rab- bits, and then, alas! was so elated that, boy- like, 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 pre- pared for revenge. Now, auntie had a fur tippet, or ‘* boa,” Travels ina Tree-top 49 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 vic- tim. 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 ananimal. Then I went home. The next morning I went to school with- out 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 atall guilty. There soon came over me a feeling that perhaps I had played a trick upon myself, and by sun- down I was rather reluctant to determine if anything had happened; but goI did. The trap had evidently been disturbed. The c d 5 50 Travels ina Tree-top “¢ 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 wasill 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 ex- claimed, excitedly, ‘Something from the menagerie’s broke loose and got in the rab- bit-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 shal- lows, it gleamed like polished amber. ‘The wind that swayed the tall crowns of the tow- Travels ina Tree-top 51 ering 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, wil- derness. We needed but to catch a glimpse of an Indian to see this part of creation pre- cisely 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 ariver 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 52 Travels in a Tree-top 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 distinét as was every object, yet, as a whole, the outlook was dreary, hazy, half obscure, as we looked direétly 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 Travels in a Tree-top 53 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 re- mains 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 asplendid 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 want- ing. 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 creat- ures, for here was a safe retreat for all the 5* 4 Travels ina Tree-top 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 fight- ing. 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 jirm earth did indeed support us, but in re- ality it was the most unstable of shifting sands, being held in place by reindeer-moss, par- tridge-berry, and other pine-barren growths. Travels in a Tree-top 55 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 traéts covered by deciduous trees ; but inseét-feeders could have flourished here. ‘The steam of our dinner-pot brought more substantial forms than mosquitoes, one house-fly being deter- mined to share my Frankfurter and success- fully 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 per- haps 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 back- ground of pines, which now looked black. At wide intervals could be seen huge pines that had escaped the charcoal-burner or lum- berman. 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. 56 ‘Travels in a Tree-top Here, at the mouth of Dead River, we be- held 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 sucha 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 over- looked. A rank growth of golden-club rest- ing 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 abun- dance we can find no trace of it. Then, look- ing 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 atall. ‘There Travels in a Tree-top 57 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 promi- nently 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 ex- panse that might be called a lake if the fa& 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 bloom- ing andromeda, too, and arbutus, with club- moss of richest green. I almost placed my hand on a centipede that glowed like an em- erald. It was resting on ruddy sphagnum, and made a splendid piéture. I could not NS AGI GAGE es 58 Travels in a Tree-top 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 traét 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? Travels in a Tree-top 59 There is good philosophy in ‘ Small favors thankfully received.” Here in this little wood are beautiful white-footed mice, a shy, noc- turnal jerboa, flying-squirrels, and, if I mis- take 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. 1 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 dis- appeared. No wall of green above, about, They silently steal away 5 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 melodi- 60 Travels ina Tree-top ously, 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 AUNT FOR THEPYXIE N° storm raged to defeat a long-cherished plan, and we must laugh at threaten- ing 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 adventure- less a matter asone 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 6 61 62 A Hunt for the Pyxie the wilderness was overfull. Bewildering multitudes are more to be feared than possi- ble dangers. There is no escape from the former. Nota 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 traéts, we heard only the crisp crackling of the reindeer-moss we crushed at every step. Although *¢Tt 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 ser- pent buried in dead leaves ; and what oppor- tunity for murder the serpent had as we buried our faces in pillows of pink and pearly arbutus ! At last we reached South River (in South- A Hunt for the Pyxie 63 ern New Jersey), and just here was no place to tarry, unless to court melancholy. It was not required that my companion should enu- merate 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, barren- ness,—and very different, this, from what ob- tains in localities near by to which the same term isapplied. 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 64 A Hunt for the Pyxie silent battle-field where the struggle for ex- istence 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 mid- winter, 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 re- called death, the familiar feature of a mid- winter 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 A Hunt for the Pyxie 65 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 fa- vored, 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 asa ship’s mast. The light that filled this wood was strangely beautiful. Nothing stood out distin@tly. ‘To have passed here in the gloam- ing would have tried weak nerves. Even in the glare of noonday my imagination was ab- normally aétive, 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 dark- e 6* 66 A Hunt for the Pyxie ness 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 ‘Cin 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 surround- ings was bathed in light now, and the emer- gence 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 mis- tletoe,—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 A Hunt for the Pyxie 67 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 over- head, 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, 68 A Hunt for the Pyxie 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 roost- ing-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 A Hunt for the Pyxie 69 stratum beneath, where every degree of den- sity could be found, from solid rock to a paste-like mass that we took pleasure in moulding into fantastic shapes, thereby re- newing 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 70