.l-C^A.. Sutg^rs Hnmeratty LIBRARY Purcltased by Appropriation of State of New Jersey for Reference Books and Periodicals 242078 /fff^ •*. .}». IN NATURE'S REALM Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2010 with funding from Lyrasis IVIembers and Sloan Foundation http://www.archive.org/details/innaturesrealmOOabbo K p O 2 In Nature's Realm Care lifts her burdens from f/iy shoulders no-Tv When to the fields I Jiasten on my 'ivay, Nor ask a shelter hut the leafy bough. Nor friend, sa-ue Nature, through the li-ue-long day CHARLES CONRAD ABBOTT Author of " Upland and Meadow," '' Notes of the Night," " Outings at Odd Times," etc. WITH NINETY DRAWINGS BY OLIVER KEMP ALBERT BRANDT: PUBLISHER TRENTON, NEW JERSEY 1900 COPYRIGHT, 1900, BY ALBERT BRANDT ENTERED AT STATION- ERS' HALL, LONDON COPYRIGHT, 1898, BY HARPER & BROTHERS COPYRIGHT, 1898-1899 BY J. B. LIPPINCOTT CO. Printed at The Brandt Press, Trenton, N. J., U. S. A. PR EFACE ly/TY DAYS — Elysian days to me — afield or afloat, were followed by nights no less delightful, when, at my desk, I again lived my happy hours. My entertainment, therefore, has been two-fold, and so I am moved to hope that the satisfaction of the reader who turns these pages to the light will at least be single-fold. Here, however, a word of caution. No book concerning Nature is in any sense a mirror reflecting every detail. The many subtle charms the rambler recognizes, when under the bright blue sky, are not brought home with him. He cannot pierce with a pencil-point many an impression as you may pin a butterfly. Here, too, let me call attention to the danger of being so far off^ our guard that confusion arises from a multiplicity of objects ; all of commanding inter- est. We cannot, however careful, wholly escape from a sense of bewilderment at times, when bril- liant flowers, gorgeous butterflies, singing birds and ^^^^7f PREFJCE chattering small deer crowd the landscape, nor keep our eyes steadily upon the soaring hawk when fishes are leaping above the glittering waves. To single out an object becomes impracticable, in the sense of giving it our undivided attention, under such cir- cumstances, but confusion of thought need not arise from such embarrassment of riches. We can look upon them as a unit, as we look upon intri- cate machinery without special attention to any single part. There is no one feature of an outing that leads to such satisfying results as this contemplation of nature as a whole, and the study of its component parts, if it leads not up to this, falls short of what it should do. Grub as industriously as we may at the root of a tree, if our thoughts rise no higher what becomes of the outlook where the out-reaching branches point to the clouds ? I suggest this because too often the specialist forgets that his interest does not center in the world's most impor- tant form of life, and when it is written of, without regard to its relation to all else, we have a distorted view, and mole-hills are accorded the dignity of the mountain. Study beast or bird or flower, as PR E FJCE you decide, but never forget there are snakes and fishes and insects. The ocean is something more than the home of the pretty shells we gather upon its beach. Let your mind expand when out of doors ; not be cramped to the confines of the track of a slowly-creeping snail. If an outing is considered merely as the proper thing "to do," by all means don't do it. It is cer- " tain that you will neither see nor hear anything in such a way as to profit you. Nature resents such consideration, or lack of it, at any person's hands. Remember, too, that Nature never slows her pace that man may catch up. The bird's song, the summer blossom, and the gorgeous sunset far oftener " waste their sweetness on the desert air " than play their several parts with him to witness them ; but that book does much which makes so plain this truth that readers will be more anxious in the future to see the world as it really is ; to realize that the river is something more than water and its shores something more than earth ; that a forest is not merely congregated trees or the open field a farmer's workshop. These are but the outer shells that PREFJCE guard with jealous care the manifold treasures and secrets awaiting him who is sincerely a lover of Nature. For permission to reproduce certain chapters of this volume, I am deeply indebted to the Editors of Harper s Monthly and Lippincotfs Magazine^ and also to the Editor of the Philadelphia Public Ledger for the use of other chapters which appeared in an abbreviated form in that journal. c. c. A. Three Beeches: Trenton, N. J., August 2, 1900. CONT ENr S Page Preface 5 List of Drawings "11 My Point of View , 17 Views Afoot 1^2 Facing the North Star ....... 50 Nine Spring Corner 65 Winter's Last Day 77 An Audience of One 88 A Cheerful Fog 95 Waste-land Revisited 109 Sour Grapes 165 A Fence-rail Fancy 182 Before the Rain 191 A Marsh Madrigal 199 In Nameless Nooks 206 The First Few Flakes 232 Icicles 256 What's in the Wind? 268 Index 289 LIST OF DRAWINGS Crosswicks Creek, (pliotogravure t page i43)» • Hornet, Flying Squirrel, Cricket, Nature's Realm, Sparrow-hawk, his . ptiint of view." meadow now . . before me." Meadow, " There is a wide-reaching Tree-top, " The silence is broken by th Yellow-breasted Chat, " . . the love-song of tl Red-eyed Vireo's Nest, . " . . an empty, long-d Song-sparrow, "• There is a song-sparrow in t Screech-Owl, " Read of the Dismal Swam Primeval Nature, " Trees only ? What of the etern English Sparrow and Bee, Bowlders Amidfields, " . . if . . knowledge . . Bowlder, " Let us go back to the b Swallow-tailed Butterfly, . " The ugliest weed, Mud-wasps' Nest, " . . Nature, . . has itiany a sanctuary that is not open to everyone oni wash-drawing. See facing e songs of countless bird? happy bird is in the aii eserted bird's-nest, . . ' he gooseberry hedge now, p with its lonely owl, 1 hills . . the river at their bj is desired, . . go afoot . . ' owlder lying in the field." is not always ugly." Page title 8 lO 15 16 17 19 28 29 31 32 33 37 39 42 LIST OF DRAWINGS . . the croaking bullfrog in the marsh . . the bird's-eye view . . " . in a blue-black wintry sky." Bullfrog, Red-headed Duck, The North Star, Larks, . . . " The tield-larks walked the earth with dignity and grace, . . Pine-finches, ...... " . . the tall weeds trembled as a host of twittering finches bore down upon them, . . " Spider, Fly and Beetle, .... Common Mole, ..... "The ridged earth where the mole had traveled . . White-footed Mouse, .... " . . a sudden assumption of a listening attitude . . Rabbit, ...... " . . from the base of an old stump . . rushed a veritable ' mad Ma Nine Spring Corner, .... " where the bluff bends . . there is a cozy nook . . " Hylodes, ..... " . . the little crepitating frog, . . Yellow Tree-toad, .... "' . . chiefly noisy in the end of the afternoon . . '" Red Salamanders, .... " Their kinship is with frogs . . " Chickadee, ..... "• . . the chickadee was making merry ; . . " Frozen Meadows, .... "• . . on the thin ice, the crows are playing 'tickly benders' . Crow, ...... Fishes, ...... " . . working their way far up stream, . . Indian Clay Pot, .... " . . found in the ashes of the one-time hearth, . . Amulet, Red-stone Pipe and Flint Arrow-head, " . . many a broken implement of stone and bone." Winter Sunset, ..... " It is the last day of winter, . . " Page 44 49 50 53 55 57 58 60 64 65 68 69 71 76 77 79 83 84 85 87 LIST OF DRAWINGS Brown Thrush, Mourning-cloak Butterfly and Garter-snake, " Companions . . cheerful enough when there was quiet, . . Gray Spider, ..... Butterflies, ..... " . . danced in the sunbeams, . . Kill-dee, ..... "• . . suddenly appeared a kill-dee plover, . . Carolina Wren, ..... " The wren . . wants the whole world to hear him ; . . " Cardinal Grosbeak, .... " My fog-bound cardinal , . Song-sparrow, ..... "From . . the . . mist came the trill of a field-sparrow." Crosswicks Creek, .... " While the day was yet fresh with morning dew . . Kingfisher, ..... ■•' . . clattering kingfishers . . Bridge Pee-wee, ..... " . . the sitting bird, which now holds herself in a make-ready attitud Frogs, ...... " Two, as I passed, were resting, . . only their heads exposed Mosquitoes, ..... Mole-cricket, ..... " Though the . . mole-crickets . . tunnel the earth . . Flood-gate, ..... "An old flood-gate, or what remained of it, . . Mink, ...... " . . minks will carry fishes to the shore, . . Barn-swallows, ..... " . . five of these birds, . . were circling just above me." Wood-duck, ..... " . . wandering water-fowl, . . Cat-bird, ..... " The ever-abundant cat-birds were very tame, . . Young Green Herons and Nest, . " . . we have birds of all stages of growth in the heronry." Green Herons, ..... " Three well-grown birds . . in such statuesque positions . . Sunfish, ..... " Look . . directly in the face of a sunfish, . . 13 Page 88 90 92 94 95 lOI 108 109 "5 117 119 125 127 129 135 137 144 149 153 154 160 LIST OF DRAWINGS Page Sunset on Crossvvicks Creek, 164 '■'• . . as the sun sinks behind the distant forest, . . Fox, Sour Grapes and Blue Jay, . . . 165 '■'■ The fable of the fox is as familiar to creatures not man as to ourselves ; . . " Bittersweet, . . ■ • • • 181 " . . the plnry of the bittersweet . . Cedar and Chestnut, . . . ■ .182 " . . the tall, tapering cedar-trcc . . " Not far away still stands a splendid chestnut-tree . . Gray Squirrel, . . • • • • 1^4 " . . always was this fence wild-life's highway." Quail, . . . • • • .185 " . . a ' Bob-white ' . . close to the bottom rail." Fence-rails, . • • • • • • '** " . . a pile of rails in a field corner . . Colonial Fireplace, . • • • .190 " . . as I sit before the andirons . . Before the Rain, . • • • • 191 " . . the threatening masses of ashen clouds . . Dragon-fly, • • • ■ • .192 " . . dragon-flies are ecstatic . . One of Nature's Tragedies, . . . .196 " . . a luckless grasshopper, . . Colonial Kitchen, . • • • • 198 '•'• Again the old, open fire-place is in its glory, . . The Red-wings' Paradise, . • • • '99 " . . the marsh, where my little world is yet wild . . Muskrat and House, . . • • -2,03 "• A brave muskrat swims across the stream, . . The Crosswicks Marshes, .... 205 "A wandering duck . . bars the world against the curse of solitude." A Nameless but Suggestive Nook, . • • ^06 " The surface of the water was broken into a series of long, wavy lines, . . Water-snake, . • ■ • • .216 " . . the creature turned and curved . . Black-bass, ...••• ^^o " . . the fate of a grasshopper . . House-flies, . • • • .221 " . . listen to an humbler voice, . . 14 LIST OF DRAWINGS Where One May Think, . . . . "Sweet, nameless nooks, . . " Snovvflakes, ...... " . . the first few flakes of snow." Rabbit-tracks, ...... " . . the first snow of sufficient depth to allow of tracking a rabbit, . . " Jumping-mouse, ..... ^ . . the jumping-mouse . . leaping high above the grass." Bat, ....... " . . its countenance very suggestive of complete satisfaction.' Land-tortoise, ..... '• The land-tortoise that my grandfather played with . . Snow-storm, ..... " . . of cold days to come when the air will be white with them Icicles, Woodshed, .... " . . the dripping eaves of the woodshed." A Winter Decoration, .... "• . . tiny crystal spears, pointing to the earth." Wild Geese, ..... " . . flying in one long, unchanging line . . " The South Wind, .... " . . that gentle fairy who scattered butterflies . . " Robin, ...... Wasp, ...... Page 231 232 234 238 243 256 267 268 287 288 309 IS ■ -'JH.^^ r Ml '=''-'■ 'Ml. '1:>* mm , ;,. ' }C:yM^\ My Point of View I HAVE a cousin who finds satisfaction in the possession of a ruin unHke, in many respects, any other in his country — England, — so he is moved to write to me, " it is always pleasant to have something no one else has," and to this I agree. Such a feeling is easily understood, and the more so when we remember that every person has one unique possession, his own point of view. Did we all see alike, we would all be alike, and if no differences existed the world, from an extra- mundane point of view, would be a flat failure. Variety is more than the spice of life, it is its neces- 17 IN NATU RE' S REALM sity. Stand on the edge of a mill-pond and see a few acres of mirror-like surface and my meaning is plain. We are straightway weary with looking, but let the wind ripple the waters and the eye brightens, we are no long-er indifferent, and what one sees another misses. The lights and shadows that delight me are mv exclusive pleasure. I am as happv in possessing my peculiar point ot view as is my cousin with his splendid ruin built centuries ago by Carthusian monks. It is ever impossible to bring another to stand* towards nature as vou have just done. We cannot transfer our point ot view, nor can our friend make use of it. Granting this, comparisons become the staple of the best conversation possible among men. How do I know, at all, that other men see? They sav that thev do so, and my onlv resource is to accept their statement. The probabilities all point in that direction, but is it absolute certainty r Does certaintv exist ? Are we not finite creatures ? Certainty is ascribable to the infinite alone. There is a wide-reaching meadow now, as I write these lines, before me. Its monotony is broken by a thousand trees ; its color varied by ten thousand i8 ;::-5c»- Mr POINT OF FIEW flowers. The passing breezes give motion to all save the earth itself; so we say, at least; but the earth is likewise in motion. We speak of the fixity of certain features where fixity never existed. So much for exactness of statement. The silence is broken by the songs of countless birds, — but have others ever heard them with my ears, or I with theirs ? Who but myself has ever heard the sing- ing of a bird ? Perhaps all other men have listened to the melody and I heard only discord. Who shall say ? In the pleasing uncertainty of our so-called cer- tainties, let us compare notes. He sees best who sees a single object nearest to exhaustively — who, by seeing, is moved to read its past, realize its pres- ent and, without violence to extravagance, forecast its future. Then, if those who saw not find that my friend and I tell the same story, they are, very reasonably, the better satisfied. A more pleas- ing picture is drawn by their fancy, based upon another's point of view, but never as I have seen or my friend has seen, can they think they see. My trees and birds and flowers are mine alone. I could not give them away, did I try, nor could my friends 19 IN NATURE'S REALM enrich themselves with the gift, were they desirous of so doing. I am now alone, so tar as humanity is concerned. No mortal has, as yet, wandered into my present field of vision, and so the less is there any disturb- ing feature. " I " can contemplate, " we " can only compare, past experience ; for contemplation in another's presence falls short of completion. A divided personality is equal to only a fraction of a fact. Hence the desirability of solitude when a bird or tree or landscape demands attention. Then we can really contemplate ; which is to give undiv- .. , fided attention, and only then does the full signifi- . . the love-song of ' .' O the happy bird IS ^^j^^,^ becomc clear I unfold itself While we gaze in the air. ' O at an empty, long-deserted bird's nest, late in the year, the bush that holds it becomes leaved again. May blossoms brighten the background, the love- song of the happy bird is in the air. Even the progress of the builder when at work, comes back to us and we see its wise looks as one after another ingenious and comforting touch was added. So, too, the fluttering autumn leaf whispers to me the story of the summer, if I am alone ; but it is a mere matter, all too likely, of dry statistics clog- Mr POINT OF VIEW ging my way, if I have company. An empty nest ; a dead leaf. Thanks to the blessed gift of letters, it is possible to make intelligible to another one's own point of view, and curiosity is so far common to humanity that what others see or think they see, proves of passing interest if not of permanent advantage, and there is something beyond this in the gift of letters, the pleasure and profit of re- cording the present which is never to return. No moment is lived twice. Nature, from my point of view, nears perfection. That which yesterday suggested is here to-day. The theory based upon capricious April's warmth is a fact in the mid- summer sunshine. So, at least, does the world appear from my point of view. The sky is intensely blue and vision travels so far within it, that it loses all appearance of substance and becomes azure space. The mind is freer for the thought, and unless there is unlimited space through which our minds may wander, thought is gnarly, sour fruit that is worse IN NATURE'S REALM than valueless. We cannot set it outside our point of view, and to realize its limitations is a source of grief. Hence dissatisfaction with our real self and the casting of covetous glances at that distorted self which possesses us ; the beginning of a down- ward course. Earlier or later, the individual finds himself face to face with nature, and why see as through a glass darkly, struggling to profit by another's point of view ? Originality seems to have lost caste, and we are content with mangled, shapeless hearsay rather than the unmarred message that our own eyes bring to us. There are people who would accept the asser- tion that grass was white and the sky black did some unscrupulously aggressive person so declare. There are millions of other people in the world but why have I a mind of my own if it is to be set aside ? I am what I am to nature, not what another, from his point of view judges I should be. I am a part of nature and nature a part of me. Tear us apart and nature is robbed and I am ruined. Hence the futility of attempting radical changes, for nations and countries and climates have their peculiar points of view, and the Christianized pagan is still but a Mr POINT OF FIEfT pagan, Christianized. His idol may be a fraud, but it will never cease to be his idol. The outward sign of respect may be withheld but the inward feeling of regard can never die. Who has yet seen the world with another's eyes ? There is a cuttle-fish that can blacken the waters about it until the animal disappears, but the water is water still and the animal is only hidden, not changed nor annihilated. The oak does not ask the elm to change its leaves, nor roses red taunt the violets because thev are blue, why then seek to change my point of view and blur the landscape that to me is beautiful and so a joy forever ? The intensity of a personality that dwarfs others is more likely to prove a curse than a bless- ing. My limited individualitv has its place and is not benefited by shifting it from its bearings. Nature is a better director than man in this regard. A grain of sand is in place as it goes with others to form the ocean's beach, but among the wheels of a watch it creates confusion. Does this not do away with education in its accepted sense ? Every one his own teacher, would not a community become a sad jumble of discord- ant ignorance ? Yes and no ; if such was the result ; 23 IN NATURE'S REALM but if teaching was more the presentation of facts and the scholar invited to interpret them from his own point of view, might not a better education be the result ? Teachers are apt to be too free with their own individualities and assume that facts as seen by them only are seen aright. I recall distinctly one of my own teachers who daily interpreted much more than that of which he was professor. No one dared contradict, and it was with some trepidation that questions were asked ; yet I knew that what the man said was absurd — nonsense from my point of view then and it has been so ever since. If what this teacher said were true, I should hope never to face what we know as nature ; this man making it but a trifle from a Heavenly workshop'. As such, from my point of view, it would be utterly distasteful, stupid, flat and insipid to the last degree. That all we see is the result of law, which is from all time and for all time, makes every phase of nature absorb- ingly entertaining and better still, we feel our own importance as a part of it. I do not propose to force my point of view upon others, nor so much urge its excellence as to distort another's vision, however feebly, nor should another 24 Mr POINT OF FIEPF hold himself so far his brother's keeper as to seek to influence me. More valuable knowledge than some are willing to admit is gathered from experi- ence and many a scholar has acknowledged that his days of appreciation of facts commenced with his freedom from pedagogic tyranny. Facts are tangible conditions admitting of no dis- pute and are not confined to this globe alone. There are many astronomical ones and here, it were a pity, the human mind could not have been content. Disputation gathers around many a fact, which is soon lost sight of, and the argumentation becomes so like unto a fact to the disputant, that he cannot real- ize he is beating the air. Not content to wait until the future reveals itself, men almost universally fore- cast it with such enthusiasm that interest in the present is lost and much of the goodness of this world is not brought at all within their point of view. To know this world perfectly is enough for any one to know. " One world at a time," but as we travel along our several ways we find, or so they seem from my point of view, vast numbers who like Thoreau's wood-chopper have been so educated as to ensure their remaining children intellectually, ^5 IN NJTURE'S REJLM and this is that phase of teaching that to me is hor- rible. Those problems that are beyond the child's point of view, but sooner or later come within its scope, are anticipated by teachers in such strange ways, that the world becomes almost chaotic as the influence upon one's mind clashes with the mind's impression of an unquestionable fact. I was told, when five years old, that the world was created in six days, and at fifteen it was evident that the world had slowly grown to a habitable condition, and had not been " made " at all, I was forced then to both learn and un-learn ; and so, too, with many another statement that had the. tendency to distort my mental vision or actually succeeded in so doing and so in later years produced distrust of my own point of view and power of ratiocination. This foul injustice has been going on for centuries, yet but a beggarly few give entire adhesion to all that is wrongfully taught them even when from their own point of view the word of a teacher is the most influencing fact of their lives. Infancy is drugged by prejudice, bigotry and ignorance, but the vigor of nature overcomes the pernicious influence to a greater or less extent and 26 Mr POINT OF riEW the world is seen from that point of view which nature intended the individual to have; but may it not be that the penetrative power of our vision is lessened, even if we see clearly to the extent ot power remaining ? There certainly can be no ques- tion that vast numbers see the world differently from what they admit, yet not so clearly as to induce their putting by the sham that cloaks their lives. Confidence in their own strength was too far impaired in infancy, and such die the cowards they are made ; not cowards born. Who can deny that abundant truth for all pur- poses is common to the world at large, but a few overbearing individuals, scattered over the earth at the rate of one to ten thousand, to further selfish ends and satisfy the overweening demand for supremacy, persuade the nine hundred and ninetv-nine that the plain proposition that two and two make tour is not quite correct. Confidence in our precious fallible selves is undermined and doubt rules at last where convincement should hold sway ; servile acquies- cence at last results, and he whom nature intended should be free becomes a slave. 17 IN NATURE'S REALM I would that I had been taught only to teach myself; then, at least, I would have been satisfied with what I have learned. As it is, I am suspicious of every fact. Better my geese are all swans than not genuine geese. So often I have not the real thing but some variation thereof. The true thing is that just beyond the bounds of my rambles. A life-time must be spent in acquiring the art of precise discrimination. It is always sub-species So-and-so of species Thus-and-so. Bother the pro- fessors ! There is a song-sparrow in the goose- berry hedge now, and its song is real music — no, not music, for its song is not according to the laws of harmony, but merely a pleasant sound ! Why worry over such niceties of knowledge ? Be a law unto yourself, and let it be music in your own esti- mation. So doing you get the satisfaction of exer- cising your own self; your life is worth living. You are yourself actually, not the distorted image of some one else. We read too much. The brain is converted into a sponge, absorbing everything, and, never squeezed by ambition, gives out nothing. Is it acquiring knowledge to merely know what others have said, 28 Mr POINT OF FIEIV making no use of the knowledge to aid in mental effort purely your own ? A great author makes a statement, but where is your own reas- oning power, that you have never proved it ? There have been individuals brave enough to challenge greatness and prove it incorrect. Who is to know his strength, unless put to the test ? The books that please weigh down our shelves, but who can " Read of the Dismal name twenty that have spurred them to real swamp with its activity and made their individuality stand out the topmost blossom on the tree, and their outlook, point of view, of commanding import- ance ? Of commanding importance to themselves only, but that matters not. If we shape ourselves with symmetry, the beauty of life will attract others, but such an aim is not necessary. Our life should be the goal of our ambition, and we can prove useful to others always more by example than by precept. »9 IN NATURE'S REALM Thoreau has remarked, the real whortleberry never reaches the market. The bloom, freshness and aroma are all gone. It is equally true of many a fact. The nature that is found on a printed page is well enough in its way, but how ill it fares when compared with the thing itself. Read of the Dis- mal Swamp with its lonely owl, and then spend a night in it ; the former is far the more dismal of the two ; that is, from my point of view, and it can matter nothing what others think. Suppose I am deterred by another's views ; I am simply deprived of a valued experience. This is why I say we read too much. We drown our ego in an ocean of leaves ; are crushed by the weight of our libraries. We crawl behind our books, perhaps timidly peep over them, but never mount the whole pile and extend, by so doing, our point of view. We creep into our libra- ries, like a hermit into his cave, making it a per- manent abode, instead of the most temporary of shelters, wherein refreshed we start with renewed vigor out into the wide world again. We are told in a notable poem, " This is the forest primeval;" but there is no smell of the woods in the mere words. A vague impression ot 30 Mr POINT OF FIEfV big trees should not satisfy us, yet we may be told that this is all, and so be defrauded ; our real self passing through the world a stranger to its splendor. This the more likely, too, because to doubt an older person's dictum is a rank offense. The chances are, as now educated, we will rely too little upon our own strength; depend too much upon the (mis-) guiding arms of others. The forest primeval ! Trees only ? What of the eternal hills upon which they stand ; the river at their base ? While yet a milk-white mist rested in the valley, and my companion still slept, I stole quietly from the tent and stood upon a bare, flat rock by the water's edge. I could hear the steady lapping of the waves as thev met the many obsta- cles in their course, but it was as sound from chaos only. Then slowly, one by one, the many features of a noble forest came in view. Nature, as it were, was marshalling her host, and trees, rocks, river, hills and sky made up the many grandeurs of the landscape. Birds began to sing, the fishes leapt into sunlight, a butterfly shook the mantling dews from its folded wings and flitted by. Not chaos now, but earth completed. This is the forest primeval. 31 " Trees only > What of the eternal hills . . the river at their base >. " IN NJTURE'S REALM Wherein I daily wander there yet remains traces of the untamed earth. Its age and origin, as laid down by others, has not much concerned me. That is matter for hours spent in the library. As inter- preted by my own consciousness, as seen from my own point of view, I have been entertained. How far that fact may influence others, others must decide. 3» ^^''¥kVAWk', - J.——- .•s^/'-'v" -%yll*'^*'' Views Afoot. BAYARD TAYLOR would not have seen so much nor told of it so well had he been on horseback, staring from a stage-coach, or being transported in some bicyclic way. As I look upon literature — which signifies nothing, save to myself — he never wrote a better book than " Views Afoot," and this happy title has been in my mind for many a day — ever since I have gotten the chill of winter from my bones and been daily out-of- doors. I would not be understood as maintaining that we cannot use our eyes and ears to advantage ex- cept when walking, or, to speak even more exactly, 3 33 IN MJTURE'S REALM when standing still; but if acquisition of knowledge rather than mere transportation is desired, then it is far preferable to go afoot than to ride to any place, or, indeed, to any object. This is peculiarly true of every small town that I have been in, and equally so of every very marked locality in the country, or its peculiar attraction, in the minds of the inhabi- tants, to which the stranger is always duly con- ducted, and sometimes with such officious ceremony that all pleasure is lost. We do not see all that should be seen when the approaches are overlooked, and we generally fail to realize the full significance of our whereabouts because required knowledge of the surroundings is wanting. There is almost no independence of objects, but more or less interrela- tion, and usually more than less. One great cause of general misunderstanding of what we see is that we fix our vision to the hub of the wheel, have too indefinite an idea of the radiat- ing spokes, and never dream of the existence of an environing rim. The journey from center to cir- cumference must be taken ; it is the imperative demand of wisdom. In the good but not always erudite days of our 34 VIEWS AFOOT grandfathers, as now, huge bowlders were lying in many a field, often far from any mother-rock. There was general wondering how they came to be there, and the conclusion was reached that they had grown on the spot, just as the tree near by had grown ; only with this difference, as I once heard it expressed, " it was longer ago, when the world was gettin' into proper shape for farmin'." I myself have been told something like this more than once, as I was told a great deal that was equally absurd derived from Oriental myths. Occasionally a vil- lage schoolmaster would express the opinion that bowlders were due to the deluge, and then pose as the exponent of profound learning, vast and deep as the flood itself that circled about Ararat. Would that some novelist could have seen his look of happiness complete when the women of the sewing- society called him " Professor." I do not dare re- peat the substance of a talk about fossils before the pupils of the school I attended. It was forty years ago, to be sure, but even then the truth was not generally unknown. I will only go so far as to say that fossils were asserted to have been " created just as they are now found." Why, I must decline 35 IN NATURE' S REALM to add. There is a limit to credulity nowadays, and no one could to-day believe there were such fools as I refer to even forty years ago. Perhaps more strange than all this is the indisputable fact that more than one scholar of that day, matured men now, should remember what the schoolmaster said and have no other view than the silliness of the Dark Ages then doled out to him. There seems to be but one thing equally widespread with ignor- ance of nature, and that is indifference to her. No one hurrying by, whatever the means of con- veyance, could ever have solved the problem of a bowlder's presence or even distinguished it from an outcropping of rock in place. Attempts of this kind were often made in years gone by, and scientific journals of early date were filled with rubbish ; but if a real view is desired, if the details are to be consid- ered and a problem solved, then we must go afoot, and this means a great deal more than merely walking. We must not only see, but hear, taste, touch, and smell as we progress ; in brief, acquire all possible knowledge of every interpretable condition, and so be prepared for the final effort through this prelimin- ary training of gradual and all-inclusive realization. 36 FIEfVS AFOOT Let us go back to the bowlder lying in the field. It may be a frost-fractured fragment tumbled from a near-by hill, or it may have come from a mountain range hundreds of miles away. It may be angular or oval, rough or smooth, perhaps deeply scarred if it ever was subjected to the grinding action of ice and sand moving slowly over it. Though so long exposed to the round of the seasons in its present home, to frost and sunshine, there will yet be cent- uries required to efface the decipherable history its surface bears ; but, except by a close view and patient study, you cannot tell your neighbor the true story of that stone. A moment's rational reflection will show how impossible it is to see in a mass of rock, anything but a mass of rock, it you see it only and not the surroundings. We speak carelessly of seeing an object in a " comprehensive " way if we see it in its entirety ; but comprehensive of what } Shape and dimension go but a little way in such a matter. It means everything to know what are the bowlder's associations, even to the dust that has gathered about ; and above all to recognize the general geo- logical character of the region and distinguish 37 'Let us go back to the bowlder lying in the field." IN NATURE'S REJLM between wind-blown sand and that brought hither by water, between discoloration of soil by recent rains and vegetal decomposition and deposits of muddy water when the glacial overflow was murky and thick with washings from a distant clay-bank. It is not child's play ; but many we meet look upon the world as a toy, and give it no more serious con- sideration. When we go afield properly equipped, the Ice Age becomes something more than a mere jumble of phrases falling from the professor's lips in tumultuous disarrav- Many a mind is clearly too primitive in its de- velopment to grasp even the simplest of natural phenomena ; but others are equal to far greater things than they promise to accomplish, and such are likely to remain in ignorance so long as they make no effort to seek the objects that go to make up the sum total of field and forest. Bird's-eye views are pretty, but there they too frequently end. They are all too apt to be neither meat nor drink, and the mind will soon starve that receives nothing more nourishing. Of course, we can hear of the suggestiveness of great compre- hensive wholes and the mind's grasp upon them, 38 r I Errs afoot and of grand generalizations that come from con templative observation of a wide area. Our lang uage is too accommodating in the matter of high-sounding phrases. The chances are that when you hear something like this, you can set the speaker down as more full of words than wisdom. It is more than likely that he has not been interviewing the com- ponent parts of this comprehensive whole, and so is of necessity an ignoramus. We have too many such, to whom the world listens as if they were little gods. Then again we may be met with the objection that to enter into details is tiresome, which is simply an effort to conceal ignorance. But if so, it is never so tiresome as are the chat- terboxes that talk in this way, did they but know it; and why, pray, should not kindness be sufficiently severe to tell them so ? " The ugliest weed. No natural object can be ugly, repulsive, unm- . . is not always ugiy. structive, or unentertaining if we see it as it is, and have knowledge of its place and purpose. It may lack what artists call the elements of grace ; its colors may be dingy ; but then Kow soon we tire of 39 ■!. 4s ' 1 \ spiffs. ^ L m IN NJTURE'S REALM too pronounced brilliancy. The ugliest weed, on the other hand, is not always ugly. Think of the brilliant beetle or gay butterfly that may rest upon it. A turtle rooting in the mud of a ditch, itself the color of the soiled water that surrounds it, is so beautifully adapted to its home and habits that we forget the lack of pleasing color and are impressed with the more suggestive beauty of adaptation. We must center a thought upon the object before us, — a serious, prolonged, truth-desiring thought, — and there and then only will the symmetry of nature's handiwork become apparent. Such recognition on our part repays us as fully as floods of color delight the unthinking eye. How much we lose when time has not been al- lowed for particulars can readily be seen by the initiated when a visitor, returning home, can affirm only that he saw trees, perhaps adding that some were deciduous and others evergreen, but beyond this nothing. Can more empty phrases be imag- ined ? I know that trees grow in many a country that I have never seen. It needs no traveller there- from to supply that information. That man has never really seen a tree who has not sat in its 40 VIEWS AFOOT shade, reclined in its branches, and been a visitor thereto many times and in every season. Trees improve upon acquaintance, like a few of the people we meet, and we are never deceived by them, A distant view of a tree-top may add much to a landscape ; but this would tell nothing of the story of a curious old maple near by, with a trunk so marvelously out of shape that we can only specu- late as to what troubles of growth the tree has experienced. There stands amidfields a scarlet oak whose very presence is a benediction. The most hurried traveler who stops a moment in its shade carries that tree's image in his heart for many a day. I know nothing of church architecture, but my three beeches with their hundred uplifted branches are encompassed in a dim light that is impressive, solemn, and soothing to the soul. Perhaps you may say it is not a religious light. This is a point that I would not argue if I could ; but it is a light that leads to thankfulness that such trees as these may still be found. Here forever do I find a hushed if not holy calm ; a source of delight so satisfying that my soul has no other craving. These beeches are a marked feature of the landscape, and visible from 41 ^■^'^N IN jVjture's realm everv point ; but how few have ever seen them ! Many think of Nature as all out-of-doors, as evervwhere open, exposed to every breeze ; they fancy that where sunbeams cannot enter, only empty shadows lurk ; but Nature, which you so sadly mis- understand, has many a sanctuary that is not open to every one who draws near, and inner sanctuaries for the favored few. None are denied except for good cause, however their unpreparedness. No one can hide his indifference of Nature from her, and she wisely welcomes no bungling intruder to her inner courts. My friend pleads, " My time for outings is too limited for doing more than getting a breath of fresh air;" as if the air would be less fresh if he . . Nature, . . has carried an extra mite of knowledge back to town many a sanctuary with him. Is the freshness of the atmosphere in proportion to the breather's rapid transit ? " And I can learn about nature from books," he adds. True, he can ; and he can also confirm his ignorance by the reading of books. Not all knowledge is gathered between their covers, and all that is came from the out-door world, gathered by observing men and women. It is well to go where the writers 42 that is not open to every one . VIEWS AFOOT of books have been, or to localities as closely akin to these as possible, and bring back with vou as many facts as you can carry, but never to be over- loaded therewith and so become dismayed by their bewildering array. Then you are better fitted to read understandingly ; and it is not so simple a matter as you might suppose to sit down and intell- igently compare that which you have seen with the statements made by others. Perhaps your impres- sions and those of the author will not agree. So much the better ; no greater a blessing can await you. Now, go again and see if you observed cor- rectly the first time, and if you are satisfied that you did, trace out the probable cause of your con- clusion differing from the statements in the book you have been reading. Do not for one moment be influenced by such an unfortunate impression, if you have ever held it, as that a statement is necessarily correct because in print. Bear in mind that great men often make little mistakes, just as little men make great blunders ; and sometimes it has happened just the other way, and the dwarf has got the better of the giant. No really great man ever blindly followed his teachers, or he could never 43 IN NATURE'S REALM have become great. Ascribe infallibility to the professor, and you become at best but his echo, and condemn to slavery what should be free as the air, your own mind. Some I have known plead that the study of nature would prove a task, and that it is recreation they seek when out-of-doors, — spinning, probably at reckless speed, adown some public path. Returned to their homes, are not tired legs quite as objec- tionable and less noble than a weary brain ? But what these people claim is not true. The occupied brain would not be wearied. Nature-study is never a task, but a tonic. It re-creates. We are renewed whenever a new fact swims into our ken. To turn from the columns of a ledger or the pandemonium of the stock jparrow m the way-side hedge is more healthfully restful than miles upon miles of mere locomotion. We do not become acquainted with people and make new friends by merely passing them in the street; and we can pass by Nature all our days .,-. — „.^>-^..,=,=-^:-=-^. and never have even a speaking 44 . the croaking bullfrog in the marsh . . ' VIEWS AFOOT acquaintance. If you wish for this or more, you must go to her afoot and, begging to be introduced, make your obeisance, and express your pleasure for the privilege. Such as do this are never turned away, nor, I venture to say, has any one who has done this ever regretted the step. As a little salt makes our food more palatable, — " brings out the flavor," as the cook says, — so a knowledge of nature brings out the best that is in man and cures him of insipidity. This cannot be disputed. It is as evident as that, everywhere we go, we meet with most insipid men and women, creatures that know their fellow- creatures only, which is not, as they seem to think, to know all that is worth knowing of the world in which they live. Man may be the most important part of the world, but the rest of it is not of so little importance that to be ignorant thereof carries no stigma. Better by far the croaking bullfrog in the marsh than the wordy ignoramus of the town. The noise in the former case means something; but can we always show value in the latter instance ? Even civilization can run to extremes, and men become denaturalized so thoroughly that it would 45 IN NJTURE'S REJLM puzzle the old-time species-making naturalist to determine their place in the scale of creation. Questions that I have been asked and assertions that I have heard made in perfectly good faith are so astonishingly absurd that to put them in print would only result in charging me with gross exag- geration ; and these, too, from men and women who, as the world goes, are accounted accomplished. Some country clubs are at best but a means of airing the city and freshening it for another campaign in the stuffy atmosphere of a ball-room or parlor. How seldom does a trace of the country, other than this, go to the city! It is enough to find that a tree gives shade, but that one tree differs trom another is never discovered. " Oak," " beech," " birch," and " walnut " stand for the colors of furniture ; words no fuller of meaning than trade- marks, the shibboleth of shopkeepers. " But if we are happy in our ignorance of nature," pipes a pretty miss, " what business is it of yours ? Who set you up as my teacher ? I graduated with credit to myself, so my friends say, and don't feel the worse for having hoodwinked the professor of botany, cheated a little in chemistry, and given 46 VIEWS A FOOT zoology the go-by. Now, let me see ; my roses come from the florist, and that's all the botanv I require ; the cook handles the baking-powder, so I've no need of chemistry, and " — here she reddens a little — " I've a serpent ring w^ith ruby eves, and there's a jolly bird on my spring hat, and that's all I want to know of natural history. Your preaching is all lost on me, and 1 guess on everybody else." No one likes to get a blow between the eves, and when this pert minikin gave me such a one, I was staggered for a moment ; but now that her back is turned, I will continue. It is pleasant to talk, even to empty benches. It was doubtless great fun to hoodwink the professor of botany when a school- girl, and to cheat at chemistry ; but when under the doctor's care because of handling poison ivv, or ill trom reckless use of complexion powders, or even when annoyed beyond endurance because of the flat failure of her boasted sponge-cake — then visions of the patient teachers will come up, as they ought to. And how these spectral professors will grin triumphantly at this same school-miss, now woman grown, in her distress ! She is having, thanks to her ignorance, in which she glories still, a practical 47 IN NATURE'S REALM interpretation of the text, Virtue is its own reward, and vice its own punishment. True mental health is that which welcomes natural knowledge and has an unfailing appetite for facts. How are we to recognize facts as such, and how, when one is acquired, are we to draw from it its full significance ? It is difficult to reply ; but the ques- tion brings us back to the starting-point, and emphasizes the importance of a close view, a view afoot, of every aspect of nature. Adopting such a method, we diminish the chances of being misled, and are oftener warranted in saying positively, *' I know," instead of " I think." We are obviously nearer the solution of its meaning the nearer we can get to the place or object ; while the more facts that we encounter, face to face, the clearer at last becomes their interrelation and our appreciation of the meaning of the world as a whole. A fact by itself is not only stubborn but often impenetrable. Isolated, it is no more comprehensible than the gibbering of apes to civilized man ; but holding to it, while we gather others, we find in due time how they fit, one to the other, and it is not long before the detached pieces are united to form an elaborate 48 VIEWS AFOOT whole. Whether through life the world remains as a dissected map, the fragments scattered in hopeless confusion, or becomes an intelligent chart, depends upon ourselves ; and we can rest assured that the view afoot and not the bird's-eye view is necessary to make us as wise as we should desire to be. Nature, be it ever remembered, stands aloof, can frown with as great facility as she can smile if so disposed, and withholds her abundant treasure with untiring zeal ; but man can prove his superiority if he so elects, and draw a goodly portion of it from her. Is it not a worthy effort ? Is it not a golden prize ? ■^?!^s^ 49 Facing the North Star HE LIGHT BREEZE thrilled, not chilled, me as I turned from the sunny pasture, that even now, in early February, could boast of a dandelion, and faced the North Star. I did not start with the purpose of going so far as that ; but what ot an absurdly small fraction of that immeasurable distance? If the mysteries of the most commonplace mile are beyond a man's lifetime to unfold, what of infinity ? I speak now not only of myself, but of others, with whom I have compared impressions : why do we so 50 FACING THE NORTH S TJ R seldom take a northern direction when out for a walk ? Why does the North seem to count for so little and figure so insignificantly, and that little prejudicially, in folklore ? The best people in the world came out of the north, and the longer man- kind has been away from boreal regions, in such proportion has it degenerated. The tropics can cry out in indignation and fill the world with contra- dictions ; the truth remains. As surely as a man's brain is in his head, so surely human progress Com- eth from the north. It is true, man originated where a warm climate prevailed, but it was then a physical rather than mental development, and his body prevailed over his intellect, until he was forced to face the North Star, and be put to his wits' ends to meet the new conditions. Frost stimulated the brain to some worthy purpose, and kept it at work until its best fruit matured — our present civilization — a goodly fruit, but not without a blemish, and the perfecting process is still under way. Of course to this, as to all other general statements, abundant exceptions will be taken. There are people in this world who seem to have nothing else to do — professional IN NATURE'S REALM objectors, delighting in the noise they make. The clack and clamor of theorists is the world's most dismal din. But, to plunge headlong from the general to the particular, from men as nations to one man as a rambler, why is it that he looks lovingly towards the south, and greets with a smile and has his countenance lighted by expectancy when facing either the east or west ? If we could view the whole world from some point in distant space, how surely would we associate the north with cold and death, and the south with warmth and life, and rightly ; but man is never beyond being contra- dictory, and so, moved by the hunting instinct — happy survival of prehistoric time — 1 doggedly faced the North Star, and looked not only for animal life, but vegetal signs of spring, through a dreary February day, nor proved a fool for my pains. Such were to be seen, but not in the abundance I was sure of had I faced in any other direction. I felt as if walking was a serious busi- ness ; and so far as it is, it is utterly distasteful. I have a horror of important undertakings. To walk in a given direction because it is a predeter- 52 FJ CING THE NORTH S TJ R mined direction becomes mere mechanical progress. But why is this northward course unfruitful ? Is it really so? I stopped under a colonial chestnut- tree, standing amidfields, and gravely considered the matter; but not for long. Common-sense came to mv rescue — something she is not given to doing rhe held-larks walked the earth with dignity and grace, . . " — and I saw the absurdity ot the whole thing. I remembered my friend who hves ten miles north of me, and he finds abundance where I can onlv meagerly gather. My north-land is his south-land. If on his way to visit me he finds much, then what is it blinds me facing in the opposite direction ? Forewarned by the facts, I was not forearmed. I 53 IN NATURE' S REALM hunted diligently, but to little purpose, and gave up in despair when but two miles from home. A flock of merry field-larks in a worn-out pasture, a flock of robins in a bordering wood, and pine- finches beyond number in clumps of withered weeds — these held me ; and when birds are abund- ant, cares drag less heavily. Those that I now saw proved an artistic combination, but where is the artist to prove this to the reader? It does make a diff'erence how, when, and where you see a bird ; for diff^erent species may be so associated as to destroy each other's merits. It was not so to-day. The field-larks walked the earth with dignity and grace, and called for consideration that has seldom been given them. Birds of the air are known to everybody, but not so birds of the ground, and yet there are many ot them. One reason for this may be that they are not so readily seen ; but I saw a half-hundred at once, and their walking, running, skulking, alike brightened a few square rods of frost-bitten ground, and made it smile as if again Flora reigned supreme. Think of larks as winter blossoms, and the fact that you are facing the North Star will be quite for- 54 FACING THE NORTH STAR gotten. But these larks were not the one redeem- ing feature ; the tall weeds trembled as a host of twittering finches bore down upon them, and the whole surface of the field before me seemed to tremble. There was not the slightest trace of wind, and the swaying of the withered weeds and gaunt gray stems of the past summer's growth was communicated to the earth and air. I felt the gentle motion in myself and never was more in touch with surrounding; conditions. The air was full of simple music, yet not a note but came straight from the heart of a happy bird. I felt the same ecstatic thrill that moved them to their abundant happiness, and I wondered if, after all, had I wandered away trom the bleak North instead of towards it, 1 would have found more pleasure. Certainly it was worth a nj^v long journey to be here at this moment. To flush timid larks from weedy fields is of itself a joy ; to do this to the music of abundant j finches makes the day memorable. Then, ■*^ ^. too, there were rooms m the near-by trees. ^^(^, They hinted of spring that will come so a^ soon now, and at times ^^ .- ^■'" 'A 55' . the tall wceJs tremblrd as a host of twittering finches bore down upon them, . . " IN NJTURE'S REJLM they chirped so shrilly it seemed as if they were chiding the timid season for loitering by the way. Robins, larks, and finches — yes, it was a happy combination, an artistic grouping, brightening the landscape as only birds and sunshine can. If such, then, were the attractions held out to those facing the North Star, I wondered why the rambler did not continue to do so till the crack o' doom. But while I tarried in a stranger's field I looked everywhere about me, and in time, having scrutinized the east and west, I found myself gaz- ing intently southward. The glowing sky, the inviting sunshine, the penetrating brightness that drove all shadows from my path, again wielded the spell that has so long bound me, and forthwith, without ceremonious leave-taking, I turned my back upon the north. I had now but to retrace my steps, yet the world was very different. It was as if spring was waiting for me and I was hurrying to her side. I venture to put it stronger, so great is the difference — to face the sun is to walk from chaos to cosmos, from uncertainty to certainty, from desolation to a garden-spot — almost from death to life. When we withdraw from the activities of the S6 PRICING THE NORTH STAR outdoor world, and all unmoved by fancy's whims calmly contemplate the world as it is, we know that this is all untrue, but few are the ramblers who can rid themselves of the strange impressions. My eyes were not more widely open on my return, but I felt that vision was different. Going northward I was despondent, yet without knowing why ; and now, going southward, I am expectant. This means much ; perhaps means everything ; for he who expects nothing will surely pass by nature's treasures and heed them not. This happy state of expectancy is closely akin to faith, and owes its existing to facing the sunshine. At least, I have no other explanation to offer. When we compare these phrases — facing the North Star, and facing the sunshine — at once the world is pictured in '^ halves, and as distinctly different as black and white. How can the world be otherwise than gloomy where the sun does not go } How other- wise than brilliant along its pathway .? As true this as that we have in ourselves a north and south, a shady and sunny side. Winter lingered at the foot of every tree and fence-post that I came to, but upon its north side 57 IN NATURE'S REALM only. Peeping around the corner, I found the sun- shine cozily nestled there, and it had coaxed a sum- mer greenness into every blade of grass. If not grass, it was moss, and as fresh in color ; and insect life had responded to the reviving warmth that centered in these little southern outlooks. Spiders were alert, and small flies, and one red and black beetle that buzzed and hummed as loudly as bees among flowers. All this I saw, and yet not a step distant was cold and lifeless winter. What next ? I asked, — but with no such feel- ing as that ot the tadpole when its tail dropped ofi\, Novelty could only be the more enter- „ taining, and no painful incident seemed possi- ble. Mice and moles were both astir, yet, curiously enough, I had thought ot neither on my northward journey. Ihe ridged earth where the mole had traveled was frosted on its north and crumbling on its southern, sunny side. The animal's recent journey among the grass roots :^ showed that earth- !l:cfe"^"; ..^..J^^^- 'Worms were ==. also near the sur- 58 " The ridged earth where the mole had traveled . . " FACING THE NORTH STAR face. Expecting a rich harvest in the cavernous hollow of a patriarchal oak, I approached it with extreme caution, and peeping around the corner, saw, to my delight, a wild mouse hunting for some stray edible bit in the shelly debris of a squirrel's hoard of nuts. Believing no danger to be near, it was not ill at ease, and every movement was graceful and, what is better, purposeful. The mouse was in search of food, and deliberately turned over many an empty shell to see if anything might be lying beneath it. There was nothing mechanical about the creature ; no movement was repeated in precisely the same manner. The mouse did not go to and fro with the regularity of a pend- ulum or as its own heart was beating ; and yet learned doctors of comparative psychology give us the impression that mind, such as our own, does not enter into the ordinary day's doings of creatures like mice. I believe that it does. The mouse before me was evidently swayed by external impres- sions, and its occasional hesitation indicated the power of choice. The irregularity, even in so simple a matter as searching for food, was not a mere mechanical activity of muscles influenced 59 IN NJTURE'S REALM through the brain by an empty stomach. Hunger was doubtless the impeUing motive, but to meet that demand intelHgence was brought into play. In this creature's little brain there ran a train of thought, if actions speak, and I would have more to tell but that my eagerness overcame discretion, and changing my position that I might see even more distinctly, I trod too heavily upon a brittle twig. There was a snapping sound, followed by a sudden assumption of a listening attitude on the part of the mouse, a shrill squeak, and a lightning- like disappearance. My own fault, as usual ; and here let me urge the rambler to be content with a fair measure of success, and avoid too great eagerness to improve the opportunity. The whole world is thick with fools who have lost all because of their insane desire to better their conditions. Early in life we reach our proper level, and he is blessed who has no ambition to soar above it. In vain I tried to find where my little mouse had gone. There was no hole visible down which it could have darted ; but failing in this, I did find how warm' and summerlike a spot is the hollow of 60 FACING THE NORTH STAR an old oak on the south side of the tree. Were it somewhat larger, I could have lived there quite contentedly. And what an outlook ! Everywhere before me there was a glow that meant life, a trembling of the atmosphere as if the very air was unembodied life itself; and thinking this, I turned about, and how strangely empty, forsaken, desolate, and almost chaotic the northern sky and all beneath it ! :. It must not be inferred that wild life in winter persistently shuns the northern outlook of its sur- roundings, or is incapable of withstanding its more vigorous conditions. Many a bird will fly straight away trom the sun, going many a mile due north- ward, and not a brave tree-creeper, woodpecker, or nuthatch but peers as closely into the bark of a tree's north side as where the sun shines cheerfully upon it, but there is a closer clinging to the tree's trunk, and livelier motion. I am sure I have seen birds deliberately sun themselves when the day was very cold, but clear, and squirrels find the crusted snow-banks as attractive a highway as where the ground is bare. It is not so much a matter of endurance as of preference. This is shown by 6i IN NJTURE'S REALM approaching a barn in the country on its north side. You may find some creeping or winged creature upon or near the building, and are pretty sure to do so, when you turn the corner and look up and down the sunlit wall. Exceptions are always to be found in bewildering confusion, but the rule is an excess of life in sunshine and far less of it in the shade. This is the condition of an ordinary winter day, but does not apply to the permanent homes of animals. I have often been surprised at gray squirrels taking up their abode in the most exposed positions, as in a tree standing in the middle of a field, and even then with the entrance to the nest on the north side ; and the white-footed mouse sometimes refits a bird's nest, for a winter home, in a position exposed to the north winds, when within a rod or two as good a nest was available in a much more sheltered locality. This may be evidence of lack of wit, but it is well to remember that the point of view of a mouse and our own are not the same. Mice, like men, may have more than temperature to consider when locating a home. There are occasional winter days when all points of the compass are as one ; when we shiver in the 62 FACING THE NORTH S TJ R sun as well as in the shade. Then, thinking it over in a warm library, the conclusion might be reached, from what I have written, that the woods and fields were apparently deserted, that every living thing had sought a snug shelter and waited for less vigorous weather. Not at all. Exercise is now the order of the day, and many an open field is as thickly thronged as the grounds of a county fair. If there be snow, horned larks will be tripping over it, and every hedge-row will tremble with the con- gregated sparrow^s. The chirping of the host will swell to the dignity of exultant song. Homeward bound, I had birds to keep me com- pany at every turn ; not a few crows or sparrows merely, but royal songsters in the shrubbery, hawks overhead, and herons in the weedy margin of a little swamp, and from the base of an old stump, where dandelions and spring beauty flourished with May-day luxuriance, rushed a gray rabbit at top- speed, a veritable " mad March hare." It is an empty day when a dozen species of birds cannot be iseen, and oftener I nave doubled and trebled the number. Not one of those I saw to-day but was associated with sunshine, and when flushed fiew 63 IN NATURE'S REALM southward. Was it mere coincidence, or did it bear some slight significance ? They all seemed of my mind in the matter, but whether we were all fools or mildly philosophical, who shall say ? My impressions continued even to my door-step. Nor was it strange. On the north side of the house there was still a remnant of a snow-drift, and the grass about it as brown as newly upturned soil ; on the south side, daffodils in bud, grass green, and a dandelion glowing with the freshness of youth, bright in southern sunshine as ever glittered the North Star in a blue-black wintrv sky. ■■"'//if Nine Spring Corner NINE SPRING CORNER! There is a good deal in a name in this instance. Where the bluff bends almost at right angles, there is a nook as cozy as if planned by some nature-lover for his favorite retreat, and just in front of the spot, extending southward, there is an evergreen marsh. Nine springs flow steadily upward, tossing silvery sand about, and then the united waters spreading outwards are lost, at last, in the current of the creek hard by. These springs s 6s IN NATURE'S REALM are warm ; a trifle warmer than others not far away, and keep winter at arm's length. They are an ever-watchful guard that permit no trespassing by frost ; and here, with the sheltering bluff to keep away all chilly winds, I have spent many a rampant, roaring day, all unmindful that the bleakness of the Arctic circle swept the upland fields. It is one of the pleasant features of an outing, that if we celebrate the anniversary of some mem- orable day, we are not likely to find natural history repeating itself, as other history is said to do. There will be surely some changes and surprises sufficient to make us realize that the full significance of a locality is only gradually acquired. However severe the winter, there is always the freshness of spring, if not of the matured summer, at Nine Spring Corner ; but it is not always the same fresh- ness. Of the abundant plant life, there is not, year after year, the same relative proportion of the different species, but now one and now another is in excess. I sought the aid of a botanist and he wrote me, as the results of visits made year after year, that here we have "several varieties of algas of different 66 NINE SPRING CORNER shades of green ; spike-rush, horn-wort, water- starwort, myriophyllum, beautiful enough to have a choice, common name, but this has not as yet been chosen ; anacharis, hypnum of several species and of many shades of green, attached to the water- logged bits of wood ; chandelier plant ; splatter- dock, new shoots of which are to be found during mild winters, framing in the springs' areas with bright golden yellow and light green ; and lastly, pond-weed of more than one species." These, bear in mind, are all submerged plants and we must go to the springs and look down into the water to see them. Not all of them the same day, nor more or less of them all in the same season ; but such a fair proportion that the idea of cold, lifeless, forbidding conditions will not occur to you. To look, how- ever cold the day, into the waters of Nine Spring Corner is to be refreshed and warmed. You look up to see if a new sun has not appeared in the heavens, or if summer has not anticipated her appointed time and is now peeping over your shoulder. But this is not all the winter botany of the place. As " partly-submerged species," my friend 67 IN NATURE'S REALM mentions golden saxifrage, false loose-strife, skunk cabbage, several grasses, elder, water cress, and cardamine. These he says "are more or less green all winter." Here, I have often thought was the most likely spot to hear the little crepitating frog, the Acris gryllus^ and known more generally as the hylodes ; but no early warmth wooes them unto song, though I find them occasionally. This, the smallest of our frog-like animals, has given rise to some strange misconceptions on the part of writers who are sticklers for indefinitely refined specific recognition. I used to call this " peeper " or rattling frog, Acris crepitans^ but now it is said in ex cathedra manner, but by not ex cathedra authority, that I have never seen a true '■''crepitans''' but its cousin '■'■ gryllus^' and Cope, our sole authority, cited as proof of my error and my critic's right position. Unfortunately, there have been found a great many variations from both forms, and these " betwixt and betweenities " give me a deal of solid comfort, for taking Cope's description as a guide, both " crepitans " and '■'■ gryllus" can be found. These disputed creatures are the ones that rattle in the shallow waters, early 68 NINE SPRING CORNER in March, making the air tremble, but they do more, they "squeak," " peep " or " whistle," as it has been variously described, and these more or less "fife-like" notes must not be confounded with the shrill, fuU-volumed note, pitched on a different key, of the little Pickering's hyla or yellow tree-toad. As Cope has stated, " these are chiefly noisy in the end of the atternoon " except in shady nooks ; but the Acrides of both varieties rattle and " peep " all day long, and the statement that such an accom- plishment is " contrary to nature " is about equal to that of declaring a man cannot both talk and whistle. Warmth and sunshine and abundant green growths are not always of themselves sufficient to take me out of doors, but the unfailing charm of Nine Spring Corner that draws me draws many a bird, keeps many a growth as fresh as summer, and the waters as full of active life as are ever the sunny shallows of the pond when minnows are at play. Nine Spring Corner ! Multifold as the attrac- tions really are, and fully equal to the name's sug- gestiveness, my last visit was concerned exclusively with the abundant salamanders that were found. 69 IN NATURE'S RE J LAI This form of animal life, common as it is and by no means wholly aquatic, is very little known. Nearly everybody we meet asks what sort of animal we have captured, if you show them a salamander, and will say it is a " water-lizard," which is almost as bad as absolute ignorance. Salamanders are lizard-shaped, but have smooth skins and not scales, as have true lizards. They are either aquatic, semi-aquatic or live on land, but not where there is an absence of moisture. The hot, dry sands on which lizards delight to bask would shrivel up the most terrestrial salamander that we have. They are of many colors, red, yellow, blue, brown and black. They are striped, spotted, marbled and mottled ; quick of movement, always alert and perfectly harmless. Their kinship is with frogs and by naturalists they are known as " batrachians." After much disturbance of the weedy growths that filled the largest spring basin, I made a success- ful haul and caught two of these creatures. They were rose-pink in color, with many black dots, as if sparsely dusted with pepper. The color was as bright as that of the present two-cent postage stamp, and almost the same. I caged them securely 70 NINE SPRING CORNER and fished for more, but caught only one of another species, the two-hned salamander, a smaller and more slender form and not so pretty. They were all very much alive and so must have been finding an abundance of food. The sluggish- ness incident to semi-torpidity or of disturbed hibernation was lacking. I could see no difference between them now, in February, and last summer, when the thermometer went to a hundred at noon. Professor Cope has recorded of my rose-pink beauties : " They are especially aquatic in their habits and are found on the ground only after rains. They are not unfrequently found under the bark of fallen trees in damp situations, but their chief haunts are cold springs. Here, beneath stones, they may be always found, occupying, if possible, the fissure from which the limpid water rises and displaying their beautiful hues through the trans- parent medium with the brilliancy of a strange exotic rather than the pallor of a dweller in the chilly depths and dark recesses of a cave. They walk deliberately and swim with some activity, moving, as do other salamanders, with the limbs pressed to the sides and the body and tail undulat- 71 IN NATURE'S REALM ing laterally. Their movements are not so active as those of some other species. Their food consists of insects." This is the rosy salamander of mountain springs and caves and rapid brooks, but not one of these features is at Nine Spring Corner. For rocks they have to content themselves with weeds, and it is only at long intervals you have a glimpse of them, unless the vegetation in which they hide is violently disturbed. More than once I have pulled out whole handfuls of weeds, and the cunning creature gave no sign of its presence. It might have been paralyzed by fear, but I gave it credit for a good deal of cunning ; ever maintaining the exercise of ratiocinative power is the best explanation. It is certainly the easiest. I cannot imagine any animal performing any act without knowing why it does it or not knowing beforehand that it is about to do it. A step or two more in advance of this is not improbable, but we are still a good deal in the dark when we deal with comparative psychology. My rose-pink salamanders differ in habits from those observed by Professor Cope, in that they do not seem to seek out the coolest retreats. I have 72 NINE SPRING CORNER found them where the sun was shining so directly that the ground fairly steamed, and not another kind was associated with them, and even the frogs wandered a little to this side or that. Perhaps an abundance of food tempted them, and their stay was to be but temporary. This is the more prob- able because plunging them into ice-cold water directly from a steamy atmosphere did them no serious injury. I have always thought this was our one salamander with a voice, but (in conversation) Professor Cope said " No." I ought to be con- vinced, but I am not. He insisted the anatomy of the throat was against such vocal power, but I can- not, even with this against me, think I am mis- taken. The movements of the creature's jaws at the time, the slight swelling of the throat, the trembling of the whole body, in fact, was suggestive of an animal uttering a sound, of calling aloud, as if to a far-off companion. Just as we would be sure that a cow was lowing, a horse neighing or dog barking, though we heard no sound, so I assuhied this salamander was uttering the " peep " that I heard. Certainly the note itself did not suggest a Pickering's hyla. Still, it is always to be remem- IN NJTURE'S REALM bered that the sounds we hear may he uttered bv other individuals than those we see. I once ter- ribly blundered in this respect with reference to the "booming" of a bittern. My two-lined salamanders were bright yellow, slender and not more than three inches long. Pro- fessor Cope records : " It is to a great extent a water animal, and less frequently found under bark and stones. It is only in shallow, stony brooks that it occurs, however, and cannot be called aquatic in the sense in which the Tritons are. It is very active, and wriggles and runs from the pursuer in the same manner as, and generally in company with, the fuscous salamander." Here, it will be seen, my observations differ, but not contradictorily, really. We must always consider the physical geography of a locality when considering the habits of such animals as we find in it. These little yellow salamanders live exactly as Professor Cope has described in the Pennsylvania hills, but freshets in the Delaware Valley probably brought these to the low-lying flood plain, where there are neither hills nor rocks nor rapid water, and there was but one thing to do, to accommodate themselves to their 74 NINE SPRING CORNER new surroundings ; either this or die. Such occur- rences go far in explaining the discrepancies between the accounts of habits of animals by different observers. Nine Spring Corner does not tell us all we might wish to know of rosy or yellow sala- manders, but does tell us that these creatures can flourish in localities widely different from the homes of the great majority of their kind ; and the full significance of this simple tact has scarcely yet been appreciated as it should. These salamanders were but a tithe of the zoo- logic riches of this favored spot, but I ceased from troubling when satisfied as to their identity and replaced them in the weedy waters of Nine Spring Corner. Then came the restful, contemplative hour when the labors of the day are over, and it is yet early to return home. Never is there, here, a lack of suggestiveness, and if my salamandrine friends had become a little tire- some I could have turned at any moment to the never-absent birds. In the trees that clothe and crown the steep bluff the chickadee was making merry ; uttering, just then, its flute-like pee-wee note, the most spring-like of all the songs of winter 75 IN NATURE'S REALM birds ; but what brought me to my feet, thrilled me and almost urged shouting aloud my joy at being out of doors on such a day, at such a time, was the exultant cry of a hawk that high above the earth defied the approaching storm. It was but a momentary impulse on my part. Not equally brave or rash, I hurried home. 76 .^Vji %;n^^ JVinters Last Day T T rHERE SEASONS are well defined, ' ^ as well as where climatic changes are likely to occur with much more semb- lance of regularity, there will always be in the thoughts of the rambler various suggestive dates. The " samples of weather," that wittily describe our climate, are a sorry hotch-potch collectively; the beautiful in the background more frequently than in front ;' the gloomy and forbidding sending us indoors more 77 IN NJTURE'S REJLM often than the cheerful and inviting induce us to ramble beneath the overarching skies. But the suggestive dates arouse us to a pleasurable degree of curiosity if not of expectancy, and the twenty- eighth of February is one of them — the last day of nominal winter. To-day (1899) there is abundant sunshine, com- parative warmth, flooded and frozen meadows, noisy crows and chattering purple grakles. A crested tit, lost somewhere in the oak tree-tops, and a Carolina wren are whistling merrily. The air is so full of sound, it trembles. Even the hill-foot spring seems to babble in a higher key. The recent storm bid fair to make an angry river, but its threatened mad career was checked in some strange way, and the waters reached but little above their normal level. Happily, though, that little drowned many a broad pasture, and now, on the thin ice, the crows are playing " tickly benders " in a way that makes me envious. I could laugh as loud as any crow could I venture within their pretty paradise. Flooded and frozen meadows ! The climax of happy condition, but frozen and flooded only for the crows. An envious spectator is ever in an ugly 78 WINTER' S LAST DAT frame of mind, but because weighted with excess of flesh the spirit need not stoop to bitterness. There is, or ou2:ht to be, much satisfaction in seeing others happy. I would gladly be a crow this morning and outscream all the flock, but I shall not mourn because I cannot. The sunny slope whereon I now stand is a comfortable resting place, and to gain our agreeable outlook is half the purpose of an out- door day. Associate the sounds that are heard with the time of year, and a pleasing train of thought is sure to follow. It is the last day of winter, and I fancy every bird is rejoicing over the fact. It is no time now to plague oneself with realism. Fortunately for themselves birds have no almanacs, for they might be as much their slaves as we are. It is the last day of winter and birds are singing. Put the two facts together. Do not see if they will fit, but make them. Thrust incongruities into outer dark- ness and be happy. The birds are singing, and that is enough. Early last September an octogena- rian told me we were to have an early autumn and a long, cold winter and much else he predicted. All has happened as he said. How he knew, he 79 IN NATURE'S REALM would not tell, and was not pleased when I called it guess-work. To-day his eyes glittered like those of an angry snake, when he hissed "guessin,' was it ? " at me. Probably this was one of the few times when he proved right, but I left the cruelty of saying so unsaid. The happiness of ignorant old men, and few other people are as happy, should be held sacred. Of all I saw and heard, that which most sug- gested the coming change to spring's ethereal mild- ness, was the trickling water that hurried from the mossy clefts in the hillside, as if impatient for the sunshine. Think of sparkling water, long pent up in utter darkness, deep in the earth, now free to ramble in the light of day ! Is it any wonder that it laughs ^. Surely not, so we will laugh together. The crows shall not have all the good things of the passing hour. Trickling waters, ever singing the same song, are never tiresome. It is the one sound in nature of which we never weary. It is the best of her express- ions of cheerfulness, but that fact does not wholly explain why, when listening to hastening waters, we never long for the cheery call of a crested tit or 80 WINTER'S LAST DAT the jubilant whistling of a cardinal grosbeak. I say " never," but, of course, hundreds will contradict. It is the limit of most men's capabilities ; but I reassert we are content to listen longer to the bab- bling brook than to any bird that ever flew above it or paused at its edge to sip the sparkling waters. A reason for our complete content may be that the seasons do not change the song. It is not sung joyously in June and only muttered sullenly in December. Whatever the day, the brightest or gloomiest of the year, the melody is as marked, and surely, to listen to that which no power can change from cheerfulness to despondency, is verv near to the climax of good fortune. The running water heard to-day sang as it did at creation's dawn. Time, that " writes no wrinkle " on the ocean's brow, has not changed a note of the babbling brook's paean to high glee. This means much. By it we are carried back to days so long gone, we have no clear conception of them. We can think of them as we choose, and even the geologist has little ground for contradiction. The song of flowing water brings us close to nature as she was at her beginning, while the warbling of 6 8i IN NATURE'S REALM birds holds us to what nature is to-day. As the sparkhng water hurries by, we are led to thought- fulness and serious consideration of many a prob- lem, but live the life of a butterfly in the presence of a singing bird. After all, this mav be the more to be desired, philosophers are ever such grim- visaged folk, and philosophy is never a cheerful companion, even when most decorously arrayed in many-syllabled words. We say the brook " babbles," and this means not talking seriously or singing with a motive, but is not the hint that it gives us, not to take life too seriously, worth something ? We would all rather laugh than cry, and work cheerfully performed is a better production, ever, than any result of labor under protest. But this little brook by which I am now resting does teach another lesson, one in physical geog- raphy, which is worthy our attention. Grains of sand, so minute no one can see them singly, are carried by the current from the hillside to the broad plain beyond. By such slow but sure process the upland is being brought to a lower level and the meadow builded up as higher ground. We can sit WINTER'S LAST DAT here all day, and day after day, yet see no change ; but what of the long ridge of clean, white sand in the bed of the brook ? And if we take a glass and let it slowly fill, we will find a few grains of sand resting on the bottom. Then, take a cubic inch of the black soil of the meadow and wash it until all traces of vegetal matter are removed, and we will have left a little of the same fine sand that we found in the glass when we caught the flowing water from a hill-foot spring. The water is comparatively warm, however cold the day, and here is steadfastness that means a great deal. It is warmth sufficient for green growths ; luxuriant to-day, the last of winter, as one might look for at the end of August. Fishes, too, are working their way far up stream, and the hardiest of them all, the burly mud-minnow, is even now seeking a spawning ground, where in midsummer the land will be hot and almost dry, for these little brooks vary as to their volume, and are often quite lost to view before autumn, yet now they overflow what we may consider their normal bounds. Their normal bounds, that is, historically speak- ing; but it is safe to assert that not one of these 83 ■l)||;l»ij'"i IN NATURE'S REALM insignificant brooks but was once a permanent stream of much greater volume. A careful exam- ination of the adjoining ground will often show this to be true. One deep cross-section I had made of such a little brook beautifully illustrated this, for not only was there a well-marked deposit of dis- colored earth, mingled with the flotsam of an upland waterway, half-fossilized leaves, bones of fishes and trogs, but more suggestive than all else, by this little creek had stood the wigwam of an Indian familv. Here I found the ashes ot the one-time hearth, traces ot the pottery used and many a broken implement of stone and bone. Such dis- coveries, common as they are in this neighborhood, never fail to make a deep and pleasing impression. They stimulate the imagination in a healthy way. Every object of Indian origin I gather suggests its original owner. It was peculiarly true of this case. I fancied seeing the sedate old hunter by his fire- side, smoking solemnly and communing, without outward sign, with the talisman he carried — perhaps a carved stone tree-toad, I picked up recently — or addressing in this same impassive way, the quaintly carved stone image near his wigwam. WINTER'S LAST DAT But however we may desire to linger in fancy's realm, we are sure to find quick transition to the land of prose, and we realize the saddening fact that the vast change from the day of the Indian to that of ourselves is not altogether a desirable one. We have lost some things worth the having. Well may we regret that the change has been so radical. Better fewer and more wisely cultivated fields and here and there an acreage ot forest worthy of the name. We can readily suffer from lack of trees, and a grove ot old oaks never wrought us any harm. To worship in Nature's temples is not mere clap-trap. There is a springtide vigor in the movements of all our fishes now, and the big, brown mud-minnow is equal to leaping up miniature cascades, and finds its way where weaker fishes would never dare to wander. Here, where most people would look for nothing, the story of the lordly salmon and the high cataracts of many a river is told in an humble but not unentertaining way. It is seldom that we find ^ a pretty flower this early in the season, but if color ^ - ^ is our object, we will find no more brilliant display i- than that of many a minnow of the creeks, that many a broken implement of stone and bone." IN NATURE'S REALM now is more brilliant than a winter sunset. The crimson fin is no less marked a feature now than the "lovelier iris" of the dove. It is the last day of winter, and all animate nature knows it as surely as we do, even to the fishes and many a creature that loves only the mud and darkness of ever- shaded pools. The end of winter, as we would have it, but never actually the end. The, many changes that frost effected during three long months are not to be obliterated by an hour's sunshine or the transient whispering of the south wind. We need not look for sudden transformation, and the proper aim of the rambler is to see the beginnings of what is surely to be brought about. To witness this leads to the revival of hope ; the reestablishing of our weak- kneed faith. The rattling of the cricket-frog may be heard to-morrow, and a tinge of green even show upon sheltered pastures, but never be rashly confi- dent, even though our hardier shrubs venture to the point of blossoming and the birds of early spring are singing. There was frost every month in the year less than a century ago. Again and again all plant life struggled, but in vain, and the oft-repeated 86 WINTER'S LAST DJT promise of fruit came to naught. Who shall say this may not happen again ? At best, we can but hope that it will not. It is safer to be the historian of a season than its prophet. 87 yin Audience of One CANNOT deal with nature as with mankind. Parts ot the same whole, it is true, but the " missing link," of which we hear, is that which would unite us more closely to the world in which we live. How can this be doubted, when we remember that we are looked upon askance by every living creature ? The head of crea- tion, it is true, but this headship, by virtue of brain growth, has been at the expense of our bodies. Physically we are nothing to boast of, and, without brains, are more help- less than any brute. A fool of a fish can swim, or fool of a bird can fly, swifter than the fool of a man can run. Let night come, and few like ■p f Thoreau can walk in the woods ^^^ and think only of their own affairs. If, happily, we are not ^- • />f" plagued by fear, we are AN JUD I E N C E OF ONE teased by doubt, and the possibilities, however remote, are sure to be uppermost in our minds. All this, if alone, but how very brave when two or three are gathered together ! But, it we have company, what do we see ? Simply our companions. Wild life that we feared to face, when alone, and its lesser forms, that we hoped to watch, all stand aloof. There is not a creature, beast or bird, that I have ever seen but is suspicious of a crowd, or even two or three indi- viduals, and well it may be. The past is more likely to be repeated than a better future to dawn, and the past has nothing in its favor in respect to man's treatment of the lower forms of life. Lest we face a lion while seeking a lamb, we must go hand in hand with our fellows, and the lion, a figment of the imagination usually, is never seen, and we are fortunate if we have a glimpse of the lamb. Why ? Because the lamb is not to be seen without seeing us in return, and it sees too many for its comfort when the rambler has company. Timidity is the most marked feature of the pitiful remnant ot wild life that still lingers about our farms, and not a creature but flees at the approach 89 IN NATURE'S REALM of many footsteps or at the sound of many voices, or, indeed, of any. A staying curiosity controls when the silent man moves cautiously and waits patiently. The scant bravery of a bird is equal only to an audience of one. The wreckage of the past winter exceeds in bulk that of any other I have known. Prostrate trees, branches, bushes, dead grass and the flotsam of a dozen freshets are scattered in unsightly heaps over all the meadows, but to-day they have proved a blessing in disguise. There was demand for shelter from the chilly winds, and where the sun shone in a cheerful, spring-like way there I found mice and birds and one poor blacksnake that some mishap had prematurely roused from its winter-long slum- ber. Companions all in misery when in the track of the icy blasts that spitefully shook the shelters we had sought, but cheerful enough when there was quiet, so cheerful that many a bird sang, and even the lazy gray spiders crept to the ends of twigs and surveyed the outlook. While I sat perfectly still, I was no more than so much rubbish, and just as likely to be made use of as such, I thought, by the creatures about me, and so it proved. 90 AN AUDIENCE OF ONE Out of the earth, as it seemed, rather than from the sky, suddenly appeared a kill-dee plover, and, with all the charm that gracefulness can give, ran to and fro before me. At times it stood motion- less and looked intently upward, as if watching for the coming of others of its kind. I thought this at the moment, and was not mistaken. Presently I heard a faint '■'■Kill-dee^ kill-dee^' and then saw another of these birds, which, as it drew near, spied its fellow on the ground and joined it. The pair made a splendid addition to the little landscape, central figures, as they were, of a picture that without them had not been without merit. We do not class the plovers among song-birds, and so far show our ignorance. No thrush, a month later, will fill a more notable role than did these plovers of to-day in the frost-wrecked meadows. The mellow whistling of these birds can effect a transformation, making a real spring of a day that is, in reality, but a continuance of the winter. I have been convinced that one bird, unsubdued by the depressing conditions that prevail, can influ- ence others, and, given an inspiring leader, the rank and file will gladly follow. I cannot otherwise 91 --Jify IN NATURE'S REALM interpret what I so often see and hear. These whistling plover roused a song sparrow, and the timid bluebirds in the tall hickories began to warble as they had not done before. The sweet sounds reaching the hillside, half a mile away, moved the restless Carolina wren to greater activity, and it sang, in its own strange way, in reply to its neigh- bors in the meadow. The north wind might have blown a gale all the time, but no one would have noticed it. If sound thrills us, we do not feel the frost in the air. Music is thus far akin to sunshine. It quickens the hearer's pulse, and he is warmed. All was as I wished it, as I sat still, but for no known reason I changed my position, and what a commotion I caused ! A pretty wood-mouse darted into the rubbish, the stupid blacksnake slowly raised ^l its head, butterflies danced in the sunbeams, and great black beetles hurried through the grass. Had I not been so intent upon the singing of a distant bird, what might I not have seen and heard here, sitting quietly, an audience of one. These sun- warmed creatures of the passing day may have mis- taken me for driftwood. It was not so great an error on their part, as that I was ignorant of their 92 AN AUDIENCE OF ONE presence was an error on mine. To be one with the mingled wild life of the meadows does not happen every day. I strove to make my peace with these meadow-folk, but they would none of it. Their confidence was destroyed by my untimely impatience. It is evident his success as a field- naturalist is greatest who best develops the capacity for sitting still. When fresh from defeat we are seldom in a receptive frame of mind, and though the best of nature's ofi^erings are spread before us, we are apt to be blind when beating a retreat. The chances are excellent that we shall see nothing, but to-day my careless foot overturned a tower of the hermit crayfish. It was a curious structure, built of pellets ot clay, and these so closely adhering that I could handle it as readily as an earthenware vessel. Per- haps the Indians got their idea of pottery from these towers, or " chimneys," as they are popularly called. Their purpose is not evident, and I know of no speculations as to the origin of the habit of erecting them. They serve, so far as man is con- cerned, to proclaim the whereabouts of their owners ; for we have only to dig a few inches below the level 93 IN NJTURE'S REALM of the meadow to find the "hermit," or Diogenes crayfish, as naturaHsts call him. If the enemies of these crustaceans have learned the trick of toppling over the towers and digging out their builders from beneath, then the structures are not of use; but all this becomes contradictory if we dwell upon the matter too long. I leave it to some village Darwin, who, with dauntless breast, is willing to make plain why " Diogenes " builds a chimney very much larger than the one-roomed house at its base. Often as I have tried, I have never seen a crayfish at work, and possibly this is because even an audience of one is more than it will tolerate, and though much can be f accomplished by outwitting the lower forms of life, we are not equal to success in every case, and some people can never attain to any degree of success. Such is peculiarly true of those ^$\tS^^^'r^"'^WM!^^^^^^^^-^ ' " "" who can never sink M^m- ^^ -''^^ ~^^....^^^^ their self-importance — something quite out of proportion to the fe real article. ■^ A Cheerful Fog. MAN MAY be a bundle ot" contradictions and woman, — here a Carolina wren screamed out : "2'(9« wretch you! you wretch you!'' — so I change the subject. No words can more aptly describe the conditions ot a recent morning than that the world was wrapped in a cheerful fog. This is contradictory, for tog is the embodiment of "damp and chilly," a phrase the very mention of which suggests discomfort. Yes ; it was damp and chilly this morning, but there was compensation : 95 IN NATURE'S REALM the redbirds whistled in their optimistic way and from far away in the trackless mist came the trill of a field-sparrow, which series of sweet notes rendered into our language means cheerfulness, an interpretation more applicable to this little bird than to any other. But we need not look wholly to birds of any kind for an explanation of what nature means, and to-dav there is many a croaking frog that has an inkling of her significance and is more confident than most mortals are that in due time this fog will roll away and the meadows bask in sunshine. It would be very rash and probably wide of the mark to say that the little rattling frogs that now fill the whole air with this crisp and snappy sound, as of intricate machinery in rapid motion, was merely the announcement of coming sunshine and unclouded skies. It is nothing of the kind to them, but it does mean something of all this to us. This is an important distinction not always recog- nized. That which an animal does may have no reference to the outside world, but sometimes it has been found out that certain animal actiyities occur only under a giyen set of conditions, and, therefore, 96 A CHEERFUL FOG the creatures we see or hear become proclaimers of what obtains in their vicinity, but not necessarily prophets even of the immediate future. Warm to-day and cold to-morrow may hold good of all April, and when we have despaired of having spring we find ourselves in summer. Too frequently is May intolerably hot. It is safer to accept the incidents of each day as they come, and extract their sweets, than attempt to generalize upon them as a whole and seek their bearing as to futurity. I know this foggy morning that the animal life of upland and meadows is all astir and do not propose to consider what many a gray-bearded man and wise old grandmother will tell you of the sunny afternoon that but a few hours will bring about. Sufficient unto the moment is the fogginess thereof. Sounds from unseen sources have a merit all their own, and we are not more likely to befog orni- thology by guessing what birds are singing than does the professional when he guesses at what is, on the basis of a theoretical likelihood. I hear at this moment sweetly languid notes that may be the love song of a chickadee or the phoebe-bird that has been lingering about the bridges for many a day. 7 97 IN NATURE'S REALM But my cardinals are the birds most moved to whistle life's dull cares away, and if the fog is not soon lifted from the earth it at least rests lightly on these gay birds' shoulders. 1 cannot see them, and but wildly guess whether they are far or near, but the uncertainty ot a fog is as pronounced as its dampness and acts as a corrective. It is as delight- ful as surplus moisture is depressing ; even more so, and I do not misuse language when I speak of the prevailing cheerfulness. Looking directly down I can see the well-worn narrow foot-path and know somewhat vaguely where I am going, but to step aside for a few paces is really to be lost. Groping in a fog is as uncer- tain as blindly teeling one's way in the dark, but there is the important difference that the sense of sight has some value in the former case, as I quickly realized as I walked slowly over the meadow. A small oak was suddenly dimly outlined before me, and how large it had grown ! The tree was the same I had known for many years, yet strangely magnified. It was not a trick of the peculiar light prevailing, but was readily accounted for by the absence of other trees with which to compare it. 98 A CHEERFUL FOG Low hills are mountains to the level plain. When the conditions are normal we are influenced much more than we realize by the comparisons we are making all the while. No tree so tall but we look about for one that towers still higher ; no flower so bright but we look for others that glow with a greater glory. Compared to myself the little oak was a giant, and except the grass at my feet, I could see no other object. What a chance to have a quiet chat with a tree, I thought, and doubtless would have stormed it with a volley of questions had not a bird suddenly appeared. I think it must have been by mere chance that it reached the tree. Why a bird should attempt flight through such a trackless mist is undeterminable. Enough for my purpose that it did so, and then, as if it had knowledge of my earlier impressions of the day, made good my assertion that the mist, if not cheerful of itself, was at least no dampener of a red- bird's spirits. Such splendid whistling ! I think our Jersey cardinals are better musicians than their Southern cousins. This lone cardinal fairly made the air tremble ; or was it mere coincidence that, as it sang, drops fell in vast profusion from the oak's 99 IN NATURE'S REALM branches. The appearance concerned me more than the probabilities of the case, and I gave the latter but a passing thought. My cardinal did not look upon me so much with suspicion as with surprise, and doubtless wondered why I was out in such a place. Surprise undoubtedly is a very common emotion among birds and not one but has an exclamation expressive ot it, as they have of other impressions, as anger, love and jealousv. Do thev ever give way to sorrow ? This is the point where naturalists differ. That they mav feel it, is a different matter. Do thev express it? Is it true that the bereaved thrush sings just the same as his happy brother? May not our ears be unequal to detect a difference that really exists ? How easy it is to ask ques- tions : how difficult to rationally reply. \i birds were what most books represent them to be, I had as lief listen to creaking crickets or the squeaking bat that I held by his wings a night or two ago. Psychology is a sealed book to me, but birds have a soulfulness that appeals to me more than bright feathers or tuneful notes. My fog-bound cardinal was not merely whistling that he might be heard. A CHEERFUL FOG but showed by every action that every note had meaning to him, and so, of course, to all cardinals that heard him, but not yet to be interpreted by man. There is more meaning in the manner of the shaking of his tail - . than in the length of his legs or convolutions of his brain. His spiritual anatomy has been left all untouched. There is a colony of cardinals close to my house and I ven- i^ ture to say no two ot them whistle alike. Do * you ever find two peo- >" pie with identical voices ? ^^Z' Is not the vocal variance '/^ , of my cardinals signifi- / ^5 " Mv toe-bound cardinal . cant r An unknown influence induced the cardinal to depart, but it was no sooner gone than red-winged blackbirds by the hundred made the near-by marsh the center ot the day's springtide activity. They epitomize the youthful season of the year, and while IN NATURE'S REALM I listen, the proud procession of each month's increasing glory passes before me. April, with her lap filled with violets ; May, with her garland of fruit-tree blossoms ; June, decked with the gorgeous roses. Blessed blackbirds ; they may steal the farmers' corn, but place a generous sum to their credit when you recall the concerts of early spring. We may, if willing, be taught a useful lesson by such a desolate region as a dismal swamp. Think of it ringing with music and made for the time an ideal garden spot. We cannot, at the same time, think of desolation and hear a blackbird singing. I brighten my own life whenever the cheery chorus of blackbirds is echoed in my heart, and would that others would quickly learn this simple secret of attaining happiness. What, too, could a garden be without its song- sparrow .? Does not its old-fashioned song attract as strongly as the old-fashioned flowers ? If some one would do justice to the song of this bird, it would be the exaltation of the humble that ought long ago to have occurred, — a task worthy of any naturalist's best eflForts. We are apt to speak of the bird without realizing the full significance of A CHEERFUL FOG the name. It has, over a host of competitors, been chosen as the " song " sparrow, and right worthily does it prove equal to the expectations its name calls forth. I cannot imagine any one being dis- appointed in the bird. All April, when nature saw fit to laugh at our almanacs and continue winter when and where spring had a better claim, the song-sparrow took things philosophically, and was just as ready to sing to a dismal blank of leaden sky as to the brilliant sunrise. A merit of the song not to be over- looked is that it fits words of wisdom better than any nonsense syllables one can coin. There is a sparrow in my gooseberry-hedge that all day sings, " Cheer - cheer - cheer - cheer - cheerfulness.'' Nothing else can be made of it, and who so prosy as to want it rendered otherwise ? Why use nonsense in wording or phrasing a bird's song, when some expression can be used that is characteristic of the bird ? I am duly thankful my Carolina wrens never did say " teakettle," but all sorts of things that suggest the bird, yet never one of the latter had gotten Into the text-books. In them we find nothing but " teakettle," which, I am happy to 103 IN NATURE'S REALM say, I never heard and never expect to. There is nothing of the wren's excessive nervous energy in the song-sparrow's singing. The wren, I take it, wants the whole world to hear him ; the song-spar- row's effort is for its own entertainment. Ambitious birds, like ambitious men, are not always pleasant company ; they are apt to be tiresome, but the song- sparrow, combining cheerfulness with amiability, reassures you, if despondent, and demonstrates that pessimism is an outcome of weakness that a little faith can overcome. It is something to hear the sparrow singing before the roll of thunder has ceased, and better still to hear it when the driving storm deadens all other sounds. We are likely to remember it then, if not as one of many songs of a bright May morning. I long held to the opinion that there were braver birds, but it is not true. The sparrows near my home are the last to seek shelter, and the robins are not more quick to discern the initial evidence that the storm is over. It needs but the merest pretense of a bright streak in the west to reassure the song- sparrow, and it is worth all It costs to wander afield, at that moment, and hear the " Cheer-cheer-cheer- 104 A CHEERFUL FOG cheer-cheerfulness " that blends so admirably with the dripping weeds. Is it strange that rain drops glisten as they fall when music fills the air ? There is suggestiveness in association that never appears when we consider only each isolated fact. The semi-domesticity of the song-sparrow is another feature that commends the bird to us. It will nest as near us as it can get, and were it not for the English sparrow we could have a nest in well-nigh every bush. I recall such a happy con- dition before the alien pest appeared, and now, going farther afield, I often find many nests in close proximity ; that is, half a dozen or more in an acre of meadow. Here we have an instance of sweet- ness wasted on the desert air, in one sense, for how few are present to hear song-sparrows, when, in the early morning, they rejoice at the return of sun- shine, or at evening, when the purple west glows the brighter because of the cheery songs that attend the day's departure. Many may think the song of a bird is not worth the trouble of walking far enough to hear it ; but I have known those who, finally induced to walk so far, needed thereafter no inducement to travel that distance again and again, }°s IN NATURE'S REALM and on foot, too. There is many a bitter root that has the virtue, it is said, of making our blood better if we drink a strong tea made from it. Dock, net- tle, sassafras and calamus, all excellent, perhaps ; but the song of a bird has power to smooth many a wrinkle and sweeten the temper. Thin your blood, if you will, with all the herbs in nature, but do not overlook your spiritual bettering. The song- sparrow is a safe counselor. Does it not sing in its own irresistible way, " Cheer-cheer-cheer-cheer-cheer- fulness ? " We are so apt to forget our humble friends when greatness appears upon the scene, that now, in the blessed month of May, when every famous songster courts attention, few listen to this master-spirit of dull winter days, and forget they ever heard it, when thrushes warble in the leafly glades. The bobolink in the meadows well merits its local name of "music gone mad"; the grosbeak and cardinal bid us pause in our rambles. The twittering of the north-bound warblers asks our patience for the moment. We are fairly bewildered by this con- course of sweet sounds, but anon there comes a lull. Save the whispering breeze, silence every- io6 A CHEERFUL FOG where, and while we wait and wonder what has happened up from the ground springs a dear brown bird, and before even the restless robin chirps or a jay chatters we hear that simple song of other days, " Cheer-cheer-cheer-cheer-cheerfulness.'' And hearing it, we wonder why it had been overlooked. The change for which anxious stay-at-homes looked for came at last. The dull, gray, heavy fog was slowly dissolving into a lighter, yellow mist, and the sun shone dimly through, a disc of dull gold. As if its warmth was anticipated, for I am sure it could not yet be felt, there was general rejoicing throughout the land. Not a bush without its bird, not a bird without its song ; and in ever- increasing volume rose the croaking of frogs with- out number — in very truth a million voices exulting in the sun's victory. It is at such a time we can realize the abundance of life, and what is of greater significance, how few of the facts concerning it have been gathered. Nature can keep a secret if man cannot and woman will not. How few have been brave enough to outweather all the year's changes, to learn at last what the busy world about us has been doing. 107 IN NATURE'S REALM Nature does not wear her heart upon her sleeve, but how few have that penetrative vision which sees through the coverings beneath which her real self is busy. The world is growing old. We hold our- selves as wise, but the crack o' doom will find us ignorant still. The hold of indifference is so pow- erful that we cannot wholly shake it off. We are all fog-bound, even when the sun shines. io8 Waste- land Revisited WHILE the day was yet fresh with morning dew and the tide again creeping up the country, for, who can tell, how many millions of times, I pushed mv boat from the same little whart, took up the oars and started, as I did thirteen summers ago, tor Linden Bend. I had no other thought than that of progress at the time, wishing the real journey to commence with my return, and nothing marred the plan. Here I am again, in the shade of the lindens, hearing the deep-toned murmur of a million bees 109 IN NJTURE'S REALM and the waters at every projecting root along shore, singing the same lullaby as in 1885. Why thresh old straw ? Why tell again that there are lindens near the mill-dam and all the way down the creek to the draw-bridge that there are trees, bees, butterflies and flowers, and that at every bend of the creek we come upon old stumps, under which the turtle, catfish and many a wary creature, furred or finned, takes refuge : why repeat ? The lazy, great blue heron that is now flying so leisurely over the marsh is, for aught I know, the same heron of thirteen years ago. Here is an undisputed fact in this world of doubt : it is the same creek. Born before the glaciers to the north of it reared their threatening fronts, and keep- ing inviolable many a secret of prehistoric time to plague the archaeologist. The same old creek in name and nature, and yet it is not the same. Just as the good, old colonial folk that dwelt along its banks have given place to — well, other people, so the shores and channel have undergone many a major or minor change. The winter's ice here and a summer shower there have left their mark. Glanc- ing carelessly at the wide stretch of wild country in its entirety, I see what I looked upon years ago, so WASTE-LAN D REVISITED I think at the moment. This is true in part and partly untrue. But, repeating my pleasant journey of years ago — it was September then, and it is June now — will I see with the same eyes ? Can it be pos- sible that I have changed more than these familiar scenes ? I wonder now, while still beneath the droop- ing linden boughs, if I have grown less appreciative of nature and pass by much that held me years ago. There is a great deal to be said in favor ot seeing with young eyes. The air is full of ghostly gray- beards, loving to criticize and eager to find fault, as I write these words, and every one is wagging his head and out of their mouths come ghostly whisper- ings of " rashness," " lack of judgment " and " no exercise of proper caution." I laugh now to think how, many years ago, I stood in awe of everybody who assumed to know anything of the outdoor world and wondered if I ever might attain to their wisdom. But age is too exacting, too deliberative, and the best of a good thing vanishes before it quite makes up its mind what to look for. Certainly, as many know, even if they will not admit it, age is too prone to look upon youth as necessarily inexperi- enced and uninformed. The truth is, a greater part IN NATURE'S REALM of the significance ot our surroundings is none the less plain to youth because it is not talked about ; and he is a dull youth who is not intellectually equipped to see understandingly when still but a boy. Whether he cares to, or not, is quite another matter, but given the desire, the ability is likewise present in sufficient measure for his needs. Better still, if he is not overweighted by too much reading. Let the facts come before him with all the freshness of a discovery, and then, above all else, let him be not afraid to speak of them as though unheard of before. The very prevalent contemptuous snubbing of enthusiastic youth by the crabbed old observer is one o{ those irritating experiences that youth must expect, but he can have the satisfaction of knowing such things only belittle those who forget that they once were young. To criticize youth from mere force ot habit is quite unsafe, as has often been shown, tor young eyes may see what has been pre- viously overlooked, and certainly not all the discov- eries in natural history have been made by men old in the service. Certain of our faculties grow less alert with age : the sight, dim ; hearing, less acute ; and the sense of smell equal only to detecting the WASTE-LAN D REVISITED more pungent odors. When this is true, it is safer to send a boy of seventeen into the marshes to report their belongings than to trust to the observations of a man of seventy. Of course, the ghostly gray- beards at my elbow vehemently protest, but as I am nearer seventy than seventeen I speak with confi- dence. Look out for the man, over fifty, who says, " You can't tell me anything about it ! " The trouble is, he will take precious good care not to let anybody try. As I steady my boat, at this moment, by holding to a huge grape-vine, the view before me, tree for tree, bush for bush, water for water, and sky for sky, is not the same that I saw thirteen years ago, and this is the more forcibly impressed upon me, very naturally, because I have not once been here in the meantime. Change has taken place not only in the surroundings, but also in myself The same objects appeal to me in a different way. Whether this change is more in the one case than in the other, I do not know ; but in neither, when measured accurately, is it likely to be an inconsiderable amount. Youth has no history; this grows with age. When we have it overshadowing our lives, the past rather than the 8 113 IN NATURE'S REALM present is prominently before us. It is harder to-day to see the actualities than when here before. Strive as I will, it is easier to think of then, than now. Where is Aladdin's lamp now, that I may ask for young eyes to put in an old head ? The lindens, as seen from the boat, are not notice- ably larger, but growth of a group of trees is not so prominent as would be the increase of a single one, seen at long intervals. To satisfy myself, I leave my boat and come down to soulless figures. It is the only effectual check to theorizing, and a tape-line shows that the growth has added from two to four inches to the diameters of the trees' trunks. I can see now, standing among them, that the woods are deeper and darker. I would not have thought of this had I not measured many trees and made com- parisons with my old note-book of 1885. While in my boat I supposed the conditions were practically the same as those of thirteen years ago, but this was wrong, and it needed a practical test to show it. The change, to be detected from only one point of view, that of standing in the midst of the grove, was not inconsiderable. Less sunlight reached the ground. It was more damp and spongy. Dense 114 WASr E-LAN D REFISITED moss was matted about projecting roots where flowers once had bloomed. The sprout-land that I had known had become woodland. To-day, in a modest way, these trees made up a little creek-bank wilderness. Here was the cool, spicy, forest air and that dim light in which the oven bird loves to spend its summer, and here, doubtless, it startles the echoes with its vehement singing, that lacks melody but is pleasing because so earnest and well-intentioned. You become interested in the bird without reaching enthusiasm as to its methods. I neither see nor hear these birds at the moment, but redstarts and Mary- land yellow-throats are abundant and fill the air with gleesome sound, and with a sandpiper along the water's edge and clattering kingfishers above the trees make it lively enough fiar all my needs. He is an unfiDrtunate who can mope in the presence of four birds. Again afloat, I see an old bird's-nest in the button- bushes, and looking more closely, another and another. Last year, then, birds were abundant, per- haps more so than now. These old nests do not lack interest. We may be a good deal in doubt, at times, as to the identity of the builders thereof, but 115 clattering kingfishers IN NATURE'S REALM there can be no question as to the origin of the nest. This is something in these days, when many people are so careful as to what is truth, they will not swear to the identity of their own shadows. There is not so little suggestiveness in emptiness as might be supposed. A bird's nest of last year ought to bring up, at least, the certain presence of the birds that built it, and the observer is really not in touch with nature who cannot see them, aye, and hear them. To be sure, there are some minds that hold facts as boxes hold berries, but are not affected, even as berries stain the boxes they are in. A small nest high in the air, near the top of a white birch leaning over the water, suggests a yellow-throated vireo, and the bundle of sticks in a branch of an old ash, which can be seen only when the breeze pushes aside the leaves, is proof positive of last year's crows. Though every bush has a brooding bird in its twiggy depths, it is well to mark also every remnant of a nest. Some of them may be so far still intact as to show that birds were here a year or two ago that now are absent ; as if you should find nests of the Baltimore oriole one year and see nothing of these birds the year after. An observing woman, speak- WASTE-LAND REVISITED ing of the birds that nested near her home, told me that the orioles " skipped every third summer." It is well known to be not unusual for a species to be well represented during one season and not found at all the next. The bobolinks swarmed in the " upper meadows" a mile from where I live until about 1863 or '64, and since then none have been seen, except as migrants ; yet to the human eye there has been no change in these meadows. I know to my infinite regret, that for the first time in fourteen years I have not a single nest of rose-breasted grosbeaks -.i^n^^ig^j^^^i within easy walking distance of my home, instead of six, as in 1897. As I reach the more open country, (^ and other trees — maples and willows largely — replace the lindens, the nest of a bridge pee-wee reminds me that some of the homes of the birds are reoccupied year after year ; and here is one that has, as a founda- tion, a thick mat of twigs that suggests the return to this spot of the " phoebes " for many a summer. As I draw near, I can see one sparkling, bead-like black eye of the sitting bird, which now holds her- . the sitting bird, which now holds herself in a make-ready attitude, . . " 117 IN NATURE'S REALM self in a make-ready attitude, intent upon swiftly gliding out of sight, should I draw too near. How nicely many of our birds draw the danger-line, never leaving the nest a moment sooner than they con- sider necessary ; but this danger-line is not the same, invariable distance. The bird, I believe, con- siders also the evident intention of the intruder. Approach a nest, affecting not to see it, and you can get much nearer than when you have caught the bird's eye and walk directly forward. The old-time Buzzards' Rest is not so accessible as formerly, because of accumulated driftwood, but I am told that the buzzards are gone, so other attrac- tions must be sought by the rambler who happens here. If the buzzards roost elsewhere, as is said, it is probably not far away, for the birds themselves are as abundant as ever, though never very many at a time, except occasionally. It is an ordinary feature of the day to see them sailing in such wide circles and so very high as to suggest their being more con- cerned with cloudland than with earth. These, our only vultures, do not forsake us during winter as seems to be thought by many, even among those living in the country. I have wondered what iig WASTE-LAND REVISITED then they could find to eat. Frozen carrion sends no odors aloft and the bird is said not to have keen vision. I would like to know the truth of this ; to have the question settled in favor of eyes or nose. This retired spot appears now to be a favorite one with herons of several species. I startled two ~r- " Two, as I passed, were resting, . . only their heads exposed.'" from a mid-morning nap. They were the familiar " quoks," or night-herons, and perhaps had been awake and busy while people are supposed to sleep. From my boat I could see no nest, but this or another pair were here all last summer, I was told ; so let us hope a new heronry has its beginning estab- lished. Certainly no other birds fit better with a marshy landscape, and none suggest that primitive condition which we know was a charming feature 119 IN NATURE'S REALM here not many years ago ; a fact that is very forcibly impressed upon me when I chance upon a flock of snowy egrets. It is not so long ago that these birds were common enough, but now they are rare. Some forms of wild-life, though as much perse- cuted, still hold their own and add their mites of interest to these waste-land tracts. The bullfrog is one of these. Two, as I passed, were resting on some hidden support, with only their heads exposed. They were big of their kind, and their expression that of a hippopotamus. One, as I drew near, gave a very bovine bellow as he withdrew to the mud beneath him, but the other held his place and stared with his great lack-luster eyes ; a watery, unintelli- gent stare as that of a floating corpse. I have always associated this species with the water and not wandering over the meadows, like the green and leopard frogs, for these very frequently take long overland journeys. The excessive rainfall of last month (May, 1898,) resulted in the formation of many a land-locked pool, which is still holding out against the summer sun. In two such little ponds I found adult bullfrogs, which must have traveled fully five hundred yards over all sorts of ground to WASTE-LAND REVISITED reach them. Why they are tempted to leave com- fortable quarters in the meadows and how they acquire a knowledge of the existence of temporary upland pools, I leave it to others to determine. I do not wonder that the sudden appearance of frogs long ago gave rise to the belief in underground pas- sageways between the upland springs and their apparent outlets in the lower-lying meadows. Prob- ably, in this case, these restless frogs wandered up the little brook that runs through several fields, and ^fter a tumultuous course through a ravine, finds level ground again. A greater supply of food may have been the impelling motive, but it is not easy to see how the frogs knew that such more favorable conditions existed elsewhere. It is quite unlikely ever to be true, except very temporarily, and so far as human eye can detect, animal life is never lacking in the meadows, particularly such forms of it as are the natural prey of frogs. For that matter, every- thing is grist that comes to the bullfrog mill. I have known one of these creatures to swallow a toad, and after that, nothing could be named, I think, that would come amiss. I met with the most radical change in the condi- IN NATURE'S REALM tions when near what was once well known as Wat- son's Crossing. In 1885 there was a sand-bar where now is deeper, unobstructed water, and looking down, not for traces of early man, but for fishes, I saw a few square, flat pieces of rock in such positions as to suggest " stepping-stones " had they projected above the surface. Their position was evidently not accidental, and then the stones themselves told of transportation from the river valley, a good two miles away ; for I have seen such only there, and never as erratic bowlders on the surface of the ground. Whether warranted by the facts or not, while gazing down upon them it seemed as if they could have been pressed only by the moccasined feet of Indians, if ever any human foot rested upon them. For several centuries, the geologists assert, these meadows have been sinking, and if at so slow a rate as one foot in one hundred years, the present submergence of these stones would be explained. Difficult as it is to sweep away every doubt and bring asserted theories within the bounds of proven facts this much may be confidently claimed, that man has occupied this little valley of Crosswicks Creek and the valley of the Delaware, near by, WASTE-LAND REVISITED for many, many centuries. Man's rise and prog- ress here are easily read ; his origin alone remains an unsolved mystery. Just when he came we probably will never know, but his career after that event is readily traced. A savage of the lowest type at the outset, he advanced in skill, as shown by the change from simple to complex implements of the chase, by the discovery of the potter's art, and by the development of a love of finery that led to the fashioning of purely ornamental objects. In all this, theory finds no place. It is the simple fact established by the objects themselves, considered with reference to the circumstances under which they occur. How quickly one may pass from the prehistoric to the historic, when wandering hereabouts with open eyes and ears ! Seldom has nature in the past been more active than here, and still every day, winter or summer, is a busy one. I had progressed but little beyond the supposed stepping-stones when I heard the faint tinkling of a bell ; then the sound was lost for a minute or more when I again detected it, now loud, now low, and I knew what it meant. It was a cow-bell ; the first I had heard for many a year but 123 IN NJTURE'S REALM readily remembered as a common feature of bygone days. Now the swamps are open meadows ; the backwoods, farms ; everything tamed down and cow- bells no more needed. We cannot get lost here, now, if we try ; unless where the weeds are very high and water too deep for wading. At such places, when in a boat, I have sometimes lost my bearings. The sound of a cow-bell joins admirably with nature's meadow-music. It does not prove an annoyance, like a chattering robin when the thrushes sing, and just now there are birds of several species making merry, not only along the creek-shore, but far inland. I recalled the lines : " In jovial June, How sweet the merry linnet's tune ; How blithe the blackbird's lay ! The wild-buck bells from ferny brake \ The coot dives merry on the lake ; The saddest heart might pleasure take To see all Nature gay." This is in Scotland, but here our Jersey meadows call for tame cows instead of the " wild-buck " ; all else will do. "What about the coot?" I hear asked. Well, they do dive in the little lakes and 124 WASTE-LAND REVISITED play about the creek, and nest here, notwithstanding that some text-books say nay. If the cow-bell could only frighten off mosqui- toes, every cow turned on the meadows to browse should wear one, for these torments are more terrible than can be imagined. Only those who have had to fight them can realize what a cloud of mosquitoes means. I have seen a herd of cows dash wildly across a meadow and up the hillside to the barn- yard, as if chased by dogs, and only because frantic through mosquito-bites. This insect may have a host of enemies, but they do not make any appre- ciable inroad on their numbers. Revenge is unwor- thy of manhood, it is said, and blood-thirstiness superlatively wicked, it is preached, but it is always with a deal of satisfaction that I see the larvae of mosquitoes securely trapped by that carnivorous plant, the bladderwort. It is something well worth seeing, nor is it so small a matter of genuine pleasure to be able to say, " One mosquito less ! " It is said the poison of this insect's bite is an antidote for malaria, and that people whom they do not bite — there really are such — are immune so far as chills are concerned. This assertion, remarkable as it 125 IN NATURE'S REALM may seem, has good ground for being made. I, for one, am not an " immune." Floating very leisurely along, I am aware of cer- tain slow changes that have been effected, as my note-book of 1885 calls for some conditions not now found and others greatly exaggerated. Certainly one little island has come into existence, with a handbreadth of grass and a pretty little maple tree. My boat, fourteen years ago, passed directly over where the island now is, and if I mistake not the water was four or five feet deep at high tide. So complete a change as this in so short a time is very suggestive and shows how care- ful the archaeologist should be in estimating the age of a relic by the depth at which it was dis- covered. What if I had lost my pocket-knife overboard fourteen years ago? It is safe to come to any conclusion only after a deal of study. Never let one swallow constitute a summer. Nature has no intention of deceiving you, but has her own way of setting her facts before you for consideration. If you do not attend to that, you will deceive yourself She builds up an island in a night that looks like the work of ages, but she iz6 WASTE-LAND REVISITED does not say how or when she built it ; that is for you to find out. I have heard of men's work, intended to be permanent, proving to be very temporary, and of that which they asserted to be merely tempo- rary, remaining a fixture during their lives. I thought of this when I noticed what to •*' me appeared to be the unstable muddy ^ / ' -' ♦ shores of the meadows. The ^ " " - U never-ceasing tides make no ;^ measurable impression upon them. Slight sketches of cer- tain points enabled me to recognize these mud-banks as quite the same now as then. Though the muskrat may make a new burrow, and crayfish at one point and mole-crickets at another, tunnel the earth among the coarse ccT-^oughthe . . moie-crkkets grass-roots, still the ground holds intact and I miss none of even the minor features of my earlier and more critical visit. Whether my ancestor, who in the first decade of the last century reclaimed some of these meadow-tracts, would recognize them now, is another matter, but I doubt if all the landmarks of 127 tunnel the earth IN NATURE'S REALM his day have been removed. Where changes of moment have occurred, they have been cataclysmic. A tree upon the creek's bank blown over, with its top sinking to the bottom of the stream, acts as a check to the normal flow, and mud quickly gathers. The trunk of the tree is gathered for fire-wood, but not the twigs. They are worth no labor, even as kindling ; and so the wind is allowed to plant a tree- top and grow an island. Soon birds sing where but a little while ago other birds swam. I found a song- sparrow's nest in a bush on one of these new-born isles, where a kingfisher might have dived for min- nows when I was here before. So there are changes, but if we look closely and remember well, the creek is the same, as a whole, when we take only compre- hensive glances at it as we pass by. Thus it is that observers contradict one another, and we often con- tradict ourselves. To-day I might have paid atten- tion to but one bank of the creek, or the other, and said without hesitation that I saw no change. How often we pass by, without seeing it, many an object of interest, i;itent at the time on something far from where we are. But no absent-mindedness pre- vented me from seeing a change of a most suggest- 128 WASTE-LAND REVISITED ive sort, — that of nature reclaiming an abandoned enterprise of man. An old flood-gate, or what remained of it, was now covered with moss where it stood above the tide, and in every available nook and cranny grew weeds of several kinds. Insects had tunneled it ; snails had worn tracks in the yield- ing decay upon its surface and rust had replaced the tough iron of a one-time bolt. The small stream that here had once emptied into the greater volume of the main creek was no longer to be traced across the level meadow. Here, indeed, time had worked effectively, if slowly, and obliterated not only nature's own work, but was fast removing what had at one time been an anxious care of man. Before reaching the mouth of Mill Creek, nature's masterpiece for many a mile around, the water became shallow and clear, with wide reaches of sandy bottom over which passed and repassed end- less forms of life, some so small they seemed but grains of sand, yet I could quite distinctly see them and the narrow, thread-like lines they drew across the rippled channel of the stream. To lean over the gunwales and peer into the depths has never yet proved tiresome to me. I forget then that there is " An old flood-gate, or what remained of it, . IN NATURE'S REALM such a thing as time. As hours were shortened to minutes when Cowper watched his squirrels, so has the morning passed unheeded when strange creatures furrowed the sand or flashed in the water beneath me. No fish, crustacean, aquatic bug, turtle, snake, or diving beast or bird, ever proved a bore. There is death beneath the smiling waters of old Cross- wicks Creek as there is death and all else that is horrible above it ; nor do we see less of it when looking in the water than over any landscape. But nature's under-side of things is less repugnant when you look through the denser medium. The minnow in the jaws of a pike is not so disagreeable a sight as the squeaking mouse in the jaws of a snake. Illogical and absurd as this may seem, I have always found it to be true. In the former case I am inter- ested ; in the latter, moved to pity or disgust. And I have found others who were moved in much the same way. All of which goes to show that consist- ency is a small matter in the general make-up of mankind. As I let the boat drift where it might, since it could not seriously go astray, and looked over its side I was impressed with the apparent permanency 1 30 WASTE-LAN D REVISITED of the ripples in the sand. They were definitely arranged, presenting a pretty pattern, worthy I thought, of the attention of a carpet-weaver, unless a rippled carpet would be trying to the eyes. Here the watered sand resembled watered silk, torn here and there by the track of a mussel or some smaller shell, and with holes punched through it where the snout of a turtle or the nose of an eel had pierced the fabric. In spite of all such defects, if we may call them so, the general effect was excellent, and a naturalist could ask for no better background as a field for extended observation. Job Stillcreep, who mends ditches in winter that he may loaf all summer, told me some years ago that in opening a new ditch across a meadow he came across white sand under three feet of black mud, that " was all wrinkled-like as you looked at it when you cut down with a spade." Here, it is evi- dent, had been a little side-stream, of which there are now many, such as the one once shut off from the main creek by the rotting flood-gate I had found to-day, but obliterated by natural processes, the mud gradually filling the channel when the current was obstructed, but so gently that the ripple-marks were 131 IN NATURE'S REALM not disturbed. In some thousands of years hard sandstone may be formed, for in the glacial drift, with its pebbles of all sorts — some reshaped by primitive man — are slabs of ripple-marked stone, and sometimes, as if to tell a more thrilling story, the tracks of animals and impressions also of their bodies are preserved. Past, present and future : how they speak to us, even in this rippled sand, warm, bright and beautiful as the clear, blue sky that looks lovingly down upon it. We can seldom get behind some simple fact which is the starting-point of our observation ; in this case, that of a creature merely moving of its own accord. I see a mussel now — as I have seen hundreds before — and many a smaller shell, moving along the bed of the stream; but what is the impelling motive? We seem never to be able to get behind the scenes to see life's drama as the public is supposed not to see it, and indeed does not. To the average man a mussel seems as well off in one spot as another. It can secure food without seeking it by constant change of base. It is not compelled to go roaming about in this apparently aimless way, but travels of its own free will. It is hard to imagine that such I3Z WASTE-LAN D REVISITED a lump of flabby flesh can have aught to do with consciousness. But thrust down a slender switch and touch the mussel ever so gently, and with a snap it closes its two shells that are so neatly hinged, and that same mussel becomes to us no more than a peb- ble in the sand. I have anchored these mollusks and know that they can live without traveling for a year. Two that I kept years ago in an aquarium lived over two years, but did not grow or gain in weight. Possibly, if I came here to-morrow, the mussel I am now watching might still be here, but more than likely — being restless now — it will be several rods away. The pace of a tortoise, though proverbially slow, is speedier than" that of a mussel ; yet an inch a minute means one hundred and twenty feet in a day, if the animal traveled without rest for twenty-four hours. However, they can for a brief space travel more rapidly, but appear bafiled when they meet with obstacles, and the idea of " going 'round " travels slowly through their brains. Looking into the water is no more free from petty annoyances than looking through the air. Just now there was a streak of glittering light, a flash as if a sword-blade cut the creek in half, and that was all. 133 IN NJTURE'S REJLM No noise, no subsequent commotion. I was startled, and drew back with an abruptness that bewildered for an instant, and yet it was only a large, silvery- sided fish that darted by. Unfortunately there are several such fishes in these waters and it is hard to prevent oneself wondering which of the several this one was. Quickly following the silvery flash that, for the instant, disconcerted me, was a more marked com- motion that roiled the water and left me to guess again and remain in ignorance. I could be certain of one fact, however ; it was a slower-moving object and of dark color. Its course was too direct for a catfish and the speed too great for a turtle, and the locality was not suggestive of the star-nosed mole, so I incline to think it was a mink. It obliquely crossed the creek, as one of these animals might do if it wished merely to avoid being seen by me. Minks are very cunning. Pursued by trappers, persecuted by farmers and with less of favorable territory available year after year, it is little wonder they have been forced to bestir themselves and cul- tivate cunning, that they may hold their own against the adversity that besets them. They are not desir- 134 WASTE-LAND REVISITED able neighbors from a purely economic point of view, I know, and yet I sincerely like them, as I do every other form of so-called vermin. I have mentioned the star-nosed mole. It is an interesting animal and, in this neighborhood, not nearly so abundant as the common, upland form. I find them about the ditches, where they have burrows that sometimes open beneath the sur- face of the water, into which they toss themselves in a rather unmethodical or precipitous way when they leave their underground retreats ; but once in the water there is no longer any trace of awkward- ness. I have seen them swim so rapidly, when deeply submerged, as to make them a close second to the mink in the matter of speed. Probably it is only for a short distance that this rapid swimming can be kept up, while a mink can remain under the surface for so long a time that it suggests their carry- ing a supply of air with them, as does a pretty diving-spider that is common in Poaetquissings Creek. I think, from my scanty observations, that at times minks come only near enough to the surface to get their nostrils in the air, and so are not detected however closely we look for them. The coot and 135 minks will carry fishes to the shore, , IN NATURE'S REALM devil-diver, among aquatic birds, will do this, as is well known. With not the slightest portion of their bodies showing, minks will carry fishes to the shore, the latter held wholly out of the water. When the water cleared I resumed my uncom- fortable, cramped position, with my face close to the water, that I might again look into the depths, but was interrupted by sounds from overhead. The familiar twittering of barn-swallows was plainly heard and I found that five of these birds, three males and two females, were circling just above me. I noted, also, several purple martins. More than the others, they puzzle me of late, for I can find no evidence that they are nesting near by. There are no martin-boxes within four miles of here, and it is improbable that any of these birds wander this distance from their summer quarters, swift of wing as they are. If a few, stray pairs have resumed the habits of remote ancestors and taken up their abode in some hollow tree, it would be most interesting. Concerning purple martins, two facts confront us ; one, that many of the boxes erected for them have long been in possession of the English sparrow ; and the other, that the martins are still here, but in fewer 136 WASTE-LAND REVISITED numbers than formerly. If ignorance years ago had not had the upper hand and imported the sparrow, and if, instead, common sense had protected the mar- tins and provided new boxes when the old ones tumbled down, we would have less call for spraying fruit-trees and would save much of what now is lost by the destroying hordes of sparrows that settle in clouds upon the ripening grain. But it is the con- ditions of to-dav that concern us, and we find that the useful martin has not been exterminated by the imported bird, though often replaced by it, and a sorry exchange it is. The native bird was here at one time, semi-domesticated, and now I find on these Crosswicks meadows what appear to be the martins of, we will say, colonial days, ^'^ a wild martin and so a dweller possibly in some cave or hollow tree. If not, where are we to look for their nesting-sites ? There is certainly no reason why they should not return to the localities originally chosen by them. Change of habit due to change of surroundings is no novel fact, and when the change is but slight it is likely to be passed unno- ticed. Chimney swallows have been 137 . five of these birds, . . were circling just above me." IN NATURE'S REALM found in at least one hollow tree near where I now am, and many a robin has built in movable struc- tures like swinging bridges and about railway stations. Swallows and pee-wees build every year on open, iron bridges, over which wagons and even cars are con- stantly passing, and the English sparrow nests in mill-yards amid the jar and roar of machinery that ought to drive any creature, except some people, out of their wits. I am confident I will yet find these meadow-haunting martins nesting in a hollow tree. Possibly others have been more fortunate, and it may be nothing uncommon, but I am not concerned with what other people know. My boat, for several minutes while my thoughts were in the air, had drifted over a muddy, weedy bot- tom, where the water was dark and almost opaque, when I thought again of the aquatic life that so recently had occupied my attention. I could see nothing now. The mud absorbed the light — no direct sunlight reached the surface — and it was all as gloomy as a dull, November afternoon. Much of the creek must be in this somber condition all summer. The vegetation along shore is so densely leaved and hangs out so far over the stream that 138 WASTE-LAND REVISITED there is very little opportunity for a sunbeam to slip through the blockading barrier of dense foliage. We often look in vain for signs of life in these black waters that through trick of light suggest great depths, and at such a time imagine endless, winding caverns where strange creatures dwell, and so people it in rather a fantastic fashion. We offer imagination more elbow-room than even it can occupy ; but think what we will, there never was, even in mythology, life that was more linked with destruction than we actually find among the insects that swarm in many a pool and shady bend of the creek, where the water is less rapid in its course than in the open, unobstructed channel. Ranatra, Nepa, Notonecta, Belostoma ; names, these, that may have no meaning to most people, and not much more to those who recall by them shriveled cabinet-speci- mens, pinned and labeled, of big and little water- bugs ; but watch these creatures where they are at home and you will believe, then, all that has ever been said of them, and learn, too, that some of them can do something more than murder little fishes. They can force you to withdraw your hand from the water very quickly by nipping your fingers in a most 139 IN NATURE'S REALM effective way. There are other ways of observing aquatic insect-life than by watching it along the illu- mined edges of darkened areas, which is unsatisfac- tory because so often it happens that we have but a glimpse of the tragedy — one scene only of the whole act ; better to go to the ditches where there is more light and opportunities are better because of the more circumscribed area, or by means of an aqua- rium. This last, to my mind, is the most satisfactory of all, for much is gained by being comfortably fixed at home and having a bit of the marshes before you to be studied at leisure. Aquaria are no trouble. Why they have so generally gone out of use I do not know. Certain it is, however, that a glass box a foot square is infinitely better than a school-year with the average text-book and a teacher that only breaks the silence with long, Latin names. Out of the shadows into the sunlight again, and now into a world so full of life that to keep but one object in view is impossible. No course of one bird in the air but is intersected by a dozen others, and it were as easy to follow a single thread of a tangled spider's web. Birds everywhere and not one of them mute. The following species I plainly heard 140 WASTE-LAND REVISITED and no one can fail to recognize their songs after they have heard them once. There were the red- eyed, white-eyed and warbhng vireos, cat-bird, wood-thrush, chat, cardinal, rose-breasted grosbeak, song-sparrow, swamp-sparrow, marsh-wren, redstart, summer warbler, least flycatcher, great-crested fly- catcher, grakle, red-winged blackbird, crow, king- fisher, green heron, and spotted sandpiper. Here were twenty-one birds, all adding their share to the volume of sound that filled the valley, and then the chirping and twittering of other unseen birds, too indefinite to make sure of the species, must not be overlooked. Beyond the creek's banks, over the wide meadows, at the same time, the frogs and toads were croaking and there was, as always, that gentle undertone, a vague humming that I attribute to insect-life. If, for a moment, the birds and batra- chians are quiet, this murmur seems to increase in volume, and we listen with strange interest to an undefined earth-sound that comes with the first warm days of June and does not cease until the first gen- eral frost of mid-autumn. It is the volume of sound as much as the objects seen that causes us to realize that nature now is at high-tide. 141 IN NATURE'S REALM Again afloat, I am following now a wider and less winding channel that some five miles away ends at the river. I do not know it it is wise to take one's cue from the first bird heard in the earlv morning. Such whims encourage superstition, — a weed of too vigorous a growth in all of us. But fight such non- sense as we may, we cannot forget the meaning of the word " omen," and I took it to be a favorable one that as my boat left the landing, headed for any inlet, cove, shady nook or inviting shelter of over- hanging trees, I heard a white-eyed vireo. It put me in a happy, confident frame ot mind. Its song is suggestive of energy, and I must prove no lag- gard. This was not probable, for there was no port in the wild region before me but I could heartily welcome, if with glimpses of nature at her best it welcomed me. Happily, in this case, no serious exertion was called for at the start, for who has not found it easy to go with the tide? It is direful to have eyes and see not, but savors of bliss to have legs, yet walk not, nor yet remain motionless. To be in an open boat is the only attractive substitute for walking, and one must be alone to extract all the sweetness. You are in excellent company with 142 WASTE-LAND REVISITED nature, and crowded if aught else is added. Float- ing, I found myself closely akin to the drifting twigs that traveled with me, twirled and tossed by every counter-current or breath of wind, and seeking no predetermined quiet cove where the rest that living creatures ever hope for may be awaiting even it. Very peaceful now, and as I pass the denselv- wooded shore, pausing a moment where a great tree at the water's edge offers a landing-place too inviting to be resisted, I see, or think I do, where the rude earthworks were thrown up more than a century ago that the advance of King George's soldiers might be checked. The drawbridge, not a musket-shot away, had been pretty much demolished by the Americans, and when an attempt was made to repair it there was a lively skirmish, and it proved effectual, too, for the British retired to join their comrades further up the creek. Civilization, as men call it, was more active then than ever since at this wild spot, but because it was civilization run mad, overleaping itself and landing in savagery, perhaps it is that now there has been a reverting to the other extreme and we have nature here unsullied, undefiled, even unmarred by man's peaceful, beneficent activities. 143 IN NATURE'S REALM Whatever the cause, the present conditions are such as I hoped to find, for nature is never disap- pointing. Let the mountains sink to the level of the plain, the river dwindle to a trifling brook, wild-life vanish to but a single, singing bird ; still, if it is nature that hath wrought the change, the result is never commonplace. There will not be lacking some attractive feature, and so to-day the trees, the shadows, the silent flow of the unresting tide and the noiseless flight of wandering water-fowl, breathed of peace, and I rejoiced, even more than at the outset; I was revisiting my beloved Waste-land. It is little strange that 1 find these waste-land tracts intensely green. May (1898) was the wettest month on record. It is needless to go back to sta- tistics and compare the amount of rainfall one year with another. It is how rain falls, not how much, and so last month was the wettest. Every drop was stored away and many a field is now damp that ordi- narily is dusty ; and springs have appeared where none have existed for half a century, and brooks that are dry in midsummer are now creeks that have cozened fish into their new-born depths. Old Cross- wicks is deep now at low-tide where usually it is 144 IVASr E-LAN D REVISITED shallow, and the marshes over which I have so often walked offer nowhere a firm foothold. No wonder, then, that all vegetation is superlatively green, and the open water reflects that color rather than the blue of the summer sky above it. It would prove monotonous were it of a uniform shade and not relieved, too, by wreaths of blooming blackberry ; by spiraea and button-bush, white as a December snow-drift, I mark with pleasure, too, that here, as in my door-yard, the buttonwoods are still leafless and their bare, gray branches break the green line that divides the earth and sky, for these buttonwoods are our tallest trees, except the tulip-poplar, and what splendid, commanding outlooks do they pro- vide for the many birds ! Crows are calling to their brethren while perched above the surrounding wood- land ; the little herons survey the boundless marshes from these leafless heights, and even the song-birds are moved to mount so high above the earth and send a message of love to brooding mates hidden in the leafy depths below. The gentle bluebird, a ver- itable wanderer now, forever appearing and disap- pearing in a mysterious way, was heard but not seen ; veritable ghost of the bluebird of other days, mourn- lo 145 IN NATURE'S REALM ing over the fate that has overtaken it. It affords almost no pleasure to hear them now, recalling, as they do, the melancholy fact that man, not nature, drove them from their old-time homes. The little streams, with sources hidden not far away in the trackless marsh, or in the remnant of the mighty forest, offer more for contemplation and painstaking study than does many a furlong of the main stream. Small as is the world, it is on too grand a scale for most people, and when we find it brought down to our own level our energies are spurred to healthy action and not depressed by immensity. Even Crosswicks Creek, thirty miles long, will pass away in the indefinite future without a biographer. Those who linger longest about its banks and float forever to and fro upon its bosom have but a speaking acquaintance with it. An inti- mate acquaintance even with a little creek has been vouchsafed no man. The most that the state and United States map-makers have told us is that the stream is straighter than it really is, a conclusion naturally reached because they found the region a hard one to travel. A miniature river half a mile long is problem enough for any man to solve. 146 WASTE-LAND REVISITED A genuine spirit of adventure took hold of me as, with senses alert, I turned the boat's prow into a sheltered cove, where the rapid waters of a by-stream mingled with the hurrying tide of old Crosswicks. Just as we people the darkness with life that we never think of during the day, so the dense shade is ever more mysterious than sunlight. The banks of the miniature creek were too near together to permit progress beyond a boat's length, but this was sufficient to bring about a complete change. I could see but a little way inland, and had I not known the real conditions, might have thought the forest about me was miles deep. The trees were so near each other, the branches so completely interlocked and the underbrush so dense a growth that no progress by land was practicable. So much might lurk in a spot like this that every stray sunbeam flitting across the vision's little field is suggestive of some creature dwelling here. A hundred birds'-nests ought to be here, I thought, and I found only the remnant of one, perhaps more than a year old, and now the foundation of a most elaborate home of a big gray spider. Seeing only this ill-natured creature, I was 147 IN NATURE'S REALM a little disappointed, and forgetting I had probably frightened many a bird and beast away by my noisy entrance into this retired spot, I turned to the dark waters and saw one of my old favorites. Under a projecting root was a black pirate-perch, the owl, if there is one, among our small fishes, and a most murderous fellow besides. Others do not paint him half so black, but I have kept many in aquaria and have very often seen them with fishes too big to be swallowed extending from their jaws, and with their prey before their eyes all day in this fashion, they would rest almost immovably, awaiting the digestion of the cumbrous meal. Though the wood-thrush came to the thicket, and a chat returned to the tree nearest to where I sat, and a meadow-mouse ran the length of a snaky, half-submerged limb of a dead tree, and twice a turtle popped its head above the water, I was not content to remain, but, restless as a Gipsy, looked again about me when out in the current of the main stream, and I soon noticed a most inviting shelter from the noonday sun, formed by the intertwined and overhanging branches of ninebark, the splendid show of bloom now rusty-red or of dazzling white- 148 WASTE-LAND REVISITED ness as the buds were still closed or widely open. As the boat rather rudely brushed the drooping twigs, I was showered with thousands of tiny petals. In a June snowstorm, as it were, and a charm- ing bit of nature's playfulness it was, seeming to cool the air, and stirring to activity the dry bones of the dead winter. There was a difference of twelve degrees in the temperature, and this means a great deal when it is nearly a hundred in the sun. The ever-abundant cat birds were very tame and brought me, so I fancied, a welcome message from the garden-lot at home. It is always pleasant to find your loyalty greater than you thought, and, for the instant, I wished 1 was there, though I had been absent but a few hours. The creek, the ninebark bower and the steamy marshes sank from sight, and I saw about these creekside cat birds only the reddening cherries on the old garden tree and a happy host of thrushes feasting there without hindrance. There will be fruit for me and to spare, so I give that matter no thought, but why should I were it otherwise ? The cherries on 149 " The ever-abundant cat-birds were very tame. . . " IN NATURE'S REALM my tree are very red, but none so pretty as the birds that eat them ; no cherries sweeter than are these of mine, but the song of the bird is sweeter than the tree's fruit. No less entertaining was the passing and repass- ing overhead of several night-herons. They sud- denly appeared and wandered to and fro in the bright sunshine, as if searching for some resting-place they could not find, and so would not be comforted. 1 felt as if my sudden vanishing from creek to nine- bark cove had made them suspicious, but I persisted in not showing myself. At last one came very near and, I thought, looked down as if to spy me out. I made an effort to imitate the heron's cry, and suc- ceeded in frightening the bird away. Looking as best I could into every tree, by aid of my field-glass, I found in one of a near-by cluster, a bunch of sticks that might have been a heron's nest, but no bird went near it for so long a time I was probably mistaken. Certainly there was nothing anywhere suggestive of a heronry, yet there are enough of the birds within the area of the tide-water marshes to sustain a very considerable one. Doubtless all these birds belong to the heronry some five miles away, ISO WASTE-LAND REVISITED which I rejoice to know is carefully protected. I have had no opportunity, as yet, to study any of its features, but now naturally recall, and here let me tell the story of my own upland heronry within sight of my home. When April's lengthening days gave promise of bud and blossom, and the abundant sunshine warmed the secluded nooks and corners of the vine- tangled swamps, the little green herons came again to their haunts of the past summer. For three long months they have been passing daily, from dawn to dark, over the fields on their journey to the meadows and back to the wooded sink-hole, where their nests are built. The green heron is not more active at one time of day than at another, and is too busy, judging from all appearances, to quietly rest and day-dream, so characteristic of other herons. It is in no sense a solitary bird, and if a dozen or twenty seen together may be called a flock, it is, to that extent, gregarious. Furthermore, they are cautious rather than shy, and soon learn to know that they need not be forever on the alert, if not molested by those who happen frequently to pass by. I have had a colony of these birds near me for several 151 IN NATURE'S REALM years, but only of late have I paid close attention to the routine of their lives. Nest-building commenced quite promptly on their reappearance in April, and a more careful observa- tion than heretofore of the construction of these nests shows that the twigs of which they are made are interlaced, rather than laid together, and so are more permanent structures than I had previously supposed. As seen from beneath, they give the impression of flimsy structures, and frequently the eggs can be seen distinctly as we look upward. This condition and the fact that the young often creep from them and sit upon near-by branches long before they are able to fly, add to the delusion, but when we attempt to remove a nest or pull it to pieces it is found to be more like loosely-woven cloth than a haphazard gathering of little sticks. A more interesting fact is that while the herons come all at one time, the nesting is not a matter of the first few weeks only of their summer sojourn. Eggs are laid in the old nest after the first brood are half or but a third grown ; so that when the summer is well advanced we have birds in all stages of growth in the heronry. Thus, June 23d, I found 152 WASTE-LAND REVISITED eggs just ready to hatch and young birds that could fly a short distance, and at this date, July 7th, there are newly-laid eggs in a nest still occupied by young birds, and the question arises, can it be that the warmth of these fledglings, rather than that of the parents, is depended upon to hatch them ? So far, at least, are all appearances, and how far we may safely judge from them is, perhaps, a question ; but read aright or wrong, there is a degree of irregularity or uncertainty about nesting in a heronry that has been overlooked, judging from such statements as have come under my notice. Certainly we cannot speak of a " breeding season " as a portion only of their summer sojourn, for young birds, still too weak to fly far and needing parental attention, have been noted as late as August 15th. Later than this I have not found evidences of continued nesting, but it is not improbable that it occurs. As the bank- swallow leaves eggs and helpless young behind when it goes south for the winter, in September ; and as long-eared and barn-owls, having permanent homes in hollow trees, have young at all times from April to September, so it is true of the little green herons. When they have settled down for the sea- / -^, 153 . . we have birds in all stages of growth in the heronry." IN NJTURE'S REJLM son in their chosen haunt, and which they do not forsake unless forced to do so, the reproduction of their kind occupies all their thoughts, and they have no vacation period until the summer begins to merge into autumn. Green herons are certainly not musical, but their weird cry, an explosive " wough ! " is delightfully suggestive. There is the element of "wildness" about it that invariably attracts the lover of nature. It brings out the full significance of marshy meadow or the dimly-lit void above us, as salt makes our food more savory ; but this single cry is by no means the bird's only utterance. We have but to take our place in the heronry and await developments to learn how varied a vocabulary is theirs. To- day I heard a chuckle, low peeping, and even hissing, from the old birds, just in from the meadows with food ; and there were low chirpings, gutturals and other strange sounds made by the young in response to the greetings of the parents. IS4 ' Three well-grown birds statuesque positions WASTE-LAND REVISITED In all, a veritable babel that kept up until the old birds departed. What interested me, perhaps more than all else, was the fact that the half-grown birds maintain such motionless attitudes when alone ; that is, while waiting for their food. Three well-grown birds sat on a small birch tree in such statuesque positions that I discovered them by mere accident, though only a few feet away. They held their beaks aloft, and I wondered if this was for protec- tion, for it would have fared badly with any hawk to have swooped upon them from above. The position was an excellent example, too, of protective coloration, for the sparsely-feathered neck and slender, streaked head and beak were col- lectively quite as varied in color and shaggy as a birch limb. Even after locating these young birds, if I turned away for a moment it was not always easy to find them again. With the aid of a field- glass they were sufficiently distinct to be carefully studied, but not so with the naked eye at a distance of twenty yards. All things considered, a heronry is not a pleasant place in which long to linger. The ground was white with droppings and fragments of fish, or such 155 IN NJTURE'S REALM this refuse appeared to be ; a half-digested, slimy- mass that offended the nostrils as keenly as it did the eye ; and naturally enough, insects swarmed as I have seldom seen them elsewhere. A paradise, one might think, for fly-catching birds ; yet careful search failed to reveal a single nest of wood pee-wee, the vireos, or warbler. Indeed, no other birds, except purple grakles, frequented the spot. Why these had chosen to nest here was not apparent, unless the proximity of a pea-patch, which they dis- astrously raided, had to do with it. It is not until September that the heronry is abandoned. There does not appear to be any interim when the birds frequent the marshes and forsake the upland woods — in this case a little sink- hole, filled with small trees — nor is the exodus a gradual one. They are all here to-day, and to-mor- row all are gone. Unlike the night-heron, single birds or pairs do not stay throughout the winter ; yet these green herons are not greatly inconveni- enced by wintry conditions. More than once in the last decade we have had snow, ice and bitterly chill winds from the northeast, yet the birds pre- served their serenity of temper and pursued their 156 WASTE-LAN D REVISITED fishing and frogging in the marshes, and endless journeys therefrom to their homes, in the same quiet, methodical way that characterizes their coming and going during the summer. The wandering night-herons no longer in sight, I turned again to my immediate surroundings and, strange to say, became mathematically inclined, which too often is to make the world less lovely than when we see it in our imaginative moods. I began counting the circular disks of little blossoms, but tiring, cut the matter short by a fair estimate. The blossom-laden front of this clump of ninebark was thirty feet long and eleven high, and by count- ing here and there a measured square foot, I con- cluded the three hundred and thirty square feet contained over eight thousand floral disks. This was only one of many such exhibitions of wild spiraea in bloom, and when near-by there is the pale-blue flag, or flaming phlox, or in the water the golden, globular bloom of spatter-dock, we realize how often these waste-land tracts have a beauty that compares well with the trim gardens of suburban homes. Wild flowers, like the songs of wild birds, appeal to something within us that we have not, 157 IN NATURE'S REALM fortunately for us, under absolute control. We do not attempt to criticize the arrangement of the blos- soms, or the key upon which a bird's song is pitched. What we see and hear in waste-land is something too sacred to be brought to the level of our artifici- ality, and hath a charm so potent that the natural- ness that is in us comes to the front in force. It is a distinct gain to forget our true selves and be for the moment as natural as the handiwork of nature about us. No outing can be perfect under an unclouded sky. The quick transition from sunlight to shade brings out many a beautiful effect that would other- wise be missed. We cannot realize all there is in a green tree until we see it, with a background of plum-colored cloud, suddenly suffused with golden light. The change is marvelous, every leaf hav- ing a distinct glory of its own. That such clouds may mean a shower must not disconcert us. The fear of a dash of rain robs the rambler of half his joy. I pity the man whose sole object in life is to take care of his clothes. As the tide runs out and leaves exposed the long reaches of gently-shelving shores I am reminded iS8 WASTE-LAND REVISITED that these tortuous, ribbon-like bands between the shrubbery, the tree-trunks with their intricacy of twisted roots and the water is nothing but brown mud, sHppery, treacherous as humankind, and now ghttering in the sunshine, as if to invite the unwary wanderer to discomfort, if not destruction. SHppery, shmy mud, but is this all ? It is as false of mud as of pitch to say that we cannot touch it and not be defiled. It is astonishing how many catchy phrases tickle our ears and form a part of some flimsy scheme we proudly call philosophy. Newly-exposed mud may be forbidding at first glance ; the more so when no trace of life is to be seen, but the first glance is not often the all-important one. A mink, awaiting our next movement, may be only a project- ing tree-root to us. I have little doubt that we are so often satisfied with a single, careless glance at some limited spot that we lose more in a year than we gain in saner moments by attentive examination. As I look over the side of the boat, the mud I see is too soft for the pretty sandpiper that balances itself now on projecting twigs or the occasional flat stone that it finds. But while we look, this same mud is drying very fast, or draining rather, and at 159 IN NATURE'S REALM the available instant insect-life appears, and one semi-aquatic spider runs over the smooth surface with the speed and general manner of a tiger-beetle on the hot, dry sands. Spiders have more eyes and sharper ones than ours, and we can only account for their actions now as being in search of food. It is certainly not for the sake of mere exercise that they dart erratically about, and ever and anon suddenly stop and expend their energies on some object too minute for me to detect. One spider that I was watching disappeared so suddenly that I was moved to look more closely, and I saw what I had taken for a stone was the projecting eyes and snout of a full- grown bullfrog. Heads without bodies are not always easy to recognize. Look, for instance, directly in the face of a sunfish, seeing nothing of the body, and the staring eyes and slowly-moving cheeks, backed by crimson " ear-flaps," will suggest anything but what really confronts you. It is rather some strange creature that is calculated to startle a novice, and no reasoning will convince him, it too often proves, that he has not seen an impossible monster. It is thus that waste-land is largely peopled by the ignorant crowds who occa- 1 60 " Look . . directly in the face of a sunfish, . . WASTE-LAND REVISIT ED slonally picnic here ; and confidence in their unskilled powers of observation is like many a weed in the grass-plot — ineradicable. As the mud stiffened in the hot sunshine, the bullfrog slowly emerged and took shape before me. , We stared at each other in most impudent fashion, but as neither moved it was only a matter of exchange of glances. Slowly I raised one arm and very gradually extended it towards the watchful frog, but he proved no fool. Before I had attempted to make any advance the creature had determined the danger-line. When my hand passed this, with one mighty leap the frog reached the water and dived into its depths. There is too little, it will be claimed, in such an incident to warrant its recording. True, to a cer- tain extent, but if it induces another to watch a frog under similar circumstances there is this much gained, that he will see a great deal that is not easily, if at all, made plain by mere description. Outlines are not to be sneered at if they are offered as such and not paraded as evidence of profound knowledge. Use and abuse of outlines marks the difference between wise and otherwise. II i6i IN NATURE'S REALM The song of a winter bird in June is a delightful feature of a hot, summer day. The white-bellied nuthatch was heard at intervals earlier than the pres- ent moment, but now one of them is directly over- head, and as a cloud shuts out the sunlight so the bird's complaining cry shuts out the summer, and it is cool October, or even icy winter, for the instant. These birds are seldom seen about my door-yard trees during the hot weather, but replace the summer migrants very promptly in autumn and make winter far less dreary than the season without birds would surely be. Though the air was all a-tremble with the singing hosts of summer, I heard only this lonely nuthatch, and had a vision of leafless trees, ice-bound brooks and snow-clad fields. Such seem- ingly trivial interruptions to the crowded procession of a summer day are not so meaningless as might appear ; or why is it they remain so distinctly impressed upon the memory and are readily recalled, while many a major fact is dimmed and irretrievably lost in a few, short hours ? I recall the nuthatch now, days after it was seen and heard, while I am transcribing these field-notes, and the sound of its unmusical cries is heard and rings in my ears even 162 WASTE-LAND REVISITED though I passed directly from the ninebark cove to a small, tortuous, inflowing by-creek, which might well be called the grosbeaks' paradise. Both the cardinal and the rose-breast were here at home, and in the shade of stately trees they sang those match- less songs that should cure us of longing for the nightingales of other lands. I was charmed at the time, but to-day I have but the bare recollection of a fact, and above the mingled songs of many birds about my study window, I hear that lonely nuthatch. If any possible combination of conditions sug- gests the luxury of laziness, it is drifting with the tide. The up-country flow has begun. Casting loose from the dense shade of a hemlock, I shove the boat amidstream and, for the time, give it no further thought. Sooner or later I will be back to the pretty, rural wharf from which I started, unless I am held by the bushes or some sunken snag. This is easily remedied, and being the only possible need for exertion, I do not worry : never crossing bridges until I come to them. Now, more than ever, I am the guest of the creek, and as willing to be borne by the tide as an infant to be carried in its nurse's arms. My attention is withdrawn from the crowded 163 IN NATURE'S REALM world, for waste-land here is teeming with life. I scarcely notice the contest between wind and tide that sometimes holds me as fixed to one spot as the trees on shore. Then I move on again, and my valued day-dreams fill my whole existence. The world is happy, and so am I. As the sun sinks behind the distant forest I hear a dull, grating sound and feel my progress checked : my boat has found its way home almost without the aid of the guiding oar. 164 ^^^smm^ M^M^^£^^^ Sour Grapes THE WORLD is full of them. Who- ever has watched the career of any bird throughout the summer has heard it more than once angrily chirp, " JVho cares ? " Possibly this littleness of soul has been as frequent as the dutiful thanksgiving song for blessings acquired. The fable of the fox is as familiar to creatures not man as to ourselves ; the difference being that other forms of life act as well as speak their view of the matter, while with us too often the word and the act have nothing in common. Sour grapes are not a fruit of any one season. They dangle before our eyes whithersoever we turn, and always with most tempting display, when without them our contentment would have neared perfection. The wherefore '•^' ,' -jj.-^'i // "^^ ,ijv!ll. ^-s^>,^- i6s ^--^A M IN NATURE'S REALM of their existence is a problem fit for fools and phi- losophers. That happy medium, the average man, shows wisdom better by simply facing the aggravat- ing fact rather than spending a lifetime exercising choice between the solutions of the problem offered. There are the grapes, and I say, as I have heard birds and beasts say, and even insects seem to say, " Who cares ? " What manner of man is he who takes such a position ; who shall say ? Possibly it is unwisdom to attempt ignoring the omnipresent grapes, but it may be worse to permit them to spoil a sunny, Octo- ber afternoon. Alas ! the common suggestion of ignorance to look another way is only intensified aggravation. There is no other way, or one wherein sour grapes do not dangle in the out-of-reach boundaries of our existence. To work oneself into a fury is worse folly. I have spent many a day shouting at them, but sour grapes are not to be frightened. They looked just as smiling after my scolding as before, and my rage has affected only myself. " Rise superior to such weakness," was the pom- pous suggestion of a neighbor, and I immediately i66 SOUR GRJPES thought of a remark made by a much more valued acquaintance to the effect that " the skunk as he ought to be, ain't in these woods." Even my learned and proud neighbor is not the "skunk as he ought to be," although he thinks he is. A trifle of mephitic odor still clings to his skirts. There are sour grapes in his scholastic path- way. He fails to attract the crowd that flocks to hear every new-comer, and so loftily mumbles, " Fit audience, though few," but cannot conceal the fact that he is envious. Sour grapes are hanging in mocking array around all our Elysian fields, so why not accept them phil- osophically .? Put the suggestion into practice and be honest about the result — if you can. Satan, I believe, has ever been too busy to bother about mere lies ; sour grapes, rather, are responsible for the birth of mendacity. Turn now in thought, as I was recently forced to do in fact, and consider inaccessible grapes. Never a brighter and more crisp October morning, and frosted fox-grapes just out of reach. If we may judge by odor only, these were not sour, but of honeyed excellence ; sweet, perhaps, to the point of 167 IN NATURE'S REALM cloying ; centering in themselves all the charms of a long, fruitful summer ; May blossoms, June roses, midsummer's ripening sunshine and now nature's final touch, October's frost. Grapes such as these before me and as well try to reach a sunset. How our boasted greatness dwindles at times ! Not one grape for me, and there is a jolly, tantalizing blue- jay that has every one of them at his mercy. Of course the proper thing, as man long since decided, is to turn away, affect indifference and say the grapes are sour ; but they are not. This, however, mat- ters but little ; it soothes our vanity to force a belief in petty lies. The grapes are not for me unless I can outwit nature, who hung them at a tree-top. Why not say so? is to ask a puzzle. I certainly shall make no supreme effort to reach them. The prize is not worth the risk of myself dangling from a tree-top, and I am very comfortable here on the sod with a cushion of moss for my head, if I get weary. The gist of the matter is, are not pleasure and profit to be derived from the inaccessible ? I see and smell the grapes, and have not eyes and nose sufficient prominence to make their delectation worthy effort ? We delight in roses without eating i68 SOUR GRJPES them, so why not grapes that are out of reach? Nature sets up no notice to " keep off the grass," but we pay the penalty if our common sense does not detect the propriety of keeping within bounds. Bear in mind this world was not evolved for man's sole benefit, but that he is only a part of a stupen- dous, complex whole. If we do this, what happens is intelligible ; otherwise it is not. From this point of view there is no turning or shadow of turning. Nature is not communicative unless we tease her continually, and one of the few plain statements she makes is that above mentioned. My inaccessible grapes are enjoyable. " How yours, if you cannot reach them ? " asks my companion, contemptuously. " By virtue of my eyes and nose," I replied, showing no irritation. Surely, 1 think, the object that caters to two senses is not beneath notice ; nor is this case an instance of mere objective observa- tion. I can see the blue jay that screams its delight, and the free, wild bird in turn calls attention to a crimson creeper that has twined round and round the trunk of a birch near-by, and again, I am directed to the sky beyond with a cloud as white as 169 IN NATURE'S REALM a winter's snowbank. Inaccessible grapes, but not inaccessible nature, if content to see, hear, smell — to breathe October's frosty air and forget the trifling fact that the grapes must go untasted. In our eagerness to cross a brook we are apt to forget the good offices of the stepping-stones. The frost-bitten grape, even if now mere wrinkled skin and rattling seeds, is worthy of all regard if by its presence it attracts the living glories of the autumn day about it ; and I know not where else to look with greater confidence for the passing birds that now are drifting southward and happily greet every grape in a cheerful way that makes me envious. It is something to be remembered when the passing bird says " Good morning " as it flits by you. It brings you nearer to nature in a most enchanting way. For once you feel of some importance. The politician who condescends to nod to me, hoping such brief recognition will win my vote, never magnifies my importance, but exaggerates his own. The wandering minstrel of the woods that warbles, " Fair day, good sir,'' exalts me. At last some creature has discovered that I am somebody. After such an experience I return from a ramble in the 170 SOUR GRAPES October woods ready to take up life's burdens with becoming grace. This happening, I am moved to say of the inaccessible grapes, not " sour," but sacred. Grapes may linger half the winter through, but not so the varied features of our autumn days. All save the bare outline of the outlook, fixed hills and flowing landscape, is transient. Few birds stay half the day, and perhaps none over a night. The host hurries by like the crowd on Broadway, and we catch only a glimpse now and then of some old acquaintance. So, to realize what is occurring, our senses must be set to the new order. No nesting birds for deliberate study now, and so the transient traveler passing by, nodding to the grapes if not to you, has not received all the attention that is desirable. It is down in the books, sandwiched between anatomical data and museum details, " tran- sient in autumn " ; as if this told the whole story. I question if there is a single bird that wings its way from one end to the other of New Jersey and never halts for an hour or two in one of the fair- est spots on the face of the earth. There may be such according to the ornithologists, but then these 171 IN NATURE'S REALM men are not infallible ; they only think so. Bird-life has been longer upon earth than has humanity, so I am moved to say that we have a trace, through hered- ity, of the bird-nature in us, and possibly it is due to this that the aged among ourselves love to ruminate, Hving over again the dead summers of their departed years. I think this may have come from the no less suggestive feature of bird-life, for never an October passes but, when the woods are quiet or only our own awkward footsteps stir the crisp leaves in our path, the migrating bird recalls the summer of the dying year ; has vision, it may be, of the brilliant May and leafy June in far-off mountain forests, and is moved to repeat the old story of undying love to his credulous mate. If the bird at the time, as happened when last I heard it, rested in a tangled vine, far out of reach, I blessed the wrinkled grapes for staying that " transient " bird. Of necessity we must be utilitarian at times, and facts force themselves upon us without a hint of their real significance. I cannot tell at this moment why I wish to be satisfied on such a subject, but other grapes, unlike in some respects those before me now, do not find place in the text-books, or else 17Z SOUR GRAPES I cannot read aright. To question Gray is to pro- claim yourself an idiot, but some of the grapes I gather year after year are not typical Fit is labrusca. They are not mushy, nor blue-black, but tender- skinned, firm and ready to eat in August and recog- nized in the house as not " fox-grapes," because the jelly made from them is of a very different flavor. At home we say " sugar-grape," but there is no Vitis saccharina in Gray or Britton. It can scarcely be that this variation is due to difference of soil, for I find the " fox " and " sugar " grape growing very near each other, and the two forms of the one species, as I suppose they are, are held as quite distinct by all my neighbors. I am reminded, in all this, of the fact that we have but one Baltimore oriole, wood-thrush and cat-bird, but if we classed them by their music as I have always done grapes by their flavor the " species " of these birds would be bewildering. I heard an ornithologist exclaim, " What's that ? " when a song-sparrow in my garden sang in its own, peculiar way. I was not surprised. I did not accept the bird's identity when I saw it first in the act of singing. There is one fox-grape vine on my neighbor's 173 IN NATURE'S REALM hillside that bears fruit significantly larger than the maximum diameter given by either Gray or Britton ; berries fully an inch across, sweet to cloying and not very musky. The juice is very syrupy and sug- gests the concentration of the swamp, rank growths of fern and skunk-cabbage, moss and decaying tree- trunks ; the juice, I fancy, the Indians loved to drink, warming their blood before battle. I give way to the uppermost whim when I eat these grapes, and it is generally a feeling that I am a savage for the day, and so linger under the sky, trying to for- get that I ever saw a roof or tamely crept beneath it. One can do all this, if alone, on a crisp, October morning, and not be set down as a fool by one's neighbors. Never even hint at nonsense when in company, and likewise, to get the full benefit of a morning stroll while yet the frost lingers where the shadows fall, go alone. Never, in contemplating wild grapes, whether near at hand or inaccessible, sweet or sour, forget the vine that bears them. How often it happens that the minor details are neglected when we face the majestic features of our outlook. Not an oak or elm but we give heed to it, and sometimes do not 174 SOUR GRJPES so much as see the little vine that rooted near it has found attachment as high in air as the tree's top- most twig. Graceful as a serpent, it has climbed to the outer air and finds as much sunlight as the old oak's broad crown. Both tree and vine are fixed, but the rigidity of the one is replaced by the flexi- bility of the other, and the difference is well worth noting. The ship's mast and the rigging are here in these woods where vines reach tree-tops and are as easily swayed as ropes not over-taut. The probable age of our largest oaks or other trees is often asked, and the same question might well be put as to the vine. When these are six or eight inches in diameter and about four or even five hundred feet long, they antedate the coming of the white man. One vine, on an island in the river, certainly does this. Something more important than the maximum age of a vine, which may as readily be one thousand as one hundred years, is whether it climbs certain trees and never burdens others. Of course, one's own observations go for little. The professional contradictor is always at your elbow. Still I venture to add that no grape- vine has come under my notice growing up a beech 175 IN NATURE'S REALM or tulip-tree ; and the oak, sassafras and cedar are usually the natural arbors over which the vine trails. Possibly the beech and tulip-trees have barks too smooth for the tendrils of the young vine, but I do not know anything about it. So, too, the effect of a vine upon the sustaining tree is worthy of more careful study than it appears to have received. So long as I can remember a frost grape-vine has been intertwined with the branches of a very old cedar. The lower branches of the tree have been dead for many years, and now the top shows but a pitiful tuft of green when the leaves of the vine are fallen. The cedar has at last become overburdened, and is about to succumb to the weight it has long borne. There is something very like human experience in all this, and after a casual glance at the unhappy cedar, I am glad to turn to a dead birch over which the Virginia creeper, now brilliantly red, has crept. It had the decency to wait until the birch was dead before making use of it, but the credit of always waiting does not belong to this or any vine. No pretty stories of old grape-vines have come down to us, and for this omission as well as many 176 SOUR GRAPES others we have abundant cause to roundly abuse the straight-laced Quakerism of colonial days. As children they had grape-vine swings, and when of larger growth sat on vine-embowered seats and talked as sillily as people do now under the same conditions, and yet we have neither a tragedy nor a comedy handed down. No wonder the historians do up the whole region in a paragraph. Nothing handed down ; but the loss is less to those willing to let our old grape-vines tell their own story. A little brook that zigzags across many upland fields has worked its way to the low-lying meadows, not by tumbling headlong over a precipice, but by working deeper and deeper into the soil as it neared the cliff, and now has a ravine forty feet deep and one hundred wide through which to leisurely ripple during the summer, or, for variety's sake, tumul- tuously rush, after a shower. But summer or winter, or when the fresh, green leaves are growing or, carried by autumn winds, these same leaves choke the channel, it is always an interesting brook, and one that has yet to be scrutinized more closely by geologists before they write their final reports on the history of the Delaware valley. 12 177* IN NATURE'S REALM So much for the brook at the bottom of the ravine, and now a word concerning the vegetation of its precipitous sides. Of the hundreds of trees here there is not one that is large, but many that are old as we count years ; a walnut, for instance, that has not perceptibly increased in girth for twenty-five years, and which is, I know, a tree of the preceding century. These oaks, beeches, ashes, locusts and gum trees make, collectively, a pretty strip of woodland of small area but so complete in all that goes to form a forest the rambler forgets that cultivated fields are within easy reach. With attention drawn to the brook and the trees that overhang it, the outer bounds are not considered. Whatever the time of year the atmosphere here is not that of the open fields or meadows ; unless very cold there is that " woodsy " smell that is more refreshing than the shade of a single tree. This peculiar odor and the steady '■'■ hum-m-m'' of running waters quickly restore the jaded nerves, and the ravine is recognized as Nature's sanatorium. Lin- gering here, if but for a brief half-hour, we are sure to single out some one object of interest and let all else act as background. It may be 178 SOUR GRAPES the early violets wakened by the first breath of spring, or more pretentious bloom of June's long days, but now, from all other glories of October's days, I turn to the long vines that have reached the light above the forest roof and sway gently in the breeze that hurries down the glen. When the first vine grew, and when it cast loose from the sustaining tree-trunk to swing in mid air, it boots it not to con- jecture ; but of this we can be well assured, there are vines here now that have seen stranger sights and witnessed fiercer battles than take place in these days of the infinitely little. Within the shadows of the trees in this ravine my friend is now digging deep in the earth and finding the bones of bears, wolves and of the cougar, but now even the wild- cat has been exterminated. The fiercer fauna of the Indian's time we can only think of; the wolf is no longer heard and no elk now browses in the forest or meadows. These we can only picture to ourselves, and never again have actually before us. There is no denying that this little corner of creation has been more attractive than it is to-day. We can not say the grapes were sour then. If they were, then they are worse than sour now. 179 IN NATURE'S REALM If no wild-cat, even, crouches in the gnarly oak- tree's arms, there are squirrels, and to see one of them run half the length of a swaying vine and dash to safe quarters as a hawk swoops by is to be closer to nature than often happens. The blessed wildness in us, the savage instinct that we aim to keep out of sight, comes to the fore, and manhood is realized ; sparkling like champagne, and not like stale beer, flat and unprofitable. It takes us a step backward toward the primitive man of glacial time who once dwelt here, braving arctic cold and knowing the mastodon in the great coniferous forests that clothed the hills, the musk-ox on the ice-clad plains and the walrus in the deep, wide bay. To recall these is as a tonic that braces the nerves as can no drug in the apothecary's shop. The wind may die away ; silence reign from end to end of the long ravine, but before we lapse into dreamy wonderment of what has been, the wandering crows will come and the screaming blue- jay return. Harsh, all their cries, yet not ill- fitting to the time of year, for surely the war- bled hopes and despair of birds in love, the poetry of May, has no place in these frosty days. SOUR GRAPES And yet not every creature because it is October is stirred to some blood-thirsty deed, or thinks only of the struggle for bare existence. A son sparrow, at this moment, argues for cheer- fulness, singing '•'■Please^ please., please, please, please — please-to-listen-now V and followed promptly by a crested tit, whose "T" sweet here!" dispels all doubt and proves that October is as lovable as May. What if the summer birds are gone ; if we no longer hear that magically melodic song, the weird, uplifting hymn of the wood-thrush } What if the leaves are dropping and the scattered grapes of all the vines about us are out of reach ^ The songs of what few birds are here make life worth living. Let the sweetness of your temper neutralize the acidity of sour grapes as the glory of the bitter-sweet robs the vine's apparent death of its repulsiveness. —zif'- K¥ , \ i V 1 A Fence-rail Fancy TF OUR word "vagary" has more or less near ■^ cousinship to " larifari," or syllables without sense, then was my noontide hour spent in vain, as I can bring myself to consider the dis- jointed thinking as I lingered about a pile of old fence-rails as " vagaries " only, and nothing more dignified or important. Homely as was the old rail fence of other days, every panel thereof had a history no skill of man has ever yet been able to worthily record, and, com- ing to less complex objects, a single rail, whether 182 A FENCE - R J I L FANCY the entire trunk of a tapering cedar or split from a chestnut log, has its own history that teems, perhaps, with those colonial times of which so often we say a great deal and know exceedingly little. Be all this as it may, I would now rather go back to the pile of old rails in the field corner than rest for the time in any kickshaw-crowded parlor. It was honest news that the rail pile had to tell, and this we do not always hear between four walls. In the vacation days of August, the lazy month, when comfortable idleness is more desired than riches, it is good luck beyond reasonable hope to find a novel point of view. I think I found it in a pile of fence-rails. Not one of these rails but was part of a living tree a good deal more than a century ago ; that fact counts for something. Not one but bears evidences of strange experiences since, and this concerns us now, when on natural history bent. The fence rail is the highway of more forms of animal life than any living tree, and often can boast of more travelers than the ground beneath or air above it. A rail fence, with its grassy or weedy angles, is a wild country, and saying this, we say everything. 183 IN NJTURE'S REJLM It was not so long ago that this pile of rails reached across the wide field in orderly disarray, and all save the topmost one of each panel was hidden during August by weeds that overtopped half the little cedars and squatty sassafras saplings > "li •* ^ % / _^^ ^ T * / l€>' > /V jft " al vays vas this fence wild life s highway that were struggling to become trees ; stout weeds that boasted of storm-defying strength and waved majestically in the passing breeze until effectually snubbed by frost. Then and always was this fence wild-life's highway. I have seen the squirrels, weasels, mice and larger mammals, more rarely, pass 184 A FENCE -RAIL FANCY along it, and many a " Bob-white " that hid, at last, by squatting close to the bottom rail. Here, in mid- winter, were brave-hearted sparrows, and in February, when the sunshine hinted of spring, were warbling bluebirds, and I thought that half the glory of the fields would be gone if the fence ' r.. were ever taken away ; but the weather-beaten, lichen- coated rails, piled in the corner, have drawn unto them all the good things of the dear, old days. In mid-December last I often lingered long on the sunny side of the rail pile. The sun's rays centered there and it seemed like summer. Not for a moment did I find myself alone. Even insect life was active. Now, in August, it is the shady side that I find more comfortable, and the wild-life of the field is like-minded. The birds V %^- a ' Bob-white ' . . close to the bottom rail." 185 IN NATURE'S REALM come and go continually, and what busy creatures are the wrens that thread its tangled maze, running to and fro like frightened mice. Song-sparrows also have a fancy for the deep, dark recesses near its base, and after each exploratory tour these birds mount the topmost rail and sing exultantly. In vain do I peer into the long, narrow spaces between the rails. I can see nothing distinctly, yet I know that here are a hundred homes of creatures as diverse as birds, mice and spiders. Strange it seems, when all that makes the world so entertaining is about me in abundance, that I should turn with such eagerness to these fence-rails and consider them exclusively. To pass from natural history to humanity is perhaps excusable, — tastes differ ; but to ignore a singing bird and give heed to a fence-rail savors of absurdity. Many men of many minds, and in August one is seldom studiously disposed. Vagaries assume importance when idle fancy is the limit of exertion. Here is a cedar rail, and the tall, tapering cedar-tree that still is a feature of the landscape was once to be num- bered among the more prominent characteristics of old New Jersey. The level fields were then cedar- i86 A FENCE- RAl L FAN CY dotted plains. Peter Kalm mentions them as growing (1748) in dry, poor soil, and very slowly increasing in girth ; usually scattered about singly, but sometimes " standing together in clusters." Perhaps the latter marked an abandoned Indian corn-field. I think this probable. Kalm mentions a cedar, eighteen inches in diam- eter, that was two hundred and fifty years old. If he was not in error, the tree now in sight is quite two centuries old, yet does not stand out prom- inently. Still, close examination of the tree shows evidence of age. Little cedars like little men ever grow old and ugly. Mere size counts for nothing. This particular cedar rail was cut more than a century ago, and the tree ot which it was a part then was old ; yet the country was settled. This now fast-decaying rail points, as it seems to me, to the still living trees of its kind, and I am closer linked to times long ago. The odor of cedars car- ries me back to chests and wainscoting of that wood, the workmanship of colonial carpenters. Old houses now are few, and rarer still to find them unmarred by modern furnishings, but a good, old-fashioned atmosphere clings .to even this old 187 IN NATURE'S REALM cedar rail, and a whifF thereof conjures up a house I well remember. But what of a chestnut rail ? I am sitting now on one that has been deftly split from some stately tree in the dry, upland woods. I know this because the grain is straight and there is not a trace of a branch ever having grown from it. Close-grained ' ^ %/\ ft ..-** . . a pile of rails in a field corner . . and so firm, too, the rail came from the main trunk and not from some far out-reaching limb, the squir- rels' highway when October ripened the nuts. Peter Kalm, already quoted, makes scanty refer- ence to the chestnut-tree, yet I cannot believe it was not in his day, as now, conspicuous beyond nearly every other growth. Huge white oaks in Quaker meeting-yards and chestnuts of as great i88 . A FEN CE- RAIL FANCY size amidfields or along country roads are known to everybody, and though there were more forests than open land in Indian days, I am surprised that Kalm should have seen no chestnut-trees that strongly impressed him. Not far away still stands a splendid tree of this kind. It is seven feet in diameter, and in flourishing condition. How old ? I often ask, and get various estimates. A common reply is that of a hundred years. People are given to mentioning this lapse of time as the climax of antiquity. It is of little significance in the age of trees. I own a rose-bush nearly that old, and lilac bushes that are older. The chestnut I spoke of is probably in its third century, and well advanced in it, too. The old rail fence had to give way to modern improvements, so often a sad marring of a lovely landscape, but as a pile of rails in a field corner it has had its eventful little day. The farmer has been kept at arm's length, so to speak, and patient nature here resumed her sway. Scarcely a known weed but has found a root-hold here, and many have bloomed in a sweet, wild way more charming than the pretentious flowers of a trim garden. IN NATURE'S REALM Bright roses attracted the butterflies, and the gaudy trumpet-creeper brought the humming-birds from far and near. Later, when the cool autumn days have come and these old fence-rails are fire- wood, as I sit before the andirons what glorious pictures of the overfull seasons, winter, spring and summer will float before me. Better that in this vague way we live over again some hours that are gone than not to live them over again at all. 1 90 •=^c-i"/ap -«.• ri3t5**