®Ijp B. in. 'Mi SJtbrarg

North (Earnltna S>talp Intnpraity

Q,H81
A26

l^BRARIES

CHARLES R. SANDERS, JR.
Americana-Southeastern States
123 Montgomery Street
Raleigh, North Carolina

This book is due on the date indicated
below and is subject to an overdue fine
as posted at the Circulation Desk,

NOV 2 ^ 2000

WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS

BY

CHARLES C. ABBOTT, M.D.

AUTHOR OF "upland AND MEADOW " " FRIMITITE INDUSTRY"
" A NATURALIST S RAMBLES ABOUT HOME " ETC.

NEW YORK

HARPER & BROTHERS, FRANKLIN SQUARE

LoxDOX : 30 Fleet Street

1887

Copyright, 1887, by Harper & Brothers.

All rights reserved.

PEEFACE.

Had some sturdy Diitcli navigator wandered so far
inland from the capes of the Delaware as to see the
bold east shore of the river and mouth of Crosswicks
Creek, he would doubtless have been charmed with so
sweet a spot, and left a marvellous record of his jour-
ney. Alas ! none came.

Had the plucky Swedish engineer, who, in 1654,
mapped the river from the capes to the falls, lost tlie
main stream in some fog, and turned into Crosswicks
Creek, what a wonderful account he would have given
us of what he took to be the upper regions of the riv-
er valley. But there was no fog, and Lindstrom kept
straight on until he reached the falls ; and it has been
recorded by a fellow-countryman of his, that " about the
falls of Assinjnnk^ and farther up the river, the land is
rich, and there are a great many plantations on it. It
does not produce much Indian-corn, but a great quantity
of grape-vines, white, red, brown, and blue ; the inhabit-
ants want only to know how to press the grape in order
to have a rich wine country. As to the interior, noth-
ing is known about it, except that it is believed to be
a continent : the Swedes have no intercourse with any
of the savages but the black and white Mengwes — Iro-
quois— and these know nothing exce|)t that as far as
they have gone into the interior the country is inhab-
ited by other wild nations of various races." This non-

iv PREFACE.

sense is far less satisfactory than a deseriiDtion of Cross-
wicks Creek would have been, even if described as the
head- waters of the Delaware.

But the mouth of the creek, if I read him aright, did
attract him, for it is recorded on his map, very near the
mouth of the creek, " Bergs fins Solf wer Metall," or hills
where silver is found ; and Campanius adds, " the land
is hilly, but not such hills as in Sweden ; they are clay
and sand hills. Some of them are naturally disposed to
the production of metals ; for instance, there is a hill at
Mekansio Sippus, or creek, in which there is good silver
ore, and along the creek the strand is covered all over
with flint-stones, some of which are of a round shape,
and when broken there are found in them grains of
pure silver, some larger and some smaller. Mr. Lind-
strom says that he himself has broken more than a hun-
dred of them, and taken out the silver that was therein."
The third century is well advanced since this was written,
yet this is not a mining country. If Lindstrom left any
silver-bearing pebbles, they are still lying on the strand.

Later came the English ; and, so far as can be deter-
mined, the pleasant valley of this noble creek was a ver-
itable terra incognita when Penn's thrifty followers ex-
plored, found good, and took possession of it. They
certainly knew little and cared less about their red-
skinned predecessors, and having no poetry in their
souls, gave new and inaj^propriate names to every im-
portant physical feature of the land. It is true that in
some cases they Anglicized the Indian name, and the
bluffs at Crossweeksung became Crosswicks, as did also
the stream that wound thread-like through their mead-
ows.

The Indians were not content with such a paucity of
names. One for the pretty hills at Crosswicks must not

niEFACE. V

do duty for miles of meadow and a meandering stream
that flowed for leagues through a wilderness of waste-
land before lost in the Lenape-wihittuck — now Dela-
ware River — so they called the little river Mechen-
tschiholens-sipu, Big Bird Creek. Perhaps, in a suc-
ceeding chapter, why it was so called, to what big bird
the Indians referred, may be made plain.

It was about IGSO when the earliest settlers in the
lower portion of the Crosswicks valley began their fre-
quent journeys to and from the only grist-mill in tlie
neighborhood, and they adopted as their route a certain
circuitous path which experience proved to be the least
fatiguing to man and beast. For a time no wagons were
used, and Stacy's mill on the Assunpink was reached
only on horseback or on foot. Finally, when the land
was " taken up," this path was officially recognized as
a public highway, widened to accommodate carts, and
rudely bridged wherever it crossed a brook. From
creek to creek the cleared fields were few and small,
and there were but three log-houses. All else was an
unbroken forest.

To-day every rod of that ancient highway is enclosed,
and forms part either of the busy town or of the long
line of fertile fields between the site of that old mill and
the tortuous, tree-clad valley of Crossweeksung. ISTot a
vestige of the old road remains ; not a way-side tree is
standing ; probably not a person is living who ever trav-
elled it. Except to a few mousers of old records, the
fact that another than the present turnpike ever led
from valley to valley is quite unknown.

But when this ancient highvv^ay was the only one lead-
ing from Crosswicks to Stacy's mill — " a most brave
place, whatever envy or evil spies may speak of it " —

vi PREFACE.

tlie creek was a well-travelled water-way, and tlie only
tlioronglifare communicating with the then villages of
Bm-lington and Philadelphia. Now, like the old road,
the creek as a commercial highway is qnite forgotten.
For sixty years not a vessel except the hideous hulks of
lime-boats has landed at any of its wharves ; but, unlike
the old road, the stream remains, and, happily for the nat-
uralist and him who loves a quiet outing, has in great
measure kept to that condition that made it so attrac-
tive to the Indians.

Mechen-tschiholens-sipu, as the redskins called it, is a
tide-water stream, and the uppermost of the afHuents of
the Delaware possessing this feature. When, then, it
may be asked, is it seen at its best ?— at high or low tide ?
It is not a mere matter of taste. The two conditions
are so unlike as scarcely to be comparable. For myself
I should sadly miss either one. At high tide we have
a wide stream, with deep green, rushy banks ; at low, a
narrow, rapid, and more fretful current. The former
shuts out the treasures of the stream, and invites to ex-
ploration of the curiously nooked and crannied shores ;
the latter opens up the mysteries of a world beneath the
waves, of which, as yet, we have had but casual glimpses.
Even animal life that is not strictly aquatic is largely
affected by this difference in the tides, and many a creat-
ure that we can see at one time is seldom to be found at
another. It is always at low tide that I have seen at

its best

"The moping heron, motionless and stiff,

That on a stone as silently and stilly

Stood, an apparent sentinel, as if

To guard the water-lily."

There is no rest for these waters. The moment
they cease flowing up the valley their downward course

PREFACE. vii

commences. Tliis acids another great attraction to tlie
stream : the hixnry of floating aimlessly np or down as
the tide listeth. It matters not that it is the same
stream ; as we near the river every bend presents a pict-
ure, unlike the varied landscape before us as we return.
What greater joy than floating with the tide ? One
becomes as the water itself, hopeless as fate, whether
borne oceanward or inland. Indeed, we are little else
than tide -borne creatures, whatever our calling. Our
pitiless surroundings dictate every motion of the hand,
every flush of the intellect. Man's free agency is equal
to that of the rock-encased toad that a blast in the
quarry sets at freedom. Freedom ! the toad's first leap
will be determined by the nearest fly. But man is prac-
tically free who does not feel the chafing of his chains,
and should ask no happier fate. Perhaps it may seem
trifling and unworthy manhood to thus drift aimlessly
along ; to ])e afloat and have no port in view. It is less
so than it seems. "Who can tell at what moment a pass-
ing breeze may lodge us upon a sand-bar ; may firmly en-
tangle us among the branches of a sunken tree ; may
carry us from the main channel to some hitherto unseen
stream known far better to the bittern and the musk-
rat than to man. Are not any and all these ports, if I
may call them such, of sufticient merit to be worthy of
making? What treasures may there not be there in
waiting ! The wealth for wliich we sigh may often be
where it is least suspected. If we chance to be caught
upon a sand-bar or a waterlogged tree, let it be to the
advantage of our patience to await cheerfully for the
helpful tide to set us free. His happiness is half assured
who has learned to be patient. Suppose it is a sand-bar
that has checked our progress. Is this a. port that may
not be advantageously made? What is a sand-bar? A

viii PREFACE.

letter in the short alj)habet of geology. It tells in few
words of the growth of an island, the silting np of an
ancient channel and gradual deepening of a new one.
A sand-bar is the initial point in the growth of a foot-
hold for man, for the fructifying sun will soon prompt
to vigorous growth the chance-lodged seeds. The aquat-
ic grasses will in time give way to hardier growths. A
tide-borne acorn will become an oak, and wliere in cen-
turies past the Indian floated his canoe, in centuries to
come the farmer will guide his plough.

If earth knowledge is desirable, if we would not be
stransrers in our own land, let us not think ill of the mis-
chance when lodged upon a sand-bar. If we leave it
wiser, we leave it happier ; and what else, pray, has life
to offer ?

If the reader has followed me thus far, he knows now
the approximate metes and bounds of Mechen-tschiho-
lens-sipu, and, what is of more importance, the author's
impelling motive in spending so many days and even
niohts there and thereabout. I trust that the reader's
patience is not exhausted as he turns this page, and hope
that what follows may meet with his approbation.

\j. \j, XI..

Pkospect Hill, Trenton, N. J.,
January 12, 1887.

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER I.
AT LINDEN BEND.

Characteristic Trees. — Water-tliriisbes. — Connecticut Warblers. —
Natty Fairtliorne's Wild-goose Chase.— Traditions concerning the
Indians. — Song-thrush. — Quarrels among Birds. — Redstarts. —
Yellow-bellied Flycatchers. —Dead Trees. — Epidemic of Yeb
low-fever, in 1793.— Traces of Indian Villages.— Yellow-breasted
Chats Page 1

CHAPTER II.
BUZZARD'S EEST.

Miles Overficld.— Weather Predictions. — Animal Weather -lore.—
Musk-rats. — Doctor's Creek.— Characteristic Trees.— Kingfishers.
— Little Green Herons. — Night-herons. — Color-sense of Birds. —
Recognition of Birds of Prey by small Birds.— Turkey-buzzards.
— Wild Grape-vines. — Yellow -throated Yireo. — Permanent Mat-
ing among Birds.— The Turk's-cap Lily. —August Flowers.—
Stone Catfish 21

CHAPTER IIL
WATSON'S CROSSING.
Autumn Leaves. — Rocks. —Bowlders. —Faxon's Brook. —August
Bloom.— Ilopniss : Indian's Use of it. — Flowers.— Old Wharves.
—Story of Oconio's Leap.— Anecdote of a Summer Warbler.— Of
a King- rail. —Water -snake. — Traces of Indian Villages, Trails,
and their Handiwork.— Paleolithic Man.— Eskimos.— Blooming
Plants.— Red Admiral Butterfly.— Migration of Milk-weed But-
terfly. — Dragon - flies. — Crosswicks Sea - serpent. — Cuckoos. —
Night-hawks.— Brood of Winged Ants 63

A-

X CONTEXTS.

CHAPTER IV.
SWAMP WniTE-OAK BEND.

Carolina "SVren. — Cardinal-grosbeak as a Mimic. — Stranded Fish. —
Swamp White-oaks. — A Cunning Musk-rat. — Eed-ej^ed Vireo. —
Summer Warblers. ^Singing of Birds. — Young Shad. — Indian
Method of Fishing: Loskiel's Account; Mahloa Stacy's Account.
— Anecdote of a Cat-bird. — Dodders. — Blackberries. — Red-bellied
Woodpecker.— Traill's Flycatcher Page 93

CHAPTER V.
DEAD WILLOW BEND.

Dew. — Spring Flowers. — Audubon's Wood-wren. — Water-snake. —
Anecdote of AVren. — Willows. — Curious Character met with at
the Creek.— Greening of the Willows. — Waste-land. — Bitterns. —
Sense of Direction of many Animals. — Coxcomb Grass. — Cove-
inlets. — Song - sparrows. — Turn of the Tide. — Indian Relics. —
Large Fish: their former greater Abundance. — Tulip-trees. — Bea-
ver-tree, or Magnolia. — Black Snake. — Box -tortoise. — Habits of
Young Box-tortoise 116

CHAPTER VI.

THE TWIN ISLANDS.

Old Houses and Furniture. — Florida Gallinule. — Mastodon Bones.
— Quicksands: Mink's Opinion thereof. — "Boiling" Springs. —
Clay. — Fossil-wood. — Amber. — Gold Claimed to have been Found
by the Indians. — Ornamented Minnow^s. — Ilelenium Autumnale. —
Rail-birds. — Corn-crake. — Kino;birds. — Migration of Birds. — ^s-
tivation of Animals. — Showers. — Rem.arkable Rainfall, and its
Effects 153

CHAPTER VII.
MILL CREEK.

A Lonely Sand-piper. — Tree-climbing: its Merits and Disadvantages.
— Wood-tattlers. — A Nest of these Birds destroyed by a Bull-frog.
— Meadow-mice. — Bush-nests of White -footed Mice. — Etheosto-
moids.— Mythical Fish described by Early Writers.— Bill-fish.—
Sudden Changes of the Weather 190

CONTENTS. xi

CHAPTER VIII.
THE LANDING.

Cowpeu- birds. — Early Kavi^iation of Crosswicks Creek. — Snowy-
Owls. — Adventure of Jeramy Cumberford. — Springs: Vegetation
Peculiar to their Vicinity. — Golden Club. — Traces of Indian Oc-
cupation of the Place. — An Old Beech-tree. — Swarm of Bees. —
Mosquitoes. — Velvet Ant. — Burrows of Animals. — Caught by the
Tide.— Food of Eels Parje 223

CHAPTER IX.
THE DKAWBRIDGE.

TVorm-fences.— Dravv'bridge: on former Site of an Indian Crossing.
— Skirmish here during Revolutionary War. — Pearson's Inn: now
"White Horse" Tavern.— Plum Point. — Indian Orchards.— Zool-
ogy of the Bridge.— Swallows.— Reply to Captious Criticism.—
Shrikes. — January Jubilees of the Birds. — Abundance of Birds
during Winter.— Catalpas : probably a Native Tree.— Blue-jays.
—Vision of Fishes.— Voice of Fishes.— Conclusion . . . .255

INDEX 303

WASTE-LAND AVANDERINGS.

CHAPTER I.
AT LINDEN BEND.

In the long, low, level line of the eastern horizon
there is a jagged break, as though Nature's artist, when
making a sweeping outline, had caught his pencil-point.
Here, oozing from mossy recesses among the roots of
" a brotherhood of venerable trees," the waters afar off,
in that pleasant valley, seek the light through many
channels — nov/ rippling over golden sands, now bub-
bling over snow-white pebbles, and at last uniting to
form a sparkling meadow-brook.

Wooing the waters from a thousand springs, nearer
and nearer flows the growing stream, again and again
checked by a dam, but straightway leaving it behind,
as unruffled as in the ages when men were not ; and
now as a goodly stream — one worthy of a name — it
reaches the last hinderance, and with unchecked flow
leisurely seeks the river.

The hum of machinery, the splasli of the water-
wheel, the roar of the tumbling waters, as in a solid,
silvery sheet they pour over the dam — all these prosaic
1

2 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

reminders that civilization was near at hand were
quickly out of sight and hearing as mj boat rounded
an abrupt bend of the creek and entered a little forest
of linden, hickory, and hornbeam. A few scattered
trees of other kinds are also to be seen, but those I
have named so far predominate that if each crook in
the creek's channel must have a name, then we will call
this one Linden Bend; and here, at sunrise, July 29,
1885, 1 commenced these studies of Mechen-tschiholens-
sipu (Big Bird Creek).

The dense foliage of the stately lindens and hicko-
ries, and the filling-in of every interspace by the horn-
beams, throws so dark a shadow as to give to the spot a
gloomy aspect; yet it is very attractive. Where the
channel narrows, so that the branches of the trees upon
its banks are closely interlocked, the sunlight is excluded
during summer and early autumn, often for considera-
ble distances. Flowers are wanting, except when the
rank May-apple .is in bloom, and later the honey-sweet
blossoms of the linden scent the air and draw millions
of bees from all the countr}^ round. The humming of
these creatures, as they are busy in the branches over-
head, drowns all other sound, dulling even the clear
whistling of the crested tit, and by its monotony adds,
in early summer, to the gloom of Linden Bend.

I have said there were no flowers : the scattered dog-
woods must not be overlooked. Early or late in April,
as the weather permits, these sturdy growths fling their
torn, milk-white banners to the breeze. They are not
always, however, signals that the warfare of the seasons

AT LIXDEX BEXD. 3

is over. Too often these symbols of peace are lost in
tlie drifts of an April snow-storm. Many very large
dog-woods are growing in a near-by swamj), and now,
late in July, are sombre, unsnggestiv^e trees, tlieir size,
shape, and sparse foliage alike rendering them rpiite in-
conspicuons. It is true, they prove convenient j^erches
for the song- thrushes, and I judge are favorite trees with
these birds ; but once out of bloom, they count for
nothing with the rambler, and would never be missed
did the farmer cut them all down. ]!^ot so in early
spring ; then they are richer in blossoms than in leaves,
and, for a time, the most conspicuous feature of many a
sprout-land and of the creek's shore here.

There are several large shrubs the white bloom of
Vvdiich, in April and later, compete with the dog-wood
in floral display ; and particularly true is this of certain
reaches of the creek's bank, beyond the bend. A pretty
arrow-wood blooms })i'ofusely early in May, and often,
at its side, a vigorous thorn cpiite eclipses its more mod-
est neighbor.

A curious growth is the crooked hornbeam. Even
the youngest sapling has a jaded, care-worn look. Many
of them have more the appearance of mossy elk-horn
than of wood. It may be said to grow without a plan^
and for general uncertainty outranks the average white
man. It springs from the ground, closely to the water's
edge, and leans over it. That is about the only law of
its growth. Often, where the main stem meets with
that of another tree, or a projecting branch, it will twine
about it as closely as a vine, and so, before reaching any
considerable size except length, has probably turned many

4 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

angles of every degree. Another peculiar feature is the
uniformity of the diameter of the trunk for an unusual
length; in this respect resembling the grape-vine or
poison ivy. An hexagonal stem of one of these trees
which I was tempted to measure is uniformly ten
inches in circumference for twenty feet. It bends
sharply at two points, and makes a shapely letter Z,
slightly tilted upward, and so far resembles the "E"
maple" on Poaetquissings Creek, some miles away.

The English hornbeam, which is also called "yoke-
elm," like the American form, has the trunk "usually
flattened and twisted, as though composed of several
stems united."

Pulling my boat ashore, I counted fifty of these trees,
and all had the trunks, for a space of a foot or more
from the ground, either quadrangular or pentagonal.
Usually, they were distinctly diamond -shaped, in sec-
tion, then approaching a true square, and from this be-
coming hexagonal, and so approaching a truly cylindrical
form ; but this is seldom perfectly acquired except by
a few of the terminal twigs.

From many of these hornbeams branches could have
been cut bearing a marked resemblance to a deer's ant-
lers, and so would be of use for hat-racks where the gen-
uine article could not be obtained.

While lingering in the shade of these dwarfed trees,
and of the upreaching lindens about and beyond them,
I was struck with the painful silence brooding, at the
time, over all. Do such localities usually have a de-
pressing influence over animal life, particularly bird-

AT LIXDEX BEXD. r.

o

life ? I floated with tlie tide for a long distance, yet
neither heard nor saw a single bird. To be sure, it is
July, a comparatively birdless month, so far as singing
goes ; but I doubt if another stretch of creek valley in
the county is so completely deserted — cannot at least
boast of a crested tit or a song-sparrow.

It is not always so. Come on a bright May morning
wdien the leaves are half grown, and see the northward-
bound warblers. I can vividly recall one sunny May
day, twenty years ago, when I floated by Linden Bend
for the first time. The preceding days of bright sun-
shine, followed by moonlit nights, had l)rought the war-
blers, and never since have I seen so many congregated
in a limited spot as there were then among the lindens
and sloping branches of the crooked hornbeams.

Among them, conspicuous for their numbers, size, and
splendid singing, were water-thrushes. They were the
southern large -billed species, and, in l^ew Jersey, the
least abundant of the three kinds. Evidently a number
of them had been migrating in company, but whether
still on the move, or purjDOsing to remain, I did not de-
termine. As I have seen a few individuals about the
creek every summer since then, it is probable that the
greater number remained during the summer of 'G5.
Certainly the sweetness of their songs and general air
of content suggested that they had chosen this secluded
nook of the creek valley for their summer home. There
is, indeed, nothing remarkable in the occasional great
abundance, here in central New Jersey, of southern
birds, usually rare, or, at least, not common. Such in-
stances I have noted three times since 1860, and can

6 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

only make bare mention of the fact that beyond their
numbers they offered nothing of special interest to the
observer.

To return to these water - thrushes — true warblers,
bear in mind — at Linden Bend. The incessant see-saw
of their tails, as they w^alked along the slo^Ding, muddy
shore, or tripped the whole length of some horizontal
branch of hornbeam, told me at once what birds they
were, and but for one curious habit they miglit have
passed unnoticed among the hundreds of brilliantly col-
ored warblers that threaded every tangle of intermingled
branches. Possibly because these more active species, or,
shall I say, better tree-climbers, monopolized the choicer
feeding -grounds, the water -thrushes, or wagtails, took
to the water, and with swallow-like dexterity and grace
snapped uj) the " skaters," those quick-motioned spiders,
until scarcely one was to be seen. And then, at inter-
vals of ten or fifteen minutes, these birds would rise to
the very tops of the tall lindens and sing a few bars of
w^ellnigh matchless melody. Perhaps I am extravagant
in sounding its praises, but it was music that grew sweet-
er with each repetition, and caused the songs of other
birds to seem commonplace in comparison, and this, I
take it, is a test of its exceeding merit.

Hard by I once had a curious adventure with a cousin
of this w^ater- thrush, our common oven-bird. The day
before, I lost overboard a number of trout-flies, tied to-
gether with a bit of fine copper wire. The buoyancy of
the feathers was not sufiicient to keep them afloat, and,
as it was high tide at the time, they sunk beyond my
reach. I revisited the spot the following morning, when

AT LIXDEX BEXD. 7

the tide was out, hoping to recover them. As I ap-
proached I saw an oven-bird fluttering on the very edge
of the water. Its efforts to escape became more violent
as I drew near, and it was very evident that the bird was
a prisoner. Reaching the spot, a curious spectacle pre-
sented itself. A large shiner had evidently swallowed
one of the trout-flies as they sunk. How far the fish
wandered after this I could not tell, but by strange good
luck it had finally returned to the place where the hooks
had fallen, and caused several of them to become firmly
fixed in a slightly projecting tree-root. One hook was
yet free, and this the oven-bird had mistaken for an in-
sect, and seizing it, was itself securely held. The advanc-
ing tide would have caused a double tragedy, and I was
glad to prevent the certain drowning of the poor bird.
Releasing it, I hoped to be successful in retaining it as a
cage-bird, but it proved impracticable. It chirped com-
plainingly all that day and through the night, and died
at sunrise on the followino; morninf)^.

Perhaps I am venturing on the dangerous ground of
generalizations, but I believe it is true that warblers
cannot be tamed, as can the majority of finches and
thrushes. I have tried, time and again, to rear summer
warblers, redstarts, and others of the family, but never
have been successful. Thev need the active life of the
woods as much as an enormous supply of living insects.
Those that I atten:ipted to rear were sufiiciently well
fed, but the curtailment of their liberty became at
once depressing after they Avere fully fledged, and death
resulted from violently beating against the wires of the
cage in their efforts to acquire freedom.

8 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

To return to the creek. Curiously enough, rare as
the Connecticut warbler appears to be in so many places,
yet here, in October, it is sure to be found. Perhaps
earlier, sometimes even later ; for the southward flight
of warblers is notoriously irregular. Here, too, it sings.
It is said to be a sad and silent species, but finds melo-
dy in its heart while tarrying at Linden Bend.

Though not loud, it has a fully expressed song, some-
thing similar to that of our common yellow warbler, but
with more notes ; and occasionally, when concealed in a
tangle of smilax, or poison ivy, often utters a shrill chirp
suggestive of a larger bird.

Certainly, during their autumnal migrations, birds are
not much given to singing, but if their southward prog-
ress is checked, and they tarry for more than a day, one
will often hear the songs of the past nesting season re-
peated. In the chinkapin woods, not two miles away,
I have heard, in October, migrating warblers sing as
merrily as ever they sung in early June. Particularly is
this true of the beautiful black-and-yellow warbler, and
of the sprightly green black-capped fly-catcher. But of
all our migratory birds no one is so uncertain in this re-
spect as the wagtail. I have often watched one half a
day, and heard nothing but an occasional chirp ; yet at
other times, wdien nutting in these same woods, I have
been charmed with its song, that seemed to derive ad-
ditional sweetness from the bracing frostiness of early
autumn.

Here, at Linden Bend, it was, but under another gen-
eration of trees, that Natty Fairthorne had a strange

AT LINDEN BEND. 9

wild-goose cliase. It was in IN'ovember, 1791. ISTatty
liad been all day looking for ducks, and found none. An
hour before sundown, keenly disappointed and some-
what unsteady, he sculled up this part of the creek, near
which he lived. When at AVatson's Ford, half a mile
below, it began to snow, and before he reached the lin-
dens " the air was thick." At length, above the moan-
ing of the wind in the old trees, Natty thought he heard
the " honking " of bewildered geese. At once he Avas a
new man, and on the alert. The suj^posed cries of the
geese were incessant, and surely came from the bend at
the linden woods. Sculling with all his strength in that
direction, he peered into the outer darkness, and finally
felt sure that he saw the geese. A long, dark line, close
to the water, was moving steadily u^ the creek, and above
the roar of the wind could be heard their Vv^ild ^'honk-
ing." Natty steadied his boat, took deliberate aim, and
fired. Luckily the powder flashed in the pan. Imme-
diately the voices of several men rang through the air,
and a belated surveying party, some of whom had seen
the flash, demanded who dared attack them.

The truth was soon known, and Natty promised never
again to shoot at geese in a snow-storm. The surveyors^
singing had deceived him, and he always insisted, when
twitted about his goose-chase, that men "who couldn't
sing better than they did deserved to run a risk."

I have searched the scanty records, but in vain. Al-
though the north bank of the creek is very steep, and
often fifty feet high, yet nowhere does it boast of a
" lover's leap." Score this to the credit of the Quakers.

10 WASTE-LAND WANDEPwINGS.

If long ages before tliem the Indians living along tlie
bold north shore had a tradition of such silUness on the
part of one of their maidens, they kept it carefully to
themselves, for all which we may be devoutly thankful.
It is vaguely hinted in one old record tliat here tliere
was once a battle fought between Indians and Indians.
This fact seems to have so slightly impressed the primi-
tive chronicler that we must rest content with so bare a
statement as that Linden Bend has had its tragedy ; but
as to every particular, ^' lost is lost ; gone is gone for-
ever."

TVhile yet overshadowed by the towering lindens, my
course was suddenly checked by some unseen obstacle
that took firm hold of my little boat. I had run upon
a sunken tree, the boat being wedged between two out-
reaching, arm-like roots. There were yet hours of day-
light, so I did not worry, and every vestige of annoyance
passed away when a song-thrush, perched upon an over-
hanging bough, sung those sweet strains of which one
never tires.

Perhaps nowhere else in this long valley could a
thrush sing to better advantage than here. The steep
bluff upon one side, and wall-like setting of tall trees
upon the other, resulted in its song being distinctly re-
peated once, and a second fainter echo gave back the
louder notes. This, too, late in July, weeks after the
care of nest and young are over. The bird was sing-
ing solely for its own pleasure, and enjoyed, I am sure,
the delightful echoing and re-echoing of its notes, that
filled the valley. Indeed, the bird often stopped sud-

AT LINDEN BEXD. 11

deiilj, and turning its head to one side, seemed anxious
to catch the entire repetition of some few strains of pe-
culiar beauty or emphasis which it had just uttered.

In all my wanderings this was the first time that I
had heard a bird's song under such circumstances, the
nearest approach to it being when the whippoorwill sat
upon my grandfather's wood-pile and sung the livelong
night. Its monotonous song was indistinctly echoed —
but that w^as nearly forty years ago.

I Avas willing, if need be, to wait until the incoming
tide released me, should the thrush remain singing. This
was not to be. I was, as usual, fated to have some un-
welcome intruder break the charm. A noisy kingfisher
came hurrying down the creek, and his rattling cry not
only drowned the thrush's voice, but drove him, in dis-
gust, to the near-by woods. The new-comer's harsh
notes were echoed to perfection, and as it flew on a de-
jDressing silence brooded over the creek. Linden Bend,
for the time, was desolate, until my splashing and rock-
ing of the boat, in earnest efforts to release it, caused
the creek to renew its usual animation. These move-
ments promptly brought in part the hidden life to the
front, to see what might be the cause of so great a com-
motion. An enormous bull-frog popped his wondering
eyes above the water, a beautiful snake crawled from
the creek to the muddy shore, and knowing it was safe,
stared back at me with all the impudence born of mock
courage ; fishes leaped into the air, and myriads of coal-
black scuttle-bugs crowded into the little waves, as if to
enjoy the novelty of rocking in troubled Avaters.

This is not an uncommon exj^eriencc. Curiosity is

12

WASTE-LAXD WANDERINGS.

well develoj)ed in all animals, and when experience lias
not taught the necessity of extreme caution, any occur-
rence outside the routine of their methodical lives very
generally induces them to come forward and determine
its nature.

A capital opportunity to determine the number and
species of birds in a given area is offered whenever a
quarrel occurs, particularly among nesting thrushes, and
this is quite often. Once the trouble begins, every bird
of every hind will hasten thither. More than once,
probably because English sparrows put in an appearance,
I have known such quarrels to end in a general riot. I
once saw a house- wren become so excited that for fully
a minute it was dumb. It must have seemed eternity
to that bird.

I was soon again afloat, and quietly moving onward,
when the place of the thrush was taken by a j^retty red-
start ; but it did not stay. Once, a few notes were
quickly wdiistled, and the bird was gone. I made no
effort to follow its erratic passage through the tree-tops.
It requires sharper eyes and a more nimble body than I
now jDOSsess to do this satisfactorily.

Kedstarts, which are usually abundant from spring
until late in autumn, are excellent songsters, and, quite
unlike the average warbler, are as merry - hearted in
August as in May. Strangely enough, very few people
appear to know them. I took one, not long ago, from
the clutches of a cat, and carried it all day, showing it
to every person whom I met. In every case, but one,
I was asked what bird it was. The exception declared
it to be a barn-swallow.

AT LIXDEX BEND. 13

In May tlicy build the daintiest of nests, using only
choice materials ; fixing them among forked branches
of small trees, seldom at a greater height than six or
seven feet. The supports of their nests are always
wrapped with an abundance of tln-ead-like fibres, such
as require the very sharpest eyes to find. Of all the
many nests that I have found, none have been so far
distant from water that the sittino; bird could not look
out upon it. One nest was in a button-bush, that fairly
trembled upon the brink of a mill - dam, nearly thirty
feet in height. At times, the wind carried back great
clouds of spray, that for the moment enveloped the
bush ; but the birds were never discouraged, and the
brood was successfully reared. Proximity to the water
does not hold good of redstarts' nests the country over ;
but as far as my own observation goes, the birds them-
selves are essentially "water warblers." They con-
stantly visit my door-yard, it is true ; but they seem to
live by the creek-side. It is the relative abundance of
insect life that decides the question with them, and is
n,ot this, as a rule, near ponds and ditches rather than
npland fields — the creek and river rather than the forest ?
At all events, since the first of their kind, at the open-
ing of the warbler era, gave chase to a fly, their appetites
have never been satisfied.

It is said of these birds that they will chase insects
wdiile you are very near their nests, but their love of a
tidbit will sometimes carry them still farther. I once
saw one drop a beakful of fluffy nesting material to
chase a fly. As it did so, a summer warbler seized the
falling bit and made off. The redstart caught the fly,

14 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

pursued the warbler, secured the nesting stuff as it fell,
and carried it in triumph to its unfinished nest.

As we have seen, the little redstart, unlike the inter-
rupted thrush, could not sit still, and so it is ahva)^s. I
can only think of them as twisting, turning, and run-
ning, creej^er - like, around the branches, varying these
movements continually with sudden sallies into the air,
yet never so far absorbed in insect-hunting as not to
find time to utter a few clear notes, worthy to be called
a song.

Probably no one of the warblers captures, daily, so
many insects as does this species. I tried once to count
the clickings of a redstart's beak, and so estimate the
number of flies that it caught, in a given time ; but it
proved a hopeless task. The bird's beak snapped with
all the regularity and nearly the rapidity of the ticking
of my watch. It was making a most unsubstantial meal
from a cloud of May-fiies. What warbler, besides this,
can gracefully turn a somersault, and often does so, either
for convenience or fun ? It is the erratic flight of the
pursued insects that has taught the redstart to perform
this remarkable aerial manoeuvre ; and yet it is diflicult
to see how this circular course could be of use. Often,
I believe, it is a mere matter of play, for the thoughts
of the redstart do not run exclusively in the one prosy
groove of eating.

Often, in early summer particularly, I have seen the
bird fly directly out from an outreaching branch, then
close its wings and dive downward and backward, and
reopen its wings as it mounted upward again. The
course of the flight was an elongated oval, and the bird

AT LINDEX BEND. 15

regained its proper j^osition witliin a few inches of tlie
point where its downward course commenced.

The redstart gave phice to a much rarer and no less
interesting little bird — the yellow-bellied flj-catcher. It
came, scolded, sulked, and was about to depart, when it
was joined by another, possibly its mate, if so be it, like
some birds, they remain mated from season to season.
These were silent, so far as true singing goes, yet were
sufficiently lively to recall another pair I saw in June,
to which I was attracted by their loud chattering. On
a near approach, I found them bobbing their heads, flut-
tering their wings, and impatiently dancing in a manner
that gave unmistakable evidence of a very far from am-
icable dispute. Their noise, indeed, brought other birds
to the scene, and soon a number of summer warblers,
song-sparrows, titmice, and cat-birds, were hopping about
the trees and underbrush, intent upon learning all the
particulars, or pretending to know them. It most vivid-
ly recalled the apparently instant appearance of every
woman in the village when my horse ran away and land-
ed me in the duck-pond on the common. Had I not re-
sisted, my escape from the waters of the pond would have
been promptly followed by drowning in a deluge of house-
hold liniments, camphor, balsam -apple, and hartshorn.

Among the many birds I have mentioned, curiosity
cropped out, just as it did among lower animals, not an
hour ago.

At last, the fly-catchers' quarrel came to an end. One
of them remained comj^aratively quiet, while the other,
as if rejoicing over a victory, sung, in his own quaint
manner, " Chesapeake, O Chesapeake !"

16 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

Then, as now, afloat, I very slowly urged my boat for-
ward, and was soon directly beneatli tlie songster. This
he did not like, and flew down the creek, but not so far
away that I could not hear him above the cawing of
crows and chatter of blackbirds in the marsh, sino^ino;',
without an alteration of any note, " Chesapeake, O Ches-
apeake !"

Rowing bnt a fev/ rods farther, the limits of the leafy
Linden Bend were passed and I entered an oj^en mead-
ow. The change was as abrupt as painful. But tlie
grassy banks were on a level with my eyes, and I looked
upward and onward, seeing only the cloud-flecked sky
and distant, shadowy woods. Stay ! there was one tree,
a tall, dead tulip. Saved for the shade it cast, for long
years it was the shelter of the cows when summer show-
ers passed, their noontide retreat from fierce midsum-
mer suns. For a decade it has stood, leafless, and more
shattered by each winter's storm, until now it is but the
merest gliost of its former self. Such trees do not mar
a landscape. They are not disgusting. They turn to
dust in a becoming manner, offending neither eye nor
nostril. The dignity that encompassed them as aged
trees clings to them still, though bared of every branch.
The many mysteries of years gone by — where fled the
squirrels that I saw but as swift shadows — where hid
the woodpeckers whose tapping I heard, yet failed to
see them at work — from what nook issued the complain-
ing owl — where fled the honey-laden bees — all these
sources of wonderment, that filled the hours of many
a ramble, are now revealed. The holes and hollows of
the dead, decaying tree are no longer hidden retreats of

AT LINDEN BEND. 17

mammal, bird, or bee. The prying sunsliine gives xi])
tlieir secret. Here, then, it was that many a creatm-e
looked out at me and laughed, while I stood wondering
where they might be hidden.

To be sure, a dead tree is an uncanny prophet. It
bids me look to the future ; but, surrounded by the
sights and sounds of untamed nature, my pulses shall
beat no less firmly because they cannot beat forever. I
can gather buttercups and chase butterflies in a grave-
yard without stopping to read hie jacet upon every
tombstone. This world is too full of offerings to quit
Avork and w^onder if the next is even fuller. I once
gathered a fern, a sprouted acorn, and a bluet from Tho-
reau's grave, without wondering, at the time, if he were
then gathering greener growths on the pleasant hill-sides
of another world.

Wherever I chance to be, give me living, stately
trees— trees that peeped through the sod and saw the
sunrise of an earlier century. Among them, and among
them only, can I be alone ; man's handiwork, here, has
marred all other scenes ; and the ocean and the prairie
are beyond my reach.

This weedy, bush-grown, long-neglected pasture, which
gave evidence of nothing but a most prosaic history, still
contains the evidences of stirring scenes enacted here
less than a century ago; and long ages prior to that,
this same lonely pasture was the site of an Indian vil-
lage.

The only victims, among the residents of this valley,
of the yellow-fever epidemic of 1793, died in a small

18 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

farm-liouse, still standing some distance back from the
creek — a house with a history, of which more here-
after.

In the pasture between it and the creek, a number of
Philadelphians, in '93, encamped for a time, while the
scourge was raging in the city. Some years after, the
circumstance having been forgotten, Charles Lucien Bo-
naparte, having noticed a number of diminutive earth-
works, had a careful examination made of the sjDot, un-
der the impression that an Indian village site had been
discovered. Yery soon a few arrow-heads were found,
and much burnt earth and charcoal. The prince was
delio:hted, and arrano-ed for an exhaustive search over
the entire area; and soon after, an abundance of glass
and glazed pottery was brought to light. The enthu-
siasm of the prince became disgust, and subsequently his
attention was given wholly to zoology.

After all, he was ric^ht. Although the circular rido^es
and one low mound were the work of the Phihidel-
phians, the meadow was an Indian village site. Re-
cently, one portion was badly gullied by a freshet, and
immediatelv afterwards I found abundant traces of the
dusky savages. Recalling this, I landed here and walked
for half an hour over every spot where the sod was
broken. Relics of Indians were as abundant as ever,
but not a trace of the Philadelphians.

Returning to the boat, I pushed out from these sug-
gestive shores, and passing a dense cluster of arrow-
wood, startled a lonely chat, perhaps the last of the sea-
son. I waited long, in hopes that it would sing, but it
would not. Approaching cautiously, I obtained a better

AT LIXDEX BEXD. 19

view of tlie bird, and was miicli interested in its strange
actions. At irregular intervals it threw back its head,
and with its beak pointing directly upward, uttered a
peculiar and rather faint cluck I that recalled the cry
of a night-heron when a long way off. Had I not seen
the bird, I should never have imagined the sound was
uttered within a boat's -length of nie. Ventriloquism,
however, is not confined to the yellow-breasted chat.

Chats were unusually abundant two months ago, along
the hill -side, and, indeed, wherever blackberry canes
were densely clustered. Their singing, if one may call
it that, was amusing, but became tiresome at last, and
fairly annoying at times, when the strains of the thrush
and rose-breasted grosbeak were marred by it.

One of these chats selected a branch of a small locust
in the garden as his perch, and with all the regularity
of clock-work, amused his nesting mate, throughout the
gloaming, by his endless series of strange utterances and
curious antics. His ventriloquial power was remark-
able. It suggested the following :

A mournful cry from the tliicket here,

A scream from the fields afar;
The chu-p of a summer warbler near,
Of a spring- tide song a bar;
Then rattle and rasp,

A groan, a laugh.
Till we fail to grasp
These sounds, by half,
That come from the throat of the ghostly chat,
An imp, if there is one, be sure of that.

Aloft in the sunny air he springs;
To his timid mate he calls;

20 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

With dangling legs and fluttering wings,
On the tangled smilax falls;

He mutters, he shrieks —

A hopeless cry;
You think that he seeks,
In peace, to die,
But pity him not; 'tis the ghostly chat.
An imp, if there is one, rest sure of that.

Afar in the gloomy swam.p, where flits

The Will-o'-the-wisp by night;
This elf, a-dreaming, restless sits,
And mutters his strange delight.
In quavers and sharps^

And flute-like note,
With the twang of harps;
That swell the throat
Of the mystical, weird, uncanny chat.
In league with foul spirits, I'm sure of that.

The sun was now sinking behind the tall wild-rice of
the distant marshes ; the linden - shaded reach of the
creek behind me was an abode of darkness ; the day was
done.

Turning mj boat to the convenient shelter of an
overhanging elm, I wended my way homeward, over
many a dusty field, pleasing myself with the thought
that no spot could prove more satisfying than these
bird-beloved windings of Mechen-tschiholens-sijDii.

CHAPTER II.
BUZZARD'S REST.

The blackness of night hung over the east, when — to
please me, at least — it should have been brilliant with
the sun's cheery rays. ^' Would it rain ?" I asked my-
self at every step, and scores of times paused to see if
Nature did not somewhere throw out to me a hint. " A
gray east is a dry day," my neighbors persist in saying,
but could I be sure of this '{ Then there was the rhyme
about '' Evening red and morning gray," and all that ;
but here was a blue-black east, and a generally smoke-
colored outlook, and 1 knew not what it meant.

There are, I think, weather sayings enough still cur-
rent in this neighborhood to make a portly volume, and
accepted by my neighbors as of greater reliability than
the daily reports in the morning papers. I could, how-
ever, recall none that fitted this peculiar August morn-
ing, and wished I had Miles Overfield's opinion, not so
much for its intrinsic value as a matter of curiosity. '' I
do not see," Miles once remarked, "that this newspaper
weather business amounts to much. The old-fashioned
almanacs had it down for a whole year, and in handier
shape."

" But not quite so reliable," I suggested.

" It was as near right as you get it now," he replied,
Avitli great earnestness. " Of course, once in a while

33 WASTE-LAND WANDEEIXGS.

you Lad to kind o' twist the words about to make it

fit."

" I should think so," I replied.

'' But not much more than nowadays," he continued.
"I'm not goin' back on father's old almanacs and the
moon. I've nothin' agin book-learnin', but somehow^ it
comes back to me you stayed home once in October, and
I got the quails, and stayed home not long ago, and I
caught the big bass ;" and Miles looked happy when he
finished his little speech.

It was all true enough, but I subsequently tested his
ability as a weather prophet, and summing up the mat-
ter at the end of six months, found that just thirty-five
per cent, of his predictions were correct.

I told him this, and he was by no means discomfited.
" One-third right !" he exclaimed. " Well, if I size up
one-third right at the final reckonin' I guess the Lord
will accept t'other two-thirds."

I recalled- this as I walked towards the creek, and the
time p>assed so pleasantly that I forgot the weather of
the moment, and the fact that as I left the house the
old mercury barometer was "falling" and the wind
south- w^est. The grass was dry, too — another bad sign ;
but perhaps the clouds were but the edge of a storm
that had spent its fury over other regions. Although
every indication favored rain, yet there was a chance
that it might not, and these " chances " prove so often
to be delightful days that I always take them. In the
course of a year, I gain far more outings than I get soak-
ings. Let it be borne in mind, too, that a rainy day in
the woods is better than a fretful one in the house.

BUZZARD'S REST. 23

And liere let me say sometliiiig concerning the ani-
mal weatlier-lore current in this neio-hborhood.

Happily there still remain a few of those great, cav-
ernous, open fireplaces, flanked by high-backed settles,
whereon the young people love to lounge while their
elders, resting from the day's labors, talk drowsily of old
times, recount the adventures of their youth, and repeat
the tales of their grandfathers. As one of such young
people, I have passed many long winter evenings, listen-
ing eagerly to what the septuagenarians might relate,
and occasionally venturing a question or two, that more
light might be thrown upon obscure portions of remarks
made at the time. Then, particularly, are we likely to
hear much of that very curious animal weather-lore that
for the past two centuries has been handed down from
father to son. Time and again, as the weather chanced
to be discussed, I have heard some uncouth rhyme re-
peated, usually prefaced with the remark, " You know
the old saying."

That all animals are more or less affected by coming
atmospheric changes is uncpiestionable. This simple
fact has been recognized the world over, but, unlike
many other simple facts, has not resulted in leading to
any important discoveries. It has, however, given rise
to the innumerable sayings to which I have referred.

Inasmuch as the animal weather-lore current in Eno;-
land and Sweden dates far prior to the settlement of
this country by the Swedes and English, it would seem
probable that such sayings as now are or recently were
current in south and central New Jersey are merely
adaptations of English and Swedish weather-lore to our

24 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

fauna, just as the European names of tlie commoner
birds found there were applied to those American spe-
cies most closely resembling them ; and so, any rhyme
or brief saying referring to them would be applied to
the analogous bird found here. This is eminently rea-
sonable, for, if the given habit, voice, or other peculiarity
of a European bird did, or was supposed to, indicate
a given meteorological condition, the same rule should
hold good in America. As a matter of fact, however, I
can find no similarity between the English and Swedish
and the American weather-lore, except such as applies
to domestic animals ; nor do I find any common Eng-
lish sayings in use.

That which I have heard, and have recorded from
time to time, appears to have originated where it now
is, or lately was, in use. To a great extent, I believe it
to be original with the descendants of the immigrants
that settled central Xew Jersey and the country gener-
ally about Philadelj)hia ; but a portion of it, very possi-
bly, was derived from the Indians.

At present, a portion of this weather-lore is repeated
as nursery rhymes, and it is due to this that it has been
preserved to the present time ; and, so far as I have
been able to determine, not one of the rhymes or say-
ings has ever been published. That among the earliest
papers and almanacs of the country there may be found
some of them, or slightly different versions of the same,
is probable, but my searchings therefor, in the larger li-
braries, have not resulted in any such discoveries.

The main interest, however, in connection with weath-
er-lore is to determine vrhether they do or do not cor-

BUZZARD'S REST. 25

rectly represent the relationship of the animals men-
tioned to the given condition of the weather. In other
words, is the zoology of the weather-lore misrepresented
or not ? I am forced to declare that, as a rule, those
who by virtue of their ingenuity framed these rhymes
and brief sayings did not correctly interpret ISTature.

Very many of the early English settlers were, no
doubt, excellent observers ; but they appear, at times,
to have more desired to be looked upon as weather
prophets than as naturalists, and strove to have glib non-
sense sayings pass current as evidence of their wisdom
instead of taking pains to correctly interpret the course
of Nature and determine the relation of animal life to
its environment.

Often, during my rambles in the neighborhood, I have
questioned the few remaining descendants of the origi-
nal settlers concerning the local weather proverbs, and
I lind the impression is still prevalent that the purport
of all these sayings is substantially correct, and there-
fore, to a great degree, that my neighbors are laboring
under erroneous impressions. "Is there not wisdom in
a multitude of counsellors ?" they ask ; and I, standing
alone, am voted the fool, while they pose as sages.

Let us consider this weather-lore, bit by bit, as I have
gathered it from time to time, and discuss its merits, if
it possess any, and also its absurdities.

Of such sayings as refer to our domestic animals, the
following are the most noteworthy. Of the cow, I have
heard it said :

"When a cow tries to scratch its ear,
It means a shower is very near;"

2

26 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

and again —

" When it thumps its ribs with its tail,
Look out for thunder, lightning, hail."

As is now pretty well known, a short time before a
shower in summer there is often a highly electrical
condition of the atmosphere, which makes all animals
more or less uneasy. Therefore, the lashing of the tail,
if not merely to brush away flies, may refer to this
uneasiness, and so, too, the ears may be more sensitiv^e
than the general surface of the body. This is a proba-
ble explanation, but, after all, it is not proved that the
cow at such a time suffers as much from it as is sup-
posed ; nor is it easy to see how the flagellation of a
very insignificant part of the body can ease a painful
sensation common to the entire surface. On the other
hand, it is certain that flies and other troublesome in-
sects are sensitive to atmospheric changes, even a slight
lowering of the temperature, such as no mammal would
appreciate ; and for an hour or two before a shower, for
this reason, they congregate in extraordinary numbers
about animals — horses and cows particularly. I have
thought that they seek the cows for warmth when the
air suddenly cools ; and is it not more than probable
that the nervousness on the part of the animal, shown
by frantic efforts to scratch its ears with its hind-feet
and the lashing of its tail, has to do with the excess of
irritation caused by innumerable flies, and not with any
unusual electrical titillation ? If so, the cow's action is
still indicative of an approaching change in. the w^eather,
and so far may be claimed as a sign of such change ; but

BUZZARD'S REST. 27

tlie connection of tlie two facts is not sucli a one as is
usually given. It is an indirect, not direct, indication
of the prophesied rain-storm. But bearing heavily on
the subject is the unquestionable fact that an unusual
number of flies often suddenly make their appearance,
and torment cattle almost beyond endurance, during the
four or six weeks of drought which, in summer, early or
late, we are so sure to have. In such cases the signs
fail. I have asked many a farmer how this could be,
and the one reply that I have received in every case is
that " there was a shower in the neighborhood." It
usually happened, however, that the neighborhood was
as parched as we were, and, seeing the signs fail with
them, they were covetous of the shower they supposed
that we had had. Perhaps it is with such indications of
chancres in the weather as it has been said of autumnal
proofs of the character of the a^^proaching winter.
Miles Overfield once remarked, "When the signs get to
failin' 'long in the fall, there'll be no tell in' about the
winter."

Of pigs I have heard it said, very frequently,

""When swine carry sticks,
The clouds will play tricks;"

but that —

"When they lie in the mud,
No fears of a flood. "

The first of these couplets is of twofold interest. I
have watched them for years, to see what purport this
carrying of sticks and bunches of grass might have, and
have only learned that it has nothiug whatever to do

28 WASTE-LAND WANDERIXGS.

with the weather, or at least with coming rain-storms.
The drought of summer is so far a convenience as to
throw light upon this habit, as it did upon the uneasy
cows. Pigs carry sticks as frequently then as during
wet weather, or just preceding a shower. Furthermore,
these gathered twigs are not brought together as though
to make a nest, but are scattered about in a perfectly
aimless manner. From some cause, the animal is uneasy,
and takes this curious method of relieving itself. The
probabilities are that it is a survival of some habit
common to swine in their feral condition, just as we
see a dog turn about half a dozen times before lying

down.

In an interesting paper on local weather-lore, read by
Mr. Amos W. Butler before the American Association
for the Advancement of Science, during the Philadel-
phia meeting of ISStt, the author has another version of
this saying: "When hogs gather up sticks and carry
them about, expect cold weather." This is wholly at
variance with what I have observed, for my memoranda
record this habit almost wholly during the hot weather,
and this must necessarily be the rule with ^New Jersey
swine, or the local w^eather prophets would not have
coined the verse as I have given it.

As to the other couplet, it is about as near meaning-
less as any saying can well be. Some rustic rhymer, a
century ago, may have added it as a piece of fun, but it
has stuck most persistently. As it stands now, it has
stood for quite one hundred years.

In reference to the dog, I have heard the following
more pretentious stanza, which has now taken its place

BUZZARD'S REST. 29

among our nursery rhymes, wliere^ indeed, it is best
fitted to remain :

" When drowsy dogs start from their sleep,
And bark at empty space,
'Tis not a dream that prompts them to.
But showers come on apace."

Here we have essentially the same inference as in that
of the rhyme about cows, but it is not to be explained
away so readily. Such acts, as described, cannot be at-
tributed to annoyance by flies, for they, too, often emerge
from dark quarters, where they have been unmolested ;
but the all-im]3ortant fact must not be overlooked that
such acts are not confined to summer. If they were,
the electrical theory might be advanced with some con-
fidence. From what I have noticed in such dogs as I
have owned, the habit of dreaming, which in the rhyme
is denied to be the explanation, is probably the key
to the mystery. Again, statistics show that the corre-
spondence between such habits and sudden showers is
only what we should expect in the way of coincidences.
Dogs certainly are not to be considered as reliable ba-
rometers.

The same may be said of the domestic cat. Its move-
ments have all been carefully noted, and the yawning,
stretching, scratching, and waving of the tail appear to
have been accredited Avith some special meteorological
significance. Careful observation has not confirmed any
of these impressions. Table-legs are scratched time and
again by Tom or Tabby, and no rain falls for twenty-
four or forty -eight hours. They stretch themselves
after a nap, lick their sides and wash their faces, with

30 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

tlie same regularity in midwinter as in midsummer, yet
it is only sliowers, and not snow-storms, wliicli these
actions are supposed to j)redict.

When in summer the signs fail, my country friends
conveniently forget the remark they have made; but,
if the day does prove showery, my non-combative neigh-
bors take much delight in repeating over and over again,
"I told thee so," with a suggestive emphasis, showing
how much, like other people, they love to gain a victory
if open warfare can be avoided.

The only weather rhyme referring to a cat that I have
heard, and which is essentially the same as that about
dogs, runs thus :

" When Tabby claws the table-legs,
She for a summer shower begs."

That is, begs it will hurry, with no doubt in her mind
of its possibly disappointing her.

The weather -lore of the commoner wild animals is
of much more general interest. "Weather sayings refer-
ring to animals do not appear to have been so numerous
as are those referring to birds. I have been able to
learn of but three examples. In reference to minks and
weasels, I have heard it said — and possibly others may
be familiar with this mystic rhyme —

" "When storm- winds blow and night is black,
The farmer may a pullet lack ;
But if the moon is shining clear,
No mink or weasel dares come near."

This involves an interesting phase of the life history of
these animals ; for while they probably can see a little

BUZZARD'S REST. 31

when it is quite dark, and are safely guided by the sense
of smell, nevertheless, the experience of trappers about
home proves that they do wander about during moon-
light nights. Indeed, on careful inquiry, it seems that
the trapper generally anticipates better success during
the moonlit nights than when it is very dark. I strong-
ly suspect that the truth lies in the fact that when it is
dark and stormy the watchful house-dog is not on the
alert, and thus the cunning weasel or mink is free to
raid npon the poultry-house and feast upon the pullet
that it seizes. How my neighbors will take to this ex-
planation I can only surmise. Like other people, they
fight vigorously for the opinions they have cherished
through life. The musk-rat and gray squirrels have
given rise to many trite sayings, and have long been
looked upon as weather prophets, but that they are noth-
ing of the sort I have elsewhere'''^ endeavored to show.
The following may or may not be a local saying :

"When flying-squirrels run on ground,
• The clouds '11 pass you by, be bound."

"What this may mean has been a question with me for a
long time. It is a common remark, either in this or a
simpler form, and many who have little faith in pigs or
dogs as weather prophets build largely upon the habits
of the flying-squirrel. The saying itself implies that a
drought exists at the time that these animals frequent
the ground rather than the trees, coming, of course,

* " Rambles about Home," p. 73. New York: D. Appleton & Co.,
1884.

33 WASTE-LAXD WANDERINGS.

thereto, in order to find food. If the saying be true,
the summer food of tlie fljing-squirrel must be more
plentiful on the ground than in the tops of the tallest
trees. What that food is exactly, I am not aware ; nor
have I had any opportunity to verify the statement that
flying-squirrels frequent the ground during " dry spells."
Those that I have seen near home are so strictly cre-
puscular that only the initial movements of their noc-
turnal journeys are readily traced ; but, whenever I
have seen them sally from their retreats, it was to take
a tree-top route for several rods and then to be lost to
sight. Take the year through, it is probable that they
seldom come to tlie ground to forage. When they do
so, is it an evidence of continued dry weather? I can
neither contradict nor affirm ; but are not the probabil-
ities against such being the case ?

Speaking of the opossum, it is said that if found in
autumn in hollow trees rather than occupying a burrow
in the ground, the winter wdll be milder.

This seems to be very reasonable, and w^ould pass ad-
mirably as a weather sign, but for one unfortunate cir-
cumstance. While you may find one or more in a tree,
your neighbor may find as many in the ground. I have
known this to be the case more than once. Under these
circumstances, meet your neighbor at the line-fence and
comjDare notes. What about the winter ?

From their greater abundance and never-failing pres-
ence, it might be thought that the weather-lore of birds
would be much more elaborate than that referring to
other classes of animals ; but my observations do not
confirm this. There is simply a greater number of

BUZZARD'S REST. 33

sayings cnrrent, and fully one -half are too trivial to
repeat. It would seem as if a weatlier-lore possibly of
Indian origin and referring to birds tlien abundant, but
now wholly wanting, was current more than a century
ago. These sayings were subsequently apj^lied to other
species, nearly or more remotely allied, and wdiatever
meaning they may originally have had has been lost ;
but the apparent absurdity of such " proverbs," as now
used, seems never to have occurred to those who repeat
them.

That the dusting of chickens, cackling of geese, and
the "pot-racking" of Guinea-hens have not given rise
to an elaborate series of weather proverbs is, I think,
surprising. The only familiar reference to the chicken
heard about home is that the rooster, crowing at night,
says, " Christmas — coming — on !" It does appear that
the midnight crowing of cocks is more frequently heard
in December than in June ; but, so far as the meaning
is concerned, it unfortunately happens that the noctur-
nal crowing is as often heard in January as in Decem-
ber. Calling attention to this, I was once gravely as-
sured that the cocks crew differently then, and said,
" Christmas — come — and — gone !" I accepted the ex-
planation. This is not a wxather matter, but is not ir-
relevant, as it shows how very common it once was
to couple any unusual occurrence w^ith something soon-
er or later to happen, and therefore, in the matter of
weather especially, to claim it as pro^^hetic of that
event.

Of the examples of weather- lore of birds, the fol-
lowing are not uncommonly heard in Central IS'ew
2*

34 WASTE-LAXD WANDERINGS.

Jersey. Of the cardinal-grosbeak, or winter redbird, it

is said :

"The redbird lies, without regret:

However dry, it whistles 'wet!'"

That is, the bird is credited with knowing it will not
rain, and teases the farmer by singing "wet" in his
ears all day. Others put another meaning on the red-
bird's note, and claim it to be a sure sign of rain. This
is more like tlie ordinary sayings commonly heard, and
let us give it a moment's consideration. At present, the
time of year when the cardinal-birds sing least is during
the hot summer months. Not that they are absolutely
mute for even a few days at a time, but relatively so as
compared with their joyous strains through autumn and
winter ; and again, early in summer, when they are nest-
ing, these birds, like robins, are more apt to sing directly
after a shower than at any other time.

So much for the gay cardinal as a weather prophet.
The rare summer redbird — a tanager — which also utters
a whistling note, well described by the sj^llable " wet,"
shortly and sharply expressed, is likewise said to proph-
esy rain. The probabilities are that the note of the red-
bird, cardinal and summer, suggesting the word " wet,''
has given rise to the belief tliat their utterance was a
sign of a coming shower or storm. It is often by such
illogical methods that these sayings have become estab-
lished. After a few repetitions they become fixed in
the mind and their origin forgotten ; they are invested
with an importance not their due, and not attributed to
them by their originators. Ultimately they are incor-
porated in the weather-lore of the country.

BUZZARD'S REST. 35

Of tlie innumerable swallows, it is said, with as little
show of reason,

"No rain e'er poured upon the earth
That damped the twittering swallow's mirth,"

IN'o ? AYell, of late, the whole host takes refuge from
storms — the barn - swallows in the hay-mow, the cliff-
swallows under the eaves, the sand-martins in their bur-
rows, and the chimnej- swifts in their sooty liomes in
the chimneys. Why this change of habit ? For a won-
derful change must have taken place, if the couplet
quoted was ever true. I do admit that swallows and
swifts appear to be noisier before and during a shower ;
but does not this arise from the fact that at such a time
they collect in great numbers near their nests, to take
refuge, if the storm should increase in violence ? And
again, the silence of other birds makes the twittering
swallow a more prominent bird than under other circum-
stances; but nothing of this warrants the extravagant
assertion that no storm ever put a quietus upon them.

The larger hawks, too, are supposed to give warning
of a coming shower when they utter their peculiar cat-
like scream. Among our old people the following may
sometimes be heard repeated :

" The hen-hawk's scream, at hot, high noon,
Foretells a coming shower soon,"

This couplet is of some interest, as, at present, it is
not applicable to our larger hawks and buzzards. In-
deed, the only one of them that is prone to cry out while
circling overhead is the red-tailed buzzard or hen-hawk,

36 WASTE-LAXD WANDERINGS.

and this bird is very seldom seen in midsummer, and
now certainly is only heard in autumn, winter, or early
spring. The saying implies that formerly these birds
were abundant at all times of the year, and during the
summer would cry out in their peculiar fashion. The
settlement of the country and general deforesting of
such a large jDortion of it have driven these hawks to
more retired parts during the nesting season, and there,
throughout summer, their cry may indicate that it will
soon rain ; but, if so, why does not the same cry in au-
tumn have some reference to the weather ?

It is scarcely necessary to continue the list. Other
birds than those mentioned — reptiles, batrachians, and
fishes — have all given rise to certain current sayings,
but of no more value than those I have given, and
all, I think, based upon illogical inferences. Snakes are
claimed as excellent barometers ; but the habits upon
which the belief rests are those that characterize every
day of the creature's life. Toads and frogs are largely
depended upon, but a careful record for a single season
will show how little they are to be trusted ; and even the
fishes cannot disport themselves in summer, but straight-
way the clouds must open upon us, a tornado visit us,
or premature frosts balk the calculations of the farmer.

Curiously enough, I do not find that insect-life has
entered to any important extent into the weather-lore
of this neighborhood. Contradictory remarks are often
made as to ant-hills : thus, when they are very high, it
will be a dry day ; others insist that it is evidence that
it will soon rain. Spiders' webs, also, are variously held
as of barometric value ; but a careful record of several

BUZZARD'S REST. 37

summers contradicts tins empliaticallj. The positions
of the paper-hornets' nests, which in autumn are often
prominent objects in the country, after the foHage drops,
are variously asserted to be indicative of a " hard " or
" open " winter, as they chance to be placed in the upper
or lower branches of a tree. My scepticism as to the
value of this sign arises from the fact that there is, as
might be expected, no uniformity in the positions of
any half-dozen such nests.

It may be rash to say that meteorological science can
gain nothing from scientific observation of animal life ;
but the character of the weather-lore that has Ijeen hand-
ed down from father to son for the past two centuries
plainly indicates that the observations which gave rise
to them were anything but scientific in character. Man-
kind now, as formerly, may be close observers of Nature,
but this does not imply that they are accurate observers.
They assume as correct the appearance, but it is no un-
usual circumstance for an animal to be doing the very
opposite of what might naturally be supposed was the
case. The simple and sad fact derived from a study of
local animal weather-lore is that, in the days of our grand-
fathers, painstaking naturalists were few and far between.

Reaching my boat, in which musk-rats had been ca-
rousing during the night, I pushed it very cautiously
from the shore, desiring to disturb no creature that
mie:ht be linirerino; on the bank of the creek.

I had gone but a little way, and seeing some new bird
at every boat-length, I could not but go slowly, when I
came to an abrupt bend of the stream, and extending

38 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

eastward tlirongli a little forest was Doctor's Creek, as
my neighbors have it, but known in the past century,
as it should be still, as Buzzard's Rest.

Yenerable birches and towering hickories, as if jealous
of the stream that flows at their feet, bend lovingly over
it, and combat every summer sunbeam that seeks to gild
the sluo^o^ish waters.

As I turned the boat's prow from the main creek and
entered the Hest, the silence was profound. The name,
as in days of old, proved, to-day, to be aptly cliosen. A
score of gorged and listless vultures were sitting in the
upper branches of the trees.

The most prominent object at the mouth of this trib-
utary creek is a magnificent birch, measuring something
more than two feet in diameter. It leans over the wa-
ter at about an angle of forty-five degrees. The largest
of its branches are strangely angular, and at once at-
tract attention. In this feature of angularity they re-
call the crooked hornbeams of Linden Bend.

Beyond this tree, but still distinctly in view, are oth-
er equally large birches, one of which, now dead, leans
over the w^ater in a nearly horizontal position. One fan-
cies these trees, collectively, the rafters of an enormous
roof, that once shut in the valley.

Buzzard's Best is a favorite haunt of the kingfishers,
and seldom a half-hour passes witliout their harsh cries
disturbing the quiet of this secluded corner.

This bird is considered strictly migratory, and possi-
bly, a century or more ago, came and went with the reg-
ularity of our summer songsters ; but since I have known
them, a few are sure to be found wintering in every lit-

BUZZARD'S REST. 39

tie valley tlirongli wliicli a fisli-stream runs. AVlien the
brooks arc frozen, the bird is cunning enough to search
for air-lioles, and if the opening in the ice be a yard in
width, will plunge into it, secure its pre}^, and emerge
in safety. Occasionally, the kingfisher would sadly mis-
calculate its bearings, and coming up under the ice be
drowned. This was the fate of one that lived through-
out the winter in the shed coverino: an old-fashioned
water-wheel. This bird in some way learned that the
fish collected in a deep pool behind the waters of the
dam, and continually passed through the broad sheet
of falling water when foraging there. After passing a
pleasant winter, it forsook the dam for the mill-pond,
and was caught under a cake of floating ice, that covered
but a small portion of the pond's surface.

The miller told me that this kingfisher soon became
quite tame, after winter set in, and delighted to sit on
the sill of a south window of the wheel-shed. When the
wheel was stopped, the kingfisher often sat close to the
edge of the pool beneath, watching the minnows, but
was not able to capture any, as the depth of the water
was not suflicient to allow the bird to dive. Several
times the miller caught a number of the fish and placed
them in very conspicuous places, but the kingfisher did
not appear even to notice them ; and the miller was
very positive that none were eaten.

Another and very different bird that constantly fre-
quents these overhanging birches, is the little green her-
on. When this lively little wader thoughtfully prom-
enades the broad branches, and at times stops to gaze
intently at the water beneath, a charm is lent to this

40 WASTE-LAXD WAXDERIXGS.

romantic spot. Other species of this family of birds
are usually found here, the night -herons particularly;
and years ago, as certain old records show, the banks
and shallows of the creek were "spotted gray and white
with birds like unto storks." Then, as now, these con-
spicuous birds found the proximity of the forest to their
feeding grounds conducive to their safety.

It is natural for those inexperienced in observing
birds, to snjDj^ose that the branches and foliage of a tree
would afford but little if any protection to a bird as
large as a night-heron, standing as it does fully two feet
in height, and having a bulky, conspicuously colored
body. As a matter of fact, when it is perched in a tall
tree, it seems to study the effect of light and shade, and
remaining quite motionless, is difficult to detect. I be-
lieve my eyesight is better than that of most people, and
yet I have more than once spent fully half an hour in
determining the precise position of a cunning heron that
so " mingled " with the branches and leaves of a beech,
that it seemed a part of the tree in which it stood.

After a few weeks of Held observation, it will be
readily admitted by all, that the majority of birds have
a well defined color sense. Of course it will not be ap-
parent if the birds are not disturbed, but it becomes
evident when they are pursued, unless they seek to es-
cape by a protracted flight. Often I have known small
birds, that from some cause, such as nesting, were averse
to leaving a particular spot, to droj) to the ground and
barely escape being trodden uj)on, while I was craning
my neck and scanning every twig of the tree or bush
upon which I supposed them to be sitting. This is a

BUZZARD'S REST. 41

trick of species liaunting shrubbery that took me sev-
eral years to discover.

While it so happened that no kingfisher or heron
rested on any of the trees, there was a host of smaller
birds, yellow warblers and mottled tree-creepers being
noticeably abundant. I was much struck with the in-
difference of these birds to the proximity of the vult-
ures. They hunted for insects on the very branches
whereon the latter were sittinc^. and often were within
a dozen feet of them. They had evidently learned to
discriminate between them and birds of prey. Their
fearlessness brought to mind the young poultry that I
carefully observed some months previously. Under the
pines in my yard, clucking hens had been guiding to
the best scratchings their broods of quarter - grown
chicks, while above them the busy grakles had been
passing two and fro all day long. Never for a moment
did the chickens regard them. Their shadows darted,
like swallows, across the sunlit sward, yet never a chick
started as this trick of light and shade crossed and re-
crossed its path.

Once, while watching them, a sly sparrow-hawk darted
from tree to tree, and its shadow at once caused every
chick to cower, even before the mother-hen uttered her
warning cluck. I am convinced these chickens saw a
difference in that shadow, and caught no glimpse of the
bird.

I suppose the difference between harmless species and
birds of prey is taught their young by the parent birds,
and argues well for the mental capabilities of the for-

42 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

mer, tliat so eai-lj in life tliej can discriminate between
the shadows of hawks and grakles, as is certainly true of
them.

Among wild birds, an interesting instance of this is
that all birds at once recognize the fish-hawk. Chickens
do not, at first, but after a week or two appear also to
recognize the difference between this bird and the true
falcons. The fact that small birds of many species often
nest in the immediate vicinity of the fish-hawk's home-
tree clearly proves this fact. The vast quantities of in-
sects attracted by the remains of fish scattered about a
fish-hawk's nest make the spot attractive to fly-catchers
of many kinds, and there they are pretty sure to con-
gregate.

When my boat was directly beneath the turkey-buz-
zards, as these true vultures are generally called — a po-
sition that is quite undesirable, let it be known — they
lazily flapped their enormous wings, and after something
of a struggle were fairly afloat upon the upper air.
They gave, I think, about twenty quick strokes of the
wings before they were as many feet above the tree-
toj^s. Then, one that I noticed particularly, with ap-
parently unmoved wings soared steadily upward at an
angle of forty-five degrees against the wind, which was
very gentle at the time. The others gradually arose to
a great height by circling, or rather by describing a
broad spiral course.

The common impression prevailing in this neighbor-
hood is, that turkey-buzzards will eat, in fact are fond
of, decayed cabbages. It is true, apparently, that the

BUZZARD'S REST. 43

odor arising from a field planted with this vegetable,
when once they have commenced to wilt, attracts tliesc
filthy feeders ; but that they really do more than visit
the locality is improbable. Nevertheless, I do not sub-
scribe to the view that these birds are guided by an
acute sense of smell to their unsavory food. "Whenever
opportunity has offered, I have sought for information
on this point, and the result has invariably been to lead
me to conclude that sight, not smell, was the guiding
sense. In no instance has the result of any of my ob-
servations or experiments been susceptible of any other
explanation than that of acute vision, and not astonish-
ingly acute either. It is a significant fact that in mid-
winter, when far less odor arises from dead animals than
in summer, and none at all for much of the time, the
few buzzards that remain with us find their food quite
as readily as in July and August. In one instance, a
carcass of a sheep, uncovered by the drifting of snow,
was quickly discovered by them, because the body lay
in full relief against a nearly black background ; but an-
other carcass, equally uncovered, but lying upon snow,
was not seen, although the buzzards passed directly over
it, and but a few rods distant.

It is hard to believe that one of these vultures can see
a sheep at a distance of a mile or more, as is undoubted-
ly true ; but this is easier than to accept the statement
that they can smell it even at half that distance. If
they depend upon their sense of smell, it is only during
seven or eight months in the year. In winter their sense
of sight must practically do the whole work. If equal
to the task for a part of the year, why not for all time ?

44 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

A marked feature of tliis beautiful spot, and one that
to-daj affected tlie sense of smell no less decidedly than
that of sight, was the tangle of grape-vines that cover
even the underbrush, and no less often reach to the very
tops of the tallest trees. This vigorous vine and the
Virginia - creeper strive for every available space to
which to cling, and often both intwine the main stem
of a towering oak and encumber half its branches. The
poor tree has a hard time of it, and often becomes but a
mere prop for these rank growths. My attention was
particularly called to one enormous grape-vine, not only
by its remarkable girth, but by the abundance of its
fruit, for the penetrating heat of August sunshine dis-
tilled the aromatic essence from the ripening grapes and
caused the air to be heavy laden with a sickening sweet.

I wonder that grape-vines have not given rise to "fish-
stories," and I sincerely trust my reference to the vine
near Buzzard's Rest will not induce others to bring
about such a practice. This vine, it may be briefly
stated, is a foot in circumference at the ground and for
some distance beyond, and is something more than one
hundred yards long.

This vine extends directly upward but five feet, when
it turns at a right angle for the same distance, and then
reaches upward, backward, and downward, " to the place
of beginning," as they say in deeds. Then it grows di-
rectly upward to the very highest branches of a swamp
white-oak, a distance of forty feet from the ground.
Having secured itself there, the vine returns for a dozen
feet or so, and then crosses a clear space of thirteen
yards and climbs about another oak still taller than the

BUZZARD'S REST. 45

first. Then seeking tlie largest trees, it threads its way
on and on through the little woods, until its ultimate
fibres are lost among the countless twigs of twenty tree-
tops. I have said it is one hundred yards long. I do
not mean that this is its actual length. I could measure
this much with approximate accuracy, and there was yet
more, hopelessly beyond my reach.

Imagine some great flood that stranded a rope-walk
here, and you can conceive how such a grape-vine looks
aniouir the trees. IIow it crossed from tree to tree and
cleared open spaces where nothing but low shrubbery
has grown, since the vine started on its erratic wander-
ings, I leave the reader to conjecture.

Leaving it, finally, in all its tangled glory, I hunted
long for birds'-nests of the past summer, but found none ;
and only by chance, as I was w^ithdrawing from the
"Kest," did I see a nest of the yellow-throated vireo,
thirty or more feet above the water.

This fine songster always builds quite out of reach, so
far as the egg -hunting small boy is concerned, and is
disposed to return to the same situation, summer after
summer, to rear its brood. In a maple-tree in the lane,
at home, the same individuals have for four summers
built their nest. It is not the same nest, repaired year
after year, but a new structure on the same or an adja-
cent limb. I say purposely the same individuals, for I
am convinced that very many of our birds remain mated
longer, than a single season. This is a matter worthy of
most careful study, and I was glad to find a correspond-
ent of a scientific periodical remarking that, while " it
is generally taken for granted that our song-birds and

46 WASTE-LAXD WANDERINGS.

migrants are in tlie liabit of seeking mates every season,
and not keeping to the same mate year after year," lie
believes "that almost if not quite all birds are fairly
constant in their attachments."

To determine whether most or even a proportion of
our birds are j)ermanently mated or but for a season,
requires so great an amount of patient observation that
it is not surprising the subject has been practically neg-
lected. A chance occurrence, years ago, called my at-
tention to this subject, and I commenced, at that time,
a series of observations, which have been repeated dur-
ing each of the succeeding summers. While by no
means what I wished, I have, probably, gathered suffi-
cient material to, at least, warrant calling attention to
the subject, especially as the remarks in " Science Gos-
sip," quoted above, are likely to bring the subject prom-
inently before active, out-door ornithologists.

The birds that I have studied, in hopes of reaching a
satisfactory conclusion, were all land birds; and these
may be separated, for convenience of study, into two
classes, Hesident species and Summer migrants.

Of sixteen resident species of birds, my observations
show that during the whole year the sexes remain to-
gether ; and of these sixteen only three — the crow, pur-
ple grakle, and cedar-bird — are gregarious. Of course, in
the latter case, it is im]30ssible to determine whether the
mated pairs of the early summer remain together or
not, associated as they are with other pairs; but cer-
tainly there is no more reason why permanently mated
birds should not form flocks than that individuals or
unmated birds should do so. It is, furthermore, highly

BUZZARD'S REST. 47

im23rob{ible that any antagonisin should arise between
the sexes after the nesting season. There is certainly
no coniliction of interests. If there existed such ana-
tomical differences as made one sex decidedly weaker
than the other, then post-nuptual habits acquired by the
stronger sex might draw them aw\ay from the others,
and an absolute separation, for a time, result ; but this
is not the case in any one of the sixteen birds I have
had under observation.

In the case of crows, I believe I have never found a
strictly isolated nest. There have always been others
quite near, and usually five to ten pairs build in such
proximity that each pair is more or less associated with
all the others. When the young leave the nest, they
remain with their parents and neighbors, and the little
colony, now perhaps treble the original number, remain
associated until October, when they are lost in the large
flocks formed by the uniting of scores of small colonies.
During the nesting season, each bird could distinguish
his or her mate from a dozen or more individuals ; so
why not from a thousand ? And when tlie nesting sea-
son returned, why should not the mated birds of a past
year renew the labors of nest-building and the rearing
of their young? The old sites are revisited, and every
action is indicative of familiarity with the locality. To
say, each spring, these are not the crows of last year, is
merely to assume it, and that often against evidence to
the contrary.

It must be borne in mind, too, that it is the female
bird that decides upon the locality for the nest. She it
is who returns to her home of tlie past summer ; and

48 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

lier mate is sure to be found attending upon her. If,
after hundreds of miles of winter wanderings, the fe-
male crow can unerringly return to her abandoned nest,
or to the tree upon which it rested, which is unquestion-
ably true, what improbability is there in her being
joined by her mate, even though for months they have
been separated ; a circumstance, indeed, that probably
but rarely occurs.

A word here concerning the English rook. Eichard
Jefferies, in one of his charming essays, remarks : " The
general idea is that they pair in February, but there are
some reasons for thinking that the rooks, in fact, choose
their mates at the end of the preceding summer. They
are then in large flocks, and if only casually glanced
at, appear mixed together without any order or arrange-
ment. They move on the ground and fly in the air so
close, one beside the other, that at the first glance or so
you cannot distinguish them apart. Yet if you should
be lingering along the by-ways of the fields as the acorns
fall, and the leaves come rustling down in the warm,
sunny, autumn afternoons, and keep an observant eye
upon the rooks in the trees, or on the fresh -turned
furrows, they will be seen to act in couples. On the
ground couples alight near each other, on the trees they

perch near each other, and in the air fly side by side

After the nest time is over they flock together, and each
family of three or four flies in concert. Later on they
apparently choose their own particular friends, that is,
the young hirds do so. All through the winter, after,
say October, these pairs heejp together^, though lost in the
general mass to the passing spectator." The same can

BUZZARD'S REST. 49

truthfully be said, I think, of our purple grakle, a bird
that in many ways resembles the rook.

Until birds are marked, it may not be possible to
prove them permanently mated, but I venture to assert
that the general impression of such as will take the trou-
ble to study particularly our resident birds for several
years, will coincide with my own, that courtship and
marriage are not repeated, year after year, with the reg-
ularity of the coming and going of the seasons.

The same may be said of the common cedar-bird.
This species is peculiar in that it is permanently grega-
rious. During the breeding season, which is often as late
as July and August, the several pairs forming each
flock breed at the same time, and with the nests quite
near each other. In one instance, I found two nests
upon one tree, and on each of five trees, but a rod or
two distant, a single nest. This sociability is maintained
during the five or six weeks that they are held in one
locality by the care of their offspring; and when the
latter are ready to leave the nest, they remain with their
parents.

If such small flocks, of not more than twenty or thirty,
were not permanently mated, there would be quarrelling
continually among them, unless it always happened that
in every one of them there were an equal number of
each sex. If the flocks were made up in any hap-hazard
manner, as is probably the case with the enormous gath-
erings of red - winged blackbirds, an excess of one sex
over the other would probably result, and a general
breaking up of all such gatherings, late in the winter or
in early spring, would necessarily result ; but the smaller
3

50 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

flocks of cedar-birds, that liave kept so closely togeth-
er from November to May, do not disperse, and a gener-
al stampede for wives and husbands takes place. All
contention upon this point is among themselves, and
the small proportion of unmated birds, common to gre-
garious or non-gregarious species, either remain in sin-
gle blessedness for a season, or join other communities
where mates are to be had.

In this case, as in that of crows, it is necessarily a mat-
ter of probabilities, not demonstrable facts; but when we
come to consider the following non-gregarious species,
we are treading upon firmer ground.

It is a somewhat significant fact that birds are very
seldom seen alone ; and if we do chance to come across
a single individual of one species, it is pretty sure to be
in the company of other kinds of birds. To meet with
a bird that is strictly alone, even in the late autumn or
winter, when birds have no thoughts of nesting, is the
very rarest occurrence I have noted during many years
of rambling.

Prominent among our resident birds is the familiar
bluebird. Since 187-1 1 have recorded them thirty four
hundred times, and when not in loose flocks, there w^as
always at least a pair, and flying in such close company
it was evident that they had mutual interests, whether
it happened to be December or May. Of their nests
I have examined seventy-three, and fifty-five of them
were built, year after year, in six different localities.
One hole in an apple-tree was certainly occupied by the
same pair for five successive summers. The male bird
was readily recognized by a peculiarity in the plumage.

BUZZARD'S REST. 51

As both lie and liis mate remained during tlie year, and
in stormy weather often took shelter in the old nest,
it is simply absurd to suppose these bluebirds separated
at any time of the year, and the male formed a new
connection. Indeed, there was never more than a week
passed that the pair were not seen together.

The common thistle-linch, or yellow-bird, is always
found in pairs, or more generally in small comj^anies.
They are as gregarious in summer as in winter, and their
nests are often near together. Even if it cannot be
shown that they remain mated, there is certainly no
dissociation of the sexes at any time.

The equally abundant bay-winged sparrow (the vesper-
bird) is a peculiarly resident species. They do not ap-
pear to wander at any time from the limited quarters
of some field of a few acres. Where they nest they live ;
and whether in June or January, it matters not, the
pair are ever in close companionship.

The more social song-sparrows apparently remained
paired. Scores of couples, that were found breeding,
have been subsequently observed from week to week,
and the relief from the care of their offspring did not
result in the parents parting company.

The crested titmouse proved a much more difficult
bird to study, because of its wandering tendencies.
During eight months of the year they are very abun-
dant, and, I think, always in the company of their own
kind. Daring nidification, and through July and Au-
gust, these birds are seemingly much less abundant, but
the fact is, they are unnoticed, because quite silent, as
compared with the same birds in autumn and winter.

53 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

"A noisy tit is Jack Frost's trnmj^eter," and there is a
grain of trutli in this weather proverb. Like bhie-
birds thej build their nests in holes in trees, and the
same locality is occupied several summers in succession.
The association of the sexes during the winter is ad-
duced as plausible evidence that no divorcement and re-
mating occur. I have positive knowledge that, as in
the case of bluebirds, the locality where nesting occurred
was frequently revisited during the year, and occupied
as a shelter from severe snow-storms in midwinter.

Since the above concerning crested titmice was writ-
ten, I have had an opportunity of closely observing a
pair of these birds while constructing a nest. Barely
ten paces from my study-windows stands an aged lo-
cust, with a great cavernous hollow in its trunk some
six feet from the ground. On the 18th of April, 1886,
I saw a pair of tits flitting to and fro among the branch-
es of the tree, and occasionally entering the hollow
trunk. The weather was very warm and spring-like.
These birds remained much of the time about the tree
until the 21:th, but did not commence building a nest
until that day. I could not positively determine the
matter, but think the male only carried the materials
from the adjacent hill-side and garden to the tree, and
the female arranged them. While the male bird was
thus employed he sang incessantly. This work of gath-
ering materials for a nest continued, with some irregu-
larity, until May 2d, when the birds disappeared. Ten
days later, the tits were again about the tree, and re-
mained until evening; since when I have seen nothing
of them.

BUZZARD'S REST. 53

They were not disturbed, but left the neighborhood,
after so much labor, voluntarily. I mention this in-
stance, and it is not an unusual one, to show that for
weeks before they finally settle down to rear a family
these birds are mated, and if for weeks prior to nidifi-
cation, why not for a much longer period ?

I am quite sure tliat during the winter they were
seen in pairs as frequently as singly ; and their predi-
lection for hollow trees, at all times, suggests that like
2)igeon-woodpeckers, they often prepare nesting places
which, before completion or directly after, are perma-
nently abandoned.

It is impossible to believe that such a sentiment as
Platonic friendship ever entered the mind of any sj^ecies
of bird.

The Carolina wren affords a most striking instance
of birds remaining mated from one year to another. I
have had a pair of these birds under almost daily ob-
servation for two years, and it matters not what the
season may be, there was never more than a week passed
that the pair were not seen together. They commence
nesting in April and raise four broods.

A pair of cardinal - grosbeaks were found nesting,
June, 1883, and the female was readily distinguished by
a peculiarity in the coloring of her wings. The pair
remained in the locality during the succeeding win-
ter, nested in the old site in 188-i, and in 1885 chose a
new position in a thicket of smilax a few yards distant.
This pair of redbirds were always associated during the
two winters that I had them under observation.

Meadow-larks, if not in loose flocks, as though two or

54 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

three broods were nnited, are always in jDairs, and there
is every appearance of their close companionship during
the winter. I have hundreds of references, in my note-
books, to single pairs frequenting certain fields the year

through.

I can speak less positively of blue-jays, as my oppor-
tunities for close observation have been fewer ; but the
important fact is known tliat, when tliey are no longer
nesting, they often remain associated in pairs, and joint-
ly occupy some cunningly chosen roosting -j^lace in a
hollow tree or barn ; and further, that occasionally they
have a brood as early as March is at least presumptive
evidence that some of these birds are mated for a longer
period than a single summer.

The flicker or pigeon-woodpecker offers an interest-
ing example of permanent mating among birds. They
are usually found in pairs or small flocks ; and it is not
uncommon for a pair to jointly peck a deep, commo-
dious nest in a tree late in autumn or in midwinter.
These nests are never used, that I am aware of ; but as
they are the result of joint labors of a pair, it is quite
impossible that a few weeks later they should separate
and form new ties.

The two owls — the little red and tlie barnowl — are
found to occupy their nests in hollow trees long after
the young have sought homes of their own ; and in the
case of the barnowls, so strongly attached do they be-
come to a chosen tree, that when either bird is captured
or killed the widower or widow will soon find another
companion, and continue in the old home, indifferent to
the fact of its being associated in the mind of the bird

BUZZARD'S REST. 55

with its partners deatli. Indeed, I am sorry to conclude,
that grief at the loss of a mate is of very short duration
usually, notwithstanding there is so much evidence of
their faithfulness to marriage vows during their lives.

The familiar little sparrow-hawk finally offers a strik-
ing instance of permanent bird -marriage. A pair of
these pretty falcons have for five years nested near the
residence of a neighbor, and when the labor of rearing
their young was ended, they retired to the slielter af-
forded by the projecting eaves of my neighbor's house,
and there remained until tlie following spring. Tliese
birds were quite as affectionate and mutually consid-
erate in winter, as when they had the common interest
of offspring to keep them together.

Dr. Brewer says of the winter falcon, " These hawks
remain mated throughout the year, and their affection-
ate treatment of each other is in striking contrast with
the selfish indifference of the Eed-tail species w^hen
their breeding season is ended."

In the case of our game birds and others that are sub-
ject to great persecution, the chances are, of course,
against both parents surviving until the following breed-
ing season. It is quite possible that such a state of con-
stant change results in blunting the affections, and the
association of the sexes becomes a mere matter of tem-
porary gratification, something akin to, but not so gross
as the habits of the cowpen-bird, which is never mated,
and for several months in the year deposits fertile cggQ
in the nests of other birds, and sometimes in empty
nests, lono- after the birds who built them had rehired
their broods and departed.

56 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

Polygamy among certain of our birds is unquestiona-
ble. I have positive knowledge of this among quails,
and, probably, purple grakles ; and it is well known to
be true of that introduced pest, the European sparrow.
This much married condition, whatever the cause that
has given rise to it, continues from year to year, when
occurring among crows, as I have proved by patient ob-
servation extending over several years. I cannot speak
positively with reference to the quails ; but it is certain-
ly true of the sparrow mentioned.

"When we come to consider the summer visitors, or
such species as, wintering in the south, apj^ear in 'New
Jersey late in April or in May and remain until autumn,
there is abundant evidence that a considerable propor-
tion of them are permanently mated. Details of many
long series of observations are scarcely necessary. Suf-
fice it to say, that I have very carefully studied song-
thrushes, brown thrushes, cat-l)irds, chats, house-wrens,
indigo-birds, vireos of three species, and others, and that
the same individuals reappeared from year to year, in
one instance for eight years, I am fully convinced. It
is, indeed, hard to realize that many of these birds should
remain together for so long a time, when but a small
part of each year is spent in the rearing of the brood.
It is quite possible that they do not retire to other por-
tions of our country in company; but it does appear
that they part with a mutual understanding to meet
again when separations do take j^lace. It is not simply
the same male bird or the same female that reappears
spring after spring, but the same ]3air of birds.

In conclusion, let me call attention to a few points

BUZZARD'S REST. 57

bearing upon tliis subject. All who have been accus-
tomed to study birds in their native haunts have no-
ticed the many marked individual characteristics of each
species. One soon becomes not only familiar with wrens
as wrens and cat-birds as cat-birds, but he recognizes in-
dividuals among them, and the wren that nests in a box
near by, erected for his accommodation, very soon learns
the difference between the occupants of a house who
never disturb him or his, and a stranger of whom he will
at first be distrustful. I do not think I am putting this
matter too strongly.

Remembering the individuality of a pair of wrens or
cat-birds, we can be pretty sure whether or not they are
the same pairs, from year to year, that come to our bird-
boxes or the thicket.

Again, marked peculiarities in the construction of
nests, if repeated year after year, as is sometimes the
case, suggests, to say the least, that the builders of such
nests are the same individuals.

Another consideration is the remarkably prompt ap-
j^earance of migratory birds at their former nesting sites.
Not merely in the same neighborhood, but near tlie
same tree, bush, or hollow in the ground ; and a marked
disposition to remain there, and particularly to roost
there until nesting begins. This is especially true of
the Baltimore oriole, which I have often found, at dawn
of the day of his arrival, examining the remains of last
year's nest, and have seen him commence repairs that
same day when the structure permitted it. His mate is
usually but a few hours later, contrary statements not-
withstanding ; and the arrival of Madam Oriole was not
3"

58 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

celebrated by any billing and cooing. They were plain-
ly " old married folks " before tliey came.

Of course, in the lives of young birds, there comes a
time when the mingled joys and sorrows of courtship
must be undergone, and curious scenes are yearly to be
witnessed. These frantic eiiorts to secure the smiles of
some fair one have been elaborately detailed by many
ornithologists, and it has been inferred that the same
ordeal must yearly be repeated ; but in very many more
instances than has been supposed, I believe the very op-
posite of this to be true.

Having brought my boat again to the main creek, I
did not find departure from the " Eest " as easy as ex-
pected. By brute force, of course, I could have torn
myself away; but there proved to be too much yet to
see to warrant my obstinate withdrawal, for now that I
was in a more favorable position to do so, I made a crit-
ical examination of the banks of the creek, wholly with
reference to details. I knew it as a whole : what of the
component parts ? Now, for the first, I noticed numbers
of those beautiful crimson lilies, which are worthy of a
better name than " Turk's-cap."

Towering above the rank underbrush, determined to
catch the kisses of every struggling sunbeam, were the
stout and stately stems of this queen of flowers, six, sev-
en, and one eleven feet in height, each with many fully
expanded red, yellow, and black blossoms. When I first
saw them, they were reflected in the still, dark water be-
neath, till a sportive zephyr broke the glass and scattered
innumerable gems that mocked the queen-lily's dignity.

BUZZARD'S REST. 59

Not only the lily, but sweetly-scented, wliite- spiked
cletlira flowers bloomed, lialf-liidden, close to the water's
edge, its snowy blossoms in marked contrast to the brill-
iancy of the scarlet lobelia growing near ; and close to
my boat, and over all the shallows, rank j^ickerel-weed
and. coarser splatter -dock, tinted the waters with the
bine and gold of their bloom.

I will not admit that I soon tired of flowers, but when-
ever afloat I am never unmindful of the fishes. At the
mouth of this tributary creek, w^here my boat was now
at anchor, the water was very clear and the sand and
pebbles at the bottom plainly in view. Scarcely a fish
was to be seen for several minutes, when suddenly a pair
of lithe and active stone-catfish came directly beneath
me. They interested me very much by overturning flat
pebbles gracefully with their w^edge-like snouts. Occa-
sionally a stone would prove a little heavier than antici-
pated, when the fish's whole body would be rapidly
curved, straightened and recurved, as if to squeeze into
its nose all the strength that it possessed. At last, over
the heavy pebble would go, and with a quick, nibbling
motion of the mouth, the newly exposed surface would
be rifled of everything acceptable to a catfish's palate.

Although these two fishes were constantly near to-
gether, they did not co-operate in any of the stone-turn-
ing. Nevertheless, their association was not accidental,
for I frequently startled them by thrusting down a stick
into the sand, which caused them immediately to dart
away at the same instant ; but they invariably swam in
the same direction and returned, swimming side by side.
They evidently derived some advantage, or, shall I say,

60 WASTE-LAXD WAXDERIXGS.

comfort, in being thus intimately associated, but the why
and wherefore of it all I failed to determine, or even to
get so much of a clew as would warrant a guess.

It was but a few days ago that I was shown a fine
adult specimen of one of these catfish, then in an aqua-
rium, and was seriously informed that it was a hybrid
" between an eel and a common catfish." As this would
be a cross between fishes of different families, and one,
too, a marine species, so far as its breeding is concerned,
it would have been a novelty indeed had it been the
case. Here is an example of current ignorance worthy
of note. This species of catfish is not very abundant,
it is true, but because a little eel-like in its shape, igno-
rance suggests so remarkable a solution of the problem.
" What is it ?" Did it never occur to the namby-pamby,
cid hono folks, who affect to decry natural history stud-
ies, that the universal curiosity of mankind, as demon-
strated by the certainty that the question, " What is it V^
will be asked, whenever any strange creature is exhib-
ited, is a curiosity worthy of satisfaction ? Can these
would-be worthy people justify themselves in endeavor-
ing to quench a desire for such important knowledge —
a desire implanted in the breast of nearly every child
by that Creator whom they suppose they are reverenc-
ing, but are really insulting ?

The tall trees in the distant meadows shut out the
last rays of the setting sun, and the dim light that now
prevailed made the "Rest" unutterably gloomy. Its
larger trees, a half-mile distant, were wrapped in haze ;
the outlines of those near by were but dimly traced
against the leaden eastern sky. Every flower had faded

BUZZARD'S REST. Gl

from view. Kotliing invited. All repelled. Yet I felt
urged by some unrecognized influence to remain. The
influence was unmistakable. It compelled a course of
action wholly at variance with my plans for the day.
I certainly had no desire to float idly at this point until
nightfall or even later. I was hungry and supperless,
yet I found it next to impossible to leave. Thrice my
Iiand reached forward to the anchor-chain; thrice I let
the chain fall back into the water and waited, I knew
not for what.

One by one the birds in the thickets ceased their
chirping ; the titmice no longer whistled ; the last marsh-
wren of the day sang a hurried roundelay and sought its
nest in the reeds ; the scattered hylas peeped complain-
ingly, and a single fretful cat-bird was my sole compan-
ion. He soon grew tiresome, and I longed for an owl
to hoot or bittern to boom, but neither uttered a sound.
There was an almost noiseless interim of half an hour,
and then the katydids were ready to begin their night-
long concert. Surely I had not waited for them ! And
half angry with myself for remaining, turned once more
to the anchor, when I marked a mere speck against the
dull red of the sunset sky, and then another and another.
These shapeless dots grew steadily in bulk and soon as-
sumed definite outlines. They were gradually coming
nearer and nearer to where I waited, and each quickly
grew to a bird of great size, as it passed over and alighted
on the birch-trees beyond. The buzzards had returned.

Quickly shipping my anchor, I sculled as closely as
possible, without being seen by them, and watched, as
best I might, in the uncertain and rapidly decreasing

63 WASTE-LAND WANDEPwINGS.

liglit. My efforts were rewarded by tlie acquisition of
one fact. The buzzards murmured to themselves as
they settled down to rest. It was a curious sound. 'Not
harshly guttural, as might be imagined, but a fairly
smooth and soothing utterance. I had not waited for
nothing. For the first time, I had heard a turkey-buz-
zard sing ! The sounds soon ceased, and when all was
quiet, save the ceaseless racket of the katydids, I shouted
loudly, when, with a pig-like grunt, each buzzard stood
alert, with half-open wings. I shouted again. Again
the answering grunt, but not one left its perch. I re-
mained quiet for a few minutes, and gradually they
sunk again to more easy positions, and were soon, I
hope, asleep.

For the third time I withdrew to the main creek, and
as I turned my boat's bow homeward, the rising moon
flooded with silvery, uncertain light the deep recesses of
the leafy " Eest," and there, silent as the eternal hills,
and sharj)]y limned against the eastern sky, were the
weird forms of twenty slumbering vultures. It was an
uncanny sight.

CHAPTER III.

WATSON'S CROSSING.

A FORETASTE of Octobev, ill the early morning of liot
August days, is not infrequently the experience of him
who is astir at dawn. Eecklessly phmging through a
fog-enveloped wilderness of weeds, I chanced upon the
bank of a winsome little brook, as it hurried to the hid-
den meadows beyond. The world was yet at rest. Be-
yond the rippling of the water, not a sound was heard
save the muffled crowing of a distant cock, and at longer
intervals the drowsy barking of a dog.

I watched the steady flow of the brimming stream for
many minutes, and at last the chatter of the squirrel,
the cry of the flicker, and querulous plaint of tiie nut-
hatch floated from the hidden trees, and with them
swept by a chilly breeze, bringing a crimson leaf to
where I sat. Every sound suggested autumn, and the
leaf forecasted the painted forest.

As the fog rose, the shapely gum-tree, from which had
come the pretty leaf, came into view, and half its foli-
age was as ruddy as the waif that I held in my hand.
There are gum-trees on the hill-side that drop scores
of these "autumn" leaves in August, as surely as the
month rolls round, yet my neighbors never fail, as they
pick them up, to wave them before you as an infallible
sign of an " early fall." Dropping, as they do, in Au-

04 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

gnst, I admit tliej prove an early fall, but for them-
selves only.

But I am on my way to the boat, and propose to go
" 'cross lots," if so be it the meadows will afford a foot-
ing. It is not wise to do, except at this time of year, so
treacherous is many a grassy spot when the springs are
full. And after a mile or more of tramping over soft
ground, how one longs for a solid rock to stand upon !
An uncertain footing is a source of weariness not only
to the flesh but to the mind. Try poetizing over some
gorgeous meadow bloom while your feet sink deeper
and deeper in mud of unknown depth, and tell me then
whether I am right or wrong. There is a curious page in
my note-book where half the lines rhyme with one four-
lettered, vigorous exclamation that custom taboos ; but a
soothing word, under some circumstances, nevertheless.

The nearest rock in place, from where I stand, is some
hundreds or thousands of feet beneath the meadow mud ;
the next is that at the head of tide-water, where a flinty-
hard ledge crops out and ripples the broad and shallow
waters of the Delaware.

But if there are no bed-rocks here, we can boast of
the next best thing, an occasional bowlder. What a
marvellous history have these transported fragments of
some distant mountain ridge, yet how few are w^illing to
listen while their story is being told. The great ice
age, when glaciers and floods were mightiest, is to most
a myth ; and poor palaeolithic man is denied recognition,
in spite of the many traces he has left of his sojourn in
the river's valley.

WATSON'S CROSSING. 65

I know of two fine bowlders in the meadows, but I use
them only for stepping-stones — never as texts. My last
public talk about them was disastrous. "There's the
stones, as you say," remarked one of my audience, "and
the lunertic 'sylum, a big pile of stone, is four miles up
the river." I made no reply, and to this day that gray-
beard passes in and out as a Solon, and I am the crank.

One of these bowlders is milky-white and very hard,
and so much of its surface as is exposed is very smooth.
I formerly thought that if it had been lying in a higher
and drier meadow, the Indians would have made use
of it, and perhaps have carved some curious image upon
it, and I was right, after all. Recently, the low stage of
water gave me the chance to examine it closely, and
upon one side there are shallow depressions, where celts
were sharpened. Such marks are unmistakable. IN^ot
fifty rods away there is a knoll that the highest freshets
only partly cover, and the ashes of the Indians' camp-
fires are there exposed whenever the sod is broken.
And there, when it was last ploughed, I found a dozen
celts, perhaps every one shaped and sharpened on this
very bowlder in the marsh.

The higher banks of the meadow ditches are still
densely green, and as the eye glances along the leafy
wall it is seldom that it catches a bit of color. It was
not so to-day. As I skirted the south side of Faxon's
Brook I found a great cluster of rosy centaury. It was
backed by ferns and bitter-sweet, the latter laden with
its orange berries. ISTothing to equal it have I seen
this summer. Centaury is to be looked for in high and

66 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

dry localities, according to the text-books ; but I know
of no other spot where it grows in such luxuriance as
here. Has some recent freshet brought the seed from
a distant point 2 And from this sj^ot onward, until I
reached my boat, there was color everywhere. I an-
ticipated a red-letter day in consequence.

For no half-mile of the creek's course is it so astonish-
ingly crooked as where we approach its next point of
interest, Watson's Crossing ; for thus it was known in
colonial days, and by this name only shall I hereafter
mention it. The railroad crosses the creek at this point,
and the farmers unmindful of the earlier and better
history of the place, or else ignorant of it, call this twist
of the stream " High Bridge." Fortunately, the railroad
passes over a trestle sixty feet in the air, and is, more-
over, so shut in by trees that it does not materially affect
the absolute wildness of the spot.

While beautiful at all times, Watson's Crossing is
charming now. Lusty button - bushes crowd its banks,
and jut out, as small peninsulas, at every turn. They
are now at their best, heavy with perfect globes of deli-
cate white bloom. Creeping over many is the venture-
some Rutland beauty. So lithe a growth, so fair a face,
Rutland may well be proud of her charms ; and it is not
to be wondered at that she blooms onlv where the wa-
ters beneath afford her a mirror, in which, while the day
lasts, she can gaze admiringly.

E'estling about the roots of the button-bushes, and in-
deed wherever it is permanently shady, grows the in-
conspicuous ground-nut, now in full bloom. The flow-
ers are small, sweetly scented, darkly purple and brown,

WATSON'S CROSSING. 07

and tlieir shape recalls to me those gloomy drab bonnets
such as every strict Quakeress wore, or still wears, for
anght I know. It is an ap23ropriate blossom for these
Quaker grounds.

The Indians held this plant in high esteem. Peter
Kalm, the Swedish naturalist, found it abundantly in
southern Jersey, and remarks concerning it : " Ilopniss
or Ilapniss was the Indian name of a wild plant, which
they ate at that time. The Swedes still call it by that
name, and it grows in the meadows in a good soil. The
roots resemble small potatoes, and were boiled by the
Indians, who eat them instead of bread. Some of the
Swedes at that time likewise ate this root for want of
bread. Some of the English still eat them instead of
potatoes. Mr. Bartram told me that the Indians who
live farther in the country do not only eat these roots,
which are equal in goodness to jDotatoes, but likewise
take the pease which ly in the pods of this plant, and
prepare them like common pease."

As my boat floated slowly down the creek, just clear-
ing the bushes, I was struck with the vast numbers of
primroses. The flower-stalks stood far above the sur-
rounding grass and weeds, and every blossom fully
blown, they made a magnificent display. In color a
light or greenish yellow, they contrasted strongly with
the frequent clusters of dark, almost orange, Eudbeckias,
six and seven feet in height. These were here the
most conspicuous flowers, and dwarfed to utter insignifi-
cance another yellow bloom, a St. John's-wort, growing
in the grass, and quite hidden, except for the profusion
of its small, golden-tinted flowers. I looked in vain for

68 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

other colors. All, like the Assyrian's cohorts, were gleam-
ing with purple and gold. But if not flowers of other
hues, there were stately trees in abundance, and here
the lindens and hornbeams gave place to sycamores, wil-
lows, swamp white-oaks, birch, sumac, locust, butternut,
and hickory. A greater contrast in foliage could not
well be imagined tlian these trees afforded.

Passing through a small forest of the trees mentioned,
I came to the scanty remaining traces of a once busy
place. Two hundred and one years ago Matthew "Wat-
son, having spent two years in the village of Burlington,
after his arrival from England, came to the south bank
of the creek and finding it a " goodly spot, well worthy
of settlement and cultivation," did purchase the same
forthwith ; builded a " most comfortable and generous
house," and put under cultivation '' rich acres on every
side, excepte where the Creek runneth, on my north-
bounds, and here have I builded of stout oaken logs a
most commodious and well appointed wharf ; and from
it, there is dispatched each weeke a shallop of 40 tons
burthen, also builded of oaken timber, cutte from my tim-
ber tract." So runs the record, and in 1703, when Mat-
thew died, there was no busier site on this same creek.
But prior to this the spot had not been a forsaken wil-
derness. An Indian trail from the Delaware, across the
State to the sea, crossed the creek quite near, and the
narrow path was marked at the toj) of the " bold north
shore" by an enormous tulip -tree, which reaching far
above the surrounding forest growths, was a landmark
to be seen for many miles. The bluff here was less
steep than usual, and for an acre or more was covered

WATSOX'S CROSSING. 69

with walnut, butternut, and hickory trees, supposed to
have been planted by the Indians.

A century ago the spot was known as "Gun -slip,"
and only recently has this meaningless name been cor-
rectly explained. It is a corruption of " Oconio's leap,"
and the story of two centuries ago ran that a Unami Ind-
ian of that name once climbed nearly to tlie top of the
tree to rob an eagle's nest, when the eagles attacked him.
Seeing that his safety lay in sudden flight only, he gave
a mighty leap, ho2:)ing to alight unharmed among the
thick-set branches of the trees beneath ; but that the old
she-eagle caught him as he jumped, and let him down
gently to the ground. A beautiful example of a nursery
tale told by matter-of-fact Quakers.

It was here, just a year ago, that I stopped to talk
with a neighbor, and he told me a strange story. lie
had been mowing, some weeks before, a rank growth of
weeds, and while thus engaged, noticed a few paces be-
fore him a clump of elders about which a pair of little
yellow warblers were constantly flying, as though in
trouble. Suddenly one of them flew directly in his face,
snapping its bill and chirping excitedly. Not stopping
his work, the mower was again and again saluted in the
same manner, and he saw that the bird's actions meant
nnmistakably a protest against his farther progress. He
quit mowing, and the bird flew back to the bushes. lie
cut another swath, and brought the bird back almost at
the same moment. The mower's curiosity was now
thoroughly aroused. He walked ahead to the buslies
and found a nest containing young birds. "Weeks af-
ter, I went to the place, and found the cluster of

70 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

elders as lie left tliem. The nest now was, of course,
empty.

I see no reason why this should be doubted. I have
knowledge of many incidents quite similar to the above,
and were dogs or even cats the heroes, such anecdotes,
when narrated, would create but little surprise.

There seems to be a very general impression that in-
telligence among animals increases as they ascend the
scale of anatomical structure. I cannot think so. Years
of familiarity with a multitude of varied forms of life,
lower than mammals or than birds even, have led me to
conclude that in the more simply organized brains may
be localized intelligences that outrank those of struct-
urally higher animals. The element of danger in a
creature's environment is one great stimulus to a de-
velopment of mother-wit, and those that, in spite of a
multiplicity of enemies, continue to liold their own, ex-
liibit far more frequent evidence of effective brain-power
than do such as by brute force, or exceptional facility in
escaping attack, maintain their places among us.

I should not expect to find marked evidence of fore-
thought among opossums or even squirrels, but that a
comparatively helpless little warbler should display such
wisdom does not surprise me, although the danger threat-
ened its young and not itself.

My neighbor's story of the little warblers recalled the
fate of a brood of king-rails in my mucky meadow.
The tangled white-joint grass was being cut, and stead-
ily over the marshy stretch the mower forced his way.
Not a bird there but must have heard the meaning
" swish " of the deadly blade, if it did not divine what

WATSON'S CROSSING. 71

the sound meant. The blackbirds hovered overhead
and protested at the invasion of their weedy haunts, al-
though their young had been long upon the wing. The
liquid notes of the swamp - sparrow trickled from the
hedge-row, mourning, I thought, that the protecting grass
should be no more ; and all unmoved upon its nest sat
a king-rail, which, deprived of its earlier brood, was pa-
tiently rearing another. There it sat, and another sweep
of the scythe would pass closely over it, if not, indeed,
through the poor bird's body. Tlie mower drew nearer,
with arms drawn back, when, quick as a flash of light,
the bird fled from the swift stroke of the shining blade,
and, with a wild cry, forsook her nest. An armful of
grass was piled about it, and the mower passed on. Tow-
ards evening the poor bird returned, but only to find her
young dead from neglect or exposure.

Again and again, in the gloaming, I heard the wild
cries of the bereaved king-rail, as it seemed to utter
curses on those who would not leave unmolested even
that little tract of waste land.

As I tarried a moment to examine the curiously twist-
ed branches of an overhanging maple, I noticed a broad
hemlock slab floating towards the boat, and when quite
near, discovered that it was burdened with a living
freight. Coiled upon a mat of dead leaves that had
lodged or been placed upon the slab, was an enormous
water-snake. While it was yet at its ease, and I at mine,
I examined the couch of the sleepy, if not sleeping, ser-
pent as best I could from a distance. It appeared to
have no coarse material in it, but made up of just such

73 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

stuffs as were suited for a comfortable bed. I am dis-
posed to believe that water-snakes gather these bunches
of dead grass and leaves, rather than trust to finding a
suitable hap-hazard accumulation. It is true, I never
surprised one of them while at work, but base my sug-
gestion primarily upon the fact of the uniformity of the
materials. Drifted rubbish, I take it, would be of a
more mixed character.

Again, I have had for some weeks an exquisite little
green snake in a Wardian case. It has chosen one cor-
ner for its resting-place, and has arranged the mosses in
such a neat fashion that nest-building in a primitive way
seems to be a practice with some serpents. My little
green snake had hard work to remove one obstacle, but
by dint of pushing and prying finally succeeded, and
worked more ingeniously than if it had carried materials
in its mouth, as a water-snake would have to do. So
much for a snake's bed : does its occupant ever think ?
What transpires in its brain, as it stares you so boldly in
the face? I wish the problem could be solved. If not
intelligence, what can it be that gives such a meaning
expression to its glistening eyes ?

The snake's raft and my boat came slowly together.
Eeclining at full length, I leaned over the bow, and in
a few seconds was within reach. Very deliberately I
moved my hand over the gunwale and reached outward.
The snake was watching my hand rather than me. It
did not dart its pretty tongue, but stared. I reached to
within six inches of its body, and was about to clasp my
fingers over one of its coils, when with a lightning-like
snap it bit my thumb severely, released its hold, and was

WATSON'S CROSSING. 73

gone. I could not but laugli immoderately at the pre-
cipitancy of its retreat after nipping my thumb. The
snake was really an arrant coward. But to return to the
question : if the snake was not thinking, and as prede-
termined to bite as I was to touch, what was the creat-
ure's brain doing during those anxious moments? Can
w^e imagine any other tlian a mental activity such as is
known to be possessed by man ? What intelligence or
mind may be, I have not the most remote conception,
beyond its intimate connection with the brain ; but after
a lifetime spent in studying our familiar wild animals, I
have utterlv failed to find other mental differences be-
tween them and mankind than those of deofree.

It has been suggested that enthusiasm on the part
of the observer may "saturate its object . . . with
thoughts, ideas, and emotions foreign to its intrinsic
nature." Is not this an admission that " thoua:hts, ideas,
and emotions," not foreign, may be generated by a
snake's brain? If so, I have erred only in misinter-
preting, quite insignificantly, their mental powers.

When this same snake is speeding through the water,
or creeping cautiously through the meadow-grass, in
pursuit of prey, it knows that speed is necessary to ca2)t-
ure a fish, and caution required to secure a mouse; and
during the act, what thought but tliat a given plan,
learned by experience, must be followed out? How
does man differ from all this ? Does not the hunter,
in pursuit of game, follow much the same rules, and, so
far as his proper business is concerned, think practically
the same thoughts ?

To return to the irate serpent of the raft : it had no
4

74 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

intention of leaving its comfortable quarters perma-
nently, and before my boat had drifted half its length,
had reappeared and was resting its head and neck upon
the slab. As I made no ofiensive motion, it soon crawled
again to its old place, but never, for a second, lost sight
of me. The snake in returning so promptly, after show-
ing itself a coward not five minutes before, was thor-
oughly contradictory, and I could only think that here
af^-ain we have a mental characteristic that is remark-
ably well developed in man.

'kext to the mooted point, the maximum length of
a water -snake, or of any species of serpent, is that of
the creature's age. My neighbors seem to believe that
death only comes through violence. While I have been
altogether unsuccessful in my efforts to determine these
points, I have found that the common water -snake
grows more and more slowly each year, and when the
supposed maximum size is reached — about six feet —
a considerable length of years is yet before the creat-
ure, if no ill-luck crosses its path. A snake of this
species, and of about the length mentioned, lived un-
der a stone wall in Laurie's mill-pond for seventeen

years.

Judging from his dingy colors, his sluggish move-
ments when in the water, and apparent love of cpiiet,
the snake I saw to-day had probably weathered a quarter
of a century, and long may he continue to flourish !

It is an interesting fact that wherever the early set-
tlers chose a site for a village or laid out a highway,
they found that the Indians had preceded them. Prob-

WATSON'S CROSSING. 75

ably every road, two centuries ago, was the route of an
Indian trail, and the sites of every community, whether
of Dutch, Swedes, or English, were those of Indian vil-
lages. It was the case here, at AVatson's wharf. The
Indian jxath crossed the creek, a few rods down tlie
stream, and where the wharf was, stood, long years be-
fore, a group of wigwams. Here is a positive statement,
yet never a white man saw them, nor did Indian ever
l^oint out the spot as the former home of some of his
people. Since that distant day, when the red men aban-
doned it, until now, it has never been known. It is my
own good-fortune to bring it into the light of the pres-
ent. By a mere chance, I became a discoverer. It is
a pleasant experience, and as trace after trace of the
former occupants were brought to view, I pictured to
myself every phase of their quiet lives while dwelling
here.

The last rain had gullied the terrace and uprooted a
small tree, and on the newly exposed soil I found many
fragments of pottery. It was this that led me to ex-
plore the spot more completely, and bring to light what-
ever else it might contain. Tiie earth itself was deeply
discolored by minute fragments of charcoal and the di-
rect action of fire, while the circle of large white stones
that defined a hearth were still in place. Witliin the
enclosure there was one of those curious slabs of slaty
rock, with a number of circular j^ts on one side, that
are reasonably supposed to have been used as lapstones,
and that when the Indian cracked nuts, he placed them
in the pits to prevent their slipping from under the
hammer. It is a curious fact that these pitted stones

76 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

are more common where nut-trees are abundant than
else^vhere.

A cylindrical pebble, nearly two feet in length and
made perfectly symmetrical by pecking away every in-
equality, brought to mind the early cornfields of the
neighborhood; for the cultivation of maize is indissolu-
bly connected with the history of the Indian. These
pestles were used in crushing the corn in wooden mor-
tars, usually made of the wood of our sour gum, which
the Delawares called by the short and euphonious name,
tachquachcaniminschL

The omnipresent axe and arrow-heads were likewise
buried in the earth and ashes, and just beyond the
hearth-circle w^as a dozen or more flat pebbles, notched
on two sides, which were once the weights of a fish-
net.

Continuing the search, I found a fragment of clay to-
bacco-pi23e, and finally, deepest down of all, a bear's
claw, a perforated fossil shark-tooth, and a carved steatite
trinket. Could I but have found a trace of the old
hunter's canoe, there would have been no chapter want-
ing of his life's history.

The discovery of such wigwam sites is not an unu-
sual occurrence, and but one mystery hangs over them.
Why, when they were abandoned, was not the personal
property of the occupants carried away ? The axe, the
pestle, the pitted slab, the arrow-heads, the several orna-
ments were perfect, yet here they were, lying in the
blackened earth, as though intentionally thrown into the
fire. Did the Unamis, the Delawares of the Crosswicks
valley, burn the house, w^ith all that it contained, when

WATSOX'S CROSSING. 77

one of their people died? The appearance of this
''find" was certainly snggestive of such a custom. Yet
it was one that did not always hold good, for they are
known to have had extensive cemeteries, where very
different but no less elaborate funeral rites were ob-
served.

It is useless to conjecture just when this Indian had
his " wattled hut " at this place. That it was many cen-
turies ago is probable ; the absence of articles of Euro-
pean manufacture is indicative of this ; but the fact that
it might have been less than five hundred years ago
does not w\arrant the popular notion that the Indians
are but recent comers to these parts. "When all the ev-
idences of their antiquity are duly considered, it must
be admitted that the final migration of the Delaware
Indians to New Jersey occurred centuries prior to the
Christian era.

Startling though the assertion may be, it is safe to
affirm that the Indian was preceded by an even ruder
people. Sift the meadow mud through your fingers,
and then search the underlying gravels ; for not until
this is done will you have read the story of the races,
backward, to the beginning. The occupancy by man
of the valley of the Delaware, and of this creek, is divis-
ible into three distinct periods — the Indian, wdiom all
know ; the Eskimo, whom few have suspected ; and far-
thest back the scarcely recognized palaeolithic man, who
"was no more capable of making a stone arrow-head
than he was of building a pyramid."

Writes a celebrated archaeologist in the North Amer-
ican Review :

78 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

" Yv^lio were tlie earliest inhabitants of America, and
when did they live ? are questions which have generally
been approached solely from the point of view offered
by discoveries in the United States. ... In the follow-
ing essay I propose to deal with them as portions of one
great problem common to the Old and 'New Worlds,
and to show that the first traces of man, as yet discov-
ered, prove him to have lived in the same low stage of
culture on both sides of the Atlantic, at a time when
the hands of the geological clock pointed to the same
hour over the greater part of the world. The story of
early man in America is a part of the greater story of
the first appearance of man on the earth, so far as he has
yet been revealed by modern discovery."

So I am not alone in the advocacy of very ancient
American man ; but ask me for no particulars concern-
ing the important questions of origin or antiquity. Of
the latter only will I say, it is a matter of " time rela-
tive " and not of " time absolute."

Having gathered up my treasures and returned to the
boat, I quickly forgot the Indians when again afloat, and
a few yards' progress brought in view the most gorgeous
disj^lay of yellow bloom I had yet seen. It was the yel-
low Gerardia, and although abundant up and down the
creek, is nowhere else so luxuriant. I gathered an arm-
ful of the rank flower-stalks, and while returning to the
boat, was forced to stand a moment and admire a fruit
as yellow as the bloom I carried. It was the climbing
Celastrus, but in this case was a bush rather than a vine.
The crop of berries that it bore was simj^ly enormous.
Again, at the very water's edge, was a yellow hawk-

WATSON'S CROSSING. 79

weed, and it was with unfeigned pleasure that, half a
rod distant, I could buiy my boat in a wilderness of cle-
matis, now in the very height of its blooming.

While I lingered here, a pretty butterfly, the red ad-
miral, alighted upon my knee as I was writing, and
seemed wholly at ease in this imusual position. Some-
thing upon my clothes was attractive to it, and the
graceful movements of its proboscis, and occasional
down-dipping of one antenna and then the other was
amusing. I noticed that the right and left wing moved
separately down and up, as though to retain the creat-
ure's balance, which the w^ind threatened, and at each
such movement of the wings the corresponding antennae
likewise dipped. This butterfly occasionally flew to the
bushes near by, but never to remain long away, and
sooner or later returned and was my companion for a
great part of the day.

An acre or two of neglected meadow reaches to the
creek's shore, a half mile distant, and now it is brow-
deep in boneset. It was scarcely penetrable, and a par-
adise for butterflies and bees. Many of the latter, in-
deed, took my intrusion rather ill-naturedly, buzzing
and staring me in the face, but none stung me. The
common milk-weed butterfly was remarkably abundant,
and made good the remarks of Scudder concerning them :
" Having multiplied to excess, vast swarms are found to-
gether; together they mount in the air to lofty heights,
as no other butterfly appears to do, and play about in
ceaseless gyrations ; and sometimes they crowd so thick-
ly upon a tree or bush as by their color to chanire its
w^hole ai32)earance." This they did to-day, and a small

80 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

sassafras sapling was so covered that tliey appeared to
outnumber the leaves, and gave the tree a permaturely
frost-bitten appearance. I cautiously drew near, and
counted one hundred and seven of them, and there were
almost as many more. Then giving tlie tree a vigorous
shaking, they all took flight, and made a distinct rustling
noise as they did so. They did not mount the air to
any height, but scattered over the snowy boneset blos-
soms, and reminded me of an October shower of painted
leaves.

A migration of what was unquestionably this species
of butterfly took place near by, in September of 1881.
They fiCW at a height of probably two hundred yards
only, and moved in a long, narrow body, that took an
hour to pass a given jDoint. The migration is known to
have extended twenty -five miles, and if the direction
was not changed, or the journey ended, a few hours
would have brought them to the sea. It is rather curi-
ous that several such migrations occurred at about this
time in the New England and Middle States. Since
then I have not seen it repeated.

Associated with the bees and butterflies that sucked
endless sweets from the fragrant boneset were hundreds
of beautiful dragon-flies. These darted everywhere in
the most erratic manner, but did not seem to molest any
other creature. I counted five distinct species, some of
which were brilliantly colored. These insects also mi-
grate in countless thousands ; and often the air is filled
with them, flying at a considerable elevation, all in the
same direction, and taking hours and even days to pass
a given point.

WATSON'S CROSSING. 81

Wliile tlic bloom above was crowded with busy life,
the ground beneath appeared to harbor no creature of
any kind. I looked in vain for a frog, snake, toad, or
turtle ; but no sooner had I passed the meadow's bound-
ary than I found all four of them. A water-snake was
hurrying creekward with a toad in its jaws, and a frog
sat near, as though contemplating the toad's fate, and
perhaps wondering if its turn would come next. I re-
leased the toad, which hopped away gleefully and rpiite
unhurt, and the snake savagely bit at my hand for dis-
possessing it of its lawful prey. The bite was but a
pin -prick, scarcely bringing the blood, although the
snake was a large one.

Every creek, I suppose, has its monsters ; usually of
serpentine shape, although not always. The older fish-
ermen about here still insist upon a wonderful water-
snake, sometimes captured but never killed. There is
one curious feature about these stories. They all refer
to adventures in the lives of older men, now dead. No
one living has ever caught the Crosswicks sea-serpent ;
but as soon as an old man dies, it is suddenly remem-
bered that he did have such an experience. Comment
is unnecessary. ISTevertheless, there are big snakes,
large turtles, and many overgrown fishes in the creek,
and an occasional lona fide specimen is exhibited at the
cross-roads tavern, and subsequently is heralded in the
local paper. Every ensuing year the history of the
monster is repeated, and a pound in weight or a foot in
length is added. It is really strange that many a large
catfish caught by our grandfathei's has not grown to a
whale by this time.

83 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

Again afloat, I took a long, last look, and while the
beauty of the bloom upon its shores, and the crowded,
branch-locked towering trees above were being scruti-
nized, in hopes of some novelty I had failed to see, the
cars came rumbling over the high bridge. It was a
strange combination of the natural and artificial, which
on the whole was far from pleasing, yet was not barren
of fruit for the contemplative rambler. The cars dis-
turbed a number of swallows, which had been resting
on the timbers of the trestle, and until now had made
no sound, and been quite unsuspected. Certainly for
two hours a hundred swallows of two species had been
sitting still, neither flying at short intervals nor twitter-
ing above a whisper. I have seen something akin to
this, later in the month, when telegraph-wires would
be lined with these birds, but then they were more or
less restless and twittered continually. I could not but
think how unsafe it is to declare such and such a creat-
ure wanting in any locality, wdiere it rightfully belongs,
because we do not happen to see it.

The day was drawing to a close as I left AYatson's
Crossing fairly behind me and floated leisurely with the
tide for half a mile, until timber-land was again reached.
The intervening open tract is all a pasture meadow,
well in grass, but not to the exclusion of many flowers.
Purple and yellow, of course ; it is almost in vain to look
for other colors. Here Avhere cows were grazing grew
rank vervain, with its tapering purple spires, that im-
parted a Tyrian hue over all the landscape ; and it was
a positive relief to reach a drooping willow — although
an exotic — a broad -leaved catalpa, or tropical sumac.

WATSON'S CROSSING. 83

The latter, with its velvety bloom of richest red seems
always out of place among our plainer trees. Indeed,
one spot where stood a thrifty sumac in full bloom,
witli wild-rice, cat's-tail and purple cock's-comb grass
growing immediately about it, was a little tropic, that
needed but a few humming-birds to make complete.
There were few birds of any kind in the neighborhood,
but while I lingered at the sumac a silent, morose cuckoo
flew from the opposite sliore and clucked in his peculiar
way when once hid in the thickest cluster of the tree's
foliao:e. It was the first of these birds that I had seen
for many days, so I followed his movements as best I
could, with as much interest as though a novelty. To
me, in truth, for years past, it has been a most enter-
taining bird. His talents certainly do not lie in a mu-
sical direction ; yet the broken, gutteral cluck that he so
frequently utters is not discordant ; and further, it does
not appear to have been noticed by ornithologists that
these birds neither all cluck alike nor is this clucking
their only utterance. They occasionally give a more
birdlike cry, something like the first syllable of a wood-
pee- wee's song. Like all young birds, the brood peep
quite shrilly when handled. As to the ordinary clucking
of adult birds, it accords well vritli the surroundings,
and when accompanied by the "z-ing" of the harvest-
fly, completes the essential features of an August after-
noon.

I am much surprised to find these birds recorded as
such devoted creatures, both to their mates and to their
young. The mother bird, it is true, looks well after her
offspring, but as childless lovers, earlier in the summer,

84 WASTE-LAND WAXDERIXGS.

they are, it always appeared to me, exceedingly prosaic.
I have never been so fortunate as to witness these evi-
dences of conjugal affection so graphically described by
Alexander Wilson. They seem rather to live on the
plan of every one for himself, and consider their own
comfort to the entire exclusion of that even of their
mates. However it may be with other birds, it is high-
ly improbable that the cuckoo cares a jot whether he
renews his acquaintance w^th his last year s wife or con-
sorts with a stranger. The cuckoo in the sumac per-
sisted in remaining characteristically prosaic, uttering
no sound after he first announced his presence, and not
deio-nino- to ^o throuo^h those beautiful evolutions among

fc> O o o ^

the branches in which he sometimes indulges when m-
sect hunting. I have occasionally seen a cuckoo, with
apparently closed wings, encircle a large limb of a tree
without touching it; as though in some mysterious
manner it gave the necessary impulse to its body, and
determined the direction by the curvature of the tail.
Their flight is easy and deliberate when passing from
tree to tree, giving one the impression of a lazy bird ;
but often when in a tree their movements are the cli-
max of graceful locomotion.

I have been referring to the commoner yellow-billed
species. There is another, the black-billed, wdiich has
essentially the same habits. Both, I have ever found,
are partial to the proximity of running water, and they
often remain so closely to the overhanging branches,
that while often heard, they will seldom be seen, unless
one is afloat and observes them then. The cuckoo in the
sumac remained quite closely to the water's edge for

WATSON'S CROSSING. 85

some time, and then by sliort fliglits, from Lush to bnsli
and tree to tree, kept a creekward course until out of
siglit. Had I been on shore, I woukl never have sus-
pected that a cuckoo Avas near— unless, indeed, I heard

it clucking.

As I proceeded, the meadows became more marshy
and shrubs were scattered along the creek's bank ; but
soon, standing alone, was found a thrifty plum-tree, and
a black haw so near by that their branches intertwined.
The fruit of the wild plum was about half ripe, and
either pale yellow or orange and red. It was far too
beautiful to leave behind, and I gathered all that was
within easy reach. With this fruit I felt that niy
cargo was completed, and the scanty remnant of day-
light remaining demanded a hurried passage to my next
anchorage for the night, and this was yet to be found,
at or near the great swamp white-oaks whose towering
tops were still plainly visible against the dull crimson
of the sunset sky.

The mysterious impulse that bade me remain after
sundown and until well into the night, was not brought
to bear upon me this evening. A suitable place to hide
my boat was now my only thought, and while a few^
last rays of sunshine glinted through the tree -tops, I
found the desired haven in a cluster of button-bushes,
near the big oaks; and crushing the beautiful white
alisma's bloom, as I drew the boat upon the shore, was
about to start, with my many treasures, when two vines
commanded my attention. A climbing pea, with pur-
ple bloom, was on my right, and a clambering mikania
on my left. I gathered a long piece of each, that neither

86 WASTE-LAND WAXDERIXGS.

should feel slighted, and brushing through the tall club-
rush, rich with nutty -brown bloom, was soon fairly
homeward bound, with not a wish for further novelty.

Eut it was not to be. As I came to my neighbor's
pasture meadow, I found the spot anything but quiet,
as I expected. Hundreds of excited birds filled the air,
which but a glance needed to identify as night-hawks.
Graceful and erratic as swallows in their flight, they
remained remarkably near the ground, and seemed
scarcely to rise above the level of my head. For a mo-
ment I stood perfectly still, and felt the wind from their
wings as they rushed by ; but all the while I heard no
vocal utterance. Each was too busy with the myriads
of small flies, which I could not see, but felt were in
the air, to sing or even twitter to a passing fellow. My
curiosity was, of course, roused to know what insects
these were, that kept the night-hawks abroad at so un-
usual an hour ; and resting my burden at the foot of a
large elm, I prepared to investigate the matter. This
was easily done. Striking a light, I found that from
the foot of the elm there had issued and was issuino- a
brood of winged ants, which the night-hawks discover-
ing, had chased while the sunlight lasted and continued
in pursuit long after they were able to see the insects.
This was not surprising, for they had but to fly with
their beaks widely opened to take as many as they de-
sired. Usually, the night-hawk flies only during the
subdued light, shortly before sunset and for a brief
period afterwards, if the sky is clear ; but exceptions to
this are so far common, that it is a question if they can-
not successfully pursue their prey, guided by some other

WATSON'S CROSSING. 87

sense than tliat of sight. Ornithologists differ as to this.
Dr. Brewer, in the " History of North American Birds,"
says: "It has, strictly speaking, no claim to its common
name, as indicating it to be a bird of the night, whicli
it is not. It is crepnscnlar, rather than nocturnal, and
even this habit is more due to the flight of the insects
upon which it feeds at morning and at evening than to
any organization of the bird rendering it necessary."
This is probably too emphatic an assertion. It seems
so, certainly, when I recall my own observations in past
years ; and I find a writer in the " American Xaturalist,"
Yol. YII., stating it to be "both diurnal and nocturnal
in its habits, but more properly the latter." This more
fully accords with my own conclusions, except that the
term "crepuscular" is preferable to nocturnal. The
writer just quoted further remarks, "It is in the dusk
of the evening that they may be seen in the greatest
numbers ; when, in certain localities and at certain sea-
sons of the year (especially in the fall), thousands may
be seen darting around in their rapid and necessarily
irregular flight. As darkness approaches, they descend
to the earth and skim along the surface, snatching up
any ill-fated bug that may have failed to find shelter."

This is true of them, as I have noticed for years, when
they gather over the meadows. At times they fly at so
great an elevation that it is difficult to distinguish them
from the ever-present swallows ; but as the air cools and
sunset draws near, lower and lower is the plane of their
flight until they barely skim the tall weeds of the
marshes.

The comments, during haying and harvest, of some of

88 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

my farmer-neighbors upon tliis bird, in its relation to
the weather, are very funny. If by chance niglit-hawks
are seen early in the afternoon, the farmer will smiling-
ly rub the palms of his hands together and exclaim,
"fine weather, fine weather;" but if too busy to observe
them until evening, then the lower flight of the birds is
marked with a troubled countenance, and it is peevishly
announced that it will soon rain. A more worthless
barometer than a night-hawk it is difiicult to imagine ;
yet two centuries of experience with them has not les-
sened the faith of the illogical farmers.

The flying ants soon proved more troublesome than
mosquitoes, as they covered my hat and shoulders, and
commenced crawling over me in a most annoying man-
ner. I hurried away, and recklessly brushed them from
me with my bundle of botanical specimens, to the ruin-
ation of the latter, and, I was glad to find, destruction
of the former. Once free, I walked with great haste
towards home, fearing further delays, and recalled an
exodus of winged ants I had observed with some care
years ago.

Late in the afternoon of October 6, 1S72, my atten-
tion was called to a great multitude of large-sized insects
that filled the air, and aj^peared to be some unusual form
of insect life, judging of them from a distance. Closer
inspection showed them to be a brood of red ants that
had just emerged from their underground home and
w^ere now for the first time usino; their delicate winirs.
The sky at the time was wholly overcast; the wind
strong south-east ; thermometer (j(j° Fahr. Taking a fa-

WATSON'S CROSSING. 89

Yorable position, I noticed, as tliey slowly crawled from
the ground up tlie blades of grass and stems of clover
and small w^eeds, that they seemed dazed, without any
method in their movements, save an ill-defined impres-
sion that they must go somewhere. Again, nearly every
one was pushed forward by those coming after it, which
seemed to add to its confusion. Every action plainly
indicated that they were wholly ill at ease.

Once at the tip of a blade of grass, they seemed more
than ever puzzled as to what to do. If not followed by
a fellow-ant, they would invariably crawl down again
to the earth, and sometimes repeat this movement until
a new-comer followed in the ascent, when the bewilder-
ed individual would be forced to use his wings. This
flight w^ould be inaugurated by a very rapid buzzing of
the wings, as though to dry them, or prove their owner's
power over them. After a second's rest the violent
movement of the wings would recommence, and finally
losing fear, as it w^ere, the ant would let go its hold upon
the blade of grass and rise slowly upward. It could, in
fact, scarcely be called flight. The steady vibration of
the wings simply bore them upward, ten, twenty, or
thirty feet, until they were caught by a breeze, or by
the steadier wind that was moving at an elevation equal
to the height of the surrounding pine and spruce trees.
So far as I was able to discover, their wings were of the
same use to them in transporting them from their former
home that the "wings" of many seeds are in scattering
them, both being wholly at the mercy of the winds.

Mr. Bates, in describing the habits of the Saiiba ants,
says : "The successful debut of the winged males and fe-

90 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

males dejDends likewise nj)on the workers. It is amus-
ing to see the activity and excitement which reign in
an ant's nest when the exodus of the winged individuals
is taking place. The workers clear the roads of exit,
and show the most lively interest in their departure, al-
though it is highly improbable that any of them will
return to the same colony. The swarming or exodus of
the winged males and females of the Saiiba ant takes
place in January and February, that is, at the commence-
ment of the rainy season. They come out in the evening
in vast numbers, causing quite a commotion in the streets
and lanes." This quotation from our author's fascinat-
ing " ]^aturalist on the Amazons " is of especial interest,
because of the great similarity and dissimilarity in the
movements of the two species at this period of their ex-
istence. Remembering, at the time, the above remarks
concerning the South American sj)ecies, I looked care-
fully for the workers in this instance, and failed to dis-
cover more than a dozen wingless ants above-ground,
and these were plodding about, very indifferent, as it ap-
peared to me, to the fate or welfare of their winged
brethren. On digging down a few inches, I could iind
but comparatively few individuals in the nest, and could
detect no movements on their parts that referred to the
exodus of winged individuals then going on.

On the other hand, the time of day agrees with the
remarks of Mr. Bates. When I first noticed them,
about 4 P.M., they had j)robably just commenced their
flight. It continued until nearly 7 o'clock p.m., or for a
considerable time after sunset. The next morning there
was not an individual, winged or wingless, to be seen

WATSON'S CROSSING. 91

above-ground ; the nest itself was comparatively empty;
and what few occupants there were seemed to be in a
semi-torpid condition.

It was not possible for me to calculate what propor-
tion of the winged ants Avere carried by the wind too
far to return to tlieir old home ; but certainly a large
proportion were caught by the surrounding trees ; and
I found, on search, some of these ants crawling down
the trunks of trees, with their wings in a damaged con-
dition. How near the trees must be for the ants to
reach their old home I should like to determine, and
further, what tells them which road to take. Dr. Dun-
can, in his volume on the " Transformations of Insects,"
states, '' It was formerly supposed that the females which
alidited at a crreat distance from their old nests returned
again ; but Iluber, having great doubts npon this sub-
ject, found that some of them, after having left the
males, fell on to the ground in out-of-the-way places,
whence they could not possibly return to the original
nest." In the instance I have described, it seems im-
possible that more than a very small percentage conld
have returned, and indeed, if they did so, it was forty-
eight hours after their departure, for during two days
I continued to revisit the old nest.

Speaking of the little yellow ants, abundant in paths
and about houses, Dr. Packard, in his " Guide to the
Study of Insects," remarks : " The females, after their
marriage flight in the air, may then be seen entering the
ground to lay their eggs for new colonies, or, as West-
wood states, they are often seized by the workers and
retained in the old colonics." This latter occurrence was

92 WASTE-LAXD WANDERINGS.

not tlie fate of any considerable number of the ants I
observed. Dr. Packard further says that these flying
ants, "having no more use for their wings, i3luck them
off, and may be seen running about wingless."

Had I sj^ent an idle day, the injunction "Go to the
ant, thou sluggard, consider her ways and be wise,"
might have been applicable; but soon after reaching
my lioDie I found the tables turned ; the ants were con-
sidering my ways, were exploring every pocket, and
prospecting even deeper, perhaps hopeful of establish-
in o- a new formicary. It is needless to add, that I en-
tered an effective protest.

CHAPTER IV.
SWA:»IP WIIITE-OAK BEXD.

An angry Carolina wren is a capital alarm-clock.
This morning the bird was astir before dawn, and roused
me promptly at 4.30.

Once ont-of-doors, I tarried longer in the yard than
I intended, as tlie antics of the bird piqued my curios-
itj^ Strange to say, the creature was more excited than
usual, and noisier than ever before. Probably a prowl-
ing rat had come too near, and yet I saw no evidence
of damage to the nest. Tlie five young birds were tak-
ing an enviably comfortable nap. Still, the parent— I
saw but one— was far from satisfied. Mounting a little
weather-vane, it rattled its peculiar pr-r-r-r ; then dashing
into the elm, it screamed jim-mee; then from the roof
of the icediouse called zic-rei-ka, and so on, until its vo-
cabulary was exhausted. I lost fully an hour following
the bird from point to point, hoping to learn the cause

of its trouble.

I never knew this wren to mingle its many so-called
songs. The one that it utters at the outset is sure to
be repeated so long as the bird remains on a particular
perch. When it changes its position, even if it be but
for a few yards, its new song will be of a wholly differ-
ent character. For years I have been trying to deter-
mine if these notes, which are so extraordinarily varied,

94 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

bore any reference to the circumstances of tlieir utter-
ance. In this I have failed. They are apparently
meaningless, and uttered at random ; mere series of ex-
clamations, as it were, and not always loudest or most
elaborate when the excitement is intense.

It is noteworthy that at times, when all is serene,
many of these same wild cries are sweetly sung, and
would not be recognized if the bird were out of sight.
And, too, it must be borne in mind that this same wren
is greatly given to low chirpings and twitterings when
two or more are in company.

I know of no species that more fully bears me out in
the distinctions I long ago drew between the singing
proper of birds and what may reasonably be called their
conversation.

As late as August 29th I found a nest of this bird
in a novel position, in a miniature cave on the hill-side.
The whole interior was beautifully lined with inter-
woven grass and twigs. The nest was perfectly dry,
and safe from flooding during ordinary summer show-
ers. This was a discovery in local ornithology, for I
find no record of a like occurrence. I thought at the
time that jDossibly some unusual circumstance led to the
spot being chosen, and that I would never find another
such nest ; but it really is a habit of the species to build
in such localities.

To-day, on the same hill-side, down which I was hur-
rying, I found another of these " cave dwellings." It
was, I am positive, an artificial excavation, and the same
care had been exercised to make the v/alls secure. Tiie
entrance was covered with rough twigs and bits of lich-

SWAMP WIIITE-OAK BEND. 95

en, and proved simj^lj j^crfcct as a "blind. The coinci-
dence of tlie bird's leaving the nest, just as I passed in
front of it, alone led to mj discovering it. I doubt if,
an hour later, I could readily have found it again.

The occu^^ant of this earth - retreat, like mj erratic
friend in the yard, was far from pleased at my inquisi-
tiveness, and when I was far over the dew -drenched
meadows, I could still hear its shrill scolding, though the
sound was softened almost to a song, throngh the kindly
office of the fog-thick air.

As I listened, I recalled another and unfortunate wren
of my acquaintance. In a hollow oak that stood alone
on the edge of a marshy meadow, a Carolina wren made
his home during the past winter and devoted his time
to singing and spider hunting, when not obliged to de-
fend his castle from besieging blue-jays, prying owls, or
prowling mammals. I made his acquaintance early in
December, and many were the curious adventures of the
bird that I chanced to witness. These culminated at
the close of the winter.

During a blustering snow-storm, an opossum wandered
to the tree and climbed to the very roosting-place of my
wren. The tracks in the snow showed that he had en-
tered but a short time before I happened on the spot.
I am not positive, and can never determine the truth,
but it is my firm conviction that the wren, which ap-
peared to know me well and was quite tame, intended
to relate his troubles. Fluttering near my head, he
chirped, twittered, and scolded in an excited yet earnest
manner.

I surmised the difficulty, but was not so well satisfied

96 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

that assistance could be rendered. My hesitation was
evidently painful to the imjDatient wren. He swooped
down and snapped his beak, and chirped close to my
face, and looking at me with eyes that glistened with
intelligence ; then impatience controlling him, he would
again dart at me and command, as though fearful that
coaxing would not prove effective.

From me the wren constantly flew to the tree, and,
resting a moment at the entrance to its hollow, chirped
so energetically that he fairly lifted himself from his
feet. Then back to me he would come, never alighting
upon me, but hovering just above my head, and always
sufficiently in front for me to see him.

Every movement of this distressed bird was eloquence
itself, and impressed me with the fact of the great intel-
ligence of birds, beyond any other occurrence in my ex-
perience.

I finally endeavored to dislodge the opossum by smok-
ing it out, a process that very naturally increased the
excitement of the wren. In due time I was successful,
and was gratified to see the creature appear at the upper
entrance to the hollow of the old oak. It stared about
with characteristic stupidity, quite indifferent to my
presence, and to that of the exultant wren, which darted
at its face as fiercely as any hornet.

I soon brought the opossum to the ground, and the
wren was again in possession, singing exultantly as I
withdrew, perhaps intending to thank me for my serv-
ices. But, alas! my efforts in behalf of the bird were
far less successful than I supposed. The little fire that
I had placed at the foot of the tree was fanned by a

SWAMP WHITE-OAK BEND. 97

passing breeze to a lively flame, and my efforts to dis-
lodge it proved unavailing. The wren's home, so long
a landmark, soon disappeared, and with it the hermit of
the hollow oak.

Again standing upon the creek's bank, I was glad to
push my little boat from its moorings, and once more
float with the tide, or leisurely pull against it, as the case
might be. This morning I could have dropped anchor
in mid-stream, so attractive was every feature of my sur-
roundings ; and what music is sweeter than the lapping
of waves under the boat's bow ? I divided my attention
between this and the far-off whistling of a curdinal-red-
bird, the flrst I had heard for several weeks. It sang
but its own song now, though I have recently learned
that this beautiful songster may, after all, be called a
"mocking-bird." Early one morning, not long ago, I
heard one distinctly and exactly repeat the trisyllabic
cry of the whippoorwill, and then conclude the utter-
ance, each time, with its own well-known whistling.
To most people it would have appeared that a wdiip-
poorwill and cardinal were singing at nearly the same
time, the latter commencing before the other had fln-
ished. The question arises, why should this one cardi-
nal imitate another bird, when others quite near by did
not do so ? My investigation of this rather forbidding
problem proved successful. The rcdbird's home was
in a vine-clad birch, and directly beneath lay a mossy,
prostrate log, whereon a whippoorwill sat, both day and
night, and during the latter season, of course, serenaded
the cardinal with a monotonous repetition of the com-

5

98 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

mand to castio^ate unfortunate William. I do not won-
der that the redbird learned to repeat the notes of his
down-stairs neighbor when they rung in his ears night-
ly for several weeks.

I have intimated that the other cardinals about here
were not given to mocking their neighbors. Do I know
this? May not many a short song of some unseen bird
have been the utterance of a cardinal ? The acutest ear
could not have detected the difference had the bird
ceased singing with the syllable " will ;" but this it did
not do, and I made the discovery partly from this fact,
and that the whippoorwill does not sing hours after
sunrise.

It is never wise to be positive in the matter of birds.
I have insisted that the cardinal-redbird is not a mock-
er. I take it all back.

Perhaps the creek was never at a lower stage than
now. Above tide-water the river is but a valley of wet
rocks, and here, where the tide cree23S meadowward twice
daily, is the stream, as usual, but so shrunken that many
a low-lying meadow-tract offers a firm footing to the
rambler. In numerous little sink-holes, from which the
water has evaporated or soaked away, I find the skele-
tons of small fishes, neatly wrapped in the scale-armor
of their shrunken skins. They are curious objects, and
no length of soaking restores their former graceful out-
lines. As I pick them from the mud, the imprint of
their shrivelled forms is left — fossil impressions for the
naturalists of ten thousand years to come. This is possi-
ble, of course, so I wrote on the smooth surface from

SWAMP WHITE-OAK BEND. 90

wliicli I lifted a minnow, Fundulus midtifasciatus.
Will it not startle the paleontologist of the indefinite
future to chisel from a rock an already labelled fossil?
I trust that he will not go mad.

I was soon within the shadows of the great swamp
white-oaks. Here the creek curves gently to the north,
and upon its left bank grows a number of these mag-
nificent trees. Like all the oaks, they are beautiful at
all times, even when bared of every leaf. Like all large
trees, they attract birds of many kinds ; but, strangely
enough, they were apparently deserted as I rowed be-
neath their overhanging branches.

It makes a vast difference in our impressions of a lo-
cality, whether it is silent or noisy, as we draw near. If
the former, we are apt to consider it abandoned, and
jumping at the conclusion that

"something ails it now,
The spot is curst,"

we hurry by. On the other hand, if the song of a bird,
the splash of a turtle, or warning bark of a squirrel is
heard, we are assured that it is a pleasant place, and pre-
pare to tarry.

To-day it was none of these, but the wake of a
musk-rat as it crossed the creek, or nearly crossed ; when,
as though it Iiad forgotten something, it returned to the
point from which it started. This may seem too trivial
an incident to record, and indeed, a single trip would
have been ; but why did the musk-rat return so prompt-
ly ? This was what piqued my curiosity, and caused me

100 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

to check my progress down stream. Had I seen the an-
imal take something over the creek or bring something
back, all would have been plain enough, but this was not
the case. That swim of fifty yards each way was ap-
parently without an object, and so was a proper subject
for a naturalist's consideration. I felt convinced that
there was something behind the scenes. Why should
not the musk-rat's brain be as active as its body ? The
creature doubtless had plans and purposes of its own ;
and it was my desire, if not my business, to determine
w^hat they were.

When the musk-rat returned to the north shore it
looked after me, as I very slowly witlidrew, and wdien
the distance between ns was doubled, rose upon its hind-
legs and uttered a shrill squeak; then it plunged into
the water. I saw that it was again crossing the creek,
and quickly urged my boat forward. Instantly the
musk-rat dived, and I saw nothing more of it, until de-
tected in creeping very slowly from the creek and then
skulking behind the clustered stems of crowded I^uphar.
I held my boat back and waited. The musk-rat sat
watching me. Tired at last I slowly withdrew, and
wdien I could no longer see the cunning creature, it evi-
dently became satisfied that all danger was past, and
again commenced swimming to the opposite shore, and
this time not alone. A series of wakes told the story,
the brood of the cunning musk-rat followed their par-
ent.

It must not be supposed that this m.ammal is every-
where abundant. It has always been subject to constant
persecution ; and considering the numbers trapped dur-

SWAMP WIIITE-OAK BEND. 101

ing tlie winter months, it speaks volumes for their cun-
ning that they have escaped extermination. But wlieth-
er abundant or rare, one need not expect to see them
frequently during the day. They are essentially noc-
turnal, or rather crepuscular, and glory in still moon-
lit nights, when often a dozen can be seen at one time.

At intervals this creature looms up in zoological liter-
ature in a curious ^y'dj. That musk-rats are fond of
mussels, every boy upon a farm well knows ; but it is
the disposition of some, who profess to have dived a lit-
tle more deeply into this remarkable matter, to invest
this whim of the animal with a deal of mystery. The
latest screed upon this subject is the most utterly absurd
of all ; and alas ! is trumpeted forth by a school-master.

It was bad enough to have impossible gymnastics as-
cribed to the musk-rat ; to assert that it deftly forced
its toe-nails between the slightly open valves, without
irritating the sensitive " foot " so that it would be with-
drawn, and that with its fore-legs thus encumbered the
musk-rat sought the shore — vainly sought it I imagine.
All this vagary from a hopeful (?) pupil ; and now
comes the further elucidation of the problem from the
teacher. lie has been wandering along the river shore,
ay, and picked up mussels. Better yet, he has sur-
prised them with their "feet" out and puiched them
until the whole body was paralyzed. Here is the real
secret of the musk-rat, then ; they have learned the ped-
agogic squeeze !

To go back a step. These lovers of mystery assume,
at the outset, that the shells of mussels are seldom or
never injured by the musk-rat. This, of itself, is not

102 WASTE-LAND WANDERIXGS.

true. Thoreau, in '' Early Spring," remarks : " I find
. . . several Lave one valve quite broken in two in the
rat's effort to wrench them open. . . . All the rest
shoic the 'marks of their teeth at one end or the other.
You can see distinctly also the marks of their teeth
where, with a scraping cut, they have scraped off the
tough muscle which fastens the fish to its shell ; also,
sometimes all along the nacre next the edge."

Again in "Science," Ko. 107, Mr. Beecher says: "I
have often seen the posterior margins of the valves
slightly notched, and the ej^idermis scratched, from the
efforts of the musk-rat to open the shell." This author
does not believe that the hinge of the shell is success-
fully attacked by the musk-rat, but adds, " this ])ortion
is sometimes injured P

So much concerning the " never mutilated " shells.

The pedagogue declares that he can squeeze mussels
until they are paralyzed. It is a gift confined to few,
to say the least ; and he argues that his accomplish-
ments are not beyond the capabilities of a musk-rat.

Of course the latter, having no opposable thumb,
must use both fore-feet, in lieu of the powerful hand
of a pedagogue, and squeeze until the mussel cries
" enough." As soon as the valves are opened enougli
to give this agonized utterance, pop ! in goes the paw
of the rat and the coveted morsel is secure.

But in our southern and western waters the shells of
these mollusks are vastly thicker than are those of the
Delaware Biver species, and the musk-rat eats of them
as freely as of those that are thin-shelled. This matters
not. It is the magic of the squeeze and not brute force

SWAMP WniTE-OAK BEXD. 103

that accomplishes the desired object. Even when the
shell is not only thick, but ribbed and prickly with
testaceous spines^ it is the same ; let the creature but
feel the thrill of a pedagogic squeeze and it is doomed.
Ay ! but when did the musk-rat learn the secret and
secure the transference of the magic that lurks in the
hand of a school-master ?

Affain afloat, but not much more than floatiuo;. While
I had tarried :-to watch the musk-rat, the outgoing tide
had not tarried w^ith me, and now had nearly run its
long appointed course. The trees cast so inviting a
shade that I concluded to land again, and having passed
the last of the group of swamp white-oaks, beached my
boat upon the muddy shore, where towering forest-trees
w^ere thickly clustered. They grew so closely to the
w^ater's edge, that only at low tide was there any space
between their trunks and the creek. Birch, linden, but-
ton-wood, maple, and willow were about equally repre-
sented in numbers, but varying as much in size as in the
patterns of their leaves. With the miscellaneous un-
dergrowth, the locality possessed plant life of every
shade of green ; and this it is that prevents the painful
monotony characteristic of some forest tracts. It is
scarcely less objectionable to be in a forest exclusively
of pine or oak than in a gaudy flower-garden. The
sameness of the one wearies as readily as the other pains
by its excess of color. In the association of widely dif-
ferent species of trees there is a grateful variety with-
out painful contrast.

"What few birds I saw seemed partial to certain trees.

104 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

]N^ot a redstart was seen excej^t on the willows, and the
titmice and creepers singled ont the scattered button-
woods. This was not for the moment only, but held
good for the while I tarried in the shade of these
growths. As they were all evidently busy insect-hunt-
ing, each found food, I suj^pose, peculiarly attractive to
itself, in the trees they frequented.

I was somewhat sur];)rised at the variety and volume
of bird-music to be heard. The red-eyed vireo's throat
and wings were well-matched, and to decide wherein
was the greater activity would have been a difficult
matter. If the bird flew unusually fast, its notes were
always proportionately louder and more rapidly uttered.
The song is not melodious ; yet when heard afar off,
with the bird hidden among the upper branches of the
trees, it is a pleasant sound, to say the least, and one sure
to lead us deeper and deeper into the woods ; for the
desire to see the birds that w^e chance to hear is w- ell-
nigh irresistible.

To-day there Avere hosts of summer warblers, active
as the trembling leaves, in their search for insects, but
save an occasional faint chirp, all were silent. On the
other hand, the Maryland yellows-throats and crested tits
were singing constantly. It is strange that so much dif-
ference should obtain, in this respect, among our song
birds. l^Tow that nesting is over, many find next to
nothing to sing about. Can it be that their existence is
less joyful for the ten months of freedom than during
the two of their married life? Possibly we may get
from them a clew as to which birds are mated for life,
and which for a season. Is the fact that some birds sinir

SWAMP WHITE-OAK BEXD. 105

at all times of the year an indication of tlicir life-long
happiness ? As I write, I hear the song-sparrows, the
swamp-finches, and a cat-bird, all in full song ; the latter,
perhaps, singing more briefly than in June. I know
that there is much evidence to be brought forward that
both the song- sparrow and cat -bird are permanently
mated.

A sudden, violent asfitation of the surface of the wa-
ter caused me quickly to cease thinking of birds, and
recrard the strano:e commotion in the creek. It was evi-
dently not due to a passing breeze, and peering into the
depths — very shallow just then — I saw countless hun-
dreds of young shad. It was a little late for these fish.
Usually they reach tide-water, coming from the npper
portions of the river, by August 1st ; but herein Nature's
methods have been somewhat disturbed of late, and
many thousands of artificially hatched shad are now set
at liberty at such times as the Fish Commission see fit.
These, perhaps, have just arrived from some hatchery,
and are later than their wild brethren. Be that as it may,
when once full-grown no difference is detected, and no
questions need be asked, when the baked shad comes to
the table. Still, it must be confessed that the interest
centrino; in these fish is much lessened since their arti-
ficial propagation. It places them among fishes where
chickens are among birds — very useful, but not sugges-
tive of untamed nature.

The thousands of young shad that crowded about my

boat were not only very tame but very stupid ; at least

gave every evidence of being quite at the mercy of the

tides. I carefully lifted several from the water, and al-

5*

106 WASTE-LAXD WAXDERIXGS.

tliougli every precaution was taken, not to injure tliera,
they quickly succumbed. The mere act of lifting them
from the water and immediately returning them proved
a shock, and twenty seconds exposure to the atmos-
phere was fatal.

The kingfishers for many a mile seemed to know of
this school of fish, and they followed it as closely as
gulls do the moss-bunkers along our sea-coast. Again
and again these voracious birds would dart into the
midst of the young shad, and swallowed them usually
without preliminary butchering.

I foUovv^ed these fish a short distance, when, as though
the tide had turned, they very suddenly reversed their
positions and moved slowly towards the river. Consid-
ering their helplessness, it is a marvel that any of their
number should ever reach the ocean. I^ot simply for
the reason that the kingfishers followed them so closely,
but because they were also attended by numbers of pike,
perch, water - snakes, and had even to run the gantlet
of scores of hungry turtles. This in the creek where I
saw them. What their experiences in the river were to
be can be imagined.

]^evertlieless, centuries ago, the cunning Indian fish-
ermen, at this very bend of the creek, captured thou-
sands of shad by methods of their own — perhaps be-
neath the larger of the oaks still standing here.

Loskiel records, " There is a particular manner of fish-
ing which is undertaken in parties, as many hands are
wanted, in the following manner : when the shad -fish
{Alosa clujyea) come up the rivers, the Indians run a dam
of stones across the stream, where its depth will admit

SWAMP WIIITE-OAK BEXD. 107

of it, not ill a straight line, but in two parts, verging tow-
ards each otlier in an angle. An opening is left in the
middle for the water to run off. At this opening they
place a large box, the bottom of which is full of holes.
Then they make a rope of the twigs of the wild vine,
reaching across the stream, upon which boughs of about
six feet in length are fastened at the distance of about
two fathoms from each other. A party is detached about
a mile above the dam with this rope and its appendages,
who begin to move gently down the current, some guid-
ing one, some the opposite end, while others keep the
branches from sinking by supporting the rope in the
middle with wooden forks. Thus they proceed, fright-
ening the fishes into the opening left in the middle of
the dam, where a number of Indians are placed on each
side, who, standing upon the two legs of the angles, drive
the fishes with poles and a hideous noise, through the
opening into the above-mentioned box or chest. Here
they lie, the water running off through the holes in the
bottom, and other Indians, stationed on each side of the
chest, take them out, kill them, and fill their canoes. By
this contrivance they sometimes catch above a thousand
shad and other fish in half a day."

It was at this bend of the creek that the Indians had
one of their fish-dams, and a century afterwards traces
of it were plainly to be seen at low tide. The few
Indians that lingered about the settlements of the whites
still used it, and fished at times in company with their
pale-faced neiglibors. It is due to this fact that refer-
ences to such fishing sites and methods of capturing
shad have been recorded in several old commonplace

108 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

books, some of which I have seen. The Lest of these
is in a letter of Mahlon Stacy, who wrote " From the
Falls of Delaware, in West ^New Jersey, the 26th of the
4th month, 16S0." lie says : " Fish, in their season, are
very plenteous. My cousin Eevell and I, with some of
my men, went last third month into the river to catch
herrings ; for at that time they come in great shoals
into the shallows. AYe had neither rod nor net, but,
after the Indian fashion, made a round pinfold, about
two yards over and a foot high, but left a gap for the
fish to go in at ; and made a bush to lay in the gap to
keep the fish in ; and when that was done, we took two
long birches and tied their tops together, and went
about a stone's cast above our said pinfold : then haul-
in o- these birch bouo;hs down the stream, where w^e
drove thousands before us, but so many got into our
trap as it would hold. And then we began to haul
them on shore as fast as three or four of us could, by
two or three at a time ; and after this manner, in half
an hour, we could have filled a three-bushel sack of as
good and large herrings as ever I saw. . . . And though
I speak of herrings only, lest any should think we have
little other sorts, we have great plenty of most sorts of
fish that ever I saw in England, besides several other
sorts that are not known there — as rocks, catfish, shads^
sheep's-heads, sturgeons."

As my boat rested upon the steadily widening cush-
ion of nntracked mud, I looked carefully for any signs
of life peculiar to such an environment. There seemed
to be nothing except minute forms that would need a

SWAMP WniTE-OAK BEND. 109

microscope to identify. But if ^vanting in readily vis-
ible animal life, it was full of sound. The steady drain-
ino- off of the water caused a constant sibilant snapping
as the surface cracked and bubbled.

With not a spider even darting over the mud, and no
subterranean creature peeping above it, it would have
been monotonous waiting for the tide to turn, had not
a cat-bird kindly entertained me the while. He seemed
strangely out of place. AVhy he should have left the
briers on the hill-side and wandered thither is hard to
imagine, for the relative abundance of food in the two
localities cannot vary materially. At all events, here
he was, and with the agility of a marsh-wren clung to
the stems of pickerel-weed and wild-rice, and then vent-
uring upon the drier edge of the mud flat, hopped
with that teetering of the tail that is a feature of sand-
pipers and water-thrushes. Do all birds that come here
from the uplands walk in such a manner, as though
they caught the trick from the incessant seesaw of the
rippling waters? I was perfectly quiet, and presently
tlie cat-bird flew to the bow of the boat, and sitting
there chirped vigorously as he watched me, lying full
length in the bottom of the boat. That chirp was a
call to his mate, I took it, and presently she came— at
least another cat-bird came— and she too eyed me for a
moment intently. I could not be more sure of her
meaning had I perfect knowledge of a cat-bird's language.
She toid her mate that I might prove dangerous, and
advised his quickly retreating. He was not so easily
persuaded, and even dared hop a few paces nearer, she
scoldins: vis-orously all the while. I remained motion-

110 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

less. He came a little nearer and twittered " See here,
see here !" She was by no means convinced, and re-
mained at a safe distance. Her mate, growing still
braver, flew almost to my feet and perched upon the
stern of the boat. Then I waved my arms vigorously
above my head and the poor bird flew shrieking with
terror to the woods, followed by his more cautious mate.
A half -hour afterwards she Avas still scolding, and I
doubt not gloried over his mishap. When the months
roll by, and a new nest is to be built, if any dispute
arises, she will be twittering^ " Remember the man in

i CD

tlie boat." Like all of her sex, whether in feathers
or smooth skin, they never omit an opportunity to tease,
or forget the few times in their lives when they really
have the best of an argument.

The creek here, as in many portions of its channel,
has greatly altered since Indian times. It w^as then
much deeper, somewhat narrower, and its waters clearer.
This better condition, in fact, continued until the begin-
ning of this century, when the general deforesting of
the hill-side was commenced, and in the past eighty-five
years the rains have gullied the bluff in many places,
and carried to the creek's channel countless tons of sand
and gravel, wdiich the current has never been powerful
enough to remove; and often for hundreds of rods
there is a broad and shallow flow, where formerly it was
deep and narrow.

These great changes, deplorable as they may be, have
not robbed the creek of all its beauty. After the cat-
birds had departed, and I had sought in vain for some
substantial traces of the old Indian fishinc^-dam, I worked

SWAMP WIIITE-OAK BEXD. Ill

the boat back to the water, and i^roceeded a few rods
down the stream, wlien I came to a stretch of weedy, open
meadow, airlow with brilliant color. Ilere

The golden dodder's tangled net,
'With waxen blossoms thickly set,
Enwraps the vervain's pnrple spire;
O'erspreads the rose with thread-like fire;
And like a gilded serpent twines
The mazy host of tangled vines.

One large thicket of impenetrable growths was a ckister
of blackberry canes ; and here, too, was a grand display of
color. The canes were nearly leafless, but still covered
with a generous yield of fruit. This was but half ripe
and bright crimson, with here and there at pleasing in-
tervals a twio^ with coal-black berries.

When absence of contrast has long prevailed, how
heartily is the crimson and black, the purple and gold,
the cardinal -flower among sedges, greeted. For weeks
the upland fields have been glowing with rich yellow,
in itself a pleasing color, but how tiresome to live amid
acres of blooming partridge-pea, to the exclusion of even
an occasional blade of c^rass.

This pretty meadow — weedy, my farmer neighbors
call it — is bounded by a few large trees ; and as I ap-
proached them I heard a gentle tapping high overhead,
which I attributed to a woodpecker. While seated in
the boat, I looked into every tree as best I could, but
caught no glimpse of the bird. I looked skyward until
my neck ached, but in vain. Then, very naturally, I
"got mad." The tapping was remarkably constant, yet
the bird was playing bopecp very successfully. It must

113 WASTE-LAXD WANDERINGS.

never happen that a naturalist gives np the chase. Be-
lieving the bird was doing its best to avoid me, I deter-
mined to out-wit it. I turned tlie boat's bow inshore,
and was on the point of stepping out, when there was
the busy woodpecker almost at mj feet. But it was
not a bird. A curiously bent twig was caught and re-
leased by each j^assing ripple, and by its motion made
the tapping sound. I assumed at the outset that the
noise was made bv a bird, and so looked for it amono:
the branches of the tall trees. How unsafe it is to be
positive ; yet had I gone away without seeing a wood-
pecker, or learning the cause of the tapping, I could
never have been convinced that the bird was not where
I supposed it to be.

Here, months earlier, however, I did see a beautiful
red-bellied woodpecker that came near out-witting me.
It was in a hollow tree, instead of upon it, and judghig
from the length of time it remained concealed, must
have found the cavernous hollow an excellent feeding
ground.

This rare woodj^ecker has been slighted by ornitholo-
gists, or is a most prosaic, unentertaining bird. Wilson
states that it is not partial to fences, but loves tall trees.
Audubon says that it j^refers the forest to open country.
These facts will apply to nearly all of the family.

Unlike many birds, this woodpecker shows no dispo-
sition to suit itself to circumstances, and just as steadily
as our laro^e trees are felled do thev decrease in numbers.
In this they resemble the red-headed woodpecker. I
have never found their nests ; but once, in midwinter,
discovered a pair industriously pecking a hole in a chest-

SWAMP WHITE-OAK BEXD. 113

niU oak. Like their cousins, the flickers, these also
probably make more holes for nests in one year than
they can occupy in a dozen. In this they prove a bless-
ing to others, as the bluebirds and great crested fly-
catchers use them, unless ousted, as is too apt to be the
case, by the gray squirrels.

I am free to confess that woodpeckers, as a family of
birds, have failed to interest me. There is little if any
mystery about them, and several species being resident,
they are every-day features of an out-door ramble. You
may see one or many in June or January, and they are
always the same : agile climbers over the upright branch-
es of trees, picking, pecking, hammering as they go. Xo
birds so seldom induce me to pause, when passing through
the woods ; yet once I had a pleasant surprise, due to
the cunning of a pair of woodpeckers. During a violent
snow- squall I took shelter behind an old walnut-tree,
nearly four feet in diameter; and while standing there,
partly shielded from the storm, a pair of beautiful red-
headed woodpeckers suddenly appeared immediately
above my head, having, like me, taken refuge from the
cutting north wind and driving snow. The moment
they were at rest they saw me, and with a shrill chirp
again took wing, but as suddenly reconsidered the mat-
ter, and eying me very closely, concluded to risk what-
ever danger there might be in my presence, rather than
face such a snow-storm. I could only assure them by
remaining perfectly quiet, and for a quarter of an hour
I stood like a statue, and they sat near by, in a pain-
fully alert attitude, ready to face the storm if I moved.
As rapidly as the snowing commenced it stopped, and

114 WASTE-LAND WANDERIXGS.

I moved my arms slightly when the sunlight broke
through the clouds. Instantly the birds were on the
wing and out of sight.

To a student of animal psychology this is no trivial
incident. There was a deliberate exercise of choice ; a
consultation between the birds, and a decision reached
and acted upon ; and all transpiring in less than one
minute. If not an exercise of true reasoning powers,
what shall we call it ? Certainly no mythical " instinct "
can be called up to explain such facts.

The last bird that I saw to-day, and the least, was
probably the hapjDiest ; for it evidently combined pleas-
ure with business. I watched for a full hour a dainty
little flycatcher, that when not busy was singing. Che-
pink — Che-piiik ! it warbled with a pretty toss of the
head, and then deftly sailed out for an insect. ISTot al-
ways out, but rather down ; for it often dived into a
thicket twenty feet below, and the sharp snap of its
beak told the story of an insect's capture. Then with
an easy, upward flight it regained its perch, and whis-
tled these two syllables, peculiarly its own, Che -pink
— Che-piiik ! It was Traill's flycatcher ; a bird that
comes and goes with the migratory hosts that summer
farther north ; but it likewise stays every summer and
haunts the tree-clad reaches of the Crosswicks valley.

It is a common practice among those who delight
in studying our song birds, as they find them in their
chosen haunts, to class a very large number as " minor
songsters," giving them credit for good intentions rather
than meritorious performance. I confess to an entire
want of sym|)athy with those who draw such distinc-

SWAMP WHITE-OAK BEND. 115

tions, and rejoice in being able to derive as miicli pleas-
ure from a simple ditty as from the most varied, elo-
quent, and artistic effort. The surroundings make the
sonir. Is not the wild scream of the hawk, as it hovers
on the edge of a storm-cloud, answering the rattling
thunder with its defiant cry, akin to music ? The whis-
tle of the cardinal, in crystal-clear midwinter days ; the
hopeful ^varble of the bluebird, as it hints of spring ;
the cheery call of the crested tit ; the faint lisping of
restless cedar-birds ; simple sounds that we hear at in-
tervals, months after the grosbeak, the orioles, and the
warblers have departed ; are they not as delightful to
the ear, as soothing and suggestive as any summer song
of nesting thrushes ?

It is the homely " air" that we habitually hum, when
in a meditative mood, that is dearest to our hearts ;
some simple song, first heard in infancy, it may be, that
we never forget, and always prize far beyond the intri-
cate maze of scientific opera. So the unpretending ef-
forts of the song-sparrow, the grass-finch, and all the host
of " minor songsters," afford, I believe, at least as much
pleasure as the wonderful performances of the masters
of melody.

A glorious sunset closed the day. The feathery
clouds that for hours had been floating westward
crowded the sun's path, as though they would dispute
his progress. Kow he tui-ns upon them, and breaking
a passage through their deep -closed ranks, reillumines
the darkened reaches of the creek, while the blushing
clouds retire.

CHAPTER V.
DEAD WILLOW BEND.

In an August day there is nothing particularly an-
gust, even if it ends in a gust. This may prove more
inconvenient than grand, as when my house was struck
by lightning. One good thing, however, may be said of
the month ; its sultriness does not reach the shady re-
cesses along the creek ; and as all the indications were
those of a tropical day upon the uplands, I made haste,
as usual, on this my fifth outing, to be again afloat.

Not a creature crossed my path as I hurried along, fol-
lowing wherever the grass had been well cropped by the
cows ; for every twig and leaf was di'ipping with dew.

My neighbors speak of dew as something very differ-
ent from water, saying that it will saturate one's cloth-
ing far more quickly. I am half dis230sed to believe
it. I have never found a leatlier shoe that was proof
against it.

How little is required to raise the commonplace to the
dignity of grandeur ! Every object, however homely,
was at sunrise to-day made as beautiful as it was promi-
nent by the magic of this daintily-defining dew. Every
blade of grass bore aloft its brilliant crystal ; every leaf
sparkled with its clustered gems ; every airy highway
of Arachne was a wondrous structure, b:iilt of stolen
moonbeams.

DEAD WILLOW BEND. 117

Two tracts of meadow that I passed over this morn-
ing, liad it not been for tlie dew, would have proved
strangely monotonous, considering what a wealth of
bloom overspread them but a few weeks ago. In that
one nearest my home Flora was certainly prodigal with
her favors, even so early as ApriL Along each hedge
the dog-wood fluttered its snowy raggedness ; and be-
neath, violets, blue, purple, ashen, and white, bloomed in
profusion. Spring beauty, wherever the ground was
dry, shyly peeped through the relics of departed years.
Wind-flowers, though trembling in every breeze, showed
a bolder front, and vied with adder's - tongue and bell-
wort in courting recognition. With azure snow the
distant knolls were dusted, and I knew that the wee
Iloustonia w\as again in bloom.

Later, when standing in the midst of them, I could
not but recall the curse of familiarity. How true it is
that many of the most beautiful objects in nature are
the most abundant, and yet they are systematically over-
looked and neglected. The bluets prove this. Why
one should exclaim over a rare flower of no special merit,
and yet be indifferent to the azalea, kalmia, or iris, is in-
comprehensible to me. If a plant has no j^articular at-
traction, it is proper that it should seldom loom up in
one's pathway ; and I am thankful, for one, that so many
of the choicest wdld-flowers are so extraordinarily abun-
dant. Think of the bluets ! They grow so closely six-
teen are found to the square inch, or more than twenty
thousand to the square yard — more than a million to the
acre ! I have stood in the midst of many acres of them.
Must they be snubbed because of their abundance ?

118 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

The banks of the little brook that skirted both these
meadow tracts and the stream itself were no less brill-
iant witli spring - tide blossoms. From the shallower
waters tliere arose a leafy growth of spear-like equise-
tum, and the spotted frogs crouching at their roots
seemed less a terror-stricken host than an alert army
bearing its weapons aloft, ready to battle with the hov-
ering, hungry-eyed herons. Hard by the beautiful oron-
tium was clustered, but not a frog was near to wield
their golden clubs.

Flora w^as clearly averse to have any nook or corner
slighted, and the very mud of the creek's bank was hid-
den, even to the water's edge, with a marigold that had
no rival among the yellow blossoms of its day.

Golden ragwort, worthy of a better name, a month
later overtopped all other bloom, and its fiery blossoms
set these meadows in a blaze.

And yet later the very grass was hidden by golden
Cynthia, that paled the more ambitious evening prim-
rose growing with it ; nor yet content with her prodi-
gality, had scattered blue iris by every pool, and clus-
tered its yellow sisters at the creek.

Almost the first bird I saw this morning, as I floated
out into the stream, was one of those melanistic house-
wrens which frequent the darkest and most inaccessible
nooks of our woods. In years gone by, I knew it as the
*' wood -wren," and it was as well defined a species in
plumage, habits, and peculiarities as any of the wren
family. We are told now that the wood- wren, of which
Audubon wrote so pleasantly, w^as nothing but a house-

DEAD WILLOW BEND. 119

wren soiled with cliarcoal dust! All tlie professionals
agree to this ; and yet I cannot but think it a little
strange that every house-wren that wanders to the re-
mote woods, and lives a life strikingly different from its
kind that tenant the boxes in our door-yards, should
show decided melanism. Do abnormally dark feathers
cause them to retire to the quiet retreats of gloomy
woods ? It would appear so, yet this of course is utterly
absurd. Whether house-wren or wood-wren, it matters
not ; but liere, delighting to clamber over prostrate and
mossy tree-trunks ; to thread its way among the tangled
stems of dwarfed kalmias, and to skim along the water's
surface, picking up " skaters " as it goes, these wrens in
nothing recall their noisy brothers, that sing and scold,
the livelong day, about our houses. Nor are they noisy
and fretful, like the typical '•^cedonP Like all active
birds, they chirp frequently, and often pausing in their
insect-hunting, sing the song of the wren at home ; the
same notes, but yet more tuneful ; freer of the harsh,
rasping rattle that too often converts the song to mere
noise.

These wild wrens, too, nest in a different manner.
Choosing a hollow in some decayed tree, they place the
nest quite out of reach, often six or eight feet from the
opening that leads to it, or build on the ground among
the roots of a large tree, where they are exposed to the
attacks of small mammals.

That Audubon's wood -wren was a charcoal - dusted
house -wren is, of course, not impossible; but that a
darker -plumaged variety or race of the Troglodytes
cedon has taken itself to the woods, is not unlikely to

120 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

be true. Like all birds tliat continually haunt tlie
banks of streams, this wren had the trick of jerking its
tail quite like the spotted sand-piper or golden-crowned
thrush. Is it necessary in consequence of the yielding
of the soft mud over which it hopped ? I went ashore
to see if so small a bird left any tracks, and found that
they were quite deep ; as w^ell defined as sparrow tracks
made on new-fallen snow. Eeturning to the boat, I saw
the wren again a few rods farther down the stream, and
I wished for those of my friends who believe in the
power of snakes to charm birds. On a mat of dead
grass, close to the water's edge, was coiled a huge water-
snake, and the wren was evidently, by a torrent of abuse
and vehement scolding, endeavoring to drive the creat-
ure away. It flew at it, and snapped its beak so sharply
that I could plainly hear it ; but the snake was quite in-
different to the turmoil about, and only left its bed as
I came opposite to it. But the wren claimed all the
credit, and sang exultantly as I passed by.

Passing rank growths of aquatic weeds which to-day
seemed quite deserted, I reached that charming portion
of the creek. Dead Willow Bend. Perhaps of all our
forest - trees a dead w^illow is the least expressive ; far
less so, surely, than the decaying oak or elm that for
centuries has been a landmark, once to the Indian and
since to ourselves ; but such dead Avillows are neverthe-
less suggestive. Their short and bulky trunks are pret-
ty sure to be hollow, and the rambler naturally looks for
animals lurking in their roomy interiors. Perhaps it is
for this very reason that our mammals generally are
careful not to occupy them. I give the coon, skunk, and

DEAD WILLOW BEXD. 121

mink credit for too much common-sense. They seem
to know, quite as Tvell as I do, that the average hollow
willow is a target for every idle loafer that passes b}',
and its crumbling trunk becomes as well known as the
dusty highway. Sometimes it happens that clustering
shrubbery about such trees hides every vestige of the
trunk, and then a safer hiding-place is afforded by it.
This is true of our great dead willow here — the tree has
a history.

A year ago I happened here, and found on the creek-
bank, near by, a fragment of a man tied up in rags. It
was not, as one might suppose, a ghastly sight, and I felt
no need to report the remains to the coroner. I slow-
ly approached the spot, making almost no noise, but the
crackling of twigs was sufficient to reach the ears of
this fragmentary man. He roused in an instant, and in
all his incompleteness stood before me.

Eubbing his eyes, he drawled out, " I believe I've
been asleep," and then looking up at the sun, added,
" Hang me if 'tain't to-morrer."

'' It is to-day, and early in the morning," I replied.

" The last I knowed, it was moonlio^ht, and I becrim to
get tired, and laid down my fishin'-tackle, but I didn't
know I'd been asleep. You look sort o' puzzled," this
dilapidated fisherman continued, "as tho' you didn't ex-
pect to find any one here, let alone me. Well, you see,
I do make out to get round, if there is a lot o' me
gone ;" and the fellow glanced at the stump of his right
arm and then at his wooden leg, with the one eye that
remained to him. " You're a stranger about here, I take
it," was my reply to his remarks concerning himself.
G

123 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

The fact is, I was too mucli surprised to see so apparent-
ly helpless a man so far from any house or even public
highway.

" Stranger about here ?" he repeated ; " not exactly,
for I was here some five years ago, and had a bit of a
lark in that dead wilier yonder. You see, I don't foller
the land, but the water," and he pointed to a neat cedar
boat, with one oar resting at the stern. '' That's my
home eight months of the year, and I can go from the
falls to the sea-shore when o' mind to."

" But what about this dead willow ?" I asked.

" It come round this way. 'Long late in October I
drifted in here, gettin' stuff for a drug store, fishin' and
the like, when up there come the biggest sort of a rain, all
of a sudden. I'd no notion of gettin' wet, so I looked
round, and seein' the wilier was big and hollow — it wa'n't
kivered with weeds then — thought I'd creep in and wait
for the rain to stop. 'Twan't no easy job fur me, but I
made it out and sort o' chuckled to myself as I heerd
the rain a pitter-patter agin' the tree, and felt the wind
shakin' it clean to the roots. But 'tisn't a red apple
that's always the sweetest, you know. The rain sort o'
gathered overhead and poured a stream down my back.
That riled a swarm o' black ants, and they took refuge
in my coat and tickled worse than a flea's bite. Then
the blowin' came on in airnest. One puff opened a big
crack in the wilier and my wooden leg slipped through,
and was held like a rat in a steel trap. There I was,
and gettin' desprit, I tell you, when luck turned a little,
and a puff o' wind opened the crack agin and let me
go. I got out, spite o' the dark, and left fur hum."

DEAD WILLOW EEND. 123

I drew a long breath, and stared at the garrulous crip-
ple in silence.

"Don't you b'lieve it'^' he asked, with some irrita-
tion in his voice ; "if you don't, we'll stay strangers one
to t'other, that's all ;" and he hobbled to his boat.

I watched him embark, and as he sculled down the
creek I wondered who he was. To this day he remains
a stranger, both to me and to my neighbors.

The willow is a test tree with those who anxiously
await the coming of spring, and by its leaf -buds one
is apt to swear when aiming to be weatherwise. They
were held by the early Swedes who settled here to be
governed by the sun's movement more than by the
actual conditions of the Aveather. By mere chance, it
occurred to me to test it as the winter of '85 drew to a
close.

My almanac, under date of March 20tli, states, " 10
A.M. spring commences." Opens her engagement for
the season, I presume is meant, and so to be present at
the rising of the curtain I hurried to the meadows. I
have read upon play-bills, " Curtain rises promj^tly at
7.45 P.M. ;" but it happened otherwise. 10 a.m. came
and went, and not an intimation was there of the grand
acts about to be performed. The torn and tattered
hangings of the late tragedy, winter, was all that I found.
But I am not given to despair, and the next day, and
the next, and all that week, I walked over the crisp
meadows to a distant hedire of willows. Thouo-h still
the curtain did not rise, it was not in vain that I went.
The orchestra did all they could to kee-p peace with the
audience, and they succeeded. Why, then, complain

124 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

that I found no green thing save where, nestling at the
wrinkled feet of gnarly oaks, the tnf ted mats of emerald
moss, keeping a brilliant summer to themselves, shone
fitfully through the whirling clouds of wind -tossed
leaves ? The shores of the little brook were lifeless as
I approached them. The long, gaunt limbs of the horn-
beams, stretching aimlessly into chilly sj)ace, were the
only objects that the shuddering waters reflected, and
typified a comfortless March day. Comfortless ? How
rashly do we use the Queen's English, if there be not
perfection in our surroundings. Comfortless, indeed !
In spite of the March wind, a dainty frog, clinging to
trembling blades of grass, piped merrily ; even un-
daunted when the gusts dashed icy spray in his face.
Surely, fur-wrapped and stoutly booted, I need not com-
plain. I pressed forward to the willows, and was greeted
by the birds. Scattered over every bush, hovering over
last year's nests, and bending topmost twigs of every
tree, were the crimson-shouldered starlings whose united
voices flooded the meadows with melody.

As I listened, I gathered catkins from the clustered
alders, but found no green thing. They seemed plump
golden caterpillars, shivering and squirming in the gusty
puffing of the joetulant wind ; but being flowers, how
eagerly we clutch at them, gather and toy with them.
Why not feel the same towards caterpillars themselves ?
They are as a rule quite as harmless, and many are far
more beautiful than any flower.

The army of frogs in the marsh was not so brave as
the little soldier in the brook. Every blast of the March
winds quickly silenced them for a time. From many

DEAD WILLOW BEXD. 125

a hundred coseynooks, flooded with sunshine and cheery
with the promised warmth of spring, exuUant frogs had
for days been rejoicing over the lessening gripe of win-
ter. It Avas a clear, full-voiced expression of mingled
joy and content, and in nowise, as it is often called, a
croak, or melancholy plaint. Still, when a sudden blast
from the north blows the brown rushes, above the roar
of its fell swoop can be heard an unmistakable tone of
sadness, a cry translatable, " We weep ! we weep !" In-
deed they have cause to do so. I too turned for shelter
to an oak near by, but before I could reach the hollow
in its trunk the meadows were again at rest, and over
the out-stretched acres of the marsh came again the
hopeful voices of that faithful legion, the burden of
whose song was " Keep up, keep up, keep I"

And so passed another day, without any green thing ;
but the meadows were fruitful of promises, and putting
faith in the birds and frogs, I was persuaded to go again
and again, and promised to keep up. Twice it rained.
Once it was a conscious shower, that, knowing it was
unwelcome, was very gentle while it stayed, and hurried
off as soon as practicable. The next was an ill-tempered
dash, that allowed no drop to fall quietly to the earth,
but forced it rudely into every nook, and made discon-
solate all unsheltered creatures.

It is a matter of surprise that our rains of a year liave
not been captured by the professional essayist and made
the matter of a thoughtful book. They are readily
classified, for each has features peculiarly its own. Let
some lover of out-of-doors con this matter over, and give
these fogs, sprinkles, showers, gusts, nor'-easters, equinoc-

126 WASTE-LAXD WANDERINGS.

tials, snows, and liail-storms, that attention wliicli tliey
deserve. Eacli one is rich in rare suo^srestiveness.

Even the last rain, ill-tempered as it was, put no quie-
tus on the patient frogs. Tliey sung the louder, so I
thought, as the rain came rattling on their upturned
faces and turned the dripping grass-blades on their backs.
" Keep up ! keep !" they shouted as I passed ; and though
it rained, I walked the length of that long willow hedge,
finding no green thing. Nor did the rain keep back the
early birds ; great blue herons sailed among the clouds
and then came trooping to the tall trees by the marsh.
Advance-guard of the coming host, my pulses quickened
as I marked their coming. But these were not the only
birds to arrive from the south ; there were small birds
in abundance. All the w^orld knows when the geese go
north ; it is a fact sure to be recorded in village papers.
The eyes that detect the geese, even wdien mere dots
against the sky, fail to see the twittering hosts in the
shrubbery. It is, nevertheless, an excellent indication of
milder w^eather when the Arctic birds, that have win-
tered south of us, come in great flocks, and enliven for a
day or two our woods and meadows. To-day the meadow
copses were thronged with wdiite-throated sparrows, and
each sung in a subdued tone a few contemplative notes,
as though intended for no ears but the singer's. These
were not the birds of the past winter months. Many of
these passed northward a week ago, but are the winter
sojourners of some more southern valley. They come
in advance of our summer birds, and foretell mild weath-
er with moderate certainty ; but sometimes, let it be borne
in mind, they sadly blunder. A cold storm catches them,

DEAD WILLOW BEXD. 127

bewilders and disheartens tliem, and as if afraid to make
another effort, they tarry until almost summer weather.

These pretty finches gave me confidence, and I hur-
ried to the willows. No, the leaf-buds were still brown,
but swollen ; and I found no green thing.

But the past was in another month, and what of to-
day ? — this breezy, frosty, threatening April 1st ?

The east was but faintly streaked with rosy light as
I sought the meadows ; but the robins were before me,
and each in his post, from the mist-wrapped, leafless trees,
sung his morning hymn. Anon the clouds parted as the
sun slowly rose ; the fog, as a curtain, rolled upward and
away ; a flood of light S2)read over all the scene ; spring,
at last, with a sweet smile, came upon the stage — the
willows were a-greening.

Waste-land, as my neighbors call it, is always an eye-
sore to them, and many who have passed Dead Willow
Bend almost daily for years have failed to discover its
beauties. But no contemplative rambler would fail to
be held by them, at least on such a day as this, when
the waters chanced to be without a ripple, the sky with-
out a cloud. Not a leaf trembled on any twig; not a
bird broke the silence. Above and beneath a fathom-
less depth of unstained blue — on either side, a wilder-
ness of green.

Guiding, but not propelling my boat, I slowly and si-
lently moved forward, wondering that nothing should
appear. At last, from some distant meadow, a broad-
winged bird came flying towards me. Nearer and near-
er it came, and not alarmed by my presence, settled in
the tall grass not twenty yards away. It was a bittern.

128 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

Turnbull, in liis " Birds of East Pennsylvania," says
of the bitterns, tliey are " plentiful from the middle of
April to October." This word "plentiful" is a conven-
ient term when one desires to speak in very general and
non-committal terms, but it certainly does not give any
very definite idea of the numbers of this or that bird
likely to be met with during a summer. If the one in
question were a pest, one -tenth their actual numbers
would be considered more than plenty. As it is, the
bittern being strictly inoffensive, and at times exceeding-
ly entertaining, there are never enough of them to suit
the rambler's taste, and I for one cannot agree with Dr.
Turnbull that tliey are " plentiful." Speaking in exact
terms, and solely with reference to the valley of this
creek, they are moderately common, never abundant.

When any bird betakes itself to haunts not usually
frequented by its nearest kin, it becomes invested with
peculiar interest ; the more so in proportion as its hab-
its differ from tliose of the family of birds to which it
belongs. In the case of the bittern, its singularity con-
sists in two features : it is a hermit, and the possessor of
a very un-heron-like voice. Upon these peculiarities
rests its fame. I have for years been accustomed to im-
prove every opportunity to study the habits of the bit-
tern, and although more summers than I care to recall
have passed since I first saw them, I do not feel that we
are thoroughly acquainted. There are certainly great
individual differences among them, and some are far
more shy and difficult of approach than others. Possi-
bly this is due to past unpleasant experiences with man-
kind.

DEAD WILLOW BEXD. 129

All others of our many herons, even the least bittern,
love one anotlier's company. They arc always more or
less associated when they arrive in April — a few of sev-
eral species remain all winter — and for weeks continue
to feed in companies. Indeed, this continuance of asso-
ciation is more or less noticeable after the breeding sea-
son commences. They have often favorite trees in
which they roost, and become so partial to them that, if
not molested, they will return to them year after year.
In the American Naturalist for 1878, Dr. Lockwood
has given a most entertaining account of a heronry
believed to have been at least fifty years old. Here
they not only roosted but nested. It is somewhat dif-
ferent here. Night -herons, the blue, great blue, and
little green, all associate in clustered elms and maples,
and remain apparently upon the best of terms. Per-
haps these roosting-places are the combined remnants of
separate heronries, in existence before the general de-
struction of the forests in this valley. Being the largest
of our birds, and still tlie most prominent feature of
our avi-fauna, may not heronries along its banks have
given rise to the Indian name of the stream, Mechen-
tschiholens-sipu (Big Bird Creek)?

But naught of this applies to the bittern. When the
dog -toothed violet begins to bloom in the sheltered
nooks and corners of the meadows, then the bitterns ap-
pear singly, here and there, and before the first of May,
if the air be not too frosty, you may hear from sundown
until midnight their weird call from the marshes, j9^^c^•-
la-grboh — pxiclc-la-grooh. I have not much patience
with any effort to describe the voices of birds by coin-
6'^

130 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

ing syllables that when pronounced are supposed to
imitate the utterances of this or that bird. In this case,
however, there is more chance because of the very un-
birdlike character of the sound. I tind many descrip-
tions of the bittern's voice, and add the above to the
series because I noted it down under very favorable cir-
cumstances. Some months ag^o, while I was v/atchinoj
minnows in a meadow brook, and at the time wholly
concealed by the surrounding reeds, a bittern alighted
within ten paces, and soon after, it being near sundown,
uttered its strange cry. Immediately I j^ut the sound
into words while they were yet ringing in my ears, and
had an opj^ortunity of comparing and correcting them
before the bird saw me and flew away. For this reason,
I submit them as better than most of the published de-
scriptions of this bird's cry.

The so-called "booming" is not, I think, wdiolly a
vocal sound. In this case, the bird's beak, when it ut-
tered the cry, was not quite withdrawn from the water,
and its voice, therefore, was materially modified by this
fact. Indeed, the sound is not unlike, in some respects,
that caused by the sudden withdrawal of a stout stick
from tenacious mud, except that it is a series of three
such sounds, instead of a single report.

My experience in listening to bitterns also leads me
to conclude that the individual variation in their utter-
ances is very marked, and most authors who have at-
tempted to describe them have given their impressions
of the sound as heard at a distance. If I correctly un-
derstand what is meant by " booming," a term constant-
ly applied to the bittern, then I have never heard this

DEAD WILLOW BEND. 131

bird " boom " when within twenty yards or less of it ;
but if a quarter of a mile distant, then the sound may
be described by that term. Thoreau, in "Summer,"
speaks of the " bittern pumping in the fens." This, in
five words, covers the whole ground more completely
than all the essays on " booming bitterns " ever pub-
lished.

I have never found tliat this bird was particularly par-
tial to our meadows. Certainly all the other herons are,
and this may be the reason why he, a regular hermit, so
often shuns them. Early in the spring, while his cous-
ins are coming, he wanders along the creek shore and
willow hedges, but before the middle of May he leaves
the lowland marshes and becomes, for the summer, the
lonely tenant of some secluded spring-hole in the uj^land
swamps. Here, until late in Sej)tember, his peculiar
cry will be often heard, not only in the evening, but
during dark and rainy days, and more than once have
eager frog-hunters been led astray by it, and followed
the " booming," thinking they heard bull-frogs, into the
deepest recesses of the swamp.

I w^ould not have it understood that they absolutely
forsake the meadows during the summer, but practically
they do.

For years I have been familiar with a corner of a neg-
lected cranberry bog near which there grows a large
cluster of oak and cedar trees. Here, year after year, I
have found a solitary bittern, and no bird that I have
yet seen passes, apparently, a more monotonous exist-
ence; yet could one be there at night and watch it the
season through, doubtless many a little incident would

133 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

be witnessed, showing that its life was really not a tire-
some routine, day after day. This bittern in the up-
land bog has always been a mystery to me in one partic-
ular. He or she is always alone. I have never seen a
pair there, and yet in the summer of 1877 I found a
nest with four eggs. It was a loose bunching uj) of
sticks and grass upon the ground. Two days after I
found the nest, the eggs hatched, and, as usual, the young
birds were the quintessence of helpless awkwardness.
Even when two weeks old, there was little im.j)rovement.
They were

"Awkward, embarrassed, stiff ; without the skill
Of moving gracefully or standing still.
Each leg, as if suspicious of its brother,
Desirous seemed to run away from t'other."

The parent bird did not take kindly to my frequent
visits, and when within a few paces, would ruffle up the
feathers of its head and neck, partly raise its wings, and
" look daggers " at me ; but its courage availed it no fur-
ther. As I came a step or two nearer, the bird always
flew to a tree near by, uttering a petulant, rattling cry
while on the Aving. "When three wrecks old, and before
the feathers of their wings were grown, the young birds,
by some unknown means, had reached the lowest hori-
zontal branch of an oak-tree that overhung the nest, and
there they sat, near together, facing in the same direc-
tion, and solemn as owls. It was just two weeks later
before they were able to fly. Like the young of the least
bittern, when very young they uttered a shrill, fife-like
jpee])^ but their voices grew coarser as the wrecks rolled
by, and a harsh rattle was the last sound I heard them

DEAD WILLOW BEND. 133

utter. I do not think that the peculiar cry of the adult
bird is uttered by the young during the summer in which
they are hatched.

Much has been written about the courage and fierce-
ness of a wounded bittern. Xo exaggeration has, I
think, crept into any of these accounts. My own expe-
rience, in one instance, leads me to conclude, that while
they hold to discretion as the better part of valor, and
do not seek a quarrel, they will, when necessitated so to
do, show more courage than even the largest falcons.

While wandering along a very weedy portion of Poset-
quissings Creek, I chanced upon a bittern which I sup-
posed, at first, to be wounded. I cautiously approached,
and when within six feet of it, to my utter surprise, it
made a dart at me, and with such vigorous use of both
leo^s and wins^s that it was evident no limbs were bro-
ken. I stepped back quickly, and then dodging behind
a tree, saw that my pursuer could or did progress but a
few feet, and was held by a fragment of old fish-net,
which had become entangled about the bittern's leg, and
was also securely fastened to a branch of button-bush.
It was now my turn to be brave, and I determined to capt-
ure or at least release the bird. How to accomplish this
w^as another question. I tried coaxing, but the bittern
had no faith in simple English, and replied to every
w^ord with a vicious stab of its beak, or a threat to use
it, that was unmistakable. Finally, I cut a long stick
with a deep crotch in one end, and after many elforts
succeeded in getting the prongs of the forked stick about
the bird's neck and holding its head to the ground.
Then holding the stick with one hand, I cut the net

134 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

from its leg witli my left hand — an awkward job — and
so set the bird free, so far as its legs were concerned.
Immediately it found this out, and commenced using its
claws with considerable effect. I w^as receiving more
scratches than desirable, and let the bird up from the
ground. For a moment it was undecided, and I thought
meditated an attack. It had all the diabolism of ex-
pression ever seen in a wild-cat's face. I stood ready
with my stick to strike it if it approached, but instead,
it rose slowly upward and flew over the creek, and when
over the middle of the stream, gave an unearthly cry,
and fell dead.

I waited for many minutes, in hopes the bittern that
I knew was skulking in the weeds on the shore would
make his aj^pearance ; but in vain. In all probability,
from some unseen outlook, he was just as patiently
w^atching me, and wishing I would disappear. Well, I
did as he wished, and slowly sculled the boat until oppo-
site the clump of willows. While not so graceful as the
weeping- wallow, the kind here is a handsome one, and has
the great merit of being attractive to most birds. Dur-
ing the early summer particularly, the newly arrived
warblers congregate in its thick-set branches, and when,
in November, it has dropped every leaf, its bared twigs
are favorite resting-places for the enormous flocks of
redwings which tarry until late in the marshy mead-
ows.

My attention has recently been called to the fact that
about the roots of these w^illows there are always many
burrows, and the opinion expressed that the meadow-

DEAD WILLOW BEXD. 135

mice tenanted most of these and fed largely npon the
delicate rootlets. I am inclined to believe that the bur-
rows are there because the trees happen to be growing
upon the banks of the creek, and the same would be the
case were any other tree planted or growing in their
stead. Still, I must admit that my examinations of
other localities where there were no willows did not
bear me out.

On landing, I found the usual burrows, but all were
too large to be the work of meadow-mice. I endeav-
ored to probe them and determine what creatures occu-
pied them, but in this was altogether unsuccessful. No
mammals appeared, and only from a pool of rain-water
came crawling forth a half -grown, spotted turtle. I
must confess to my disappointment. Yet what more
suggestive creature could have appeared? Picking it
up, I carried it a dozen paces back into the meadow and
placed it in a shallow depression, thickly surrounded by
a dense growth of grass. Once upon dry ground, the
turtle looked about in every direction, craning its neck
to the utmost, and then turning about, started in great
haste directly towards the creek, distant about fifty feet.
It could not have taken a straighter course had the stream
been in full view. The weeds were high the entire way,
and there was no beaten path. IIow, then, could it so
unerringly take the shortest route to the creek? The
waters were not rippling, and so could not be heard, and
if the sense of sight availed nothing in the premises,
was the creature guided by sense of smell ? This seems
probable, but is it not possible that the position of the
creek was known to the turtle by the trees that grew

136 WASTE-LAXD WANDERINGS.

upon tlie banks? Could a turtle not take its bearings
by certain landmarks, and so be guided by sight, al-
though the point sought was not within the range of its
vision? Several years ago I made a large series of ex-
periments with turtles and water-snakes, with reference
to their possessing a special sense of direction, and I am
quite ready to believe that these animals do take notice
of the position of trees, and for such a purpose. Of a se-
ries of experiments with the common water-snake, I found
that in ninety per cent, of the removals from the water
to a point three hundred yards distant the snakes took
the most direct course to the locality from which I had
taken them. The meadows where I experimented were
covered with short grass, and the nearest prominent ob-
jects were the trees upon the creek-bank. Under tliese
the snakes were accustomed to remain most of the time
when in the water, and in summer they basked in the
sun near them. Could not this long familiarity have so
impressed the general ajDpearance of the trees upon the
snake's brains that they could and did recognize them
when carried to a distance of three hundred yards ? lit
every case I was careful to blindfold the snakes, so that
they could take no bearings during their inland journey.
My experiments with turtles resulted similarly. These
creatures may have been guided by the sense of smell,
but I do not believe it.

It is somewhat different with fishes. If they do not
possess a " sense of direction," it is impossible to account
for their quick finding out of the precise localities of
their nests. " Memory and recognition of localities seen
one or more times" will not explain the matter when

DEAD WILLOW EEXD. 137

applied to such experiments as I have made ; as, for
instance, when I separated a mother catfish from her
brood, and had a thick mat of water-milfoil between
them ; and again, a nesting snnfish was taken a long dis-
tance down a stream, and yet promptly returned to its
nest, although it could thread its way only through a
narrow and tortuous channel, flanked on each side with
dense aquatic vegetation. Yet, when opposite the nest,
which was near the shore, it came directly through the
weeds to it. In this case there were no landmarks, and
it is still to be explained how the fish could know which
direction to take ; for the creek was essentially the same
in appearance for a much greater distance than it could
see.

It is useless to dispute the claim of the palm to be
the type of grace in the plant world ; but were there no
palms, the purple coxcomb grass, in August, and on these
meadows, would bid fair to win the prize in a contest
for that claim. I had already paused to admire a rank
growth of cat-tail, about which was entangled a pretty
climbing hempweed, with its pink and purple blossoms,
and still remembered the beautiful oval clusters of pur-
ple " meadow-comb " grass, that as I came from home
was sparkling with dew, and as it trembled in the pass-
ing breeze was the embodiment of grace. To eclipse
the merits of these, the plant must indeed be beautiful,
and this the purple coxcomb had the high honor of doing.
I forgot, for the time, the outspread beauties of the ear-
lier hours, while I sat and gazed at the tall, waving, pur-
ple plumes of this beautiful grass. One feature of the

138 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

plant was here very noticeable : nearly one-lialf of it was
pale-green, and so contrasted well with that which was
deejDly colored. Yelvety sumach,with its crimson fruit,
was a fitting background to the picture, and the spot
needed nothing more. Nature had here finished her
work for the time. I had, as I drew my boat close to
the shore, a little tropic to myself — rich in color, rank
in growth, wild in surroundings, and shared only with
bees, butterflies, and birds.

A year ago, I met the owner of these meadows — a
man of business — and when I sj)oke of the beauty of
this purple panicum he snorted, and I heard a growl
that it was "no use as fodder." To think that such
men live, ay, and are in the majority ! I would have
been glad to kick him. If it ever occurs to one to feed
the brain as well as the stomach, let such beautiful plants
as this grass be lovingly looked upon. To this crabbed
land-owner, it appeared to possess no beauty, because his
cows preferred clover or timothy wherewith to fill their
paunches. Whether this surly money-bags knows it or
not, a pleasing view from one's dining-room windows
is a safeguard against some of the dyspeptic ills that
plague mankind. After your meal, let 3^our eyes feast
on beauty. My mid-day lunch, I am sure, was sweet-
er because of this beautiful purple grass waving its
graceful plumes before me. Yes, it sweetened my
crust and gave an additional sparkle to my cup of cold
water.

At the lower end of Dead Willow Bend there is a
pretty cove-inlet, through which the tides rush on their

DEAD WILLOW BEND. 139

way to alternately submerge and nncover the low-lying
meadows. A boat can pass up at liigli tide, and an ex-
ploring expedition on a very small scale is practicable.
I have been in many such cove-inlets, and certainly they
are all beautiful. Trees crowd their banks, and when in
full leaf the sky is wholly shut out. It is water be-
neath, foliage on either side and above. I have never
failed to find birds in such localities. However sultry
the day, here it is cool, and however forsaken the open
fields in the glare of an August noon, here there will be
birds, and little if anything else is needed to make the
surroundings all that we wish.

While lingering here I was surprised to find so many
song-sparrows congregated about the creek, and particu-
larly at this point. These birds belong to the garden,
the gooseberry hedge, and not farther away than the
road - side, where they welcomed us as we came from
town. Now they would seem to prefer the most retired
places. Can it be that the European sparrow has caused
this change ? Another reason for the extermination of
the latter. It must be confessed, however, that these
song-sparrows looked admirably well in their new" cpiar-
ters. They ran in and out among the roots of the trees,
laid bare at low tide, and skipped so daintily over the
mud as Imrdly to leave a track upon its shining, slimy
surface. They chased spiders, I thought, as well as
hunted for stranded seeds ; and happy in the abundance
that surrounded them, ever and anon mounted some pro-
jecting root, where their song would have free course,
and the rippling melody float" afar upon the bosom of
the stream.

140 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

There is a point in our row-boat navigation wliicli be-
comes at times monotonous — waiting for the tide to
turn. To-day I waited until the deej^est visible twig
on the creek bottom was laid bare, thinking then surely
the upward flow would commence ; but no, the waters
must recede yet a little more, and I marked another ob-
ject just below the surface. This, in time, rippled the
outward flow, and I looked for a telltale eddy which
never appeared. A change took place at last, yet I could
not determine at what precise fraction of a second. It
haj)pened between winks — without a sign. As I gazed
intently at a water-soaked leaf, which just reached the
surface, the water was flowing out, and before I could
realize the change the tide had turned.

Although it is well known that the Indians were con-
stantly fishing, and were expert fishermen, it is quite
certain that there w^ere far more large or fully grown
specimens of our various fishes met with in their time
than are now found in the creek or even in the river.
It may, indeed, be doubted if we know what is the
maximum size of some of our fishes. For a fish to
escape nets, hook, and weirs for a dozen or twenty years
must now be a very, very rare occurrence.

Among the ashes of the Indians' camp-fires it is well
to look, when opportunity offers ; for therein bones are
frequently found which tell the story, without exaggera-
tion, of what fishes these jDrimitive folk were accustomed
to capture.

Within a few rods of the Bend, on a knoll, there were,
until recently, the unmistakable evidences of such camp-

DEAD WILLOW BEND. 141

fires. By lucky chance I liappeiiedj not long ago, to be
passing where a space was being plonglied and prepared
for a basket-willow plantation. I noticed, long before I
readied the spot, being on higher ground, that the up-
turned earth was very dark, and so went over to exam-
ine the spot. The soil was really black, the discolora-
tion arising from the presence of great quantities of
finely powdered charcoal. These camp-fire sites, two in
number, were circular in outline, about fifteen feet in
diameter, and so closely situated that when seen from a
distance the outline of the two was that of an enormous
figure eight.

I straightway commenced an exhaustive search for
Indian relics, and was very successful. Bits of pottery
were numerous, and the omnipresent arrow-heads were
well represented. Two large circular plates of stone,
quite thin, smooth, and well burned, were of much inter-
est, as I had not gathered precisely similar forms in
my earlier relic -hunting expeditions. The quantity of
notched pebbles was remarkable, and their presence here
was, I thought, evidence that, at least among the Indians
of I^ew Jersey, these stones were used as net-weights,
rather than for other purposes, as has been suggested.
Here was undoubtedly a temporary camp, near an ex-
cellent sj)ot for fishing, and all the surroundings sug-
gested fish and fishing. The fact that the locality was
subject to overflow from freshets during the winter and
early spring, at once put it out of the question that this
was other than a temporary or periodically used site.

To return to the notched pebbles : because so simple
an implement was used by the Ojibwa Indians of the

143 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

I^ortli-west as fuel-breakers, as has been stated by a cor-
respondent of " Science," it does not follow tliat here in
JSTew Jersey our Indians broke their wood with such
exceedingly awkward tools. A stone axe, with a well-
sharpened edge, was too common an object among them
not to have been put to such uses, instead of reserved
exclusively for cracking skulls. Again, these notched
pebbles have too frequently been found in alluvial de-
posits, so associated as to show that a large number of
them w^ere used together, as in ^veighting iish-nets.
Here it would appear that a net had been lost or for-
gotten, and all traces of it had subsequently disappeared
except the pebbles that were once attached to it.

But what more than all the stone implements that I
gathered — a hundred or more — intensely interested me,
w^ere the remains of fislies and birds that were scattered
all through the fire-discolored earth.

I gathered every bone and fragment of one that I
could find, and after much labor finally determined the
great majority to be the remains of the shad, rockfish,
white -perch, catfish, and sunfish. I found also a few
scales and a fragment of the jaw of the great bony gar
and of the sturgeon.

Of the bird-bones, those identified were of geese and
herons, except a single specimen which, although much
broken, was ascertained to be the breastbone of a peli-
can. Of this bone, more hereafter.

It was after a study of these fish-bones that I became
convinced that in Indian times our fishes attained a
much larger size than now. Sunfish or bream were then
frequently caught, which measured eight and nine inches

DEAD WILLOW BEND. 143

in lengtli. Sucli fish are not now seen on any of the
strings of even our most successful anglers.

While it is true that the Delaware and its tributaries
could not, even in Indian times, boast of such monstrous
cattish as are found in the Mississippi, it is, on the oth-
er hand, equally true that our two or three species of cat-
fish did, at this earlier time, attain a much larger size
than now. Comparing the skull of one taken from the
ashes of the old camp-fire with that of a fish Aveighiug
four pounds, I found that the former, estimating the
weight by the proportionately greater breadth of the old
skull, to have been nearly twice as great. Tlie catfish
that the Indian had caught weighed between seven and
eight pounds, and none such have, I venture to state,
been taken from the creek or river within the present
century.

This is also true of the stri2)ed-bass or rockfish, so far
as it is found in the river or its many tributary creeks.
In other words, the Indians ^vere accustomed to capture
large numbers that weighed from ten to thirty pounds.
Now, rockfish of even the lighter weight are not com-
monly found beyond the limits of the bay, and very
seldom does a " ten -pounder" find its way into the
creek.

With other species it became a matter of numbers or
relative abundance, and not of weight. Even now stur-
geon wander far up the creek, and specimens measuring
six feet in lengtli are not uncommon ; but when the Ind-
ians were the sole possessors of the land, they depended
upon trapping and spearing sturgeon in abundance, and
its smoked flesh was an important article of food daring

144 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

the winter. Should the Indian return, his supply of
sturgeon would go a very little way towards satisfying
his winter needs.

Even more striking is the case of the bony gar. This
fish is now so rare in the river, that but few people
have any knowledge of it ; yet, in pre-colonial times, it
was exceedingly abundant, and judging from the frag-
ments of jawbones, they were formerly found in Cross-
wicks Creek of the very largest size.

So few bird-bones were to be found, as compared with
the remains of fishes, it would appear that the Indians,
while they tarried here, were strictly ichthyophagi ; the
birds eaten being such as were met Avith while the
men were engaged in fishing, and not regularly hunted.
This seems the more j)robable, as all were aquatic, fish-
eating birds — geese, ducks, and herons; with these was
found the breastbone of a pelican ; and a word here
about this once abundant bird. Speaking of birds which
have disappeared. Dr. Turnbull has written : " The rough-
billed pelican was also frequent on the Hudson and the
Delaware, but is now a very rare visitant to the last-
mentioned river only." At how late a date it was
frequent upon the Delaware I cannot satisfactorily de-
tern:iine, and probably the disappearance was largely
synchronous with the English settlements upon the river
two centuries ago. Early in the last century, however,
flocks of pelicans came up the river as far as the head
of tide-water, and their presence was recorded by a resi-
dent of the Falls of the Delaware. They were also seen
by the farmer-residents of the Crosswicks valley, on the
sand-bars and banks of the creek. I cannot learn of the

DEAD WILLOW BEXD. 145

presence of this bird during the past fifty years, and
probably, in that time, not one has ventured on the
river above Phihidelphia.

Standing to-day upon this blackened earth that marks
an ancient camp, it is not difficult to recall what time the
fires burned brightly and all was active life about them.
Was it day ? The dense forest of nut-bearing trees cast
a deep shadow over all, and not a ray of the torrid, mid-
sumn:ier sun ever reached the dank meadow turf. Was
it night? Through the gloomy recesses of this same
forest sounded the weird cry of the eagle-owl, the howl
of the wolf, the bark of the fox, and blood-curdling
scream of the wary cougar.

Then all this wide reach of open meadow was a for-
est, and the nuts that the Indians gathered were a no in-
considerable source of food. Walnut, butternut, shell-
bark hickory, chestnut, chinkapin, and hazel grew in
great luxuriance.

The creek, and river too, were deeper then than now ;
their currents swifter, and the islands well defined, heav-
ily timbered and stable. The trees that then grew upon
the islands and the main shores stood as faithful guards,
and resisted the encroachment of floatin*? ice and the
torrents of the yearly freshets. The shifting sand-bars
were then far fewer and of inconsiderable areas, as com-
pared with those that now choke up the channel and
bafl^le the navi^^ator's skill.

In May, 1740, long after the Indians had been dis-
placed by the English settlers, Peter Kalm, the Swedish
naturalist, described the bank of the river for a few
miles above and below the mouth of Crosswicks Creek
7

148 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

as follows : " About noon I left Philadelpliia, and went
on board a small yaclit wliicli sails continually up and
down the river Delaware, between Trenton and Phila-
delphia. . . . Sturgeons leaped often a fathom into the
air. We saw them continuing this exercise all day till
we came to Trenton. The banks on the Pennsylvania
side were low, and those on the l!^ew Jersey side, steep
and sandy, but not very high. On both sides we per-
ceived forests of tall trees with deciduous leaves. . . .

" The banks of the river were now chiefly high and
steej) (above Burlington) on the side of 'New Jersey,
consisting of a pale, brick-colored soil. On the Pennsyl-
vania side they were gently sloping, and consisted of a
blackish, ricli mould, mixed with particles of Glimmer
{Mica). On the New Jersey side appeared some firs,
but seldom on the other. . . .

'^ The river Delaware was very narrow here (at mouth
of Crosswicks Creek), and the banks the same as we
found them yesterday."

On his journey by stage from Trenton to New York
he noticed, near the former place, " abundance of chest-
nut-trees in the woods. They often stood in excessive
poor ground, which was neither too dry nor too wet,"
and, let me add, they grow in this manner still ; but
there is one difference in them : the nuts are good in
proportion as the soil is suited to the tree. Too wet or
too sandy a situation will render the nuts small and
bitter.

Our author says : " Tulip-trees did not appear on the
road, but the peoj^le said there were some in the woods."
They might have said there were a great many ; if not,

DEAD Vv'ILLOW BEND. 147

then during the past century tliis tree has replaced oth-
ers, which are now less abundant than formerly.

Again, he says: "The beaver- tree grows in the
swamps. It was now (June 1st) in flower, and the fra-
grancy of its blossoms had so perfumed the air that one
could enjoy it before one approached the swamps ; and
this fine smell likewise showed that a beaver-tree was
near us, though we often happened not to see it." Prob-
ably this tree was much more abundant two centuries
ago, and even when Kalm wrote, than now. In many
local documents I have found that the term " beaver-
tree swamp " was used as descriptive of such localities ;
wdiich leads me to conclude that magnolias were promi-
nent trees in such situations. They certainly are not
so at present.

The bare and slender branches of the dead willow
were now casting their longest shadows, and bade me
seek a safe landing for my boat promptly, if I would
not be benighted ; for once on shore, there were four
miles of meadows to be trudged over before I could lift
the latch of my door-yard gate.

It quite often happens that when the naturalist is
intently engaged with one object, another, wholly un-
exiDected, forces itself upon his attention. A captive
serpent may disgorge a frog, or a wounded heron vomit
a fish ; and so, this evening, while anxiously seeking for
some sufficiently large and dense growth wherein to run
my boat, I happened upon a black snake in a cluster of
button ~ bushes, and much to my surprise, it " showed
fight."

148 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

From what I have seen of these creatures, something
very extraordinary must have occurred to induce them
to attack, or even face, you when menaced. In tliis case,
the snake disputed my ajDproach as I proceeded to draw
my boat into the bushes. It darted at me, full half its
length, and suddenly withdrawing, again struck out. A
moment's consideration of this unusual exhibition of
courage on the part of a black snake revealed the fact
that it was very fixed in its movements, not j^assing to
any of the surrounding branches, as I moved from side
to side to get a better view. This fixedness of position
as well as of purpose so j)ic[ued my curiosity that I went
within striking distance, and warding off the attack with
one arm, pulled down the bushes with the other. This
action on my part led to the discovery that I was not
the first person the snake had recently encountered, and
I am glad to add that I have never been so cruel, even
towards snakes, as had the coward who had found this
snake. It had its back injured, and had been impaled
about the middle of its body upon a sharpened branch
of the bushes. I quickly destroyed the snake. Perhaps
the fellow who did this deed may meet with this record
of his cruelty, and learn that I write him here a coward
and a brute.

As I walked home this evening, I thought of the
tenacity of life exhibited by many of the lower verte-
brates. How long this tortured black snake had been
impaled in the bushes I could not tell, but probably for
twenty-four hours. How long it could have lived un-
der such circumstances I should like much to know.

There is an old saying current in this neighborhood

DEAD WILLOW BEXD. 149

that snakes, wlien fatally injured during the day, never
die until after sundown ; that so long as they can bask
in the sun, however mangled they may be, they will re-
main alive. Of course this is an exaggeration, and yet
I am not surprised that such an impression should have
become common in the country. I have often seen hog-
nosed snakes decapitated by the plough, and when the
ploughman came again in his rounds to the spot, the
headless snake would strike at him. At first it puzzled
me to conceive how the reptile knew of the man's ap-
proach ; but I found, by experimenting with one such
headless snake, that the approach of the plough was rec-
ognized by the tremor in the earth caused by the tramp
of the horses. Even in sandy soils this tremor is very
considerable, and can be recognized very readily.

This is too painful a subject to enter into more fully,
and let it suffice to say that a fracture of the spine, and
sometimes a flattening of the skull, paralyzes, but does
not kill, and consciousness returning, such injured snakes
may linger for hours in agony. If people must kill
snakes (harmless species ought never to be molested) let
the work be done thoroughly.

Just as abruptly as my thoughts were turned tow-
ards snakes, so they forsook them when, touching my
foot upon what I supposed to be a stone, I found it to
be a large box-tortoise. As is my custom, I examined
the plastron to see if any name or date had been cut
thereon. In this case there was neither. I had better
fortune, in this respect, during a hill-side ramble, in May,
1885, as I then came across one of these uncouth creat-
ures, and to my surprise and delight, the following was

150 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

found to be distinctly cut upon the plastron, " J. Abbott,
1821." A close examination conclusively showed there
could be no mistake in the date, and it was evident that
sixty -four years ago my grandfather had found and
marked the tortoise in the manner described. I found
the animal within a hundred yards of the house then
occupied by my grandfather, and it is probable, there-
fore, that at or near this same spot the creature w^as
found and marked more than half a century ago.

The tortoise was by no means a large specimen, meas-
uring but four and one-half inches in length, by a little
less than four in width. Evidences of great age, how-
ever, were not wanting. The edge of the upper shell
had been broken, and the fractured part worn very
smooth. The yellow markings of both the upper and
lower shells were much less prominent than is usual.
There was no evidence of any appreciable increase in
size since the name and date mentioned were cut.

Previous to November, 1885, 1 had never found any
very young box-tortoises. On the 19th of that month
I met with a single specimen. It was found on the
edge of a shallow pond, in very damp earth, and I judged
from this fact that such a locality, if indeed not open
water, was preferred by these creatures, when young, to
the high and dry fields and woodland w^here the adults
are usually found. IIow far I was right — if I am right —
in my surmise, the subsequent eventful career of this
young tortoise may serve to show. On the same day I
placed it in a large aquarium, so arranged that it could
remain on dry land, in or on damp earth, or beneath the
water. The animal's actions clearly showed that water

DEAD WILLOW BEND. 151

was necessary for its existence. To further test tliis, I
placed it for twenty-four hours in a vessel containing
dry earth, and it gave unquestionable evidences of suffer-
ing and inability to remain for any significant length of
time in a comparatively dry atmosphere.

Heplacing it in the aquarium, it immediately burrowed
into the soft mud, as deeply as it could, and there re-
mained without moving from these semi-aquatic quar-
ters. By stretching its neck to the utmost, and rising
upon its fore-feet, its nose reached just above the shallow
fihn of open water, and 1 suppose that it occasionally re-
filled its lungs in this manner, as I found that by gently
disturbing it, it invariably emitted a small bubble of air.
In this position, and with only so much exercise as the
stretching of its neck afforded it, the tortoise remained
for thirty-four days.

I then placed it in a smaller vessel partly fflled with
sphagnum, and moved it to a warmer room. So long as
there was sufficient water to enable the tortoise to keep
submerged, it was contented, or at least quiet. As soon
as, by evaporation, the water decreased to a certain point,
the restlessness on the part of the tortoise indicated dis-
comfort ; which was promptly relieved by adding more
water to the moss. One swallow does not make a sum-
mer, but the action of this box-tortoise leads me to be-
lieve that when so young that their under and upper
, shells do not meet, these Chelonians arc more aquatic
than terrestrial in their habits.

A word further as to their powers of withstanding the
rigors of winter. That they hibernate is well known ;
but they do not get beyond the reach of frost when

152 WASTE-LAND WAXDEKINGS.

tliey burrow into the earth, nor need they, if all are as
hardy as the little fellow I have kept so long.

January 13, 1886, the tortoise, while covered with
water and sphagnum, was solidly frozen in. I carefully
chipped him loose and allowed the adherent bits of ice
to thaw very slowly. While this proceeded, the animal
was apparently dead ; but the disappearance of the last
particle of ice was synchronous with the reappearance
of vitality. This freezing was repeated, February 5th,
and with like results.

Hereafter, I shall go to the swamps for young box-
tortoises ; nor shall I be surprised if in winter I find
them incased in ice.

The strange absence of katydids caused the woods and
meadows to be painfully silent as I hurried home ; yet
it was a silence that was distinctly audible, the air being
filled with the trumpetings of a million atomies, and no
one distinguishable voice.

At such a time how widely awake we are ! The
mere snapping of a twig beneath our feet thrills the
body as with an electric shock. It is a feeling vastly
different from fear, as some might call it. Something
more tangible than the soul breaks out when we hear,
"in the dwawm-like silence o' a glen, the sudden soun' o'
a trumpet." Here in the home-woods, through which
glinted the sparkle of the evening lamp, I disturbed my
neighbor's peacock.

CHAPTER VI.
THE TWIN ISLANDS.

Passixg by my neiglibor's house, on my way to the
creek, I was somewhat startled by seeing a chah* come
tumMing from the attic window. So odd an occurrence
drew my steps in that direction. The inmates of this
old mansion, I learned, were " cleaning house," as they
called it, and to make room for some " old " things — I
use their word — were pitching out of the lumber-room
some that were still older.

Luckily I was there in time to stop the folly. The
discarded chair, I grant, was not worth much, and could
not, in safety, have supported more than a living skele-
ton ; but it was of a curious ]3attern, and boasted of ar-
tistic carving. The bushes below had saved it from
utter destruction, and the carved back and clawed feet
will some day be utilized in a wonderful wooden mantle
I have long had in contemplation.

I begged the privilege of a look in that old garret be-
fore further proceedings were undertaken by the clean-
ers, which was readily granted.

" He wants to ransack the garret and look at the trash
up there," explained the daughter of the house to her
mother.

"And he'll get stung by the wasps for his trouble;
7^

154 WASTE-LAXD WANDERINGS.

but let liim go, of course," added tlie perhaps not over-
pleased mistress of tlie old farm-liouse.

So I went ; and let me add here, if any who read this
page should ever go on a similar errand, let him incase
his precious cranium with a metal skull-cap. The old
mansions erected in the past century were built to stand,
and where you least expect to find tliem, there will be
massive beams that are not to be left unconsidered. I
entered, witli some confidence, one of the dark closets
under the eaves, and nearly decapitated myself. It
seemed several moments before I recovered from the
shock, and meanwhile wished the house, from turret to
foundation-stone, in Jericho. Recovered at last, with
all caution and no confidence I crawled in, for the roof
was too low to enable any other position to be assumed,
and when my eyes became adapted to the dim light,
commenced the survey of the dusty, musty, waspish sur-
roundings. The old lady was right. Tiiere were wasps
there ; and one came to the end of my nose and rested
quietly thereon. I could use neither hand to dislodge
it, and I wriggled my nose until my wdiole face ached.
The wasp liked the seesaw motion and sat still. I tried
to blow it off, but my mustache only sootlied his wasp-
6hi23, and he stroked each particular hair, I thought, and
sat still. Slowly, then, I retraced my steps to the door
of the closet, and once free, sent the wasj) spinning
through the air. It returned in hot liaste — terribly
hot to my bald pate — and I started to retreat ; but no !
I shall explore that garret, I vowed, and I did.

Again on all-fours in the closet, I moved towards an
old trunk at the most distant point ; but it was not so

THE TWIN ISLANDS. 155

accessible as I thought. Across my path there lay an
umbrella — and such a one ! When it was carried, there
Tvere giants in those days, or should have been. A
warming-pan, once silver-plated, but now brown with
oxidation of the copper of which it was made, came next
in view, and then a set of window -shades, something
like Venetian blinds, but made of narrow strips securely
held by hempen cord that still was strong. A roll of
bed-curtain — this I captured — with small squares, por-
traying Old Testament scenes; and scattered every-
where, over and under these, were old boots, shoes, and
knee -buckles; and best of all, warped, twisted, curled-
leaved volumes — remnants of a little library gathered a
century ago. As best I could I brought together my
umbrella, bed -curtains, and what books I could, and
backed into daylight. I had seven volumes before me,
and sat down by the little window to inspect them. The
first was a rheumatic specimen, with a back bent in all
directions, and leaves as outstanding as the fur of a fu-
rious cat. After some search I found the title-page, and
read, " The Journal of Thomas Chalkley, etc., etc.," and
the books had the imprint of Benjamin Franklin. " This
will do for a beginning;" and I laid it upon the bed-
curtains ; but it would not lie flat. The next was a lit-
tle duodecimo, or smaller, and alas ! I saw at a glance,
was marked Yol. II. I turned to the title-page, for the
title on the back was gone, and read, " History of Louisi-
ana, etc., Le Sage Du Pratz." Was it possible the other
volume was gone? A glance at the books beside me
showed it was not there. If the gloomy corners of the
garret closets must be again ransacked, so let it be — that

156 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

missing volume must he bronglit to light. Again I
crawled in, in spite of wasps, spiders, and millipeds, all
of which took mj presence grudgingly. I searched as
thoroughly as practicable, and was about to return — for
no book of that size could be found — when a glittering
object, like a coin, attracted my attention. It was a
pewter button on an old coat ; and I saw then that a
double row of them graced the front of the garment. I
brought the coat into daylight, and for the moment for-
got the missing volume of Du Pratz. It was such a
garment as I have seen in pictures and nowhere else.
Besides the two rows of buttons down the front, there
were three on each of the great flaps covering the side-
pockets, and three more on each of the wide-spreading
pocketed tails. Forty metal buttons on a coat ! I held
it aloft by the shoulders and gazed admiringly ; then
laying it down, I proceeded to explore its capacious
pockets. In one of them was the missing volume of
Du Pratz ! I pinched myself to see if it was I. Was
it not a dream ? 'No, there was the coveted book, and
with a sio;h of relief I sat down.

I made a third attempt to get a knowledge of what
the closet contained, and particularly coveted an exam-
ination of an old trunk, but before I reached it, became
tangled in a maze of sj)inning-wheels which I had hith-
erto escaped. My arms somehow w^ere slipped in wheels
of different machines, and to dislodge them was no easy
matter. They resented by revolving to the full extent
of the elasticity of my arms. It w^as a tria,l of botli
nerve and patience ; but with one frantic effort I got
through, and reached the great black box, hide-bound,

THE TWIX ISLANDS. 157

and ornamented witli rows of what liad been sliininir,
brass-lieaded tacks. I attempted to raise tlie lid, but tlie
hinges \vere gone, and it slid back in an accommodating
manner. The trunk was full of books ! A slender
thread of light kindly illumined the spot as I slowly
deciphered the title-pages. Kine in every ten ^vere
Bibles or fragments of Bibles ; but nearly at the bottom
of the trunk was an uninjured co])j of La Ilontan's
" Travels in America."

Had I been in the woods, I should have danced ; had
I been in a solitude, have shouted ; but in a beseeming
manner, I demurely walked down-stairs with my coat,
umbrella, bed-curtains, and books. I offered payment,
which was declined, and taking my neighbor's ridicule
in good part, passed on with my antiquated burden.

IIow apt we are, when once a locality is associated
with some unusual incident, to continue to half expect
a repetition of it whenever we draw near. As I ap-
proached a pond-like expansion of a meadow brook, I
found myself taking shorter and more cautious steps, as
though it were probable that another Florida gallinule
w^ould be seen when I reached the bank of the weedy
stream. I saw one here more than twent}^ years ago.

This bird is one of a considerable list that has almost
wholly forsaken the Crosswicks meadows. The bird
was new to me then, and with what unbounded delight
I gazed upon it. I could have sat all day and watched
it. Luckilv, I was not seen, and crouchinii^ in the tall
grass, where I could command a good view, I sat as
nearly motionless as possible. The gallinule was wading

158 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

in water about three inclies deep, and at every step ap-
peared to lift one foot quite above the surface and curl
up the toes; then taking as great a stride as possible,
plunged the foot, with the toes still curled, into the wa-
ter. At every third or fourth stej), tlie bird stopped
and thrust its bill beneath the surface, and I suppose,
judging from the subsequent motion, secured some mor-
sel of food. While I watched, the bird appeared to be
feeding only uj)on objects found on the bottom of the
pool, and not at all from the rank vegetation that skirted
the shores.

It had also another curious habit. At almost every
other step the head would be thrown back until the
occiput rested upon the shoulders, and at the same mo-
ment the wings were lifted slightly, as though the bird
was about to fly.

At length, much to my annoyance, it was alarmed by
a noisy troop of crows that swooped down near by, and
flying directly over me, discovered my retreat. There
was no reason to think it would ever return, so I shot it.

The purple gallinule, sometimes met with on the
Crosswicks meadows, is quite as rare as the preceding ;
but their recurrence nearer the sea-coast has been fre-
quently recorded, nor are they always found during the
summer months.

I should be glad to know why this stream is so crook-
ed. The alluvial flats through which it flows are very
uniform in their composition ; and unless lodged trees,
borne hither and thither by freshets, have been the cause,
there is nothing to show why the creek is not almost a

THE TWIN ISLANDS. 159

straight line, instead of being as tortuous as a writhing

serpent.

That it has changed its course for many a rod, even in
historic times, there is evidence in maps attached to old
deeds. That it was equally erratic in prehistoric times
is also demonstrable, but not with so little labor. In
several tracts of the lower lying meadows ancient chan-
nels can still be traced, and when ditches have been
cut, I have gathered many a curious relic of the Ind-
ians, left upon what was the bank of the stream, centu-
ries ago.

Where I have found relics of the Indians, I have long
hoped to find the skeleton of a mastodon, or at least
isolated bones of the creature. Yery possibly I may
never make such a discovery, yet there is no inherent
improbability in the matter. Bones of the mastodon
have been found on these meadows. My grandfather
picked up a humerus, within a few rods of where I saw
the gallinule, and the specimen was long in Peale's Phil-
adelphia museum.

There has been an astonishing amount of twaddle
written concerning the subject of the contemporaneity
of man and the mastodon in this country. It would be
just as rational to question man's sharing the primitive
forests with the elk and cougar.

My friend Dr. Lockwood told us the story years ago
in a few telling words. He wrote : " It is plain that the
mastodon came into what is now New Jersey ere the
ice-sheet began. It receded south before it. It followed
the thawing northward, and so again possessed the land.
It occupied this part of the country when its shore-line

160 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

was miles farther out to sea than it is to-daj. Here it
was confronted bj the human savage, in whom it found
more than its match ; for before this autochthonic Mm-
rod behemoth melted awaj."

Here we have not only the truth, but have it in a nut-
shell ; something refreshing in these days of prolixity.
I have but one criticism to offer concerning these ad-
mirable sentences. If by " autochthonic Kimrod " our
author refers to that primitive man of the great ice age —
palseolithic man — the ancestor of the Eskimo, who also
antedated the Indian here, and supposes that the mas-
todon died out with these earlier folks, then I dissent.
If the last mastodon in I^ew Jersey died by the hand of
man, it was the hand of a Delaware Indian that slew
him ; if he sank helplessly in some quicksand, while
wandering over these meadows, then these later Ind-
ians knew it well, and told of the unhaj^py fate of the
lonely beast, generation unto generation. Certainly not
a score of centuries have passed since the shrill trumj^et-
ing of the mastodon awoke the echoes of our primeval
woods.

Scarcely a rod from my neighbor's corduroy road,
over which, in July, the hay-laden wagons creak omi-
nously, is an ugly area of quicksand.

When Mink, a locally celebrated duck-shooter of the
last century, got caught in it, he remarked, as soon as
extricated, " The Lord left the materials of a good coun-
try about here and forgot 'em, so the devil did the mix-
in'." This covers the ground completely — I am glad the
quicksands do not — for good in their way as are sand

TUB TWIN ISLANDS. ICl

and water, one does not want tliem mixed in such con-
sistency.

The difference, so far as tliese meadows are concerned,
between a " boiling " spring and a " quicksand," is one
of dimension only ; one being an intermitting, upward
movement of a narrow column of water, bearing an in-
significant amount of sand ; the other a far greater bulk
of water, so charged with sand that its movement is very
deliberate : a spring is seldom more than a yard in di-
ameter ; a quicksand may extend over an area of sev-
eral square rods. The fact that the temperature of
the water in either case is always the same, 52'^ Fahr.,
shows that springs and quicksands do not materially dif-
fer except in size.

The danger attendant upon personal exploration of
these quicksand areas, and a natural repugnance due to
an adventure to be related hereafter, has deterred me
from any extensive survey, and only one of them, two
miles or more back from the creek, but in this valley,
has been carefully examined. For years my neighbors
have insisted that this particular quicksand is a verita-
ble bottomless pit. To satisfy them I took a ten-pound
lead, well greased, and brought up stiff clay from a
depth of eighteen feet, and think I learned the difficulty
about sounding the quicksand's depth, so far as my neigh-
bors are concerned. Not one of them but admitted he
had never used any other means of measurement than a
fence-rail. As these are either twelve or sixteen feet
in length, it is not at all strange my neighbors' never
reached bottom. And this holds good not only with
quicksands. How often it happens that they use but

162 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

one probe in investigating the tilings of this life, and
content themselves with the belief that there is no bot-
tom, because they fail to reach it.

Marvellous stories were told of this quicksand or huge
boiling spring by many old residents. One, current in
my childhood, was to the effect that a dozen sheep were
caught in its troubled waters and sucked out of sight,
and nine of them turned up alive on Duck Island in the
river about noon of the next day. Think of it! For
more than a day tossed in the depths of a deep spring,
carried half a mile tlirough a subterranean passage, and
landed upon an island alive ! This was not told as a bit
of fun to excite the wonder of children, but as a sober
fact ; and so firmly grounded was the belief that these
quicksands v/ere wellnigh fathomless, that every state-
ment made concerning them, however absurd, was readi-
ly accepted as further evidence of their wonderful char-
acter. My own experience with quicksands is too full
of horror to be related, at least I shudder when I recall
a sunny summer afternoon of long ago. I stood upon
a patch of quaking grass, pleased with its elastic yield-
ing and too intent upon watching a pair of nesting finches
to realize that I was slowly sinking. At last I noticed
that my eyes were gradually approaching the horizon
of the low-built nest, and looking about and beneath me,
saw the treacherous waters creeping above the matted
weeds upon which I stood. The latter were trembling
more and more violently, and the fearful truth was plain.
I was over a quicksand.

I had a double task to perform, and that right quick-
ly— avoid fright and reach terra firma ; but how ? But

THE TWIX ISLANDS. 163

one chance of escape appeared to offer, to distribute my
weight, and at once I stooped and struck out, as though
swimming. The theory was good, but not the applica-
tion in this instance, for wliat I gained by the greater
upholding power of additional vegetation under me was
lost by my violence, and I broke through the raft of
weeds upon which I depended. In the twinkling of an
eye, in the fraction of a second, I lived a lifetime.

I have i^ositive knowledge of nothing beyond this
moment. I can only judge from the appearance of the
tangled grass and weeds that my convulsive efforts to
reach the meadow were finally successful. Once fairly
beyond danger, my strength failed me and I fainted.

The clay that constitutes the "hard-pan" of these
meadows, crops out here and there along the bluff that
extends for miles parallel to the river. It is a tough
dark-blue deposit, occasionally streaked with red, yellow,
and pure white veins that are less tenacious. The blue
clay is interesting in that it contains much fossil-wood,
some amber, and an abundance of iron pyrites.

Let ns consider these separately. The vrood is not
petrified, and still retains so much of its original condi-
tion that, when dry, it burns with a feeble flame and
emits a pleasing aromatic odor. Dr. Cook, our efficient
State geologist, describing another but similar clay-bed,
remarks : " Trunks and branches of trees are everywhere
to be found. ... In opening some of the clay-pits, cart-
loads of them might be saved. They have the structure
of the wood, and the form, except that they are consid-
erably flattened ; sticks lying horizontal and two inches

164 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

broad, may be only from a half inch to an inch thick.
The wood is of a dark-brown color, and quite brittle. . . .
When exposed to the air and dried, it cracks across or
splits up into small fragments. Lumps of iron pyrites
are found in the larger pieces, and it is very common to
find the smaller sticks surrounded by knots and rings of
the same substance. Some of the trees are quite large,
two or three feet in diameter." There has been discov-
ered, in one instance, " the trunk of a tree that was four
feet in diameter," which as the clay was removed proved
to be ninety-three feet in length, and ten inches in diam-
eter at the top. Dr. Cook further states, that " the wood
has not been examined microscopically; but from the
leaves found, from the bark, and from the rings of an-
nual growth, the evidence is conclusive that the age of
broad-leaved j^lants was then begun." Dr. Cook makes
no mention of the occurrence of amber in this clay, but
refers to it as a " mineral . . . found irregularly distrib-
uted in all parts of the marl region ;" and adds, " from
its resemblance to resin it naturally attracts the attention
of workmen, and becomes the subject of their experi-
ments, and is burned up. Specimens have been seen
from marl-pits in every county of the region, but there
is no certainty of finding other specimens in the same
localities. Pieces enough to have filled a barrel are said
to have been taken from one marl-pit at Shark River
about twelve years ago ; but since that, in looking over
many hundred tons of marl there, not a fragment was
found."

It occurs in the clay near here, associated with the
fossil-wood, and as little pebbles, in the bed of the creek.

THE TWIN ISLxVNDS. 165

Do not expect to find it, however. The search will
prove like that of Dr. Cook at the Shark River marl-
pits. It has been found, and will be again and again,
but only by mere chance will you come across a speci-
men of it.

I do not know that the Quaker settlers ever believed
that gold would be found near here, but the Swedes did.
Here is a story from Campanius's quaint account of Xew
Sweden, as Jersey was then called : '* Lindstrom . . . as-
serts that there is a great quantity of gold, and relates a
fact in support of his assertion, which happened in the
time of the Swedish governor, John Printz, and is as
follows : ^ Once an American Indian went to pay a visit
to the said governor, and observing that his wife had a
gold ring on her finger, asked her why she wore about
her such paltry stuff ; w^hich, the governor hearing, he
asked the Indian if he could procure him any of it, and
said that, if he did, he would make him very fine pres-
ents ; to which the Indian replied that he would, for he
knew a mountain that was full of it. The governor
then showed him cloth of various colors, with lead, gun-
powder, mirrors, and several other things, and said to
him, ^'I will give you all these if you will get me a piece
of that stuff as a specimen. I will send two of my men
with you to get it," but the Indian would not consent to
that. " I will," said he, " go first and bring you a speci-
men, and then it will be time to send somebody with
me." Some days after he returned, and brought a piece
of ore as large as two fists, which the said governor
caused to be assayed, and found it contained much gold,

166 WASTE-LAXD WANDERINGS.

out of wliicli lie had rino^s and bracelets made. He then
asked the Indian to take some men with him, which he
promised to do, but had not time at that moment ; he
would, however, return in a few days and bring some
more gold. But afterwards meeting with other Indians,
he beo^an to boast of what he had received from the
governor, on which they asked him what he had given
for it, Avhich being informed of, tliey put him to death,
in order that the place should remain unknown, fearing
that its discovery might occasion to them some mischief ;
and so the gold mountain was never discovered,' " and
never will be.

With this I leave the minerals in the blufE that
guards, and the bed that sustains, the waters of the
creek, and with a sigh of relief come back to the pretty
creatures that dwell in the stream itself.

Wherever the clear, cool waters of a hill-side spring
enter the creek, there many minnows of many kinds are
sure to congregate. At one such spot I was attracted
by the great gathering of blunt-headed minnows, the
many barred cyprinodont that throngs every stream
from Maine to Florida, or nearly so. Ordinarily I should
have passed them by, but some individuals seemed dif-
ferent, even at a considerable distance, and I leaned over
the boat to view them more closely. A large percent-
age were darker in color, with broader transverse bars,
and prominent in that the dorsal fin was beautifully
marked with a blue -black spot, encircled with clear,
opaque white. After much effort, with an improvised
net, I caj)tured a number of them, and found, to my de-
light, that they were the "ornamented minnow" of Le

THE TWIX ISLANDS. 167

Siieur, described by liim nearly seventy years ago. I
tliouirlit I had seen all the fishes of the Delaware Eiver
and its tributaries, but here was one that had escaped me.

Such an incident as this is of far more importance
than the fact of finding a fish I had not previously met
with; it leads me to hope that other novelties are in
store, and while I live I shall never take a ramble and
return empty-handed ; but perhaps better so than over-
burdened.

A captious critic has said, " lie sees too much." It
is true, sights and sounds crowd upon each other until
I am bewildered. Could I have seen less, I should have
learned more. I have never dared to recount the ad-
ventures of a single day. The sleepiest twenty -four
hours of the year is more exciting than a battle-field, if
one has the will to use his eyes and ears. 1 have seen
too much. Alas! it is the one fact that saddens me,
-wherever I ramble.

Scarcely had I disposed of my burdens and pushed
from shore than I was in sight of the goal of to-day's
journey. The tide being with me, I was soon beyond
the lone ash -leaved maple that stands upon a little
" point no-point," and the pretty fringing of attractive
shores, where wild-rice luxuriates in all its beauty. I
feel the muddy bottom with the blade of my oars, I
hear the soft sicish of the prow as it ploughs the clus-
tered yellow dock — I am at the Twin Islands.

Here are two small islands, together forming but a
small fraction of an acre, yet each with features pecul-
iarly its own. The one boasting of a single willow and

168 WASTE-LAND WAXDERIXGS.

a wilderness of weeds ; tlie other, a tall asli, a dwarfed
maple, and a garden that, excluding all else, grows in
wildest luxuriance a golden bloom, tlie beautiful Ile-
lenium aiitumnale.

Whenever I come down the creek, I am tempted to
draw up to the lone willow of the upper island, for to
tarry there an hour, ay or for a day, is no hardship.
For me, it is not to be

"Under the shade of melancholy boughs,"

but rather in the shadow of joyous branches, glittering
with light and tremulous with the airy steps of many
birds ; nor, once here, do I

"Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time."

I may, perhaps, neglect to mechanically count the
hours as they pass, but then, why should I ? Tarrying
here can never be accounted a loss of time. I always
bear hence something to con over in the years to come
— reap a fair harvest of food for thought.

Is there not much idle talk about losing time ? "Who
is appointed among us to say this of his fellows ?

He who, as the result of a meditative life, gives a
single useful hint to his fellows, has accomplished more
than any mere accumulator of a fortune. Surely it was
better for us that Thoreau ceased to be a pencil-maker,
and gave to the world " Walden " and " The Week."

To the poor toilers of the crowded town, who could
not come hither without bringing thoughts of their ledg-
ers and the state of trade, it might be a loss of time,
but even such unfortunates should place some value on

THE TWIN ISLANDS. 169

tlie pure air that has entered their lungs, and count that
something of an offset to their " loss of time."

Herein lies one merit of Twin -island Eend ; we are
out of sight and hearing of man's industry. Nature,
ever busy in her own wise wny, has the region wholly
to herself, and I encroach upon her domain merely as an
eager spectator.

As I rested, still sitting in the weed-surrounded boat,
I looked down the opening in the rank growth of aquat-
ic plants made by the skiff, and saw upon the oj^posite
shore a common rail-bird, or sora. The popular idea of
this curious bird is that of a morsel of tender flesh, that
conveniently awaits slaughter, late in September, after
some weeks of fattening on the seeds of the wild-rice.
But the sora is something else. It is a bird that puzzles
every one who closely follows it. That many settle in
the valley of the Delaware during the sj)ring migration
is unquestionable; they do not, however, remain and nest
here, as I supposed, but passing on, leave us until the
middle of August, sometimes earlier, and then remain
until the frosts of October drive them away. My im-
pression that they nested here arose not merely from
the fact of finding them in May and August, but the
nests of the little black rail were occasionally found, and
attributed to the wrong species. I am glad to be able
to record this fact, as it gives us an additional species.

Considering them collectively, we have then the fol-
lowing species : the king-rail, the Virginia, the sora, the
little yellow, and the still smaller black rail. In the or-
der of their abundance, of course, the sora leads, and to
8

170 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

the ornithologist interest centres in it, early in its sea-
son, before persecuted by dogs and gunners. Probably
one reason why so seldom seen, and so difficult to flush,
is that it is more crepuscular than diurnal in its habits.
The structure of its eyes may not suggest this, but I
have often noticed its voluntary apj^earance upon the
open mud -flats an hour or more after sundown, and
seen them during moonlit nights continually rise above
the reeds, and, flying a short distance, drop again from
view. They fly, too, across the Delaware and across
this creek far more frequently at night than during the
day.

Like the smaller yellow and black rail-birds, the sora
has a cry that is j)eculiar in its marked resemblance to
the rattle of our green frog, Raiia clamitans. The voice
of the king-rail, on the other hand, is very different, and
rather musical. It suggests the tapping of a hammer
upon an anvil. A muflled, metallic ringing, perhaps in-
telligibly expressed by the following : Ke-link - kiiik ;
kink-kink-kink.

For several summers king-rails, perhaps but a single
pair, have nested in a bit of marshy meadow near my
home, and the summer long, all day, and often at night,
its cry could be heard. A word more concerning the
rail -birds of the Crosswicks valley, and of the nobler
valley of the river beyond, for there are other and more
extensive areas of marsh, where these birds congregate
in far greater numbers than here. Dr. Turnbull writes
of an European species : " The Corn-crake. A specimen
shot at Salem is now in the collection of the Academy
of Science (Philadelphia). Another was procured near

THE TWIN ISLANDS. 171

Bordentown, New Jersey, by Mr. John Kridcr. It is
known as a summer visitant to Greenland." Kow, as Mr.
Krider shot a corn-crake on the shore of this creek, with-
in a few miles of Twin-island Bend, why should not oth-
ers ? It is far more probable that a dozen migrated from
Greenland, or came directly across the Atlantic, than
one; and one old English gunner, familiar with the bird
for years, assured me he had heard them on our mead-
ows, but never had seen one. The truth is, a hundred
of them might be killed by our professional gunners,
and not one come to the notice of an ornithologist.

Passing from the upper to the lower and larger isl-
and, I landed near its two small trees, that from their
branches, into which I climbed, I might survey to ad-
vantage the rank growth of sneeze-weed that covered
the entire area to the water's edge.

There was absolutely nothing to be seen but a tremu-
lous mass of brightest, unstained yellow. It was much
like looking at the noonday sun through misty specta-
cles. Every blossom, like the buttercups, had " caught
the sun in its chalice," and bees of every variety thronged
the gilded forest.

The busy myriads of tuneful honey-hunters, indeed,
added a charm to the novel scene, and their mingled
voices, pitched upon every conceivable key, was much
like the uncertain melody of an ^olian harp.

While watching and listening, I was surprised to find
how remarkably free from molestation by birds were
these bees. They hovered over this shimmering sea of
golden bloom, always in plain sight, yet the birds, many
of them true flycatchers at that, kept quite aloof. I

172 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

saw several kingbirds in tlie branches of the trees on the
creek bank, and heard the harsh screaming of the great
crested flj^catcher. Others of the tribe were heard, and
one wood-peewee came from the woods and perched
directly above me.

Perhaps, when purple martens were abundant, we had
professional bee-eaters among us, but of this I am by no
means certain. Dr. Brewer calls the kingbird a " bee
martin," and has much to say of their being a pest where
honey is a desideratum of the farmers.

'No kingbird, while I was there, saw fit once to capt-
ure a bee, or even to fly among them. If they do
so, how can we be sure it is a bee that is captured ?
Other insects swarm in the same localities, as I found
to-day, and might not these be sought as food, in prefer-
ence to the busy honej^-gatherers ? Wilson went so far
as to say that the kingbirds fed only upon drones ; but
is it likely that a kingbird's vision is sufiiciently acute
to recognize drones from workers when they are flying?

I have found more than one bee-tree in my rambles,
and always have looked out for bee-eating birds in their
vicinity, but the kingbirds do not frequent the forests
much ; and the great crested flycatcher, although much
more of a forest -dwelling species, never appeared to
haunt the neighborhood of bee -trees. Kingbirds, no
doubt, are willing to feed on bees, but that they prefer
them to other forms of insect life is probably too rash a
statement.

It was not far from here, in April, 1872, that a beauti-
ful scissor-tail flycatcher was taken. It was a male, in
full health and feather, weighing two and one-half ounces

THE TWIN ISLANDS. 173

avoirdnpoi?, and measuring tliirtccn and onc-lialf inches
from the tip of the beak to tlic extremity of the taih
The bird, when shot, was busily engaged in j^icking
semi-dormant insects from the bark of trees — creeping
about very much after the manner of a brown tree-
creeper, and all the while opening and shutting the long
scissor-like tail. The stomach proved to be full of small
beetles, and remains of other kinds of insects.

This is the only specimen of this southern species
known to have been taken so far north. Dr. Brewer
quotes Dr. TurnbuU as an authority for the capture of
other specimens, but the latter does not mention the
bird. The allied fork-tailed flycatcher has been twice
found here, and to these TurnbuU does refer.

It is of some interest to know that when this rare
bird was taken the weather was chill v, and the season
was unusually cold and backward. It would be easier
to account for the presence of this bird had the season
been far advanced, or had a southerly wind or storm pre-
vailed at the time and for a few days previously, but the
very opposite of this had been the case.

It would be interesting to watch during the year the
movements of birds as rare as this, when they happen to
Vv^ander so far from their proper habitat. Could a pair
of such stragglers be left alone, is it not probable that
they would breed here, and in so doing lead to the estab-
lishment of a race of summer migrants ? Perhaps, if
they once regained their southern home, they would stay,
but I should like to have a few such stragglers spared,
and learn the result of a summer's sojourn with us.

Speaking of bird migration, it is fitting to consider at

174 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

tliis time certain portions of Dr. Benjamin Smith Bar-
ton's '' Fragments of JN'atural History," published at
Philadelphia in 1709, and based upon observations made
near that citj. From it we gather evidence that a con-
siderable change has been brought about in the habits of
certain species, and many that he considered as summer
or winter visitors are now strictly resident. It is, of
course, possible that the doctor's observations were in-
sufficiently extensive, and some birds were overlooked
which were really to be found in the vicinity of Phila-
delphia at the time ; but this supposition is scarcely ten-
able when we consider that Dr. Barton was an intimate
friend of William Bartram, and depended largely upon
the observations of that accurate observer for his facts.
It will be seen, also, that in the ninety-six years since
Barton vv-rote, there has been nothing suggestive of a
greater regularity in the seasons. March and April were
as fickle then as now, and the learned doctor would evi-
dently have been sorely puzzled to give an accurate de-
scription of spring, of which he has so much to say.

Speaking of birds coming from the south, at the close
of winter. Dr. Barton remarks : " It must not be imasr-
ined that the birds which I have enumerated arrive uni-
formly every year, at the times which are prefixed to
their names. ... I have long been persuaded that the
uniformity of the arrival of the migratory birds, in any
given country, is not so great as many naturalists have
imagined. The attention which I have paid to this cu-
rious subject in Pennsylvania has convinced me that my
suspicion was well founded. The migration of birds is
not a 'determinate instinct,' but an act of volition or

THE TWIN ISLANDS. 175

will. Hence the seasons and other circumstances will
greatly regulate the arrival of birds in, and their flight
or removal from, a particular country. Sometimes there
is a difference of three weeks or a month between the
arrival or appearance of the same species in two differ-
ent years. This will aj^pear from the following in-
stances, which are selected from many others. ... It
will appear that the Alauda alpestris or shore lark ; the
Alauda Tiibra or red lark (titlark ?) ; the Frlngilla tris-
tis or golden finch, and some others, were not observed
in the vicinity of Philadelphia earlier than March 12,
1791 ; whereas the same birds were seen in the same
neighborhood as early as February 28th, the following
year, on their passage northward. . . ."

It would appear from this that these birds were mere-
ly birds of passage, which made no protracted stay in
this neighborhood. As a matter of fact, the two larks
arrive from the north in October, and tarry until April.
They are characteristic features of our midwinter land-
scapes, and reside with us for nearly one-half of the year.
Is it possible that, when Dr. Barton wrote, they ]")assed
us by in autumn, and after a protracted stay in more
southern localities, only lingered in the vicinity of Phil-
adelphia for a few days or weeks at most ?

More strangely still, the "golden finch," our familiar
thistle-bird, is now a resident species, and while wander-
ino^ and erratic is in no sense mi£]^ratory. Dr. Barton
did not confound it with the pine-finch, for of the latter
he has much to say, and was clearly well acquainted with
both species. If not a blunder, which it is hard to be-
lieve, this bird has greatly changed its habits.

176 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

On referring to Dr. Barton's " Tables," we are at once
struck witli the inapplicability of the lists to the dates
given. Thus, under that of March 12th, fourteen species
are named as first seen at that time or about that time.
Three of these have been commented upon ; another, the
white-throated sparrow, like the others, comes to us in
early autumn and remains until every vestige of winter
has disappeared.

Again, a more striking instance than all, is to mention
the turkey-buzzard as appearing in this neighborhood
as late as June 20th. JN^ow it must be admitted that
these birds are of a wandering disposition, and when the
mercury falls close to zero, they are disposed to take
shelter from the north winds ; but of ordinary crisp
winter mornings, provided there is plenty of sunshine,
they have no fear, and it is quite within bounds to assert
that there are fully one third as many of these birds
floating in the upper air in January as in June. How-
ever the case may be, as to w^hether they are guided by
scent or sight to their unsavory food, but let a sickly
sheep wander afield in midwinter, and the attendant
buzzards will not be far away.

Fully one-half of the birds Dr. Barton names are now
strictly resident species. Are we to suppose that they
were overlooked ? Now, an autumn ramble or a winter
walk, anywhere beyond the city's limits, will be reward-
ed by the presence of these very birds. The same is
true of many species mentioned as "April arrivals."
Some that are now migratory come much earlier, others
are resident. One large diver, called by him an ''eel
crow," is said to appear about April 15th. This was

THE TWIN ISLANDS. 177

true of tliG common "devil diver" or dabcliick until
recently, but of late years they are " irregularly " resi-
dent ; but this may not be the " eel crow " of Dr. Bar-
ton, and all the other representatives of this family come
to us in autumn and are winter residents ; being more
or less abundant, as the winter proves mild or severe ;
for while not scared by ice, they nevertheless delight in
open water and an abundance of fish.

That the author we have quoted was acquainted with
the winter birds of this neighborhood would appear
from the following, and it would seem that the birds
mentioned have really altered their habits to a certain
extent. Dr. Barton writes: "How much the move-
ments of birds from one country to another depend
upon the state of the seasons, will appear from different
parts of this little work, particularly from the Third
Section. Here we find that durino: our mild winters
several of those species of birds which, in general, are
undoubtedly migratory, continue the winter through
in the neighborhood of Philadelphia. Such, which I
have denominated the Occasional or Accidental Kesident
Birds, are the Ardea lierodias^ or great heron ; Columha
Caroliiiensis, or turtle-dove ; the Frlngilla inelodla^ and
several others: I doubt not many more tlian I have
mentioned." Of these three species, the former only is
" occasionally " resident ; the others are strictly so. Dr.
Barton continues, as follows : " The Columha migratoria,
passenger pigeon, commonly returns from the northward
late in the fall, and continues with us a few days or
weeks, feeding in our fields upon the seed of the buck-
wheat, or in the woods upon acorns. But if the season

178 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

be a very mild one, tliey continue with us for a much
longer time. This was the case in the winter of 1792-
93, when immense flocks of these birds continued about
the city and did not migrate farther southward until
the weather became more severe in the month of
January."

At present, these pigeons find too little food to tarry
long in this neighborhood, yet I believe I have never
known a winter to pass without a few of them remain-
ing about our woods, especially such as have many
beeches growing therein. Dr. Turnbull, writing in and
concerning the neighborhood of Philadelphia, remarks
of this pigeon, that it is " plentiful, but is more frequent
in spring and autumn, wdien it congregates in large
flocks." This does not accord with my own observa-
tions, and I find on inquiry that fifty years ago flocks
of pigeons annually wintered in the valley of Cross-
wicks Creek, about thirty miles from Philadelphia as
the crow flies. It may be, therefore, that these birds
v/ere not as sensitive to cold as Dr. Barton supposed.

Another quotation from our authors " Fragments,"
and I have done. lie writes: "It is highly probable
that the periods of the migrations of birds will be found
to be more or less uniform in proportion as the climates
of the countries to which they migrate are more or less
variable in their temperature. It is, perhaps, upon this
principle that we are led to explain the difference of
the times of arrival and departure of the birds of Penn-
sylvania, and other parts of ]N"ortli America. The cli-
mates of these countries are extremely variable ; I sup-
pose more so than most other countries that are known

THE TWIN ISLANDS. 179

to lis. If, as lias been supposed by many writers, the
hand of man, by clearing and by cultivating the surface
of the earth, contributes essentially to the greater uni-
formity in the temperature of climates, it is reasonable
to conjecture that the time will come when the periods
of the migrations of our birds will be more constant
and fixed. For in North America, especially the United
States, the progress of population, and of clearing and
cultivating the earth, is more rapid and immense than
in any other portion of the world."

Whether it is reasonable to conjecture or not, certain
it is, that our author did not correctly estimate the ef-
fects of that general deforesting of the country which
lias taken place since he w^rote, nearly a century ago.
The trees are gone ; the countless acres of ploughed or
weed-grown fields are here, and wdth them a climate as
variable as ever. The birds come and go, as of yore,
but with the same degree of uncertainty as to their ar-
rival and departure. The birds have changed far more
than the seasons, and so other causes have operated to
brin^*- this about, or it is, at least, an indirect effect of
the climate. The destruction of the forests has affected
plant life ; this, of course, has its influence on insect
life, and the birds must come and go, as their food
supply determines. The change wrought is that migra-
tion has become less fixed and methodical than former-
ly— not more so, as Dr. Barton believed would be the
case; and when any species learns to live upon food
available at all seasons, it will probably cease to wander,
unless forced to seek a suitable nesting place in some
distant locality.

180 WASTE-LAXD WANDERINGS.

About 2 P.M. to-day the lieat reached its maximum
intensity ; every bird became silent, the scuttlers and
skaters ceased to fret the still waters, where they were
nearly shut oS from the incoming tide. Even the har-
vest-iiies stridulated less frequently, and one naturally
thought of those creatures in the tropics that escape in-
tense heat by a prolonged sleep, somewhat akin to the
hibernation of some of our mammals in winter. In
equatorial regions there occurs a true aestivation among
mammals. Does anything akin to it occur in New
Jersey ? Certainly, when we have days like this, it is
probable that all animal life is affected by the heat, yet
I find no reference to such influence of solar heat in
any work descri23tive of the habits of our fauna. What
is aestivation? In Stormonth's dictionary the defini-
tion is as follows: "The sleep or dormancy of animals
during the hot or dry season in warm climates; the
analoD^ue of hibernation in cold refj^ions."

The condition of certain mammals, as reported to me
during the summer of ISStl:, brought the subject j^romi-
nently to mind, and I found that in past years I had
made many memoranda concerning unconscious animals;
but the full significance of which I did not, until re-
cently, recognize ; and, indeed, I may not now correctly
interpret the facts.

The following is an instance of the supposed occur-
rence of aestivation, or something closely akin to it.

A family of white-footed mice was found in an ex-
posed position in an open field ; the nest being made of
a few leaves and some thistle-down, under an old tin
pan, the bottom of which had nearly rusted away.

THE TWIN ISLANDS. 181

When these mice were taken up — and they were han-
dled witli great care — they were found to he soft and
warm, as when in full vigor, but gave no signs of life.
The female mouse and her three young, Avhich were
more than full grown, constituted the family. As there
was no apparent cause for the deatli of the mice, I de-
termined to investigate the matter very carefully. One
of the young was pricked on the ear with a needle,
when it flinched slightly. The others were similarly
tested, and all gave evidence of life to the same extent.
Carrying these mice to a shady spot, and placing them
in a comparatively cool position, they regained their or-
dinary activity in about seven hours, the process resem-
bling closely the awaking from an ordinary sleep, but
of course was much more gradually accomplished. They
were then replaced in their nest in the Held, which they
promptly abandoned, but returned thereto in the course
of the next day. Three days later these mice were
found in precisely the same condition. Time, noon ;
thermometer 10G° Fahr. These mice were taken di-
rectly to a cellar forty-two degrees cooler than the open
field, and the sudden change proved too great a shock.
The young died in one hour; the old mouse, in less
than three hours. Had these mice, after their lirst re-
moval, when replaced in the field, directly become stu-
pid or actually dormant, it might naturally be inferred
that the heat had seriously affected them ; but, as we
have seen, such was not the case. During the evening
of the day following my replacing them in the field, the
air became cooler by twenty-nine degrees, by 7 r. m.,
and was thirty-four degrees cooler four hours later, and

182 WASTE-LAND WAXDERIXGS.

the mice were active, and fed heartily upon bread-
crumbs placed near their nest. Now why, it may be
asked, did they not seek out a cooler retreat in the
woods near by? I can only suggest that the supposed
aestivating condition was not inconvenient nor unpleas-
ant, and that it was preferable to the abandonment of
their nest, w^hich was suited to their needs for all time,
except such extraordinary spells of hot weather. Either
these mice were excessively stupid, or a dormant condi-
tion, caused by excessive heat, was nothing unusual with
them.

There is in this instance a marked difference from a
hibernating sleep, in that the period of dormancy w^as
of but a few hours' duration ; but was like the torpid
slumber of a hibernating animal, in that the condition
was one from which it was not possible to arouse them,
as from ordinary slumber. The awakening had to come
from a change of temperature ; and just in proportion as
the evenings were warm, the mice were tardy in return-
ing to consciousness. To more effectually test this, I
carefully removed these mice from the field, and placed
them near a stove, so that the mid -day temperature
could be maintained. The result was the continuance
of the dormant condition for eighty-four hours.

When the effect of a protracted drought and heated
terms upon our animals has been more fully worked out,
I believe it will be found that many a mouse and other
small mammal which is found lying dead, as supposed,
is really not in a moribund but dormant condition, and
if left undisturbed would revive. But what other evi-
dence is there of this ? The wdiite-footed mice are not,

THE TWIX ISLANDS. 183

of tlicmselves, sufficient to prove that aestivation is an
established habit. Wliat other evidence amonir mam-
mals have we ?

In August, 18S0, 1 found bats on four different occa-
sions, all of which were apparently in full health, yet
they did not, for some reason, which I supposed to be
the excessive heat then prevailing, resume their crepus-
cular flights at the usual hour. These bats had "gone to
roost " under leaves on trees and a grape-vine, and were,
no doubt, fully intending to resume their activity after
a nap of a day's length was over. Why did they not ?
The following days were excessively hot until the fourth,
which was a few degrees cooler. It clouded over early in
the afternoon ; soon it became damp, and just before the
commencement of a passing shower these bats were
stirring a little as they hung — quivering their wings as
though to see if all was in working order, and then away
they flew, after, in each case, certainly ninety hours of
rest. Docs it adequately explain all the facts to say that
these bats were overcome by the heat ? They were resting
in the shade during the day, and the nights, when they
w^ould be active, were cooler; but in these cases very
little cooler. They were nights to be remembered for
their sultriness ; and may it not be that there was not
sufficient difference in the mid-day and evening temper-
ature to enable them to throw off the nervous prostra-
tion caused by the heat of the day ? Explain it thus, and
then we are left to consider what is this nervous pros-
tration ? In the case of the bats mentioned, they were
all in a perfectly torpid state, and gave not the least sign
of life wdicn handled, and only flinched slightly when

184 WASTE-LAXD WANDERINGS.

wounded hj being- pricked witli a needle. Would not
nervous prostration that produced insensibility, lasting
several hours, almost certainly produce death ? In the
case of the bats, a torpid condition extending through
ninety hours produced no ill effects. I am disposed to
believe that the coming hot and dry weather was antici-
pated, and these bats retired for the purpose of escaping
it, and entered into a condition widely different from
ordinary sleep, which was to last until the so-called heat-
ed term was over, the lowering of the temperature being
the one means through which they would be restored to
consciousness. There occurs this deliberate action on
the part of certain mammals Vvdiich regularly hibernate
— why should not the same be true of them when the
extreme is one of heat instead of cold ?

As bearing upon this question, let me quote a few lines
from i\\Q Eacyclojpoedia Britannica — -ninth edition —
article, Hibernation. It says: ''The dormouse not only
hibernates, in the strict sense of the term, but will sleep
at intervals for several days together during mild weath-
er. When a Myoxus — an allied animal inhabiting Af-
rica— was brought to Europe, it hibernated as if this
were its normal habit. Whether it aestivates in its native
country is not known, but its hibernating in Europe
shows a greater power of adapting itself to changed
conditions of life than we should have been inclined to
suspect."

I would briefly call attention to two points in the
above : that in temperate climates prolonged sleep is not
imknown among rodents, and also tliat some tropical
rodents probably ^stivate. In the case of the white-

THE TWIN ISLANDS. 185

footed -mice, and, too, of the bats, I am very positive
that their condition was not that of ordinary shimber ;
and the tropical temperature at the time, even tlirough
the night, certainly suggests testivation as the most
plausible explanation of the phenomena I have de-
scribed.

As so often happens during hot August days, the af-
ternoon draws to a close with a terrific thunder-shower.
To-day I saw that one was coming. The threatening
morning had been a combination of slight sliowers and
intense heat — now for the climax. I knew what was to
be, loner enouo:h before tlie shower reached me, to have
escaped it all, but I had no desire to do so. I was pre-
pared for all the rain that might fall, and willing to risk
the inconvenient possibility of the night proving stormy.
All needed preparation was soon made. I had but to
draw my boat from the creek, and turning it up upon
one side, let the other rest upon two short, crotched
sticks. This done, and my gum blanket spread, I was
provided vrith all necessary slielter. But I was none too
prompt in making my arrangements, for by the time I
was fairly under the boat and in a comfortable position,
big drops came pattering down upon the meadows be-
yond, then upon the creek, and finally upon the bottom
of the upturned boat. It was music to my ears. At
times the rain seemed to descend in thin sheets of water,
one closely following the other ; and the sudden splash
of these upon the surface of the creek produced a scries
of very distinct, sharp reports, like slapping the flat side
of an oar-blade upon still water. This at times was va-

18S WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

ried by tlie effect of sudden puffs of wind whicli con-
verted the rain into mist-like particles that penetrated
everywhere, even under my boat. Once the wind gath-
ered the descending waters and produced of them a min-
iature water-spout. This shot erratically up the creek,
leaving a white line of bubbles that marked its zigzag
track. But once in my life did I ever see it rain more
violently.

Interesting as was this shower, viewed under such cir-
cumstances, I was more struck by the effects that the
thunder had upon the fishes than by anything else that
I saw. The lightning played about me at uncomforta-
bly short distances, and a large tulip-tree, not many rods
away, was somewhat shattered. But of the fishes : at
every clap hundreds came suddenly to the surface, and
the small minnows leaped several inches above it. This
was not an occasional but a uniform effect of the thun-
der. I have been on and near this and other creeks be-
fore during showers, but never saw this effect produced
upon fish to anything like the same extent.

After the shower passed, by the dim light of a cloudy
sunset I hunted for fishes that I thought might have
been killed by the concussions that shook them up so
thoroughly, but found none ; and so, while I could yet
see, sought for a cluster of bushes, wherein to leave my
boat for the night.

I have referred to a harder shower than this of to-day.
It occurred on August 24:, 1877; and although its force
was largely spent upon meadows three or four miles
away, it may properly be included among the eventful
occurrences of this creek's valley.

THE TWIN ISLANDS. 187

I quote from my notes concerning it, published in tlie
State Geologist's report for 18S1: "Previously to 1.30
P.M. tlie day offered no peculiar meteorological features.
The temperature was 78*^ Fahr. at noon, wind south-east.
About 1.30 P.M. the wind shifted to the south-west, and
a heavy bank of blue-black clouds formed in the north-
west. The appearance at this time was that of an or-
dinary summer shower. I did not notice any lightning
or hear any distant thunder. While standing on the
brow of the hill, near where my house stands, and
facing the south-west, I noticed that a bank of cloud
somewhat similar to that in the north - west was also
rapidly forming, and the two appeared to be approach-
ing each other, although, of course, not from oppo-
site directions. In a few moments there was a sudden
chano:e in the several conditions then existing;. The
stiff north-west breeze suddenly ceased. A remarkable
stillness pervaded the atmosphere, and a feeling of op-
pression was very noticeable. Just at this time the two
masses of clouds came in contact, apparently (and really,
I think), directly over the extensive stretch of meadows
lying north of Bordentown, New Jersey, along the Del-
aware River. At the moment of contact of these cloud-
masses there was a loud, humming sound clearly audi-
ble, but not caused by a wind, as the leaves on all the
trees v;ere motionless. The two cloud-masses formed
one, but each retained its peculiar coloring, and in less
than a minute, I should think, a huge water-spout formed
— or at least the clouds became a single conical mass,
w^ith the apex downward. As suddenly as it formed it
broke, and in ten minutes at most thereafter the mead-

188 WASTE-LAND WANDERIXGS.

ows were flooded. The storm now took the form
of a general rain, and extended over a considerable
area.

" Such a rain, however, I have never witnessed either
before or since. I found by experiment that it was im-
possible to breathe while facing it unless by protecting
my nose and mouth with my hand. At a distance of
one hundred feet objects were wholly obscured from
view. This fearful rainfall continued for about forty
minutes and then began to abate, but it was not until
5 P.M. that the rain ceased and the sky became compara-
tively clear. This storm was remarkable for one feat-
ure other than that of the quantity of water that fell ;
this was the absence of lightning.

" No ordinary means w^ould have proved available for
measurino^ the rainfall in this case. I have no doubt
that it was considerably in excess of what I ascertained
at the time to be, we will say, the minimum ; and here,
certainly, in the immediate vicinity of the water-spout,
was a rainfall of nine inches in the three hours of tliat
day, from 2 until 5 p.m.

" Perhaps it may not be without interest to add that
the storm caused a considerable destruction of life.
Calves and sheep were drowned, and many birds and small
mammals were destroyed. I found numbers of drowned
crows and some smaller birds immediately afterwards,
and several mice and squirrels. Insect life, also, was
greatly affected by the storm, their ordinary means of
shelter during showers proving quite inadequate to pro-
tect them against the violence of this remarkable rain-
fall."

THE TWIN ISLANDS. 189

My eventful day Lad drawn to a close, but ray labors
did not end with the gloaming. It was no light task,
with my treasures mined from a neighbor's dark attic,
and an arm -load of meadow bloom, to wend my way
homeward through tangled grass still dripping with the
recent rain. An occasional stumble was not submitted
to with the best of grace. But the climax was to come.
I had thought that my exposure to a storm would have
excited sympathy, and my heaped -up treasures arouse
the interest of all who saw them. Alas! straightway
on enterinc: the house I was reminded that I had not
washed my hands.

Washed my hands ! For what then had I been gath-
ering the glory of the marshes, if not that their essence
might cling to me ? Washed my hands ! ^o, and to
free them from such honorable soiling never will. 1
would that my heart Avas as stained as my hands ; that
the virtues of waste-land pierced me through and through.
All that is lovable in this world has not yet been gar-
nered.

CHAPTER yil.
MILL CREEK.

The wanderer in waste-lands comes continually njDon
localities, shady nooks in the woods, quiet corners of neg-
lected fields, and weed-hidden recesses of forest streams,
that are suggestive of contemplation. Eagerness for ac-
tive exploration gives way to a desire for passive enjoy-
ment. Such a spot is Mill Creek. One must, indeed,
have urgent business who can hurry over its brief course.

My purpose was to pass the day in quiet, or at most
to watch the fishes that swarm the shallower portions of
the stream.

While I have always urged the desirability of being
forearmed with a plan, when bent upon a day's outing,
I do not claim it can always be carried out. Some
stranger may, at the same time, come up to spy out
the land, and you have then nothing to do but to spy
him out. Count it good-fortune when so it happens.

Years ago I met with pleasant surprises when here ;
still, I could not, from this fact, expect them to continue.
To-day, at least, I hoped that the suggestive quiet of
these shades would not be disturbed, and had not pro-
ceeded a dozen rods beyond the bar that nearly closes
the reedy entrance to the creek, when down from above
the tree-tops dropped a dainty sand-j^iper.

Quietly as possible I sought the drooping branches

MILL CREEK. 191

of an overhanging oak, hoping to observe the bird to
advantage. In this I failed. It saw tliat my move-
ments referred to itself, and wheeling upward rose far
above the trees and disappeared.

It tarried a second before speeding riverward, and
suggested, in so doing, that a view from some such
height would prove a pleasant variation in my outings.
Forthwith I left my boat to climb a tree.

To most people, I suppose, tree-tops fifty feet above
their heads are quite as inaccessible as the antipodes.
But this inaccessibility is not real in every case.

The truth is, I envied the slight breeze overhead, and
determined it should fan my brow. It did, and now I
am ready to proclaim, happy is he who has sufficient
" scansorial ability " to climb inviting trees and take his
comfort in their upper branches.

Before fashion turns the tide that way, let me chroni-
cle what I conceive to be the charms of such a journey ;
for it is equal to a day's tramp to reach the summit of a
towering tree — one which has dis230sed of its branches
in such a manner that a man needs to be ten feet long
to reach from one limb to the next above him. The
climber must exercise a deal of ingenuity at times, and
perhaps run something of a risk ; but once at the top,
wdiat happiness awaits him !

There is an inborn disposition in all to look down
upon our fellows, as well as to look up to a few individu-
als. Climb a tree and look down upon the Avorld with-
out giving any one offence. From my tall tree's upper
branches I looked down u])on toiling harvesters, and
then looking upward saw a cloud of mosquitoes looking

192 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

down on me. Was my boasting to come to nauglit,
thought I ; but before I heard the famtest trumpeting
a breeze had carried them to the distant hills. It was
but an intimation that pride was liable to a fall at all
times, so I became humble — a curious sensation — and es-
sayed to study life from my novel point of view. The
first bird that I saw was a swallow. I marked it as it
passed a gaunt -armed chestnut, tardy with its bloom.
Tarrying not, it circled the leafy crown of clustered
beeches, scanned the deep caverns of a gnarly oak, trav-
ersed a maze of birches, ehns, and maples, threaded its
way through tangled growths beneath, and twittering to
its fellows as it passed, hurried to greet a passing feath-
ery cloud, and from the upper regions viewed afar the
misty mountains, miles and miles away.

Perhaps a threatening storm-cloud drove it thence,
but swift as an arrow back again it came, and I felt my
cheek fanned by the creature's wing. Off then to the
river shore it sped, and tricked each leaping wave that
sought to catch it, peered into every nook and cranny
of the stream, cast a fleet shadow upon every rock,
bathed in the spray, basked in the sunshine, and then
outspeeding vision sought the cool shadows of a wild
ravine. Then, upward and outward in a flood of light,
it circled a sink-hole in an upland field, counted the queer
corners of a zigzag fence, and played bopeep with a lit-
tle whirlwind, as it bore a dust pillar to my neighbor's
woods. Checking its course, it turned abruptly and
sought the Mill Creek shadows whence it started.

Was it gone an hour ? By my watch not five min-
utes. I saw almost at the same moment the steam from

MILL CREEK. 193

the locomotive as the "limited express" went hurrjing
westward, and that marvellous train seemed not half so
wonderful as the swallow's wing.

So far as these birds are concerned, one need not won-
der at their migrations. In less than a day and a half
they can transport themselves to the tropics, or as near
them as they see fit to go, when winter's rigor drives
tliem from their summer haunts. And the other birds?
You rouse their curiosity when you sit in a tree and
can study them at leisure. The first to come after the
swallow's fleeting visit was a cuckoo. It perched upon
a twig but a few feet away, and failed at first to recog-
nize me. Then what I was slowly dawned upon it, and
it spluttered a guttural exclamation that you, kind read-
er, and I would probably translate cpite differently. Af-
ter long intercourse with birds of many kinds and a few
representative mammals, I am inclined to look upon pro-
fanity as a product of evolution. But the cuckoo was
not mad. It merely took a back seat and contemplated
me. Wliat the cuckoo thought, do not ask, but if a bird
has once been seen sitting and watching a man as that
one did, it will not be denied that it does think.

I glanced about to see if there was any attraction for
the bird, and saw a group of caterpillars almost within
my reach. I wished that I was a little fartlier off, that
the cuckoo might eat tliem, and then wondered if he
would not in time muster up the necessary courage.
This he finally did. Finding that I was perfectly quiet,
he ventured a little nearer, and at last reached the outer
side of the group of caterpillars. Like lightning he
seized perhaps a dozen, and then his courage failed him.
9

194 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

I might prove dangerous, lie tlioiiglit, and afar over the
meadows he flew.

I heard him croaking, when a quarter of a mile away,
I am sure, and straightway his hoarse cry was answered
from my tree. " Another cuckoo here ?" I asked myself,
and looked everywhere above, below, and about me. I
strained every muscle to see the outermost branches of
the tree that I was in, and scanned each neighboring
tree as carefully. There was no bird visible, and yet a
guttural " cuck, cuck, cuck," was continually rung in my
ears. Finally, looking directly below me, I saw a shal-
low hole, where a weak side-branch had rotted off, and
in it, squatted in the rain-water lodged therein, sat a
tree-toad. The creature was far in advance of me in
tree topics. Here he was with his bath-tub and certain
of a moderate food supply, even if he sat still. A snug-
ger nest I never found, and am only puzzled that its
occupant should croak instead of sing. Why any bird
or batrachian should ever express itself in such doleful
tones is a hard nut, I take it, for evolutionists to crack.
It does not seem, in any case, to subserve any good pur-
pose. It is not a call to its mate, and tree -toads can
hardly be said to ever be mated ; it brings no food and
frightens no enemies. Like dyspeptics among mankind,
in the case of the tree-toads they sit still and croak pret-
ty much their whole lives ; or in that of cuckoos, wander
the country over and never cease croaking. The truth
is, the cuckoo has a far easier time than most birds, and
its voice suggests that it is a natural fault-finder.

Ofttimes the fool the universe would rule.
The world moves on, and disregards tlie fool.

MILL CREEK. 195

While contemplating the pretty tree-toad in its cosey
quarters, I was startled by a multiplicity of sounds : a
passing flock of redwings, a family of pigeon-woodpeck-
ers, the hum of excited bees uncomfortably near, and
more strange than musical, more suggestive than enter-
taining, the hoarse, rattling cacophony of a yellow-breast-
ed chat. It lluttered up from a tangled thicket of briers
below me, and when in mid-air gave utterance to such
varied cries as would baffle a mocking-bird.

How rudely, sometimes, our dreams of bliss are dis-
pelled ! The time came for me to descend, and I discov-
ered that my limbs had rebelled against their lung con-
finement in a cramped position. I was very wide awake,
but they had gone to sleep, nor would they be awakened.
Clinging with my arms to the stout branches, I kicked
at the outer air, and then for a moment, though it seemed
an hour, could not withdraw mv leo-s to a more substan-
tial footing. Here was a veritable thorn clinging to my
pet rose, and one not easily got rid of. I as nearly lost
my life as I care to, and will not ignore my legs in the
future when I go a-climbing. So a word of advice.
However comfortable you may be, whether in a tree-top
or the laziest of rests aground, secure your comfort, if
not safety, by occasionally shifting your limbs.

Scarcely had I reached my boat, when the dainty sand-
piper returned. It is larger than the common speckled-
breasted " teeter," as it is usually called, of more slender
build and darker plumage.

The bird before me, which for quite insufiicient rea-
son is often called the "solitary," and by some the
"wood-tattler" — a much better name — cojnes early or

196 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

late in April, according to the weatlier. It does not
make much of a stay, but hurries northward, and reap-
pears in August and September. Every summer, how-
ever, a few remain and breed.

When the wood-tattlers arrive in May, they are most-
ly found in the wet meadows, often in flocks of from
twelve to twenty, and are usually so silent that, if not
seen, their prerence would not be suspected. Many a
time, w^ien croaching in the long grass on the margin
of a meadow brook, watching the frogs or fish, as the
case might be, I liave seen these sand-pipers alight with-
in a few feet of me, and wander about in full view, yet
never uttering a sound. After a long flight, to see them
set their wings and pitch towards the ground, and wlien
very near it, to check their course and settle, is to Vvit-
ness tlie acme of graceful motion. Another exquisite
movement is that of raising their wings as their feet
touch the ground, and then folding them gracefully. I
know of no ordinary habit of our many birds that is so
uniformly attractive.

But if quiet during the day, it is not so always. Tow-
ards the close of the day, and sometimes until long after
sunset, instead of hunting for food in a staid, methodical
manner, they indulge in aerial antics that exceed the
wooing woodcock in fantastic high and lofty tumbling.
A half-dozen or more will dart at one another when at a
great elevation, yet never come into actual contact, and
then, with loud and pleasing whistling, dart down and
perch upon the very top of some tall tree, and there
bow and bend with all the fussiness of a dancing-master.

These antics occur towards the end of their spring-

MILL CREEK. ]07

tide sojourn here, and probably then mating occurs
among young birds, and former vows are renewed by
the older birds, if it is true of these, as of some others,
that they are mated for life.

Wood-tattlers are contradictory creatures. They ap-
pear to be very timid, yet in fact are not very readily
frightened. As the bird before me was standing quiet-
ly at the edge of the water, not then engaged in feeding,
I sharply slai)pcd my hands together. At the report,
up went the delicate, slender wings until they touched
above the bird's back, and then were deliberately folded.
Again I made the same noise, with the same effect ; and
then, repeating the sounds at shorter and shorter inter-
vals, kept the poor bird's wings trembling in a very
ludicrous manner. As soon as I ceased claj^ping my
hands, the bird resumed its position of contemplative
rest, except when stirred to action by the sight of some
delicate morsel of food creeping in the mud or water
before it.

In time, as the outgoing tide enlarged the mud-flat,
and brought newer feeding -ground to view, the sand-
piper became more active and ran from side to side, as
though fearing some of the available food-supply might
be overlooked or escape. While so doing, a shadow
passed over the creek ; it was that of a buzzard, half a
mile away, and yet the sand-piper would run no risk, and
squatted so closely to the mud that I could not see it.
In this concealed position it remained fully one minute,
and then resumed its food-hunting calmly as before.

At no time did the bird leave the little island and
wade out into the water. This was quite interesting to

198 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

me, as it often does wade until the water laps its breast,
and then, if it happens to keep its body bobbing forward
as it walks, you would suppose that it was taking a bath.

At length, being very tired of my cramped position,
I concluded to flush the bird by making my appearance
from beneath the drooping boughs of the oak. As I
did so, the sand-piper gave a shrill whistle, and flew up
the creek to another mud-flat. Here, however, it was
not satisfied, and returning flew to within a dozen paces
of my boat, and then commenced an upward circling
flight, until nearly out of sight.

This wood - tattler, the first I have seen since May,
recalled the finding of a pair in the chinkapin swamp
more than twenty years ago. It was a perfect June
morning, and all that that implies was to be enjoyed in
the sprout lands and the chinkapin swamp beyond.

That June morning of long ago was a naturalist's red-
letter day. Here, for the first time, I found the pretty
prairie warblers in abundance; not as tardy migrants
on their way north, but here for the summer. They
were busy insect -hunting among the dwarfish oak-
sprouts, and some busier with their nests and young,
which I found after an easy search. Occasionally a
brilliant redstart would dart through the bushes, and
add to the animation of the scene. All these birds sang

constantly.

An individual prairie warbler cannot be classed among
our accomplished songsters, but the united voices of a
dozen or more as I heard them, mingled with the dis-
tant rinsing tones of wa2;tails and the nearer and clearer
whistle of the oriole, made delightful music.

MILL CREEK. 199

Even better tlian my experience ^vitli tlie warblers
was tlie fact that while I was stooping over a little
spring that bubbled and sparkled among emerald moss-
es, down like an arrow came a wood-tattler and settled
scarcely six feet away. I turned my face towards it,
and the bird, while evidently much puzzled, could not
make up its mind as to what sort of a creature I was,
and remained at its post staring back at me. To pre-
serve such a cramped position for any length of time
was, of course, impracticable, and suddenly regaining
the perpendicular, my identity was revealed so abruptly
that for a moment the bird was helpless from fear ; but
as suddenly as it had been overcome with surprise, it
recovered its mental equilibrium and darted away. Not-
withstanding such a strange adventure on its part, the
tattler quickly returned to the very spot where it had
recently been sorely frightened. Its actions were all
peculiar. It did not bob its head and shoulders, as they
constantly do when on the meadows, but held its head
well up, trailed its wings and spread its short fan-like
tail, and in this strange fix ran in short circles about
the long grass, just beyond the moss-hidden spring. I
thouirht of a nest and commenced a careful search,
much to the annoyance of the nervous little tattler, that
now kept twenty paces distant, and was often hidden
from me by the tall weeds.

It seemed, at last, as though I must have scanned
closely every square foot of the ground within a reason-
able distance of the spring, and finding nothing, I with-
drew. As soon as I was away, the tattler, which had evi-
dently been watching my movements, returned to the

200 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

spot near tlie spring and acted just as strangely as be-
fore. This more strongly than ever aroused my curi-
osity, and I resumed the search. After several minutes
I at length touched with my foot an enormous bull-
frog, which gave a mighty leap and a loud grunt expres-
sive of displeasure. It had been scpatting closely in
what was evidently a tattler's nest, a structure identical
with those of the common spotted sand-piper I had of-
ten found. This threw some light on the mystery.
The frog had been up to mischief, and the distressed
wood-tattler was the sufferer. I captured the criminal,
which was suspiciously aldermanic, and dissection proved
that it had swallowed four young tattlers, just emerged
from the shell.

Eunning my boat under a cluster of hornbeams,
draped with Yirginia creeper and daintily trimmed with
feathery thalictrum, I was quite concealed even from
any inquisitive creatures that might pass, and yet could
assume a comfortable position, as was far from being
the case when watchino; the wood-tattler.

Here, with birds, trees, flowers, and rippling waters, I
proposed to take the world very easily and pursue the
most delightful occupation that is possible for man — to
follow the whim of tlie moment.

Feeling equally ready to meet and discuss a mam-
moth or a mouse, a heron or a humming-bird, I was
certain not to be disappointed whatever appeared, and
in the course of half an hour it proved to be a mouse.
From the opposite bank of the creek it crept slowly
over the muddy shore left bare by the receding tide, and

MILL CREEK. oqi

tlien bravely plunging into the water, swam laboriously
across the stream and directlv towards the boat. See-

t/

ing it coming, I very quietly slipped an oar in its course,
and, as I hoped would be the case, upon reaching the
oar the mouse ceased swimming, and crawled up the
blade until it was cpiite out of the water, when it gave
a vigorous shake and commenced licking its fur, much
as a cat would do after an involuntary bath.

It has not appeared to me that the meadow-mouse is
an amphibious mammal, yet I know when occasion re-
quires it can swim for a considerable distance, and in
more ways than one proves itself by no means hopeless
when sudden freshets submerge its subterranean re-
treats. I have so often been assured by my neighbors
that at such times they catch to the first bit of floatincr
wood which they find, and float thereon until the wind
or tide carries them within reach of dry land, that I can-
not but accept the statement ; and yet, guided solely by
my own observation, I believe they trust far more to
their natatorial powers in such crises, and I do know that
such a freshet as that of June, ISGO, results in the death
by drowning of hundreds of these mice.

Mr. Ord, who described this species of Arvicola, says :
*' This species is fond of the seeds of the wild-oats {Zi-
zania aqicatica), and is found in the autunui in those
fresh-water marshes which are frequented by the com-
mon rail {Gallinula Carolina^ Lath). AVhen the tide is
high the animal may be observed sitting upon the fallen
reeds, patiently waiting fur the recession of the water.
From its 2:)Osition when at rest it has much the appear-
ance of a lump of mud, and is commonly mistaken for
9^

202 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

sncli by those wlio are unacquainted witli its habits. It
swims and dives well" This would indicate that some-
where the meadow-mouse is quite as amphibious as ter-
restrial in its liabits ; but into the marsh, only a few
rods distant, with its acres of wild - rice, or " oats " as
Mr. Ord calls it, the mice nowadays seldom if ever
come. The pretty picture of their sitting at high tide
upon tangled blades of the reeds, I have never seen ;
and why should they, if they desired to go elsewhere ?
Mr. Ord says, " it swims and dives well." That it can
swim we know. Until recently I had never seen it dive,
but did not question its ability so to do because I had
not seen it.

As with all mammals, their proper liabits, as indicated
by their anatomical structure, are not closely adhered
to, for not only do we find land animals at home in
the water when necessity requires it, but this meadow-
mouse, so generally supposed to be a vegetarian, is by
preference as carnivorous as a cat. During the early
weeks of the current summer I found tliem to be sys-
tematic egg-hunters, and that they had destroyed both
the eggs and young of song-sparrows, brown thrushes,
and one nest of a chewink. If I have ever, in earlier
■writings, spoken a good word for this little mammal, let
me recall it. A creature that will destroy a song-bird's
nest is a pest, and whether furred, feathered, four-legged,
two-legged, or a small boy, ought to be exterminated.

It is probable that nests placed but a little way above
the ground are not molested, and equally j)i'obable that
the persistent persecution suffered by the song-sj^arrows
and brown thrushes has induced them generally to aban-

MILL CREEK. 203

don tlie practice of ])lacing nests upon the ground, and
to locate them in bushes or trees. It is a ratlier curious
fact that of nineteen song-sparrows' nests found in the
lowlands, where meadow-mice abounded, fifteen were in
bushes, and ranging from two to five feet from the
ground, while in the upland fields, where there are very
few of these mice, of twenty-three nests found, eleven
were on the ground, but all so i3laced at the base of
some rank growth that their detection would not be
easy. Of the brown thrush, or thrasher, it is now to be
said that it has pretty generally abandoned nesting upon
the ground. It is one of several species that is partial
to a locality once chosen, and will return to it year after
year if not disturbed ; and now the densest thicket of
smilax, or a vine-hidden branch of a gnarly oak, is far
more apt to be chosen than any spot upon the ground.
That mice, snakes, and all egg -loving creatures have
brought about this change, is quite likely to be true.
Indeed, it is hard to understand why any of our small
inland birds should ever select such a locality as the bare
ground, yet one little sparrow, the vesper -bird, never
builds anywhere else, and escaj^es the many dangers that
beset it, for no bird is more abundant, both young and
old.

To return to my Mill Creek meadow-mouse — marsh-
campagnol, as God man calls it. After it had straight-
ened its fur and had so far recovered from fatigue as to
feel equal to continuing its journey, it started up the
oar towards the boat, and apparently not until it liad
reached the gunwale did it notice me. Its sudden stop-
ping, that nearly caused it to fall over backward, was

204 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

very funny, but not more so than its quick recovery
from astonishment, and prompt resolve to consider the
remarkable situation. It sat upright on its haunches,
like a marmot, and looked in every direction, but seeing
no other dry route to shore than over the boat, and not
desiring a second swim, it cautiously approached until
within a few inches of me, w^ien it gave a shrill squeak
and broke into a run. In a moment it was out of sight.

An empty nest of a wood-thrush, directly above my
head, recalled another wild mouse that is exceedingly
abundant on the wooded bluff that faces the terrace.
I refer to the white-footed or deer -mouse. The nest
above me recalled them, because in October very many
of the larger birds'-nests, esj^ecially if in tliickets, will be
found to have been converted into cosey winter retreats
by these beautiful little mammals.

]^otwithstanding my having given much attention to
the subject, autumn after autumn, for several years, I
have never been able to clear up several points in the
histories of these bush-nests of the white-footed mice.
In the first place, how far are these old birds'-nests re-
modelled ; and again, are not a certain number of these
mouse retreats constructed de novo, the builders using
the abandoned nest of the bird for the exterior of the
new structure ?

In the months of October and IRovember of tlie ]3ast
year I examined a series of forty-two bush-nests, as I
prefer to call them. Every one was materially different
from an ordinary bird's -nest, none being open above,
nor having the lining that birds use. They were all oc-

MILL CREEK. 205

cnpied, and I believe tlie full number of individuals oc-
cupying them was ascertained. In most cases I captured
every individual — and released tliem.

Of the series, thirty-one nests were placed in a dense
tangle of smilax or green -brier. Kone was near the
surface of the thicket, but iisnallv about one-third the
distance from its uppermost surface ; for instance, if the
thicket was six feet high, the nest would be at an eleva-
tion of four feet, or very near it. Tliis was a very nni-
form feature of the nests examined, and if the mice
merely occupy old nests of birds where they find them,
indicates a nniformity in the matter of nest-buikling of
which I was not aware.

Again, the smilax was so very dense, or closely inter-
woven, that it seemed to me impossible that a bird as
large as a robin or cat-bird could have j^enetrated it.
Perhaps the continuous growth of the vine, after the
birds abandoned the nest, made it inaccessible to tliem
b}^ early autumn. I did determine one interesting fact
about the impenetrability of tliese growths of green-
brier — that the small hawks found sparrows and the
mice quite inaccessible when they took refuge therein.
In one case, a sharp -shinned hawk, a little more rash
than nsual, struck at a snow-bird as it dived into the
smikax, and instead of capturing it, was himself hope-
lessly entangled. At least, before he could extricate liim-
self, I was able to secure liis hawkship.

Four of the forty-two nests were among blackberry
canes, and this growth also was exceedingly dense and
difficult to penetrate. The remaining seven nests were
in a mixed tangle of Virginia creeper and grape. These

206 WASTE-LAXD WAXDERIXGS.

seven nests were all at a greater elevation than any
found in sniilax or other thorn-bearing growths, onB be-
ing thirteen feet from the ground.

All these nests were distinctly globular in shape. The
original structures were not merely covered at the top, but
distinctly arched over, so as to give a greater capacity to
the nests than when occupied by their original builders.

Careful examination convinced me that twenty-nine
were the preceding summer's nests of cat-birds, wood-
thrushes, and robins; those of the latter not being so
popular, apparently, on account of their partial or com-
plete mud-lining. I think this, because I found several
of these nests that were not utilized, even when so strong
an incentive was brought to play as the removal of the
nearest available nests of other birds, which they had
chosen, and from which they were forced to retreat.

The foundation and lower halves of the sides of these
twenty-nine nests were unaltered; and many appeared
as if a smaller nest had been bodily removed, inverted,
and so used as a roof to the lower structure. Eight
others were quite unlike birds'-nests in their construction.
The interlacing of the twigs was not like the ordinary
work of birds, and the diameter of each one of this se-
ries was nearly one-third smaller than that of an ordi-
nary cat-bird's nest. Three of them I picked to pieces,
and the lining was small feathers and the silk of the
milk- weed, materials not used by any one of the thrushes
I have named ; and, indeed, the silk of the milk-weed
would not be available until nesting was over, unless a
little of the preceding year's could be gathered, which is
not probable.

MILL CREEK. 207

^evertlieless, I am not prepared to say that these
mice do build bush-nests without at least the base of a
bird's-nest as a starting-point. Yet why they should
not does not readily appear. They build beautifully
constructed nests in hollow \o^s and under bits of boards
and old tin pans, carrying the materials therefor from
quite distant points ; so why not carry them up a few
feet into tangled growths, offering almost as sure a foot-
ing as the ground itself ? One difficulty that besets the
investigator is that these creatures do next to nothing
by daylight. Hours of patient waiting, during dark days
and throughout the gloaming, have availed me nothing.
As a day-time feature of our woods, I know of no sleepier
creatures than a family of white-footed mice.

Judging from the number of nests mentioned — another
such series might give different results — these bush re-
treats are usually modified birds'-nests, but in some in-
stances the modification appears to be extended to j^rac-
tically the construction of a new nest.

A feature of much interest that is worthy of detailed
mention concerns the occupants of these nests rather
than the structures themselves. Tliirty-six nests con-
tained each a female mouse with a litter of young, either
old enough to run alone or clinging to the teats of their
dam. In not one case did 1 see a male mouse ; while in
the other six nests each contained a sini^le adult male
mouse, and no other occupant. This appears to me the
more peculiar experience, as in several nests placed upon
the ground both parents were found in the same nest in
every instance. Still, it is not safe to draw any conclu-
sions without hundreds of nests arc carefully examined.

208 WASTE-LAND WAXDERIXGS.

It was a pretty sight to see the mice when forced to
quit their airy quarters in a smilax thicket. Be the
vine ever so slender, they took no uncertain steps, but
tripped lightly down from point to point, always de-
scending and never arriving at a confusing corner, and
so at a loss as to wdiat direction next to take. One fe-
male mouse with two young ones clinging to her teats
turned just twenty corners before she reached the ground.
Once there, she suddenly disappeared. This is always
the case, but just wdiere they go when they reach terra
firma remains to be shown. The prevalent impression
is that every mouse has a subterranean retreat directly
beneath the bush-nest, and passes from one to the other
as fancy dictates. Their actions, indeed, seem to bear
out the truth of this, but I have never been able to dis-
cover these supposed underground retreats. In some
cases it was clearly impossible that such should exist.
That they take refuge, at times, in the intricate tunnels
of the meadow-mice, I know, and that any burrow would
be entered, when these mice are driven from the bushes,
is quite certain ; that they construct one expressly for
such a contingency is quite another question.

Why, it will probably be asked, do so many of these
mice quit their cosey quarters in or on the ground, and
which have served them every purpose, and take all this
trouble to build a new home in the bushes for the win-
ter ? It has been suggested that the old nest w^as worn
out, and better fitted for entomological research than for
hesperomoid habitation. I had myself thought of this,
but have never detected such abundant evidences of this
disastrous condition as would warrant the removal ; and

MILL CREEK. oqq

certainly tlie fur of these creatures would curry, in all
cases, a sufficient number of acari to bring about, in a
short time, a repetition of the plague.

The supposed excessive dampness during autumn and
winter of many situations where the summer nests of
the mice abound has also been urged as a probable rea-
son for the marked exodus that, as we have seen, occurs
on the approach of cooler and wetter weather ; but the
exposure to sudden summer showers would, in this re-
spect, be more objectionable than the steadier rains and
gradual melting of snow during winter, when, as a mat-
ter of fact, they are less apt to suffer from water en-
croaching upon their nests than at other times, the frozen
condition of the rough surface tending to carry off the
w^ater and prevent its soaking into the ground. I have
never found a nest that could not have been better
guarded from the damps of winter than from those ter-
rific cloud-bursts that recall the vivid description in
Genesis of the Koachian deluo-e. Durin": such rain-
falls, for which August is noted, very many white-footed
mice are drowned.

I have not been able to determine how late in the
spring they remain in these nests in the bushes; but
some time before the arrival of the cat-birds and thrushes
they liave all sought again their earth retreats or cosey
nests in prostrate hollow logs, where they quietly pass
their summers.

The slanting rays of the slowly setting sun penetrated
the shallow waters on either side of the boat ; and so
gentle was the current that I had the wished-for oppor-

210 WASTE-LAND AVANDERINGS.

tunity to observe the many small fishes that were con-
stantly passing and repassing there, and which also
were congregated upon the smooth sandy bottom of the
stream. The smaller minnows were generally too rest-
less to be studied satisfactorily, and indeed they do not
offer much attraction to the student; but fortunately
there was a goodly com23any of little darters or etheosto-
moids, and these were pitcliing about over the rippled
sands in so sprightly a manner that I gave most of the
rem.aining hours of daylight to them. They were all of
one species — the common tessellated darter — chestnut-
brown, and covered with inky-black lines, dots, and little
squares ; and when resting upon the mottled sandy mud
were very difficult to detect. These fish are not pretty,
but what they lack in attractive coloring is compensated
for by the methods, all their own, of their lives. As the
w^ater was but a foot in depth, and steadily decreasing,
I found many individuals were lying on the sand direct-
ly beneath me, as I leaned over the gunwales. I found
very few by looking for them, but many by waiting un-
til they gave a start and then watching where they set-
tled. Often several would be almost in contact, but there
was no concert of action as when small shiners or cypri-
noids are associated. Occasionally two, and sometimes
three or four, would see the same object move, and
within the fraction of a second all would j)Ounce upon
it. This seemed to lead to no ill-tempered demonstra-
tions on the part of those which were unsuccessful in
capturing the coveted morsel.

As is well known, darters are poor swimmers. With
a great effort they can move ahead for a foot or two,

MILL CREEK. 211

and then, unable to remain afloat, tliey come to rest upon
tlic bottom of the stream. If the bottom be of sand or
sandy mud, the imprint of tlieir ventral and pectoral fins
can be seen ; and always when they make a plunge for
some minute crustacean or insect, the print of their 2)ig-
like snout can always be seen.

I began a series of simple experiments by dropping
coarse grains of sand into the water directly in front of
them. Tliese they seemed to recognize as such, and did
not heed them beyond approaching a little nearer to the
spot where the sand-grains lodged, or turning so as to
directly face the spot if the grains fell a little to one
side or the other. Continuing to watch the darters
closely, I found that this was a customary movement
with reference to all animate objects upon which they
fed. The first motion a water -mite or cypris might
make caused the darter to assume a make-ready attitude ;
the next assured the fish that the object moving was
alive, and immediately it was pounced upon.

Having a quantity of mustard-seed shot with me, I
conceived the plan of controlling the movements of
these fishes by dropping single grains of it in front of
one or two near together, and while they were waiting
for the grains to move a second time, bring up others
that were behind. Experience showed that theory and
practice were very different, in this as in many another
matter, but finally I got seven in a row, and by placing
a row of shot-grains on a stick and letting them fall over-
board together, I kept these seven together and without
confusion ; they faced to the right or left or advanced, in
obedience to my order expressed by the dropping of the

213 WASTE-LAND WAXDERIXGS.

shot. While thus engaged a school of small minnows
came trooping along and disturbed the scene. They
darted after the shot that I dropped among them and
scattered the darters, so that I could not regather them.
After tarrying a few moments the minnows passed un-
der the boat, and when out of sight I threw a few grains
of shot into the water with some violence. Immediate-
ly they returned as one body, and searched for the
supposed food which they heard but could not have
seen.

I have often been puzzled by similar concerted action
on the part of roach, and how it is accomj)lished is not
readily explained. It has been said to be due to exj^e-
rience and memory; but how? Can experience have
anything to do with it ? It begins with their earliest
infancy, and unquestionably some means must exist of
conveying the fact that a companion fish, behind his
fellows and therefore unseen, has changed his course.
What this method of conveying intelligence is remains
to be determined. Experience, at least, can be ruled
out of court. May it be that the hindmost of a school
of fishes, suddenly reversing its position, gives an im-
pression to the water that is promptly felt by those im-
mediately in advance? Probably if but two or three
fishes were swimming single file, and the hindmost one
turned about, the others might not notice it at once ; but
when there is a large school of these gregarious fishes,
then they swim many abreast, and an object falling be-
hind the school would be seen by several, who turning
together would give a peculiar motion to the water that
"would be felt by the preceding individuals. If to re-

MILL CREEK. 213

member that tliis impression means that the fishes be-
hind have chane^ed tlieir course, then I can airree with
my critic; but then wliat of those very young fishes
who have had no experience ?

A repetition of tlie experhnent witli five sliot sliowed
me quite conchisively that these Httle fish cannot be
fooled indefinitely by such means. After a reasonable
amount of patient waiting for the falling shot to prove
its vitality, the darters become satisfied that it is inani-
mate, and pay no further attention to it. Here we have
a genuine exhibition of the operations of " experience,"
and a proof that if fish may be temporarily fooled they
are not necessarily foolish.

My second experiment ended rather curiously. Ee-
membering having noticed in a meadow-pool vast num-
bers of water -fleas, I left my boat and proceeded to
gather a quantity. Eeturning, I inverted the glass jar
wdth its indefinite thousands of fleas, and when it was
nearly at the bottom of the creek, removed the cover
and pulled up the jar. Immediately all the darters
were wild wuth excitement, and whirled about in the
most remarkable manner, and then, before I could ascer-
tain any reason for so doing, suddenly vanished. I was
thoroughly astonished, until I saw a pair of voracious
turtles rooting up the mud where the bus)' darters had
been. These carnivorous creatures had seen the com-
motion, and either desired to be guests at tlie darters'
feast or to dine off the fish. Either case would doubt-
less have pleased the turtles. Where the fish hid them-
selves so quickly and effectually I could not ascer-
tain.

2U WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

Thomas CamiDanius, in Lis quaint little history of
New Sweden, credits the Delaware with two fishes I
have not yet been able to capture, to see, or hear of as
captured or seen by others. Campanius says : '' Oppo-
site to Poaetquessingh — which, I take it, is not far from
here — there is a kind of fish with great long teeth,
which the Indians call Manitto^ which means spirit or
devil ; it plunges very deep into the water, and spouts
it up like a whale ; the like is not to be seen elsewhere
in the river." It is scarcely likely that such a remark-
able creature will ever be found in Crosswicks Creek,
and so, wondering what our author meant, let us turn
to his second description. He says : " There is here an
abundance of a certain kind of fish, vrhich the Swedes
call tarm-fish (gut-fish). It has no head, and is like a
small rope, one quarter of a yard in length, and four
fingers thick, and somewhat bowed in the middle. At
each of the four corners there runs out a small gut, or
bowel, three yards long, and thick as coarse twine : Avitli
two of these guts they suck in their food, and with the
two others eject it from them. They can put out these
guts at pleasure, and draw them in again, so that they
are entirely concealed, by which means they can move
their body about as they like, which is truly wonderful
to look upon. They are enclosed in a house, or shell of
brown horn."

Here our author refers, I take it, to the egg-cases of
skates, and as a description, it " is wonderful to look
upon." Campanius doubtless saw these somewhere in
the lower bay, and received at second-hand all that he
finds to say about them.

MILL CREEK. 215

Such palpably absurd descriptions of animals found
in the Delaware are of some interest to the naturalist,
in that they open up the question whether, even so re-
cently as two centuries, marine forms may not, far more
frequently than now, have wandered np the river very
near or quite to the termination of the tidal portion of
the stream ?

I have been told by very old men that the common
harbor porpoise was seen nearly every year as far from
the bay as Bristol and Burlington ; the seal is still no
stranger, and a skate was taken near Bordentown in
1860, and exhibited in the Trenton markets. These
now strictly marine forms can live in fresh water, as we
have seen — why may not the navigation of the river by
steam-vessels, and the general disturbance of its waters
by so many means, have driven them oceanward, as the
general settlement of the river's shores caused all the
larger mammals to retire ?

Mill Creek is the only running water, I believe, where
the pretty water- shield is to be found, except in the
mill-ponds scattered at intervals along the valley of
Mechen-tschiholens-sipu ; but as the prettiest of mill-
ponds is necessarily somewhat artificial, I do not con-
sider them, visit them, or feel interested particularly in
what I hear of them.

Of this pretty water-plant, the Brasenia, I gathered
a number of floating, delicate leaves, and endeavored to
secure the entire stem also, but this was too difficult a
task for an August afternoon. The under side of the
leaf and the stem arc purplish brown, and were covered

216 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

with a translucent jelly, embedded in wliicli were mill-
ions of what I took to be insects' eggs. Thej certainly
had that appearance. I was far more interested to find
that usually beneath each leaf of the water-shield there
was hiding a little pike. The largest was not two inches
in length. When disturbed they swam a few inches,
and seemed wholly " at sea " if there was not another
leaf near by to afford them shelter. They were remark-
ably tame or stupid, and I caught several with my hand-
net. One was far more obese than the others, so I sacri-
ficed him in the cause of science. In his stomach was
a minute cyprinoid, about one-half an inch in length,
which had been swallowed but a very short time. I
should have been glad to find a still smaller fish in the
stomach of the cyprinoid, but — I didn't. Xot many
years ago I did, however, find something more marvel-
lous than this would have been. I caught an unusually
large mud-minnow, which had swallowed a pike ; and in
the pike's stomach was a small mud-minnow, and in its
stomach were the remains of a ])ike. Four fish as one !
This will do ; and were it not for the prejudice against
fish stories, I would beat this earlier record of my own
by narrating a more recent occurrence.

While speaking of the pike, let me add the following
from a recent publication. It quite accords with my
own impressions about their intelligence, as compared
with other fishes — even the black bass.

" There can be little doubt that the pike is decidedly
an exception to the rule that fish have little or no in-
telligence. Even the size of his brain is worthy of re-
spect. Its proportionate size as compared to the rest of

MILL CREEK. 217

the body is as 1 to 1300 ; in the shark, whose intelli-
gence has so often been vaunted, it is only as 1 to 2500 ;
while in the tunny it is but as 1 to 3700. The only
thing that dulls the pike's intelligence is his greed ; l)ut
even this may perhaps only be caused by an overween-
ing confidence in liis own gastric juices. Like niany
other voracious animals, to swallow seems to be his only
joy ; palate he has little or none."

Pushing the boat a little nearer to the channel, I came
to a long narrow strip of dark green growth that com-
pletely covered the bottom of the creek where it grew,
but did not reach to the surface. It was the eel-grass.
It was slimy to the touch, but not coated with jelly, like
the water-shield. Some of the leaves were gritty from
the thick studding of minute shells.

The water w^as sufficiently clear to enable me to see
the grass plainly, so I peered for some time into the
dense growth, which moved gracefully with a life-like,
wavy motion, as the current bore its free ends up the
stream. Like all dense, aqnatic vegetation, it harbors
many fishes, and it is surprising how great a variety will
often issue from their hiding-places when once they
have become accustomed to the presence of the boat
above them. For a while to-day I saw nothing but
waving grass ; then an eel peered forth and quickly
withdrew to the waving wilderness ; then a number of
sticklebacks rushed out, and as quickly returned ; then
in turn came a water-snake, a turtle, a perfect SNvarm of
water-bugs of large size, and finally, as a fitting close
of the day's exhibit, a number of beautiful silv^ery bill-
fish.
10

218 WASTE-LAXD WANDERINGS.

Of the entire range of fish-life of the river or its trib-
utaries there is no one S23ecies more attractive than this.
Its manner is as peculiarly its own as its anatomical
features are unique, and he who doubts that fishes play,
just as children do, should watch a number of these
fishes. In the first place, they never go about singly.
Always there are a dozen or more, and often as many
as a hundred are seen. When they come into the creek
and get among the eel-grass the fun commences. They
glide in and out of the waving ribbons of the slender
water-weed with all the gracefulness of the undulations
of the plant. Yery frequently they chase each other
or play a game of hide-and-seek, and however fast and
furious the fun, their gracefulness of movement is never
lost. They seldom are at rest. Perhaps, as is said of
carp, they never slee23. Whether swimming onward, as
though only anxious to reach a distant j)oint, or play-
fully wandering about some attractive spot, the body al-
ways has that sigmoid curve which is so attractive, and
tends even to lessen the ugliness of the most repulsive
forms of animal life. All know how very different is
a gracefully coiled serpent from one that is stretched
out in a nearly straight line.

The bill fishes have one habit, quite frequently in-
dulged in, which I am not aware is common to any
other species occurring in our waters — that of turning
over upon their backs while rapidly swimming, and in
this position continuing their course for some distance.
Had I not often witnessed this, during the past three
years, I should have considered it an error in observa-
tion on the part of the reporter. To-day, the many

MILL CREEK. 219

billfisli that I saw were not so disposed to gymnastics
as is often the case, and all remained very properly with
their backs to the sky ; but 1 have seen half a dozen at
once, in a school of perhaps twenty, swim in circles in
tills reversed position, and less commonly in a nearly
direct line. It is, I believe, merely a peculiarity of their
own, when engaged in a game of romps.

The sun has long since sunk beneath the horizon.
Even the topmost twigs of the tall liquidambars are no
longer gilded by the stray beams that struggled through
the sunset clouds. The gloaming has set in. The dark-
ened waters hide their treasures ; and it is fitting, after
so full a day, to be afield, and homeward bound, rather
than afloat.

This may be true, but the truth is, I am always eager
to go to and never ready to leave, for the day, my little
boat, that for years has carried me safely so many miles
up and down the charming bends and winsome reaches
of Mechen-tschiholens-sipu.

It was time to return home, yet I could not make np
my mind to start. . Was there not yet something that I
could watch even by the gloaming's uncertain and stead-
ily waning light ? The full moon was rising, and there
was every prospect of a perfect night. At least for a
little longer I would remain. Had I not need of food
and sleep, to have sat quietly in my boat until the day
dawned would have been no hardship. Behind me, for
I was now on the main creek once more, rose the steep
bluff that forms the south bank of the stream, and the
shadows cast by the magnificent trees that covered it

220 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

had wooed the birds of the neighborhood to rest there-
in, until now their dream-songs floated creekward, and
blended with the ceaseless hum and rattle of the tireless
crickets. Before me the never -resting current of the
stream glittered in the moonlight, and the vast marshy
meadow beyond was a wilderness of weeds teeming
with noisy life. From the tall trees upon the bluff there
came a troop of noisy herons, that after circling high
overhead and sailing far over the meadows, returned to
the shallows of the creek, and ranged themselves in con-
venient shadows in wait for fish. Would it not be worth
the labor to watch them through the night ?

From the rippling waters there leaped many a fish ;
even what I took to be a sturgeon plashed and rolled over
the sand-bar, to the terror of all smaller fry, as their bod-
ies glancing in the moonlight proved. Every projecting
stick supported its full complement of turtles. Musk-
rats crossed and recrossed the creek, leaving long lines
of silvery bubbles in their wakes. The whippoorwills
were holding high carnival on every prostrate tree in
the woods, and over all there fell a shower of uncertain
light as the myriads of fire-flies were wafted hither and
yon by every passing breeze. Would it not be worth
the while to watch all these even until dawn ?

K"ow, I have always contended that animals of all
kinds were unreliable weather prophets, and not a creat-
ure of the many that were abroad to-night but expected
to remain. Why not ? There was no indication of any
change in the weather, and be it man or insect, all was
favorable for an outing, with no other shelter than the
starry sky. Would that I possessed a pocket aneroid.

MILL CREEK. 221

rather tlian an indifferent timepiece. Without a mo-
ment's ^varning a raw east wind swept across the water
and sent a chill to my very bones. The crickets ceased
to stridulate, the whippoorwills to sing ; the moping
herons rose, with impatient cries, and sought the shelter
of the woods. In a minute, at most, there was the
fearful, unnerving change from sound to silence. I hur-
ried to a safe shelter for my boat. The dipping of my
oars was a hollow, mocking sound. I was as one de-
serted, absolutely alone, and it was with a sweet sense of
relief that I reached the highway and neared the habi-
tations of man.

Quickly following in the track of that chilling wind
came up from the east a great bank of leaden clouds,
and before I reached the threshold of my home, the
steady pattering of rain-drops on the oaks foretold, in no
uncertain terms, the coming of a storm.

223 WASTE-LAND WANDEKINGS.

CHAPTER VIII.
THE LANDING.

Taxing a most erratic course, a flock of cow- birds,
with silent, undulatorj flight, preceded me this morning
on mv way to the creek. They bruslied the dew from
tlie taller bushes as they progressed, and caused the clus-
tered growths to look inky-black in contrast w^ith the
dew-gemmed grasses beneath and drip]3ing branches of
the trees overhead. The effect was very striking. Until
the sun had dried every twig, the route of this flock of
birds could be distinctly traced.

"Why they rested for a moment, in nearly every clump
of bushes in their path, remains a mystery. They cer-
tainly were not in search of food, nor did they tarry
long enough to rest themselves. They stopped, and then
hurried on, as though led by the whim of a witless
leader.

I clip the following from a paper, as it refers to these
Crosswicks meadows and the nearest village : " For up-
wards of an hour yesterday morning (November 5) a
continuous flock of cow-blackbirds flew over this town.
They came from a northerly direction, and were moving
southward. An old gunner says that cow - blackbirds
have not been very numerous hereabouts of late years."

The day referred to was clear and warm, and I was
within a mile or two of this wonderful flock of birds,

THE LANDING. 233

and yet saw nothing of tliem. It is additional and un-
needed evidence that the horizon of one individual's ob-
servation is very limited. On the other hand, the report
of the fcunner that the cow-bhickbirJs have been scarce
of late is quite an error. I can speak with confidence
concerning the past twenty years, and in no one of these
have I failed to find them in abundance ; but, unlike him,
I never saw such a flock as he reported.

The redwings, too, are flocking now. Their cheerful
chatter is heard everywhere over the meadows, and at
intervals great flocks pass swiftly by. Xor have they
yet forgotten their spring-tide songs. Above the roar
of beating wings and the shrill chirping of their com-
panions can be heard the sweet singing of many that no
thought of frosty autumn seems to sadden.

As early as the middle of July the redwings begin
to congregate on the willow hedges, and a dozen or more
birds flying together, their wings keeping

" time, time, time,
In a sort of Ruuic rhyme,"

give us the earliest intimation of the approach of au-
tumn. It is six weeks off, to be sure, even according to
the almanac, and nine weeks really ; but when the wavy,
concerted flight of a few blackbirds fans the outlying
leaves of the tree-tops, know then that the active days
of summer — days of nesting and bird-youth — are over,
and with the o-atherino; of the clans a new era is ushered
in ; and these wide meadows, rich in tangled weeds, and
all spotted and scarred with thicket, hedge, and pool, are
their gathering grounds.

224 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

A word as to tlieir numbers ; we liave all heard of
those wonderful flights of passenger pigeons, that, like
the clouds of a summer shower, obscure the sun for
hours, J^othing like them is now to be seen in this
valley; but a year ago, while near the starting-point
of this day's journey, I witnessed the passage of a vast
throng of redwings, which, if it did not wholly shut out
the sun, at least cast an enormous and well-defined
shadow.

Their numbers can only be estimated; but allowing
one bird to every square foot of surface as they flew,
there was certainly an acre of them. I tliink it is safe
to say that there were fifty thousand birds in the flock.

Before I had passed a hundred yards down stream I
rounded an abrupt bend in the creek, and all that re-
mains of a once busy spot came into view.

The unceasing tides for more tlian two centuries have
ebbed and flowed since a thrifty young Englishman
traced the half-hidden Indian path that led to the up-
lands, then a gloomy forest, and discovered amid a wil-
derness of undergrowth a noble spring issuing from the
low bluff a few rods distant.

Here, he thought, of all points between the river and
the back country is the one whereat to build a wharf ;
and before half a decade it was ready to receive the
passing shallops, and his own were being builded.

At low tide to-day I saw several of the old wharf
logs still in place. But could this pioneer merchant of
the Crosswicks valley return, he would scarcely recog-
nize the site of the "landing," as it was then called.

THE LANDING. 225

ISTot one of several landmarks, of which tradition makes
mention, now remains.

I drew my boat ashore npon the clean sand bronght
from subterranean recesses by the spring, and iirst
paused at a slight depression on a grassy knoll, which is
the site of the old warehouse. Wild roses cover the
spot now.

Before following up the spring brook to its source, let
me recall one bit of early colonial history connected
with the wharf and its belongings. It was during the
winter of lT-il-42 that the shallop AiDie lay at the
wharf, not temporarily storm - stayed, but ice-bound.
The winter had " set in " before she could sail for Phila-
delphia, and, as it proved, not a rod of open water was
visible until the middle of the ensuing March. So she
was made fast and guarded from the ice, should there
come a sudden break-up.

It was the business of one Jemmy Cumberford to look
after the boat, and this he did faithfully and well, ex-
cept upon such occasions as rendered him unable to look
after himself. One such was late in January of that nota-
bly severe winter, when about midnight he roused the
merchant's family by his shrill cries for help. It hap-
pened thus : all through the night before and all that
day it had been snowing. K'ot drifting snow-flakes
scattering through the air, but steadily descending from
a leaden sky hidden behind the feathery rain. IS'ot a
vestige of any familiar object was to be seen that did
not bear its load of snow. Jemmy Cumberford that af-
ternoon, wandered to the boat instead of going home,
and when he closed the door of the little cabin behind
10^^

226 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS,

him the snow was still falling. But the storm was at
an end, and soon the moon was struggling through the
broken clouds, and shone out in all its splendor. All
nature was profoundly quiet, and Jemmy asleep.

ISTow it so haj)pened that a troop of a dozen snowy
owls had been journeying for days, winging their way
southward above the storm, and ready to rest, wlien the
breaking clouds gave them sight of mother earth again.
They reached the Crosswicks valley when the storm
ceased ; and mistaking the ice-bound, snow-clad shalloj)
for some great tree set adrift by the tempest, they chuc-
kled to themselves that it offered so good a resting-place,
and in the rigging, upon the deck, and directly by the
cabin-door, these grave-visaged owls sat, peacefully scan-
ning the congenial surroundings, as arctic then as ever
they found their native haunts within the polar circle.

Being silent birds, their scarcely audible chuckling
could not have aroused Jemmy from his slumbers, and
their promenading about the snow-covered deck could
not have reached his muffled ears ; but quite certain it
is that he was suddenly roused, and, half-awake, slowly
emerged from the cabin. The opening door pushed aside
one of the owls ; but no ovvd was it to Jemmy. He saw
two fiery eyes and a mass of snow rise up and settle in
the rigging overhead. Completely dazed. Jemmy dared
not retreat or advance, until his presence excited the
suspicion of the others, and everywhere, as he thought,
the snow with fiery eyes was conspiring to crush him.
With one mighty leap he reached the wharf and floun-
dered, with all the energy of desj)air, to the house, a
hundred rods distant, and uphill at that. With what

THE LANDING. 227

strength remained lie pounded the door and called, in
liusky tones, for help.

In a moment the family were aroused, and as excited
as he, and it was long before they could get a word in
reply to their many cpiestions. Ilegaining a little of his
usual composure, he whispered, "The snow's alive, and
chased me off the boat."

The record of this occurrence, a mere fragment now,
concludes thus : " Father found that James had Ijeen
scared by a number of great white owls, not quite of the
bigness of turkey-cocks. Father saw them the day fol-
lowing in the woods near by, and they were very tame.
No one of us had seen birds like to them, but an Indian
told us their name in his own tongue."

My impression, twenty years ago, was that these
snowy owls came into New Jersey every winter, but I
now am equally confident that such is not the case.
That, being arctic birds, they should remain until sum-
mer, is remarkable, yet several such cases have come to
my knowledge. My first meeting with these owls was
in December, 1857. It was a perfect winter day, with
a steel-blue sky, and every object covered with snow.
Even in the sun not a flake melted; yet the perfectly
still air did not feel cold. The chinkapin swamp, with
its bush-like growths, was full of sparrows, and to hear
them sins: I wandered thither. Tlie snow-birds twit-
tered merrily; the white-throats whistled, and the dear
old foxy finches warbled now and then. I was repaid
for my tramp, but in time longed for novelty. " Is there
nothing else?" I asked myself, and, boy-like, began to
grow impatient. At last, plunging into the denser

228 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

growth of another swamp near by, I was brought face
to face with a noveUy, and very abrnptly too. In a
small cedar-tree sat a magnificent snowy owl.

In witless, blank astonishment I stared at the owl, and
it, without winking, stared at me.

An owl's solemn visage is meant for the world ; what
is behind it is meant for itself, and this great snow-
wliite bird was thinking quite as rapidly and far more
rationally than I was. It was not at all alarmed. I
was ; for the appearance of the bird was suggestive of
direful results should it assume the offensive. But my
courage gradually returned, and I very cautiously ap-
proached a little nearer. IIow the owl watched my
every step ! A few yards nearer, and I was so close
that the feathers of the bird were distinguishable, and I
began to examine more critically every feature, when it
stepped backward, and brought the trunk of the tree,
close to which it had been sitting, between me and itself,
and then took flight, going still deeper into the dismal
swamp.

I had no little difficulty in following ; for the under-
growtlis were thickly matted, and afforded no footing
for mammals larger than mice, but in time reached
quite to the tree where the owl had alighted. It was a
dense cedar, heavily weighted with snow, and showing
but little of its green foliage ; and yet, with so gentle a
motion had the owl sought its perch, that not a flake
seemed to have been disturbed, and by mere chance
was I able to learn the bird's precise whereabouts.

Being now much nearer the owl than before, it pur-
sued quite different tactics ; and instead of flying, al-

THE LANDING. 229

tliongli I was so near, it first pressed all its feathers
closely to its body and reached out its head, so that it
became long and slender, and the few dark spots of its
plumage aided in making it represent a portion of the
snow-covered tree. It was done so quickly that I was
fortunate in being able to watch the process. Had my
attention been diverted for a second, the owl would sim-
ply have disappeared.

After waiting for perhaps a minute, I took hold of
the outer ends of the nearest bushes and shook them
vigorously. At once the owl spread his wings and dis-
appeared in a growth of blueberry - bushes, too dense,
indeed, for me to follow.

I was struck, as I watched the bird's retreating form,
with a marvellous feature of its flight. Howsoever d ense
the growth, the bird penetrated it without touching a
twig, or brushing a flake of snow from any bough. The
impression I then received — now nearly thirty years ago
— was that the flight through a forest of the snowy owl
was one of the most striking exhibitions of wing power
to be witnessed, and this impression remains.

It is unquestionable that a small proportion of these
owls do not return north, when in March or April there
is a decided change in the temperature, such as affects
the movements of winter migrants generally. There is
no reason to believe, however, that such birds ever breed
here, although they have been taken in the cedar swamps
of southern New Jersey as late as the middle of June.

When kept in confinement they become quite gentle,
except towards strangers, and give much evidence of
being more intelligent than our smaller native owls.

230 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

So far as my own observation extends, tliej do not
apj)ear to suffer, even during the extreme lieat of our
midsummer. The late Dr. Richard Harlan, of Philadel-
phia, a noted naturalist of liis day and generation, kej)t
one in his cellar for seven years. It became quite tame,
but was averse to being approached by strangers. The
doctor might have kept it even longer, had he not so
frequently made use of it to frighten the children in
the neighborhood. This iinally caused it to suddenly
disappear, much to the satisfaction of the young people
and chagrin of the surly, grim-visaged doctor. I have
this from my mother, who was once badly frightened by
the owl, and who, shortly afterwards, headed the con-
spiracy that succeeded in making way with the bird.

The last considerable flight of snowy owls into JSTew
Jersey was in the winter of 1876-77. E^otices of sj)eci-
mens shot were frequent in the local papers, and quite
a number were offered for sale in the markets.

It has been frequently stated that the flesh of these
owls is fine and delicate ; but such has not proved true
of specimens killed in this neighborhood. All were very
tough, and of a disagreeable musky flavor.

The one prominent feature of the landing is the
spring. From a little ravine that extends back into the
bluff there issues a considerable stream of purest water,
cold, colorless, and sparkling. Towards the creek it hur-
ries rippling over snow-white pebbles, tarrying a second
by some projecting root, and then with greater speed
passes it by, " to join the brimming river."

One naturally pauses at a bubbling spring, even if not

TUE LANDING. 231

thirsty. 'No one is so insensible to nature's beauties as
to find nothing attractive in it. It is a point where life
gathers in greatest profusion, and so the naturalist, be
his specialty what it may, is sure to find something to
bid him pause.

In the little basin where the eager waters rush upward
to the light, and in the little brook beyond, not twenty
rods in length, I have gathered many plants, beautiful
shells, silvery fish, swift salamanders, and once chased a
cunnino^ shrew that at last out-witted me.

One feature of this spring, unlikely to escape the no-
tice of a naturalist, is the quantity of pure white sand
that is carried to the creek by the water. Dip but a
tumblerful of the water, and in a moment many fine
grains will settle in the bottom of the glass. That this,
in the course of a day,- is a considerable amount, is most
readily shown by examining the sand-bar in the creek.
Were it not that every tide bears quantities of this sand,
so fine is it, both up and down the stream, tlie ever-grow-
inof bar would choke the channel of the creeiv and dam
up the very waters that have carried it from unknown
subterranean depths. As it is, the ever-present bar is
constantly built up and unbuilded, as the tides roll by.

Think, for one moment, of the age of this spring. Its
crystal waters have been flowing without a check since
the close of the glacial epoch, which some too enthusias-
tic modernists date back but ten thousand years. Think
then of the enormous bulk of sand which has been washed
from beneath our upland fields and cari'ied meadow-
w\ard. AYliat a cavern is beneath our feet if this sand
once occupied space by itself; v/hat a certain lowering

232 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

of 11 inland levels if it is washed from extensive areas!
The growth and disintegration of a continent is epito-
mized in the work unceasingly performed by this bub-
bling spring.

In the immediate vicinity and even along the little
brook, where there is more of sunshine, is little if any
August bloom. The plants are green, luxuriant, and of
many kinds, but all flower at the commencement of the
season instead of at its close. It is in Ma}^, when the
spring is hedged in w^ith bloom — dog-wood, azalea, and
other shrubs. Each succeeding month the brilliancy of
bloom is more and more replaced by a wilderness of
leaves only. Here is one of tlie few spots where lamb-
lettuce, w^ith deep blue flowers, suggesting the forget-
me-not, grows in great profusion, and nearer the creek
there is, each returning spring, a never-to-be-forgotten
display of blooming golden -club. This is, except the
yellow lotus, our least abundant w\ater - plant, and so
never fails to attract attention when in bloom. The
plant itself, later in the summer, is pretty, but liable to
be overlooked amid the wealth of growths that crowd
the valley. ^N'ot so in May, when the plant is in bloom.
The long, tapering spathes, densely covered with minute
blossoms of the richest yellow, are the most cons^Dicuous
objects on the water's edge.

I examined many clusters of this plant w^hen in bloom,
during the past spring, and failed to find any evidence
that insects habitually visited it. This surjDrised me the
more, because I found the plant generally tenanted by a
small black spider, which placed its web at the base of
the finger-like stalks of bloom.

THE LANDING. 233

Kalm makes interesting reference to tliis plant. He
writes: "Taw-Kee is another plant, so called by the
Indians, who eat it. . . . The plant grows in marshes,
near moist and low grounds, and is very plentiful in
North America. The cattle, hogs, and stags are very
fond of the leaves in spring, for they are some of the
earliest. The leaves are broad, like those of the Conva-
leria^ or Lily of the Valley, green on the upper side, and
covered w^ith very minnte hair, so that they looked like
a fine velvet. The Indians pluck the seeds, and keep
them for eating. They cannot be eaten fresh or raw,
but must be dried. The Indians were forced to boil
them repeatedly in water before they were fit for use,
and then they ate them like pease. When the Swedes
gave them butter or milk, they boiled . . . the seeds in
it. Sometimes they employ these seeds instead of bread,
and they taste like pease. Some of the Swedes likewise
ate them ; and the old men among them told me they
liked this food better than any of the other plants which
the Indians formerly made use of. This Taw-Kee was
the Oroiitiitm aqiiaticumP

Just as two centuries ago this splendid spring was
looked upon by my paternal ancestor as a spot very de-
sirable to possess, so the Indians, in earlier days, were
attracted to it, and lived, no one can say for how long,
within hearing of its rippling waters. The ashes of their
fires are mingled with every clod that is now upturned
by the spade. I lately gathered from among the peb-
bles in the brook a tiny arrow-point, and tracing the
probable course of the little weapon, which must neccs-

234 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

sarily have been washed from the hill-side, I found that
the crumbling bluff had, by the recent uprooting of a
tree directly above the spring, exposed the site of an
arrow-maker's workshop.

Such evidences of the aborigines are not novelties in
this vicinity. I have found dozens such, and thousands
of beautiful arrow-points, spears, scrapers, and all the va-
riety of chipped flints, now rest in museum cases, gath-
ered from these places and the intervening fields.

Tlie one I found so recently told the same story as
have the others. Here were bowlders of jasper and
flinty rocks, such as are common to the gravel-beds that
form the eastern bank of the river, five miles away as
the crow files; also cores or remnants of the selected
pebbles and bowlders, which vv'ere too small or too irreg-
ular in shape to be further available. With these were
large flakes, some of which may have been used as knives,
or intended for such use ; for just such specimens are
frequently found, with undoubtedly finished tools, on
wigwam sites. I found too, as is always the case, blocked
out and subsequently discarded specimens, and others
that had been nearly or quite finished and then irrepa-
rably injured by some unlucky finishing touch. Of course,
fine chips and splinters were abundant ; but I failed to
find any hammer- stones or other fiint- clipping tools.
Had the arrow-maker, when he left, carried these away
with him? It is certainly a plausible explanation of
their absence.

What I have mentioned of another and much larger
workshop-site I can repeat of this : here, shaded by dense
woods, on a slightly elevated knoll, in the midst of a

THE LANDING. 235

meadow-like expanse of low-lying ground, tlirougli wliicli
trickled a sparkling spring brook, had tarried, for years,
an arrow-maker, shaping with marvellous skill those va-
ried patterns of spear-points and delicate tools which are
still gathered from the adjoining fields. Unlike locali-
ties of many acres in extent, where the traces of former
occupation are scattered throughout the whole area, and
indicate that manufacturing had once been in progress
simply by the abundance of chips, we liave in this work-
shop-site the evidences of the toil of a single skilled
workman, who, in the quiet of his forest retreat, spent
the greater portion of a long and useful life.

What gave zest to a pleasant hour spent here, a year
ago, in archaeological research was the finding of a small
smooth horn-stone pebble, upon one side of which was a
rude but unmistakable carving of a human face. What
may we call such objects? If worn upon the person,
and treasured beyond all other possessions, it became in
fact an idol, and so perhaps we are warranted in consid-
ering it. Larger and more pretentious carvings have
been found not far away, and these are held to be such
if the smaller but otherwise similar ones are not. John
Brainerd, while a missionary among the Indians of New
Jersey, recorded of one of these people that "she liad
an aunt . . . who kept an idol image, which indeed part-
ly belonged to her, and that she had a mind to go and
fetch her aunt and the image, that it might be burnt ; but
when she went to the place she found nobody at home,
and the image also was taken away." While this, in-
deed, is slender evidence of the occurrence of idol wor-
ship among the Delaware Indians, it is of interest in

236 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

showing that images were not unknown, and that they
possessed other significance and value than as mere or-
naments. Any carving in wood or stone, merely used
for personal decoration, as the one I found in the work-
shop-site may have been, would not have become sinful
in the mind of an Indian woman through the preaching
of the missionary; and a desire to destroy tlie object
she reported as in lier possession must necessarily have
arisen from the fact that it was regarded with supersti-
tious reverence, and invested with supernatural powers
in their belief.

A word more concerning Indian idols, and I have
done. Dr. Brinton remarks: "They — the Lenape or
Delaware Indians — rarely attempted to set forth the
divinity in image. The rude representation of a human
head, cut in wood, small enough to be carried on their
person, or life size on a post, was their only idol. This
was called wsinkhoalican. They also drew and perhaps
carved emblems of their totemic guardian. Mr. Beatty
describes the head chiefs home as a long building of
wood. ^Over the door a turtle is drawn, which is the
ensign of this particular tribe. On each door-post was
cut the face of a grave old man.'

"Occasionally, rude representations of the human
liead, chipped out of stone, are exhumed in those parts
of Pennsylvania and New Jersey once inhabited by tlie
Lenape. These are doubtless the losiiikJioalican above
mentioned." So much for the Indians of the Cross-
wicks valley.

It is easier to keep out of trouble than to get out of

THE LANDING. 237

it. The truth of this, as regards both birds and men,
was ilUistrated bj a recent adventure near the spring,
whicli had its comical as well as serious features. I saw
a purple grakle's nest that had every appearance of be-
ing suspended in the tree-top like an oriole's — a position
wholly out of the rule. It was too high up to let me
solve the mystery by viewing it from below, and to sat-
isfy a laudable curiosity I resolved to climb the tree.

Having done so, I was well repaid for the labor. The
nest had been displaced by the wind, but had strangely
lodged between two nearly parallel branches, which, how-
ever, held it only by its rim and threatened to let it fall
at any moment. The poor birds, which were plainly in
great distress, had vainly tried to secure it anew, and
had built up its edges until they overlapped the sup-
porting limbs, but had not the skill to interweave the
new stuff with the old, and thus make one structure of it
all. Their intentions were good ; the means adopted to
secure the desired result deplorably bad. They were
merely adding weight above, when they required sup-
port below. Many of our birds would have been en-
gineers equal to the emergency ; but the grakles were
not. I made the nest as secure as I could by drawing
it to where the space between the branches was narrow-
er, and so gave it sufficient support. Tlie birds looked
on approvingly, and I was well repaid by what I imag-
ined to be their grateful thanks.

It now remained for me to descend and leave the
birds in peace. I started to do so, when tlirough some
strange miscalculation I failed to secure a footing, and
fell. I have heard it remarked that there is an art in

238 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

falling. What one does when spinning through the air
for a second or less is not easily recalled ; but the de-
scent seemed a great deal longer than a minute. 1 can
only be sure that I started face downward, and came to
a short stop, with the sun shining in my face. I was
still six feet from the ground, lying at full length across
the densest growth of smilax on the farm. Now smi-
lax has thorns — a fact that had never troubled me be-
fore; and these resented my abrupt intrusion by pene-
trating into and through my clothes, and beyond. This
may seem trivial as you read it, but do not test the mat-
ter. Accept my assurances that a thorn to every square
inch of one's back and limbs is not trivial; and when
smilax confronts you, go round, and not through it.

Perhaps those who have so much to say about reclin-
ing on beds of roses, have never realized the accomjoani-
ment of thorns. Here was I upon a bed of thorns, with
no very rosy prospect of getting from it. There was
a cat -bird hard by who looked at me for a moment,
laughed, flirted his contemp>tuous tail, and dej)arted.
The gesture was irritating. Man vaunts himself the
climax of animal creation ; yet this saucy cat-bird could,
without an effort, skijD over the smilax, where I was
helpless.

A happy thought struck me. I would crawl out of
my clothes ! Alas, that seemed only the beginning of
a reduction which would have no end before I had es-
caped from that piercing and clinging smilax, short of
having reduced myself to a bare, hard skeleton, and I
feared I never could put myself together again. "What
was I to do ? Planning on a bed of thorns, even if they

THE LANDING. 239

do not prick ns, is not an cxliilaniting pastime. Tlic siir-
roimdin<rs are not conducive to nuick-wittedncss, and
the sunshine from above and mosquitoes from every-
where distract attention. The most feasible and natu-
ral thing of all occurred to me at the last of a long se-
ries— to call for help.

I combined the penetrative elements of shriek, yell,
howl, and squeal, hoping some receptive ear might rec-
Oirnize the meanintr. It startled the birds, and they
quickly came to see what manner of creature had hap-
pened into their midst. First, of course, came the tan-
talizing cat-bird. He investigated closely — too closely —
and then contemplated me, perched within arm's-length
of my list. His ultimate conclusion was a spiteful la-a.
Every robin and thrush of the whole hill-side came, and
the volume of their united voices, in discussion, brought
the jays and a pair of crows.

The crows were more clamorous and bolder than the
smaller birds ; and knowing their fancy for a luncheon
of the eyes of sick sheep and helpless lambs, I began to
have some fear for the safety of mine. I called again
in no uncertain tones. It had the initial effect of driv-
ing away the avian congress, and then, to my inexpressi-
ble relief, I heard a voice answering. Again I shouted,
and a quick reply assured me that help was at hand. A
moment more, and my rescuer was ready — but his in-
genuity was not equal to his desire to aid me. He could
no more get into the smilax than I could get out of it.
Scratching his head, he remarked, " I don t suppose it
will do to burn the briers and let you drop on the ashes,
will it ?"

240 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

I gave a faint groan in reply, and suggested his devis-
ino^ some other means.

"I have it!'' he exclaimed, and turning to the tree I
had climbed, he drew himself to the lowest of the long,
out-stretching branches, and bearing it down within my
reach, gave me a chance to pull myself upward from the
smilax ; the only thing, indeed, that I Qould do. As I
secured my hold he withdrew, and I finally, by the re-
sistance of the bended limb, was free of the briers, and
left to painfully work my way to the trunk of the tree.
This took all my strength, and I needed much help to
enable me to reach home. It was no slight mishap I
had suffered, and the scars on my back made an excel-
lent map of the Micronesian archipelago.

Prominent in the modest landscape, as we view the
" landing " from the boat, is a shapely beech, that mid-
way between the spring and the creek overhangs a
sparkling brook. It possesses no very marked features,
and certainly is not so large as one might think a tree
two hundred years old should be ; but it is a tree with
a history, and has had the honor of sheltering many a
naturalist, and bearing upon its bark their names or ini-
tials, cut by the naturalists themselves. These traces of
distinguished visitors have all disappeared ; but the tree
is still singled out for like attentions from others, for
contemplative ramblers and haj^py lovers have carved
either their names or initials in suggestive proximity.

While endeavoring to decipher some of the older of
these names, cut half a century ago, I was somewhat
startled by a great roaring overhead, and the world of

THE LANDING. 241

to-day was promptly recalled. The sound proceeded
from a swarm of bees that literally rolled over the tops
of the trees. It crossed the creek, and sped over the
meadow, and when almost beyond sight the peculiar
roar could be distinctly heard.

This incident recalled a remarkable flight of mosqui-
toes which I once witnessed from this point. It occurred
too at the same time of year. Since sunrise there had
been no noticeable peculiarity of the weather; the tem-
perature, perhaps, being a little below the average of a
midsummer day. The sky was clear, and while I was
rowing slowly down the creek, suddenly, almost between
winks, I saw a long, narrow line of dark-gray cloud ris-
ing rapidly and extending over half the western horizon.
In a few moments I heard a faint humming sound,
which grew louder and louder, and I thought of a tor-
nado. I was too frightened to plan for my safety, and
indeed there was no time in which to act. Heading for
the shore, I reached an overhanging elm, and clinging
to a projecting root, 1 awaited the oncoming of the sup-
posed tornado. It came, but not as wind. The tempest
proved a cloud of mosquitoes. It rose higher and high-
er as it approached, and when directly overhead quite
cleared the tree-tops. Nevertheless, it was no pleasant,
although novel, experience to be beneath such a cloud.

Had a sudden chancre in the wind checked their course
and caused them to settle, I do not suppose I could have
escaped being fatally stung by them. A rough esti-
mate made on the spot led to the conclusion that this
cloud of mosquitoes was half a mile wide, and one hun-
dred yards from front to rear. The depth of the mass
11

242 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

I could not ascertain, but it effectually excluded tlie sun-
light. The sound, as they passed, is best described by
likening it to a long train of cars passing over a bridge.

My duties as a naturalist called me to determine if
the meadows were unusually free from these pests, after
the exodus of so many millions, but 1 could not see that
this was the case. By careless exposure of my hands
and face on the following evening, I found that there
were enough left to render a night in the marsh exceed-
ingly painful, if not absolutely dangerous through their
attacks. I had also the task before me of determining
the fate of the migrants, but this was never accomplished.
The wind apparently carried them to the river and dis-
persed them over the flourishing county of Bucks, much
to the annoyance of many a Pennsylvania farmer.

While standing by the beech-tree to-day I killed sev-
eral " striped - stockings," as they are locally called, a
species of Oiolex that out-buzz and out-sting the ordi-
nary variety. They are twice as large, and the distinct
black and white markings on their legs serve to distin-
guish the species. It is rarely the case that mosquitoes
are too troublesome to enable one to carry out any plans,
however much the hands and face are exposed ; but oc-
casionally, when in the low marshes at low tide, there
will be a dozen or twenty "striped -stockings" which
will make a simultaneous attack, and then prudence sug-
gests beating an immediate retreat.

It has lately been ascertained that mosquitoes destroy
young trout : " When the latter came to the surface of
the water, so that the tops of their heads were level with
the surface of the water ... a mosquito would alight

THE LANDING. 213

and immediately transfix the trout by inserting his pro-
boscis or bill into the brain of the fish, which seemed in-
capable of escaping. The mosquito would hold his vic-
tim steady until he had extracted all tlic life juices, and
when this was accomplished, and lie flew away, the dead
trout would turn over on his back and float down the
stream."

It was early in September when I read the above,
and I straightway took my stand on the bank of Faxon's
Brook, then teeming with young cyprinoids,to see if such
attacks were made upon these fish by our mosquitoes.
The conditions were all favorable, but not a minnow
w^as molested. I did find, however, in a sink-hole in an
upland field, that these "striped-stockings" occasionally
settled upon the tadpoles there, and puncturing the tail,
caused it to bleed and often to swell and become con-
gested. The water in the sink-hole was very shallow,
and the tadpoles — of liana clamitans, probably — v:ere
often put to it to keep wholly submerged. It is not at
all improbable, I think, that under certain circumstances
numbers of very small fish are destroyed in the manner
described ; for I find frequent reference in my note-
books to the occurrence of quantities of dead young
fish, the cause of the mortality among which I was un-
able to ascertain. Kow it is no uncommon siojlit to sec
the surface of the vrater thickly dotted with the pro-
jecting snouts and even heads of small fishes, and such
an occasion would afford excellent opportunity for the
mosquitoes to attack them.

A peculiarly angry buzzing in the grass near by soon

244 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

called mj attention from winged to wingless insects,
and I saw, moving liurriedly along, that beautiful but
dangerous creature popularly known as the velvet ant.
It bad better be called a sulpliur-breatliing imp of sbeoL
It is not an ant really, but tlie wingless female of a
Ilymenopter allied to tliem — the family Mutillidoe —
and without further reference to her position in the text-
books, it may be added that she is the incarnation of
ill-temj)er. One often hears the phrase, '' as mad as a.
hornet ;" but these are really peaceful, compared to the
velvet ant, and angry only on occasion. Hornets can
be provoked to anger, but do not systematically get out
of bed, day in and week out, in a fit of fiery passion.
This is just what the scarlet velvet ant does. If astir
before the sun is well up, they are angered by the low
temperature ; at hot, high noon they venture abroad,
berating even the grass blades, and killing or torturing
with their j)oisoned sting every creature that crosses
their path. Brave, indeed, must be their winged mates,
to be willing to approach, and ever alert to take flight
the instant any additional frowns darken these viragoes'
foreheads. If it is true that anger is hot, then it is
strange the frost can ]3enetrate to their winters subter-
ranean abode. Packard says it quickly conceals itself
when disturbed. !N'ot always. I liave found that it was
by no means cowardly, even when pursued by man.
On the contrary, often has it shown itself ready to fight,
as though well aware that it possesses a terribly effective
weapon. Whether undisturbed or when pursued, it at
all times utters a loud and ireful buzzing that strangely
enough has been recorded as a " faint squeaking sound."

THE LANDING. 2-15

I have often lieard it at a distance of twenty feet, above
the liiun and stir of myriads of other insects. It is a
sound much like tlie z-ing of a harvest-fly (cicada), but
even more steady, uniform, and unceasing. Not even
is the creature quiet when at home. Although the bur-
row is often half a metre in depth, still, by placing the
ear to the entrance of the retreat, we can hear the omi-
nous, angry buzzing, a casting of curses at every living
creature that it can by any possibility afflict. Let him
who would witness the climax of ill-temper watch for
a while a velvet stinging ant, the formidable scarlet
Miitilla occidentalis.

Had I not seen the Mutilla enter her subterranean
abode, I should never have suspected that here, in the
clean, closely shorn sod was the entrance to a consider-
able excavation. Xot a trace of her tunnellino: was now
visible except the clean circular opening in the ground.
Had there ever been ? If so, what had become of the
earth removed by this insect ? The same may be asked
of many another animal earth retreat.

It is presumed that whenever a mannnal burrows into
the ground, the earth removed is brought to the surface
and scattered about the entrance, and there it remains
until slowly removed by the rain, or blown away by
some high wind, or, if not thus scattered abroad, that
the grass springs up through it, and so effectually con-
ceals all trace of it. Is all this presumption true ? As
a matter of fact, does every burrowing animal bring to
the surface all the earth it displaces in making its bur-
row?

My attention having been called to this subject early

24G WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

in the past summer, I have since then taken every pre-
caution to let no new burrows near home escape detec-
tion and very careful examination ; and as a result, I
have concluded that there is in the minds of most peo-
ple a misconception concerning these underground re-
treats, whether made by mammals or insects.

^7hen a burrowin^^ mammal is cut oS from its re-
treat, and finding escape by running impracticable, in-
stead of turning about and facing a pursuing foe, it will,
as a desperate resort, start to burrowing. In the case of
skunks, chipmunks, and star-nosed moles, it needs but
an incredibly short time for the animal to conceal itself ;
but of course, in all such cases, the displaced earth is
thrown upon the surface, and is a certain indication of
the creature's whereabouts. Nevertheless, escape by
such uncertain means is often effected, in consequence
of the animal's being able to round a bowlder or large
root, and so place it between the pursuer and pursued.
In every such case the amount of dirt displaced is not
all brous^ht to the surface. Does the animal then worm
its way through the soil, pressing it to either side of the
tunnel as it progresses? There is certainly much evi-
dence that this is true ; but, of course, the practicability
of such tunnelling by pressure depends upon the char-
acter of the earth and its relative density.

This has been pronounced impossible ; and the asser-
tion made that earth of so loose a texture that a mam-
mal could worm through it, as loose sand, would imme-
diately cave behind the animal as it progressed.

The stri^^ed ground-squirrel or chipmunk affords, in
its burrow, a good opportunity to examine into this mat-

THE LANDING. 247

ter. I liavc carefully noted tlic conditions of thirteen
such burrows, which ranged from seven to thirty feet in
length. Every one was tortuous except the longest,
whFch can better be described as wavy. In no instance
could I find any evidence that dirt had been brought to
the surface more than sufficient to fill about one-twen-
tieth to one-fiftieth of the area of the tunnel, and prob-
ably in every case this was an over-estimate. Of this
series of thirteen burrows none was more than a month
old, and there had been no rains in that time sufficiently
copious to have washed away all trace of newly exposed
dirt. The main entrance to five ^vas a perpendicular
descent varying from tw^o to five feet in depth, and I
claim that this animal has no power to bring to the sur-
face, when forced to back out of its burrow, any signifi-
cant quantity of loose earth ; and even if the diameter
of the burrow was sufficient to enable it to turn about,
it could not then remove any important amount of loose
soil except it spent hours at the w^ork ; and this I am
positive it does not do. The excavation of a tunnel is
not the labor of a month, and so long a time would be
necessary if every particle of detached earth was brought
to the entrance of the burrow.

Some of the tunnels examined by me extended in
from the face of the bluff about three feet, and then
turned at a right angle and ran parallel to it for a con-
siderable distance. Some made two or three abrupt
turns, and had one or more roomy excavations besides,
wherein food is stored. Kow if the displaced earth
was removed by these animals in small quantities, as by
filling their cheek pouches with it— which they probably

248 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

do not do — it would require a much longer time to com-
plete a burrow, say fifteen feet in length and with a
magazine for winter food of an area of one cubic foot,
than is really consumed in the construction of such a
subterranean home.

I have dispossessed chipmunks of their burrows and
found that they made for themselves others in the course
of a night — the length of such varying with the charac-
ter of the soil in wdiich they burrowed. I am free to
admit that it seems quite impossible for an animal to
penetrate the earth by pressing it from side to side as it
progresses ; and yet there seems to be no other method
open to them after an ingress of a foot or more has been
effected. The diameter of the burrow is simply suffi-
cient for the animal to proceed forward. It cannot turn
about and reach the entrance face forward. In burrow-
ing, therefore, the earth detached by the fore -paws is
forced under the belly, and it is to be supposed that this
loose material can be continually collected by the animal
in a pellet and pushed forward towards the entrance of
the tunnel by the animal's hind-feet, as it slowly backs
out, and often turning two or three corners. This ab-
surdity has been seriously claimed as what must neces-
sarily take place. I will not pretend to explain the
methods of a chipmunk when burrowing, but that it is
essentially different from the above supposed method I
am confident.

As bearing upon this, let me refer to what I have
witnessed in the case of a land-tortoise when preparing
to go into winter-quarters. It was one that I had had
in my yard for several years. Twice I saw it preparing

THE LANDING. 249

for liibernation, and tlic process in cacli case was pre-
cisely tlie same. The animal chose a spot at sonic dis-
tance from any tree, as though desirous of escaping
contact with roots as it descended into the earth. With-
out protruding its head, the tortoise first dug a shallow
pit but a mere trace larger in circumference than its
shell. The fore -feet only were used to displace the
earth, but with its hind-feet, at times, it would effectu-
ally scatter this loose earth in every direction. When
the depth of the pit was such that the animal could no
longer dig without standing on its head, it rested upon
all-fours in the shallow pit, and commenced immediately
the task of lowering itself still deeper into the earth.
By exercising great care, I w^as enabled to see the be-
ginning of the work, and the same method was doubtless
continued unto the end. By a vigorous scratching with
all four feet the earth beneath the creature's plastron
was first brought to the sides of the little pit, and then
slowly was j)uslied upward until it formed a rim of sand
about the margin of the carapace. There was a slight
sidewise dipping motion of the creature's body all the
while, but I judged that by the feet alone it not only
loosened the earth beneath but Avorked it upward. How-
ever this may be, the quantity of this displaced earth
was gradually increased until the tortoise disappeared.
Just a day later I dug down to the animal and found
that it had gone to a depth of fifteen inches, and the
earth displaced and scattered was not one-twentieth of
what it had actually removed from beneath and worked
above it in the manner I have described.

Here wms a case where an animal buried itself witli-
11-

250 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

out difficulty, and passed tlirougli a layer of very com-
pact earth. Scores of tortoises do the same every year,
and possibly reach greater depths.

If, then, such excavations without removal to the sur-
face of the displaced earth is practicable for a tortoise,
may it not be equally so for a chipmunk, that works in
far less compact earth and in a horizontal direction?
The task is different in the case of the mammal, to be
sure, but this difference is less significant than may at
first be thought. I refer to preserving the burrow open
as it proceeds. I find that in the sandy hill-side, where
all the burrows are which I have examined, if you push
a stout tube into the earth and remove so much as the
tube will contain, then the side of the excavation made
will soon crumble; but if a stick of the same size is
pushed into the earth, the displaced portion, by being
made more compact, is firmly fixed, and the little tunnel
is comparatively permanent. Does not the peculiar dig-
ging motion of a burrowing mammal have the effect
necessarily of compacting the sides of the tunnel as it
progresses? The particles detached by the projecting
fore-feet must unavoidably fall under the neck and belly
of the animal, and the motion of the rapidly moving
limbs must pat this material, which again is pressed
down by the weight of the animal's abdomen. In such
soils as I have examined, all of very loose texture, there
did not seem to be any difficulty in rapidly tunnelhng,
but skill was required in so compacting the sides of the
excavation that they would remain intact.

But what positive evidence have we that a mammal
can penetrate even sandy soils and form a tunnel as it

THE LANDIXG. 251

goes ? I have finally met with what appears to be such
evidence. Twice I have found where moles had made
loose tunnels hy heaving up the surface of the ground,
and coming in contact with a projecting bowlder, had
passed beneath it and reappeared at the surface at a
point precisely opposite where the descent had been
made. In these cases not a particle of earth had been
brought to the surface; indeed, could have been so
brought.

More recently I have been fortunate enough to sur-
prise chipmunks in short tunnels, and securely closed
the openings, and in every case I found that these tun-
nels were largely increased in depth, or a curve was
made and the animal came to the face of the bluff not
far from the opening which I had closed.

Because a dog, when in pursuit of an animal hidden
in some burrow, may scatter the dirt in every direction
as he digs, it does not follow that the pursued mammal
" made any dirt " at all in excavating his subterranean
retreat. Whatever may be true of marmots in other
localities, of foxes and prairie-dogs, it is quite evident
that where the earth is of so loose a texture as on our
sloping terrace fronts, the chipmunk, the mole, the shrew,
various snakes and certain insects, find it practicable to
construct underground retreats by other means than the
complete removal to the surface of the displaced earth ;
and further, such is the character of the soil, that actual
removal would be fatal to the preservation of the walls
of such retreats. Finally, if the earth is not removed,
what can become of it, if not compacted by the ani-
mal's body as it makes its way forward ?

253 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

Eeluctantly leaving tlie beecli-tree, about wliicli clus-
ter so many pleasant memories, and of which I have
heard so many pleasant things told me in former years
by graybeards no longer with us, I wandered to a sunny
nook where orange-yellow touch-me-not filled the entire
space, to the exclusion of every other plant. A walk
through the little thicket was quite amusing. On every
side the petty musketry of their exploding seed -pods
filled the air. The little seeds fairly stung when they
struck me in the face. I remained for several minutes
in the midst of these plants, to determine how far the
countless bees and butterflies provoked the seed-vessels
to burst. They would seem to be too gentle in their
movements generally. One burly bumblebee did indeed
appear to receive a broadside on his "ribs," as he turned
over in mid-air, buzzed a loud guffaw at the fun, and sped
off to more hospitable quarters.

As the day drew to a close, I again sought my boat
upon the sandy beach, and met, while journeying thither,
an employe of the United States Geological Survey.
He had been mapping Crosswicks Creek, and kindly
gave me some interesting information. The corner-
stone at the blacksmith's shop is ninety-nine feet eleven
and one -half inches above high -water mark at Sandy
Plook. My neighbor's big brick house stands ninety-
seven feet six inches above the same level, but where
my house stands there is only seventy-seven feet eleva-
tion of which to boast. (I had always been told before
that it was eighty feet.)

Perhaps I ought to feel unhappy because the black-

THE LANDING. 253

smith's sliop is more tlmn twenty feet nearer lieaven,
but I do not. If I am " farther off from heaven than
when I was a hoy," I still have no lack of company in
the wee beasties, pretty birds, and brilliant butterllies
that forty years have never failed to make this lower
reijion all that I wished.

*

Again afloat, I pushed, since it was a little past high
tide, into the wild-rice that clusters on a marshy island
near, and there, hid from the outside world, watched the
slowly descending sun. It was a fit jilace wherein to
realize what is solitude. The marsh-wrens for a while
seemed to stand in awe of me, and I heard no sound
save the distant cawing of a crow. Somewhat weary,
I lay flat upon my back and kept company with the
clouds. But the feathered world soon spied me out. The
wrens grew bold, and anon a " moping heron," that for
long had been standing " motionless and stiff," came
slowly towards me, and Avith one wild barbaric yawp,
published my whereabouts to every creature. As once
before, I soon became an object of interest, and while
returning the curious gaze of many birds, forgot that the
tide never takes a rest ; and so, when the increasing dark-
ness bade me hurry home, I found myself stranded on a
fathomless expanse of quivering mud. The mud would
not bear my weight, or else 1 could have waded to the
runninir water and draGjcjed the boat after me; so I set-
tied down, with no good grace, to wait for hours before
I could go home.

Had I desired to spend an evening on the marsh, no
doubt but I should have found an abundance of enter-

254 WASTE-LAND ^VANDERINGS.

tainment ; as it was, my plans being quite frustrated, I
saw no beauty or interest in any object. Such is the
perversity of human nature. I^ever before had I heard
such a concert of owls ; never before had the marsh-
wrens twittered so cheerily, nor the wild - rice teemed
with such a wealth of nocturnal insect life, j^ature Avas
celebrating the advent of the harvest-moon ; and yet, be-
cause I had planned otherwise, I was in no mood to enjoy
a rare opportunity for studying the meadows by moon-
liglit.

A little later, circumstances forced me to be less fret-
ful and more studious. While slowly urging my skiff
over the soft mud by very short and most uneasy stages,
I reached the carcass of a dog that was being gradually
devoured by myriads of small eels.

This grewsome sight recalled the unfortunate

" Sir Thomas's body,
It looked so odd — he
Was half eaten up by the eels!
His waistcoat and hose, and the rest of his clothes,
Were all gnawed through and through ;
And out of each shoe
An eel they drew,
And from each of his pockets they pulled out two!"

I would refer these lines to those who of late have in-
sisted upon the fact that eels are very dainty, and refuse
all food that they do not capture and kill.

At last I reached the running water and was again
afloat, but not until long after the day had closed — a day
that I could wish different but in one respect ; it had
been too full of pleasant sights and sounds.

CnAPTER IX.
THE DRAWBRIDGE.

I UAYE yet to see the rambler wlio finds the jumping
of fences exhilarating. When one crosses his path there
may be no audible comment, but thoughts multiply.
Particularly is this the case when the barrier to his prog-
ress is constructed of spiked wire.

The fence that gives least offence is the quaint old
zigzag series of chestnut rails, staked up with twisted
ce'dai^saplings and chunked by moss-covered bowlders
just peeping above the ground. This once common
feature of all our fields merits a word in its defence.

What feature of a long cultivated country can boast
of so many attractions to a rambling naturalist as one
of these worm-fences ? Indeed, the very existence of not
a few animals, in many localities, depends upon these
roomy structures, that secure to them a strip of land
eight to ten feet wide. Insignificant as bare earth, it is
true ; but far from it when densely overgrown with im-
penetrable tangles of thorn-bearing vegetation.

Here congregate in confidence weasels, skunks, mink,
chipmunks, and mice. Bluebirds and wrens find con-
yenient nesting - places in the hollow rails, sparrows in
the low bushes filling all the angles. The lithe green
lizard is happy among the upper rails, where he can
still bask with safety in the glowing August sunshme.

256 WASTE-LAXD WANDERINGS.

And whenever any of these chance to wander far
a-field, they well know it is to a city of refuge to which
they speed when hurrying to the little forest that hedges
an old worm-fence.

Tlie pretty tree-toad, quaint hatrachian philosopher, is
not loath to squat about the lichen patches of the older
rails, and finds a safe home in the hollows of such as are
slowly decaying and hold the chance-caught rain-drops
in their mossy nooks.

Of fish as dwellers about fences I can say but little ;
yet one worm-fence in a distant meadow will ever re-
main memorable, from the fact that a herring dropped
by a fish -hawk safely lodged thereon, and was carried
home in triumph by me, years before I reached my
teens. Would that subsequent days a -fishing had
proved half so happy !

Of insect and arachnian life there is literally no end.
Flies, beetles, and wingless crawling life ; spiders, both
great and small, of sombre tints and the most brilliant
hues.

And the botany ! There is no need to catalogue the
plants actually gathered from the angles of the fence.
Eecall the smilax, blackberry, ivy, wild-grape, and Vir-
ginia creeper, for the little thickets that delight the
thrush and make glad the heart of the to-whee bunting ;
recall the cedars that tower above these sinuous growths,
and, too, the palm -like foliage of the sapling sumacs.
Where else so completely at home is that embodiment
of midsummer vivacity, the indigo-bird ? The chinkapin
bushes wherein jays gather — what more suggestive pict-
ure does a farming country offer ?

THE DRAWBRIDGE. 257

A fact or two statistical concerning tlicse fences.
When Kalm, the Swedish naturalist, travelled through
Kew Jersey, he studied these structures, as well as the
animals they harbor, and his account is of considerable
interest : ^' The enclosures made use of in . . . Xew Jer-
sey," he says, " are those which, on account of their ser-
pentine form resembling worms, are called worm-fences.
. . . Experience lias shown that an enclosure made of
chestnut or white-oak seldom holds out above ten or
twelve years before the poles and posts are thoroughly rot-
ten," and then wonders " what sort of an appearance the
country will have forty or fifty years hence " — he wrote
in 1749 — if some new fencing methods are not devised.

As a matter of fact, Kalm was misinformed as to the
durability of our woods when thus used, or a great
change has taken place. I know of a fence erected in
182G that is at present in fairly good condition, and
contains a large percentage of the original cedar rails ;
and the newer chestnut rails, with which the fence was
last repaired, are nearly thirty years old. So, too,
Kalm was in error about posts placed in the ground.
"White -oak now will last for twenty years, and cedar
as long ; locust posts are still in use, and are yet firm,
which have been in the ground for half a century. The
catalpa, too, is quite equal to locust, perhaps better.
Much depends, I take it, upon the condition of the
wood when placed in position. It should be thorough-
ly dry. Perhaps Kalm's informers were not acquainted
with this fact ; and I cannot but think that the earth had
some corrosive element in it two centuries ago which it
does not now possess, or in far less degree.

258 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

Our author's fears that general deforesting of the
country would prove disastrous were better founded ;
yet we have not wholly come to grief. Let one climb
to the top of a tall tree and look over the most open
countr}" — he will often have to look sharply to see the
fields, farm-houses, and even villages, so hidden are they
by the abundance of trees. Scattered along the road-
side and by the cross fences, they are ignored by the
pedestrian, unless he seeks their shade ; but when seen
from an elevation, these comparatively few trees about
our farmxS aggregate many thousands, and we realize
that while there are next to no forests left, we yet are
preserved from the dreariness of a desert.

And now, having generalized to the degree of te-
diousness, vv^hat of some old worm-fence particularized ?

Partly because the ground is rather unproductive,
and more because there is a superabundance of it, one
such fence within the range of my wanderings has
been left undisturbed for more than half a century. To
cross it, except at the bars, which are themselves not
always free from weeds, is absolutely impossible. The
impenetrable tangle of vines in this case extends fully
half a rod on either side, and up through it tower trees
that are models — tall, shapely, and so widely scattered
that never a twig has suffered for want of room.

I clambered over the splintery, half-decayed bars of
this old fence on my way to the creek to-day, i3uri3osely
taking a new and circuitous route, because of an early
start. I crossed over carefully, and let me add paren-
thetically, that I am tempted to assert that misfortune
awaits me whenever I quit the firm earth. It is, of

TUE DRAWBRIDGE. 259

course, necessary for a naturalist to climb trees, to leap
fences, to cross quicksands ; and one devoid of skill can
readily come to grief. How confidently, but a few
days ago, I sprang to the top rail of a fence near by,
and spinning quarter way around, not simply did I face
in tlie direction I desired to go, but screwed myself fast
to an unseen projection of that same top rail — then
dangled hopelessly among the weeds. The result was
as likely to be serious as ludicrous, but fortune favored
me so far as to grant a release, with a large percentage
of an important garment left as toll with that inexorable
fence. Besides the loss of time, it was exasperating to
stand amid briers with half -clad limbs, and see how
easily all the trouble might have been avoided. It was
-worse to return in so dilapidated a condition and run
the gantlet of anxious inquirers as I sought the clothes-
press.

The history of a chestnut rail can be read almost with-
out an effort. IIow vividly there comes to me the pict-
ure of one old woodman, as he shouldered his keen axe
and started for the woods ! How plainly I see him in
the snow-clad forest, resting a moment from his work,
and telling of some wild hunt or strange mishap that
befell him when a boy ! Then, too, looms up the patient
ox-team, with the load of rails upon the sled ; and better
than all, the pile of gnarly sticks not even the wood-
man's axe could conquer, and which, in due time, blazed
in that cavernous fireplace before which I passed so
many glorious winter nights — nights, if a storm raged,
which were sure to recall the thrilling stories of those

260 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

early days wlien forests enclosed the scattered fields, not
fields that surrounded mere remnanto of the forest.

I do not know whether any of the original rails are
still remaining, probably not ; but a fence of this rude
pattern has been here for two centuries, and portions of
it have every appearance of long antedating the very
oldest inhabitant. Many a rail can be found that is no
longer an obstacle to man or beast. Indeed, some of
them depend for their very existence npon the aid of
the dense growths that uphold them. One giant sassa-
fras has actually incorporated a portion of a sturdy ce-
dar rail, which, if removed, would leave a hole directly
through the trunk of the tree.

To the few remaining old worm - fences, then, the
thanks of the rambler are due for many favors ; for
where else than in the densely overgrown headlands that
divide our fields could many a creature find so safe a
retreat in a neighborhood like this ? It takes the place
of extensive forests, of trackless swamps, of immovable
rocks. Let the rambler be j)atient, then, when such a
worm-fence crosses his path. Let him stop and study
it, panel by panel, unless abroad upon some special er-
rand.

Here he is surest, perhaps, of meeting with weasels,
if they are abroad by day ; nor let him be too bold if
there be a number of them. They well know that in
union there is strength, and it is no unusual occurrence
for them to show fight at such a time ; and no creat-
ure can bite more savagely, or aim for vital spots more
surely.

The weasel's distant cousin, the skunk, is also a lover

THE DRAWBRIDGE. 2G1

of tlicse old fences, and knows their nooks and corners
as well as his northern brethren know the safe crannies
of an old stone wall.

The raccoon, too, has occasion to think well of fences.
From his hollow tree he will carefully crawl to the top
rail of the fence below, and run a long distance, a dozen
panels, perhaps, before touching the ground, and so the
prowling dogs are hopelessly baffled.

Bats have learned the comfort, if they do not know
the security, of a weed-encompassed fence, and hang by
day from the lower side of a broad rail in blissful expec-
tation of the coming night.

Lastly, the pert chipmunks. The first lesson in geog-
raphy taught them, I take it, is the zigzag coast-line of
the nearest fence. And once learned, what more grace-
ful sight than to see them dart from panel to panel,
dodging the knot-holes, leaping the projections, hugging
the under side of a rail for an instant, and then peeping
slyly at you from some coigne of vantage that it seeks
when danger threatens. It does not appear that chip-
munks are at a disadvantage upon any uneven surface,
but their grace culminates scurrying at utmost speed
adown the warped sections of an old worm-fence.

The ornithology of these fences is half the bird his-
tory of the county. It cannot be dwelt upon now, but
a few marked features of it may be briefly mentioned.
Here, about the rank growths of poke, thistle, and James-
town weed, congregate those beautiful yellow and black
finches^

Whose wavy flight and cheery whistle
Adorn the wastes o'ergrown with thistle:

263 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS,

Ko field so foul witli noisome weeds
But there tlie dainty goldfinch feeds,
And greets with song the fervent rays
That flood high noon of August days.

Here, swinging upon the ti^^s of bending weeds, or
curving the uppermost twig of some tall tree, the no
less beautiful indigo finch sings with an ardor no other
bird excels. The hotter the day the sweeter the song ;
and if the gloaming brings no coolness, even through
the night this little finch will repeat the songs that gave
life to the fields at noon.

And later, when the winter migrants come, nowhere
else am I so sure to find that prince of sparrows, the
royal foxy finch, and surely nowhere do the flocking
white -tliroats congregate as here, and sing with such
full-voiced energy, morning, noon, and niglit. Wiien
winter nears its end they are all impatience, it would
seem, to reach their northern home ; for when the glim-
mer of the April moon fills the dense hedge-row with
uncertain light, these birds still sing, and even start
from their perches, as though their homeward journey
had commenced.

That they are dreaming there can be no doubt, and
not the w^eird chat alone is given to curious antics long
after the world is supposed to be at rest.

Bluebirds, of course, love the old hollow rails, and
perched upon the out -reaching stakes, sing their best
soncfs.

Wrens have long since learned that an old fence is
their best hunting-ground.

"Woodpeckers, both great and small, even to the little

TUE DRAWBRIDGE. 203

downy fellow, flit from stake to stake watcliiug the
plodding plougliinan at liis toil, and scolding mildly
when he comes too near.

It was at these weed -hidden bars that I once wit-
nessed a riot in wrendom. A pair of vigorous Caro-
linas and four irate house-wrens had met to settle a dis-
pute. They had no judge to which to appeal, nor w^as
there an attentive jury, but every bush was crowded
w^ith spectators.

As my old friend TJz Gaunt once remarked, " TVhen
any smooth -headed bird raises its crest, look out for
fun." I saw something like this, and was at once on
the alert for interesting developments. Not one of the
six wrens but had every feather of its head pointing
upward, and Avith it all each spluttered, stuttered,
screamed, and hissed until nearly exhausted. Every
syllable of the wrenish language w^as uttered w4th em-
phasis. Every few seconds one or more would with-
draw, as though to recover breath, and then reaj^pear,
excited and disputatious as ever. But it was a w^ar of
words only, and became monotonous. In hopes of de-
termining the cause of the difficulty, I thrust myself
among them and scattered the spectators, but not the
wrens. They resented my interference ; and while not
quite willing to attack me, became allies for the time,
and vented their spleen in no uncertain manner. I
withdrew to a short distance, when the wrens reassem-
bled at the fence, and the quarrel soon waxed louder
than ever, and thus engaged I left them.

Two days later I found the Carolina wrens in peace-
ful possession of the spot, and in an adjoining panel

264 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

thej had a roomy nest. May not the wrangle have
been a lawsuit concerning this desirable bit of real es-
tate ?

There are very few people who know a wren when
they see it. Do not take me np, captious critic, and
insist that this is too sweeping a statement. Have you
tested the matter ? In all probability not. I have. It
is not enough to know only the pair that nest in cosey
quarters you have provided for them. There are wrens
and wrens, as there are people and people, and your
door-yard couples are sadly uninteresting when com-
pared with their wilder brethren that have roughed it
for the season in a hollow fence-rail— suffer in compari-
son, just as the gilded youths of large cities so often
dwindle to absolute insignificance when seen by the side
of their wide-awake country cousins.

But the tenants of the wild woods know the wrens
full well, and usually give them a wide berth. They
realize that they are petty tyrants, suffering no intru-
sion and excusing no blunder; particularly so when
something has gone wrong with them; then it is ''a
word and a blow, and the blow first." Even hornets
stand back when there is a riot in wrendom.

Nowhere do the few remaining black-snakes find so
sure a retreat as beneath the bottom rail of the fence,
wdiere it is beyond the reach of every foe ; and where,
too, it has the entrance to a snug underground retreat.
From such weedy coverts these shy serpents occasion-
ally venture far a-field, and it is as instructive as amus-
ing to see with what promptness they dart directly
towards the fence, even if you happen to be between

THE DRAWBRIDGE. 2C5

the snake and its home. However higli the weeds, the
direction is never mistaken, and they seek shelter with
that celerity of movement no other creeping creature
can obtain.

A friend of my early boyhood, and now but a chance
acquaintance, is the pretty, vivacious, amusing lizard
that years ago made this same fence its home. I should
be glad to know why it has forsaken us. There certain-
ly has been no change in the fence, and next to nothing
in the surroundings, since it was as common a feature
of our fauna as tree-sparrows in winter. But it has left
us. For years I have not seen one, and have nothing
to say concerning them save what I recall of a distant
but not shadowy past. Year after year, about the mid-
dle of June, I was teased with visions of a dewberry-
pie, and straightway sought certain briery fields, where
for the labor of gathering was to be had an abundance
of the coal-black fruit. The task performed, how invit-
ing were the shady nooks of the old worm-fence ! With
no laggard steps I huiTied thither, and catching the
scented breezes fluttering through the rails, revelled in
the luxury of a well-earned rest. My friends crowded
about me. The chipmunks stared, whistled a welcome,
and were gone ; the dainty field-sparrow trilled from the
tapering cedar's top ; the tree-toads croaked ; the burly
carpenter-bee hummed heartily ; and darting past me as
swift shadows were the shy lizards, whose presence made
me forgetful of all discomfort, as I wistfully gazed after
them far down the sunny reaches of the fence.

All my ingenuity was exercised in efforts to caj)ture
12

266 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

tliem, and summer after summer passed without success
attending them. ]S"ot one hut was too swift for me.
Time after time I struck at them with long switches,
always aiming well ahead, yet never succeeding in ac-
comphshing more than the amputation of their tails.
They seemed always bent upon going forward, and
dodged me successfully when I attempted to check
their progress. " Forward !" was their motto ; forward
they went, and disappeared.

I could never find their nests, nor see their young;
never could discover their winter retreats, nor learn
how far they are affected by the weather. They came
and went along the sunny highway of the ancient fence ;
travelled it from April till October, and were gone.
Strangers as they were, I always hailed them as my
friends, and look for them now, listening for their fleet-
ing footsteps where the hot sunshine falls, and seeing
them only wlien, with closed eyes, I recall the happy
wanderings of many a year ago.

Even when the grasping farmer raids upon the pretty
tangle of wild growths that another furrow may be add-
ed to his field, the naked fence becomes no eyesore to
the wanderer. Wild life will love it still, though shorn
of half its glory. But set in its little wilderness, it is a
country worthy of exploration, and fruitful, be it in sum-
mer or in winter, of strange adventure, curious knowl-
edge, and facts that are treasures to him who delves for
Nature's mysteries.

The voyage of to-day was but the rounding of a little

THE DRAWBRIDGE. 2G7

bend. Scarcely Lad the boat rippled the flood-tide of
the glittering waters when I checked its course, and
from my point of view in mid-stream gazed upon an
ancient bridge that here spans the creek. It is an un-
couth structure that the close-fisted freeholders of that
day saw fit to build sixty years ago ; and the farmers
finding no name so easy as that learned in their child-
hood, called it the " drawbridge," as though it was but
a second edition of the open structure that preceded it,
and which had a "draw" in it for the accommodation of
those masted vessels that, as we have seen, passed far
up the creek. I wish heartily that the Quaker settlers
who dwelt here had handed down some pretty romance
or details of some bloody tragedy concerning this earlier
bridge. It certainly was old enough when, in 1827, it
was removed, to have a thrilling history, and in a spot
romantic enough to have made poets of some of the
sturdy youths who for years were accustomed to pass to
and fro over its oaken planks.

I might, indeed, fearless of contradiction, have purpled
the stream with the blood of innocents, and peopled the
woods hard by with headless ghosts ; but alas ! just here,
colonial days were days of colorless prose, nothing more
exciting than the arrival of a travelling preacher — John
Woolman or Thomas Chalkley — ever causing the Cross-
wicks Friends to so much as raise their eyebrows.

But why, it may be asked, is there a bridge here at
all? Let us go back to even earlier than colonial times.
On Lindstrom's map, 1054, the surveyor caused to be
printed, besides the various Indian names, certain inter-
esting facts; and at the mouth of this creek, "Median-

268 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

sio sipu," as lie calls it, he states that "here commences
Manahattan's Wagar, or Eoad to Manhattan." If a high-
way existed, as there pointed out, it must have been but
rarely travelled by Europeans so early as 1654 ; for it
was not until nearly forty years later that any land was
occupied between the Delaware and the Earitan. It is
now, and has been for over two Imndred years, a public
road, and before the building of railroads was the stage
route, or one of them, from the Delaware eastward to the
towns between Bordentown and New York. And long
years before all this— who shall say how many?— it was
the well-worn trail of the Indians, who crossed the river
from Pennsylvania near the mouth of the creek, and
passed along the terrace that forms the bold east shore
of the stream, and crossed it where now it is spanned
by this shapeless structure. The European in many
ways followed closely in the footsteps of his dusky pred-
ecessors ; and at this spot, where the Indians' stepping-
stones were lying in the sand, the early settlers drove
down pilings and rested thereupon the ancient draw-
bridge. Some of these are still to be seen at low tide.

But if there be no startling colonial history, the bridge,
the creek, and the valley have a bit of revolutionary rec-
ord that might have been famous had it been, like the
fight at Concord bridge, of some significance.

The original drawbridge spanned the stream in June,
1778, when the British soldiers '^ attempted to cross
Crosswicks Creek over a drawbridge . . . three regi-
ments (of militia) remaining near, after a general with-
drawal of the Continental troops. A party of the
enemy appearing, with great zeal began to repair the

THE DRAWBRIDGE. 2G9

bridge, the planks of wliicli luid been pulled np and the
draw raised. For this purpose they ripped oil the planks
from an adjoining hay-hoiise. Uj^on their approach
the militia rushed down with the greatest impetuosity,
and a small party from one of the regiments, liappening
to be considerably advanced, caused them to retire with
the loss of four killed and several wounded." It would
appear from this that none of them came across, yet
years after, in regrading the public road, a few bits of
metal were found that seemed to indicate that an officer
had been buried on the north side of the creek. Well,
it matters not, and j)atriotic Americans can only regret
that a great many more than four had not fallen in tliat
June skirmish.

The Quakers about here were, almost to a man, very
lukewarm in the cause of indej)endence, and very grudg-
ingly gave aid to the soldiers who defended the bridge.
They claimed to be non-combatants, and so were pas-
sive spectators of the stirring scenes enacted at Tren-
ton, Princeton, and Monmouth. Their caution prevent-
ed their suffering persecution, but it was far diiferent
with the more outspoken Tories. One Isaac Pearson,
a Church of England man, was less fortunate than his
neighbors. He was too outspoken, and, wearing no
Quaker garb, was singled out as a dangerous man.
While at Ilightstown, not far away, he was apprised
that soldiers were in pursuit. He rushed for his horse,
and just as he entered the stable was shot.

He it was who built, some years before, a once famous
hostelry that stood within sight of the old bridge.
When the new road was laid out, about 1795, the tavern

270 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

was moved to its present site. Pearson's Inn it had
been; but now a new name was desired, as well as a
sign to swing from the old buttonwood that still is
standing. The writer's grandfather agreed to furnish
the sign, but found, when he commenced the task, that
he had only a single pot of white paint. He sketched
a horse at full gallop, used the paint he had to color it,
and so gave the name of "White Horse" to the tavern,
wliicli it still retains.

]^ear this place until July, 18G9, stood the largest
white-oak in the county, and probably in the State. It
was something to stand under the wide-spreading boughs
of a tree that was w^ell grown before Columbus pleaded
with Isabella for permission to cross the seas. This oak
had droi:)ped its acorns over a sod pressed by no human
foot, save that of the Indian, before the continent of
America was heard of by our European ancestry ; and as
one of the few trees of Indian times that remained to
us, it very appropriately contained a flint arrow in its
heart, and had buried among its deepest roots a grooved
stone axe.

This mighty oak, w^hich measured twenty-seven feet
in circumference three feet from the ground, was so in-
jured by a violent gale of wind that its removal became
necessary. It stood upon a knoll, and from this the im-
mense stump was subsequently removed. The excava-
tion was seven feet in depth and nearly twelve in diam-
eter. Four feet below the bottom of the pit, or eleven
feet from the surface of the ground, I found a very rude
stone axe entangled in a mass of fibrous roots. The ap-
pearances were all such as to indicate that the axe had

THE DRA.WBRIDGE. 271

been lost and buried before the acorn sprouted wliicli
became this greatest of our oaks. As the age of trees
is usually estimated, and in this case correctly, it is quite
certain that the tree was a tliousand years old, and that
prior to this the Indian axe had been lost. Some little
clew, therefore, have we to the length of time during
which New Jersey was occupied by the Indians.

A feature of the creek shore, not only at the bridge
but for some little distance above and below, was the
abundance of plum-trees. Campanius, in describing the
various fruits and nuts found on the Jersey shore of the
river, mentions "great quantities of walnuts, chestnuts,
peaches, damsons^ cypresses, mulberry, fish -trees, and
many other rare trees . . . not found anywhere else but
on this river ;" and again, writing of the opposite shore
of the Delaware, says, near "■ Plum Point there grow
great numbers of beech, plum, mulberry, and chestnut
trees."

Plommons Udden, or Plum Point, was a common name
with the Swedes, they giving every bold river shore
such designation if it grew a cluster of these trees.
Where the bridge now stands v\'as not long since a Plum
Point, and from a careful examination of the surround-
ings I am disposed to think that plum orcliards were
commonly planted by the Indians. It is certain that
they had other orcliards, and therefore it is reasonable to
suppose that tlie clusters of plum-trees were likewise the
work of this people.

With so much palatable wild fruit, it is strange that
such miserable food as the wild-bean and golden-club
should have been ever used. All of our fruits, except

272 AVASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

the persimmon, can be dried, and kept indefinitely ; and
notwithstanding no mention is made of the practice, I
am inclined to believe that dried plums and other fruits
were used, as well as the fruit eaten in a fresh state.
Certainly if it is true that plum orchards were designedly
planted by the Indians, this latter inference must be true.
While yet discussing the botanical features of this
neighborhood, what, it may be asked, is the fish-tree?
Somewhere not far away, according to Campanius, there
grew, in his time, " the fish-tree, which resembles box-
wood, and smells like raw fish. It cannot be split, but
if a fire be lighted around it with some other kind of
wood, it melts away." I have tested on my andirons all
our native trees, and there is not one that can be said
to melt away. The persimmon when newly split has a
more fish-like smell than any other, but then it can be
split. It is indifferent firewood, I am sure ; so perhaps
this is the tree referred to.

But the present bridge : what of it ? Like many an-
other rude structure far away from the bustle of a town,
it is the home of a host of creatures, furred and feath-
ered, for mice hide in its roof and musk-rats in the
abutment walls ; while under the eaves cliff swallows
have dwelt for years, and upon the rough frame w^ork
that sustains the floor peewees have nested since the
bridge was built. I have counted seven such nests, all
occupied at the same time, and never a quarrelsome word
between these near neighbors. In one of the abutments
for years a pair of Carolina wrens have nested, and,
strange to say, without quarrelling with the swallows.

THE DRAWBRIDGE. 273

tlie peewees, or tlie marsh-wrens that throng the wild-
rice not twenty yards away. So much for the ornithol-
ogy of this quaint bridge.

The entomology would require a volume to exhaust ;
yet I cannot forbear brief mention of the wonderful
borings of the sturdy carpenter-bees.

Belonging also to the zoology of the bridge is the list
of fishes to be taken from a deep hole between the stone
pier and the north bank of the creek. Here the re-
mains of the ancient drawbridge make fishing somewhat
difficult, and the eager anglers hurry by to the wide
reaches of deep waters farther down the stream. In
this deep hole beneath the bridge have been caught the
largest specimens of rockfish, catfish, and perch ever
taken in the creek. So at least I have been told by
one born near by, and who for years was familiar with
the stream and those who fished in it. Of course it will
not do to indulge in fish stories, and yet, in the interest
of ichthyology, I am tempted to give some figures of
weight and measurement — am tempted, but will not
yield. Let this intimation, however, stand for an assur-
ance that the largest catfish, sunfish, and other kinds
have not yet been recorded. If museums were consid-
ered more and kitchens less, our knowledge of fishes
would be considerably advanced. Many and many a
valuable specimen has gone to the frying-pan that should
have filled a jar on the museum shelf.

This, in brief, shows how much natural history may
linger about an old country bridge. Let us now return
to the birds that frequent it and study the cliff swallows
nesting under the eaves.

12

*

274 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

As summer swallows darting tlirougli the air, or liglit-
Ij skimming tlie rippling surface of tlie sparkling waters,
this pretty species presents no peculiarity not common
to the tribe. It is its nesting habits alone that make
the bird so very interesting. Dr. Brewer states that
" the nests of this swallow, when built on the side of a
cliff or in any exposed position, are constructed in the
shape of a retort . . . since they have sought the shelter
of man and built under the eaves of barns and houses,
the old style of their nests has been greatly changed,
and the retort-like shape has nearly disappeared."

Early or late in April, for very much depends upon
rain-storms, sure to occur during this uncertain month,
the cliff swallows return. E'ot a few at a time, and day
by day the colony increasing in numbers, but promptly,
unitedly. Yesterday the bridge was silent as a tomb ;
to-day it fairly trembles with the excited chattering of
their united voices.

A word concerning early swallows. It has caused
much hasty comment to speak of swallows appearing in
New Jersey as early as March. Is a March swallow
such a vara avis f Turnbull says of the sand-martin :
" Kot uncommon on the high bank of a river or the sea-
shore, arriving early in March, and leaving about the
middle of October."

And of the white-bellied swallow the same excellent
authority remarks : " Rather plentiful. Comes late in
March, and leaves early in September."

Unlike the warblers or finches, there is no possibility
of mistaking swallows for other birds ; nor need they
be slaughtered to be identified. Any country school-

THE DRAWBRIDGE. 275

boy can tell one when lie sees it ; and when I say tliat I
have seen them in March, year after year, I mean this
and nothing more.

Perhaps the common saying, " one swallow does not
make a summer," referred originally to tliose pioneer
birds that come in advance of the main fliirht, and are
often driven away, and sometimes killed, by severe
storms that follow their arrival. But this subject need
not be pursued further. March swallows were known
to TurnbuU, and I have seen them. I regret man lias
yet no means of informing them that to visit Kew Jer-
sey in March, and to tarry until ^J'ovember, is to trans-
gress the laws of official ornithology.

To return to the pretty cliff swallows: their nests,
now no longer retort-shape, but each a semi-globular cup
of clay, are always on the south side of the barn or bridge;
or, if this is not available, a south-eastern exposure
will be accepted, provided the surroundings afford some
shelter from wind and rain. While our swallows are
somewhat sensitive to cold, none so promptly yield to a
" cold snap " as do these cliff-dwellers, or " rocky moun-
tain " swallows, as they are usually called in this neigh-
borhood. It is for this reason, I think, they so often for-
sake, suddenly and i^ermanently, a locality like a bridge
or any outbuilding. If a violent storm arises and they
are not sufficiently sheltered, they will promptly leave,
even when they have young in their nests. I have known
this to happen twice, besides the instance to bo men-
tioned with reference to the drawbridge. In the latter
case, a violent storm with wind, on July 3, 1860, so dis-
turbed the colony of swallows, which had been here every

276 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

summer since 1850, that on the morning of the fourth
not a bird was to be seen, nor have others since then
made their appearance. In this case there were young
in about one-half of the row of forty-seven nests.

This colony, which occupied the eaves of the draw-
bridge for eighteen years, did not increase in size. I was
informed by one who had w\atched them yearly, that the
first summer as many nests were built as were forsaken
in 1869. I know from personal observation that for
seven summers tlie number of nests remained the same.
This may arise from the fact that any structure like a
bridge or barn would afford but a limited amount of
space available for nest-building ; yet in the case of the
former, to my eyes, there was room for several times as
many as the birds erected.

There was no courtship among these birds after their
arrival from the south; no waste of time in idle com-
pliment ; nothing analogous to human small talk. The
long row of nests was before them, and every one
needed some repairs. About this they held no consul-
tation, but straightway commenced the work. There
was not an idle bird among them ; and strange to say,
there appeared to be no special ownership of the nests,
at least when they were being repaired. Every bird
did whatsoever he found to do, be it on this, that, or the
other nest. A week later there was a more methodical
manner observable, and each Jill may have had her
Jack, but the appearances were otherwise. I thought
at times that the male birds were considerably in excess,
and that here was a case of polyandry, but I may be mis-
taken.

THE DRAWBRIDGE. 277

My attention was called by an old observer to the
fact that, in clear weather, these swallows never alighted
upon the roof of the bridge ; but when there was a gen-
tle rain, without wind, they would line the peak of the
roof facing the storm, and chatter incessantly. They
seemed to enjoy this method of bathing more than by
dipping into the w\ater always beneath them. Later, I
found that this did not hold good of a colony of these
swallows nesting against a barn. These birds appeared
never to alight upon the roof, and when it rained clung
to the outsides of the nests, or flew about as usual, un-
less the storm was violent.

Speaking of swallows recalls the fact that the pur-
ple martins, princes of their race, have within the past
quarter of a century become less and less abundant in
this neighborhood. This has not arisen in consequence
of the removal of the boxes erected for their accommo-
dation. They were abandoned gradually, here and there
a colony, until not a twentieth part of tliose here twenty-
five years ago remain. Yery many of the old boxes are
still standing, and usually are tenanted by the pestifer-
ous foreign sparrow.

Many causes have been assigned for the withdrawal
of the martins, mostly quite untenable ones, and even
that one which is most plausible not holding good. It
has been supposed that the annual cold storm in May
proved fatal to many ; and again, by lessening for the
time beins: the amount of active insect life, the surviv-
ors became utterly discouraged. But cold storms in
May were as frequent in the last century as in this. Dr.
Benjamin Smith Barton, whom I have so frequently

278 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

quoted, writing of this bird in 1798, remarks, "I have ob-
served that several weeks after the first appearance of the
swallows in the spring, the coming on of a cold day has
occasioned in them great distress. The following fact
will strikingly illustrate what I am saying. The begin-
ning of the month of April, 1773, was unusually warm.
In the vicinity of PhiladeljDhia the clover in some of
the fields was five or six inches his^h. The martins
(Ilirundo purjnirea) were seen about the city: at this
time there came on suddenly a very severe spell of cold
weather. It destroyed many of these birds, several of
which were seen to drop down, benumbed or dead,
among the clover."

This clearly shows that no peculiarity of our climate
has caused these birds to remain away from their old-
time haunts. The reason is not known, and probably
unascertainable. It is to be classed with the changes of
habits of many other species, as the Carolina parrot,
mocking-bird, summer redbird, and sand-hill crane. Once
they were prominent features of our avi-fauna ; now they
are so no longer.

My grandfather told me, many years ago, of the sud-
den appearance here of a colony of martins. In April,
1794, a pair of sparrow-hawks nested in a hollow in the
trunk of a tall tulip-tree, and remained with their young
in and about the spot until the following autumn.
Early in April, 1795, a large number of martins made
their appearance, and finding no more suitable locality
took possession of the tulip-tree. Immediately after, a
pair of sparrow-hawks came upon the scene, and at once
disputed the right of the swallows to it. Had there

THE DRAWBRIDGE. 279

been but a pair of each, tlie contest would have ])een of
short duration, so unequally matched are hawks and
martins ; but this was a case of twenty or more to two ;
and the battle, Avhicli was bloody, ended in victory for
the smaller birds, the sparrow-hawks being driven off.

The liollow tree was occupied all that summer by the
swallows, and many young birds were reared, but they
did not return to it the following spring. In 1797 a
box was placed upon a pole for their accommodation at
the cross-roads, a short distance off, and not a summer
passed that it w\as not occupied, until ISttO, when the
martins failed to ap^^ear, and none have been seen since
in the immediate neighborhood.

It would be strange, indeed, to find even a country
bridge an aviary, and yet we have seen already that this
one has an instructive ornithological history. The w^rens
and peewees have already been mentioned, but one bird-
feature of the structure remains to be noted. For years
a pair of barn-swallows have found a convenient nook
beneath the roof, and have never yet been disturbed by
prowling urchins bent upon destruction. These barn
swallows, the most beautiful and graceful of the fam-
ily, were never disturbed by the eave-dwellers, although
always associated during the day. I had abundant op-
portunity to compare their flight with that of the oth-
ers, and found it to be more rapid and artistic. They
could curve, dive, mount upward, reverse their flight,
and fantastically tumble in mid-air, with greater pre-
cision and command of wing than the eave-dwellers,
and certainly were less often at rest. Dr. Barton states
that the Mohegan Indians call the martin "pons-pau-

280 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

cloo-moose : the "bird that never rests." The name is
much more applicable to the barn swallow. While rest-
ing one siuiny afternoon in the shadow of the bridge,
my attention was called to these birds, and I noticed
that they dipped into the water very frequently, and
always at one spot, where the wild - rice grew closely
to the edge of the channel. Believing that they were
in search of food, I concealed myself in the rice and
watched the birds as well as circumstances would allow.
Their movements were too quick to enable one to be
positive, but I think they ^^artly dived rather than mere-
ly dipped, and caught each time a very small fish ; for
at this place there were literally thousands of minute
minnows crowding a limited space, and so near the sur-
face of the water as to faintly ripple it.

The impenetrable tangle of blackberry briers, dwarfed
trees, wild-rose, and smilax that covers much of the bank
on the creek's north shore below the bridge is a favorite
locality for winter sparrows, and so too of shrikes. Were
the latter more abundantly represented a century ago
than now ? In an interesting letter from the Moravian
missionary Heckewelder to Dr. Barton, dated December
18, 1795, I find the following : " I went to a farm . . .
to visit a young orchard . . . where on viewing the
trees I found, to my great astonishment, almost on every
one of them one, and on some two and three grasshop-
pers, stuck down on the sharp thorny branches, which
were not pruned when the trees were planted. I . . .
was informed that these grasshoppers were stuck up by
a small bird of prey which the Germans called Nexin-
toedter . . . that this bird had a practice of catching

TOE DRAWBRIDGE. 281

and sticking np nine grasshoppers a day, and that, as he
well knew they did not devour the grasshopper nor any
other insects, he thought they must do it for pleasure."

This quotation is suggestive in more ways than one.
Certainly no such abundant evidences of the shrikes are
now to be met with, and Mr. Ileckewelder's experience
in the orchard implies that they were very abundant
about Bethlehem (in eastern Pennsylvania) when he
wrote, for no one bird would have visited every tree in
a comparatively small enclosure. Again, our northern
shrike is not here now, nor is it about Bethlehem, moun-
tainous region as it is, when large grasshoppers are abun-
dant. The latter have generally disappeared prior to
the arrival of the shrikes, nine-killers, or butcher-birds,
as they are variously called.

On the other hand, the mention of grasshoppers as the
prey of, if not food of, the shrikes, suggests the southern
species, which may have been as constant a summer vis-
itor as the other is during winter, and even more abun-
dant. If so, a change took place about the time that
Ileckewelder wrote — ninety years ago — in its habits, and
it ceased to come north, as we have seen other migrants
have ceased to do since then. Very recently, however,
they have returned, and in the interests of the anti-Eng-
lish sparrow clubs, let us hope their numbers will stead-
ily increase.

This August afternoon was peculiarly quiet. The
hum of many insects was to be heard only by careful
listening, so subdued was every sound. Scarcely a bird
chirped, and few were to be seen. It may seem a rather

282 WASTE-LAND WAXDERINGS.

startling assertion, but an August day in the bird- world
is more apt to be silent than a day in January. "With
the wind blowing at the rate of thirty miles an hour, the
air thick with falling flakes of snow, and the temper-
ature 20° Fahr. or less, one is, perhaps naturally, dis-
posed to stay in-doors, and to take it for granted that
the entire bird-world is of a like way of thinking ; but
herein mankind sadly errs ; for even during such days,
both in the woods and fields, there are birds and birds.
As a proof of this, one need only mention crows and
snow-birds ; but I am not speaking ironically, but sober-
ly, discreetly, cautiously, when I say that our woods, at
least in midwinter, often contain as many species, usu-
ally even more individuals, than in midsummer, and al-
most equal the early spring when the northward troop-
ing warblers throng every nook and corner, even to the
very outskirts of the town. The merit of the pudding
is the presence of the plums, and winter is by no means
a fruitless batter if there be birds among the boughs.

Early in the winter there is pretty sure to come rain
after rain, and often snow upon snow ; and if succeeding
these we have a wide-reaching rain-storm, the snows are
melted, the river swollen, and a freshet results. The
gently sloping banks of the creek here at the bridge of-
fer no barrier to the encroaching waters, and the narrow
stream becomes for a time a noble river in every feat-
ure except depth.

A freshet, whether it happens in summer or winter,
is a thoroughly enjoyable and instructive occurrence;
but is peculiarly attractive in winter if followed by
freezing weather. I can recall several such during the

THE DRAWBRIDGE. 283

past decade, when firm ice offered a safe footliold over
every rod of tlie treaclierous marslies. Tangled nooks
in the boggy meadows, familiar only to the heron and
wary mallard, are now open to all comers, and we can
boldly explore where before we liave not ventured to
approach. Bat it is not of these in all their varied as-
pects that I have now to speak. Beyond the flooded
meadows, now a field of ice, along the steep north bank
are sheltered crannies, where there is sure to be found
abundant warmth, light, color, and music. Even if
there be no birds within sight or hearing it is all the
same, scattered everywhere are half acres of emerald set
in miles of crystal.

The background of glistening snow, flecked only by
faint shadows, gives cheerful prominence to the leafless
branches of w^inter-berry, crowded to the tips of tlieir
tiniest twigs with brilliant scarlet fruit. The dark, taper-
ing spires of the cedar are as green and gloomy as in
June. The varied lichens still clothe many a tree-trunk
with a motley gray-green garb. The intricate maze of
the smilax is as fresh as when its s]3ring-time growth
first twined and twisted upon itself until both begin-
ning and end were irrecoverably lost. The white-oaks
still flutter and rattle their dusty golden leaves in every
passing breeze. Beneath the sheltering branches of tall-
er growths trim sassafras sprouts still keep their dark-
green, lengthy, leathery leaves, as rich in color and in
freshness as ferns at the flood-tide of summer sunshine.
Surely there is no lack of color.

The ice, fashioned fantastically by the deft fingers of
Frost, yields to the searching rays of the noontide sun,

284 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

and is now dripping from tlie moss, the dead grass, and
overhanging banks of frozen earth, and every drop tin-
kles with bell-like music as it strikes the pebbles beneath,
and its shattered glories are lost in the rippling brook.
This, w^itli the rustling of crisp leaves and sighing of the
wind, will it not suffice for music ?

Add to these the birds, and we have the jubilee. I
have been present at scores of them in a single winter.
Omitting all reference to hawks and owls, although these
are very far from being devoid of interest, let me recall,
while I sit in the shadow of the bridge, those birds that
I have seen here and hereabouts every winter since I
systematically rambled in search of them.

There are robins, of course. jSTot a j)oor straggler
now and tlien in search of its fellows, but hale, hearty
birds, full of song even, and never disheartened because
the frozen sod no longer yields them an abundance of
earthworms. The berries of the cedar, and what they
left in the autumn of the gumberries, afford them suffi-
cient food, and so no cause to complain have they.

Kestless, rambling, rollicking bluebirds. Be it clear
or cloudy, they come and go with as much uncertainty
as the weather. To-day a hundred perch upon the stakes
of worm-fences, warbling their May-day songs, and chas-
ing imaginary insects in the clear cold air — to-morrow
not one is to be seen. Xor have they merely hidden
in some secluded corner. They have taken a fairly long
journey, and will return, not in accordance with the
weather, waiting for a mild day, but always following
the whim of the moment, instead of, like so many birds,
the dictation of Jack Frost.

THE DRAWBRIDGE. 285

Tlicn there are the two kinglets, wren-like in all their
ways ; wee bits of impatience, wrapped in light-brown
feathers. They climb and twitter among the tall trees,
and at times dip down to the very ground to snap their
little beaks in the cat's-ears ; then, clutching a twig, will
sometimes warble a bar or two of some half-forgotten
summer song before mounting to the tall tree's very
top and launching into dreary space, regardless alike of
wind or rain, of sleet or snow.

Two titmice — cheerful birds the world would sadly
miss ; the lordly tomtit, with his jaunty crest ; the merry
chickadee — the former making the Avoods ring with his
earnest invitation to ramble therein : here — here — here !
the latter ever winsome as it chirps, in more subdued
tones, chiclc-a-dee-dee — dee-dee; icinter no terror has for
me— for me.

Titmice will never allow you to be lonely if you walk
in the woods. They are honestly pleased with your
presence, and mean every chirp and twitter as a hearty
welcome. They will follow you at times, and when
they flit from bush to bush it is not to avoid you, but
lead you on — guide you to the pleasant places, to the
tallest trees, the warmest, cosiest corners. Evolution
did itself honor in producing such a bird.

And we have two nuthatches — marked features of a
winter day. They are near cousins, creatures of like
tastes, and, happily, never at loggerheads. One has a
niddy waistband — if a bird has a waist — the other is
clad beneath in white; by this you may know them.
All day long, and even far into the moonlight night,
these birds clatter over the crisp, frost-nipped bark of

286 WASTE-LAND AVANDERIXGS.

the forest-trees, uttering, witli scarcely a trace of varia-
tion in their tones, qioauTc-quanh — tat-a-tat. In every
phase of winter it is all the same with them ; the mer-
cury may creep to zero, they will only creep a little
faster ; and going the rounds of the door-yard trees they
never stop to ask if it is tiresome, but greet you, as
they did the first man who wintered in America, with a
strongly nasal qxianlc-qxian'k — tat-a-tat^ all of which no
ornithologist has as yet been able to interpret.

We have also the very pretty brown tree-creeper —
curious grub -hunter of two continents. He chatters
alike to European and American ; and although famil-
iar with so much of the world, is positively happy away
off here in the benighted region of central I^ew Jersey.
Like the kinglets, the creeper will pause in his wild
career and sing exquisitely ; not at the close of winter,
or in deceptive, spring-like days, merelj^, but in Janu-
ary, with its ice and snow, north winds and arctic cold.
These but stir him to action, and I have often heard his
cheering song during such bitter days that even the tit-
mice clung to the sunny sides of the oaks.

Of the Carolina wren I must speak with caution. He
is such a favorite I fear I may exaggerate his merits.
This splendid bird is not so ready, as a creeper, to face
a cutting north wind, yet is never a coward. Only give
him a ghost of a chance and he will sing such songs in
January as those wath which his summer cousin, the
house- wren, charms the world in June. Like others I.
have mentioned, his spirits often rise with the grow-
ing violence of an approaching storm, and far above
the wind whistling through the leafless branches of the

THE DRAWBRIDGE. 287

wood could be lieard tlie Carolina wren's clear call of
defiance, mocking the rage of an angry winter day.

And how dillerent the smaller winter wren! — shy,
wood -haunting, thicket -loving, silent, and so, to very
many, even though they are often abroad, unseen, un-
suspected, quite unknown. Ilis close acquaintance is
well worth making, and I can promise that his many
pleasant ways will cause the rambler to forget the usual
drawbacks of a winter walk. The winter wren only
chirps at this season, it is true ; but it is such a hearty,
ringing chirp that it may well pass for a song ; accept-
able, because it appears to be uttered for your pleasure
as much as for the bird's. I have said it was a shy
bird : it is shy of approaching us and our ordinary sur-
roundings ; but go to its home in the retired nooks and
corners of the wood, and it will not fear you ; indeed,
in an hour's time it may become quite familiar.

Another winter bird, and one of both great beauty
and accomplishments, is the horned lark. You are not
treated to a glimpse of one merely, nor a meagre dozen,
but of a hundred. They are never in the woods, even
during violent storms, but out in the open fields. Pos-
sibly you may have to tramp knee-deep to find them,
but if you do, the walk will never be regretted. I have
so often mentioned these larks that I can only name
them now.

But a word concerning the pipit. In him we have a
lark, a splendid songster, and altogether a bird of many
attractions, even were it mute ; yet far and near, both
in town and country, my neighbors do not know it.
Pipits come in October, scattering about the least fre-

288 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

qnented fields, always on the ground, or flitting, like
wind-tossed feathers, from j^lace to place. Like horned
larks, they are strictly upland birds ; at least I have nev-
er seen a specimen on the meadoAVS or along the river
shore. This, however, is inapplicable to them when in
more southern localities.

When pij^its are carefully approached they will main-
tain a safe distance by running, and if confident of your
innocent intentions in drawing near, will often entertain
you with a delightful song. It is a clear, flute-like war-
ble, moderately varied, and seldom are the repetitions
quite the same.

My experience makes them a bird of our open win-
ters, lovers of dead grass and frost-nipped weeds, and
never, like horned larks or arctic buntings, rejoicing in
polar temperature and boundless reaches of untrodden
snow.

In winter, as well as at other times, we have with us
cedar-birds in abundance — every one trim as a dandy,
neat as a shining pin. They are too lazy or too particular
to sing, and it is said, probably with truth, that they die
of nervous shock if their plumage be soiled. They never
associate with others than their own kind, and under no
circumstances are they demonstrative. I would be glad
to become an enthusiast in their praises could I learn
their merits. I fear they are but feather-deep; still I
am thankful that they bear me out in my assertion that
a birdless winter is a mere figment of the imagination.

Another feature of our woods in winter is the shrike,
the foe of song-birds, but particularly a pursuer of the
omnipresent tree-sparrow. It is a bird that suggests an

THE DRAWBRIDGE. 289

essay, not a paragrapli. Much as I liato him, I liavc
one word in his favor. His presence proves that otlicr
birds abound. The slirike hates an uncertainty, and
keej^s a well -stocked larder ever before him. Is he
crouching in some tall tree ? The sparrows throng the
tangled smilax at its base.

Although surly his countenance as an angry hawk,
yet at times it lightens wp ; he sits up well upon his
perch, spreads his tail, and gives his pretty wings a
shake ; looks almost as gentle as a nesting thrush, and
attemj^ts a song. I doubt if his mate, even, ever toler-
ates its repetition. A lamer effort at vocal music I have
never heard, even among mankind.

And now we come to a long list of winter finches.
All the world knows that in winter we have snow-birds.
Some one has sung,

"Better far, all yes! than no bird
Is the ever-present snow-bird ;
Gayly tripping, dainty creature,
"Where the snow hides every feature;
Covers fences, field, and tree,
Clothes in white all things but thee;
Restless, twittering, trusty snow-bird,
Lighter heart than thine has no bird."

But does all the world know as much of our other finch-
es, the many sparrows of our " much be-sjiarrowed coun-
try ?" If one dare brave the north wind, there is a pine-
finch in store for him somewhere among the gloomy
evergreens ; and pine-finches are birds worth seeing, even
with the temperature at zero. Purple finches, too, in
flocks of several dozens, come trooping southward as our

la

290 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

days grow short, and often sing merrily when in Janu-
ary there comes a royally bright day, filled with sweet
winter sunshine. More ruddy finches haunt the cedars
now, and two cross-bills, near akin, and alike in all their
habits, climb like parrots, twitter like sparrows, and weary
of gymnastics, hurry out of sight, to be gone, it may be,
until another year rolls by.

Early and late, wherever trees are tall and weeds have
been left for forage grounds, the pretty linnets are sure
'to be found. If not to-day, to-morrow; if not this
week, next. Like all winter birds, save half a dozen,
they are delightfully uncertain. If you see them when
you walk, count it good -luck; if not, repeat your ram-
bles until you have met them. That lemon-yellow and
black finch that fed in summer on thistle-down, floated
up and down as it flew, and twittered with every undu-
lation, is now in a russet suit, and comes and goes in
flocks of a dozen or a hundred, as the case may be. A
near relative, the pine -finch, is now here, also, and in
voice and habits they are as nmcli alike as peas from
the same pod. They chirp and twitter so earnestly that
we listen w4th pleasure, even though they are high over-
head, and we must bend our necks to see them dotting
the naked branches of the tallest trees.

Coming back to the ground, if there has been a snow,
one may count upon the arctic buntings. More beauti-
ful birds it is seldom one's fortune to see ; and seen at
their best are they wdien trooping over the snow, seed-
hunting among the upreaching stems of the tall weeds.

With them, it may be, will occur one or more Laj)land
long-spurs. Count it a red-letter day if you chance to

THE DRAWBRIDGE. 291

see one. Many a flock of snow -buntings lias one or
more long-spurs, I am sure ; but it is no easy task to
single them out. I well remember the first and only
flock of them I ever saw. It was a wild March day, and
far more wintry than had been any of the days in Feb-
ruary. I was crossing a wide field, covered with a thin
and ragged sheet of snow. Up from the weeds they
rose, like frightened larks, and sailing past me but lit-
tle .above my head, they twittered, one and all, most
musically.

I stood watching them for several minutes, when they
returned and settled very near their former feeding-
ground. I approached cautiously, down upon all fours,
and got near enough to see them plainly. There could
be no mistake, they were long-spurs. But I need not
have been so painstaking. As I flushed them the second
time, one of them sang while on the wing. There was
no mistaking that ; no other of our winter birds has so
sweet and artistic a song.

Not even the hio-hest and widest of snow-drifts can
drive a grass-finch from his native field. If needs be, it
will burrow under it, and find many a meal of grass
seed where other finches would starve. For years they
puzzled me, but at last I learned their secret. AVhen
an unusual snow-fall occurs, the finches take refuge in
the anirles of the old worm-fences, and the bottom rail
is sure to afford some shelter unless the drift forms here.
From this vantage-ground the bird will work beneath
the snow for several feet, and get at seed-bearing weeds
that are cpiite hidden from birds flying over the fields.
Let some such strange weather occur that every other

292 WASTE-LAXD WANDERINGS.

bird would be driven away ; I believe even then tlie
grass-finch would not be dislodged.

Again, from autumn to S2:)ring we have white-throated
sparrows that sing loudly if not well; and rarer to a
degree, the even prettier white- crowned finch. Whether
in the woods or fields, upland or meadow, it matters not,
from October to April we are sure of these splendid
representatives of the sparrow tribe.

And escape, if you can, the myriads of tree-sparrows.
Over the snow they trip, as blithely as an arctic bunting,
chirping pleasing notes at times, and ridding the winter's
day of every semblance of dreariness. Not only here in
treeless tracts, but up in the woods they are alike abun-
dant ; often in flocks of a hundred of their owm kind,
and not less frequently associated with birds of other
species. When, as at winter, one does not expect elab-
orate love-songs, the united voices of scores of tree-spar-
rows are very welcome to the rambler's ear.

The social chipping sparrow does not always forsake
us in winter, and the song -sparrow braves our coldest
weather. They are now a bird of the w^illow hedges, in
the marshes, and of smilax along the meadow fences.
Here it is w^armer than about the uplands, and so, find-
ing warmth and food in abundance, they remain until
nesting-time comes round again.

The fox-colored sparrow, largest and most beautiful
of them all, is ever a feature of our winter landscape,
and once seen, he is not likely to be forgotten ; and when,
as the winter closes, he sings among the hedge-rows, he
is certain to remain in the memory of all who hear him.

With still another finch the long list closes ; for hap-

THE DRAWBRIDGE. • 293

py are we in tlie presence of the acknowledged leader
of the winter's choir, the brave and brilliant carduial.

Bat let me give my country all her due ; for there are
yet other winter birds. The cow-bird, strange creature,
'with its gurgling rattle, can in nowise be omitted ; and
then the tuneful meadow-lark, that hidden aloft whistles
half a day, yet is seen by no one. The purple grakle
comes and goes, ever hoarse with overmuch chattering,
and the only one of all I have mentioned meriting the
charge of being tiresome. On the other hand, those
equally noisy birds of the marshes, the red-winged black-
birds, are always welcome, the more so when their pleas-
ant notes come floating over acres of dreary, ice-bound
meadows.

Less musical than even a jay is our screaming, harsli-
tongued kingfisher, and he, also, is no stranger in the
land, even at Christmas, and at such a time his coarse
rattling accords fairly w^ell with the noise of chafing, icy
branches stirred by the wintry winds.

"Well the kingfisher knows the treacherous spring-
holes in the meadows where frost fails in its handiwork
and hosts of minnows linger until " April unlocks the
icy rill."

It is ours, too, to boast of five or six woodpeckers, all
of which, while having next to nothing to say, are so
noisy at their work of tapping trees that we hear them
often when they elude our search.

Lastly, in steps the chattering jay, quick-witted cousin
of the cunning crow, and what he lacks in musical talent
he endeavors to compensate the rambler for in vigorous
declamation.

294 WASTE-LAXD WANDERINGS.

Let me recapitulate. An ordinary lialf-mile stroll be-
yond tlie city limits may enable you to see forty or more
species of birds — possibly fifty. Fully one-half of them
will be in flocks. Many will cluster in the thick-set ce-
dars ; others will be scattered over the weedy fields.
Hundreds delight to lurk in the angles of a zigzag fence ;
others come boldly to the front and bid you welcome.

Divide these many winter birds in another manner,
and we shall find that fully one-half may claim to be
songsters ; and better than all else, none are lazy, moping
noodles, as are so many summer birds when the noon-
tide heat is tropical, but, on the contrary, every feather
of them is awake, alive, ready for fight or fun, and bub-
bling over with melody or loquacity.

Do you really think, then, a January jubilee a myth ?
The midwinter morning I was last here, the temperature
was as low as ten, and never above twenty, degrees — that
is, take the wliole range of the fields and woods — but
tlien scattered about were warmer, sheltered nooks, and
such are the concert-halls affected by our winter song-
sters.

One doesn't buy a ticket for the roof when he goes to
the opera. Why look for birds, then, on the north side
of a hill ? I found them yesterday on a sunny slope, and
tarrying a bit I heard them.

The clear call of the crested tit opened the concert.
The abundant tree-sparrows twittered ; kinglets trilled
a merry roundelay ; snow-birds chirped ; a cardinal per-
f ormedi an inimitable solo ; and to all the downy wood-
pecker was alike attentive, and drummed a tuneful ac-
companiment on the most resonant tree in all the woods.

THE DRAWBRIDGE. 295

Then an interlude. ]^ot mournful silence either, keep-
ing one sadly shivering as the wind swept by, but only
a brief waiting until a host of linnets dropped among
the trees and sang a sweet hymn of thankfulness that
such sunny nooks as tliis were vouchsafed by kindly
IS'ature to our winter birds. Yet no sooner does No-
vember roll around than the poet's corner of the coun-
try weeklies, and the essayists' pages of tlie pretentious
journals, teem with regrets at the sad silence of our woods
in winter, or gush with nonsense about dreary snow-clad
fields. Out upon such rot !

A somewhat strikinc; feature of the creek shore near
the bridge is the number of large catalpas, or Indian
bean-trees. My neighbors persist in calling them " ca-
tawbas," and the boys say " candle-trees." In spite of
its short-lived attraction when in bloom, it can scarcely
be considered a fine growth. Its large leaves are coarse,
the long seed-pods suggestive of broken and withered
twigs. It has one peculiarity worthy of mention : except
the hornbeam, no native tree is so apt to have angular
branches. In one that I can see from the boat, every
branch is either straight or bent at right angles. In one
instance a long bough grows horizontally for some ten
feet, then extends directly earthward for nearly three,
when it turns inward, and grows horizontally towards
the tree's trunk. Nothing in the present surroundings
of the tree could have intiuenced this peculiar method
of growth, hence our constant wonder why it should be
so. Gray speaks of this tree as a southern species, and
refers to its introduction into the northern States. If

296 WASTE-LAND WANDERIXGS.

introduced and not native to JSTew Jersey, the planting
of the first specimens must have been long ago. I have
positive knowledge of two that have shaded a little front
yard since 1739 ; and is not this tree referred to when, in
a deed bearing date of 1089, an " Indian bean-tree " is
mentioned? After the first quarter of a century the
growth appears to be very slow, and yet one that I was
forced to cut down some years ago had one hundred
and twenty-seven well-defined rings, and measured two
feet one inch in diameter.

Considering that since earliest colonial times catalpas
have been common, and are now an abundant forest-
tree, it is probable that in central New Jersey the tree
is native and not introduced. One strong proof of this
is, I think, the fact that about a half mile from here
there was, a century ago, a half-acre grove of very large
catalpas. Their value as fence-posts was then known,
and they were felled for that purpose. Many of the
posts lasted sixty years, and one large gate-post was not
w^iolly decayed when removed twenty years later. This
is a better record as fencing material than that of the
yellow locust.

As I was looking towards the crooked catalpa this af-
ternoon, I saw issuing from it a blue- jay, chased by a
score of smaller birds which it had doubtless been an-
noying. Jays are never happy except when in mis-
chief, but as there are no birds' -nests now to rob, I can-
not imagine his offence.

Under date of August 25th, Dr. Benjamin Smith Bar-
ton makes this curious entry in his field notes : " About
this time the Corvus cristatus, called Blue-j ay, having

THE DRAWBRIDGE. 297

reared its young, appears in great numbers, waiting for
the nuts of the Beech, Chinkapin, and Chestnut to feed
upon when ripe, and to store them ujy in its lolnter qiiar-
tersP Who of Late years has seen a jay's magazine of
nuts, carefully stored for winter use? I take it this is
a fancy on the part of the author, or a common impres-
sion then rife, but none the less erroneous. These birds,
with all their cunning, are not so provident as this im-
plies. Could they have been seen in winter, foraging
on the supplies laid up by mammals, and so got the
credit of storing for themselves \ This is not improba-
ble.

All this while I have been sitting in the boat, and
quite unmindful of the world beneath me ; but a loud
splashing recalled the fact that the waters teemed with
life, and lookins; in the direction of the noise, I saw a
great number of small fishes rippling the water from
shore to shore. It was a brood or hatching of young
shad, wandering here to their certain destruction rather
than making a seaward course down the river. Every
perch and rockfish was aware of their presence, and on
the alert to snap them up. They soon passed by, bound
up the creek, and the waters were again undisturbed.
Looking down into the stream near the pier, I could see
small sunfish darting at, to me, unseen objects directly
in front of them ; and when I moved, they quickly dart-
ed into crevices among the large stones of the pier.
Their vision serves them well, so far as seeing enemies,
supposed or real, above the water. How fishes with
eyes placed on the sides of their heads can see directly

298 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

in front of them probably lias puzzled a good many
people. A recent exj^lanation, which does not, howev-
er, differ from that of the older ichthyologists, but is
couched in simple, non-technical terms, runs as follows :

" If a line extending through the centre of the pupil
to the centre of the retina were the actual axis of vision,
then such lateral-eyed fishes as the freshwater sunfishes
would have separate fields of vision ; but I am convinced
that the true axis extends through the anterior margin
of the ovate pupil to the posterior side of the retina.
The spot of most distinct vision is this posterior portion
of the retina, and on this spot the images formed in both
eyes coincide.

" When the fish is quietly swimming in the water, this
true axis is directed horizontally forward. This is true
whether the fish has its body horizontal or not. The
movement of the eyeball, to retain a horizontal direc-
tion of the true visual line, is a rotating one on the ap-
parent optical axis ; the rotation of the ball is not very
noticeable, except in those fishes that have a dark band
across the eye. One of those best marked for this pur-
pose is the black-banded sunfish. There are quite a num-
ber of species marked with distinctness enough to show
the rotation well, and the movement is an interesting
one to watch. When the body of the fish is almost per-
pendicular, the eye retains its natural horizontal direc-
tion ; this is true whether the fish is swimming oblique-
ly upward or downward.

" The medium in which fresh-water fishes live gives
them a chance to see a great distance only in the hori-
zontal direction, and the proper adjustment of the eye

THE DRAWBRIDGE. 299

would mate, under usual conditions, the optical axis take
this direction. To me it seems impossible to exphiin the
constant revolution of the eyeball on any otlier hypoth-
esis except that given, viz., that the optical axis extends
forward instead of sidewise.

" When a fish wishes to eat anything, either at the bot-
tom of the pond or at the surface of the water, it swims
directly towards the object ; and in this case the eyes are
instantly adjusted in line with the body, so as to bring
the image of the particle desired upon the posterior por-
tion of the retina. In this case they lose their usual
liorizontal position.

"If a fish wishes to turn to the right or left in the wa-
ter, the first movement is that of the eyes in unison with
the direction of the turning. This would be entirely
unnecessary if the apparent axis was the axis of most
distinct vision, as one of the eyes would see all that was
to be seen on the side of the turning. After this move-
ment of the eyes the body turns enough to bring the
eyes into their normal position ; then there is again a
movement of the eyes, and next a movement of the
body. This causes a peculiar jerking motion of the eye-
balls during the whole time of the turning of the body."

The little sunfish that I had been noticing made ex-
cellent use of their wits as well as eyes, and eluded my
best-laid schemes to capture them. They knew perfect-
ly well that when in the crevices of the pier they were
safe, and that safety was an uncertainty under any or-
dinary circumstances. I waited many minutes for them
to reappear, and found that they only purposed showing
themselves after due precautions had been taken. They,

800 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS.

at first, only peeped out and upward, and if I made the
sliglitest movement away tliey went. At last I suc-
ceeded in refraining even from a wink, and very slowly
they emerged from their stony caverns ; but even now
they would not venture beyond a few inches from the
pier, and watched for movements on my part rather
than food. Tliese mere mites of fishes, scarcely three
months old, had wise heads on their shoulders. How
the old naturalists could suppose a fish passed a mere
mechanical existence is indeed a puzzle. Did they nev-
er see living fish ?

Quantities of eels kept passing in full view, all going
up the creek. They were quite uniform in size, meas-
uring perhaps a foot in length. I should be glad to
know their errand, but it is too late in the day to follow
them. Were they larger, and in shallower waters, prob-
ably they might be heard. A kindly disposed critic,
referring to my essay on the voices of fresh-water fishes,
says : " We own that we should much like to listen, on a
still summer evening, to a nocturne performed by a
school of catfish." So should I ; and if by remaining
to-night upon the creek I might be so fortunate, I should
certainly stay ; but the difficulty rests here. The vocal
power of a catfish, if I mistake not, consists of but a
faint humming sound, seldom if ever uttered except
during the breeding season. It is otherwise with the
eels ; they pipe a single, half-metallic note at frequent
intervals, and quite as often in August as in early spring.
Most unsatisfactory, indeed, it is, as I know to my sorrow,
to wait for hours until the eels have congregated and all
seems favorable, and then bull-frogs in the marshes, katy-

THE DRAWBRIDGE. 301

dids in the trees, and crickets everywliere, commence
their fearf al racket, drowning every other sound. Often
and often I have had good grounds for believing that I
should be treated to a nocturne performed by a fish, or a
school of them, and such has been the result. Particu-
larly disgusting is such an experience when you have
brought a sceptical friend with you. He says provok-
ingly little, but seems busy at measuring the length,
breadth, and depth of your imagination. Often, when
I have failed through such mishaps to hear the fishes
that I knew were singing, I have, to misquote Tom

Ilood,

Brought down my oar with a sudden slam

That sounded like a watery " damn."

In conclusion, I clip the following from a recent
magazine; its perusal gave me pleasure. The writer,
who is wandering in Florida, writes : "What impressed
me strongly were the mysterious sounds coming from
the inland waters during this cruise. I had been scep-
tical as to vocal fish, but to-day I have not the least hes-
itancy in declaring that fish have voices which are just
as distinguishable as if a man were singing in the room
where I am writing. Now, I had been quite aware that
certain fish (you can catch them off New York Harbor
and all along the coast) emit sounds when out of their
element, but I have never heard them before in the
w\ater. When off the Ten Thousand Islands, every quiet
evening, for hours together, strange sounds were heard.
Now they would burst forth on one side of the schooner,
now on the other. Some fish was singing a solo for
our benefit." And from another publication I clip the

302 WASTE-LAND WiVXDERINGS.

following, likewise for tlie benefit of those wlio doubt
that certain fishes have voices : " The white perch of the
Ohio are noted for the musical sounds they make. The
sound is much like that produced by a silk thread placed
in a window where the wind blows across it."

There is a gentle breeze that tiptoes by, an hour be-
fore sunrise, not rudely chilling animal or plant, but
softly rouses each from its shimber, kisses it "good-
morning," and is gone. It fanned my cheek as 1 passed
over the meadow, hurrying to my boat.

As light a zephyr has rippled the waters at intervals
this afternoon, with no intimation of its coming until the
smooth surface was streaked with steel-blue bands that
noiselessly shot from shore to shore, and as silently dis-
appeared. I chanced in the path of one, and found it
laden with the sweet odor of ripening fox-grapes.

The day closes. The shadows gather about the an-
cient bridge and soften its uncouth shapeleseness until
it is but a cloud in the horizon. My pleasant outings
upon the creek are now but treasures of memory. "With
the perfumed breath of ripened summer, the song of a
dreaming bird, and the flush of the evening breeze to
cheer me, let me hurry away,

"Nor cast one longing, lingering look behind."

INDEX.

Acer riibrum, 103.

Acqienser sturio, 108,142, 146, 220.

Adder's - tongue {Erythronium

Americanuni), 117.
Estivation among mammals, 180.
Agelaius phmmceus, 49,195, 223.
Alauda alpestris, 175, 287.

" rubra, 175, 287.
Alder {Ahius serrulata), 124.
Alisma plantago, 85.
Alnus serrulata, 124.
Alosa sapidissinia, 105, 108, 142.
Amber, Occurrence of, in Cross-
wicks valley, 163.
America," "Travels in, La Hon-

tan's, 157.
American Naturalist, quoted, 87,

129.
Amiurus catus, 108, 273.
Ampelis cedrorum, 49.
Ampelopsis quinquefoUa, AA, 200,

205, 256.
Amphicarpcea monoica, 85.
Anas boschas, 283.
Anemone nemorosa, 117.
Anguilla rostrata, 254, 300.
Animals, Inquisitiveaess among,

12.
Anne, The shallop, 225.
Anthus ludovicianus, 175, 287.
Antrostomus vociferus, 11, 220.

Ants, 36.

" brood of winged, 86, 88.
Apios tuberosa, 66, 271.
Apis mellifica, 16, 195, 241.
Araneina, 36.
Arctomys monax, 251.
Ardea herodiaSy 129, 177.

Armcola riparia, 135, 200, 203.
Audubon, J. J., quoted, 118.

Baltimore oriole {Icterus balti-

more), 57, 198, 237.
Barton, Benj. Smith, on migration

of birds, quoted, 174, 277, 279,

296.
Bartram, John, quoted, 67.

William. " 174.
Bascanion constrictor, 147, 264.
Bates, Henry W., on habits of

Saiiba ants, quoted, 89.
Bats ( Vefipertilionida'), ^Estivation

of, 183.
Bats, 261.
Beaver -tree {Magnolia glauca),

147.
Beech (Fagusferruginea), 297.
Bee-martiu {Tyrannus carolinen-

sis), 172.
Bell -wort {Tlvularia perfoliata),

117.
Betula nigra, 38, 68, 103.
Bill -fish {Tylosurus longirostris),

217
l^\vc\\ {Betula nigra), 38, 68, 103.
Bird, Yellow (Chrysomitris tris-

ti.s), 51.

Birds, Color sense of, 40.
" Migration of, 173, 178.
" Quarrels among. 12.

Bittern, Great {Botaurus lentigi-
nosus), 127.

Bitter - sweet {Solanuni dulcama-
ra), 65.

Blackberry {Bubus villosus), 111,
256, 280.

304

INDEX.

Blackbird, Red- winged (Agelaius

jyhoiniceus), 49, 195, 223.
Black-capped tit {Parus atricapil-

lus), 285.
Bluebird {Sialia slal is), oO,2o5,2Q2,

284.
Bluet (Hbusfoni'a ccerulea), 117.
Boleosoma Olmstedi, 210.
Bonaparte, C. L., 18.
Boneset {Eupatorium perfolia-

tuiii), 79.
Bordentown, New Jersey, 171,

176, 187, 208.
Botaurus lenUginosus, 127.
Bowlders, 64.

Brainerd, John. Indian mission-
ary, quoted, 235.
Branta canadensis. 9, 126, 144.
Brasenia peltata, 215.
Brewer, Tlios. M., 55, 88, 172, 274.
Brinton, Dr. D. G., on Delaware

Indian idols, quoted, 236.
Bristol, Pennsylvania, porpoises

seen near, 215.
Bubo virginianus, 145.
Bufo americaniis, 81.
Bull-frog {Rana Catesbyana), 11,

200.
Bunting, Bay - winged {Pocecetes

gramineiis), 51, 203.
Burlington, New Jersey, 68, 146,

215.
Burrows of mammals, bow con-
structed, 245.
Butler, Amos W., on animal weath-
er-lore, quoted, 23.
Butterflies, Migrations of, 80.
Butterfly Plexippus (Danais plex-

ippus), 79.
Butterfly, Red admiral {Vanessa

atalanta)^ 79.
Butternut {Juglans cinerea), 68,

145.
Button -bush {Ceplialanthus occi-

de?ifalis), 66, 85, 133.
Button-wood {Platanus occidenia-

lis), 103.
Buzzard, Turkey {Cathartes aura\

42, 176.
Buzzard's Rest, 21, 38.

Caltha 2Kdustris, 118.
Calystegia sepiuni, 66.
Campanius, Thomas, historian of

"New Sweden," quoted, 165,

214, 271.
Canis lupus, 145.
Cardinal-grosbeak {Cardinalis vir-

ginianus), 34, 53, 97, 293, 294.
Cardinalis virginianus, 34, 53, 97,

293, 294.
Carpenter-bee {Xylocopa nrgin-

ica), 265.
Carpiiius aniericanus, 2, 3, 38, 68,

200.
Carpodacus purpicreus, 289.
Carya alba, 145.

" porcina, 2, S8,QS.
Castanea pumila, 145, 198, 256,

297.
Castanea vesca, 146, 271, 297.
Cat, Domestic, as a weather proph-
et, 30.
Catalpa (Catalpa bignonioides), 82,

257, 295.
Cat -bird {Galeoscopt.es carolinen-

sis), 56, 105, 109, 206.
Catfish {Amiurus catus), 108, 273.
" Stone {Noturus gyrinus),

59.
Cathartes aura, 42, 176.
Cat-tail {Typha latifolia), 137.
Cedar -bird {Ampelis cedrorum),

49.
Celastrus scandens, 78.
Centaury (Sabbatia angularis),ii5.
Centurus carolinensis, 112.
Cephalaiithus occidentalis, 66, 85,

133.
Certhia fa miliaris, 286.
Ceryle alcyon, 11, 38, 41, 293.
Chalkley,Thomas, Journal of, 155.

267.
Chat, Yellow - breasted {Icteria

virens), 18, 56, 195.
Chestnut {Casta?ieavesca),14:Q,271,

297.
Chewink {Pipilo erytliropMlial-

mus), 202.
Qh.\nkii\)\n{Castaiiea pumila), I'^^y

198, 256, 297.

INDEX.

305

Cliipmunk {Tamias 8inafus),2iQ,
201, 265.

Chordeiles pojKtue, 86.

Chrysomitris pinus, 175, 289.
tnstis,o\,2Ql.

Cicada tihicen, 83.

Clrdum lanceolaium, 261.

Cistotlioriis palustris, 253, 273.

Cistudo clausa, 149, 248.

Clay, 163.

Claytonia mrginka, 117.

Clematis mrginiana, 79.

Clethra almfolia, 59.

Clover (TrifoUum prateiue), 138.

Coccyyus americanus, 83, 193.
" erythropldJialmus, 84.

Colaptes auratus, 53, 195.

CoUurio horealis, 281, 288.
" excubitoroides, 281.

Columba caroliiiensis, 111.
" migrator ia, 177.

Condylura cristaia, 246.

Cone flower (liudbeckia ladniata),
67.

Contopus Direns, 83.

Cook, Prof. Geo. H., State Geolo-
gist of New Jersey, quoted,
163, 165.

Corn-crake {Crex prate mis), 170.

Cornus Jlorida, 2, 117.

Corvus americanus, 47, 56.

Corylus americana, 145.

Cougar (Felis concolor), 145.

Cowpen-bird {Molothras pecoris),

Cows as w^eatlier prophets, 25,
Coxcomb grass (^Panicum criis-

galU), 137.
Creeper, Brown tree {Certhia fa-

miliaris), 286.
Creeper, Virginia (Ampelopsis

quinquefolia), 44, 200, 205, 256.
Crex pratensis, 170.
Cricket {Gryllus S2h), 220.
Crosswicks Creek, 144, 145, 170,

177, 214, 224, 226, 252, 208.
Crosswicks Sea-serpent, 81.
Crow {Corvus americanuH), 47, 50.
Cuckoo, Black -billed {Coccygus

erythroplithalmus), 84.

Cuckoo, Yellow-billed {Coccygus

americanus), 83, 193.
Cidex damnosus, 191, 241.

" .<<;)., 242.
Cumberford, Jemmy, adventure

of, 225.
Cuscuta gronoTii, 111.
Cyanospiza cyanea, 56, 262.
Cyanura cristata, Ji4, 293, 296.
Cynthia virginica, 118.
Cypress {Cupressus t/iyoides), 271.
Cypris sp., 211.

Dabcliick. (See Devil Diver.)
Damsons. (See Wild Plum.)
Danais jilexippus, 79.
Daphniapulex, 213.
Darter, Tesselated {Boleosoma

Olmstedi), 210.
Datura stramonium, 261.
Dead Willow Bend, 116, 120, 127,

138, 140.
Delaware River, 64, 68, 144, 146,

167, 169, 187, 215, 268.

Dendrceca (Estiva, 8, 41, 69.

" discolor, 198.

" maculosa, 8.

Devil Diver {Podilymbus'podiceps\

177.
Dewberry {liubus canadensis), 2Q5.
Didelphis xirginianus, 32, 96.
Diospyros virginiana, 272.
Dodder {Cuscuta gronovii), 111.
Dogs as weather prophets, 29.
Dog-wood {Cornus Jlorida), 2, 117.
Dove, Turtle {Zenadura caroli-

nensis), 177.
Drawbridge, The, 255, 267.
Ducks, wild {Anatida\ 144.
Duncan, P. Martin, quoted, 91.

Eagle-owl {Bubo virginianus),lA.ii.
Ectopistcs migratorias, 177, 224.
Eel {Anguilla rostrata), 254, 300.
Eel-crow, 176.

' * grass {Vallisneria spiralis), 211.
Empidonax flavirentris, 15.

traillii, 114.
Encyclopocdia Britaunica, quoted,
184.

306

INDEX.

Equisetum arvense, 118.
Eremophila alpestris, 175, 287.
Erythronvum americanum, 117.
Eskimo, Traces of, in New Jer-
sey, 77, 160.
Esox reticulatus, 108, 216.
Eupatorium perfoliatum, 79.

Fagus ferriiginea, 297.

Fairtborne, Natty, 8.

Falcon, Winter {Buteo Uneatus), 55.

Faxon's Brook, 65, 243.

Fedia oUtoria, 232.

Felis concolor, 145.

Fiber zibcthicus, 99.

Finch, Fox - colored {Passerella

iliaca), 292.
Finch, Pine {Chrysomitris pinus),

175, 289.
Finch, Purple {Carpodacus pur-

pureus), 289.
Finch, White - crowned {Zonotri-

ckia leucopkrys), 292.
Fire-fly {Lampyrus sp.), 220.
Fish affected by lightning, 188.

* ' hawk {Pandion carolinensis)^

42.
Fish, Sense of direction possessed

by, 136.
Fish, Vision of lateral-eyed, 298.

" Voice of, 300.
Florida coirulea, 129.
Flycatcher, Great crested {Myiar-

chus crinitns), 172.
Flycatcher, Green, black - capped

{Myiodiodes jyusillus), 8.
Flycatcher, Scissor-tail {Milvulus

forjicatus), 172.
Flycatcher, Traill's (Emjndonax

traillii), 114.
Flycatcher, Yellow - bellied (Em-

pidonax jlaviveniris), 15.
Fossil -wood. Occurrence of, in

clay, 163.
Fox [Vulpes tndgaris), 145, 251.
Fringilla mclodia^ 177.
Frog, Bull {Rana Catesbyana), 11,

200.
Frog, Green {Rana clamiians),

170.

Fundulus multifasciatus, 99.
" ornatus, 167.

Galeoscoptes carolinensis, 56, 105,
109, 206.

Gallinula galeata, 157.

" Carolina. {SeePorzana
Carolina.)

Qii\\\w\i\Q,Y\oY\&d, {Gallinula gale-
ata), 157.

Gar {Lepidosteus osseus), 142.

Gaunt, Uz, quoted, 263.

Geothlypis trichas, 104.

Gerardia flava, 78.

Godman, J. D., on habits of mead-
ow-mouse, quoted, 203.

Gold, supposed occurrence in New
Jersey, 165.

Golden Club {Oroniium aquati-
cum), 118, 232, 271.

Goniapliea ludoviciana, 19.

Goose, Canada {Branta canaden-
sis\ 9, 12Q, 144.

Grakle, Purple (Qinscaliis 'versi-
color), 41, 56, 237.

Grape ( Vitis labrusca), 44.
' ' ( Vitis cordifolia), 256.

Grass. Coxcomb {Panicum crus-
galli), 137.

Grass, Eel {Vallisneria spiralis),
217.

Grosbeak, Cardinal {Cardinalis
Tirginianus), 34, 53, 97.

Grosbeak, Rose-breasted {Gonia-
piliea ludoviciana), 19,

Ground-nut {Apios taberosd), 66,
271.

Gum, Sour {Kyssa multiflora), 63.

Gun-slip, 69.

Gyrinus sp.^ 11, 180.

Harlan, Dr. Richard, 230.

Harporhynchus rufus, 56, 202.

Harvest-fl}'' {Cicada tibicen), 83.

Haw, Black {Viburnum pruni-
foliurn), 85.

Hawk, Fish {PandAon carolinen-
sis), 42.

Hawk, Hen {Buteo vulgaris), 35.
N ight ( Chordeiles popetue),
86.

INDEX.

007

Hawk, Sharp - shinned {Accipiter

fascus), 20;"5.
Hawk, Sparrow {Tlnnunculus

sparxeriuH), 55.
Hawkweed (llieracium sp.), 79.
Hazel {Corylus americana), 145.
Heckewelder, Jolin, ou habits of

shrike, (Rioted, 280.
HeUnium autamnale, 168, 171.
Hempweed (Mi/M/iia sca?idens),

187.
Heron, Blue ( Florida coerulea), 129.

" Great blue {Ardea herodi-

ns), 129, 177.
Heron, Little green {Butorides

virescens), 129.
Heron, Niglit {Nyctiardea grisea),

40, 129, 220.
Hesperomys leucopvs, 180, 204.
Hickory, Pignut {Carya porcina),

2, 38, 68.
Hieracium sp. , 79.
Uirimdinidcp, 35, 82, 192.
Hinindo horreorum, 279.
' ' purpurea, 278.
Honey-bee {Apis mellijica), 16,

195, 241.
Hopniss. (See Apios tuberosa.)
Hornbeam {Carpinus artier ica-

nus), 2. 3, 38, 68, 200.
Hornbeam, Englisli, 4.
Hornet ( Vespa inaculata), 37.
Iloustoma cmridea, 117.
Hudson Iliver, 144.
Jlyla versicolor, 194, 256, 265.
Hypericum sp., 67.

Icteria virens, 18, 56, 195,
Icterus haltimore, 57, 198, 237.
Lnpatiens fulva, 252.
Indians, Delaware, 10, 18, 68, 74,

76, 106, 140, 145, 159. 165, 233.
Indigo-bird {Cyanospiza cyanea),

56, 262.
Ivy {Rhus toxicodendroh),2i)Q.

Jamestown weed {Datura stra-
monium), 261.

Jay, Blue {Cyanura cristata)^ 54,
293. 296.

JclTeries, Bichard, on mating hab-
its of English rook, 48.
Juylans cinerea, 68, 145.

" nigra, 145.
Juiico hyemalis, 289, 294.

Kalm, Peter, quoted, 67, 145. 257,
Kingbird 0yraunus caroliiien-

sis). 172.
Kingfisher {Ceryle alcyon), 11, 38,

41,293.
Kinglet, Golden - crowned {Regu-

Ins sairapa), 285.
Kinglet, Buby-crowned {Ilegulus

calendula), 285.
King-rail {liallus elegam), 70.
Krider, John, rare bird collected

by, 171.

Lamb-lettuce {Fedia olitoria'), 233.

Lampyrus sp., 220.

Landing, The, 222.

Lapland long-spur {Plectrophanes
lapponicus), 290.

Lark, Bed — titlark ? — (Anthus
ludovicianus), 175, 287.

Lark, Shore {Eremophila alpestris),
175, 287.

Laurie's mill-pond, 74.

Le Sueur, C. A., discovers "orna-
mented " minnow ; quoted, 167.

Lepidosteus osseus, 142.

Lepomis gibbosus, 137, 142, 297.

LibelluUdce sp. , 80.

Lilium superbum, 58.

Linden {Tilia americana), 2, 68,
103.

Linden Bend. 2, 5, 8, 10, 16, 38.

Lindstrom, P., early survey of
Delaware Bivcr, 165, 267.

Linnet {(J^Jgiothus linarius), 290.

Liopeltis Tcrnnlis, 72.

Liriodendroii tulipifcra, 146, 186.

Lizard (Sceleporus u?idulatus),2o5,
265.

Lobelia cardinnlis, 59.

Lobelia, Scarlet {Lobelia cardi-
n(dis), 59.

Lockwood, Bev. Samuel, on mas-
todon in New Jersey, 129, 159.

308

INDEX.

Locust (Robinia pseudacacia'), 68,

257.
LopJiophanes hicolor, 51, 285, 294.
Loskiel, George Heur}^ on Indian

fisheries, quoted, 106.
Louisiana, History of, Du Pratz's,

155.

Magnolia glauca, 147.
Mallard {Anas boscJias), 283.
" Manabattan's Wagar,"268.
Maple (Acer riibrum), 103.
Marigold {Caltha palusiris), 118.
Marmot {Arctomys monax), 251.
Marsh campagnol. (See Meadow-
mouse).
Martin, Purple [Frogiw suUs\ 277.
Mastodon, Occurrence of bones

of, in New Jersey, 159.
May - apple {Podophyllum pelta-

ium), 2.
Meadow-comb grass {TricliocMoa

capillar is), 137.
Meadow -lark {Sturnella magna),

293.
Mechen - tscbiholens - sipu, 2, 20,

129, 215, 219.
Melospiza melodia, 51, 105, 139,

202.
Melospiza p>alustns, 71, 105.
Mepliitis mephitica, 240, 255, 260.
Mikania scandens, 85, 137.
Milfoil, Water {Myriophyllum spi-

catum), 137.
]\Iill Creek, 190, 215.
Milvulus forfcatus, 173.
Mink {Putorius vison), 121, 255.
Minnow, Mud {Umbra Ihn'), 216.
" Ornamented (Fundalus

ornatus), 167.
Mississippi River, Catfish of the,

143.
Mniotilta taria, 41.
Mole, Star-nosed {Condylura cris-

tata), 246.
Molothrus pccoris, 55, 293.
Monmouth Court-house, New Jer-
sey, 269.
Morone americana, 106, 142, 273,

297.

Mosquito {Culex damnosus), 191,

241.
Mouse, Meadow {Arvicola ripa-

ria), 135, 200. 203.
Mouse, White-footed {Hesperomys

leucopus), 180, 204.
]Musk-rat {Fiber zibetliicus), 99.
Mussel {Unio sp.), 101.
Mutilla occidentalis, 244.
Myiarchus crinitus, 172.
Myiodioctes pusillus, 8.
Myoxiissp., 184.
Myriophyllum spicutum, 137.

Nanemys guttata, 135.

Neun-toedter , 280.

New York, City of, 146.

North American Review, quoted,
78.

Notemigonus chrysoleucus, 7.

Noturus gyrinus, 59.

JSfujjJiar advena, 59.

Nuthatch, Red-bellied {Sitta can-
adensis), 285.

Nuthatch, White- bellied {Sitta
Caroline nsis), 285.

ISfyctiardea grisea, 40, 129, 220.

Nyssa multiflora, 63.

Oak, Swamp white {Quercus bi-

color), 68, 85, 99, 103.
Oak, White {Quercus alba), 257,

270.
Oats, Wild. (See Wild-rice.)
Oconio's leap, 69.
(Enotliera biennis, 67.
Oporornis agilis, 8.
Opossum {Bidelphis virginiarms),

32, 96.
Ord, George, on habits of meadow-
mouse, quoted, 201.
Oriole, Baltimore {Icterus balti-

more), 57, 198, 237.
Orontium aquaticum, 118, 271.
Ortyx virginianus, 56.
Overfield, IVIiles, weather wisdom

of, quoted, 21.
Owl, Barn {Strix praiincola), 54.

" Eagle {Bubo mrginianus),

145.

INDEX.

309

Owl, Little red (Scops asio), 54.
" Snowy {Nyctea scandiaca),
226.

Packard, Dr. A. S., on habits of

ants, quoted, 91, 244.
Palreolitliic Man, Traces of, in

New Jersey, 77.
Pandion caroUnensis, 42.
Panicum crus-galli,ld7.
Parus atricapillus, 285,
Pea, Climbing (^Amphicarp(xa mo-

noica), 85.
Peach {Perska Tulgaris), 271.
Peale's Museum, 159.
Pearson, Isaac, 2G9.
Pearson's Inn, 270.
Peewee {Sayornis fuscus), 272.
" Wood {Contopus virens),

83.
Pelecanus tracliyrhyncJius, 144.
Pelican {Pelecanus trachyrliyn-

chus), 144.
Perch, White {Morone americana),

106, 142, 273, 297.
Persica vulgaris, 271.
Persimmon {Biospyras mrgini-

ana), 272.
Petrochelidon lunifrons, 273, 275.
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, 145,

178, 278.
Philohela minor, 196.
PJdemn praiense, 138.
Phytolacca decandra, 261.
Picidm, 16, 262, 293.
Pickerel - weed {Pontederia cor-

data), 59, 109.
Picus 2)ubescens, 2d4:.
Pigeon, Passenger (Ectopistes mi-
grator i us), 177, 224.
Pigeon-woodpecker {Colaptes au-

ratus), 53.
Pigs as weather prophets, 27.
Pike (Esox reticulatus), 106, 216.
Pipilo erythrophthalmus, 202.
Pipit. (See Bed Lark.)
Platanus occidentalis, 103.
Plectrophanes lappomcus, 290.

" nivalis, 2d0.

"PlommonsUdden,"271.

Plum, Wild (Prunus americana),

^7), 271.
Ponetquissings Creek, 4, 133, 214.
Podilyrnhus 2)odiceps, 177.
PodopIiyllu)>i peltatum, 2.
Poke (P/iyfolacca decandra), 261.
" Pons-pau-cloo-moose," 279, 2«0.
Pontederia cordatwm, 59, 109.
Pocccetes gramineus, 51, 203.
Porzana Carolina, 169.

" jamaicencis, 169.

" novehoracencis, 169.
Poultry in weather-lore, 33.
Primrose {G^Jnothera biennis), 67.
Princeton, New Jersey, 269.
Prinos verticillata, 283.
Printz, John, Governor of " New

Sweden," 165.
Procyon lotor, 261.
Progne suhis, 277.
Prunus americana, 85, 271.
Putorius ermineus, 255, 260.

" vison, 1, 21.
Pyrgites domesticus, 12, 56, 139.
Pyrites, Iron, occurrence of, in
clay, 163.

Quail {Ortyx virginianus), 56.
Quercus alba, 257, 270.

iiwfor, 68, 85, 99, 103.
Quicksands, 160.
Quiscalus versicolor, 41, 56, 237.

Raccoon {Procyon lator), 261.

Kagwort {Senecio aureus), 118.

liaia ocellata, 215.

Rail, Common, or sora {Porzana
Carolina), 169.

Rail, King {Rallus elegans), 70,
169.

Rail, Little black {Porzana jo-
maiccncis), 169.

Rail, Little yellow^ {Porzana nove-
horacencis), 169.

Rail, Virginia {Rallus virginia-
nus), 169.

Rallus elegans, 70, 169.
" virginianus,l(39.

Rana Cateshyana, 11, 200.
" clamiians, 170.

310

INDEX.

Earitan River, 268.

Redstart {Setophaga ruticilla),
12, 104, 198.

Begulus calendula, 285.
*' satrapa, 285.

Bhus glabra, Q8, 82, Ids.
" toxicodendron, 2hQ.

BliyacopJiilus solitarius, 195, 199.

Rice, Wild {Zizania aquatica),109,
201,253,280.

Robin {Ttirdm migratoi'ius), 284.

Bohinia pseudacacia, 68, 257.

Boccus Uneatus, 142, 273, 297.

Rockfish — striped bass — (Bociiis
Uneatus), 142, 273, 297.

Rook, English, curious habits of,
48.

Rose, Wild (Bosa lucida), 280.

Bubus rillosus, 111.

Budbeclda laciniata, 67.

Rutland Beauty {Calystegia sept-
um), 66.

Sabbatia angularis, 65.

Salix Babylonica, 82.
" «i9.,63, 103.

Sand-piper, Solitary {RhyacopTd-
lus solitarius), 195, 199.

Sand-piper, " Teeter " (Tringotdes
macularius), 195.

Sandy Hook, New Jersey, 252.

Sassafras {Sassafras officinale), 283.

Sailba ants, 90.

Sayornisfuscus, 272.

Sceleporus undulatus, 255, 265.

" Science," quoted, 142.

" Science Gossip," quoted, 46.

Sciuropterus volucella, 31.

Sciurus carolinensis, 16.

Scops asio, 54.

ScuiUe-hug {Gyrinus sp.), 11, 180.

Seal (Phoca xitulina), 215. _

Senecio aureus, var. Balsainitce, 118.

Setophaga ruticilla, 12, 104, 198.

Shad {Alosa sapidissima), 105, 108,
142, 297.

Shark River, New Jersey, marl-
pits at, 105.

"Sheep's-heads," 108.

ShclI-bark {Carya alba), 145.

Shiner — roach — {JSfotemigonus

chrysoleucus), 7.
Shrike, Northern {Collurio borea-

lis), 281, 288.
Shrike, Southern {Collurio excu-

bitorides), 281.
Sialia sialis, 50, 255, 262, 284.
Sitta canadensis, 285.

' ' carolinensis, 285.
Siurus aurocapillus, 6.

" moiacilla,5.
Skate {Baia ocellata), 215.
Skunk {Mephitis mepjhitica), 246,

255, 260.
Smilax {Smilax rotundi folia), 8,

205, 256, 280, 283.
Snake, Black {Bascanion constric-
tor), 147, 264.
'&n?Lke,GYeGu{Liopeltis vernalis),'72.
Snake, Water {Tropidonotus sipe-

(ZoTi), 11,71, 81, 108, 136.
Sneeze -weed {Helenium autum-

nale), 171.
Snow-bird {Junco hyemalis\ 289,

294.
Snow bunting {Plectrophanes ni-

mlis), 290.
Solanum dulcamara, 65.
Sora {Porzana Carolina), 169.
Sparrow, English {Pyrgites domes-

ticus), 12, 56, 139.
Sparrow, Field {Spizella pusilla),

265.
Sparrow, Fox-colored {Passerella

iliaca), 262.
Sparrow, Song {Melospiza melo-

^d«), 51, 105^139, 202, 292,
Spa.rrow,S-wami) {Melospiza paly s-

tris), 71, 105.
Sparrow, Tree {Spizella monti-

cola), 292, 294.
Sparrow, White-throated (Z9?Z(9i';7"-

chia albicollis), 126, 262, 292.
Spiders {Araneina), 36.
Spizella monticola, 292, 294.
Spizella jnisilla, 265.
Splatter - dock {Nuphar advena),

59.
Spring Beauty {Claytonia virgin-

ica), 117.

INDEX.

311

Springs, "Boiling/' 161.
Squirrel, Flying {Sciaropterus xol-

ucdla), 31.
Squirrel, Graj'' {Sciurus caroUnen-

sis), IG.
St. John's- wort (Hypericum sp.),

67.
Stacy, Mahlon, on fisheries of Del-
aware River, quoted, 108.
Stork, European, 40.
"Striped-stockings." (See Culex

S2).)
Stnx praiincola, 54.
Sturgeon (Acipenser sturio), 108,

142, 146, 220.
Sturnella magna, 293.
Sumac {Rhus glabra), 68, 82, 138.
Sunfish {Lepomis gibbosus), 137,

142, 297.
Swallow, Barn {Ilirundo horreo-

rum), 279.
Swallow, Cliff {Petrochelidon Imii-

frons), 273. 275.
Swallows (Ilirundinicke), 35, 83,

192.
Swamp White-oak Bend, 93.
Swedes, early settlers in New

Jersey, 123.
Sycamore (Platanus occidentalis),

68.

Tachquachcauiminsclii, 76.
Tamias striatus, 246, 261, 265.
Tarm-fisk, 214.
Testudinata, 106, 220.
Thalictrum cornuti, 200.
Th i stl e ( Cirsiu m la nceolaiu m), 261.
Thoreau, H. D.,17, 168.
Thrush, Brown {HarporJiynchus

rufus), 56, 202.
Thrush, Song (Tardus musteli-

nus), 10, 56, 204, 206.
Thryothorus ludovicianus, 53, 93,

255, 262, 263, 272, 283.
Tilia americana, 2, 68, 103.
Timothy {Phleum prateme), 138.
Tinnunculus sparverius, 55.
Titmouse, Crested {LophopJianes

bicolor), 51, 285, 294.
Toad {Bafo araericanus), 81.

Tortoise.Box (Cistudo dausa), 149,

248.
Tortoise, Habits of young, 150.
Touch-me-not {Impatieiis fulva),

252.
Tree-creeper (Mniotilta varia), 41.
Tree - toad {Ilyla versicolor), 194,

256, 265.
TrifoUum pratense, 138.
Tringoidcs macularius, 195.
Troglodytes o^don, 56, 118, 255, 262.

" americanus, 118.
Tropidonotus sipedon, 11, 71, 81,

106, 136.
Tulip -tree {Liriodendron tulip i-

fera), 146, 186.
Tardus migratorius, 284.
Turdus 'mustelimis,10,5G,204:, 206.
Turkey-buzzard {Gathartes aura),

61.
Turk's -cap (Lilium superbum),

58.
Turnbull, William P., on birds of

New Jersey, quoted, 128, 144,

170, 173, 274.
Turtle, Spotted (^Nanemys giitta-

tus), 135.
Turtles (Testudinata), 106. 220.
Twin Islands, The. 153, 167.
Typ/ia latifolia, 137.
2'yrannus carolinensis, 172.

Umbra limi, 216.
Unionidce, 101.
Udularia perfoliata, 117.

'7.

Vallisneria spiralis, 21'

Vanessa atalanta, 79.

Velvet ant {Mutilla occidentalis),

244.
Verbena hastata, 82.
Vervain ( Verbena hastata), 82.
Vcspa maculata, 37.
Vesper bird. (Sec Bay-mngcd

Bunting.)
Vesper tilionida', 183.
Violcesp., 117.
Violets (Violwsp.), 117.
Vii-eo, Red-eyed ( Vireo olivacea),

104. '

313

INDEX.

Vireo, Yellow-throated ( Vireofla-

t'ifrons), 45.
Vireos ( Vit'eonida), 56.
Virginia creeper [Ampelopsis quin-

quefoUa), 44, 200, 205, 256.
Vitis lahrusca, 44.

" cordifolia,2oQ.
Vidpes vulgaris, 145.
Vultures. (See Tarkey-luzzard.)

Walnut {Juf/kms nigra), 145, 271.
Warbler, Black and Yellow {Ben-

drceca maculosa), 8.
Warbler, Connecticut {Oporornis

agilis), 8.
Warbler, Prairie (Bendroxa dis-
color), 198.
Warbler, Yellow (Bendrceca ces-

tiva), 8, 41, 69.
Water-flea {Baphnia pulex), 213.

" mite {Cypris sp.), 211.

" shield {Braserda peltata),

215.
Water-thrush, Large-billed {Slu-

rw.9 motacilla), 5.
Water-thrush, "Oven-bird" {Si-

urus auricapillus), 6, 198.
Watson, Matthew, on early navi-
gation of Cross wicks Creek,

quoted, 68.
Watson's Crossing, 66, 82.

Ford, 9.
Weasel {Patorius crmineus), 255,

260.
Weather-lore, Animal, English, 23.

Swexlish,23.
Weather - lore, Animal, in New

Jersey, 23.
Whippoorwill {Antrostomus wci-

ferus), 11, 220.
"■ White Horse" tavern, 270.
Wild Bean. (See Ground-nut.)
Willow {Salix sp.), 68, 103.

" AVeeping {Salix Babylo-

nica), 82.

Wilson, Alexander, quoted, 84,

172.
Wind-flower {Anemone nemorosa),

117.
Winter-berry (Prinos xerticillata),

283.
Woodcock {Philoliela minor), 196.
Woodpecker, Downy {Picas pw-

hescens), 294.
Woodpecker, Pigeon {Colaptes au-

ratus), 53, 195.
Woodpecker, Red -bellied {Cen-

turus caroline7isis), 112.
Woodpeckers {Picidw s/;.), 16, 262,

293.
Wood-tattler. (See Solitary Sand-
piper.)
Wood-thrush. (See Thrush, Song.)
Woolman, John, 267.
Wren, Carolina {Thryothorus lu-

dovicianus), 53, 93, 255, 262,263,

272, 283.
Wren, House {Troglodytes cedon),

56, 118, 255, 262.
Wren, Marsh {Cistothorus palus-

tris), 253, 273.
Wren, Winter {Troglodytes hye-

malis), 287.
Wren, Wood {Troglodytes america-

nus: Aud.), 118.

Xylocojya urginica, 265.

Yellows-bird (Chrisomitris tristis),

51, 261.
Yellow - fever, Epidemic of, in

1793, 18.
Yellow- throat, Maryland {Geoth-

lypis trichas), 104.

Zencedura caroUnensis, 177.
Zizania aquatica, 109, 201, 253,

280.
Zonotrichia alUcollis 126, 262.
" leucojjhrys, 292.

THE END.