REESE LIBRARY 
 
 OP THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 Received __. L//tZd t^Si-' i8&C) 
 
 / 
 
 Accessions No.^V / f -*. Shelf No. 
 
DATS 
 
 OUT OF DOOES 
 
 BY 
 
 CHARLES 0. ABBOTT 
 
 AUTHOR OP "A NATURALIST'S RAMBLES ABOUT HOME" 
 
 NEW YORK 
 D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 
 
 1889 
 
COPYRIGHT, 1889, 
 BT D. APPLETON AND COMPANY. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 I AM free to confess that, were our animals as stupid 
 and machine-like as many observers represent them and 
 as certain would-be critics assume them to be, I should 
 not feel tempted to spend my days in a series of more 
 or less protracted outings continuing through the year, 
 nor look upon experiment as one whit better than a 
 pleasing pastime. But the beasts and birds, reptiles, 
 fishes, and " such small deer " are nothing of the kind, 
 and their intelligence still not only offers a wide field 
 for study, but adds a zest to every contemplative stroll. 
 
 Strictly inanimate nature is, for me, far less exhila- 
 rating. " Antres vast and deserts idle " figure better in 
 poetry than in fact, and the lifeless wastes of the world 
 offer little that has roused my enthusiasm so promptly 
 as some familiar field with its scattered sparrows, and 
 perchance a bluebird on the rude worm fence ; and as 
 yet I have no fear that at last there will be no novelty 
 and my well-tramped fields will pall. 
 
 "To-morrow they will wear another face." 
 
4: PREFACE. 
 
 Not only the 
 
 "ragged cliff 
 Has thousand faces in a thousand hours," 
 
 but this I find true of the tamest pasture, where not 
 even the clover and buttercups of one side are the twins 
 of the buttercups and clover of the other; and think 
 of the bees, birds, beetles, and butterflies that . come 
 and go! These, I know, are not the same, yesterday, 
 to-day, and forever. 
 
 Whether it be the crested tit defying the chilliest 
 blast of January; violets mantling the meadow banks 
 in April ; thrushes singing their farewell summer songs, 
 or dull and dreary dim December days it matters not 
 they never repeat themselves, or else I am daily a new 
 creature. Nor sight nor sound but has the freshness 
 of novelty, and one rambler, at least, in his maturer 
 years is still a boy at heart. 
 
 If one could take an airy, bird's-eye view of this 
 level country, he would see, more prominently than 
 all other features, save one, a sinuous, leafy serpent, 
 miles in length, with gaping jaws upon the shore of the 
 river, and a delicate, thread-like tail, afar in the out- 
 stretched fields. It is the valley of a near-by creek. 
 
 One has nowhere more than a few rods to walk 
 back from the stream to find either fields, gardens, or 
 the public road ; but such a walk ! It is a wilderness 
 that woos the birds ; it is a wild wood that protects the 
 beast ; it is the haunt of many a creeping thing, squat 
 toad, sleek frog, and slippery salamander. Much as has 
 
PREFACE. 5 
 
 been written of it, far more remains well worthy of 
 recording. Or, looking northward, one traces from the 
 distant mountains trending toward the sea the more 
 pretentious valley of the river. Here I have found a 
 new country, teeming with delights. Its wreck-strewed 
 shores, its sandy beaches which the tide lays bare, its 
 wild and wasting islands and open reaches of wind- 
 troubled waters, have alike held me as the days rolled 
 by. And so it happens that, after many a ramble in 
 far-off regions, where rocks, lakes, rivers, and boundless 
 pine barrens offered endless novelty, it was ever a pleas- 
 ure to return to the unpretending creek and modest 
 river, and spend my days with " old familiar faces." 
 Perhaps, 
 
 " Because I was content with these poor fields, 
 Low, open meads, slender and sluggish streams, 
 And found a home in haunts which others scorned, 
 The partial wood-gods overpaid my love 
 And granted me the freedom of their state " ; 
 
 the world seemed more full of meaning here. There- 
 fore I hold that one need not mope because he has to 
 stay at home. Trees grow here as suggestively as in 
 California ; and the water of our river is very wet. Re- 
 member, too, if trees are not tall enough to suit your 
 whim, to lie down beneath the branches of any one of 
 them, and, as you look up, the topmost twig pierces the 
 sky. There is not an oak but will become a giant 
 sequoia in this way. 
 
 One need learn no magic to bring the antipodes 
 home to him. 
 
6 PREFACE. 
 
 For permission to reprint portions of several of the 
 following chapters the author is indebted to the pub- 
 lishers of " Harper's Young People," of the " Popular 
 Science Monthly," of "Garden and Forest," and of 
 " The American," of Philadelphia. 
 
 C. C. A. 
 
 PROSPECT HILL, TRENTON, N. J., 
 March SO, 18S9. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. JANUARY . . . . . . .9 
 
 II. FEBRUARY . 34 
 
 III. MARCH 49 
 
 IV. APRIL 74 
 
 V. MAY . 102 
 
 VI. JUNE . . . . . -140 
 
 VII. JULY .... .167 
 
 VIII. AUGUST .189 
 
 IX. SEPTEMBER . . . . . .213 
 
 X. OCTOBER .242 
 
 XL NOVEMBER .260 
 
 XII. DECEMBER ...... 291 
 
DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 JANUARY. 
 
 BECAUSE our Indians happened to call January Anixi 
 gisclmch, or the Squirrel Moon, I do not expect to find 
 these animals at all abundant, even if it is mild at New 
 Year's, or later when we have the thaw said to be charac- 
 teristic of the month. Why the Indians associated the 
 month with squirrels can not be determined, but, as this 
 people's language far antedates their coming to the Dela- 
 ware Valley, it had to do, doubtless, with the squirrels of 
 some other region. Certainly, those of the home hill-side 
 have no predilection for the middle of winter, and if it be 
 very cold are as soundly asleep as any typically hibernating 
 mammal. They appear to sleep for much more protracted 
 periods than do the flying squirrels. And now a word 
 about an indoor outing when flying squirrels figured 
 prominently. As the weather was intolerably bad, I com- 
 promised matters by spending a half-day in the garret ; 
 and this, by the way, is a part of every country house that, 
 even if but a century old, is a hunting-ground not to be 
 despised. Particularly is it true when the house has re- 
 mained from generation to generation in the same family. 
 But it is only with reference to a single zoological aspect 
 that I refer to the garret at home, although its fauna is 
 
10 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 quite extensive. Certainly the environment is favorable 
 for the non-social wasps, and, judged by their effective 
 work, their stings are developed out of all proportion to 
 their bodies, and triply envenomed. 
 
 But that January day. It neither rained nor snowed, 
 but both. There was no steady wind from some one point, 
 but stinging blasts that came from every quarter. It was 
 neither warm nor cold, but chilling to a degree that made 
 all wraps unavailable. I stayed at home. 
 
 It had been whispered about that strange noises were 
 sometimes heard in the attic, and I proposed now to in- 
 vestigate the matter. Somewhere between the roof and 
 the ceiling, in a long and narrow, densely darkened space, 
 the flying squirrels that have made my house their home 
 for many years were now cozily quartered. Of this I was 
 sure. They could not, it seemed to me, have suspended a 
 nest from the rafters ; so their only alternative of resting 
 upon the plastering made it easy for me to locate them. 
 With a little hammer, I tapped upon every square inch of 
 that ceiling, and then listened for some response. If I 
 thought I heard such, I tapped still harder, and so con- 
 tinued, going over the same ground many times, until at 
 last I found the spot. Here every blow of the hammer 
 elicited a growl-like squeak, and I knew that the squirrels 
 were not only there, but awake. 
 
 Having advanced thus far in my explorations, I rested 
 from my labors. No, I merely endeavored to do so. It 
 happened that my incessant but, as I thought, gentle ham- 
 mering excited considerable curiosity, if not fear, in the 
 mind of an interested party on the lower floor, and, as I 
 was about to descend thereto to announce my unqualified 
 success, I heard approaching footsteps, which, without 
 knowing why, I desired to avoid, but was hemmed in, and 
 could but wait and wonder. The expression of my un- 
 welcome visitor, as she gazed at what I too now saw was a 
 
JANUARY. 11 
 
 damaged ceiling, was very dramatic. "While at work I was 
 not aware that I had broken any plaster, but I know it 
 now, and have learned never to mention a syllable about 
 sacrifices in the cause of science. Oh ! the unutterable 
 scorn when last I did so ! 
 
 After the skies had cleared and I dared return to the 
 garret, I failed, to my intense disgust, to remember the 
 precise spot over which the squirrels were found to be 
 resting. The unfortunate hammer-marks were in bewil- 
 dering proximity, and I dared not repeat percussion as a 
 means of locating the animals. While wondering what to 
 do next, I was startled by a strange, half -musical hum- 
 ming, as of an ^Eolian harp that was muffled. There was 
 no distinct utterance, but so rapid a succession of quick 
 cries that to distinguish any one was impossible. The 
 volume of sound increased perceptibly, and then very 
 slowly died away. The moment it ceased another squirrel 
 took it up, and so what I believe to have been a half-dozen 
 squirrels sang in rapid succession. 
 
 Listening under such disadvantageous circumstances, I 
 can not well be sure of anything I heard, but I feel con- 
 vinced that in this particular of different individuals tak- 
 ing up and repeating the song I am right. Indeed, it is 
 hard to believe that the same squirrel could have repeated 
 these prolonged sounds six times in such quick succession. 
 
 On attempting, later, to dislodge these squirrels, I 
 found them on the alert, and no sooner was their nest 
 overturned than away they scampered in all directions. 
 The nest was a mass of paper and rags, the former torn 
 or nibbled into bits about the size of beech-leaves. Near 
 by were the empty shells of a few hickory-nuts, gathered, 
 not from the meadows, bat from the little store which, in 
 October, had been spread upon the garret floor. 
 
 The squirrels were evidently not seriously incommoded 
 by their unceremonious eviction, as in a short time after I 
 
12 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 retired they returned and reconstructed their nest in the 
 same spot. From underneath I could hear the patter of 
 their busy feet and the rustling of the scattered papers, 
 but not a squeak or sound of any kind ; and from that 
 day until late in April they continued to sleep and sing 
 active and noisy when the nights were warm, and still as 
 death during the winter, whenever the mercury sank low. 
 But their noise at night was not a vocal one, the singing 
 I have mentioned being wholly a diurnal phenomenon. 
 During the day, when the squirrels were evidently not 
 moving about, they appeared to rouse from their slumbers 
 and sing, one after the other, and then relapse into 
 silence. 
 
 But enough of indoor outings, even in January. 
 While it is not so suggestive a month as most of the 
 others, it is not without certain features that are ever wel- 
 come to the rambler ; and one feels more content with 
 extremely cold weather at this time than if it comes ear- 
 lier or later. The fact is, the season is but ten days old 
 at New Year's, and speculation is curiously active as to the 
 weather that is to be. No two of my neighbors agree, 
 each " goin' by a sure sign," and, of course, a different 
 one. All prove wrong, yet each swears the next spring, 
 he "hit it exactly." 
 
 As evidence that I am not misrepresenting rural 
 humanity, let us consider for a moment the view taken by 
 many of my neighbors of the ever-expected but really un- 
 certain, if not mythical, January thaw. Our winters, as 
 we well know, are budgets of meteorological uncertainties. 
 While I write I am listening to warbling bluebirds, and 
 there are yet green leaves peeping above the sered sod of 
 the meadows ; and beyond, a long train of laden coal-cars 
 is passing by, each car with its freight of dusky diamonds 
 capped with a deep covering of glistening snow. The 
 many warm showers that we have had of late have been 
 
JANUARY. 13 
 
 snow-squalls on the mountains. Here, the meadows and 
 uplands alike have been bare for days, save a few thread- 
 like remnants of the deeper drifts ; and now we are 
 having that spring-like interim which all know as a 
 " January thaw." 
 
 I can find no descriptive reference to this feature of 
 the year's first month, nor can date the origin of the 
 familiar phrase. 
 
 Let but a little noonday warmth moisten the tapering 
 tip of an icicle, and the village weather-prophet straight- 
 way predicts a coming thaw ; but just what degree of 
 mildness and how much melting of snow and ice is ne- 
 cessary to make the thaw a typical one remains to be de- 
 termined. Certainly, it very seldom happens that all 
 frost disappears if the preceding December has been cold. 
 
 That I might gather information on the subject, I re- 
 cently visited two places near by, where the graybeards of 
 the neighborhood most do congregate the cross-roads 
 smithy and the tavern opposite. 
 
 I found Benajah Bush at the former, and fortunately 
 in a communicative mood. " Do we always have a Janu- 
 ary thaw ? " I asked. 
 
 " Yes," he promptly replied, and then added, " no, not 
 always, but most generally." 
 
 " What is the January thaw ? " I then asked. 
 
 " Why, it's what we're havin' now ; a regular break-up, 
 and the snow gone and the river open " ; and then, after 
 a pause, he added, " We're pretty sure to have it, as I've 
 noticed for the last sixty years." 
 
 " But it often happens," I replied, " that we have no 
 winter until Christmas ; and how are we to have a thaw, if 
 there has been no freezing ? " 
 
 " That's so, and them's the years that we skip the 
 thaw," Benajah remarked, meditatively. 
 
 " And it's the case in about one half of our winters, so 
 
14: DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 I can't count you one of our weather-wise folks," and with 
 this ungracious parting shot I skipped over to the tavern. 
 
 In the bar-room of the White Horse I found Asa 
 Thorngate sitting near the stove, and I asked him the 
 same question and got much the same reply that Benajah 
 had given, but he added the one important item that " you 
 can't calc'late on the winters as we used to when I was 
 young." 
 
 "Why not?" I asked. 
 
 " Because the snow used to come early ; sometimes late 
 in the fall and lie on the ground until well on in March. 
 It was winter steady, and you could put up wheels and 
 travel on runners the whole season." 
 
 " And didn't you have any January thaw ? " I asked. 
 
 " Oh, yes ; pretty regular, and the ground would be 
 clean " 
 
 " You would go sleighing on bare ground then ? " I 
 interrupted. 
 
 Garrulous old Asa looked up with a puzzled expres- 
 sion, and was about to explain, but I did not wait ; and 
 now, after thinking it over, have concluded that the dis- 
 tinction between a January thaw and a " warm spell " in 
 December or a " break-up " in February is insignificant ; 
 and that the one is about as likely to occur as either of the 
 others, and not one whit more so. 
 
 A January thaw, to be a prominent feature of the 
 month, is necessarily dependent upon the degree of frost 
 prevailing during December. If the latter month is mild, 
 with little or no snow, then the still milder weather after 
 New Year's will produce no very marked effect. Fortu- 
 nately, it sometimes happens that there is considerable 
 snow and a firmly frozen river in December, and then the 
 typical thaw terminates with a midwinter freshet, often 
 disastrous, it is true, but sure to open up a charming new 
 world to the outdoor naturalist. 
 
JANUARY. 15 
 
 Along the river, and in every pent valley of the smaller 
 creeks, is enacted an exciting drama. Animal life, that 
 long since withdrew into snug quarters to await the com- 
 ing spring, or had cozy retreats from tempestuous weather 
 and ventured abroad only when the day or night was fair, 
 is alike now turned out of house and home, and put to its 
 wits' ends to find a place of safety. 
 
 Occasionally, I have known a hollow, glohular nest of 
 closely matted grass, filled with the tightly curled body 
 of a soundly sleeping jumping mouse, to roll from the 
 crumbling bank of a creek, and, as it was borne along 
 toward the river, the occupant to be roused by the en- 
 croaching water. One such poor creature was plucky and 
 struggled bravely to reach the shore, but only to find its 
 strength exhausted, and my subsequent careful nursing 
 could not save its life. There is no staying power in 
 these little bodies to withstand so great a change, and I 
 am surprised that they should ever rouse from a torpid 
 condition under such circumstances. 
 
 Very different is it, however, with the omnipresent 
 meadow mice. They bob up serenely to the surface when 
 the flood covers their grassy runways, and, swimming 
 with ease, spend their time in voyages of discovery, mak- 
 ing every floating object that will sustain their weight a 
 port. When you approach them, they await your coming 
 until nearly within your reach, and then dive abruptly, 
 sinking from sight as though suddenly turned to lead. 
 On the other hand, the poor shrews, although not timid 
 when about the water in summer, and active enough in 
 winter when their coats are dry, find the current too swift 
 and bewildering, and often, succumb after swimming a 
 few rods. 
 
 The reptile world at this time is represented by the 
 familiar water-snakes, and they, too, are well worthy of a 
 moment's notice. All know, I presume, how sensitive to 
 
16 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 cold are serpents generally. This species is one, at least, 
 that is not helpless when plunged into icy waters, and has 
 no idea of soaking to death when a January thaw sub- 
 merges its winter quarters. "Why they are disturbed by it 
 at all I do not know, for they hibernate in mud and not in 
 dry earth. However, the freshet brings many to the sur- 
 face, and their activity adds to the attractiveness of the 
 flooded meadows. They are not so quick-motioned as in 
 midsummer, but rarely are caught napping, even by the 
 wary crows, which enjoy harassing them upon every occa- 
 sion, yet never, or very seldom, kill and devour them. 
 
 Insect life likewise is roused from its slumbers and 
 probably no time is so favorable to gather beetles as when 
 they are floated to the shore by the rising waters. I have 
 seen the meadow margin lined with them, and hundreds of 
 specimens could be gathered of species rarely to be found 
 at any other time. 
 
 All predatory animals that withstand the rigor of win- 
 ter look upon the January thaw as their annual jubilee. 
 Minks, musk-rats, hawks, and crows, particularly, are ever 
 on the alert for the benumbed mice, snakes, turtles, and 
 insects that are now, if not helpless, at least at a great 
 disadvantage. All day long they are prowling along the 
 shores of the new-born lake and congregate on the little 
 islands that are formed by the knolls. While eager to 
 prey, they are mindful that their arch-enemy, man, may 
 prey upon them ; so they keep out of sight when danger 
 threatens, and the naturalist must be cautious indeed as 
 he rambles over the submerged meadows. But if so, then 
 every moment will prove precious and no day too long, 
 and if the day is followed by a moonlit night, then will his 
 cup of happiness be filled to the very brim. 
 
 The last January freshet, while not remarkable for the 
 depth of the overspreading waters, all the higher mead- 
 ows remaining uncovered, had the great merit of con- 
 
JANUARY. 17 
 
 tinning several days, and so gave me an opportunity of 
 exploring it at all points, and by night as well as by day. 
 Many a wide tract was too shallow even for a canoe, but 
 here I could wade with safety. This method of rambling 
 proved much more tedious than ordinary walking, but had 
 advantages that well repaid the extra exertion. 
 
 I proved a puzzle to every creature I met, when wad- 
 ing through these shallow waters, for, except a few ducks, 
 none seemed positively afraid. I kept my coat wrapped 
 closely about me, having learned from the late Richard 
 Jefferies that nothing so frightens an animal as our sway- 
 ing arms ; and I moved so evenly that the water was 
 but slightly agitated. So, whether I was man or log, 
 was a problem solved by few of the many creatures that I 
 met. 
 
 As might be expected, I disturbed many meadow mice 
 that were as active in the water as though strictly aquatic 
 animals, and it was evident that the permanent change of 
 environment would not render this species extinct. Cer- 
 tainly, animals so little incommoded by freshets as are 
 these mice would have great advantages over the other 
 mice that are found here, if radically altered conditions 
 were brought about. As they swam, dived, and crouched 
 at the roots of the bunched weeds and grasses, they looked 
 like and constantly suggested pygmy musk-rats. This is 
 the more interesting because these creatures are by no 
 means confined to the meadows, but are abundant in the 
 highest and driest of upland fields, where even drinking- 
 water, except the dew, must be hard to find. 
 
 During my longest stroll I found no larger game than 
 the mice I have mentioned, until in the very middle of a 
 wide meadow, where the water was less than a foot deep, 
 I overtook a musk-rat one of the largest and blackest 
 that I have ever seen. I thoroughly enjoyed the animal's 
 discomfiture, and I can vividly recall its look of defiance 
 2 
 
18 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 and occasional demoniacal grin. The water was too deep 
 for it to run rapidly upon the ground, and too weedy to 
 allow it to swim with ordinary speed. Its alternated 
 efforts to effect escape in either way were extremely lu- 
 dicrous. I think it soon saw the utter hopelessness of 
 averting the supposed danger by such means, hence the 
 bold face that it put on from time to time. 
 
 In this case, as in many another, despair led to des- 
 peration, and reckless bravery became the impelling force. 
 As the timid bird will unhesitatingly attack its most dan- 
 gerous foe in defense of its mate or young, so mammals 
 like the musk-rat show absolutely no fear at times when 
 their ordinary means of defense or of escaping danger are 
 evidently of no avail. If we study almost any of our 
 higher animals under such conditions, the evidence that 
 their thought-power is really considerable when roused to 
 its extreme of action is very apparent, and often stands 
 them successfully in need. Either this, or, like the stupid 
 opossum, they are overcome with fear, and so through 
 mental weakness fall a victim where more intelligent ani- 
 mals might escape. I have seen a flying squirrel, when 
 surprised by a cat, throw itself into every conceivable po- 
 sition, and change from one to another with such rapidity, 
 uttering sharp cries all the while, that the cat was not 
 only bewildered, but actually so alarmed as to beat a hasty 
 retreat. Here, indeed, fear led the squirrel slightly beyond 
 the bounds of reason, as the violent efforts continued for 
 a few seconds after the danger was over. The effect of 
 this was not, as might be thought, to seriously affect the 
 squirrel's nervous system or result in fatal collapse. After 
 a brief rest the plucky little fellow was able to climb to a 
 high branch of a tree, and from it fly to its nest in an- 
 other, some distance off. 
 
 It may be claimed that this was purely hysterical and 
 meaningless ; it appeared to me at the time, and I still re- 
 
JANUARY. 19 
 
 gard it, as designed for the purpose that it accomplished, 
 namely, the cat's discomfiture. 
 
 To return to the musk-rat. I continually headed it 
 off, and did not notice at the time that in spite of my 
 movements it pursued the same general direction. Often 
 I was startled by the mighty leaps it made, not quite clear- 
 ing the water, but so disturbing it that for the moment I 
 lost sight of it in the commotion. Whenever I approached 
 very near, and stooped as though to touch it, the rat would 
 show its teeth and look more ferociously than ever, but utter 
 no sound. Even when it came to a hassock or thickset 
 growth of weeds it made no attempt to dive, but once, on 
 the contrary, climbed quite above the water, upon a low 
 projecting stump, and squatted upon its hind-legs, as though 
 to see what chance, if any, offered to rid itself of my ob- 
 noxious presence. Certainly, the controlling emotion of 
 the animal was intense anger and a determination to 
 frighten me, rather than that of fear, which under such 
 circumstances would have overcome its discretion and 
 rendered it helpless. 
 
 Perhaps the cunning rat knew the geography of the 
 meadows better than I, for, as it proved, a deep and wide 
 ditch was soon reached, and when I was quite off my 
 guard the animal gave one desperate plunge and disap- 
 peared ; an effort on its part so vehement that it may well 
 be described as explosive. 
 
 I must confess to the cruelty of my actions in all this, 
 for the mental suffering of the musk-rat was doubtless in- 
 tense. " Suppose I had been teased in this manner by a 
 cougar or bear," I said to myself, and, as I walked away, 
 resolved in the future to be more merciful. 
 
 But this spring-like mildness and the accompanying 
 freshet is but a transient feature of the month, and often 
 within the same week come bleak winter days. How full 
 
20 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 of meaning is that short word " bleak " ! It suggests every 
 discomfort of a winter day. It means that the world is 
 cloud- wrapped, and sunshine but a memory. It means the 
 relentless north wind buffeting the forest ; the face of the 
 upland fields scoured with eddying clouds of sand and 
 snow. The traveler, turning his back to the world, scans 
 the southern sky 'twixt hope and fear ; for when winter 
 days are really bleak it indeed needs sharp eyes to spy out 
 each shadowy promise of relief. Such was a recent day, 
 when from my cozy corner the familiar outlook was wholly 
 forbidding. But for hours I had wondered what of the 
 wild life that only yesterday had made merry the same 
 scenes. Was every creature now a victim of despair, 
 crouching soulless and dumb in some safe shelter ? or could 
 it be the fields, wood, and meadows were deserted ? 
 
 Summoning all my courage, I sought the frozen mead- 
 ows as probably the least dreary spot within reach, for 
 there the winds were stayed by the winding terrace with 
 its towering trees ; and while yet on the hill-side, thinking, 
 I know not why, of shrews, I found fresh leaves. Winter- 
 green, bright as May blossoms, dotted here and there the 
 ground, and above them waved the ranker foliage of sas- 
 safras and bay. How weak to impute our own want of 
 courage to all Nature ! 
 
 I need but seek some sheltered nook 
 
 The giant oaks atween, 
 And, spite the chilly northern blast, 
 
 I find some trace of green. 
 Some hopeful flower, brave of heart, 
 
 Makes glad the lonely spot, 
 And cheerless Winter's deadly grasp 
 
 On Nature is forgot. 
 
 I had been thinking of shrews, and now, strangely 
 enough, from a narrow snow-drift suddenly a black speck 
 appeared. It immediately became larger, and assumed 
 
or 
 
 UNIVEKSIT , 
 JANUARY. ^ 21 
 
 . ^^^*^ l **^*~*i^^^^'' *~ 
 
 definite shape. It was a shrew. When fairly upon the 
 surface of the snow, the little creature commenced leaping 
 in different directions, as though desirous only of stretch- 
 ing its limbs. I was several paces off, and, eager to have 
 a closer view, cautiously drew nearer. A single step taken, 
 and the wary creature stood up in a nearly erect position, 
 much as a squirrel might do, then dived into some small 
 opening in the drift. Every movement suggested that the 
 creature was largely guided -by the sense of sight; yet, 
 they are held to depend upon hearing almost entirely; 
 and, too, they are nocturnal creatures. However, the day 
 was as gloomy if not as dark as night. 
 
 I can make nothing of these animals. It is by mere 
 chance that I ever see them, and yet the cats continually 
 bring them from the hill-side, leaving them on the porches 
 or the garden walk. I recently chased one, as I thought, 
 into the heaped-up leaves that filled an angle of a worm 
 fence, but could not find it, until, on reaching home, it 
 was discovered, dead, in a pocket of my overcoat. How it 
 got there I can only conjecture. However bleak the day, 
 then, there is at least one form of mammalian life astir. 
 
 The creaking of the wind-tossed branches overhead 
 was by no means assuring as I passed to the open mead- 
 ows ; but courage revived when I heard the defiant cry of 
 the crested tit. Did the world know this bird better, 
 there would be fewer cowards. At the very outset of my 
 proposed walk my steps were stayed. A prominent feature 
 of the meadows here was a relic of the very recent past. 
 The last January freshet was a very transient phenome- 
 non ; it came and went in a day or two, and within a week 
 was forgotten by half the neighborhood ; but the beach- 
 mark still remains, and standing afar off, this sinuous, 
 dull gray line, the free-hand autograph of the recent flood, 
 is pretty as a whole and tells a winsome story. Drawing 
 near, I saw with what strange ink had this one been writ- 
 
22 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 ten. Sun-dried mud, dead grass, twigs, stranded bushes, 
 and here and there a drowned animal, were well blended, 
 strange as it may seem, and as a whole were quite in 
 place, as they wound, like a ragged ribbon, along the hill. 
 If but merely glanced at, nothing could be found more 
 in keeping with a bleak winter day than this relic of the 
 recent flood. Every object you saw leaf, twig, or animal 
 was dead. So, too, has seemed the whole world as seen 
 from my study windows. But upon stirring the matted 
 mass it proved to be harboring life in many forms. The 
 sunshine of preceding days had been stored up here, and 
 throughout the maze many creatures of many kinds found 
 all things favorable for active existence. Almost the first 
 leaf that I overturned disturbed a gaunt, grim spider, that 
 mounted a short projecting twig and glared back at me 
 with a torrid rather than a frigid countenance. Deeper 
 in the drifted mass, where the trickling waters of a little 
 spring had formed a shallow pool, were numbers of a long, 
 lithe, yellow salamanders, which I had not found before, 
 and so had held were not to be included in our fauna. I 
 forgot for the time that others might have been more for- 
 tunate, as was the case, and so my denial was on a par 
 with that of many critics, for with them denial is about 
 their only stock in trade. 
 
 Even insect life was not wanting, and small black bee- 
 tles that had outlived the summer were abundant, as well 
 as the dried bodies of many that had droned through hot 
 August nights, and hidden themselves away when the 
 early frosts of autumn had chilled them to the core. 
 
 My dictionary defines " bleak " as " cold, open, exposed, 
 cheerless, and solitary " ; the sum, in short, of all outdoor 
 miseries ; and perhaps the meadows will prove to be typi- 
 cally bleak. So I thought, but as I wandered on, as far 
 as the bank of the river, and even over the rough ice that 
 now hides the wide stream from view, I found no spot as 
 
JANUARY. 23 
 
 terrible as the definition implies. Everywhere it was 
 cold, open, and exposed, but never cheerless and solitary. 
 Scarcely had I crossed the beach-mark than twittering 
 tree-sparrows came floating through the air, each breaking 
 the silence as it reached the earth, as though bearing a 
 dainty sleigh-bell on its breast. 
 
 Even the frozen river was not bleak. It proved to be 
 a favorite hunting-ground of the omnipresent crow, and, 
 however funereal in appearance itself, no bird more effectu- 
 ally dispels the gloom. As seen against the dazzling white- 
 ness of the snow-dusted ice, the crows were very prominent 
 objects, and I felt that I had companions while walking 
 over the river, now a new pasture for me, if not for them. 
 
 Judging from their constant clamor for each had un- 
 restricted freedom of speech these crows were happy as 
 if at the end of a feast ; but it is not always so, as I have 
 known the ice to prove very tantalizing, if I mistook not 
 one poor bird's feelings upon a certain occasion. Lately 
 I chanced upon a solitary crow, without being seen by it. 
 I was passing at the time through a little wood, walking 
 upon the frozen creek that divided it. The ice was clear 
 as crystal and every object on the bed of the stream was 
 plainly to be seen. The crow before me was held by some 
 strong influence to a particular spot. At times it gazed 
 solemnly upon or through the ice ; then walked round 
 and round, as though looking for some opening therein ; 
 then, returning to the fascinating spot, again looked stead- 
 fastly down. 
 
 I was quickly curious to know what the attraction 
 might be, and approached the troubled bird. It was loath 
 to leave, and flew reluctantly toward the meadows, cawing 
 petulantly as it left the wood. I found beneath the ice, 
 where the crow had lingered, the skinned body of a musk- 
 rat, lodged in so appropriate a spot as a bed of mussels. 
 A tempting feast, this, for the hungry crow, which was 
 
24: DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 puzzling its poor brains to determine why such plenty 
 should be left in full view, and yet inaccessible. Every 
 movement of the crow suggested that it was thinking ; 
 certainly it was determined to reach that food, if within 
 its power. There are those who insist that birds can not 
 think. I would that all such could have seen this crow. 
 No single act bore special evidence of thought, but the 
 bird's whole manner spoke volumes. 
 
 And toward the close of day, when most birds were at 
 rest, from a still open spring-hole started a great blue 
 heron. It flew slowly and sadly, as though it felt the cold, 
 but did not complain. That day is not bleak when I can 
 stand on the lee side of a broad oak and see this stately 
 heron watching the opening waters for unwary frogs. 
 And it is not an uncommon winter sight. 
 
 But these cold, sunless days with chilling winds, that 
 seem so bleak to many, are often but the forerunners of 
 other days days of most marvelous beauty. Since my 
 last outing, an interim of warmth and much rain, filling 
 the hours of a long winter night, was quickly followed by 
 the returning north wind, and at sunrise the whole world 
 was encrystaled. Not even the tiniest twig nor any slen- 
 der blade of last year's grass but was incased with ice and 
 sparkling as never did fairy cave in our wildest flight of 
 fancy ; and with all this was music. The linnets, finding 
 no sure footing in the trees, sang as they drifted in the 
 fitful wind. And later, when the woods resounded with a 
 bell-like shower of falling crystals, the bluebirds caught 
 the spirit of the hour and warbled along the forest's vaulted 
 paths. 
 
 In fact, birds were nowhere wanting ; and from what 
 strange places they sometimes appeared ! Tilted cakes of 
 ice covered the sloping banks of a creek I lately crossed, 
 and from a wide crevice came a winter wren, quick-winged 
 and restless as its summer-tide cousins of my door-yard. 
 
JANUARY. 25 
 
 And afar off, hopping amid the stranded rubbish upon 
 the river's bank, are song-sparrows that find our winters 
 passing good, if their daily singing voices their content. 
 
 Herein, then, lies the merit of our winter it does not 
 leave us to grope about in silence ; for the rustling of dead 
 leaves, the cracking of great trees or of the ground during 
 intense cold, and the booming of the ice-bound river, 
 alone, are but hollow mockeries, but coupled with the 
 songs of our many winter birds each is a soul-stirring 
 melody. 
 
 So seldom do we have a really deep and long-lasting 
 snow that when one comes the familiar fields have all the 
 charm of a new country. I speak advisedly when I say 
 that a deep snow is unusual, and, having the records of a 
 hundred years, fear no damaging contradiction. The ge- 
 ology of the region has something to do with this, for the 
 higher and colder clay soils to the north and west are often 
 deeply covered when there is little or no snow here. Often 
 does it happen that we have a cold and sleety rain when 
 the ground is white scarcely five miles away. Therefore 
 it is that my more distant neighbors have the snow bunt- 
 ings in abundance when not one comes near us ; and 
 often across the river, in the dark, rocky woods, the cross- 
 bills throng the thickset cedars, while I look for them in 
 vain along the home hill-side. So every petty area has its 
 own attractions to the birds, and where the snow lies long- 
 est and the vegetation best recalls their northern homes 
 will our winter visitants most surely be found. In the 
 home fields a really deep snow is so far uncommon that I 
 honestly love it. 
 
 I have in mind one such, in January a very marvel 
 of a midwinter storm. There were no huge drifts and 
 desolate areas of naked ground, but every space and tree 
 and tiny twig was weighted to the utmost : this, in brief, 
 the effect of the storm that continued during the silent 
 
26 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 hours of the night ; and then, the day following, a flood 
 of brilliant sunshine. 
 
 " Firm-braced I sought my ancient woods, 
 Struggling through the drifted roads ; 
 The whited desert knew me not ; 
 Snow-ridges masked each darling spot ; 
 The summer dells, by genius haunted, 
 One arctic moon had disenchanted." 
 
 The deathlike stillness of the mantled woods, with 
 their trackless paths leading from hushed to silent soli- 
 tudes, repelled at first, but the ever-present feeling that one 
 is never absolutely alone led me on, and I crept beneath 
 the bent branches that arched above me; at every step 
 hoping some companion, however humble, would, after its 
 fashion, greet me "good morning." But at times my 
 faith wavered till I could have kissed a snake. Nature 
 was under a powerful anaesthetic, and I should soon have 
 felt the same influence had the silence continued. This 
 was not to be. Pausing at the partly bared roots of an 
 enormous oak, I thrust my cane into the little cave beyond 
 them, and disturbed a lazy opossum that had sought its 
 shelter. I was not surprised, for the creature had been 
 reported to me. As usual, it made no resistance, nor effort 
 to escape. Prodding it until it started to move away, I 
 followed slowly, watching the curious gait it assumed, as 
 though endeavoring to avoid sinking into the soft snow 
 and so become helpless. All the while, the whip-like tail 
 of the animal trailed upon the snow, and left a slightly 
 tortuous line, as distinctly marked as the creature's foot- 
 prints. 
 
 I was delighted to have the company even of an opos- 
 sum, although I have always insisted that the animal is 
 very foolish, if not a downright fool. Nor do I expect to 
 recant. Naturally, I recalled the musk-rat with which I 
 had rambled in the meadows, and every comparison was 
 
JANUARY. 27 
 
 in favor of the rat. To have gone very far, however, 
 would have proved as monotonous as the silent snow- 
 bound woods, and I was planning how to create some 
 variety when, at a bend in the path, my sedate opossum 
 suddenly rolled itself into a ball, in true armadillo fash- 
 ion, and went spinning down a steep slope into an (to me) 
 impenetrable thicket of smilax. That it was a sudden 
 thought generated in the animal's brain and thus expedi- 
 tiously acted upon I do not believe. It is more probable 
 that a misstep frightened it, and the curling up on the 
 brink of a precipice, was a mere coincidence. 
 
 If opossums, when surprised in the fields, were accus- 
 tomed to run for the woods and roll down the nearest 
 slopes into thickets, then I could believe in the forethought 
 of my opossum in the snow ; but I have never known these 
 animals to act in such a well-planned manner. 
 
 It may be illogical to assert it and yet claim so much 
 intelligence for our other mammals, but the opossum, it 
 has always appeared to me, throve more through good 
 luck than good management. 
 
 Practically, it is a step in advance from the stupid 
 marsupial in the thicket to blue jays in the trees above 
 it ; for, however it may run counter to the systems, there 
 can be no question of the jay's mental superiority. The 
 world acquired a new interest the moment these birds ap- 
 peared ; for the presence of birds at any time is magical in 
 effect. They are magicians that transform every scene ; 
 make of every desolate desert a garden of delights. No 
 other form of life has the same importance to the rambler. 
 I have often seen mammals under the most instructive 
 conditions, and followed in their wake thousands of rep- 
 tiles, fishes, and insects ; but my motive then was always 
 simple curiosity, a desire to learn something of their ways 
 of life, and little chagrin was mine if my labor went for 
 naught. It is different when I meet with birds. Then 
 
28 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 my enthusiasm is all aroused, and pleasure or pain pre- 
 dominates as they venture near me or hold back in fear. 
 Birds are creatures by themselves, and have little in com- 
 mon with the elaborate laws of those naturalists who know 
 them only by the structure of their bodies and not by the 
 exhibition of an advanced intelligence ; which, indeed, is 
 persistently denied them. The scale of bodily structure is 
 one thing, that of intelligence quite another ; but all this 
 matters not at present. The layman can rest assured that 
 be a bird's brain wrinkled or smooth, large or small, it is 
 the seat of a quicker wit than many of our wild mam- 
 mals possess. 
 
 These chattering jays were as deeply impressed with 
 the novelty of the surroundings as I was. They entered 
 heartily into the spirit of the white, wintry day, and played 
 what I may call a game of snow- showering. Flitting and 
 fluttering through the laden twigs, these joyous birds were 
 often lost in a cloud of whirling flakes, from which they 
 would emerge, screaming wildly their delight. 
 
 Perhaps they made a virtue of necessity, and, being 
 too clumsy to alight without displacing the snow, turned 
 their awkwardness into sport. This explanation may be 
 correct as applied to indefinitely distant generations back, 
 but I do not think it applicable to the present time. The 
 jays along my hill-side evidently love fun as much as do 
 our children, and if they, furthermore, do not really 
 laugh, their hearty screams are at least closely akin to 
 laughter. 
 
 It will doubtless be thought by many, if not by most 
 of my readers, that it is an overbold statement, but I do 
 not hesitate to say that I have long been convinced that 
 many of our birds and some of our mammals have a 
 fairly well developed sense of humor. Dr. Lindsay, in 
 his work on " Mind in the Lower Animals," states the 
 case as follows : " Certain animals, including species and 
 
JAN VARY. 29 
 
 genera so different as monkeys, apes, orangs, and baboons, 
 the dog, cat, horse, elephant, rabbit and squirrel, the 
 parrot, mocking-bird, starling, magpie, and goose, not only 
 perpetrate practical jokes on each other, or on man, but 
 they enter thoroughly into the spirit of the joke or fun ; 
 they enjoy, exult in, their or its success." To this view of 
 the question I heartily subscribe. 
 
 But not all of our winter birds are clumsy in the 
 snow, if blue jays really are, and before this merry group 
 of them passed on to deeper recesses of the wood I saw 
 a ruby-crowned kinglet. Perfectly fearless, it came almost 
 within reach of my hand and, leisurely flitting from branch 
 to branch of clustered spice- wood bushes, disturbed noth- 
 ing that it touched, and, as I found by careful examina- 
 tion, scarcely left its mark, and never a foot-print, as it 
 rested on the delicate ridges of snow. What the bird 
 found to eat I leave the world to conjecture, but if this 
 lone kinglet was hungry, it was not unhappy, and occa- 
 sionally sang so clearly, sweetly, and with so much earnest- 
 ness as to be suggestive of June rather than January. 
 
 One word more concerning this species of kinglet. I 
 was near enough to identify it beyond question. This is 
 really not an important matter, but I recalled then, as I 
 do now, that it has been stricken off the list of New Jer- 
 sey birds, or of winter residents upon what authority, 
 I do not know ; but, notwithstanding this, the bird re- 
 mains with us every winter, and is so happy when clam- 
 bering about our waste places, or insect-hunting among 
 the evergreens on the lawn, that no one would suspect 
 that it was transgressing any law of migration. 
 
 That snowy day I would rather have remained where 
 I then stood, and kept the pretty kinglet near me, but of 
 course could offer him no inducement to remain. Like 
 the jays, he too moved on, and it remained for me to 
 follow their example ; this, indeed, was all I could do if 
 
30 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 I would see what wild life was astir. At other times a 
 well-chosen stand is better for general observation, creat- 
 ures of every kind often passing in review before you, but 
 a deep snow changes all this, and one must seek for nearly 
 every object that he is favored to see. 
 
 Turning toward the meadows that stretch out for 
 miles from the foot of the hill, I thought of a great oil- 
 cask that years ago was sunk in the ground to collect the 
 waters of a little spring. It is a favorite spot with me at 
 all times, and I was curious to know how its many inhab- 
 itants had fared of late ; for frogs, snakes, turtles, and 
 salamanders never fail, in winter, to make it their home ; 
 and, I may add, many a mouse and tortoise find it their 
 grave. 
 
 Before I reached the spot, I was delighted to make 
 out faint foot-prints on the snow as I advanced, and so 
 to learn that some creature had passed that way since 
 the storm ceased. I supposed the spring to have been 
 the goal of the creature's journey, as it was of mine, 
 and I proved correct in this, for the first object that 
 caught my eye when the spot came in view was my late 
 friend the opossum of armadillo-tactics notoriety. His 
 mental caliber began to loom up into respectable pro- 
 portions in my estimation. Was he such a fool, after all ? 
 I wondered much, and was ready to believe a great deal, 
 before it occurred to me that this might really be another 
 opossum ; and certainly the tracks it made, and the ab- 
 sence of the mark made by the tail, suggested another 
 individual. What the animal's object was in visiting the 
 spring in the broad daylight must remain unknown, for 
 my abrupt appearance on the scene quite disconcerted him, 
 and he retired with as much haste as the superlatively 
 rough walking permitted. That the opossum sought 
 food rather than drink at the spring is eminently prob- 
 able ; but upon any of the animals living in its waters, I 
 
JANUARY. 31 
 
 am not aware that it ever preys. Possibly, being omniv- 
 orous, opossums are fond of frogs, and yet I doubt their 
 ability to catch them, except by mere chance. But this 
 is all vain speculation. It would not be strange if this 
 particular marsupial differed from his fellows in such 
 matters as that of food. Tastes vary among the lower 
 animals, as among mankind, and one in a thousand opos- 
 sums might have a fancy for frogs and the cunning neces- 
 sary to capture them, and the fact escape notice. Fixed 
 habits are few ; the whims of individual tastes are countless. 
 The frogs in the spring were not disconcerted by my 
 presence, and many remained sunning themselves, squatted 
 upon every object that would sustain their weight and 
 which reached above the water. Some were mottled, 
 others of a nearly uniform green or brown. Some were 
 large, and many more were quite small ; and all were sleek 
 and plump as you would expect to find them in midsum- 
 mer. Either fasting had not decreased their bulk or they 
 broke their fast at intervals during the winter. Both sug- 
 gestions, I think, are true. I stretched forth my hand to 
 take up these frogs, one after the other, but all objected, 
 moving backward into the deep water with a crab-like 
 celerity and grace. Not one of them turned his back on me 
 and dived ; but all simply withdrew, and, to my surprise, 
 always to a position quite out of reach, suggesting that they 
 measured the distance while en route. I have always held 
 that frogs were witless, so I suppose that it was all mere 
 coincidence. A few of these to-day were not content 
 with deep water, but passed on down into the loose sand. 
 Another possible coincidence, but I think not, was that 
 the deep green aquatic growths waving ceaselessly from 
 the sides of many of the half-rotten staves found no favor 
 with the frogs as a place of concealment. Neither then 
 nor since have I found any of them among them, while 
 they often rested upon the bare wood, and were, of course, 
 
32 DATS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 quite conspicuous. It would seem as though they trusted 
 wholly to their sight and take the chances of being sur- 
 prised. When on land their hearing is also largely de- 
 pended upon. 
 
 One patriarchal bull-frog a giant even among his 
 gigantic race was far more entertaining, as it proved, 
 than the small fry that shared with him this cozy notch in 
 the hill-side. Perhaps he was asleep all the while, or too 
 lazy to look up; but there he sprawled upon a water- 
 logged chip, down on boiling sands that at times shut him 
 from view. By more uncertain light I might have ques- 
 tioned his identity, and the strange figure he cut when I 
 prodded him with my cane prompted me to exclaim, 
 " Whence and what art thou, execrable shape ? " ' The 
 sound of my voice appeared to rouse him, although be- 
 neath the surface of the water, quite as much as my cane 
 had done. There appeared then a knowing glitter in his 
 eyes, and he scanned me closely as might a gem in its 
 matrix, were it conscious. I determined upon that great 
 frog's capture, and after a deal of trouble succeeded. But 
 I was repaid for it all. Taking his frogship up very ten- 
 derly, I handled him until quite warm and active, and 
 then placed him very gently upon a ridge of snow, some 
 twenty feet from the spring. The frog was evidently 
 quite bewildered, and the contact of his aldermanic 
 paunch with the snow was not only a novel but painful 
 experience. After some slight alterations of position as 
 though seeking relief the troubled creature gave one 
 mighty leap and landed in a little drift that had no sus- 
 taining crust. The frog quite disappeared, and, to my 
 great astonishment, when I reached the spot I found that 
 he was burrowing with all his strength, in search evidently 
 of the ground beneath. 
 
 Bringing him again to the surface, I expected to see 
 either another leap for life or a repetition of the burrow- 
 
JANUARY. 33 
 
 ing ; but no, his exposure to the cold was becoming too 
 much for his endurance, and in a most pathetic way he 
 rose upon all fours and commenced walking, as if deter- 
 mined at least to protect his precious stomach to the last. 
 A more ludicrously awkward gait is inconceivable. I can 
 liken it only to the hopeless sprawling of the patent 
 jointed tripod that came with my camera. I laughed 
 long and heartily at the plucky creature, but offered no 
 aid, when, it must be admitted, I should have pitied him. 
 As he was all the while approaching the spring, however, 
 I so far atoned for my cruelty by not again molesting him, 
 and really rejoiced when, with his remaining strength, he 
 plunged into the sparkling waters that are still his home. 
 
 The sunshine to-day was unremitting, and every bird 
 that loved a clear sky was finally astir during the after- 
 noon. I could hear them everywhere, yet saw distinctly 
 but very few. Every distant object was to be seen but 
 dimly through the glimmering air sound alone meeting 
 with no obstruction ; and as the notes were sifted through 
 the snow-bound twigs, the familiar song of many a favor- 
 ite reached my ear. v 
 
 But there is another phase of winter sunshine worthy 
 of notice. It is when dense, dull gray clouds obscure the 
 sun, except for the briefest intervals. Such times affect 
 our birds in a curious manner. Passing the long smilax 
 thickets, where I expect to see and hear the tree-sparrows 
 at least, there is absolute silence. Even if I force my way 
 into the little openings in the tangle, or throw stones into 
 it, or, standing near, shout long and loudly, it all matters 
 not. There is not a chirp to be heard ; no, nor the rus- 
 tling of a dead leaf ; but, waiting until the sunshine breaks 
 through some rift in the clouds, and immediately a score 
 or perhaps a hundred birds mount to the upper branches 
 of the shrubs or mazy tangle of the brier, and music forth- 
 with floats along the hill. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 FEBRUARY. 
 
 OF nominal winter, February is the beginning of the 
 end. Our Delaware Indians called the month Tsqualli 
 gischuch, the Frog Moon, and expected to hear the clammy 
 batrachians croaking before its close. This they were 
 pretty sure to do, as their name of the month implies ; 
 and here, by the way, we have evidence that the winters 
 of two centuries ago were not so widely different from 
 those of our own time. Certainly of late years it is the 
 rule that the diminutive hylodes, the smallest of our frogs, 
 will alternately peep and rattle " once in February, thrice 
 in March, and all day long in April." I have this from a 
 nonogenarian who claims to know, and it accords, after a 
 fashion, with my own field-notes ; but I do not, like my 
 informant, insist that it is a " rule," for batrachians of 
 every kind, like the higher animals, are loath to obey any 
 other law than that of their own sweet will. Hence the 
 absurdity of making ex cathedra statements concerning 
 them. Utter confusion awaits those who anticipate find- 
 ing our animals creatures devoid of individuality. Surely 
 I do not err when I say that a certain toad that lived in 
 my yard recognized me as its friend during the last twelve 
 years of its life. Examined as dead specimens, individuals 
 of a given species can not, perhaps, be positively distin- 
 guished ; but studied in their proper belongings, year after 
 year, the reverse is largely true. Even in so low a form of 
 
FEBRUARY. 35 
 
 life as the frog there may, I now think, be detected some 
 trace of individuality, though formerly I had grave doubts 
 upon this point. 
 
 During a warm, drizzling rain, last October, while the 
 outer doors were open, a bright-red wood-frog hopped 
 upon the porch, then into the hall, and finally found its 
 way into the dining-room, where it was captured. Its 
 beauty proved fatal to its future liberty, and now for some 
 seven months this wandering wood-frog has been the pet 
 of a friend, and that it recognizes its master can not be 
 disputed. . When I took the frog to my friend it was wild 
 as a hawk, and struggled to escape whenever approached ; 
 but now it is submissive as the most sedate old house- 
 cat. To-day it came from its cozy, fern-clad home when 
 called, and evidently enjoyed having its back stroked. It 
 is ever ready to take a fly, spider, or Croton-bug from my 
 friend's hand, and shows in many ways that it has learned 
 much during its rose-colored captivity. While watching 
 the knowing ways of this one, I put the question : Can a 
 frog be taught as well as merely tamed ? and the reply 
 was an emphatic and unqualified affirmative, substantiated 
 by the exhibitions of intelligence on the part of this frog, 
 as mentioned. 
 
 To fully realize how much an animal may know, as 
 judged by its actions, it is absolutely necessary to see the 
 creature. Mere words, lamely describing this or that act, 
 go for little. I am always in despair when I attempt such 
 description. It is so now. That wood-frog's countenance 
 was full of meaning. Every movement of the limbs, how- 
 ever slight, every turn of the head, and the short, impa- 
 tient leaps, all gave to those present impressions which it 
 is useless to attempt describing to others. The essence of 
 these impressions is, that the frog's brain was at the time 
 the seat of simple thought, as well as of muscular direc- 
 tion and half -automatic movement. And I am disposed 
 
36 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 nor am I alone in this to go a little further and express 
 the belief that were any number of unbiassed persons 
 present and watching this wood-frog, as I did to-day, they 
 would agree in this, that the animal not only recognized 
 my friend, but had a semblance of affection for him. 
 
 But while all may agree that animals can be taught, 
 it is by no means every man who can be a teacher. I 
 have known those with whom our domestic animals, and 
 especially dogs and cats, became friendly at once, while 
 others could never approach them, the dogs showing their 
 teeth and the cats decamping in fear ; yet thes.e unfortu- 
 nate people honestly desired to be friendly, and were really 
 gentle and kind-hearted. 
 
 My friend to whom I have referred has, to perfection, 
 the happy quality of gaining the confidence of animals. 
 Within a few days, an old male night-heron, that had 
 been caught in a steel trap, was brought to him. The 
 bird was not of an amiable disposition, if one might 
 judge from its expression. A day or two of kindness and 
 coaxing were all-sufficient, and now the heron is fairly 
 tame, and no one can question that it recognizes its master 
 from all others, coming promptly when called by him 
 and turning a deaf ear to the entreaties of all others. In 
 my friend's aviary, the same evidence that he exerts an 
 all-powerful influence over the birds is at once plainly 
 noticeable. It is amusing to see, of all birds, a pair of 
 Virginia rails follow him about, keeping close at his heel, 
 like a brace of well-bred spaniels. It was an error on my 
 part to judge too exclusively from my own experiences, 
 and I am convinced now that, like the toad, which I 
 have always championed, the frogs too are teachable. 
 
 But let us return to the untaught frogs in the mead- 
 ows. Strangely, I think, they have never received that 
 consideration from our poets that is their due. Is it be- 
 cause their " music " is not popular with the masses ? Yet 
 
FEBRUARY. 37 
 
 where in all nature is there a more suggestive sound than 
 the earliest singing of these clammy creatures ? They are 
 universally said to croak, as though the eleven species of 
 frog and frog-like batrachians that are found in this 
 neighborhood had but one and the same utterance. Think 
 of it ! Toad, spade-foot, hyla, the little peeper, and the 
 true frogs, all condemned to do nothing but dolorously 
 croak ! As a matter of fact, we have among them a wide 
 range of sound, from the deep bass of the bull-frog to the 
 piercing treble of Pickering's hyla. We hear it com- 
 monly said of the raven that it croaks, but not one of our 
 batrachians has so doleful, despondent, and gloomy a 
 voice as has that strange bird. Certainly, not one of them 
 utters any sound that remotely resembles the weird raven's 
 cry. Then, too, there is the advantage among frogs of 
 thousands singing in concert, and the harshness of each 
 individual's voice is softened so that the volume of sound 
 that sweeps over the meadows has a veritable grandeur. 
 We do not stop to detect the defects of any single song, 
 but acknowledge the success of their united efforts in re- 
 joicing at the victory gentle Spring has gained. 
 
 February of 1888 proved an exceptional month. The 
 frogs did not sing. There were days and days of warm 
 sunshine, tempering winds, and all the torpor-dispelling 
 agencies in full force, yet they failed to respond. I found 
 them sunning themselves by many a spring-hole, and 
 squatted with noses above water in the marshy meadows, 
 but not one uttered a word of satisfaction. I lingered for 
 hours about the upland sink-holes, hoping to hear the 
 rattling hylodes, but not one rattled or peeped. Although 
 the ice had disappeared and the water was fairly warm, 
 they remained as silent as when frost-bound in January. 
 Yet they were not inactive. The long continued cold had 
 not chilled them until helpless or stupid. They hopped 
 vigorously from me when I tried to catch them. There 
 
38 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 was to me no apparent reason why they should not have 
 been as noisy as during several days of February, 1887, 
 when the fields resounded with their cries. What past 
 experience gave me every reason to expect failed me here, 
 and the explanation, I take it, it were vain to seek. 
 
 Here is something for those to consider who hold that 
 animal life is essentially machine-like, and repeats each 
 year the acts of the preceding season. And so it is, the 
 wide world over. Animals have abundant power over 
 their own movements, and are influenced by agencies we 
 as yet know nothing of. 
 
 There are winter days that, without being at all stormy, 
 seem determined to have the world to themselves. The 
 sky, clouds, and every tangible object from which we hope 
 a welcoming gaze, returns our glance with a let-me-alone 
 look that is very disheartening. Such are many of those 
 in February, or have been of late years, and for general 
 dreariness they throw the best efforts of November in 
 this line quite into the shade. November gloom is chilly 
 and depressing, that of February is often the acme of des- 
 olation. 
 
 In order to test the power of such a day to its utmost, 
 I sought the loneliest spot within easy access, the drift- 
 strewed beaches of a long island in the river, and picked 
 my way through the flotsam of the recent flood " de- 
 posited upon the silent shore." I have said " the silent 
 shore." It is true that the sobbing of the waves filled the 
 air, but this, on such a day, is one of those sounds in 
 nature which merely intensify the silence. 
 
 The whole island was spread out before me as a sub- 
 ject under the dissector's knife ; not only dead, but disor- 
 ganized. It mattered not how deeply I probed, how freely 
 I cut, there was no trace of latent life, no shuddering, no 
 protest, however faint, and my bungling work, in all its 
 ragged disjointedness, was not traceable in the landscape. 
 
FEBRUARY. 39 
 
 My overturning of every object that I was able to move 
 made it no less in place than before ; the confusion was 
 no worse confounded because of my interference. Verily, 
 for once, I thought, I am absolutely alone. But it was 
 not to be. Even when the elements conspire to drive life 
 into the background as they seemed bent upon doing to- 
 day the most that we can hope, if desirous of solitude, 
 is to have our senses dulled to the proximity of our neigh- 
 bors. I stamped upon the brittle twigs covering the sandy 
 shore, that the sound of their cracking might break the 
 monotony of the river's ripple, and broke the glossy wil- 
 low sprouts that chanced in my way, to hear their scream- 
 ing swish as I lashed the dead air; and my desperate 
 efforts to rouse the sleepers startled at last one poor, 
 crouching, timid song-sparrow that thridded the tangled 
 underbrush as might a mouse. I had learned what silence 
 really meant, and realized what absolute deafness must be. 
 It was enough to see a bird and not hear it. Here the 
 despised meadow-mouse becomes the song-bird's superior, 
 for with swifter feet it can find a passage even through 
 flood-tossed driftwood. 
 
 But there was at least one sparrow abroad, and I was 
 happier from that moment. Trusting the bird would re- 
 consider its needless flight and return, I waited for some 
 minutes, and not in vain. Back it came, flying now, in- 
 stead of running, and when very near me clutched a 
 swaying willow branch and sang. I have heard birds' 
 songs under endless conditions, but never such hollow 
 mockery as this. Half the notes were caught and 
 strangled, while such as escaped were shorn of all their 
 sweetness. The sparrow knew that it had sadly blun- 
 dered, and dropped silently into the grass beneath it. 
 Dead days, such as this, tolerate no music, not even a dol- 
 orous dirge. 
 
 Let me ask why, if one sparrow be abroad, there may 
 
40 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 not be a hundred skulking near and likely to show them- 
 selves? The chances are that no more would be found 
 should I search diligently for hours. What has become of 
 them ? This is a problem for our learned ornithologists to 
 solve, for the sudden coming and going of our resident 
 birds is a strange feature of bird life, and worthy of con- 
 sideration. There is no spot for miles around where birds 
 are more abundant than on this island, and yet practically 
 all were hidden to-day, so closely that no eyes, however 
 sharp, could have spied them out. Nor is it sufficient, as 
 has been dogmatically asserted, to say that they have 
 sought the better shelter afforded by the hill-sides across 
 the river. Have they, indeed ? These same hill-sides have 
 been searched, and not a bird was to be found. There are 
 two alternatives they either hide or leave the neighbor- 
 hood. Both are possible ; the latter the more probable ; 
 but the mystery of the matter still remains. There are 
 winter days few in number, I am glad to say that, as 
 my record runs, are birdless ones ; and again, others like 
 to-day that are nearly so. At the dawn of such days, 
 weak- winged birds, as sparrows, tits, and kinglets, appear 
 to suddenly take flight and pass beyond the limits of an 
 inclement and depressing area, often miles away ; and 
 knowing, while at this distant point, when a change 
 has taken place, return as suddenly as they departed. 
 This seems very absurd, yet it is apparently true ; for, on 
 the other hand, to say that new birds take the place of 
 those that were here, is to assume what is certainly untrue, 
 so far as resident species are concerned. There are tits 
 and sparrows and Carolina wrens that have as well-defined 
 ranges as ever did a game-cock, and keep as closely to it. 
 One need but become familiar with the peculiarity of some 
 one sparrow's song to know that the same individual will 
 stay not only for a season, but year after year, in one lim- 
 ited locality. 
 
FEBRUARY. 41 
 
 There are, in a general sense, no birds on the island to- 
 day, and if to-morrow be clear they will be abroad in full 
 force ; but, as I can testify from repeated experiences, if 
 you stay until to-morrow, keeping a sharp lookout the 
 night through, you will stand guard in vain. The coming 
 of the birds will be without a sign ; swift as the first flash 
 of the morning's sun. 
 
 However it may be in other quarters of the globe, sea- 
 sonal migration along our river valleys is in no way re- 
 markable, and presents nothing of near like interest to 
 many a phase of bird life during either the summer or 
 winter season. This sudden change that I have men- 
 tioned, and which occurs at all seasons but when the birds 
 are nesting, is more full of meaning, and throws more 
 light upon bird intelligence. 
 
 And now of the few birds that remain. Certainly, 
 during this funereal day that one sparrow gave abundant 
 evidence of being in anything but a joyous state of mind. 
 It acted as though it had forgotten itself for a moment, 
 and so was either frightened or ashamed ; like a child when 
 it speaks aloud in church and is answered by a frown. 
 
 It will doubtless be said that this is a strained, stilted, 
 exaggerated statement of the effect of peculiarly gloomy 
 days, or even a baseless fancy; but such counter-state- 
 ments, popularly yclept criticism, do not alter the case, 
 and I wish that some I kn<3w would winter in the mead- 
 ows for one season. Well, as my field notes show, other 
 than bird life was inactive. When I chanced to overturn 
 a broad bit of bark, and so unroof the snug retreat of a 
 meadow-mouse, it did not flee, but crouched in one corner 
 as though expecting me to shrink to its size and share its 
 shelter with it. Of a cold, breezy winter day, with blue 
 sky and yellow sunshine, how quickly this same mouse 
 would have disappeared, perhaps before I could have 
 caught a glimpse of it ! Surely there is something that 
 
42 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 pervades the atmosphere of these dead days that tells upon 
 mice as well as men. I may fairly claim a liking for the 
 outdoor world, yet I thought constantly to-day of the 
 comforts of a shelter, and regretted that I had wandered 
 so far from home. Nor would I have remained until the 
 day closed had not a hollow sycamore offered me a safe if 
 not very commodious quarter, from which I could see the 
 river and a fair sample of the deserted shores. But, as so 
 often happens, I reckoned rashly. It were a different mat- 
 ter whether one walked or sat, and now that I had a house 
 I felt the need of a fire. This, to be sure, was quickly 
 provided, and only to find that with its warmth I must 
 take the smoke, and through the latter the dismal river 
 was a still more doleful sight. Thus, the misfortune 
 of being so dependent drove me from my new-found 
 shelter, and, filled with disgust, I turned my steps home- 
 ward. 
 
 I had not gone ten paces, however, before a solitary 
 blue heron, fearless of the smoldering fire, settled by the 
 river's edge, and solemnly stalked along the narrow beach, 
 passing by with so much dignity that I could scarcely keep 
 from laughing. It was indulging in vain regrets, I fan- 
 cied, that it had chosen to winter so far north. But perhaps 
 the poor fellow was rheumatic and dared not venture on 
 a migratorial flight. It is well to fortify this statement 
 with a convenient " perhaps," for the measured flapping 
 of the heron's wings, as it came down the river, and no 
 less measured tread as it paced the lonely shore, hardly 
 warranted such a suggestion. 
 
 "When I left the heron, it was perched upon an uplifted 
 branch of a ghost-like, stranded tree that for years had 
 been bleaching in the storms and sunshine of the up-river 
 region ; and as I hurried toward my boat at the ford, time 
 after time I looked back to see it still standing with its 
 head resting upon its breast, its wings drooping, the very 
 
 
FEBRUARY. 43 
 
 picture of despair. Would it not have been less mopish 
 and disconsolate had the day been brighter ? I think so. 
 
 It is strange that when birds are seemingly out of place 
 and apparently laboring under every disadvantage, as in 
 the case of herons in winter, they are invested with greater 
 interest than in those ordinary conditions when they are 
 familiar objects of daily observation. The great blue 
 heron and the " quok," that are occasionally seen on the 
 meadows and along the river during the winter, are sure 
 to command a greater degree of attention than during 
 summer, and add unusual interest to the day's outing. 
 They are so associated with warm weather, with minnows 
 in the shallow brooks and frogs in the spring-holes, that 
 we wonder why they are here now, pity them if necessity 
 required their remaining, and are puzzled to conjecture 
 where they find sufficient food. Such was, at least, the 
 current of my thoughts until I found that there never was 
 so cold a day that some open water could not be found, or 
 water so cold that both frogs and fish did not venture to 
 be abroad. But the supply of food from such sources is an 
 uncertain one at best, and probably the land rather than 
 the water is their principal hunting-ground. In other 
 words, they are hunters rather than fishermen. My atten- 
 tion was recently called to this matter by a taxidermist 
 who found three partly digested meadow-mice in the stom- 
 ach of a winter-killed great blue heron. Following this 
 clew, my own observations convinced me that the meadows 
 were systematically hunted for the innumerable mice that 
 tunnel the matted dead grass in every direction. What of 
 deep snows? it may be asked; but, fortunately for the 
 herons, lasting snows are unknown to the low-lying tracts 
 I treat of, and so do not enter into the matter at all. I 
 would not be understood to say that mice are their sole 
 dependence in winter, but that a sufficient number are 
 caught to make up the deficiency of frogs and fish. 
 
44 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 The day suddenly improved in two respects. As I was 
 crossing the river to the mainland it began to rain, and a 
 kingfisher sprung his rattle directly above my head. I am 
 not superstitious beyond what other men are, but the harsh 
 cry of that hopeful bird was more than music then, assur- 
 ing me of a welcome change in the immediate future, 
 although the sky was now as gloomy as a funeral pall, and 
 every drop of the pitiless rain was cold as charity. 
 
 Even though it be an icy rain, some tangible evidence 
 of energy in nature is far more grateful than death-like 
 inactivity, although we know so well that the latter is not 
 real. When out of doors, one never expects to find the 
 world at rest, and anticipates disaster if the appearances 
 but vaguely suggest it. It is said that an ominous silence 
 precedes an earthquake. Neither the silence of to-day 
 nor the kingfisher's cry suggested so soon a change, but I 
 felt that by nightfall there would be a new order issued, 
 and the halcyon's rattle was the apparent herald. 
 
 It would have been foolish indeed to have turned my 
 back upon the cheerful blaze of an open fire, and started 
 out in such rain ; but to face it, in leaving the island, 
 was a veritable relief. What under ordinary circum- 
 stances would be repelling features of such a time were 
 now pleasing and attractive through contrast, and the 
 dripping of the great round drops upon the still adherent 
 leaves of the sapling beeches and oaks that were yet full- 
 leaved was inspiriting music. 
 
 As it was late in the afternoon and stormy too, the 
 prospect was far from cheering as I faced a broad and 
 weedy meadow that must needs be crossed; but I had 
 that confident feeling of being repaid for my trouble 
 which so seldom fails me, however unpromising may seem 
 the outlook to others. 
 
 Of this strange confidence I can not give any definite 
 description, but that it is not a pleasant mental condition 
 
FEBRUARY. 45 
 
 I can aver. For years I have noticed that, without the 
 least apparent reason, I have suddenly thought of some 
 one animal and straightway it appears upon the scene. 
 It was so this afternoon. I had neither seen nor heard a 
 crow, either before I reached the island or while upon it, 
 and yet that these birds were to be a prominent feature 
 of my homeward walk I was positive ; and so it proved. 
 What does it all mean ? Did they really exert, unknow- 
 ingly, some strange influence upon me, as man appears to 
 do upon man when through the senses of sight or hear- 
 ing they have no knowledge of each other's whereabout ? 
 I have long thought that such common experience could 
 not be mere coincidence, and so the whole matter becomes 
 vexatious, for I hate mystery. 
 
 I had not gone far before I fell in with a company of 
 silent crows. Twenty or more sat, without uttering the 
 faintest sound, on the lower branches of a huge black 
 birch. I caught sight of them before I had been seen, 
 and so were joined two rare occurrences in the bird world 
 surprising a gathering of mute crows. I should have 
 waited where I stood, and so had a chance to determine 
 the cause of their silent meeting ; but my spirit of mischief 
 overcame discretion and I shouted loudly. With a united 
 cry of alarm that was almost deafening, they took wing 
 and scattered in every direction, but soon gathered again 
 and flew in one direction, down the river ; and now their 
 mingled voices, pitched on a dozen different keys, sounded 
 marvelously like an earnest conversation; and I firmly 
 believe that it was. 
 
 A silent and solitary crow may not be phenomenal, 
 but when a dozen or more are associated and all refrain 
 from utterance, then rest assured that something of grave 
 import occupies their minds. I do not know how far down 
 in the scale the remark is applicable, but if we have any 
 warrant for judging animals by their actions and voices, 
 
46 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 then from fishes upward they frequently stop to think. 
 As we so often say of ourselves and of other people, so I 
 am warranted in saying of the crows, they had stopped to 
 think. But of what ? Ah ! that is another matter. 
 
 Poor, persecuted crows ! they have a hard time of it, 
 and only their excellent wit has saved them from annihila- 
 tion. I recently read of the efforts to destroy a newly 
 formed crow-roost, and that the farmers of the neighbor- 
 hood were divided into crowites and anti-crowites. There 
 is no need of coining a new word. Those who defend 
 those birds are wise; those who persecute them, other- 
 wise. 
 
 There was nothing directly in my path to explain the 
 presence of these crows, so far as I could see, but this fact 
 goes for naught. They are long-headed birds, and not 
 disposed to publish their plans by remaining too close to 
 the scene of proposed operations; and so far as their 
 suggestive silence is concerned, I long ago learned that a 
 pair of crows, when nesting, could keep quiet on occasion, 
 as when raiding upon the nest of a sitting hen during her 
 absence, or when stealing corn from a crib that was near 
 the farmer's house ; and when a water-melon patch is to 
 be visited, the same caution is often exercised, although at 
 this time the nesting is over. I have knowledge of a pair 
 of crows that always alighted in an adjoining field, and 
 walked some distance to the fence and then crept under 
 it, thus reaching the melons in safety. A chance remark, 
 jokingly made, led to the discovery of this astonishing 
 fact. 
 
 A few minutes later, as I reached the brow of the hill, 
 a cold blast from the north came sweeping through the 
 woods, and as suddenly the sky became brighter. Then 
 the western horizon grew brilliant ; a bright band of glow- 
 ing red rested upon the distant tree-tops, and in the hol- 
 lows of the wood near by the scanty remnants of sheltered 
 
FEBRUARY. 47 
 
 snow-drifts shone with as soft a light, pink, pearly, and 
 pure, as Paradise. And as I looked back from my door 
 over the wide meadows, the river, and that silent island 
 for the last time that day, I saw those mute, mysterious 
 crows returning to the old birch tree. 
 
 There is one marked feature of February that merits 
 not mere mention only, but the skill of a ready writer to 
 do it justice. Often the night gives promise of a balmy 
 day, and I retire in hopes of greeting the welcome traces 
 of a spring-like morning ; but, however early I may be 
 abroad, the birds are sure to be astir before me. While 
 darkness still lingers on the wooded hill I reach the 
 meadows, only to find them all mist and music. The 
 wakeful tits call from the towering pines, the sparrows 
 twitter from the dripping shrubs. Through the thick air 
 wing the cawing crows, and restless redbirds whistle 
 through the gloom. 
 
 And while I stand listening, there comes, borne upon 
 the soft south wind, a faint, tinkling note that thrills me 
 more than all other sounds. It can not be mistaken for any 
 other, and I know that the redwings are on the way. What- 
 ever the time of year, there are joyful experiences in store 
 for every rambler, but few that are more entrancing than 
 to greet the crimson-shouldered blackbirds when they 
 come in full force to the long-deserted meadows. It is 
 true there have been straggling birds both seen and heard 
 all through the winter, but now through their numbers 
 we have sweet assurance that the season's severity is well- 
 nigh over. 
 
 It matters not that seldom, if ever, do these large flocks 
 come to stay. Enough to know that their sharp eyes have 
 detected some sign of spring. The fierce north winds 
 send them hurrying back all too soon, but from now 
 until April, as the wind varies, they drift to and fro. 
 
48 DATS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 Just where they linger when the frost-king rages, I do 
 not know, but it can not be afar off. It is but a few 
 hours after the south wind comes again that they re- 
 appear, and 
 
 " The meadows all bespattered with melody." 
 
 The weather, as we have seen, has much to do with 
 both the frogs and blackbirds, and indeed with nearly all 
 of active life in February ; but the bleakness of January 
 does not hold everywhere, however arctic the world may 
 appear to the careless observer. Brushing aside the dead 
 leaves upon the hill-side, that dainty flower, the pale pink 
 spring beauty, proved to be in bloom. For long its hope- 
 ful buds had been waiting for yet a little warmer sun- 
 shine, and now, sheltered by the crisp oak leaves from 
 every chilling blast, while yet the ice arched the meadow 
 brooks and snow-drifts lingered in the upland fields, they 
 stealthily opened to the cheerful outlook, as though listen- 
 ing, as I was, to the songs of many birds. 
 
 What then does it matter that the frogs fail us at 
 times, as they did in the memorable winter of '88 ? The 
 birds and blossoms did not, and before the February moon 
 had waxed and waned we had promise that the reign of 
 winter was well-nigh over that the beginning of the end 
 was here. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 MARCH. 
 
 BY the first of March, and often earlier, the world is all 
 agog concerning signs of spring. The welcome accorded 
 winter during the holidays is no longer extended to the 
 remaining snow-storms, and we meet with a frown the last 
 cold wave of the season. 
 
 When the outdoor world is ignored as is so often the 
 case and the village newspaper becomes one's only source 
 of information, the impression obtains that veritable signs 
 of spring are thick as the clustered stars of heaven. But 
 
 Hast thou, Spring ! some flawless, quick-read sign, 
 Outspeeding thine own steps, to herald thee ? 
 
 Possibly this belief in signs arises from the fact that 
 taking any average village such as lies at the elbow of 
 every one who lives outside a city's walls, and we shall find 
 that about the middle of February half the adults of, we 
 will say, Crankville become weather prophets, and the rest 
 of the community are willing listeners, if not steadfast 
 believers. Not one of the latter but has been periodically 
 deceived since he first pinned his faith on the prophet's 
 assertions ; yet not one of them appears to know this very 
 damaging fact. Indeed, it would never have been discov- 
 ered had not a diarist gone to their benighted village to 
 live, and he it is who has made the writer acquainted with 
 the facts. 
 
 4 
 
50 DAYS OUT OF DOOMS. 
 
 Crankville, of course, has another name, or I should 
 never have dared to pen these opening sentences. 
 
 After the middle of the month of February not a 
 Crankville frog dare croak nor wasp creep from the barn, 
 sheltered maple bud dare swell or daffodil look upward, 
 but straightway the prophets are moved to look their 
 wisest and proclaim that winter is over, and point to the 
 poor animal or plant as their authority for the statement. 
 The gulled listeners, all hopeful that what they heard is 
 true, dutifully salaam the prophets, and Crankville is 
 happy. Biting frosts, deep snows, howling winter storms 
 follow within a week. The earlier proclamations of the 
 weather prophets are forgotten, and when the skies clear 
 and the warm sun cheers the impatient animals and plants 
 again, the same predictions are again made and trustfully 
 received, and so the farce continues until the spring really 
 comes. 
 
 Turning our backs now on these innocent villagers, let 
 us take up the subject more soberly, and see if we can find 
 any flawless, quick-read sign of spring. 
 
 Stay ! There is one sign of spring, not uncommon to 
 February, and very characteristic of March. I refer to the 
 public sales of those who from necessity or choice " are 
 about to relinquish farming," as the posters inform us. 
 April 1 being "moving day," during the previous six 
 weeks these vendues usually come off vandoo sales, as my 
 neighbors call them ; and not a farmer but finds it con- 
 venient to attend, for he not only meets his friends but 
 secretly cherishes the hope that he may " pick up a bar- , 
 gain." The queer folk of a neighborhood, too, that 
 never appear in public except upon such an occasion and 
 at funerals, are out in full force. A vendue, in fact, is as 
 attractive to cranks as is honey to a fly. Partly to study 
 these odd characters, and more that I might purchase 
 some old furniture, I have been attending sales. But aside 
 
MARCH. 51 
 
 from either purpose, there is occasionally the opportunity 
 of studying one phase at least of early colonial life well 
 worthy of attention. When there is a considerable offer- 
 ing of household goods, one gets a glimpse of the past 
 more vivid than any mere description of the historian. 
 Some rickety chair, tarnished andirons, battered pewter, 
 a string of shoe-buckles, warped and worm-eaten books 
 the outpourings of a dusty garret and a damp cellar an 
 omnium gatherum that has been two centuries in growing. 
 Think of such a display brought again to the sunlight ! 
 The imagination must indeed be sluggish that can not by 
 such aid recall the earnest folk who settled in the wilder- 
 ness. 
 
 All such sales as these are worth a day's attendance, 
 even though you dine on peanuts and that mysterious 
 compound, a sutler's oyster stew. But be not too eager 
 to bid. To purchase what you really wish and nothing 
 else ; to get for a dime what is really worth a dollar this, 
 I now believe, is one of the fine arts ; so far as I am con- 
 cerned, one of the lost arts. 
 
 My last attendance proved so unsatisfactory, if not 
 worse, that I have declared my intention of ignoring ven- 
 dues in the future. I was tempted by the wording of the 
 poster, and, in spite of the bad roads and detestable 
 weather, gave half a day to colonial furniture and all the 
 belongings of a well-appointed house of those rare old 
 days. Other and more enthusiastic lovers of such things 
 were also there, and I always bid in vain. By dimes and dol- 
 lars every desired object went just out of reach. I felt a 
 little sore at my ill luck, and, fool that I was, determined 
 not to return home empty-handed. I have wondered 
 since if the auctioneer read my thoughts. Be this as it 
 may, I stood by the remaining heaps of worthless refuse 
 cunningly packed in broken basins and sieve-like milk- 
 pans. I saw no gem that had been inadvertently cast 
 
52 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 before swine, and my purchase, if I made any, must be 
 some farming utensil, I thought, and I remained by the 
 rubbish only out of curiosity to see if the scattered cranks 
 would now come to the fore as purchasers. Unfortunate 
 curiosity ! 
 
 After waiting impatiently for a bid and getting but a 
 penny as a starter, the auctioneer suddenly eyed me so 
 searchingly that my head bobbed in spite of me, and I 
 was announced the buyer of a brown jug for a nickel. Now 
 I have never had need for a brown jug. But I was not to 
 be caught again, I inwardly vowed, and braced my head 
 against a tall chest of drawers, so that if the searching eye 
 of that wicked auctioneer singled me out I could resolutely 
 turn my face toward the ceiling. This scheme availed 
 me nothing, for that upward glance was too pronounced, 
 and taken as legal evidence of assent, and I was saddled 
 with a panful of bladeless knives and tineless forks. Now 
 I was half angry, and turned my back upon the auctioneer. 
 " Don't go," he screamed, and as I turned to declare that 
 I would, I became the bewildered owner of a startling 
 array of globular, capacious, aged, if not antique crockery, 
 yellow, blue, and white. This last decision of the fiendish 
 auctioneer provoked an audible smile throughout the 
 crowd in which I could not join ; for had I not come to 
 see cranks, and, by helplessly buying all the rubbish, was 
 crowned the champion crank for so doing! I have no 
 longer a kindly feeling toward vendues. 
 
 "While a plant or an animal remains, there will doubt- 
 less be coupled with it some sign of the season either 
 the time of its arrival or its general character. Its value 
 need not be discussed. So far as spring plants are con- 
 cerned, there is a host of them that sleep throughout the 
 winter " with one eye open," and stretch themselves, re- 
 gardless of the almanac, if chance favors them with sun- 
 
MARCH. 53 
 
 shine and a shelter from the winds. There lives no country 
 boy so unobservant as not to know this, yet such plants 
 are pointed at with great glee by the victims of the mania 
 for seasonal prophecy. And the unthinking audience 
 shout " Spring is coming," for they have seen with their 
 own eyes the evidence. Have they ? In January the same 
 plant life was equally prominent, but then the weather 
 prophets had not been moved to speak, so it all passed for 
 nothing. 
 
 In localities of a higher grade of intelligence than 
 Crankville, the observant people, curious in such matters 
 but not bigotedly confident, generally watch the birds 
 more closely than any other form of life, and judge of an 
 early or late spring by their migratory movements. This 
 is not a safe guide by any means. A carefully kept record 
 covering a decade will show that birds are very frequently 
 deceived by premature spring-like weather. Jack Frost 
 is the only boy who has scattered salt on birds' tails and 
 so caught them. He it is who has dashed snow so freely 
 about in April that the summer birds have to admit them- 
 selves his prisoners. 
 
 I have gathered a host of sayings referring to birds 
 and the weather, and have tested them all. Often they 
 hold good, frequently they do not; and the weather 
 prophet is always cunning enough to see with a blind eye 
 only when the facts contradict him. I well remember 
 pointing to a flock of wild geese as they wended their way 
 northward early in February. " Winter is about over," 
 my companion told me. But we happened to have five 
 weeks of arctic weather after that, and I twitted him about 
 his prediction. " They must have been goin' over without 
 honkin'," he said ; " that makes a difference, you know." 
 I did not know it, and do not know it now, and never will 
 know it, for it is not true ; but what are we to do ? If I 
 tell the average Crankville weather prophet he is a pre- 
 
54: DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 varicator (if he knows the meaning of the word), he will 
 resent it forcibly, and that is unpleasant. 
 
 The character of the winter is by many assumed to have 
 much to do with the early or tardy coming of spring. 
 This is so reasonable on the face of it that one listens 
 hopefully as it is explained that the average of cold is 
 about the same each year, and if the three months of win- 
 ter proper are steadily frigid, then March will be spring- 
 like in fact as well as name. Alas ! those deadly statistics 
 confront us ; and March has often followed so closely in 
 winter's footsteps that the lengthening days are our only 
 hope that spring will ever come. 
 
 As is my wont, I let not a day go by without some 
 glimpse of out of doors, and more often I am rambling 
 while the day lasts ; and wherever I go I find hopeful 
 plants, brave animals, and mark the skyward route of 
 hardy northward migrants. 
 
 These may be called signs of an early spring, if you 
 will. In proportion as we long for that goodly season we 
 are tempted to so look upon them. But is there not a 
 more rational view ? After all, are these plants and ani- 
 mals not the same as us in this respect ? Like us, they 
 are impatient for the winter to be gone. They lend a 
 willing ear to every murmur of the south wind ; they wel- 
 come the embrace of every ray of sunshine. This, and 
 nothing more. Were they blessed with memory, do you 
 think they would not accuse the weather of being fickle, 
 and would these plants and animals not resent the charge 
 of passing as " signs " ? 
 
 Hast thou, O Spring, some flawless, quick-read sign ? 
 
 We ask of her in vain. She has never deigned to reply, 
 and leaves us to choose between ignorance as to the times 
 of her coming or belittle ourselves by listening to the inan- 
 ities of the weather prophets of Crankville and elsewhere. 
 
MARCH. 55 
 
 But let us consider the year's third month without 
 reference to the libelous insinuation that it ever intends 
 to be interpreted in a prophetic sense. Probably no month 
 is so distinctly sui generis. The Indians called it Chwdme 
 gischucJi, the Shad Moon, and the name is still applicable. 
 Our swarthy predecessors in this river valley were enthu- 
 siastic fish-eaters, and they had better and bigger fish than 
 any but the very best of what are captured now. The 
 shell-heaps tell the story, for nothing so delicate but in 
 these kindly beds of ashes has been faithfully preserved. 
 This, of course, has been denied, and the world assured 
 that fish-bones are perishable. Eeally ! and so the bone 
 implements in our museums are all frauds! But men- 
 dacious anonymities can not alter the facts. Shad for- 
 merly were larger as a rule than the usual " run " of them 
 to-day, but happily they are still large enough to rejoice 
 the rich, and plenty enough that all may feast. 
 
 The river is this month's favorite highway. The up- 
 land winds are never so keen as those that rush counter 
 to the incoming tide and make a choppy, white-capped 
 sea. The shivering fishermen hold it bad luck then, for 
 the shad are stayed, and water-hauls, though a common 
 experience of all mankind, are never submitted to with a 
 good grace. 
 
 The attractions of the fisheries established years ago by 
 our great-grandfathers have well-nigh disappeared. Now 
 it is a mere matter of business ; then it was one equally 
 of pleasure a combination of play and profit. The la- 
 bor of the farm was lightened by the anticipation of 
 an hour with the net and a feast at breakfast the day fol- 
 lowing. 
 
 With what excitement the net was gradually drawn to 
 the shore, and how eager was every lad to land the great 
 silvery-sided fish that now leaped in terror above the 
 water ! How lustily the men cheered when a successful 
 
56 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 haul was made, and with what impatience this exultant 
 shout was waited for by the anxious housewives who stood 
 at the open doors, with hands curled back of their ears 
 that they might be sure to catch the welcome sound that 
 told of the men's success 1 
 
 The site of the old fishery remains ; a bit of one old 
 net is preserved ; the double door of the old kitchen that 
 faced the river is still swinging, and above it where it has 
 rested for more than seventy years is a rusty sturgeon 
 spear ; but of the happy folk who lived here, that drew 
 their nets in these waters and deftly speared the floun- 
 dering sturgeon, now not one remains. There is not left 
 one link between the closing years of the last century and 
 this prosy, artificial year of 1888. 
 
 Those of to-day may smile if they will, and prefer to 
 buy what fish they need ; but the world lost something, 
 however much it may have gained, when many a feature 
 of more primitive times was swallowed up in the customs 
 of to-day. And this trivial matter of a shad for tea is one 
 of them. " Catch your shad at 5 and eat it at 7." This 
 was the long-established rule of one old farm-house not 
 far away, and no skill of modern cookery can improve 
 upon the right royal satisfaction of such a feast. 
 
 The mid-river alone retains the wildness of primeval 
 days, the shores being all too likely to be strewed with the 
 slops of cities. No growth of splatter-dock so rank as to 
 hide that ubiquitous horror, a rusty tomato can. Even in 
 the remotest nooks, where I fancied myself the first man 
 to enter since Indian days, I have found this relic of some 
 recent feast. 
 
 Unless you are in a substantial bateau, no little skill 
 is required to baffle the waves when the March winds 
 blow, for a mile-wide stream gives them full play, and 
 many a white-cap peeps above the gunwales. But you 
 
MARCH. 57 
 
 have nature without man's interference now, and the 
 gulls, the divers, and fish-hawks are royal company. 
 
 Neither the gull nor the fish-hawk seems so active and 
 quick- winged when here, far off from the ocean, as when 
 at or near the sea. The latter does not come until late in 
 the month, and only then if the water is high, herring 
 abundant, and the meadows with at least a remnant of a 
 freshet. It is not until April that they are a fixed feature 
 of the landscape. Like many other of our large birds, 
 fish-hawks are not so abundant now as even half a century 
 ago, although the struggle for existence is something less 
 severe than when their arch-enemy, the bald eagle, was 
 comparatively common. They here have a broad field to 
 all appearances quite to themselves, and why it is so 
 sparsely occupied is determined not readily, if at all. It 
 is hard to believe that the supply of fish has appreciably 
 decreased ; and certainly there is no lack of suitable and 
 safe nesting sites. As in all cases of like perplexity, I 
 have gone to the old folks, except such as vegetate in 
 towns, and sought from them an explanation. I have 
 never been turned away unanswered; but, alas! though 
 it be contemptible to admit it, I must say I never returned 
 home enlightened. Vague theory reigns rampant when 
 new subjects are broached to the unobservant. 
 
 I have said that fish-hawks were a fixed feature of the 
 landscape here. I limit the plural to a single pair, and 
 perhaps because there are but two in the neighborhood, 
 it is that they differ in many ways from their kind that 
 throng the sea-coast. Often have I watched a single one, 
 as it sailed over the weedy fields, an hour at a time, quar- 
 tering the ground as closely as any mousing harrier. Is 
 the fish-hawk, at such a time, in search of inland prey ? 
 The appearances are certainly against them, and I have 
 known farmers to go so far as to insist that no discrimi- 
 nation should be made between them and the true buzzards 
 
58 DATS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 and falcons that destroy poultry. Argument is useless in 
 such a case. In fact, I invariably get the worst of it. 
 " Why," the farmer asks, " do they not stay on the river 
 or the meadows ? " I can not say. " I can tell you, 
 though," he continues, with emphasis, " that I know when 
 a man's fishing and when he's hunting, and its much the 
 same thing with the birds. They don't go to a field to 
 catch fish, and they're after something, that's certain. 
 Delaware herring may not suit their fancy, but they can't 
 vary their diet with my chickens." 
 
 Dr. Brewer states that he never knew an instance of 
 these birds attacking birds or small mammals, and the 
 strange fact that they fancy the upland fields to such an ex- 
 tent as to spend much time upon or over them may have 
 no significance. Toads and frogs may possibly be eaten by 
 them, but both are more abundant in the wet meadows. 
 That they will eat them, however, as well as other animal 
 food, is proved by such as have been held in captivity ; 
 and further, as having a slight bearing upon the subject, 
 I may mention the fact that an old fisherman has as- 
 sured me that he had seen them eat dead herring 
 and chub that had been tossed from the shad-nets and 
 were lying upon the shore near the water's edge. This 
 contradicts all statements of their feeding habits that 
 I find ; but I can hardly believe . that the man was mis- 
 taken. 
 
 Although differing so widely in all its habits, the gull 
 is another feature of the river and meadows in March of 
 which I could say much ; but let us consider them when 
 on the meadows. Every gull-like trait is often gone, and 
 as two or three stand among the hassocks of the mucky 
 meadow they are sure to be taken for my neighbor's 
 geese. In such a case ' there can be no doubt, I think, 
 but that something attractive in the way of food draws 
 them hither. They often wander to a considerable dis- 
 
MARCH. 59 
 
 tance from open water, and only become noisy when they 
 are frightened, and take wing. 
 
 The black-headed galls have recently visited the mead- 
 ows during March freshets, and these were much more 
 tame than the other species, which ordinarily stays 
 close by the river. In 1887, they even sailed over the 
 upland fields as though, like fish-hawks, they would at 
 least be glad to find some novelty in the way of food, 
 even if they did not expect it. 
 
 It was amusing to see with what vehemence the crows 
 protested against this invasion of their territory. They 
 chased the gulls incessantly, and scolded with a harshness 
 suggestive of the most direful imprecations; but all in 
 vain. The gulls were bent upon making these overland 
 explorations, and make them they did. At times a num- 
 ber of crows came together in the trees and discussed the 
 situation with less noise, but yet in no uncertain manner. 
 It was to me a most suggestive sight to watch a crow as he 
 stepped out to some commanding position and harangued 
 his fellows. This, it is no exaggeration to say, more than 
 one crow did, and that there could be no misinterpretation 
 on my part is evident from the fact that at times, and for 
 a moment only, the audience uttered a single word shall 
 I call it ? of approval ; a hearty " That's so," such as you 
 hear upon the streets among crowds of much less brainy 
 bipeds. Then away, in a body, they would fly and chase 
 the scattered gulls that sailed over the fields. But it all 
 mattered not, and the visitors only left when they saw fit. 
 
 I am sure that during one whole week I never saw a 
 gull dip down to the ground and pick up any article of 
 food, and very generally they flew at a much greater ele- 
 vation above the fields than they usually do above the 
 water. What food they got must have been gathered dur- 
 ing brief visits to the river, or at night when they roosted, 
 so I was told, upon the water. 
 
60 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 It is a little surprising that the Indians did not call 
 March the windy moon, for the fitful blasts that characterize 
 fully one half of its days could not have passed unheeded, 
 although the country then was heavily forested. 
 
 I have lately learned to love these blustering March 
 mornings, particularly when they do not bluster ; for the 
 north wind is happily often held in abeyance, and at no time 
 can it sweep the sunny slopes that are already green with 
 expectant buds. After all, it is but a question of standing 
 on this or that side of a tree, whether it is spring or winter. 
 A grand old chestnut hard by has had green grass at its 
 roots since Christmas, and at the same time snow and ice 
 were banked upon the wrinkled north side of its trunk. 
 
 But granting all this, why call March mornings match- 
 less ? Meet almost whomsoever you may, and he will de- 
 ride the opinion that they can be mentioned except to 
 condemn them. Nevertheless, I claim that they have 
 features unknown to the other months, and while ma- 
 ligned by the many, are not without merit to the few 
 that happy few who delight in nature's harmless intoxi- 
 cant, pure air. Perhaps it is that the atmosphere is doubly 
 charged with that subtle quality, ozone, that now for a 
 whole month stimulates every sense ; but whatever it may 
 be, there is an all-pervading influence in the clear air of 
 a wild March morning that stirs us to livelier action; 
 something far more potent than the mere thought that a 
 long winter draws to a close. For years, I admit, I hon- 
 estly hated ; now, as honestly, I love these matchless March 
 mornings. 
 
 That emphasis of action which we admire in mankind 
 because indicative of their own faith in their work, char- 
 acterizes every phenomenon in March, and calls forth my 
 admiration, notwithstanding the marked rudeness of a gusty 
 wind tends somewhat to disgust. But here I am mani- 
 festly unfair, for the cutting blasts are not unheralded ; 
 
MARCH. 61 
 
 and forewarned we are expected to be forearmed. So stick 
 closely to the sunny side of some stout tree and view the 
 airy battle from afar. 
 
 The sky is of a deeper blue than during the winter, 
 but not until to-day have the scattered clouds so constantly 
 chased their shadows across the meadows. Fleecy frag- 
 ments of some distant storm-cloud, the wind has caught 
 them up and now whirls them swiftly toward the sea. Be- 
 yond its reach myself, the impelling power is quite for- 
 gotten, and something more than lifeless mist is speeding 
 gleefully through space, ever at their heels, but never capt- 
 uring their own earth-sweeping shadows. 
 
 Such days are sure to rouse to liveliest pitch the ener- 
 gies of all our winter birds, and none hug the sheltered 
 slopes so closely as in months gone by. Even the tireless 
 hawks are moved, and, breaking the circles over which they 
 have sailed for hours, dash, with wild screaming, down 
 the fitful wind. 
 
 The bird world's lesser lights are no less active. At 
 last the meadow-larks are moved to sing. For long they 
 have threaded their silent way along tortuous paths in the 
 dead and tangled grass ; now they rejoice, with full hearts, 
 in the open secret of spring at hand. 
 
 Where the old bridge shudders in the blast, as the 
 winds sweep the troubled waters of the cheerless creek, 
 the confident peewee never loses faith, and morning, noon, 
 and night, repeats his cheery call. He has come to stay, 
 and seldom does the severest weather cause him to repent. 
 I have heard him singing when the creek was ice-bound 
 and the ground covered deeply with snow. 
 
 From where I stood to-day, there was clustered a rank 
 growth of seedling beeches, with here and there a more 
 spreading growth of alder. A happy group of foxy 
 finches, flitting through this pygmy forest, for hours made 
 merry ; and however dismal the day or desolate the world 
 
62 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 may appear, the music of these birds will chase the gloom 
 away. 
 
 Most unfortunately it is only for a short time that we 
 have these princely sparrows when at their best, for day 
 after day will often pass when they are either silent or 
 only most monotonously chirp. So it was when I last saw 
 them; every bird seemed given to meditation, and flew 
 with reluctance when I drew too near ; but to-day, their 
 clear, flute-like voices drowned all other songs. Every 
 note of this bird is a marvel of purity, and their variety 
 greater than the repertoire of any other of their tribe ; ex- 
 celling, in this respect, even the song-sparrow. Nor is 
 the song of every individual the same. They so far differ 
 that when several birds are singing at one time it gives 
 the impression of a concert by various songsters, rather 
 than the united efforts of a number of the same species. 
 
 As April approaches, the songs of these birds are more 
 continued, especially if it is clear and warm at noon. In- 
 deed, April sunshine is required to ripen the music of 
 their dainty throats. Then it is well worth one's while to 
 linger about the brier-hidden angles of some old worm 
 fence, for then, at such time, the melody is next in merit 
 to the early June-day efforts of the thrush and grosbeak. 
 
 Foxy finches advocate squatter sovereignty and are 
 impatient of intrusion, where they have power to resist. 
 The blundering sparrows of humbler grade are given 
 prompt notice to quit, and usually take a gentle hint with- 
 out show of protest. I have always wished that these pas- 
 serine nobles would become permanent settlers, for bird- 
 f ul as are our pleasant places, there would be room for 
 them. As it is, their sojourn suggests but a jolly hunter's 
 camp, ringing the day long with so much gayety that the 
 echo of the songs lingers about the spot long after they 
 have gone. 
 
 Much might be written of the long list of singing 
 
0*- THE 
 
 MARCH. 63 
 
 birds that like them make glad the waste places during 
 March, but let us turn now to another and far from 
 spring-like phase of this much-maligned month. It is 
 one of historic storms. 
 
 I gathered pink and white blossoms of the spring 
 beauty on the 10th of the present month, and on the 12th 
 they were under the drifting snow of what will pass into 
 history as the great storm of March, 1888. 
 
 Where the humble flowers dotted the sprouting grass 
 there now rests a grand curl-crested drift, twenty feet 
 in height ; and where I at times sought shelter from occa- 
 sional gusts of chilly wind, that same day, now lies an up- 
 rooted chestnut with its storm- tossed branches strewed over 
 the meadow. Borne by the hurricane, the sand-like snow 
 has formed itself into one long, tortuous mound over the 
 smilax thickets; glittering and roseate in the morning 
 sun, cold and pale as death in the feeble moonlight. 
 The wondering, unhoused birds flitting over it by day 
 lessen, in part, the present dreariness of the scene ; but 
 when the faint shadow of a wandering owl passed over it 
 at night the spot was desolate beyond all power of words 
 to describe. 
 
 Twice I attempted out of doors to watch the progress 
 of the storm, but soon learned the danger of the attempt. 
 It is marvelous, now, when all is so calm, to think that it 
 was unsafe to be but a few rods from the house. The 
 meager landscape changed with wonderful rapidity, and 
 snowdrifts that I found a shelter from the wind a moment 
 before were often moved bodily, or so it seemed, and 
 threatened to overwhelm me. I can liken the roar of the 
 wind among the trees to nothing less stupendous than Ni- 
 agara's cataract, but varying in this, that each tree gave 
 forth a different sound. Among the tall, mast-like 
 branches of three enormous beeches, the noise was so 
 shrill and piercing that it drowned at times the deeper- 
 
(J4 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 toned roaring and moaning among the oaks near by. 
 Except the larger trees, there was little else to be seen, 
 the fields and meadows alike being enveloped in a misty 
 cloud-mass of whirling snow that I fancied the smoke of 
 an icy fire. 
 
 The wild weather gave me no little concern with re- 
 gard to the old trees near my house. I was curious, too, 
 to know which species was suffering most from loss of 
 branches and general mutilation. The snapping and 
 crashing heard above the wind's roaring suggested univer- 
 sal destruction. Judging from past wind-storms, I looked 
 for the leveling of the fourteen pines near the house, or 
 at least that the trunks alone would remain standing ; but 
 these unaccountably escaped all serious injury, and are 
 still the same sorry-looking irregularities they have been 
 for the last twenty years. 
 
 It is not a little strange that the long rows of white 
 pines planted by Joseph Bonaparte in his park near Bor- 
 dentown, New Jersey, more than sixty years ago, have 
 escaped serious breakage from wind, incrusting snow, and 
 ice-incased twigs the three causes that have, separately 
 and combinedly, effected the uncrowning and disfiguring 
 of the pines at home, which are no more exposed and 
 scarcely three miles away. Do not these trees generally 
 require planting in clusters, so as to be self-protecting, or 
 to be intimately associated with other trees ? A lone pine 
 is very pretty and poetical, but hereabout it is as uncer- 
 tain as the average white man. 
 
 But to return to the forest in the storm. Of a hundred* 
 or more large trees oaks, chestnuts, birches, gums, liq- 
 uidambars, persimmons, catalpas, beeches, and sassafras 
 occupying some three acres of southward sloping hillside, 
 but one, a large chestnut, was uprooted, and this was lifted 
 bodily from the ground and carried several feet from 
 where it had stood. The others were twisted ; branches 
 
MARCH. 65 
 
 were interlocked, and several so shaken and wormed about 
 that the closely wrapping poison ivy was detached an oc- 
 currence I should never have dreamed could have taken 
 place. Where branches were broken, they were, as a rule, 
 detached from the trunk of the tree as though seized at 
 their extremities and twisted off. Although the wind 
 remained in one direction, it evidently became a whirl- 
 wind among the tree-tops, as shown by the direction of 
 fall of several large limbs. One large branch of an enor- 
 mous beech was broken off, but still holds by long cables 
 of twisted strips of bark, as though the storm had re- 
 pented and tried to repair the damage by tying it on 
 again. 
 
 Of the several species of trees I have mentioned, no 
 two are of like toughness in the texture of their wood, and 
 in this storm the weaker and more brittle kinds did not 
 suffer as much as the tough old oaks. Nor were the de- 
 tached branches worm-eaten, and so abnormally weak. I 
 was confronted with contradictions whichever way I 
 turned. Associate these with wind having a velocity of 
 fifty-four miles an hour and air full of sand-like snow, 
 and realize how easily one could become bewildered. 
 
 In the more exposed upland fields not a tree suffered, 
 the big sassafras, sixty-two feet in height, not losing even 
 a twig. Stranger still, the scattered beeches and white 
 oaks that have retained their withered leaves all winter 
 hold them still. In short, the home woods suffered very 
 little, and what damage there is, occurred where I least 
 expected to find it. Where the exposure was greatest, 
 there every tree successfully weathered one of the severest 
 storms on record. The shrubbery, seedling oaks and 
 beeches, puny cedars, and trim little junipers were bent to 
 the ground and remained prostrate for three or four days. 
 The snow has now melted, and all are again erect ; but 
 when I bent some of them to-day as flatly as did the 
 
 5 
 
66 DATS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 snow and wind, they cracked and were destroyed. Was it 
 that the gradual pressure of the snow prevented the disas- 
 ter that my more sudden bending caused ? 
 
 While I rejoiced at having my woodland still intact, 
 there was one aggravating feature about it all. I antici- 
 pated a harvest of dead limbs for my andirons ; but they 
 too withstood the tempest. To-day they looked down at 
 me with a tantalizing " no-you-don't " expression that 
 robbed me of half the pleasure of seeing one old black 
 alder still with a few of its crimson berries resting upon 
 a dazzling drift of unstained snow. 
 
 I was concerned, too, about the many birds that had 
 sung so suggestively of spring on this same wooded slope 
 two days before the storm. They surely had had no 
 warning of the danger at hand, and now I had occasional 
 glimpses of many as they were borne by me with fearful 
 velocity. They seemed at times struggling to rise above 
 the trees, as though aware of the danger of being dashed 
 Against them. Snow-birds, pine-finches, tree-sparrows, 
 bluebirds, robins, song-sparrows, and the crows were the 
 several kinds that I could positively identify; and all 
 were equally unable to find a resting-place. 
 
 Once there was a decided lull, lasting perhaps for five 
 minutes, and in that brief time the courage of a few tem- 
 pest-tossed bluebirds seemed to return. Though the air 
 was still thick with snow, and every branch of every tree 
 in motion, I heard these brave birds sing ! Only a few 
 most melancholy notes they uttered, it is true, but full of 
 suggestion. Songsters they that merit a poem in their 
 honor! I first caught a glimpse of them among the 
 sweeping branches of the pines, and then saw them reach, 
 after much effort, the snow-laden cedars, but it was not to 
 find rest and shelter therein. A moment later the wind 
 with redoubled fury struck the trees and they were lost in 
 an avalanche. One enormous snowbank toppled over and 
 
MARCH. 67 
 
 buried them beneath it. That the bluebirds should have 
 escaped is strange indeed. The broad trunk of a sturdy 
 oak saved me from the tempest's fury, but I dared stay no- 
 longer, and while struggling through the ever-shifting 
 drifts I once more caught sight of these same birds, as they 
 were dashed toward the meadows, and above the roar of 
 the wind I heard, as I believe, the bluebird's song. 
 
 I have spoken of foxy sparrows as chiefest of this 
 month's musicians; a word now concerning another of 
 our finches. It has not been long since an ornithologist 
 wrote, " The identity of the grass-finch is doubtful," adding 
 that it had not been determined to be a winter resident in 
 New Jersey. No? Well, I identified it as such twenty 
 years ago, and there is not a farmer in the county that 
 does not know it the " rut-runner," as he calls it as a 
 winter bird. My critic adds, too, ornithologists would 
 be grateful if I killed a score of innocents for their 
 benefit. Well, I won't ! And, again, another versed in 
 bird lore suggests that my winter birds were Ipswich spar- 
 rows, which probably never set foot within a hundred 
 miles of my fields. Really, is it safe to call a crow a 
 crow ? There need be no mistaking this species for any 
 other, for all who know our birds at all are familiar with 
 this ever-abundant tenant of our fields. I have called it 
 elsewhere the most " resident " of all our smaller birds ; 
 even going so far as to suggest that it spent its whole life 
 in the field in which it was hatched. This may be an ex- 
 aggeration, but is not very far from the exact truth. In 
 the winter of 1887-'88, I saw them in December and Jan- 
 uary, and two days after the great storm of March 12-14, 
 1888, found one that had succumbed to the cold and 
 snow. There was no necessity to refer to the text-books, 
 but I did so out of idle curiosity, and, as I knew would be 
 the case, it proved to be a " true," and not a sham, grass- 
 finch, the same that Burroughs has made famous, the bird 
 
68 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 by others called bay- winged bunting, and christened by 
 the scientific students of birds Pooccetes gramineus. 
 
 So much for the critics ; now for the bird itself. A 
 robin, three grass-finches, three bluebirds, and a pair of 
 song-sparrows took refuge in the barn, one large mow of 
 which was empty. Here they escaped the snow and 
 wind, it is true, but the cold was, I thought, even more 
 intense than out of doors. I fully realized, for the first 
 time, the meaning of the familiar expression " as cold as 
 a barn," for I gave some time to watching these tempest- 
 driven birds that had here found shelter. In habit, these 
 nine individuals might be grouped as the singers and the 
 silent, for while six were quite happy in the thought of 
 danger escaped and at times feebly lisped a hymn of 
 thankfulness, the grass-finches were silent even to chirp- 
 ing, as though doubtful if barn-floors were much, if any, 
 preferable to death. The ground-frequenting habits clung 
 to them closely. They sped like mice over the ground 
 floor, and only when hard pressed would they fly to the 
 mow, and then did not long remain. 
 
 Heretofore it has been my experience to have the grass 
 and slightly ridged surface of even our smoothest fields 
 obscure the bird as it voluntarily wandered about, and 
 every occasion would prove but a series of rapidly recur- 
 ring glimpses only ; while, on the other hand, the bird's 
 hurried motions when trying to keep just ahead of car- 
 riage wheels have really no significance as to its method. 
 The barn-floor, therefore, afforded excellent opportunity 
 for observation, and I was forcibly reminded of the Euro- 
 pean skylarks in the aviary of a friend. 
 
 What struck me as a curious feature of the bird's 
 habits, was that of spreading the tail when moving lei- 
 surely across the floor, as well as when forced to fly. In 
 the latter case, there is an explanation of the habit, sug- 
 gested and well supported by J. E. Todd. It is to the 
 
MARCH. 69 
 
 effect that " when general color is inconspicuous " birds 
 may have some directive coloration, as " colors upon parts 
 of the body which may be hidden during rest, but capa- 
 ble of display automatically either during flight, at the 
 moment of stopping, or during a calling cry." Now the 
 grass-finch can not fly without showing the white feathers 
 in his tail. It is a habit beyond his control, and when the 
 outside white feathers are removed, the tail during flight 
 spreads just the same. The habit is, of course, valueless 
 when the bird is on the ground, for there it can not be 
 seen ; hence my surprise when I saw the movement while 
 the birds stood on the barn-floor. It was in each case ac- 
 companied with a little trembling, a slight vibratory move- 
 ment, suggestive of a desire to shake dust or water from 
 the feathers, yet they were not soiled by either. 
 
 The single night these grass-finches remained in the 
 building they roosted upon the bare floor, and so closely 
 were they huddled together that at three paces distant, by 
 lantern-light, they appeared as one bird. 
 
 The other birds were as uninteresting as so many 
 caged ones, and seemed only anxious to get abroad again. 
 I felt no sorrow when they quitted the barn, but would 
 gladly have had the grass-finches remain, for they were 
 not only instructive but had wit enough to see that I 
 meant them no harm. 
 
 This seemingly trite remark can not be held to go for 
 nothing. It really means a good deal ; namely, that birds 
 can distinguish individuals among men, and, may I add ? 
 can judge of human character. The former is true be- 
 yond question ; and if the latter is not, how is it that some 
 people can never gain the friendship of a caged bird ? 
 With a friend, I recently visited an aviary in town. Upon 
 the finger of its owner a siskin frequently alighted, but 
 could not be approached by my friend or myself. The 
 bird had been taught nothing, but through accumulated 
 
70 DATS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 experiences had learned that it was perfectly safe to do so. 
 The Carolina wren that allowed me to stroke it while on 
 its nest was suspicious of every other human being that it 
 saw, yet several tried by every means to accomplish that 
 which I could do. 
 
 We must not, however, base too much upon such ex- 
 treme cases as this. Probably there are in existence an ex- 
 ceedingly small number of birds so constituted mentally 
 that they can acquire such a degree of confidence, and far 
 fewer human beings that can win it. And I am reminded 
 here of a really amiable man who says he dare not 
 walk near the curbstone when in town, as every horse he 
 passes tries to bite him. When confiding birds and men 
 who truly love them do happen to meet, the result is 
 interesting. Think of Bradford Torrey playing with a 
 vireo as it sat upon its nest ! And what language can be 
 found adequate to describe the villainy of the fiend who 
 stole the nest ; for stolen it was ! 
 
 All things considered, it is fortunate for the wild birds 
 and for the non-collecting naturalist that the birds are 
 wild ; but in most cases, with a little tact, one can inspire 
 a lesser but sufficient degree of confidence, and so be en- 
 abled to witness much that would otherwise be hidden. 
 I can well recall one instance bearing upon this. On the 
 edge of a hill-side path, a pair of cat-birds had their nest. 
 Twice daily, a long row of cows filed singly by, and then 
 the more dangerous small boy. But the latter proved 
 humane, and while he looked, he never handled either 
 the nest or eggs. The result was that the birds, long be- 
 fore their young were old enough to leave the nest, paid 
 no more attention to the boy than to the cows, and never 
 stirred, although often they were feeding the brood, as he 
 passed by. As he put it : " If I could not have picked them 
 up, I could have put salt on their tails." The interesting 
 feature of this case lies in the fact that neither I nor my 
 
MARCH. 71 
 
 cousin, who also tried, could pass by in the same manner, be- 
 hind the cows, without frightening the birds. I do not see 
 how their actions can be interpreted, except by the sugges- 
 tion that they distinguished one boy from all other persons. 
 
 In the case of the pair of peewees that every season 
 have a nest on one of the pillars of my porch, the birds are 
 somewhat timid while the nest is being constructed, less 
 so when the eggs are laid, and quite indifferent to us all 
 when the young are hatched. In this case, strangers are 
 not distinguished; but when some one comes upon the 
 porch and hammers away with the old brass knocker, then 
 the peewees think it time to leave. 
 
 I am free to say this does not often happen, but is 
 so frequent that if the same peewees come year after 
 year, they should by this time have got used to the thun- 
 der of the ponderous brass ; but they have not, and here 
 is a fact to be scored against my view of permanent mating 
 occurring among these birds. 
 
 It is in March, if the wind has died away, that we 
 notice so often after sundown flickering lurid patches of 
 dull red light scattered along the horizon. It excites no 
 comment now. We do not wonder, at this time of year, 
 whose house or barn it is that has caught fire the farmer 
 is burning brush. 
 
 This effectual method of cleaning up the ground is a 
 prominent phase of farm life in March, and is an occur- 
 rence in which every lover of out of doors can take de- 
 light. The day-time preliminaries are not attractive. 
 Kaking dry leaves while the wind blows is simply exasper- 
 ating; and I have often wondered that the farm-hands 
 had any patience left. At last the piles are ready, and 
 fairly secure by the weighting of branches cut from the 
 old apple trees. The night is still ; the word is given ; 
 the torch applied. 
 
72 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 That fire is fascinating, no one will question ; but few 
 people, however, seem aware of the peculiarly attractive 
 feature of a fierce blaze at night, when coupled with the 
 feeling that, furious as it may seem, it is nevertheless 
 under control. Of course, the moment that control is 
 lost, all pleasure vanishes and anxiety, if not terror, over- 
 comes all other emotion. Happily, this seldom happens, 
 when it is but the burning of brush. 
 
 I was present recently when a pitchy black night was 
 chosen for the fun. The impenetrable darkness beyond a 
 little space, the fantastic shapes and shadows where the 
 red light fell, the sharp crackling and the angry hiss, 
 held me spell-bound. While I felt no temptation to 
 plunge into the fire, I can imagine, I think, why it is that 
 so many animals, and particularly birds, are overcome by 
 the leaping flames. I continually found myself drawn 
 nearer and nearer to the fire and anxious to explore 
 with my cane every nook and cranny of the glowing mass. 
 Not a blackened twig that bid fair to escape but I de- 
 lighted to throw into the fiercest flames ; my own appetite 
 for witnessing destruction becoming as insatiable as that 
 of the fire itself for fuel. The warmth, too, of the sur- 
 rounding air was exhilarating, rousing every energy to 
 quicker action, instead of drugging them with the nox- 
 ious gases of an indoor stove. 
 
 Something of this is applicable to birds, or so k has 
 appeared when I have seen them drop helpless into the 
 fire. Once, when a saw-mill burned, it seemed as if the 
 birds of the county collected as a cloud and rained upon 
 the flames. Not one appeared to fly deliberately into 
 them; and so far as I was able, under very favorable 
 circumstances, to determine, no large birds, as hawks or 
 owls, were among the victims. 
 
 When a field is suddenly lighted up at night, the 
 small birds in the vicinity are not simply excited by the 
 
MARCH. 73 
 
 strange aspect of a flickering fragment of noon-day sud- 
 denly appearing in their midst ; they are intoxicated by 
 the novelty. The warmth, too, rouses their energies, as it 
 did mine, and curiosity brings them to the fore. Alas ! 
 that they have not knowledge of the nature of fire. It is 
 as sunlight and as sun- warmth, and its source as distant 
 as the light of day. They play about it in perfect safety, 
 and only fall when they attempt to pass over it. 
 
 At last the flames lose strength; the glowing coals 
 grow dull; black and gray ashes seam the ruddy mass, 
 and darkness, creeping from the outer world, broods over 
 all. The aspect is over, the excitement passed, but the 
 memory of an unalloyed joy is not ours. It saddens one 
 to think that the sparrow that delighted us with music 
 throughout the day may have fallen into the flames. 
 
 I have said that by March 1 the world is interested in 
 every supposed sign of spring ; and all through the month 
 the discussion of each sign's merit has been kept up, not 
 only in the parlor, but in the kitchen, the tavern bar-room, 
 and the village store. Then, too, there have been hosts 
 of meteorological screedlets in the local papers. Boiling 
 all this wisdom down, the residuum is ignorance. 
 
 If ice, snow, unremitting cold, fewer mild days than 
 February boasts, and every variety of chilling wind, go to 
 make up our winter, then count in March. But in spite 
 of every arctic element, there are occasional crumbs of 
 comfort for the botanist, if none for folk less favored. 
 Over his countenance there occasionally flits a gleam of 
 satisfaction, and the winds are tempered when, with a 
 sprig of arbutus in his button-hole, he returns from an 
 outing. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 APRIL. 
 
 HOWEVER desirable it may be to feel that confidence 
 can be safely placed in many mundane matters, and in 
 some, if not all humanity, the undoubted fact that we can 
 not do so in the matter of April days is a condition not with- 
 out merit. The systematic rambler has not grown gray 
 before he learns that the blissful uncertainty of April is 
 really a source of a certain joy; for there is abundant 
 warrant that every day will be full enough, whether clear 
 or cloudy ; whether dripping with intermittent showers, 
 or white, even, with the last snow of the season. And 
 here let me say that April snow-storms are not such novel- 
 ties as has been intimated. However it may be in adjoin- 
 ing States, or even in adjoining counties, here, where the ter- 
 race faces southward and where we have less winter than do 
 others not beyond the horizon, I have waded knee-deep in 
 snow, and plucked, while so doing, dogwood blossoms, 
 white as the drift that formed their unwelcome background. 
 
 Such short-lived snows have no ill effect upon vegeta- 
 tion, and leave the ground as green and blossom-starred 
 as it was before the storm. Indeed,' there are dainty April 
 blossoms that seem to enjoy these belated storms, and prove 
 no mean rivals, in purity of color, to the snow through 
 which they peep. At such a time, as the thermometer 
 will show, the ground at the plant's roots and the air that 
 bathes its delicate branches, if they reach above the snow, 
 
APRIL. 75 
 
 are not chilled, and the intermediate, encroaching rim of 
 winter produces no ill effect. The buds on every tree con- 
 tinue to swell, as might be expected ; but creeping plants, 
 as arbutus, are not blighted, for from beneath the snow I 
 have gathered fully opened blossoms. Such occurrences 
 must not be misinterpreted; they do not indicate that 
 arbutus is a lover of cold weather, but that it has strength 
 to withstand it when it comes. It has always appeared to 
 me that a white frost was more destructive than a black 
 one. A cold, dry atmosphere, even when thin ice forms, 
 has appeared not to affect wild flowers ; while many blos- 
 soms withered when the sunshine melted from them crys- 
 tals of frost. 
 
 It would be hard to determine, in years, how long has 
 April been the uncertain moon it now is : doubtless for 
 tens of centuries, and the vegetation that has become 
 established through natural agencies is not easily discon- 
 certed. It appears to discount all probable contingencies, 
 and the not infrequent snows that March left as its spite- 
 ful legacy to the woods and fields are accepted with better 
 grace than is generally supposed. 
 
 I have often wished that good old Zeisberger had been 
 more explicit, and not merely stated that the Delaware 
 Indians called April Quitauweuheivi giscliucli, the Spring 
 Moon. The word has a far different meaning, a fuller 
 one than that, but just what, I have never learned. To 
 say it is a spring month in New Jersey is as unsatisfactory 
 as to say that April is derived from " Aperio I open." It 
 is true that, by actual count, more buds open then than in 
 March, but so gradual is the difference, and so uncertain, 
 withal, that a better name could readily be found. Per- 
 haps the Indians meant, " moon of preparation." I call it 
 the month of expectation. As a whole, it is a horrid 
 hotch-potch, but seldom is it without days when Nature 
 becomes ecstatic. 
 
76 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 But before attempting the history of days that proved 
 worthy of a record, what of that feature of the month 
 with which all are familiar, at least by hearsay its famous 
 showers ? These figure with more or less prominence in 
 the literature of the past five centuries from the time 
 when Chaucer sang 
 
 Whanne that April with his shouers sote, 
 
 The droughte of March hath perced to the rote ; 
 
 to the mechanical rhymes of village weeklies concerning the 
 pretty lie that April showers bring May flowers. Let us de- 
 termine, then, in what respect a short-lived rain of this 
 month differs from one in May or June. As in many other 
 matters meteorological, the imagination is allowed a more 
 than scientific sway, and peculiarities claimed to exist are 
 much more fanciful than real. In this case, the rain-drops 
 are no less round or damp than usual, or more so. But the 
 country has an aspect now that is quite its own, and this 
 has much to do, though not all, with typical April showers, 
 which are always accompanied by sunshine ; rains of a few 
 minutes' duration, from clouds that fleck but not obscure 
 the sky, and offer opportunity, if not to walk between 
 the drops, at least to dodge their sources, and skip from 
 cloud-capped to clear country. I remember one such 
 shower when the east side of the turnpike was dusty, 
 while the west was channeled with tiny rivulets. 
 
 We must not look for April showers too soon; the 
 rigor of March may linger in the air ; nor too late, for 
 May is often unreasonably impatient, and jostles the elbow 
 of retiring April. It is during the third week, as my 
 records run, that the month may best be studied a week 
 when leaves are young, when grass is green, when nature 
 teams with promise. 
 
 In the forest, the sunlight softly stealing through the 
 half-grown leaves gilds the dark mosses, warms the cold 
 
APRIL. 77 
 
 lichens, kisses the purple orchids, makes glad the gloomiest 
 crannies of the wood. Scarcely a cave so dark, or ravine 
 so deep, but the light reaches to its uttermost bounds, and, 
 unlike the soulless glare of the midwinter sun, is life- 
 inspiring. There is a subtle essence in an April sun that 
 quickens the seeming dead. 
 
 And while I have stood wondering at this strange 
 resurrective force, at times almost led to listen to the 
 bursting buds and steadily expanding leaves, a veil is sud- 
 denly drawn over the scene and the light shadows fade 
 to nothingness. Falling as gently as did the sunlight that 
 preceded it, come the round, warm rain-drops from a pass- 
 ing cloud. Gathering on the half-clad branches over- 
 head, they find crooked channels down the wrinkled bark, 
 poise upon the unrolled leaves, globes of unrivaled light, 
 or nestle in beds of moss, gems in a marvelous setting. 
 Anon the cloud passes, and every rain-drop drinks its fill of 
 light. There is no longer a flood of mellow sunshine here, 
 but a sparkling light an all-pervading glitter. And it is 
 thoroughly inspiring. Your enthusiasm prompts you to 
 shout, if you can not sing, and the birds are always quickly 
 moved by it. From out their hidden haunts, in which 
 they have sat silently while it rained, come here and there 
 the robins, and, perching where the world is best in 
 view, extol the merits of the unclouded skies. Earnest 
 Sun-worshipers they, that watch his coming with impa- 
 tient zeal and are ever first to break the silence of the 
 dawn ; and all these April days their varying songs are 
 tuneful records of. the changing sky. 
 
 Does it mean nothing that the robins always go to 
 some commanding point, if not to the very top of the tree, 
 to sing ? Starr King, in one of his admirable lectures, 
 remarks : " You never surprise a dog, deer, or bear gazing 
 with satisfaction at the loveliness of the meadow, the curve 
 of a river, or the grandeur of a mountain. They see all 
 
78 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 the facts as an inventory could be taken of them, but not 
 the charm of color or motion into which the details 
 blend." I am not quite sure about our mammals, which 
 certainly have essentially prosaic natures, but as far as our 
 birds are concerned, I am led to dispute the statement ; 
 and Mr. King intended that it should apply to them. 
 Does this asserted soul-condition fit with that love of lo- 
 cality that we know birds possess ? I think not. And 
 have we any right, as is done by many, to assume that 
 haunts are chosen wholly with reference to the food sup- 
 ply ? If so, many a birdless area should be thronging with 
 them throughout the summer. Why, if the beauty that 
 we recognize goes for naught among birds, does the grass- 
 finch sing most sweetly during the few moments of a brill- 
 iant sunset ? Time and again, as I have passed over the 
 upland fields at the close of the day, the sun has suddenly 
 broken through the cloud-banks on the horizon and filled 
 the world with crimson and golden light. In an instant 
 every grass-finch in the field mounts some low shrub and 
 sings his sweetest songs. Is this always mere coincidence ? 
 Do they not, rather, feel that same impulse which prompts 
 us to exclaim, " How beautiful " ? 
 
 And I can not withhold from the falcons that I have 
 seen credit for some nobler motive, when gazing from the 
 top of the tallest tree about, than looking-for a mouse. 
 
 But the typical April shower is not the only variation 
 during the month from fair-weather days. There are 
 other rains than these deliberate, partial, poetical ones ; 
 and I never fail to remember this latter fact, and am dis- 
 agreeable enough to thrust deadly statistics in the face of 
 those who quote with evident satisfaction pat phrases 
 about this strange month's beauties. The month has its 
 charms, and an abundance of them, and all try to forget 
 its unpleasant features ; but when I hear my friends extol 
 the beauty of tearful April, as though the month was a 
 
APRIL. 79 
 
 fragment of paradise lost, my perverse disposition asserts 
 itself and I quote from the depressing pages of " Peirce 
 on the Weather." Of one not yet forgotten April, he re- 
 cords : " A cold, boisterous northwester . . . made every- 
 thing tremble and shiver. . . . The blustering snow-squalls 
 which followed would have been more suitable for Janu- 
 ary. . . . Ice formed on several nights, half an inch thick, 
 which destroyed all the buds, and almost every green 
 thing." Nothing quite so bad as this, lately, it is true ; 
 but what has been may be ; and arbutus gatherers that 
 had hung their wraps upon the trees, shivered as I read 
 this and thought it was growing cold again. I must ad- 
 mit that I enjoyed their discomfort ; and let me ask what 
 is the origin of that mental condition which prompts one 
 to do these things ? There is no known animal ancestor 
 from which it could be derived. 
 
 A kindly disposed critic has suggested that I visit 
 " the islands of the Niagara River, or even the fields along 
 its shore," instead of persistently " paddling among bull- 
 frogs on Big Bird Creek." I have been along the shores 
 of the river named, and lingered spell-bound about the 
 falls ; but my experience was that of my own insignifi- 
 cance. If at home at all, it is by the unromantic, quiet 
 creeks, beloved of bull-frogs, tenanted by turtles and 
 snakes, decked with unassuming bloom, and graced by 
 the unpretentious songs of the sparrows and the wren. 
 These, my constant companions from my youth up, filled 
 my heart long years ago ; and I stand in awe of scenes or 
 creatures more wonderful or mysterious. 
 
 Leaving a glorious flood upon the meadows, with its 
 untold wealth of suggestiveness, I took my friendly critic's 
 advice, choosing certain promising days of April, 1887, 
 and sought, with some misgiving, a new pasture. I am 
 free to confess that I long reveled in the heaped-up 
 bounties of the wide wilderness into which I plunged. 
 
80 DATS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 Hurrying from town to village, and skirting many a 
 piny wood, oak opening, and dismal swamp, I reached 
 May's Landing late in the evening ; due south from my 
 home a small fraction more than a degree, and, by the 
 geologist's map, just sixty feet nearer to the ocean's level. 
 
 The unremitting whistle of a caged cardinal roused 
 me at early dawn, and, to solve the all-important question 
 of the weather probabilities, I took my first day-time glance 
 at the village, so far as peeping through the slatted shutter 
 would permit. 
 
 I found myself practically in another world. Every 
 tree had a foreign look, although but oaks and pines and 
 gum trees, such as I have at home. In spite of the botan- 
 ists' assertions, they were not the same in appearance. 
 The soil and environment had wrought a nameless some- 
 thing in them that one could see, yet not describe. Such 
 white and " turkey " oaks as shade the village street and 
 cluster about the churches and court-yard do not grow 
 in my own neighborhood, but recalled rather the tower- 
 ing tulip trees that overtop all other growths upon the 
 wooded hill-sides of my home. 
 
 The rambler wisely contents himself with moderate 
 pleasure, and is soothed by the chipper's trill when 
 thrushes fail to sing ; but still he ever hopes that his for- 
 tune may be bettered and the silence broken by his wor- 
 shiped favorites. This undercurrent of desire for a cli- 
 macteric experience holds good with every feature of the 
 outdoor world ; and while I find abundant joy in what 
 old trees are near at hand, even if they be not large, my 
 constant hope is that every new direction that I take may 
 lead to others and perfect of their kind. Of many spe- 
 cies there are such trees, but scattered so widely that but 
 one can be seen each day ; and of these, in numbers, the 
 white oak falls to the bottom of the list, though first in 
 beauty of all our forest trees. 
 
APRIL. 81 
 
 There stands in the yard of the Quaker meeting- 
 house, at Crosswicks, New Jersey, a perfect white oak a 
 tree that for many miles around is without a rival. At 
 the surface of the ground the body of this tree is nearly 
 twelve feet in diameter, and it tapers upward quite 
 abruptly to its minimum cross measurement of five feet 
 six inches. At fourteen feet from the ground the 
 branches start, of which some twenty go to make a beau- 
 tifully symmetrical crown, gracefully curved above, and 
 extending more than fifty feet in every direction from the 
 trunk. When in full leaf, the tree casts a huge island of 
 delicious shade, and as the old meeting-house built in 
 1690 is not so old as the oak by at least a century, six or 
 seven generations of earnest worshipers have gathered 
 weekly within the shadows cast by it. 
 
 There are tongues in trees, and often have I wished 
 that this one would speak out in no uncertain way and 
 tell us of the past; tell us of the Indians that met on 
 these pleasant hills for Crosswicks was a great council- 
 ground three hundred years ago ; and tell us, too, of the 
 earnest folk who settled here when, instead of a few 
 widely scattered oaks, there were boundless forests of 
 gigantic trees. 
 
 There are still in existence a few pages of an old day- 
 book wherein is recorded the shipping from a point on the 
 creek near by of thousands of i; hogshead staves of white 
 oaks " ; and, later, millions of feet of hewed timber were 
 .rafted from this same place to Philadelphia. It is diffi- 
 cult, at this time, to realize that within sight of the old 
 meeting-house was felled a considerable portion of the 
 timber that supplied the market of that great city. 
 Lastly, came the days of cord-wood supplies, and this com- 
 pleted the destruction. Now, the builder of a new barn 
 must send hundreds of miles for timber stout enough for 
 its frame. 
 
 6 
 
82 DATS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 That trees must be felled goes without sa} 7 ing ; but it 
 is deplorable that the importance of reforesting our less 
 fertile tracts did not occur to our grandfathers. Could I 
 boast to-day of a few acres of Crosswicks oaks, there is no 
 wealth that could purchase their destruction. It is true 
 that extensive forests and modern civilization are incom- 
 patible ; but not so civilization and ample groves. As all 
 Crosswicks points with pride to its single oak, so, too, the 
 people of May's Landing may well be proud of their beau- 
 tiful village so generously shaded by its splendid trees. 
 
 As the oaks had done, so, too, the many sour gums 
 or pepperidge trees in the village quickly attracted my 
 attention. In a general way they were familiar enough, 
 but at the same time bore their stamp of an environment 
 widely different from that at home, in holding aloft, 
 among their leafless boughs, great clusters of pale green, 
 clammy mistletoe. 
 
 The seeds of this parasitic plant, carried, it is thought, 
 by birds, had found lodgment on the outer branches of 
 these trees, and at once demanded tribute a drain, as it 
 proves, upon the poor tree's treasury. Slowly, but surely, 
 the limbs become knobbed, gnarly, and knotted; then 
 wither and decay. 
 
 That the relentless stranger moves steadily toward the 
 base of the tree, as its afflicting presence works the de- 
 struction of its host, was evident from the appearance of 
 many branches, yet it does not appear that a tree is ulti- 
 mately killed by the plant. There were nineteen of these 
 gum trees all, save one, close to the water's edge and one 
 hundred and twenty-five bunches of mistletoe were -grow- 
 ing thereon ; some of them large enough to fill a bushel- 
 measure. 
 
 This was something I had never seen before, and so 
 far of passing interest, but it roused no feeling of admi- 
 ration seemed, indeed, a miserable blunder and I was 
 
APRIL. 83 
 
 glad to turn away and gather nodding spikes of white 
 cassandra. These, with the beautiful seed-pods of the 
 stagger bush and needle-like foliage of the pine beauty, 
 made for me a novel nosegay, which I carried until fresh 
 novelties paled their prettiness. 
 
 Turning from the glistening sands of a well-worn 
 wood-road, I threaded my way a few rods between scrubby 
 oaks and dwarfed pines, and over a carpet of tufted gray- 
 green reindeer moss, still necked with the crimson berries 
 and bronzed foliage of wintergreen. What the trees 
 wanted in stateliness and height was more than compen- 
 sated for by the luxuriant growth of lichens that draped 
 their branches. The bearded giants of Florida were here 
 bearded dwarfs, but no less venerable in aspect. 
 
 There were two very distinct species of these drooping 
 lichens, one of which often measured fully two feet in 
 length. The other was but little less vigorous a growth, 
 and, though semi-erect, was equally graceful. This one 
 bore aloft the daintiest of pearl-gray cups goblets that 
 flies might have sipped at, had they not all been empty ; 
 yet many were large enough to have held a drop of dew. 
 Never before had I seen the well-known forms growing so 
 luxuriantly. They gave a misty, cobwebby look to the 
 woods, as though the spiders of the world had held a sum- 
 mer-long convention. 
 
 Plunging into this tangle, my first thoughts were of 
 the animal life that it must shelter. I listened for birds 
 to sing; there was no sound. I scanned the nearer 
 branches ; there was no moving creature. I shook the 
 tufted lichens ; not a bug crawled forth. The cracking of 
 brittle twigs beneath my feet alone broke the silence. I 
 was in a beautiful yet lifeless country. 
 
 Then came an abrupt change in my surroundings. 
 Reaching higher ground, the crisp, crackling mosses gave 
 way to fresher growths, and wreath-like patches of glitter- 
 
84: DATS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 ing, snow-white sand made a fitting background for the 
 delicate pyxie. Straightway, on seeing this plant, I forgave 
 the country for its want of birds. It were too great good 
 fortune to have both, perhaps. Gray says of it, " found in 
 the sandy pine barrens of New Jersey," but call no land 
 barren where the pyxie grows. The sands of an ancient 
 ocean-bed were here; the murmuring pines echoed the 
 long silent surf. The spot seemed less a land than an 
 earthly monument to a forgotten sea, and over it was 
 spread a mantle of richest green, starred with the spark- 
 ling pyxie. No other blossoms intruded ; no thoughtless 
 growths crowded. There they were left to grow, in a wil- 
 derness that now was silent as a tomb, immortelles deck- 
 ing a dead ocean's grave. 
 
 Call this a " pine barren " if you choose, wherein plant 
 lovers may peep and botanize, but must never hope to find 
 a fortune ; yet may it not after all have capabilities men 
 now wot not of ? Surely a cottage with pyxie at the door 
 were a'pleasant place to live, attractive as any garden of 
 roses, and more suggestive of content than a lodge in a 
 garden of cucumbers. 
 
 I longed for a boat, when I turned my face villageward 
 to explore the tempting shores of the river .that hurries by, 
 but, deferring this promised pleasure, gave the remaining 
 hours of a crowded day to " the pines," and a mile or two 
 of the creek that thridded them. 
 
 Where bared sands' could not boast a blade of grass I 
 gathered curious earth stars ; and then pines in front, on 
 either side, and pines that walled the village from my view, 
 muttered and murmured. A home for birds in abun- 
 dance, yet what a beggarly showing ! Not until the open 
 country immediately adjoining the creek was reached did 
 I hear a single chirp. A single pigeon woodpecker had 
 ventured thus far, and twice I heard robins. Later a 
 
APRIL. 85 
 
 warbler was seen and heard, but all so indistinctly as to 
 make it unsafe to guess the species. I listened frequently 
 for the scream of the blue jay, yet heard none. They had 
 wandered to fresh fields, but at times are here in force. 
 At least, to them is credited the planting of the acorns 
 that spring up so surely when the pines are felled. The 
 red squirrel, too, probably has a hand in this, as it is one 
 of the few mammals found in this region ; where, indeed, 
 bears and deer are still found, yet " small deer," like mice, 
 are almost wanting. It is true I did not see a single squir- 
 rel, but the nibbled cones of the pine told clearly of their 
 presence. I saw no mice, and was told there were none. 
 My admiration for pine woods lessened when I heard this. 
 Why it should be, seems indeed strange, and I doubt not 
 they are indeed rare. It was a new impression of wild life 
 that I had not suspected, to find that about my home, not 
 three miles from a large town, were always at least half a 
 hundred birds and a dozen mammals that, for some un- 
 known reason, shunned a forest miles in extent, and far 
 away from any considerable town. 
 
 How I longed to mingle the botany of these barrens with 
 the wild life of the fields, hill-side, and meadows at home ! 
 
 Time permitted of but a passing glance at the creek 
 a pine-woods stream here, but the drain of a cedar swamp 
 somewhere above. As I stood upon its grassy bank the 
 waters appeared like ink, except where fretted by fallen 
 trees, when they became mantled with a delicate tracery 
 of silvery bead-like bubbles. 
 
 I scanned the sunlit shallows for minnows, but could 
 find none ; the projecting stumps and logs for basking 
 turtles there were none ; and I remembered that not a 
 frog leaped into the stream as I drew near. Yet, to my 
 ignorant eyes, there is no spot that seems better fitted for 
 all these creatures. Such experiences chill one's enthu- 
 siasm through and through. 
 
88 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 Still there was no lack of beauty. The beautiful 
 pitcher plant was in full leaf, and many a one was 
 emptied of its water as I hunted for the insects that nour- 
 ish this curious carnivorous plant. I found none, nor 
 were the flower-like leaves at all sensitive. Perhaps they 
 were keeping Lent just then, and I doubt not will feast 
 heartily when a cloud of mosquitoes settles in the valley 
 of this forest brook. 
 
 I shall always covet the hollies growing there. Some 
 were great pyramids of deepest green, still sparkling with 
 myriads of red berries. These trees grow not only with 
 branches so low that the trunk is hidden, but with the 
 main stem bare for several feet in height, gray as a thrifty 
 beech, and quite as smooth. On one such, a curious lichen 
 the Grapta insculpta had grown until the tree ap- 
 peared wrapped in inscribed parchment. Every letter of 
 every alphabet was well represented, and cuneiform in- 
 scriptions and runes were noticeably abundant. 
 
 That this little corner of " the pines " teems with nov- 
 elties I have no doubt ; that animal life is really more 
 abundant than then appeared is certainly true, but no 
 demonstration of this is possible during so brief a visit. 
 Could I spend a year upon the banks of that little creek I 
 should have much to tell, but to tarry for an hour is of no 
 avail. 
 
 Better than to do this my good-natured critic not- 
 withstanding is to continue unto the end paddling among 
 bull-frogs upon Big Bird Creek. But I hope to return 
 before the summer ends. 
 
 And what of April at home ? Alas ! it is rarely twice 
 the same, and describe it never so cunningly, a typical 
 " Spring Moon " would scarcely be recognized. In 188G, 
 the month was hot; in 1887, a curious mixture of all 
 other seasons; while that of 1888 could boast of snow- 
 
APRIL. 87 
 
 drifts, relics of the great storm of the preceding March ; 
 and for four long weeks the west wind had miles of snow- 
 clad country over which to pass before it reached us. 
 Even the resident birds grew tired of it at last, and never 
 were the hill-side and the meadows so silent as during the 
 last days, save two, of the month. 
 
 A friend had come from Massachusetts to see and hear 
 the many warblers that pass by in April, en route for their 
 northern summer haunts ; and, too, to hear such song- 
 birds as do not reach New England. What folly on my 
 part to have promised anything of these same birds ! 
 
 We threaded many a tangled brake, 
 
 Then traced the river's shore ; 
 We lingered where the marshes quake, 
 
 We tramped the meadows o'er ; 
 We listened long for some sweet song 
 
 Of summer's tuneful host ; 
 But never a note from any throat, 
 
 Each silent as a ghost. 
 
 Through the lone, trackless swamp we strayed ; 
 
 Full many a field we crossed ; 
 The pathless bog our steps delayed, 
 
 The ancient landmark lost 
 We stood in vain, some fancied strain 
 
 To hear ; alas ! instead, 
 Nor sky nor ground gave forth a sound, 
 
 The very air was dead. 
 
 Cloud-wrapped and sad so closed the day, 
 
 As sullen proved the night ; 
 The sun shed not his parting ray, 
 
 The stars withheld their light. 
 No bat so bold to quit his hold, 
 
 Nor owl dared venture forth ; 
 The swift brook moaned, the tall tree groaned, 
 
 While breathed the icy north. 
 
 Six consecutive outings, each for the greater part of 
 the day, yielded the poor showing of but fifty- five spe- 
 
83 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 cies ; and many of these like the crow, grakle, and king- 
 fisher, and, I may add, the bittern, which only gave us 
 two thirds of a " boom " scarcely count as birds at all, so 
 hopelessly prosaic is their every utterance. But many, 
 although persistently silent, and several that timidly 
 broke the silence, were not without interest. Once, in a 
 sunny nook, among chestnut sprouts, my companion and 
 I found not only shelter from the icy wind, but birds 
 and blossoms in abundance. Snowy toothwort and bud- 
 ding mandrake both notable growths quite covered the 
 ground ; while ruby- crowned wrens thronged the adjoin- 
 ing thickets, active as ever, but warbling only in a half- 
 hearted way. Not once did they sing out with that wealth 
 of energy characteristic of them in their summer haunts, 
 and as they occasionally venture to do here in New Jer- 
 sey during mild winter days. From their golden-crested 
 cousins that at this time largely outnumber them they 
 can readily be recognized, even when not seen, by their 
 more varied song, " lively, animated strains of canary-like 
 sweetness and clearness." 
 
 It has recently been denied that 'this bird winters in 
 New Jersey. Probably this impression arose from obser- 
 vations made in the northern hilly section of the State. 
 One might as well attempt to study the equator by camp- 
 ing on the shores of Baffin's Bay. 
 
 Because those birds which we hoped to find were not 
 here, the days were not lost in sulking. There was always 
 sound if not music, and sound is always suggestive. As 
 we rested upon the soft cushions of well-matted leaves, 
 "the bee-like Euryomia hummed about us a beetle of 
 which I knew nothing, having, if I saw it at all, supposed 
 it to have come directly from the hives or a hollow tree. 
 At times the dead leaves rustled where song-sparrows and 
 chewinks scratched among them for food, and at once 
 
APRIL. 89 
 
 curiosity is roused to see the birds, although their identity 
 is without question. As we peer into the thickets, a third 
 ground-loving Urd flits up before us, a skulking hermit 
 thrush, and, mounting a low branch of a tree, it stares 
 back at us, with drooping wings, jerking tail, and mute as 
 those monks who are sworn to silence. When we remem- 
 ber that this same thrush is in New England almost 
 without a rival as a summer songster, it is a standing 
 mystery why here, for several months, it is so persistently 
 silent. Indeed, it occasionally nests in the romantic valley 
 of the Wissahickon, not forty miles away, and I am told, 
 even then has been seldom heard to sing ; and the opinion 
 has also been expressed that such nesting birds do not 
 compare at all favorably with our splendid wood thrush. 
 As we saw them to-day running among the thousands of 
 nodding toothwort blossoms, they were less attractive 
 than would have been so many mice. But the flowers I 
 have mentioned never fail to command attention. Here 
 everything was suited to their needs, and they overtopped 
 the violets, spring beauty, bluets, and even crowded to ob- 
 scure nooks that marvel of azure bloom, grape-hyacinth's 
 clustered bells. 
 
 Hard by, the rank mandrake or May-apple was not only 
 beautiful but suggestive. Many a plant was a telling in- 
 stance of indomitable pluck ; or, shall we say, like many 
 a mortal, born to pitiless ill-luck. Before the frost has 
 lost its hold upon the stout oak leaves that have lain the 
 winter long upon the ground, the leaf- wrapped stalk of the 
 May-apple, that can be likened to nothing so much as to 
 a closed umbrella, pierces the thin crust. Many meet 
 with a serious obstacle to their upward growth in the 
 leaves upon the ground, but their progress is never wholly 
 checked. Apparently unable to push it aside, the May- 
 apple pierces the dead leaf, and then lifts it up, often half 
 a, foot above the ground. A decided victory seems at first 
 
90 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 to have been gained, but the upward-borne leaf has its 
 revenge. It is merely pierced, not torn asunder, and 
 retaliates by holding the May-apple firmly bound, and the 
 glory of its growth, the outspreading of its umbrella-leaf, 
 is effectually prevented. I think of more than one poor 
 fellow, as I write, who has an unyielding oak leaf hope- 
 lessly binding his powers. Mr. Blank, over the way, is a 
 closed umbrella. 
 
 Later, while strolling by a meadow pond, and my com- 
 panion searching for warblers among the scattered trees 
 upon its banks, I was startled by a shrill screaming, and 
 was astonished to see with what energy an irate swallow 
 pursued a kingfisher. The cause of the quarrel can only 
 be conjectured, but revenge was the evident impulse of 
 the offended bird, and, with a daring and rapidity of move- 
 ment that would put even a wren to shame, it struck the 
 fleeing kingfisher again and again, as it darted among the 
 trees, screeching with terror. 
 
 The courage of a bird accomplishes much, and if all 
 our helpless species had both quicker tempers and yet re- 
 mained coolly brave, their enemies, the falcons, would 
 prove less dangerous. A little cunning would often en- 
 able the pursued warbler to outwit the hawk, for the latter 
 depends upbn brute force. 
 
 We found a few birds at last. Among tall pin-oaks 
 in a neglected meadow were yellow red-polled warblers ; 
 restless, of course, as is all their tribe, but silent, save to 
 those who might be anxious to hear their lisping song. 
 By dint of listening, their few weak notes were recognized 
 amid the twitter and chirping of swallows and sparrows ; 
 but the result was scarcely worth the effort required of us. 
 Think of following through bog, through bush, through 
 brake, through brier, to hear a mere midget in yellow- 
 
APRIL. 91 
 
 brown feathers sing like a " debilitated chipper " ! Such 
 was my companion's comparison. I am not sure that I 
 have ever heard a broken-down chipper sing ; but given 
 one in good health, and his tremulous twitter, full of vim 
 as it is, is music that charms. Heard first while yet winter 
 lingers, it is full of spring-tide suggestiveness, and shames 
 our want of faith. 
 
 Very different were the earnest notes of a pair of dainty 
 blue-gray gnatcatchers that came dashing through the 
 tree-tops, and at once set us all craning our necks that we 
 might follow their quick motions. They uttered not only 
 two clear notes, but followed these with a rapid trill at 
 times, as though, through the scolding, their stock of syl- 
 lables bubbled over ; and there was always an earnestness 
 in their song, if so one may call it, that compelled atten- 
 tion. 
 
 I have been familiar with this little bird for years, and 
 it has always been a matter of surprise that Wilson should 
 have spoken of it as chirping feebly as a mouse, or, as has 
 been remarked by a more recent writer, " like a mouse with 
 a toothache." When nesting, this bird sings, but very 
 rarely, in quite an elaborate manner, but probably much 
 less so than in more southern localities. I have found, on 
 comparing notes with observers in other fields, that the 
 song of the same species differs very widely in different 
 localities. 
 
 Much depends, I take it, upon all the circumstances 
 attendant upon the study of a particular warbler, whether 
 it proves of special interest or not. Certainly, as yellow 
 red-polls, northward bound, there is nothing particularly 
 attractive about them ; as there is, for instance, about the 
 ever abundant summer yellow-bird, whose few simple notes 
 are so full of satisfaction as though it was insisting upon 
 the debatable point, whether or not life is worth living. 
 
 It is ornithological heterodoxy to speak disparagingly 
 
92 DATS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 of the North American warblers, I am well aware ; but as 
 migratory birds, seen only in transit, they rouse little en- 
 thusiasm, and those that remain suffer by association with 
 birds of other families ; with the exception, perhaps, of 
 the Maryland yellow-throat. 
 
 The sixth outing was an up-river ramble. Leaving 
 the rocks against which the incoming tides fretted in 
 vain, we started at the end of the non-tidal river and com- 
 menced an ascent, so gentle here that the ever down-flow- 
 ing waters are our only evidence that we rise higher and 
 higher above the ocean's level, almost at every furlong 
 of our progress. But it is a different country. No 
 change from the home meadows could be more abrupt 
 and complete. Here we have the often outcropping bed- 
 rock, and to some extent a different flora. Here, hepatica 
 and bloodroot blossom in the woods, flowers that win our 
 love at the first glance ; and later smilacina, delicate as 
 lilies of the valley, cover the crevices of many a bared 
 rock near the water's edge. 
 
 Nowhere is there uncertain footing quicksand, mud, 
 or floating weeds ; but always smooth, compacted sand, a 
 thickset sod, or smooth pebbles, long since water-worn, 
 but now only overflowed when the river is at a freshet 
 stage. It was at such now, and a single raft glided past 
 a few score of insignificant sticks, and as nothing in com- 
 parison with the mighty pine and hard-wood timber, that 
 a century ago was floated yearly from the mountains 
 above. 
 
 Lumbering on the Delaware is now a thing of the past, 
 and to-day the banks of the stream have next to nothing 
 left that the waters can float to market; but still the 
 mountains are beautiful. Saplings and underbrush, like 
 charity, cover a multitude of sins. As we pass by, their 
 green is as rich as that of forest growths, and we are not 
 unhappy if we do not stop to think. 
 
APRIL. 93 
 
 The practically deserted river is more a relic of the 
 past than an important factor of the present; for al- 
 though its shores have been occupied by man a hundred 
 centuries or more, probably never until now has the stream 
 itself proved of so little use. To be sure, it is the conven- 
 ient sewer of up-river towns and the sweet- water supply 
 of the larger cities below ; but this counts for little, and 
 even the fishing interest is next to nothing. The fond 
 hope of many an angler, that the salmon might be intro- 
 duced, can never be realized, so unutterably filthy is the 
 tidal portion of the river for fully a hundred miles from 
 the ocean. Such an ordeal is too much for this lordly 
 fish ; and we can only wonder that the delicate shad is 
 not like-minded. But our quest concerned the shores, 
 and not the stream, for bushes and small birds have- not 
 yet been exterminated. Migrating warblers were the 
 prime object of our all-day tramp ; to see and hear them, 
 if Fate willed it so ; and, as may be inferred, Fate did not 
 will it. We saw but twenty-one kinds of birds, only three 
 of which were warblers ; and not one of the whole series 
 but was, that same day, far more abundant at home than 
 here upon the rocky river shore. 
 
 For want of suggestive material, we had to abandon 
 ornithological field-work for more prosaic pastime, and I 
 ventured upon the dangerous ground of pre-eminently 
 ancient man. Very persuasively, as I thought, I dis- 
 coursed on the palaeolithic implement we found on the 
 gravelly shore, but the significance, as I hold it, of such 
 rudely fractured stone was not made apparent. There 
 was ominously little said in reply when I closed my argu- 
 ment, but the immovable countenance and far-off look of 
 my companion's eyes told me that, like the river before us, 
 not by the breadth of a hair had the current of his 
 thoughts been changed. 
 
 Twenty-one species of birds only, we felt, were not of 
 
91 DATS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 sufficient interest to repay us for our tramp. Is there not 
 something savoring of unwisdom in this? It is true, 
 every one of them had been long familiar ; their habits 
 thoroughly known ; yet, paradoxical as the statement may 
 seem, not one but has the glamour of mystery about it. 
 It is only necessary to take up American ornithological 
 literature, and we will quickly find that the world is not 
 of one mind, even as to cat-birds or the chipping sparrow. 
 Scores of white-bellied swallows were darting over the 
 water all day, and there is good ground for believing they 
 have a nesting habit that is as yet unrecorded. We saw a 
 single kingfisher, and I am told that a pair of these birds 
 had once nested in a pile of railroad ties near here, after 
 their nest in the bank of an inflowing brook had twice 
 been washed away by sudden showers that gullied the 
 loose earth which they had tunneled. May not such an 
 occurrence be really less remarkable than we suppose, and 
 have occurred time after time and been overlooked ? How 
 is it possible to keep such<watch upon birds that all their 
 irregularities shall be promptly discovered. I am more and 
 more inclined to give heed to what I hear, considering how 
 often I have myself seen the unexpected and improbable. 
 Purple martins were abundant during the summer of 1887, 
 and we saw many during our up-river ramble. They 
 must have a nesting-place in the neighborhood, yet no 
 boxes are occupied by them, these being tenanted by the 
 English sparrows. Have they not probably returned to 
 hollow trees? They have been known to do so within 
 the present century. 
 
 The rose-breasted grosbeak is essentially a bird of the 
 tall trees, and possibly would die if confined to the open 
 fields, yet I have watched them by the hour, associated 
 most familiarly with chewinks, scratching among the dead 
 leaves. I was held all one forenoon, last May, to a single 
 spot, watching a red-headed woodpecker as it sallied from 
 
APRIL. 95 
 
 its post in quest of flies, which it caught with all the grace 
 and in perfect imitation of a typical fly-catcher. 
 
 The truth is, there is scarcely a habit but is open to 
 marked influence, and the change may be suddenly brought 
 about. Man often abruptly changes the whole face of 
 nature, and the birds must likewise change or f orsak'e their 
 former haunts, and this many species are very loath to do. 
 Where English sparrows have forced their way into the 
 country, the familiar birds of our door-yards and gardens 
 have been forced to quit, and now frequent localities 
 where formerly they were seldom found and never nested. 
 
 In spite of the unpromising outlook, we continued our 
 search for possible warblers. Every house we passed had 
 its grove of tall white pines before it, and into these, with 
 leveled field-glass, we persistently stared, hoping, not to 
 the consternation of timid women-folk. Bird-hunting in 
 this fashion is not yet quite a safe pastime, for the world 
 is not so far educated as to realize that any one would 
 walk a mile in hopes of merely seeing a rare warbler, and 
 such curiosity has brought more than one rambler to 
 temporary grief. I am so far fortunate as to have escaped 
 molestation, to date ; although I once chased a wounded 
 bird into a stranger's garden when cherries were ripe. 
 Less fortunate was my good uncle, when State Geologist 
 of New York, for he was detained as a lunatic for two 
 whole days in a country village because his saddle-bags 
 were filled with "broken stones," as the fossils he had 
 collected were pronounced to be. 
 
 But with all our care we saw no warblers, and stopped 
 at the first tavern we reached, and refreshed. There is 
 an excellent well of sweet water in the back yard. Here, 
 too, we crossed the river and commenced our homeward 
 journey. Still no birds ; and probably never before had I 
 taken a walk of the same length and seen so little. Dis- 
 
96 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 couragement dogged our steps from the moment of leav- 
 ing home until, as the day closed, we re-entered the 
 house. 
 
 Such empty days are by no means valueless. They 
 teach at least the uncertainty of bird migration, and like- 
 wise th'e fickleness of resident species. Why, indeed, the 
 latter should have forsaken us is a puzzle I have no hopes 
 of solving. To walk for hours about a favorite haunt 
 of winter birds and see a solitary chickadee only is not 
 an experience to recall except with disgust, yet such was 
 ours one chilly, gusty, yet cloudless April morning. Even 
 the crested tit, that storm-defying hero that the winter 
 long had cheered the naked woods, and whose notes are, 
 of all sounds in early April, the surest to revivify our 
 drooping hopes even it forsook the home hill-side for 
 an entire week. But the world turned over a new leaf 
 on the twenty-eighth, and summer may be said to date 
 from that bright morning, for spring as a season is a 
 baseless myth. < 
 
 April is not wholly at the mercy of the weather. 
 Many a plant, as well as bird, flourishes in spite of frost 
 or snow or ice ; and lately we have had all three. The 
 black and wintry waters of the meadow ponds, that seem 
 but a little way off to be well-nigh fathomless, are really 
 shallow, and what little warmth the fitful sun vouchsafes 
 is carefully husbanded. The host of crowding water weeds 
 risk the chill nights and scarcely less frosty days, and 
 unless it be such a memorable year as 1816, when there 
 was ice every month, they suffer nothing. Yearly the 
 farmer frowns at April frosts, declaring that he will be 
 ruined. His sad prognostications always recall the annual 
 destruction of the rarely destroyed peach crop. 
 
 There was little but strictly wintry weather in April, 
 1888, and the average tree and plant were two weeks later 
 
APRIL. 97 
 
 than in 1887; but in one sheltered nook wherein the 
 drifts of the great March storm lingered until the second 
 week there was found, almost on time, the delicate Dicen- 
 tra, with its luxuriance of beautiful leaves and exquisite 
 pendent bloom of ivory and gold. To think that such a 
 plant should be called " Dutchman's breeches " ! If this 
 abomination were dropped from Gray's manual, perhaps 
 in time a decent substitute would come in use. But why 
 not call the plant Dicentra ? 
 
 Fortunately, botany is not, like ornithology, cursed 
 with often worse than meaningless names ; execrable Latin 
 and worse Greek that has been foisted upon the science 
 by a recent nomenclatorial congress. A name that is 
 meaningless, misleading, or inappropriate has no right to 
 be ; yet such are now claimed to be established for all 
 time. But the world at large has no need of such insuffer- 
 able rot. 
 
 During the same cold April days, where the terrace 
 blends with the level meadows at the feet of stately trees 
 the sod was thickly starred with heart's-ease. Confidence 
 was stamped in each brave little face, and however often 
 the breeze pressed them to the ground, straightway it 
 passed they smiled as sweetly as before. 
 
 With these, blue violets, pale bluets, and brilliant 
 buttercups, there was surely enough to tempt the birds, 
 and field sparrows on the terrace and hair birds everwhere 
 sang as merrily as they knew. 
 
 So far, this icy April held her own, but at times she 
 struggled against fearful odds. 
 
 At all times there was life in the waters, if not in the 
 air, and a long procession of restless fishes passed by 
 whenever I sat on the creek bank or stood still a moment 
 as I came to the meadow brooks. Every one except the 
 eels and cat-fish were dressed in holiday suits; and few 
 people would suspect that many a silvery minnow of later 
 
98 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 summer is now decked with every color of the rainbow. 
 There is always a fascination in the still waters of a deep 
 pool. The improbable appearance of some strange creat- 
 ure from its depths is the subtle thought that holds me 
 whenever I chance to pass by the great bend of Poastquis- 
 sings. Once, on a chill and dull November day, a great 
 snapping turtle thrust his head above the surface, yawned, 
 and disappeared. And how vividly I can recall an expe- 
 rience of thirty years ago ! While yet some distance off, I 
 saw what I took to be an otter, and commenced creeping 
 slowly toward it, in hopes of a better view. Nearer and 
 nearer I drew, and the unsuspecting otter remained at his 
 post. Finally, I reached the water's edge, and looked di- 
 rectly into it. My face was within a foot of the surface, 
 and directly in front was a nest-making sunfish. Did you 
 ever look one squarely in the face ? If so, you have seen 
 a monster a stranger shape than fevered fancy ever de- 
 picted. The supposed otter was a slimy log. 
 
 I often think of that long-distant day, and when the 
 quiet waters sparkle with long rows of glistening bubbles, 
 the gas from decomposing vegetation, I think of creatures 
 that may startle my maturer years as the great red-eared 
 sunfish frightened an eager boy. 
 
 A feature of winter, and even of spring so late as 
 April, is last year's leaves. As I walked recently along a 
 wooded hill-side, over tree-margined fields, and skirted a 
 swamp too wet, as yet, to enter, I noticed many a tree 
 with last year's leaves still on it. Except one tupelo, 
 which usually drops its foliage earlier than our other forest 
 trees, these leaf -bearers were all oaks or beeches. Thoreau 
 speaks of the white oaks about Concord retaining their 
 leaves as a rule, and others deny that this is true, or more 
 than an occasional occurrence. 
 
 The conclusions derived from my own memoranda, 
 
APRIL. 99 
 
 covering many years, and of my ramble of yesterday par- 
 ticularly, are that not only the white oak, but several 
 other species, do retain their leaves, or a considerable per- 
 centage of them, until early in May of the next year. 
 Take any oak grove in this neighborhood, and I think it 
 will be found, if the trees are not too crowded for healthy 
 growth, that fully three fourths of them retain from one 
 tenth to one half of their leaves. But when we come to 
 consider single trees, this habit of leaf -retention will be 
 found one of many curious features. For instance, I know 
 of many single trees, both oaks and beeches, that have a 
 single limb that will retain its foliage the winter through, 
 while the other branches are bare from November to May. 
 Again, a tree that stands upon the edge of a wood will 
 hold its leaves on the open, light, and airy side, and drop 
 those that grew upon the shaded limbs. Does the greater 
 vigor of the foliage upon the sunny side explain this ? 
 
 In one of my upland fields there stands a thrifty scar- 
 let oak that is noticeable for the beauty and density of its 
 foliage. In October the deep green becomes a rich ma- 
 roon, and later, a lighter and brighter red, and not until 
 nearly New Year's has the ruddy tinting given way to 
 brown. Even then the tree remains a prominent object, 
 and is, indeed, even for an oak, one among a thousand. 
 For the past fourteen years this tree has never failed to 
 retain nearly all its leaves, although in that time there has 
 been every variety of summer and winter that even the 
 powers in charge of our capricious climate could invent. 
 
 On examination of the oaks near by, it has seemed to 
 me that they all have a tendency to retain their leaves, 
 and the measure of success in each case is due principally 
 to the exposure of the tree and its general vigor. Here I 
 may be wholly at sea, and only too glad to be informed 
 correctly if in error. 
 
 What I have said of oaks applies equally to the beech. 
 
100 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 Given shelter from the northwest winds and average 
 vigor, and many a leaf will cling to its parent stem until 
 the swelling leaf -buds of the new year shall crowd it from 
 its place. 
 
 While yet the drifts of the late great snow-storm still 
 lingered, it was a pleasant feature of the landscape to see 
 the sapling beeches still bearing aloft their last year's 
 leaves, dimly glittering like wrinkled fragments of old 
 gold, and filling the air with a bell-like tinkle, soothing 
 and soft as the twitter of a bird. 
 
 I offer it as a hint to the landscape gardener, to bring 
 about by selection if it can be done a fully established 
 habit of leaf -retention ; not making evergreen oaks, but 
 winter-long, bright brown oaks ; for such now lessen to a 
 marked degree the dreariness of many a winter outlook. 
 Again, when leaf -retaining oaks are mingled with ever- 
 greens, there is an added charm to the scene. Think for 
 a moment of such a cluster as this: A background of 
 cedar, scattered oaks with dark brown leaves, a beech with 
 golden foliage, and crimson-fruited black alder mingled 
 through it all, for the fruit of the alder clings at times to 
 the stems until winter is well advanced, and the glowing 
 color of the berries is not dimmed even when the fruit is 
 shriveled. 
 
 Lastly, it matters nothing what the weather may be, 
 April has yet another feature worthy of record, one that 
 gives it a glory above all winter months the coming of 
 the pioneer thrush. This year, the mild, moonlit mid- 
 night of March 31 wooed him hither. We may be sure 
 of this, for he is no skulker in early spring, and greets the 
 sunrise with no uncertain song, wherever he may be. 
 Very appropriately, then, he was first seen and heard as 
 the glimmering light of dawn disclosed, April 1st, the 
 naked fields, the faintly greening willows, and wide 
 
APRIL. 
 
 reaches of sparkling waters ; for the spring-tide freshet 
 covers all the lowlands, and we have no meadows now, but 
 the ragged remnant of a short-lived lake instead. 
 
 It is needless to attempt a description of the lone 
 thrush's song ; suffice it to say he sang, and the scattered 
 leaves that the winter long have clung to their parent 
 stems, and the trembling twigs of every tree and shrub 
 seemed conscious of his presence and thrilled by his in- 
 spiring voice. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 MAY. 
 
 NOTHING could more neatly and truthfully express 
 the conditions of the outdoor world in early May than 
 the name given to the month by the Delaware Indians 
 Tauiuinipen gischucli, the moon of the beginning of sum- 
 mer. And dearest of all the moons should this one be to 
 him who loves an outing, if it be, as has been said, that 
 by its waxing light many a long-absent migratory bird is 
 guided to its haunts of a year ago. 
 
 I have often wondered if an Indian ever said to him- 
 self, " To-morrow will be the first of May," and retired in 
 blissful expectation of being aroused by a grand chorus of 
 newly arrived songsters. Probably not ; nor can I, much 
 as I would love to have it so, for the reason that many a 
 summer bird persists in dropping in upon us before that 
 magic date. 
 
 So far as my own observations extend, the moon influ- 
 ences migration, if it does at all, in some such way as this : 
 If it fulls between April 20 and 30, then the birds that 
 are latest to arrive, as a rule, will be earlier by nearly a 
 week than if the nights are dark, as when there is no moon 
 or a waning one. But this may be all a mere coincidence, 
 and of but one fact I can speak positively that regularity 
 is not so important a factor of the habit as is persistently 
 claimed. 
 
 But May is a month to be enjoyed, not coldly discussed, 
 
MAY. 103 
 
 and enthusiasm should thrill to the very finger-tips of 
 every one who, on the morning of the month's first day, 
 hears the thrush, grosbeak, oriole, and a host of warblers 
 as they greet the rising sun. And rest assured, dear 
 startled reader, that unless you are astir before the sun 
 is fairly above the horizon you will never know what 
 bird-music really is. It is not alone the mingled voices 
 of a dozen sweet songsters; for the melody needs the 
 dewy dawn, the half-opened flowers, the odor-laden breeze 
 that is languid from very sweetness, and a canopy of 
 misty, rosy-tinted cloud, to blend them to a harmonious 
 whole, and so faintly foreshadow what a perfected world 
 may be. 
 
 I spent a portion of May, 1887, in a mountainous 
 region, for I longed to test the truthfulness of the claim 
 that there only could I hear the choicest songsters at their 
 best. Forgive me, home woods and native fields, for I 
 must confess to its truth. 
 
 Eeaching my destination at night, I gave little heed to 
 my surroundings then, and can only testify to the power 
 of the mountain whip-poor-wills to break the slumbers of 
 the soundest sleeper. A half -score, at least, of these 
 strange birds seemed to be perched upon my window-sill, 
 if, indeed, not in the room itself ; and not until dawn did 
 they cease, except to draw breath, their shrill discordant 
 cry. I certainly had these birds at their best, and it was 
 an instance where too great familiarity bred contempt. It 
 is a trite saying that there is no accounting for tastes, but 
 it is hard to believe that whip-poor-wills really enjoy the 
 sound of their own voices. Did noise, like light, attract 
 insects, then, indeed, they would not be as they now are, 
 mysterious by reason of their song. 
 
 Early the next morning I chose the lake as my best 
 point for general observation. And such a day ! 
 
104 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 Swallows over the water, 
 Warblers over the land ; 
 Silvery, tinkling ripples 
 Along the pebbly strand. 
 Afar in the upper ether 
 The eagle floats at rest ; 
 No wind now frets the forest ; 
 'Tis Nature at her best. 
 The golden haze of autumn 
 Enwraps the bloom of May 
 Fate grant me many another 
 Such perfect summer day. 
 
 The difference of elevation between the mountain lake 
 and my home on the ridge by tide-water meadows one 
 nearly of twelve hundred feet had, I doubt not, much to 
 do with the distinctness that characterized the songs of 
 even the small migrating warblers. Many of these rest- 
 less birds that I have always had at home to seek out, that 
 I might catch as best I could the short, sweet songs they 
 whisper to the flowers only, here rang out their melody 
 in such bold, decisive tones that even their faintest utter- 
 ance was heard. 
 
 The blue yellow-backed warbler was a prominent spe- 
 cies of this numerous family, and an excellent one where- 
 with to test the question of song variation in different lo- 
 calities. Dr. Brewer states that " it has no song properly 
 so called ; its notes are feeble and few, and can be heard 
 only a short distance " ; and quotes Mr. T. M. Trippe, of 
 Orange, New Jersey, to the effect that the song, while 
 " sharp and lisping," is quite varied, and consists of several 
 notes. This is quite applicable to such as I have heard at 
 home, where they are found all summer, and, I am in- 
 formed, true of them in southern Jersey, where, as along 
 Cohansey Creek, in Cumberland County, they breed in con- 
 siderable numbers. But about the lake shore, in Morris 
 County, where they were abundant, the sharpness and lisp 
 
MA Y. 105 
 
 mentioned by Mr. Trippe were not noticeable, and every 
 note, as both my companion and I heard them, was clear, 
 of moderate volume, and sweet. Furthermore, they sang 
 constantly, and, unlike many other warblers, frequently 
 stopped to sing, as though fond of their own music ; and 
 did not, as is so common, merely fling out the notes that 
 gathered in their throats, as though they were obstacles to 
 fly-catching. 
 
 Another warbler noted particularly was the black- 
 throated green, which at home sings but moderately well, 
 and, I think, never in a manner to make it noticeable 
 to the unobservant. So far, my own impression, at least, 
 and I was recently much surprised to hear a friend an- 
 nounce that before he arose that morning, he had heard 
 one of these birds singing, although the window was but 
 slightly opened. Perhaps an ardent lover of birds blessed 
 with such acute hearing may be inclined to call the green 
 warbler a fine songster ; but it is not likely to be classed as 
 such by the less gifted commonalty. For many a sum- 
 mer I had tried most faithfully to hear the " Hear me, St. 
 Theresa ! " so gracefully described by Wilson Flagg. On 
 the shores of Lake Hopatcong, I at last heard it. Whether 
 these birds were at the very tops of the tallest trees or in 
 the tangled thickets that filled every space between the 
 huge rocks, it mattered not. They sang incessantly, 
 morning, noon, and night; and always as sweetly and 
 clearly as the song was continuous. Here, these birds 
 are found all summer ; in other words, are at home, and 
 proved new birds to me. 
 
 The redeye, among the vireos, too, had a more flute- 
 like song, and, like the warbler, sang at all hours ; but 
 never lapsed into the peevish, complaining, muffled utter- 
 ance, so commonly heard in south Jersey as though pro- 
 testing against the humid, enervating heat. And again, 
 upon the summits of the highest surrounding hills, were 
 
106 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 many indigo birds, all of which had a more mellow and 
 less sibilant song, than have those that sing in my 
 garden. 
 
 But above all the others and ever to be remembered 
 were birds of three widely different kinds that, for abun- 
 dance, want of fear of man, and constant singing, far ex- 
 celled the scores of species that were identified. They 
 were the Baltimore oriole, the scarlet tanager, and the red- 
 starts. 
 
 The songs of the orioles were so soft, yet clear, and 
 had so often a perfect flute-like trill, that when I first 
 heard them in the gray dawn I was sorely puzzled, and 
 disposed to doubt my companion's decision when he an- 
 nounced one as singing in this sweet, wild way while rol- 
 licking in the misty air. Unlike the orioles at home, 
 they did not first alight .and then fairly scream their satis- 
 faction that May days had come. Alas ! that words are 
 well-nigh useless wherewith to attempt the description of 
 bird-music ! Accept, then, the simple statement, that 
 these happy orioles sang as I had never heard them be- 
 fore. Was it the mountain air or their feeling of security, 
 or both ? I learned that under no consideration was a gun 
 allowed to be fired or a bird disturbed on any pretext ; 
 and as a result here were orioles nesting in low shade 
 trees by the hotel porch, and familiar as the plaguey spar- 
 rows of city streets. From what I saw I believe that 
 many a new chapter might be added to our knowledge 
 of birds, if everywhere they were protected as they are 
 here. 
 
 The tanagers were less social, but scarcely less tame. 
 Look where we would, these brilliant birds were there ; 
 not singly, as they haunt the home orchards, but by scores, 
 and the same magical influence was exerted upon them. 
 For once they might be rated as song-birds. Even the 
 redstarts might be classed as musical. Perhaps it was 
 
MAY. 107 
 
 because a dozen might be heard at once, that their efforts 
 proved so pleasing. One whole day was given to gazing 
 at and lingering about a madcap, crystal brook where the 
 redstarts seemed as numberless as the flies they snapped 
 at. The half-leaved twigs of birches, ash, and sapling 
 oaks were threaded like glinting sunbeams by these merry 
 birds, and each one singing without a moment's rest. 
 These flashing, fire-fronted warblers can be likened, for 
 activity, only to the clouds of May-flies that dim the 
 evening air. I would like to give an estimate of their 
 numbers for the benefit of ornithologists, but forbear; 
 resting with the statement that I little thought so many 
 were to be found in all the State. 
 
 To put it coldly, the one marked feature in the case of 
 every singing bird I heard, was purity of tone. And, if I 
 may judge by my own feelings, I would declare that the 
 influence was an atmospheric one. Can it be that the 
 birds of south Jersey suffer from a feeling of depression 
 suggestive of malaria? 
 
 Before recurring to other features of this region, let me 
 add one word concerning the sprout-land areas through 
 which a stream may pass. Taken all in all, birds are there 
 to be found in greatest numbers. Nowhere else did we 
 find a tithe of the variety ; never elsewhere but a meager 
 fraction of their numbers. Impatient as I was to explore 
 the deep-bayed shores of the beautiful lake, I found a long 
 summer day all too short for one little stream that I have 
 recorded in my field-notes as " Kedstart Brook," adding 
 beneath the name : 
 
 From the deep caverns of the distant hills, 
 Your growing strength, the flow of many rills, 
 In fitful haste adown the uplifted rocks, 
 Where dancing sunshine many a shadow mocks, 
 With ceaseless song your merry way you take, 
 To rest at last in fair Hopatcong's lake. 
 
108 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 I marvel that you pause not when the bird, 
 By happy thought to melody is stirred ; 
 When, as a flash of ruddy flame, I see 
 The summer redbird poised upon the tree, 
 Or hear the happy redstart warbling where 
 The lichened rocks are draped with maiden-hair. 
 
 Here would I linger while the summer stays, 
 Here gladly spend brief autumn's shortening days, 
 Nor ask a fairer friend the winter through 
 Than I have found, dear mountain brook, in you ; 
 And when strength fails my weary eyes grow dim- 
 Be thy sweet rippling song my funeral hymn. 
 
 A word as to this lake. Hopatcong has an altitude of 
 about twelve hundred feet, and lies between high hills 
 that completely hem it in. Look where you will, you can 
 see no outlet ; nothing but the wide waters and the wooded 
 mountain-side beyond. To a certain extent, it is artifi- 
 cial, but the visitor would not suspect this from the general 
 appearance. More than half a century ago, the Morris 
 Canal was built, and supplied by a feeder from an outlet 
 of the lake. This, of course, increased the area and depth 
 of the lake, as the construction of gates at the outlet was 
 a necessity ; and now the waters, thus backed up, have 
 found their " way through cross-gorges into parallel val- 
 leys, originally heavily wooded, and the denuded stems 
 and shorter stumps, standing up through the glittering 
 water or resting in the shallows, suggest a prosaic if not 
 a classical appropriateness in the local name of one of 
 them the ' Eiver Styx.' In this locality, and in the so- 
 called ' Cedar Swamp,' another deep bay in this nine- 
 mile-long pond," continues our author, " on nearly every 
 floating log or fallen tree-top or loosened stump could be 
 found, when they were turned over, shining patches of 
 white or yellowish gemmules, left in groups upon the 
 smooth surface or partly hidden in little crevices of bark 
 or root." This was in October. I confess to have not 
 
MAY. 109 
 
 noticed or, indeed, thought of sponges, although so many 
 of them are beautiful, while about this same " River 
 Styx," in May ; nor is it strange. It was then the para- 
 dise of the largest water-snakes I ever saw. Bold to a 
 degree, they permitted of a near approach, and I had 
 abundant opportunity to estimate quite accurately their 
 size. One rusty, wrinkled ophidian patriarch was fully 
 six feet in length. Of this, I think, there can be no 
 doubt, although it exceeds any recorded measurements 
 that I have seen. The temper of this creature was posi- 
 tively fearful, and had the species been venomous, I should 
 have shuddered to approach so near. As it was, my com- 
 panion and I were the attacked, and not the attacking 
 party. The snake threatened to leap into our boat, and 
 struck savagely at the blade of the oar with which I 
 partly dislodged him from his snug bed upon a floating 
 log. Every inch of ground was contested. When in the 
 water, the angry creature swam slowly, and now appeared 
 even larger than before. My companion and I agreed 
 that had we not seen it before, it would have been pru- 
 dent not to have mentioned our impressions. The slight 
 ripple of the lake's surface and the turnings and 
 twistings between the clusters of aquatic plants had 
 much to do with the snake's apparent length, and it 
 was very evident that many of the snake stories that 
 find place in newspapers might be related in perfectly 
 good faith by the original observer. Once our gigan- 
 tic specimen moved into an open space in which were 
 congregated many huge sunfish ; they immediately darted 
 off as in terror, and did not return for several min- 
 utes. 
 
 "Wherever we looked, we saw these pretty snakes, or 
 rather saw many that were beautifully marked, and others, 
 the larger ones, that were uniformly brown or blackish 
 brown above. All were in the water or upon the stumps 
 
110 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 or logs, and not a trace of one on the huge rocks that 
 made up the shore. 
 
 I climbed one of these to survey the lake, unmindful 
 of possible danger from venomous species, as the common 
 rattler ; and, escaping harm, felt well repaid for the scram- 
 ble. The water below me was brilliant with floating crow- 
 foot, whose golden bloom fairly rivaled the star-studded 
 heavens when the night is clear ; and, when the breezes 
 swept across the cove, " Eiver Styx " became a river of 
 molten gold. The innumerable jutting tree-stumps alone 
 gave the spot a desolate look ; and this was lessened by 
 the constant use to which they were put as coignes of van- 
 tage by birds, turtles, and the many snakes. 
 
 A solitary kill-deer plover, seemingly quite out of place, 
 flitted from one stump to another, evidently ill at ease, 
 and wondering, perhaps, how or why he came there. It 
 was quite unmindful of the continual uplifting of savage 
 serpents' heads about it, and pirouetted on the broader 
 stumps as if really happy ; yet I knew that it was not, and 
 wished it far away. It proved a veritable annoyance ; and 
 we all know how serious petty vexations may become. 
 
 About the rocks there were no birds of any kind, and, 
 indeed, nothing to attract them ; but, when at times for a 
 moment the wind fell, many familiar songs were floated 
 from the mountains opposite songs that linked me to 
 the home hill-side, and forced more than once a longing 
 sigh. 
 
 The rock whereon I stood was itself beautiful, as were 
 all others that formed islets in the upper reaches of the 
 lake ; the mineral, opaque white, of rectangular cleavage, 
 and but slightly veined with stone of other color. In 
 many seams, often too narrow to insert a knife-blade, waxy 
 smilacina grew and flourished ; its deep-green leaves and 
 snowy bloom often extending completely across the rock's 
 surface, and down its precipitous sides. The effect was 
 
MAY. HI 
 
 most curious when seen from a distance when rocks 
 appeared to be split from top to bottom. 
 
 Where a little soil vouchsafed a root-hold, the vigor- 
 ous columbine grew in phenomenal luxuriance, and now 
 in full bloom offered masses of red and yellow that re- 
 lieved the occasional monotony of too deep green or glar- 
 ing white. 
 
 Why this hardy plant is in such apparent ill-favor 
 among landscape gardeners, I am puzzled to know. Here 
 on these rocks, and everywhere in the deep woods of 
 the mountains, it formed great clusters, one of which I 
 measured, and found to be over three feet in height and 
 of thrice that girth. As a mass of delicate foliage and 
 pendent, nodding, ruddy bloom, it far excelled any display 
 of wild flowers, save one, that I ever saw. 
 
 On other rocks over which I climbed the red-berried 
 elder was a most attractive feature. This shrub was now 
 laden with globes of richest red buds, that afterward 
 expand to pyramidal heads of waxy white flowers. I 
 found them in all stages of advancement, and would have 
 loaded my boat had they not been cursed with a pene- 
 trating ancient and fish-like smell. 
 
 A curious feature of a few of these rocky islets is the 
 fact that although the soil is but the scanty accumulation 
 of dust and mold, filling narrow crevices, yet hemlocks, 
 maples, aspens, sweet birch, and wild cherry, found suffi- 
 cient for their needs. That flowering plants and some 
 small shrubs should do so, is not strange, but the hemlocks, 
 for instance, were trees thirty feet high and from eight to 
 twelve inches in diameter. 
 
 In many cases, the roots extended like great cables 
 carelessly thrown down over a considerable space, and then 
 disappeared as flattened threads in crannies that might 
 offer a hold, perhaps, but never yield any nourishment. 
 All this struck me the more, because when we plant these 
 
112 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 trees at home it is thought necessary to dig a small-sized 
 cellar, fill it with selected fertilizers, and tend the tree 
 subsequently as though it were an invalid. 
 
 Such trees, however, do not have a long lease of life, 
 even if the barren rock and the atmosphere combine to 
 furnish them sufficient food. They are sure sooner or 
 later to be in the track of a tornado, or are too heavily 
 weighted with snow, and so are toppled over. I examined 
 the roots of one such tree that had been overturned but 
 the winter before, and could find no evidence of any root 
 having penetrated a foot in depth. They had merely 
 clasped the rock as the ivy does a stone wall, or the poison- 
 vine the shaggy bark of an oak or elm. This prostrate 
 tree was not dead, although the roots were exposed to the 
 air fully as much as the branches. There was sap in the 
 one and bright green buds all over the other. What 
 growth it would make I then wondered, and now long to 
 know if, this 20th of May, just a year later, the tree still 
 lives. 
 
 Of invertebrate life, spiders were most numerous upon 
 the rocks, yet I could find no webs. One noble fellow, 
 richly brown and black and quite an inch long, was 
 the fit companion for the savage skinks that tenant the 
 precipitous rocks ; of which reptiles, more hereafter. The 
 spider whose friendship I endeavored to cultivate proved 
 quite as much at home in the water as upon the rock, and 
 after finding my persistent chasing was tiresome, or likely 
 to prove dangerous, ran down the side of the rock to a 
 slightly projecting ledge, a foot beneath the surface. He 
 glistened like silver as he went, the hair upon his body and 
 legs holding little beads of air, which serve the double 
 purpose of supplying breath and of buoying him. I tried 
 in many ways to dislodge him, and when, with a switch, 
 I pushed him into the deep water, he came to the surface 
 like a cork, and ran like a " skater " to shore. A second 
 
MAY. 113 
 
 dive was successful. He found safe shelter in a submerged 
 cranny to which I could not reach. 
 
 Other species usually smaller were also seen, and 
 everywhere on the hot, sunny surface of the bare rocks the 
 short, square-headed jumpers were exceedingly abundant. 
 They were not easily caught, having a trick of walking 
 side wise and backward, as well as giving forward leaps to 
 a considerable distance. Such as I brushed into the water 
 were quite disconcerted, and more than one fell a prey to 
 the great rosy-finned chubs that leaped above the surface 
 as they caught them. 
 
 Into one more retired and wild recess than all the 
 others, I found my way early in the morning of May 18th, 
 and the novelties of the spot were too many to give less 
 than the day to its study and exploration, The prelimi- 
 nary row of some five miles, often where the lake was 
 three miles wide, was of itself thoroughly enjoyable, al- 
 though the wind was dead ahead and the water roughened 
 until angry white-caps necked its surface. For more than 
 an hour no sound was borne to us save the rippling of the 
 waves against the boat's prow ; but who asks for sweeter 
 music at such a time ? The air, too, had all the snap and 
 sparkle of the waters, and mere living to breathe it was a 
 luxury. 
 
 The wind fell as the boat neared shore, and now the 
 oven-birds and there seemed a legion of them rang out 
 their bell-toned emphasis. For the first time, too, to be 
 positive of it, I heard the lisping but sweet song of six or 
 seven notes of the Blackburnian warbler. These exqui- 
 site birds were really abundant all that day, in the thicket 
 of dwarfish aspens and the tangled undergrowth beneath 
 that crowded the ravine between two jutting rocks ; and, 
 as if to greet me, these birds came to the front row of 
 trees, and scanned me closely while I landed. They were 
 
 8 
 
114 DAYS OUT OF DOOKS. 
 
 extraordinarily tame, and I noticed that when they sang 
 they dropped their wings and caused them to quiver rap- 
 idly ; then off each would dart in quest of flies with all 
 the grace and restlessness of redstarts. 
 
 The aspens were not in full leaf, and the young foliage 
 was of a pale gray green that made a most fitting back- 
 ground for the deep orange breast and black and yellow 
 head of this rare warbler. 
 
 Sheltered from the wind, the water here was absolutely 
 still and treacherously clear. Not a twig of any over- 
 hanging tree but was faithfully mirrored, and the dividing 
 line between the upper and lower world could not be 
 traced. It was difficult to realize that the boat rested 
 upon water, and, quite unguarded, I stepped upon a shelf 
 of rock that seemed not more than an inch below the 
 surface ; but it proved to be nearly twelve, and I narrowly 
 escaped a ducking in water thirty feet in depth. My ar- 
 dor was not damped if my feet were, and, while hesitating 
 between birds and botany, a brown skink, with bright red 
 head, darted by me like a flash. Although I had scarcely 
 standing room, I made a break for him, and nearly broke 
 my arms. But my rashness was the needed lesson, and 
 to salve my wounded feelings I gathered purple trilliums, 
 glaucous corydalis, and other unfamiliar and, to me, un- 
 known bloom. Then, rounding a point of rocks in the 
 boat, I found a better chance for freedom of limbs, and 
 set systematically to hunt for skinks. But to hunt suc- 
 cessfully, one must wait for these sly lizards to show them- 
 selves, and I kept my eyes upon the broad surface of one 
 great wall of rock, while sitting in the boat, from which 
 only a view could be had. Very soon an exclamation 
 from my companion announced that he had seen one, and 
 I, too, soon caught a glimpse of the skulking creature. 
 Very cautiously the boat was brought closely up to the 
 
MAY. H5 
 
 rock, and, with a lithe switch, I at last made one desperate 
 effort to brush the skink into the lake, but succeeded 
 only in sending it into a deep crevice. It was now a 
 prisoner, but quite inaccessible to its jailer, and I tried 
 many ways to dislodge it. Finally a cold douche was 
 employed, which forced the plucky animal to make a leap 
 for life. It made it, and landed in the lake. Here its 
 activity was inconsiderable, and I readily caught it with 
 my hand. How savagely it bit ! It forced its little teeth 
 quite through my skin, and, while thus expending its 
 strength, my companion made of a handkerchief a safe 
 cage, and then I landed with the feelings of a triumphant 
 warrior. Vixen, as I called my prisoner, has something 
 of a history, to be related in part hereafter. Suffice it now 
 to say that while I remained at the lake, and for weeks 
 after returning home, the creature was ill-natured and 
 intractable beyond description. Of course, in the mount- 
 ains the bite of the skink is held to be poisonous. Every 
 native to whom I showed it claimed that I had made a 
 very narrow escape, and urged the destruction of the ani- 
 mal. I could as easily have annihilated one or two of the 
 mountaineers. 
 
 What birds were seen to-day, other than warblers, did 
 not appear to be migrating, and it would not be surpris- 
 ing if in this region there will yet be found single pairs 
 or even small colonies of species now believed not to breed 
 south of New England or even Canada. There is little 
 need to discuss the question ; the finding of the nests can 
 alone decide it ; but I am very positive upon one point, 
 that New Jersey, and even the central portion of the State, 
 has never been credited by ornithologists with its full 
 complement of breeding birds. 
 
 On the mountains' sides, at least where they slope to 
 the lake, a species of ant of moderate size, black and 
 
116 DAYS OUT Of DOORS. 
 
 brown, was very abundant, and I came upon many nests. 
 To-day the largest of these were found, and somewhat 
 carefully examined. Those that I found near Skink 
 Eock, as I have called the spot, were great dome-shaped 
 structures, built of sandy earth, with short bits of grass so 
 uniformly through the mass that their presence was prob- 
 ably not accidental, but had much to do with the stability 
 of the walls of the innumerable mazy passages. The least 
 disturbance caused the exterior of the nest to crumble, 
 and yet the general appearance was such as to suggest 
 considerable age. One of the two nests found to-day 
 measured six feet in diameter and two feet six inches 
 in height. The shape was that of a flattened cone. 
 The other was even larger but not so regular in outline. 
 This I cut in two from peak to surface, with an oar-blade, 
 and so procured a sectional view that showed a curiously 
 intricate tunneling throughout. These passages were all 
 empty. I found no trace of larvae ; no evidence that these 
 ants had slaves, and no soldiers to protest against my out- 
 rageous conduct. My destructive acts, however, very nat- 
 urally caused an intense commotion, and the rapid running 
 to and fro over the dead leaves that carpeted the ground 
 made a noise as loud as and very similar to the patter of a 
 summer shower. And twice afterward, when rambling in 
 the woods on the opposite side of the lake, I stopped, 
 thinking it had commenced to rain, although the sky was 
 clear, and found that I had been deceived by the noise 
 made by thousands of these ants that were running in 
 every direction, intensely excited without any, to me, ap- 
 parent cause. 
 
 Strangely, I think, during my whole stay, I saw no 
 mammals, or traces of any, except a solitary red squirrel 
 and numerous chipmunks ; yet reports of minks, musk- 
 rats, otters, raccoons, and even wild cats were promptly 
 
MAY. 117 
 
 forthcoming, when the natives were questioned. Not one 
 but could give a glowing account of the strange " varmints " 
 seen in his time, and I noticed that all were mentioned as 
 seen during the winter or at night, and always in the least 
 frequented tracts of forest. I concluded that every ani- 
 mal named was really scarce, unless it be musk-rats ; and 
 judging from my own experience, a mouse at midnight is 
 always enormously magnified. 
 
 It was nearly useless to look along the lake shore for 
 relics of the red man, as he is called, although men with 
 skins less red never existed. The raising of the level of 
 the water some ten or twelve feet necessarily submerged 
 all village sites. At present the name alone is all that 
 suggests the ancient Delawares, Hopatcong being tortured 
 Indian for where the wild potato grows. As this plant 
 does not bloom until August, and is a rather inconspicu- 
 ous vine early in the summer, it is not strange that I failed 
 to notice it. 
 
 Long ago my eye had caught the following in the 
 New Jersey Historical Collections : " On Lake Hopatcong 
 there is a regular causeway of stone running from an 
 island nearly across to the shore, a distance of about a 
 quarter of a mile. It was no doubt made by the Indians, 
 and was a work of great labor, the lake being very deep. 
 The water is now a little above it, occasioned by the rais- 
 ing of the lake for the Morris Canal. On the opposite 
 shore are found great numbers of Indian arrows of beauti- 
 ful shape, axes, and broken jars ; and appearances indi- 
 cate that it was the site of an Indian village." Nor cause- 
 way nor relics are traceable now, and disappointment only 
 awaits the archaeologist. 
 
 Batrachian life in all its glory filled every available 
 nook of the shores and islands of the lake. Scarcely a 
 
118 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 flat stone could be found that did not shelter a toad, and 
 every mossy pool had its full complement of frogs. They 
 were all more silent during the day than at home, and 
 save an occasional wood-frog in the forest, I am not sure 
 that I heard them at all. But not so at sunset ; then every 
 one came from its damp and dark retreat, and with all 
 its strength croaked, clucked, and spluttered. Though 
 the nights were cool, even the toads were out in force, 
 and filled the valley with a flood-tide of dolefulness. This, 
 of all sounds in nature, is the most gloomy ; but there is 
 a grain of satisfaction to be got from it there is no 
 better evidence that summer is really here. I do not say 
 it is good evidence far from it ; but of the many signs of 
 the seasons, no one is better. I am indifferent to the alma- 
 nac's dictum of June 21 as the proper date. If there is a 
 general epithalamial rejoicing on the part of the toads, 
 then frost, if it comes, is not baneful, and the strawberries 
 are safe. 
 
 As was so plainly the case with the birds, I could de- 
 tect no difference in the voices of the batrachians here, 
 as compared with those of their meadow-dwelling cousins, 
 except in one notable instance. The great bull-frog here 
 at the lake has a more metallic note, and is like those I 
 have heard in New England, and differs greatly from the 
 smothered, guttural cry of the same creature in the tide- 
 water marshes. 
 
 As the nights were still cold, I was surprised to find 
 both toads and frogs so active and vocal, for at home, a 
 lowering of temperature is pretty sure to silence them, 
 and very often the croaking entirely ceases. But none of 
 those upon the western shore of the lake felt equal to 
 greeting the tardy sunrise ; while I have often heard them 
 so doing in south Jersey, where, indeed, it is one of na- 
 ture's pleasant sounds, blending admirably with the songs 
 of the birds. 
 
MAY. 119 
 
 The spring, I was told, was neither late nor early a 
 fortunate circumstance always ; and the days spent upon 
 the lake were in all respects such as a rambler hopes for 
 in May the month of preparation, of many promises. 
 The sun shone brightly as I turned my face homeward, 
 and my last glimpse was the flash of leaping waves the 
 glint of a caldron of molten gold. , 
 
 My first visit to May's Landing was too brief and too 
 early, and a longing to return constantly possessed me. 
 With the scent of mountain woods and crystal lake still 
 in my nostrils, I returned, and it would be hard to realize 
 that from the one point to the other is but one hundred 
 and five miles as the crow flies. It was from pole to 
 equator in every essential feature. 
 
 Of the village street I have already made proper men- 
 tion. It is a thoroughfare that other country towns 
 might study to advantage. In less than half a mile there 
 stand in or near the sidewalks more than a score of noble 
 oaks, some of them nine feet in girth ; while from mine 
 host's portico I counted one hundred and twenty-one of 
 these princely trees. These cast their cool shadows alike 
 over the churches and court-house, thus offering, after 
 their labors, equal comfort to wrangling lawyers and 
 opinionative priests. 
 
 These oaks were in full leaf at this time, and I, too, a 
 stranger, found their cool shadows a luxury after long ex- 
 posure to the glare of the sun's rays where they fall upon 
 glittering sand. So intensely bright is the light that 
 snow-blindness might be produced. But why mention 
 such trivial matters? One might as well complain that 
 water sparkles. In truth, these so-called barren sands 
 were a well-spring of delight. Acres of them were now 
 sparsely covered with golden Hudsonia as marked a 
 bloom, and almost as beautiful as arbutus or pyxie, yet 
 
120 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 without a local name ! Because it grows before the vil- 
 lagers' doors, instead of in a swamp a mile or two away, 
 it is a nameless weed! Had it been rare and required 
 sharp eyes to detect, the choicest spot of all the garden 
 would be reserved for it. 
 
 Whether the world has learned the fact or not, there is 
 no golden bloom more beautiful than this. The slender, 
 almost thread-like branches, bearing dusty, gray-green 
 leaves, shape themselves into stars, circles, and rudely 
 crumpled mats, while over all is showered triply polished 
 gold, so thickly often that the plant itself is hidden, and 
 there rests upon the glittering sand a fragment of the sun. 
 
 Wherever the Hudsonia was found, near by were curi- 
 ous vine-like tangles with pretty foliage, often a rich deep 
 purple, more frequently a delicate shade of green. This 
 plant, unlike the preceding, derives its beauty from the 
 snow-white background and from the rich coloring of the 
 stems and leaves there being no noticeable bloom. A 
 weed, too, is this in the minds of the villagers, having no 
 name, but known elsewhere as "false ipecac," which is 
 little better than no name at all. This fact, however, car- 
 ries no influence to the mind of the rambler. Not a way- 
 side growth at home, it troubled me nothing to learn that 
 others ignored it. Wandering for my own pleasure, it 
 stood the test of relative merit so far as I was concerned ; 
 for it never failed to attract and command my attention, 
 even when within sight of more pretentious growths. 
 
 Beneath the pines a forest of which came within a 
 stone's throw of the village the sand was not covered 
 with vegetation, beyond patches of reindeer moss and the 
 yearly crop of " needles " shed by the trees, and which 
 appear never to decay. They pleasingly reflect the sun- 
 light that is sifted through the pines' interlocking 
 branches, and fill the long vista with a tinted atmosphere 
 in which every object stands forth with startling distinct- 
 
UNIVEBSl"' 
 
 MAY. sCAi\t 121 
 
 ness ; and provide, too, the more prosaic but no less im- 
 portant condition of a firm foot-hold, without which no 
 ramble is an unmixed joy. 
 
 At such a place, in such a light, I chanced upon 
 purple orchids growing in great profusion. In every case 
 they stood apart, as though each would be judged by its ( 
 own merit, and borrow nothing from its neighbors. 
 Aristocrats, every one of them, in the true and not dis- 
 gusting sense of the term. 
 
 They appeared to have no choice in the matter of lo- 
 cality, but by digging down a little I found traces of a 
 black mold, and it was evident that here, at least, their 
 nourishment is derived from decaying wood. These flow- 
 ers were not so large nor so darkly tinted as many I have 
 seen from nearer home, where the surroundings are totally 
 different, and heavy black soil in upland swamps seems 
 alone suited to them. There need be no discussion as to 
 their preferences in the matter of locality. No change 
 could be greater than from the dry evergreen wood here 
 to the cold swamps near home, where grow deciduous 
 trees almost exclusively. 
 
 At another point where the land was swampy and 
 covered with a mixed growth I found a striking row of 
 thirteen, each in perfect condition, and the plants of a re- 
 markably uniform height. They were growing along the 
 greatly decayed prostrate trunk of a pine tree. They were 
 all quite pale, as if frightened at being thirteen at a table. 
 If so, their fears were realized, for I plucked one as I 
 passed by ; why, I can not say, and I am surprised that 
 I did, for such bloom should be exempt from persecution. 
 
 The pines here are of two species, the " scrub " and the 
 pitch pine called locally " two-leaf " or " smooth bark," 
 and the " three-leaf " or " Indian." What is meant by the 
 " bottle pine " I did not determine. The proportion of 
 each is not readily ascertained, and may differ a good deal 
 
122 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 in adjoining neighborhoods. About the village there are 
 probably twice as many three-leaved or pitch pines as of 
 scrub or two-leaved. But this is immaterial. The trees 
 that I saw were all small, the third or fourth growth, per- 
 i haps, but still large enough to be sheltering trees, and 
 crowned with murmuring branches. 
 
 Unlike most constant sounds, this of the wind in the 
 pine-tree tops is never tiresome, fitting as it does so well 
 with the loneliness of unfrequented woods for these woods 
 are lonely; in no sense, as compared with forests else- 
 where, are they a chosen haunt of any of our familiar 
 birds, and, as was the case in April, I saw no trace of any 
 mammal but the chickaree. 
 
 This arises almost certainly from the uniformity of the 
 locality and consequent comparative absence of both ani- 
 mal and vegetable food ; and not unimportant is the fact 
 that the pine tree does not afford much concealment for 
 the birds themselves, and even less for their nests ; but, as 
 I continually found, the moment you pass the bounds of 
 a typical " pine barren " and reach the edge of a swamp, 
 or even dry area but with deciduous trees and shrub- 
 bery the birds appear. 
 
 In the village proper there were fourteen species of 
 birds in such numbers as one might expect to find in any 
 country town with shaded streets and ample gardens. In 
 the " deciduous tree " and swampy portions of the back 
 woods I noted but eight species, but one of which the 
 wood thrush is included in the village list. In all my 
 rambles, including a long row down Great Egg Harbor 
 River, I saw and unmistakably identified but forty-four 
 species a considerably smaller number than can be seen 
 at any time during the same month at home. Of the list, 
 there was but one not to be found in central New Jersey 
 the log cock or pileated woodpecker. The mocking- 
 bird of which I saw one specimen is as rare there as 
 
MA Y. 123 
 
 farther north. A somewhat curious feature of the distri- 
 bution of the birds I saw will be referred to subsequently. 
 
 Although the orchids were fascinating, the earth-stars 
 curious, and a scarlet-blooming lichen that I found about 
 the roots of every pine was a mine of pleasure, it was 
 nevertheless with a feeling of relief that I detected at last 
 a sunlit opening in the distance. I hastened thither and 
 found for a considerable space no evergreen was to be 
 seen save a single cedar, and all was fresh, crisp, and 
 sparkling. I did not know how thirsty I was until I saw 
 the water, and suspect that animals of nearly every kind 
 love the sight of it, even if it is not a necessity. It was a 
 woodland basin that I had found, with, in part, quite pre- 
 cipitous sides, and a dripping spring at one overhanging 
 point that kept the ferns " a nid, nid, nodding " where the 
 bright drops fell. It would have been strange if no birds 
 had appeared, but here they were, seven different kinds, 
 and each a song-bird of merit. Nor were they silent. The 
 oven-birds sang continuously, but not so loudly as I have 
 heard, while the single indigo finch, the chewinks, and 
 thrushes sang simply as they always do wherever they 
 may be. 
 
 But birds alone were not sufficient for such a spot, and 
 I longed for the sight of a frog, a snake, a mouse in the 
 grass or squirrel among the trees. No, it is not a fancy, 
 as I have heard it said ; these regions, beautiful as they 
 are, do not team with life as do the tamer regions nearer 
 large towns. 
 
 The pitcher-plants, which without a blossom were 
 so attractive a feature of all swampy spots during my 
 earlier visit, added to their beauty now by bearing aloft 
 on straight, stiff stems a curiously intricate flower, varying 
 from deep red to purple, the ruddy portion surround- 
 ing a yellow umbrella-shaped growth, the short handle of 
 which is an ivory globe. 
 
124 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 In one little pool near the woodland basin, which, too, 
 had an abundance of these plants and lilies, I counted 
 eighteen pitchers and eight of the curious flowers. With 
 them was a single white lily, and these were all reflected 
 in a pool of inky-black water so distinctly that each was 
 duplicated and no water could be seen a few paces off. 
 The spot was surrounded by an impenetrable growth of 
 sapling birches ; and quite encircling the water's edge was 
 a narrow fringe of glistening filiform sun-dews. 
 
 It is such places as these pools, swamps, and winding 
 creeks that relieve the monotony of these wonderful " bar- 
 rens," and will ever make them the Meccas of out-door 
 naturalists or will, until they are so far " improved " 
 as to have lost those features that now attract. This done, 
 an utterly tame, if not actually repulsive spot will remain. 
 A deforested tract is an eye-sore here, and, as farm-land, 
 will be little better. 
 
 In the opposite direction from the village, or south- 
 ward, with the river usually in sight, I found a region 
 that was very attractive, and quite unlike in many re- 
 pects any meadow or swamp-land of the Delaware Valley. 
 
 Here, instead of in the village, as I supposed I should, 
 I heard song-sparrows, cat-birds, and orioles birds that 
 usually do not seek retired localities ; but here they were 
 at home, for all were nesting ; and a pair of tree-creeping 
 warblers, the only ones I saw, took my intrusion into a 
 thicket of stunted oaks so much to heart that I know 
 they too had a nest. Here, too, the air was filled with 
 swallows, and the crested tit, the bird of all others that 
 perhaps I love the best, whistled with a vim no other 
 bird attains, H sweet here ! 't sweet here ! and the wise lit- 
 tle chap was right. It was. 
 
 The forest growth was of little moment, except the 
 " islands," as the clustered cedars that grow so closely that 
 
MAY. 125 
 
 one can scarcely pass through them are called. When 
 these trees occupy but a comparatively little space, and 
 are surrounded by open country or deciduous growths, 
 they certainly are as prominent a feature of the landscape 
 as are the isles of the sea. All such to-day, and there 
 were several in the course of my walk, were hurriedly 
 passed by, although deserving of attention ; nor were the 
 afflicted gum trees, weighted with mistletoe, more than 
 glanced at. There was too great a wealth of bloom 
 wherever I turned, and to this I gave all my thoughts, 
 wondering the while if I might not introduce some of 
 them into the woods and along the waysides at home. 
 
 The lupine with sky-colored clusters ; yellow rock-rose 
 with no rocks within half a hundred miles ; snowy 
 sand wort little else within that distance; sand myrtle, 
 a pretty evergreen, with clustered ivory bloom; purple 
 toad-flax and even scraggly, dwarfed beach plum ; these 
 all, the pretty playthings as I pass through the village, 
 and thrown aside for greater novelty when I reach the 
 edge of a wood. There crimson lambkill dulled all other 
 blooms and stayed my willing footsteps. A by-road, 
 over which wagons seldom pass, was lined upon one side 
 with this sweet shrub. It was not strange that folly 
 gained the upper hand in such a spot, and I had almost 
 completed an ill-rhymed stanza, when the road itself be- 
 came more interesting than the flowers attractive, and I 
 was promptly restored. This road was simply a long ribbon 
 of white sand, dotted with low bushes ; but the ruts were 
 remarkably distinct. Examining them, I found what at 
 first sight appeared to be grass, proved to be thread-like 
 sun-dews, as thickly set as blades in the rankest pastures. 
 They glittered, too, with the gummy sap that ever bathes 
 them a condition that made them the more noticeable, 
 for it was now high noon, and nowhere was moisture vis- 
 ible. This gummy " dew " proves terribly fatal to insects. 
 
126 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 Except for this, the plant is oh ! so very innocent in ap- 
 pearance I have seen human sun-dews and scarcely 
 more prominent than now, when its dainty pink blossoms 
 appear ; but all this is but a part of a deep-laid scheme, 
 for it depends upon animal food for its own existence, 
 and destroys and devours millions of minute flies, and, 
 indeed, many of a larger growth. 
 
 I found also, but not just here, another species with 
 broad and almost circular leaves, and it too was carnivor- 
 ous as a cat. 
 
 Still on, deeper into the forest, or rather forest site, 
 and soon the lambkill gave way to another, more stately 
 and scarcely less beautiful growth. The ground was now 
 more damp, the trees more vigorous, and all other under- 
 growth was replaced by the exquisite Leucothoe. These 
 bushes were laden with white, waxy balls that charged 
 the air with the odor of vanilla. One cluster that I 
 picked had twenty-two flowers on a single stem, in an 
 unbroken row and just free of actual contact. It meas- 
 ured exactly six inches in length. As I held the stem in 
 a horizontal position, I was not much surprised that locally 
 the plant is known by the terrible name of " false teeth." 
 My only cause for wonderment is, that the more refined ele- 
 ment of the community should not have replaced it with 
 something both appropriate and pleasant ; especially, as 
 the botanical name has nothing to commend it. 
 
 The limit of my rambls was a denuded tract of liter- 
 ally barren sand, where probably not a dozen species of 
 plants grew, and all were inconspicuous but one. For the 
 first time I say in full bloom the buzzard weed ! No, 
 the turkey beard ! Is it not strange that more than a 
 century should pass, and these plants familiar the while 
 to intelligent, flower-loving people, and yet they should 
 not have rescued them from the jargon of those outer 
 barbarians, the charcoal-burners ? Professional botanists, 
 
MAY. 127 
 
 of course, will tell you it is the Xerophyllum setifolium 
 but something prettier for common use, please, learned 
 gentlemen. 
 
 It was indeed strange to see a lily growing in such a 
 barren, utterly forsaken spot as this ; for the Xerophyllum 
 is a member of that blue-blooded tribe, and holds its 
 head aloft more haughtily than gaudy Turk's-cap or the 
 spotted tiger. 
 
 From a cluster of grass-like leaves, themselves a foot 
 or more in length, and as harsh to the touch as bits of 
 flattened wire, there towers a cylindrical, greenish- white 
 stalk, covered with hair-like leaves, and crowned with a 
 pyramidal raceme. The delicate flowers open at the base 
 at first, and then daily add to their numbers, until the 
 top is expanded, when we have an oval, feathery mass 
 of purely white blossoms, waxy, and golden at their 
 centers. 
 
 The scent of roses, alas ! does not cling to them. 
 Rather an odor that perhaps has caused them to be with- 
 out the pale of lilydom. 
 
 My visit ended with a long row down the river Great 
 Egg Harbor Eiver, as it has long been named, " from the 
 fact that, in Indian times, it was near its mouth a great 
 resort for breeding sea-birds," at least so runs the record 
 that I have. I doubt not but that here, too, far from 
 the mouth, there once nested many inland birds, and this 
 is based on the fact that no sooner had I reached the 
 water's edge than I heard familiar birds, not one of which 
 was seen in the woods. But to this I shall return. 
 
 The old wharf is not now a scene of busy industry, 
 and the river, at low tide, is little more than a shallow 
 creek, with weedy bottom and tortuous sand-bars. Trade 
 has found new channels, but we proposed a voyage along 
 the old, and embarked in the Iva, a misshapen and ponder- 
 
128 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 ous row-boat that, having carried me many miles, should 
 be mentioned with respect ; so no more of the Iva. 
 
 The vigorous notes of an excited vireo, the noisy white- 
 eye, were propitious, I thought, and my companion, an 
 able bodied oarsman, struck out into the stream, inspired 
 by them ; but the initial vigor was not long maintained, 
 thanks to the ponderous I mean, safe Iva. 
 
 Strange waters, even more promptly than fresh woods 
 and pastures new, arouse the rambler's enthusiasm, and 
 the tide- worn banks of the river were closely scanned as 
 we passed down stream. 
 
 The birds of home were here abundant, and I was 
 much surprised to find only along the river's shores many 
 species that are common in gardens and orchards gener- 
 ally, even such familiar ones as the Gong-sparrow and cat- 
 bird, which were not seen in the village, but were common 
 here. The birds, the yellow splatter-dock, and trees of 
 many kinds gave the river, at the outset, a familiar look, 
 and I recalled the terminal mile or more of Crosswicks 
 Creek; but soon a great difference was apparent. The 
 dock gave place to golden club, the rarest of large aquatic 
 growths at home, and greater interest centers in it than 
 the former, which certainly is painfully prosaic. At high 
 tide the leaves are submerged, and as we passed over them 
 they shone through the amber- tinted waters as iridescent 
 bronze, producing a beautiful effect that was the more 
 striking when great shoals of silvery roach, turning their 
 glittering sides to us, passed quickly through the narrow 
 space between the plants and the bottom of the boat. 
 
 In one respect, however, this plant had suffered here. 
 The pure ivory-white and untarnished gold of the clubs 
 were sadly marred by a dull-green deposit, such as I had 
 never seen in the meadows at home. 
 
 The stream, before we had gone a mile, was quite broad, 
 and the unobstructed breeze rippled the water and brought 
 
MAY. 129 
 
 pleasant sounds from the woods upon the western shore. 
 These drew us nearer to the clean white sands of the 
 little beach. The sapling growths along the water's edge 
 teemed with song-birds, even the tree-creeping warbler 
 lisping with an energy that suggested the stimulating air 
 of the mountains. Finally, a thrush, perched upon the 
 trembling top twig of an oak, invited us ashore with such 
 persuasive eloquence that the Iva was beached, and we left 
 it for a brief upland ramble. 
 
 Scarcely had I gone a rod before I noticed a toad, 
 and then another and another. They were all of such 
 pale coloring as to be quite inconspicuous, and had they 
 not voluntarily moved about I should probably not have 
 seen them. The cause of their activity could only be 
 guessed, and as they were so striking in appearance I 
 stopped to watch them. The pale pepper-and-salt mot- 
 tling of their skins was a beautiful instance of protective 
 coloring, and one which they stood well in need of, for 
 herons and bitterns both abound and pace these shores 
 by night. The result of my brief observation leads me to 
 ask : Does protective coloring ever serve the useful pur- 
 pose of enabling the animal to approach the more easily 
 within capturing distance of its prey ? One of these toads, 
 which I carefully watched for several minutes, often 
 changed its position by very deliberate movements, always 
 keeping closely to the sand and never hopping. The 
 appearances were all suggestive of cautious approach, 
 and yet I saw no insect, minute crustacean, or any living 
 creature upon which they would be likely to prey. 
 
 Leaving the toads, I climbed the sandy bluff for a wood- 
 land ramble, but was doomed to disappointment. The 
 charcoal fiend had been at work, and a wide tract of de- 
 nuded country was spread out before me, concealed from 
 us when in the boat by a narrow fringe of trees and rank 
 shrubbery, which we had taken for the edge of a forest. 
 9 
 
130 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 I had now an explanation of the curiously mingled char- 
 acter of the black and white sand that formed both bluff 
 and beach it was charcoal-dusted white sand. 
 
 The "barren" was a paradise of "turkey beards" 
 and prickly pear, the latter growing more thriftily here 
 than in the sand lots near the village. It was not yet in 
 bloom. The two plants gave the spot a semi-tropical 
 look, so different are they from all our other growths. 
 
 Nowhere did there seem to be any animal life, verte- 
 brate or invertebrate, except a few spiders. Leaving the 
 belt of trees upon the bluff, it was simply plunging into a 
 little desert, and when you have gone far enough to be 
 beyond the voices of the birds the silence is very impress- 
 ive. A curious incompleteness marks much of this region. 
 These barren tracts seem fitted for many a lower form of 
 life, yet, as I recalled one after another, it was only to fail 
 to find any trace of them. Even snakes were absent, al- 
 though I had been assured that the great spotted pine 
 snake was by no means rare. Had there been no scattered 
 shrubbery, the conditions could have been more readily 
 explained, as without vegetation the insect life would be 
 reduced to a minimum, and animals that subsist upon it 
 would be wanting ; and these being food for other forms 
 also wanting, the higher vertebrates could not exist. 
 Doubtless, such tracts, being valueless except for timber, 
 unless they are gradually reoccupied by trees, will remain 
 in their present sadly desolate condition. 
 
 Baking to our boat again, we rowed to a marshy island 
 toward the opposite shore. There were some eight or ten 
 acres in the tract, which was now out of water, but at 
 high tide is submerged. Golden club, to the exclusion of 
 every other growth, covered it. The plant was in full 
 bloom, and, so far as I could see, unlike that in the river 
 above, in being free of any sedimentary deposit. Every 
 leaf was clean, every club unsoiled. 
 
MAY. 131 
 
 Such an island as this was an invaluable plantation to 
 the Indians in days gone by. Did they lend a hand in 
 planting this, or was it Nature's unaided handiwork ? It 
 is certain that the Indians introduced this plant into 
 spring-ponds far away from running streams, where it 
 has continued to flourish unto this day; and if the 
 mud-flat or marshy island here is some two centuries old 
 or older, which is not improbable, there is nothing very 
 startling in the suggestion that it was originally a " Taw- 
 kee " field. 
 
 " The American Indian, at the time of the discovery 
 of the continent and its early settlement, was a savage, liv- 
 ing upon the game and fish he captured," etc. ; so runs 
 the average statement of oar school geographies and out- 
 line histories, and a greater error never crept into print. 
 
 It will be difficult, if it is possible at this late day, to 
 change the current of opinion ; but the statement is abso- 
 lutely false. Let him who doubts read Carr's history of 
 the Indian as an agriculturist. It was not a mere matter 
 of a melon patch and a little field of maize, but hun- 
 dreds of well-tilled acres and orchards containing thou- 
 sands of trees. 
 
 A third landing was at one of those garden spots that 
 no one loving a flower can pass by unheeded. The bluff 
 was wooded to the very brink, and everywhere among the 
 scrubby oaks and dwarf pines grew rock-rose, Hudsonia, 
 lambkill, and viburnum; masses of white, yellow, and 
 pink. With it all were birds of many kinds and one 
 great mystery. The familiar song of the marsh wren was 
 frequently heard, yet it was not a locality where an orni- 
 thologist would expect to find that bird. This piqued my 
 curiosity, and I searched for the bird most carefully. 
 Presently a gray lizard appeared upon a pine tree before 
 me, and while stooping down to catch it a yellow-breasted 
 
132 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 chat flew to an overhanging branch of the same tree and 
 sang, imitating the wren's song to perfection. It did not 
 mingle it with the usual series of uncouth cries, but gave 
 it alone while sitting ; and then, after a distinct pause, 
 commenced the barking, coughing, spluttering, ventrilo- 
 quial medley characteristic of the chat. Familiar as I 
 have been for years with this bird, this is the only in- 
 stance of the kind that has fallen under my observation. 
 
 Our final landing was at a beautiful point formed by 
 the river turning slightly from a straight course. Here 
 cedars grew in great profusion, and, indeed, to the exclusion 
 of other trees. It was not only a beautiful but a com- 
 manding point, and I was not surprised, directly upon 
 landing, to find abundant traces of the Indian, Chips of 
 jasper and bits of pottery, these were all ; yet they told 
 the story of the " wild Indian," as he is called, as fully as 
 though we had found his weapons, ornaments, and agri- 
 cultural tools. Here, I think, had been a temporary 
 camping ground ; one periodically visited, and not a per- 
 manent village site. I had come here in hopes of finding 
 it the latter, but the absence of village indications, as I 
 have found them elsewhere throughout the State, was com- 
 plete. There was even no considerable accumulation of 
 clam-shells, so that the spot could not even be classed 
 under the somewhat indefinite term of kitchen-midden. 
 But what was found chips, sherds, and a bit of worked 
 bone proved sufficient to spur the imagination, and on 
 the return trip I pictured this river and its banks as 
 they once were, and peopled it with our predecessors, who, 
 as it seems to me, treated it more judiciously than we 
 have done extracting its sweets without draining its very 
 life-blood. 
 
 And with this thought, we returned the Iva to her 
 owner and became landsmen again. 
 
MAT. 133 
 
 This whole region, I am told, is one great " pine bar- 
 ren." It is so marked upon the official map, and so re- 
 ported by the State Geologist ; but it is well not to be 
 misled by this vaguely descriptive term, for, while there 
 are acres that are the abode of desolation, there are also, 
 and far more frequently, nature- plan ted gardens, un- 
 matched by any this great continent over. 
 
 In '88, 1 spent the month at home, and every day had 
 its notable adventure. Indeed, does not every hour have 
 its tragedy or comedy ? 
 
 As we all know, poets have a " corner " in May day, 
 and let them. Do not suppose it is the only merit of the 
 month. Indeed, if it be hot and sunny, it is not a time 
 for unalloyed pleasure. The noon-tide is too like mid- 
 summer. 
 
 I chose the fourth for my first considerable outing, 
 with its clouds and brief showers ; and how far wisely, let 
 others decide. For me, at least, it was a red-letter day. 
 
 Bound riverward, we had the tide to baffle with un- 
 willing oars, for rowing is irksome at best, unless one's 
 thought is only for his muscles. Slowly working our way 
 against the swift current that swirled between the pier and 
 abutments of the ancient bridge, we foolishly looked up- 
 ward as a wagon passed over us, as though by so doing 
 we might escape some danger, or expected to see the horse 
 drop down upon us, and received the just due of our 
 thoughtlessness in a shower of dust that smarted both our 
 eyes and nostrils. 
 
 I have passed under this bridge a hundred times or 
 more, and whenever a wagon crosses it at that moment, I 
 always do this worse than childish thing and receive the 
 merited punishment therefor. Experience has taught me 
 nothing; never will. Verily, "what fools these mor- 
 tals be." 
 
134 DATS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 A shallower and wider portion of the stream once 
 reached, we all breathed more freely, and full of anticipa- 
 tion, if not of novelty, at least of cheerful sights, we found 
 ourselves alone with woods and waters and a solitary 
 crow. Its cawing was not unmusical, then and there. 
 We fancied it the prompter's call and warning that the 
 audience was in waiting. Whether the birds that morn- 
 ing saw fit to play us a trick or were beyond the reach of 
 the lone crow's ringing voice, we shall never know ; but 
 the music of our dipping oars, the ripple of the tide be- 
 neath the prow, and the distant tinkling of a cow-bell in 
 the marsh, were all we heard. Here, then, was ready nature 
 waiting for the unready birds ; and with a tinge of disap- 
 pointment that so much of our course was without song, 
 we reached a narrower winding of the creek, sparsely 
 shaded by the half -leaved trees: here were music and 
 beauty blended. Swallows in mid-air, greenlets in the 
 willows, and afar off the crested redbird warbled and 
 whistled without rest, while the scarlet tanager flashed 
 like a winged flame through the snowy branches of the 
 bitter plum. Rounding a sudden bend, we startled the 
 great blue heron from his perch, which joined his soaring 
 mate high overhead, and for long they circled above us as 
 we hurried by, eager for fresh fields and pastures new. 
 
 Not alone were the trees in the flood-tide of their 
 glory ; the meadows were starred with brilliant marigold, 
 and the banks of many an inflowing brook were fretted 
 and streaked with the ivory and gold wands of the rank 
 orontium. 
 
 Whatever may be thought of the Bonapartes as 
 Frenchmen, he who lingers along the wooded south shore 
 of Crosswicks Creek, from a mile or more above and down- 
 ward to its junction with the Delaware, will recall with 
 gratitude the amiable Joseph, who once dwelt here, and be 
 duly thankful that he was so skillful a landscape gardener. 
 
HAY. 135 
 
 I do not know to what extent the tract was a forest 
 when Bonaparte bought it, but it is well known that the 
 illustrious exile was an ardent lover of trees, and planted 
 many a hundred in his park of one thousand acres. But 
 the creek bank always was, as it still is, a natural arbore- 
 tum, and contains a greater variety of trees than any other 
 tract of the same area within a radius of many miles. 
 But time and circumstance put us in no statistical mood ; 
 we cared little then for the romantic history of the spot, 
 and even less for its purely botanical aspect. The min- 
 gling of every shade of green, from the gloomy cedars, look- 
 ing almost black, to the palest of the freshly budding oaks ; 
 the lichen-draped branches of the two-leaved pine and 
 trembling blossoms of the feathery June-berry, were here 
 too marked a feature of the landscape to permit our haste, 
 and we merely stemmed the tide while skirting the bluff. 
 
 I would not that any word of mine should be con- 
 strued as unfavorable to strolling overland, but the vague 
 shadow of a doubt vexes me when I compare my upland 
 with my water rambles. It is of evident importance to 
 get a comprehensive view of one's surroundings, and this 
 you can often do when in a boat ; from which, too, we 
 catch glimpses of a wilder side of the world than is ever 
 turned to the public road. Few now are the lanes and 
 byways that are paths in a wilderness ; but here the creek 
 margined a narrow reach of unmolested nature, where 
 even the sly otter dared to have his slide. We did not see 
 the wary creature to-day. Perhaps but no, I will con- 
 fess it, we even could not find his tracks. But local Nim- 
 rods most veracious of men have hinted of his ottership 
 so often that the story added its charm to the steep and 
 slippery ribbon of faintly furrowed clay leading from one 
 great overhanging tree down to the water's edge. Wheth- 
 er the spot was an otter-slide or not, that the animal could 
 slip from his nest among the beech tree's roots if he has 
 
136 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 one there to the creek, would never be questioned, and I, 
 for one, ignored a bowlder in the water, suspiciously in 
 line with the bared strip of hill-side, for fear some doubt- 
 ing Thomas might throw discredit on the time- honored 
 playground of the unseen otter. 
 
 Hoping against hope that this rare creature might show 
 himself, if but to silence doubt, we long looked backward 
 until the bending bushes closed the view. Then recalling 
 stern reality, we regretted the base use to which the once 
 noble park was now largely put, and with a few vigorous 
 strokes of our oars we "darted between the close set pilings 
 of a second bridge and sent our craft spinning over the 
 sparkling waters of the river. No change could be more 
 sudden, more complete. We were no longer hemmed in 
 between bluff and meadow, so near that either could be 
 closely scanned, but out upon really open water, for here 
 the river is a full mile in width. 
 
 The clouds had thickened before we left the creek and 
 now threatened the mild disaster of our being lost in a 
 fog ; but we braved this and all other dangers and skirted 
 either shore as the element of wildness proved in the 
 ascendant, or made a straight course down stream far 
 from either shore. When not in mid-river we had warbler 
 music in excess, for to-day the willows teamed, for the 
 first time, with these beautiful migrating songsters. Per- 
 haps, they were too tired or too hungry to sing their best 
 songs, but I was not alone in thinking that sweeter than 
 any efforts of theirs were the united voices of the teetering 
 sandpipers. Continually, when we were in mid-stream, 
 they crossed our bow, greeting us in a wild, winsome way 
 that lightened the gray-black clouds and made us quite 
 forget that a shower was imminent ; and whenever the 
 wind fell, from the distant shores their clear call could 
 still be heard, as they tripped, lightly as the waves, along 
 the pebbly shore. 
 
MAY. 137 
 
 I have mentioned the willows along shore. The species 
 is a matter of some uncertainty, perhaps, but probably 
 the Salix nigra. At all events I can testify that the re- 
 mark in Gray's botany, " With the branches very brittle 
 at the base," is quite true of those that grow here. It 
 needs but a single effort to climb into one, to be satisfied 
 on this point. These trees were planted at the very out- 
 set of the European occupation of the country, to resist 
 the eroding action of the water, and particularly of fresh- 
 ets ; and now, in land that has been lost to cultivation, 
 notwithstanding this care, are many of these old willows 
 broken, cavernous, the very acme of dilapidation, yet vigor- 
 ous withal. Such trees harbor enormous numbers of in- 
 sects, both winged and in a larval state, and are naturally 
 at this -time of the year the haunts par excellence of the 
 migrating warblers. Here are to be found those rare 
 forms known only to professional ornithologists, and not 
 always to them. Here, too, are earliest heard our vireos or 
 greenlets ; all songsters, but of different degrees of merit. 
 The most marked, perhaps, is the yellow-throat, that sings 
 with its whole body, as though the notes were shaken 
 from its feathers ; and as different as possible from the 
 robin-toned quaver of the restless redeye. 
 
 Mile after mile we marked at distant points solitary 
 cabins close to the water's edge. Forsaken the greater 
 part of the year, they are tenanted now, and the shore 
 near by is the scene of busy industry. The fishermen are 
 reaping the single harvest that this long river yields, the 
 shoals of shad and herring. These fish are now bound 
 upward to their spawning-grounds, and strange it is that 
 ever one reaches the desired goal. As we passed by, our 
 sympathy was with the fisher rather than the fish, and 
 we hoped that every sweep of the seine might land a 
 mighty draught of fishes. But the toilers were not in 
 luck ; not nearly so much as I, who, taking a short walk 
 
133 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 by way of change, saw many a pretty bird, heard others 
 sing, and found a fish-crow lying upon the sand. This is 
 to me an interesting bird ; the more so, because so gener- 
 ally confounded with the common one. 
 
 In March or April, as the weather proves, fish-crows 
 appear in scanty numbers along the river, following, I 
 think, the spring migration of the shad and herring; 
 and about each fisherman's cabin a pair is very likely 
 to be found. Although so much smaller than the com- 
 mon crow, with a very different cry, and given to 
 hawk-like soaring over the river, these differences have 
 not generally been noticed, and the strange impression has 
 arisen that a fish diet had the effect of making crows 
 foolish, for so the fishermen think these much less wary 
 birds must be dolts, as it were, from the common crowd 
 of crows. 
 
 I have known them to become, at times, almost as fa- 
 miliar, but never as impudent, as magpies ; and, waiting 
 until the boat is manned and the shore deserted, they walk 
 to the very cabin door, hunting for scraps, and always 
 searching the debris left at the water's edge where the 
 seine is drawn ashore. Were these birds protected and en- 
 couraged, they would become, I doubt not, useful scaven- 
 gers; but unfortunately the unmerited curse of being a 
 crow rests upon them, and the average fisherman is un- 
 teachable. 
 
 The prominent incident of the day occurred when I 
 reached a bend in the river where stands the bleached 
 trunk of a tall, dead tree. In its present forlorn condi- 
 tion it has doubtless withstood the storms of many a 
 winter ; but, though trembling in every breeze, and threat- 
 ening to fall whenever the wind freshens, the well- 
 anchored roots, grasping the drifted rocks, have strength 
 yet to prevent its overthrow, and, notwithstanding its 
 apparent insecurity, it is trusted by the birds. 
 
MAY. 139 
 
 As I reached the tree, coveting its outlook far up and 
 down the river, a sparrow-hawk flew from a hollow in 
 the trunk, and then turning hovered above me in an 
 anxious manner. I knew at once that the bird was nest- 
 ing there. The opening to the nest was small and no 
 projection offered a foot-hold to the bird when entering, 
 but this did not seem to disconcert it. 
 
 I presently withdrew a short distance, and the bird re- 
 entered the tree with the same rapidity and command of 
 movement characteristic of the bank- swallows. It was a 
 beautiful sight. I then returned to the tree and slapped 
 the trunk smartly with my hand, when the hawk promptly 
 re-appeared and also, to my surprise, from a hole but 
 three or four feet lower down, a flicker came bouncing 
 out. Again I withdrew, when both the hawk and wood- 
 pecker returned. Here, then, were two birds of very dif- 
 ferent habits, save that of nesting in hollow trees, and one 
 of them a bird of prey, living in the same tree in perfect 
 harmony. 
 
 It may be no uncommon occurrence, but I have not in 
 my own wanderings met with another instance, nor recall 
 any record of one. 
 
 The day, like all such, proved too full ; there was more 
 well worthy of study that we hurried by than I have men- 
 tioned in my rambling way. And now, a few retrospective 
 words as I return. Three truly spring-like days had 
 wrought a wondrous change. The wealth of life along 
 the river's shores to-day had largely reached this valley in 
 that time, for April, '88, will long be remembered as a 
 strictly winter month. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 JUNE. 
 
 AN uninvited townsman followed me to the woods re- 
 cently, and when I sat down at the foot of a favorite tree, 
 asked, " What have we here ? " " Heaven for one," I re- 
 plied, which he construed as meaning the opposite for 
 two. He was right. What a comfort it is to be correctly 
 interpreted ! 
 
 Nature speaks freely to the individual, but seldom ha- 
 rangues a crowd ; and never is she so communicative as in 
 June. It is desirable, therefore, above all other time, to 
 ramble alone, for actual solitude, which I dread, shadows 
 our path only when the chatter of men drowns the 
 weightier croaking of the frogs. 
 
 As May teemed with the noise and bustle of prepara- 
 tion, so June the preparative work being over rests and 
 offers for contemplation nature finished. The foliage of 
 to-day will not be denser or of deeper tints to-morrow, 
 and whether in upland or in meadow you will find no 
 new birds. Those that came to stay are now busy with 
 their nests ; those that tarried for a while, en route for 
 more northern homes, have long since left us. June is a 
 month of fixed facts, but they are none the less interest- 
 ing because of this. What transpired a year ago, this 
 day or week or month, or even half a century ago, is now 
 being or will be re-enacted. But all was not reported 
 then, and much has been slighted since, so that the dan- 
 
JUNE. 
 
 ger is slight indeed that the record of any June day out 
 of doors will be a twice-told tale. 
 
 One great advantage of observations made at this time 
 is this : Hitherto, we have had, for instance, to content 
 ourselves, as a rule, with casual glimpses of every bird we 
 saw, and could seldom be sure that we saw the same indi- 
 vidual twice ; but now, not only the same bird, but, better 
 yet, a mated pair can be confidently followed from day to 
 day, for they have a comparatively restricted range, and 
 every movement is more or less with reference to their 
 nest and young. The advantage is obvious. At no other 
 time are the characteristic features of bird life so pro- 
 nounced, and the one opportunity of each season is oif ered 
 to determine how far individuals vary as to their intelli- 
 gence, their tastes, and mode of living. 
 
 I have been much interested in watching a brood of 
 Virginia rails that were hatched somewhere in the im- 
 penetrable mucky meadow, of which I have so often 
 spoken. No tropical jungle could be more hopelessly 
 tangled than this bit of marsh, and, I may add, few prob- 
 ably shelter a greater variety of life-forms. Here I have 
 found and can always find mammals, birds, reptiles, 
 batrachians, and fishes, besides insects and other inverte- 
 brate life in the greatest profusion ; and here it is that 
 with the regularity of the seasons three notable forms of 
 aquatic birds repair to breed the king rail, the Virginia 
 rail, and the least bittern. Of these, during the summer 
 of 1888, the smaller rails were the prominent feature. 
 
 I occasionally heard them during the month of May, 
 but never caught a glimpse of one until late in June, when 
 a commotion of some sort brought at least two broods 
 and their parents to the edge of the marsh. Occasionally 
 they ran out for a short distance upon the open meadow. 
 The young at this time were not fully grown nor able to 
 fly, I thought, but their activity as runners was really re- 
 
142 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 markable. They " peeped " incessantly, their voice being 
 clear and fife-like, while the parent birds uttered, with few 
 intermissions, a pig-like note that has been well described 
 as sounding like keek-keek-kek. I discovered these birds 
 but not the cause of their distress early in the afternoon, 
 and remained for several hours at the edge of the marsh, 
 watching their strange antics. As the reeds, rushes, cala- 
 mus, and dock were all too dense to enable me to see the 
 birds constantly, I naturally fell to conjecturing what 
 might have caused the commotion. Of course the prob- 
 abilities were that some animal had attacked the young 
 birds. But the speed with which the young could run 
 rendered it improbable that they were really in any dan- 
 ger, unless surprised. In a fair race they could outrun a 
 black-snake. While I waited and wondered, several times 
 the birds moved apparently to the opposite side of the 
 meadow, judging by their voices, and then in a body came 
 back to very near the spot where I was lying in wait. 
 This strange movement materially increased my curiosity, 
 but I was helpless in the matter. By no known means 
 could I see more than the birds chose to permit, and that 
 was provokingly little. But at last as is usually the case 
 I was somewhat rewarded for my patience, for suddenly 
 the rushes began to tremble violently, and with a quick 
 bound a large mink made his appearance. He hesitated a 
 moment as if to recover from fatigue, and then, with that 
 easy gait characteristic of all the weasel tribe, bounded 
 across the meadow. It is fair to suppose that this murder- 
 ous creature had caused the disturbance, from the fact 
 that directly after its departure silence reigned. 
 
 We are apt to consider as instinctive every action of a 
 very young animal such as the spitting of blind kittens and 
 the barking of newly bora puppies but the acts of young 
 rail birds, that are both strong upon the feet and have ex- 
 cellent vision as soon as hatched, are suggestive of a higher 
 
JUNE. 143 
 
 degree of mentality. Those who have watched young 
 rail birds when confined will vouch for their cunning, 
 and those who have seen them in their own homes are 
 equally ready to aver how knowing they are. Although 
 watched over by their parents, and constantly warned by 
 various duckings of different tone, and so, presumably, of 
 different meaning, the young take in the character of 
 their little world very promptly, and act under the guid- 
 ance of their own considerable intelligence. "When de- 
 prived of their parents this is, of course, the more evident. 
 Then, they band together for mutual aid, and roost in the 
 thickest tangles, at a distance from open water and where 
 an enemy would only by mere chance be likely to come. I 
 have, by accident, twice come upon them toward the close 
 of day, when the young birds some half-dozen of them 
 were resting in tangled cat-tail, at a distance of a foot at 
 least above the water. To the broad leaves of the plant 
 they clung tenaciously, and were at first quite indisposed 
 to run ; but on endeavoring to take off one, they all pre- 
 cipitately fled. Soon after, I heard a faint, quail-like 
 "peeping," and believe that by this signal they were 
 again coming together. I know that when I disturbed 
 them, they fled in different directions. These broods were 
 both very young, and were evidently orphaned. 
 
 When parents and young are kept together in a room, 
 they remain upon friendly terms long after the latter have 
 become fully fledged. In fact, the rails in a friend's aviary 
 went a step further, and one young male married his 
 mother. 
 
 Although these birds grow rapidly and soon become 
 feathered, the idea of using their wings as a means of 
 escape seems never to occur to them until the summer is 
 well-nigh spent; and even in September I have seen 
 young rail birds that would only run in spite of very close 
 pursuit by a spaniel. Later, when nightly white frosts 
 
144 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 admonish them of the destruction of their close cover, they 
 find the necessity for migration before them, and sudden- 
 ly, in a night, they depart. Flight must seem a strange 
 faculty to them as they journey for many miles; and 
 when they return one would naturally expect to find them 
 flying rather than running from their foes ; but this is 
 seldom the case. Those that year after year summer in 
 the mucky meadow are practically wingless as apteryges. 
 Would, if the necessity of migration no longer continued, 
 the rail birds lose their flight power ? It is not improb- 
 able. So admirably adapted are they for living in their 
 wet and weedy haunts, and so averse are they now to leav- 
 ing them, that, through disuse, it is quite natural that 
 one or more powers should be lost. I do not think that 
 in the short journeys peculiarities of the season may 
 render necessary these birds always fly. When a sudden 
 rise in the river has occurred in summer, the rail birds 
 have been found running about the meadows adjoining 
 the marshes from which they have been driven ; and a 
 high freshet has sometimes forced them to the upland 
 fields. They seem never to wander farther than is neces- 
 sary from their chosen haunts, and return to them as soon 
 as the receding waters will permit. Such facts I have in- 
 terpreted as indicating a great indisposition to wander, and 
 particularly to fly to distant and more pleasant quarters. 
 
 A June landscape is incomplete without water. Best 
 of all, the river ; but if not this, then a creek, a brook, or 
 even the quiet mill-pond. However pleasant the day may 
 be, the breeze cool, the blossoms bright, the shade dense, 
 the sunshine tempered, there still is something wanting. 
 The world has an unfinished look when there is no water 
 in view, and wild life is largely of the same opinion. I 
 have often found many an upland field almost deserted 
 when the meadows and the river bank were crowded. 
 
145 
 
 Even the solitary bluebird that far overhead was 
 hurrying toward the river valley, warbled in most melan- 
 choly tones as it crossed my neighbor's clover, and I, too, 
 saw nothing to stay my steps, and yet it was a perfect 
 June morning. Wayside weeds, clover blossoms, and a 
 long vine-clad worm fence were as nothing ; yet had they 
 been by sparkling waters, how readily I should have 
 lingered there ! As it was, I felt drawn toward open 
 water, and passed every object in the fields without a 
 glance at any. My eyes thirsted for a watery landscape, 
 and I hurried, without a fear of disappointment and in 
 high hopes of novelty, toward the near-by mill-pond. 
 
 The high banks, themselves shut in by the crowded 
 growth of vigorous young trees, hid the pond until I was 
 at its very edge, and then, to my chagrin, I found no 
 sparkling waters between the shores, no floating isles of 
 lilies, no forest of splatter-docks, but instead a wide reach 
 of sun-cracked mud and the trivial forest brook of Indian 
 times. I had come too far not to make the most of a bad 
 matter, and for water I must content myself with mud. 
 The outlook was at first unpromising. 
 
 If I mistake not, it had been many years since the 
 mill-pond was so nearly empty as now. As I looked up 
 and down the little stream, the whole region appeared de- 
 serted. Desolation brooded over the valley and cast a 
 shadow even upon the adjoining woods. But was this not 
 a condition born of my own feeling of disappointment, 
 and so a false interpretation ? Would I have seen more, 
 or heard more, had I found the expected sheet of water 
 instead of a mud-flat? There is no reason to think it. 
 As the animal life that long ago adapted itself to other 
 conditions had proved equal to the emergency of a sudden 
 change, so must I. Whatever had been my plans mattered 
 nothing ; what could now be done ? 
 
 Besides the narrow cracks in the mud there were other 
 10 
 
146 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 depressions, both wider and deeper than these, and all 
 leading directly from the shore line of the pond toward 
 the brook. One that I followed from end to end was 
 deeply impressed with the tracks of a musk-rat that two 
 nights before had walked instead of swam to the middle 
 of the pond. I thought of mussels and looked for their 
 shells, for I always associate the mollusk with this animal, 
 but found no trace of them. This led me to wondering 
 what the musk-rats here did eat, and I found the bones of 
 frogs and a bird at the opening of another burrow on the 
 opposite side of the pond. The bird was a small heron, and 
 I will not presume that the musk-rat caught it ; that it 
 found the bird is far more likely. One feature of the 
 mammal's habits was evident a meat diet is preferred, if 
 not essential. In the tidal creeks a mixed one is the rule, 
 for many tender roots of water-plants are devoured. 
 
 A word here about the mussels that in most places 
 constitute a large proportion of the musk-rat's food. The 
 shells that accumulate about the burrows and feeding- 
 grounds of the rat are not without scarification always, 
 as has been so persistently claimed. Directly below the 
 cliff, in Adams County, Ohio, whereon rests the Serpent 
 Mound, Brush Creek meanders over a rough and troubled 
 course, and is almost stayed at certain points by the huge 
 rock masses that have fallen into the channel. Here 
 musk-rats abound, and mussels are abundant. Upon 
 several projecting rocks I found scattered shells that 
 clearly exhibited tooth-marks, and several that were 
 broken about the edges, as teeth and toe-nails tugging at 
 them would be likely to break them. As a whole, my 
 gatherings would never lead one to suppose that valves 
 were ever parted without injury. Such, however, is the 
 case, and I have heard but a single explanation, although 
 I have asked many observers meaning by the latter- 
 trappers and others who had had abundant opportunities 
 
JUNE. 147 
 
 to observe musk-rats under favorable circumstances. They 
 all expressed the opinion that the mussels were carried 
 out of the water and placed in heaps to sicken, if not to 
 die. I can not prove this, nor could my informants, but 
 the details of their observations as narrated certainly 
 warranted them in coming to the conclusion to which 
 they reached ; and an accomplished naturalist of Indiana, 
 who has very carefully studied the habits of the musk-rat 
 for years, assures me that he believes the " open-air " 
 theory to be correct, as he had seen in these heaps of 
 mussels many that had been overlooked, and dying ; the 
 valves had parted, but the soft parts, the animal proper, 
 had not been extracted. 
 
 Mr. A. M. Brayton, in his report on the " Mammals of 
 Ohio," states : " The summer food (of the musk-rat) con- 
 sists of leaves of various aquatic plants and different spe- 
 cies of river-mussels. Every one at all familiar with the 
 shallows of our streams will recall the immense heaps of 
 mussel-shells often a bushel or more by the side of some 
 large stone or log, midway, perhaps, of the river, and fur- 
 nishing easy collecting grounds for the conchologist. 
 These are the ' oyster restaurants ' of the musk-rat. Col- 
 lecting the mussels from the river bottom, the musk-rat 
 mounts the log or stone, sits up on its haunches like a 
 squirrel, and opens the shell with its strong incisor teeth, 
 as neatly as a squirrel opens a nut. Most of the shells 
 are left with the ligament intact. Mr. Kennicott has 
 found massive shells, like those of Unio plicatus, left un- 
 opened, or with the valves gnawed apart at the back." 
 
 To return to the mill-pond. The changed conditions 
 had been comprehended as with a glance, and I doubt if 
 a creature dwelling upon the banks of the one-time mill- 
 pond was not wholly at home. Curiosity led me to an 
 enormous stump that was now some three feet above the 
 mud. The tree, an oak, had evidently been felled just 
 
148 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 before the construction of the pond which was eighty- 
 five years ago and was not at all decayed. Here the 
 musk-rats had already found a convenient resting-place, 
 and even thus early had left traces of their feasts. The 
 broken shells of crayfish were very abundant. 
 
 These ever-abundant crustaceans had resented the 
 sudden outgoing of the waters, and seeking refuge in 
 every nook had withstood the current, and were now 
 crowded into the shallow brook and the little shallows 
 that dimpled the wide expanse of mud. Their efforts to 
 escape were wildly frantic as I drew near, but I could 
 not induce them ever to leave the water. This surprised 
 me, as the pools were but an inch or two in depth, so I 
 tried to force them out upon the mud by placing my cane 
 before me and slowly advancing. Back they darted, and 
 then again and again receded, until they were half out 
 upon the mud ; but no further would they retreat. Many 
 burrowed until nearly out of sight, and all might have done 
 so had the mud been less compact, and a few gave a for- 
 ward leap over my cane and sought refuge in the water 
 behind me. I say a " forward leap," for so it seemed, but 
 the movement was too rapid for me to be positive. This 
 matters little, for I had gained my point ; even the cray- 
 fish has a modicum of cunning, or, more properly, com- 
 mon sense. 
 
 As the child casts away one toy for another, so I 
 turned from the crayfish at last, and they, like the musk- 
 rats, were quickly forgotten. From point to point I 
 wandered, and at last, finding no novelty, wondered at the 
 absence of birds. Here, certainly, was a generous feed- 
 ing-ground, and yet I neither saw nor heard any, save 
 the chirping sparrows of the thickets. I forgot that in 
 so exposed a position I was acting the part of a scare- 
 crow and kept away the very creatures that I wished to 
 see. Remembering this, I withdrew to a shady nook, 
 
JUNE. 149 
 
 commanding a good view both up and down the pond, 
 and there awaited developments ; nor had I long to wait. 
 The crows were soon upon the ground, and how I longed 
 for a field-glass ! They evidently were in search of food, 
 and doubtless attacked the little crayfish ; but the larger 
 ones appeared to give them trouble. At least, I can ima- 
 gine no other animal in the pools that would defy them. 
 Amid the most vociferous cawing they pranced about the 
 edges of the pools, and thrusting their heads into the 
 water they withdrew with a ludicrously quick jump that 
 appeared to excite or amuse the bystanders. It was a 
 curious sight but did not last. Either the crows were 
 quickly surfeited or discomfited, and left the spot in a 
 body. As soon as they rose into the air I went to the 
 spot, but failed to detect any diminution in the number 
 of crayfish. 
 
 Wandering to where the pond was wider and deeper 
 or had been, when there was a pond I found the mud 
 in places covered with curious tracks, running in every 
 direction and ending apparently nowhere. These puz- 
 zled me at first, but when I recognized them as the foot- 
 prints of turtles, all seemed clear enough. The bewildered 
 creatures had evidently wandered in a very aimless way, 
 looking for the water that had left their haunts without 
 warning. Where were the turtles now? To solve this 
 problem I assumed to be a very easy task, and walked with 
 confidence to various pools and probed the mud industri- 
 ously, but not a turtle was to be found. It seemed im- 
 probable that they should have been swept down the creek, 
 and yet they were not in the likely spots upon the mud- 
 flat where they had so recently been crawling. On re-ex- 
 amination of the tracks, I found that some led toward the 
 shore, and following these, I was delighted to find one 
 little basin of a bubbling spring filled with quite young 
 snappers. There were seven ; none more than three inches 
 
150 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 long, and each as ill-tempered as the most patriarchal of 
 their race has ever been found to be. 
 
 This discovery opened up a greater mystery : what of 
 the many other species known to inhabit the pond ? That 
 they were hiding in the woods waiting the return of the 
 waters was scarcely probable, but I commenced to search 
 for them forthwith. By accident, I found a spotted turtle 
 beneath a cluster of dwarf laurel, and then probed wher- 
 ever the ground was damp. At last I got a clew to their 
 whereabout. My probing attracted the attention of a 
 farmer living near, and he assured me that I would not 
 find the turtles where I supposed, for they had " wobbled 
 over the hill to the ditches in his meadow." This I found 
 to be true. Fully five hundred yards away, in a low-lying 
 meadow, separated from the mill-pond by a high ridge or 
 hill, I found scores of turtles of five species, but not a 
 snapper among them. I can not believe that under ordi- 
 nary circumstances turtles are ever as abundant as I found 
 them in this meadow, and accept the farmer's statement 
 that they had " wobbled over the hill " from the mill-pond. 
 And now we are confronted with two puzzling problems : 
 Why did not the snappers go? How did those which 
 crossed over to the meadow know of its existence ? 
 
 They certainly did not look very happy. Some of 
 them gazed wistfully at me, as though expecting the an- 
 nouncement that the mill-pond was again full to the brim 
 and ready to receive them. I picked up four one at a 
 time and placed them in the woods midway between the 
 meadow and the pond, and found when I set the last 
 upon the ground the others had not moved. Then I re- 
 arranged them, tail to tail, with their heads pointing 
 toward the four cardinal points of the compass, and left 
 them to their meditations. Fully ten minutes elapsed be- 
 fore -any one saw fit to move, and then they all seemed 
 influenced alike and set out upon their journeys. The 
 
JUNK 151 
 
 one that faced the pond turned neither to the right nor 
 left, and I followed as best I could, but soon lost it in the 
 underbrush and weeds. Retracing my steps, I searched 
 for the others, but without success. 
 
 Did these turtles start out with the idea of searching 
 for water ? Had they formulated any plan ? Recalling 
 those that I had seen in the ditch as I walked away, I felt 
 the hopelessness of the attempt to unravel the tangle of 
 what chelonian or any other " lower " form of life really 
 is, and particularly how far it is akin to our own. When 
 a dwelling-house is burned, the inmates take refuge in the 
 nearest shelter. The current of a person's thoughts at 
 such a time is readily traced. Even if such an unwelcome 
 experience has not been our own, we are sure as to what 
 we would do and think under such circumstances, and 
 naturally ascribe the same to our neighbors. Are we 
 warranted in following a like plan in judging of turtles ? 
 The breaking of an embankment drains a mill-pond, and 
 a score of unhoused turtles seek shelter in the nearest ad- 
 joining pools of water. Was the mental process similar 
 to, or identical with that of the supposed case of mankind 
 when a dwelling was burned ? If so, to some extent our 
 task is simplified ; but " if so " ever stands guard over all 
 such suppositions, and I sometimes fear it ever will. 
 
 Since the above was written, I have had the pleasure 
 of reading Lubbock's recent work on " Animal Intelli- 
 gence," and the following throws a new light upon the 
 subject : 
 
 " The general aspect of nature must present to animals 
 a very different appearance from what it does to us. 
 
 " These considerations can not but raise the reflection 
 how different the world may I was going to say must 
 appear to other animals from what it does to us. Sound 
 is the sensation produced on us when the vibrations of 
 the air strike on the drum of our ear. When they are 
 
152 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 few, the sound is deep ; as they increase in number, it be- 
 comes shriller and shriller; but when they reach forty 
 thousand in a second they cease to be audible. Light is 
 the effect produced on us when waves of light strike on 
 the eye. When four hundred millions of millions of vi- 
 brations of ether strike the retina in a second, they pro- 
 duce red, and as the number increases the color passes 
 into orange, then yellow, green, blue, and violet. But be- 
 tween forty thousand vibrations in a second and four hun- 
 dred millions of millions we have no organ of sense capa- 
 ble of receiving the impression. Yet between these lim- 
 its any number of sensations may exist. We have five 
 senses, and sometimes fancy that no others are possible. 
 But it is obvious that we can not measure the infinite by 
 our own narrow limitations. 
 
 " Moreover, looking at the question from the other side, 
 we find in animals complex organs of sense, richly sup- 
 plied with nerves, but the function of which we are as 
 yet powerless to explain. There may be fifty other senses 
 as different from ours as sound is from sight ; and even 
 within the boundaries of our own senses, there may be 
 endless sounds which we can not hear, and colors, as dif- 
 ferent as red from green, of which we have no conception. 
 These and a thousand other questions remain for solution. 
 The familiar world which surrounds us may be a totally 
 different place to other animals. To them it may be full 
 of music which we can not hear, of color which we can 
 not see, of sensations which we can not conceive. To 
 place stuffed birds and beasts in glass cages, to arrange 
 insects in cabinets, and dried plants in drawers, is merely 
 the drudgery and preliminary of study; to watch their 
 habits, to understand their relations to one another, to 
 study their instincts and intelligence, to ascertain their 
 adaptations and their relations to the forces of nature, to 
 realize what the world appears to them these constitute, 
 
JUNE. 153 
 
 as it seems to me at least, the true interest of natural his- 
 tory, and may even give us the clew to senses and percep- 
 tions of which at present we have no conception." 
 
 But show that a turtle's sense of smell is sufficiently 
 acute to smell water that is a hundred rods distant or 
 hear the trickling stream that is as far away, and it be- 
 comes mere machine, as it were, led by these exquisitely 
 developed senses, and need possess no trace of intelligence. 
 Still, I am not willing to set all turtles down as fools. 
 The cornered snapper shows he is not in more ways than 
 one, and I have knowledge of a box-tortoise that certainly 
 recognized its keeper, and would come when he called it. 
 
 I returned to the mill-pond as the day was closing, 
 and gave the remaining hours to the few small fishes that 
 found the little brook that remained sufficient for their 
 needs. Little minnows only, and I could not expect much 
 entertainment from them, but they seemed quick-witted 
 enough when I tried to capture a few for identification. 
 Every individual darted into some inaccessible nook when 
 my shadow fell upon the water, and only reappeared 
 when I had stood back for several minutes. 
 
 The last time I did so, and while watching their some- 
 what curious antics in the shallower spots where the 
 smooth areas of dark-brown mud made it practicable to ob- 
 serve them distinctly, I was interrupted by a number of 
 cows that crossed the bed of the pond in a direct line with 
 where I was standing. To my astonishment, these timid 
 minnows did not appear to notice the animals, and con- 
 tinued their sports. This induced me to approach some- 
 what nearer, and I walked as unconcernedly and cow-like 
 as possible, but all to no purpose. The moment I came 
 within view they darted off. Of course it can not be 
 proved, but the circumstantial evidence is very strong 
 that these minnows, which, I may say, probably never saw 
 a human being before, recognized a difference, and saw in 
 
154 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 the cows animals harmless to them, and also saw, or 
 thought they did, an enemy in me, 
 
 I had had a very different experience recently, with an 
 old sunfish and her brood, and so wondered the more at 
 the exceeding wildness of the little minnows in the pond. 
 While gathering snail-like shells from the leaf -stalks of 
 the lotus, this troubled mother fish was much exercised 
 because her brood had no fear, and were in danger of 
 being trampled upon, as I waded in the shallow water. 
 Then, prompted by an innate love of teasing, I put my 
 hand into the water, and the young, instead of darting 
 away, clustered about it and nibbled at my fingers. The 
 poor old mother became frantic. Fear limited her daring, 
 and she remained just out of reach. I waited for some 
 time in an uncomfortable, stooping position, hoping to see 
 evidence of a power on the parent fish's part to signal to 
 her young, but discovered nothing that could be looked 
 upon in that light ; or, if the young fish were aware of 
 any such signaling, they were quite indifferent to it. 
 After a few minutes had elapsed, I commenced moving 
 my hand to and fro, and opening and closing my fingers 
 at the same time. These motions were too like those of 
 an animal in the act of eating the brood, and the limit of 
 the parent's endurance was reached. Without warning, 
 she rushed at my hand with such force that I was fairly 
 startled, and, withdrawing it suddenly, nearly lost my bal- 
 ance. 
 
 Shortly after this incident the question arose in my 
 mind, whether this brood of very young fish could distin- 
 guish their mother from other adult sunfish. Of course, 
 the converse of this is always true. To test the matter, I 
 scooped in a near-by ditch until I caught a fish of about 
 the size of the parent of the brood, and then separating 
 the young from their mother and keeping them well apart, 
 set my captive free among the former. Instantly there 
 
JUNE. 155 
 
 was dire confusion. The released fish was either recog- 
 nized as a stranger, or as their parent gone mad. The 
 poor things scattered, and showed every evidence of genu- 
 ine fear. I repeated this, from day to day, for a week, 
 and with practically the same results ; but, after all, I am 
 not sure that they have much significance. I failed alto- 
 gether to determine the main point, and have had to con- 
 tent myself with the feeling that my inference of some in- 
 tellectual power in very young fishes is correct. I believe 
 this brood of sunfish recognized the strangers as such, 
 rather than supposed them to be their parent in a danger- 
 ous frame of mind ; this being indicated, too, by the fact 
 that when the parent fish was removed and returned to 
 the pond, the young immediately clustered about her and 
 no evidence of fear was apparent. 
 
 To observe to the best advantage the majority of the 
 fishes in our little creeks, it is necessary to study them 
 when associated, as well as during the spawning season, 
 and this is practicable in midwinter. In fact, the absence 
 of vegetation, both along the banks of the streams and in 
 their beds, renders such study a far easier task than in 
 summer; and one has the advantage, too, of of ten. finding 
 several species collected in the spring-holes where the 
 water is appreciably warmer than elsewhere in the bed of 
 the stream. To watch such congregated fishes from day 
 to day, yourself remaining concealed the while, is to be- 
 come satisfied that, however small the fish, it is never a 
 fool, but really has a modicum of common sense. And 
 let me add, I have never been convinced that a friendly 
 critic was right when he insisted that batrachians were 
 more intelligent than fishes, as a rule. I admit that my 
 more recent field-work has often been contradictory in its 
 results, the observations of one day negativing those of 
 the next, but I find, on careful collation of memoranda 
 covering all the year, that the impression has been further 
 
156 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 strengthened that fishes as a class are more intelligent 
 than batrachians, and here it may be well to add that the 
 strictly carnivorous fishes are without exception more cun- 
 ning than herbivorous or even omnivorous species. 
 
 I tarried for half an hour after sunset at one very 
 prominent feature of the empty pond, an enormous white- 
 oak stump. Since the pond was built it has been deeply 
 submerged, but as yet has lost nothing of its bulk, save 
 the bark. The tree when felled, in 1803, was one of the 
 land-marks of the neighborhood, and the largest oak, save 
 one, for many miles around, and probably one of the 
 largest in existence. 
 
 My grandfather, who was familiar with the tree for 
 more than twenty years, told me that it stood in the mid- 
 dle of the original highway that passed here, and the 
 wagon tracks on each side of the tree were thirty feet 
 apart, the ground being so wrinkled with projecting 
 roots that this wide offing was necessary. Of these great 
 roots nothing now remained, or if not decayed they were 
 deeply covered with silt. Having other oaks in mind, one 
 in the t Cross wicks meeting-house yard in particular, it 
 was not difficult to reconstruct the ancient tree and re- 
 store the surroundings to their earlier and wilder condi- 
 tion. The little valley must have been a charming spot, 
 and I wonder not that to the few remaining Indians it 
 was a favorite one. Here, during the closing years of the 
 last century, they encamped annually in autumn, mak- 
 ing and peddling baskets and bead-work during their 
 stay. The oak tree, if not the surroundings, appeared to 
 be sacred to them, so my grandfather thought, or at least 
 to be associated with certain memorable events in their 
 history. 
 
 And at last, when the shadows lengthened until the 
 pond was almost lost to view, I turned toward home, 
 
JUNE. 157 
 
 filled with romantic feelings born of the surroundings 
 and of my scanty knowledge of their past history. It is 
 a confession of weakness, perhaps, but tales of long ago, 
 the fireside stories that my grandparents knew so well, 
 are of greater interest to me than all else ; so, while I 
 walked, the roadside and beyond were restored to those 
 marvelous conditions of colonial times that forever haunt 
 my fancy. 
 
 The delightful uncertainty of threatening days is 
 something for which to be thankful. It is no drawback 
 at the threshold of a June morning to have some gray- 
 beard scan the wrapped sky and assure you with an air of 
 wisdom that " it looks kind o' threatenin'." 
 
 What if it does ? Must we crawl back to bed, or, like 
 the ground-hog, because he sees his shadow in February, 
 anticipate foul weather and resume our seclusion ? It is 
 exhilarating to take the chances. We have the excitement 
 of gambling without its moral degradation. If after all it 
 proves a clear day, as it is very likely to do for the coun- 
 try folk's predictions, like dreams, often go by contraries 
 one feels like the fool he really is, if he stayed at home. 
 If the rambler ventures abroad notwithstanding the pre- 
 diction and the day. proves stormy, the chances are many 
 in his favor that he will have the world to himself, which 
 always overbalances the discomfort caused by rain. And 
 herein lies the reason : Looking over page after page of 
 June field-notes, covering many years, I find that a gentle 
 rain has no depressing effect upon animal life, and it 
 occasionally produces the opposite effect. Let me par- 
 ticularize. Not long since, heavy banks of cold, gray 
 clouds rested upon the distant tree-tops, a chilling mist 
 obscured the meadows, and the east wind petulantly dash- 
 ing against the tide, alike foretold the coming storm. 
 Notwithstanding the forbidding outlook, I pushed my 
 
158 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 boat boldly over the intervening strip of mud and rowed 
 across the river. Scarcely had her keel grated upon the 
 pebbly beach, than I heard the cheery whistle of the pip- 
 ing plover. There were dozens of these pretty birds, or so 
 it seemed. In and out among the coarse pebbles they ran 
 without fear, and sang their sweet songs at every pause in 
 their erratic courses. Often they chased each other and 
 took short nights over the water, always keeping in line 
 and each piping his very shrillest notes. As I sat quite still 
 several came very near, so near that I could see their every 
 movement distinctly, and was delighted when three perched 
 upon a large and prominent bowlder, sitting as close to- 
 gether as ever huddled three swallows on a telegraph wire. 
 The long threatening rain now commenced to fall in ear- 
 nest and evidently interfered with the plovers so far as their 
 feeding was concerned. In a few moments they had 
 gathered in little knots along the pebbly strand, usually 
 in spots that were somewhat sheltered from the gusty 
 wind. But they were not silent. Their clear, piping notes 
 were heard above the moan in the bending pines, above 
 the dash of the petty surf upon the rocks. Group answered 
 group in such quick succession there were no marked in- 
 tervals of silence ; the patter of the rain was lost in the 
 bell-like music of the merry birds. 
 
 How long the plovers would have remained I can not 
 tell, but it was not practicable for me to spend the whole 
 day sitting in the boat ; I must be moving, having other 
 ends in view. As I stepped upon shore each little com- 
 pany took wing one after another, and uniting far out 
 over the river they bore away down stream. In the driv- 
 ing rain and mist I soon lost them, and the wind brought 
 no tidings of their journey. 
 
 Here, then, at the very outset of a rainy day, I had 
 been well repaid ; but how much I should have lost had I 
 merely retraced my course ! Walking up the river shore 
 
JUNE. 159 
 
 to where the birds had been, I found a huge water-snake 
 that had recently been killed. Not one of these timid 
 plovers had recognized it, apparently. Many had even 
 stepped upon it, and yet it lay upon the pebbles in full 
 view and in a very life-like position. This brings up the 
 unsolved problem of how far a bird's sense of sight is akin 
 to our own ; how far all their senses. Lubbock's remarks 
 that the world may be a totally different place to other 
 animals must be remembered. 
 
 That plovers, like all of our small birds, are afraid of 
 living snakes will not be disputed. I doubt, indeed, if any 
 of our largest birds of prey would have dared to attack 
 this dead snake when alive, for a serpent five feet in length 
 and stout in proportion is enormously strong. By what 
 means did this flock of piping plovers recognize that it 
 was harmless ? I only determined the fact by a close ex- 
 amination. There was, of course, no motion ; and as the 
 snake had been very recently killed, no odor of decomposi- 
 tion. I could not at the time, nor can I now imagine by 
 what method the plovers had ascertained the harmless 
 condition of the snake, and it can not be doubted that 
 they did not fear it, unless it is claimed that they did not 
 distinguish it from the pebbles upon which it was stretched. 
 I do not believe this. Whenever I have placed a dead snake 
 in the poultry yard, the chickens gathered about it imme- 
 diately and made a great noise, but were slow in attacking 
 it. They always acted upon the supposition that it was still 
 alive, and were very slow to be convinced to the contrary. 
 Have plovers a less acute vision? It was suggested at 
 the time that the absence of motion assured them that the 
 snake was dead ; but, if so, then they would never be safe 
 against serpents that might lie in wait ; and I have noticed 
 that our land birds generally detect such cunning snakes 
 and give their fellows prompt warning. Again, it has 
 been said that living snakes give out an odor that attracts 
 
160 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 the bird's attention before it sees the animal. This cer- 
 tainly tallies with some results of my experiments with 
 pictures of animals. 
 
 When I related some years ago the incident of a bird 
 being terribly frightened at a chromo of a cat, the ques- 
 tion was asked, Might not the fright have been due to 
 some other cause ? It certainly was not then ; but I have 
 since repeated my experiments of this character, and with 
 such results as to leave the whole matter still an open 
 question, for the evidence, however strongly it pointed in 
 one direction, was after all, circumstantial. An antici- 
 pated effect was, often produced, it is true, but how far 
 correctly were the actions of the animal interpreted ? 
 This, I fear, we shall never be able to ascertain. 
 
 Some time after I had made the first series of experi- 
 ments with life-like chromos which resulted in showing 
 that certain birds mistook the pictures for living animals, 
 I happened to recall what I had read of the peculiar con- 
 dition of certain low races of mankind, who are unable, as 
 a rule, " to realize the most vivid artistic representations," 
 and it seemed very strange that birds should have a real- 
 izing power in any direction greater than that of certain 
 species of men ; the more so, when it is so often said that 
 human and animal intelligence differs in degree rather than 
 in kind. But this appears not always to hold good. It is 
 on record that " on being shown a large colored engraving 
 of an aboriginal New Hollander, one declared it to be a 
 ship, another a kangaroo, and so on ; not one of a dozen 
 identifying the portrait as having any connection with 
 himself." Few birds would be as stupid as this implies. 
 If a picture is recognized at all, it is correctly recognized. 
 
 The chromo of a cat that was so effective was not a 
 square bit of card-board upon which the animal was de- 
 picted, but the accurately outlined figure only, and so 
 without any confusing fore or back ground to dim the 
 
JUNE. 161 
 
 vividness of the image. Such an imitation of an animal 
 was certainly well calculated to deceive. 
 
 To prove that outlined pictures, such as I have men- 
 tioned, were recognized when those with landscape sur- 
 roundings were not, I exposed a large portion of a menag- 
 erie poster that was vividly colored and not inaccurately 
 drawn in a thicket filled with birds. It was passed by 
 unnoticed. Cutting away all portions but that repre- 
 senting an Angora cat, and placing it in a position where 
 its outline could be seen distinctly against the sky, it pro- 
 duced much consternation at first, and then the birds be- 
 gan to marvel why it did not move, and so suspected its 
 true nature, or that it was dead; but none were brave 
 enough to cross the danger-line as, in their discretion, they 
 had drawn it. 
 
 Removing it from its elevated position and placing it 
 on the ground, it was not noticed. Chewinks and Mary- 
 land yellow-throats passed it by without stopping a mo- 
 ment, and a frightened chipmunk went directly over it, 
 and was only disturbed by the rustling of the paper. I re- 
 stored it as best I could, and varnished the eyes until they 
 glistened ; then I replaced it in the bushes not far from a 
 robin's nest. It was believed, I am sure, to be really a 
 cat, and the birds at once were greatly disturbed at its 
 presence. Of course, it might be argued that any unusual 
 object would excite a nesting bird's suspicion, but plain 
 paper of the same size and having a similar outline had 
 no effect whatever. On the contrary, a pair of vireos tore 
 off bits of it for their nest, but never would they have 
 dared to offer a like indignity to the chromo of a crouch- 
 ing cat. 
 
 Of groups of animals, however accurately drawn and 
 
 colored, neither birds nor mammals seem to have any 
 
 power to recognize. The enormous posters scattered over 
 
 the country by Barnum and Forepaugh frighten neither 
 
 11 
 
162 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 horses, cattle, nor poultry ; and the pestiferous street spar- 
 row plucks at their fluttering edges for nesting materials. 
 Removed bodily or piecemeal to the woods or meadows, 
 they produce no effect ; but single animals scizzored from 
 them usually do. But not if they are very large. A paper 
 lion never excites even the curiosity of a cow, so I infer 
 that the sense of smell has much to do with the matter. 
 Horses have frequently been frightened by animals which 
 they could not see at the time, and had probably never 
 seen, their sense of smell alone telling them of the prox- 
 imity of a dangerous foe. 
 
 Representations of men, although quite life-like and of 
 life size, are ignored by all birds, unless it be the crows, 
 which are more cautious but never stand off for any 
 length of time. The enterprising farmer who bought a 
 tobacconist's wooden Indian to use as a scare-crow was 
 sadly disappointed. Every morning at sunrise he saw a 
 crow perched upon the Indian's crown, keeping watch 
 that his fellows in the field might not suffer a surprise. 
 Later it was tied near the top of a cherry tree to protect 
 the fruit, but not a bird feared it. I should like a wooden 
 figure of a man, dressed as we dress, and fairly represent- 
 ing man, as the wild birds are accustomed to seeing him, 
 to be tested as this fanciful Indian figure was. Possibly 
 we might have other results ; and yet the most life-like 
 dummies I have ever seen fail very soon to protect our 
 fields from the crows. 
 
 Even fish are more ready to recognize portraits than 
 are some birds, but the object depicted must be free from 
 all association with other objects or with landscape. I 
 varnished a drawing of a pike, and placed it in a com- 
 manding position in a brook. The minnows immediately 
 fled from the spot, and for some time did not come near ; 
 but when the water had removed the varnish in part and 
 the fierce pike became a limp and rumpled bit of paste- 
 
JUNE. 163 
 
 board, the courage of the minnows returned. I do not think 
 that this case was a mere coincidence, notwithstanding 
 the fact that when I have introduced pike into aquaria 
 where there were small fishes, the latter never appeared 
 to show any fear. 
 
 The only conclusion I am willing to express at this 
 time in the matter of recognition of pictorial representa- 
 tions of animals by animals is, that among our birds there 
 is a wide difference as to their intelligence, the more 
 knowing species being those most familiar with man ; and 
 in proportion as birds are thus familiar (their intelligence 
 being due to the familiarity), they are likely to recognize, 
 first, the similarity of a portrait to the object itself ; and, 
 second, to determine soon after its true character. This 
 is within the capability of a wren or a cat-bird, but beyond 
 that of a warbler or a whip-poor-will. 
 
 I recently spent a steamy-hot June night in a neigh- 
 bor's house, and where I least expected to find birds 
 there they proved to be most abundant. I was desperately 
 tired, and it was not without some misgivings that I 
 climbed a dark box staircase, made scarcely visible by the 
 flickering home-made candle carried before me. As I 
 feared, the temperature was unbearable, and worse than 
 this, mosquitoes hummed ominously before I had set down 
 the light, wasps beat upon the window panes and gently 
 rasped the ceiling, and, as though this were not enough, 
 the chimney roared with the ceaseless stream of swifts that 
 were nesting in it. It needed not a glance at the huge 
 feather bed to know that my only object in entering the 
 room was an impossibility. I had no choice but to slip 
 off when all was quiet down-stairs, or to suffer torment 
 until morning. While debating the matter it occurred to 
 me that I might forget the surroundings by studying the 
 swifts in the chimney, and, more than partially disrobing, 
 
164: DATS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 proceeded, not to burn midnight oil, but utilize tallow and 
 moonlight in ornithological pursuits. 
 
 The house was an early colonial one, with chimneys of 
 massive proportions ; but at some time in the past a stove- 
 pipe hole had been cut that the room I occupied could be 
 heated. This opening, that had been closed by paper, 
 muslin, and paper, in alternate layers, thick with mouldy 
 paste, I opened, and at once uplifted flood-gates I was 
 powerless to replace. Three screeching, helpless, half- 
 naked birds tumbled in upon the floor, and a parent bird, 
 deceived by the dim glare of the candle, which it might 
 have mistaken for a distant star, rushed after them. At 
 once it commenced darting dangerously near the candle, 
 and before I could place it beyond the bird's reach, the 
 fluttering wings extinguished the sickly flame. I was rapid- 
 ly getting into a miserable snarl, and, with greater speed, 
 becoming angry. Quite unable to catch the one obnox- 
 ious visitor, which declined to rest above my chamber 
 door, or anywhere else, I hastened to prevent others 
 from joining it by the same entrance. But adverse fate 
 was grinning over my left shoulder all the while, and 
 three others had entered while my back was turned. 
 Had it suddenly become cold as Greenland I could not 
 now have slept. The moonlight was too dim to at- 
 tract the birds toward the window a mere slit in the 
 thick stone wall that six small panes were sufficient to 
 cover. The bit of gauze that covered the space of two 
 panes was drawn aside, and I tried to drive them out. 
 More fool I ! Then I tried the pillow warfare, not in- 
 dulged in since early youth ; it, too, was a failure. Then 
 but hark! It had never occurred to me that I had 
 been making any noise, and now a motherly voice came 
 ringing up the box staircase : " Charles, is thee sick ; shall I 
 bring thee some hot tea ? " 
 
 How the latter query of the kind old lady still rings 
 
JUNE. 165 
 
 in my ears ! Bring me some hot tea ! There I was, not 
 writhing with choleraic pain, as she supposed, but oh ! so 
 hot ! Drenched with scalding perspiration, tormented by 
 the shrill chirping of the young swifts, and exhausted by 
 my frantic efforts to down the old ones. Visions of a 
 bubbling spring on the hill-side and the morning breezes 
 had been faintly floating before my eyes whenever I 
 paused for a moment's rest, and at such a time and when 
 in such a mood to be asked, " Shall I bring thee some hot 
 tea?" 
 
 My reply shall forever remain unrecorded. No one 
 knows it, for my hostess did not catch the words ; but I 
 was sobered by the interruption, and passed the remaining 
 hours until dawn regardless of the fluttering swifts or 
 their chirping young. Instead, as I crouched by the 
 little window, hoping for cooler air, I considered the 
 swifts in the chimney. There seemed to be a hundred 
 of them, and each as active now as in broad daylight. 
 As I interpreted the sounds, they came and went in just 
 such an intermittent stream as characterizes their diurnal 
 flights. Is this true ? Dr. Brewer remarks : " The chim- 
 ney swallow is crepuscular, rather than nocturnal, in its 
 habits. . . . When they have young, they often continue 
 to feed them until quite late at night. They are not, 
 however, to be regarded as nocturnal, as they are only 
 known to do this during a brief period." This did not 
 hold good this memorable June night. There was posi- 
 tively no difference between 9 p. M. and 3 A. M. The birds 
 left and returned with the same frequency at the later as 
 at the earlier hour. Nor have I found that this evidence 
 of activity at night occurs only when there are young 
 birds. It appears rather to be a common habit from 
 April to November, but more pronounced during May 
 and June. But then the demands of the young are not 
 confined to these two months. Several times I have 
 
166 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 found nests of young swifts as late as September. Dr. 
 Brewer says that in Pennsylvania the swift is reported as 
 double-brooded. I do not know about this, but the ap- 
 pearances indicate that they are even triple- brooded, and 
 often quite ignore the lateness of the season. It is noth- 
 ing uncommon for them to leave young birds to starve 
 when they finally decide upon their autumnal migra- 
 tion. 
 
 The anatomy of the chimney swift does not suggest a 
 nocturnal bird, and the thought that only when there is a 
 bright moon are they active at night, arises. Continuous 
 observations do not bear this out. Be it ever so dark, or 
 even stormy, it matters little. Indeed, I have not been 
 able to detect any difference, and so the bird has remained 
 to me a mystery. 
 
 But June has many another mystery than this. It is 
 the month that overflows the month when all nature 
 presses to the fore, and the student rambler is apt to do 
 the least, though now the days are longest, bewildered by 
 the ever-present confusion that surrounds him. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 JULY. 
 
 WITHIN- a stone's throw of my house there stands a 
 beech tree that dates back to the days of the Indian. At 
 least, I know that it was called by every one in the neigh- 
 borhood " the big beech " in 1770, and so it is safe to 
 claim for it a century prior to the date named ; and the 
 probability is that it has rounded three full centuries. 
 Near it stand two others, each about half the size of the 
 beech, and their interlacing branches give the impression 
 of one enormous tree, at a little distance. Practically, 
 they are one, and in their broad shadow throughout July's 
 sunny days it is more than a comfort to linger it is a 
 luxury. 
 
 This " brotherhood of venerable trees " stand on, or 
 rather cling to, the face of a steep terrace ; the largest of 
 the three in front. It is a mere step to leap from the 
 ground into the tree, but when you look outward you look 
 also downward, and there are a thicket and forest of small 
 trees fifty feet below, while beyond all are the wide meadow 
 and winding river. It makes one shudder to think of such 
 a tree losing its hold, for the crash would be terrific ; but 
 there is no danger. Trees such as this have roots to cor- 
 respond with their skyward growth. 
 
 A word as to the tree's dimensions. It is eleven feet 
 in circumference, six feet from the ground, and at about 
 this distance start upward the primary divisions, six enor- 
 
108 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 mous branches ; these again divide many feet above, and 
 finally all terminate in a labyrinth of leaf-bearing twigs 
 that effectually shut out the sun. This leafy roof is s*ixty 
 feet above me when I stand at the base of the main 
 branches. 
 
 One does not always care to ramble at mid-day, at least 
 in July, so I frequently find myself terminating the day's 
 stroll at a convenient twist of certain of the beech's largest 
 limbs, that collectively afford an incomparable resting- 
 place, with a sloping back and arms of equal comfort and 
 greater security than most modern furniture affords. 
 There is no creaking of loose joints nor danger of collis- 
 ion with other chairs. Hercules himself could not have 
 rocked over in this easy chair, and even the blizzard of 
 last March did nothing more than make it tremble. A 
 few bits of coarse bagging nailed from limb to limb 
 smooth away all asperities, and luxury in its truest sense 
 is here, if anywhere, at hand. 
 
 But what is gained by sitting in a tree ? So much 
 that my allotted space would not suffice to catalogue it. 
 Rather, what is not gained ? Cozily seated among beechen 
 boughs are not those five words tantalizing to the toil- 
 worn folks of the cities, even in early July ? Here is a gain 
 not given to him who happens to be on the ground, even 
 though sitting in the shade of some old tree. I find that 
 I am far less an object of suspicion, and the birds ignore 
 me while I take note of their pretty ways. 
 
 The casual observer might think that the July woods 
 are entirely deserted, and that little transpired in compari- 
 son to the hum and bustle of boisterous May. But this is 
 a sad mistake. May is much like a crowded street ; July 
 more like the quiet centers where the great business trans- 
 actions of the world are quietly effected. What birds we 
 now have are here for the summer, and are nesting too, 
 just now, so whatever transpires is bird life at its best. 
 
JULY. 169 
 
 The truth is, July woods are never absolutely quiet. I 
 was astir recently at 3.40 A. M., and the festival of welcom- 
 ing the dawn had already commenced. The wood-peewees 
 were the first to sing ; then the robins ; these were fol- 
 lowed by house- wrens ; the song-thrush coming to time a 
 tuneful fourth, and not until broad daylight did the dozen 
 or more songsters that frequent my yard join in the con- 
 cert. But when they did, the volume of sound was won- 
 derful ; and I fancied that it steadily increased until the 
 sun was fairly above the horizon, and then gradually died 
 away. By 5 A. M. the woods were comparatively silent, 
 and two hours later, still, to a marked degree. What then 
 is heard is an almost ceaseless chirping, and the business 
 of the day feeding and warning young birds has com- 
 menced. Sounds like insect-humming, that scarcely break 
 the silence, of course continue and increase in volume as 
 the noontide approaches ; but, however shrill these may 
 be, all other sounds are heard through them. Even the 
 harvest-flies be they ever so noisy do not drown the 
 plaintive song of the wood-pewee. 
 
 With the birds busy, and the temperature ninety de- 
 grees in the shade, one should not expect a continual con- 
 cert, nor feel surprised if there happened an occasional 
 quiet hour. But I am giving now my own opinion, and 
 not that of certain birds ; for here in the beech is a pair 
 of nesting red-eyed vireos, and never the day too hot for 
 them. Thoreau has written : 
 
 Upon the lofty elm-tree sprays 
 
 The vireo rings the changes meet, 
 During these trivial summer days, - 
 
 Striving to lift our thoughts above the street. 
 
 Here the days are too full to be trivial, and the lively 
 birds lift my thoughts to the branch whereon hangs their 
 pretty nest that sways in every passing breeze, yet never 
 
170 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 fails to hold its contents safely. From my seat among the 
 larger branches I can see the sitting bird plainly, and it 
 often so I think eyes me with a deal of curiosity in its 
 countenance. A week ago it was timidity that filled its 
 breast, but not so now. To-day no sooner had the bird 
 left its nest than it hopped to within three feet of me, and 
 while preening its feathers looked at me with an inquiring 
 gaze. Whether satisfied or not, I do not know, but soon 
 it fell to singing and fly-catching, threading the maze of 
 branches high overhead, and often coming back to its 
 perch just in front of me. Perhaps it thought so long as 
 I remained where I was, the nest and its contents were 
 safe. I have little doubt but that this was the impelling 
 motive, yet it needed no active imagination to interpret 
 the bird's actions as evidence that it desired a closer ac- 
 quaintance, and I almost expected at times to be politely 
 offered a worm. All went well for several days, and I an- 
 ticipated much ; but suddenly a change came over the 
 poor redeye's dreams. In a desolate, absent manner it 
 haunted the tree but avoided the nest, and its mate was 
 nowhere to be seen. I ventured to examine the nest, and 
 found the eggs gone and a single one of a cow-bird in 
 their place. For once this fraud in feathers had not de- 
 ceived the redeye. It knew it had been villainously im- 
 posed upon, and would not be comforted. I threw out the 
 egg with much vehemence, and just then the troubled 
 redeye chirped loudly. I took it as commendatory of my 
 act. 
 
 I miss these birds, but they have cousins that have 
 been more fortunate. ' The warbling vireos sing inces- 
 santly. When at noon even robins are in doubt and 
 the indigo finch stops to consider, they loudly laugh at 
 the idea of discomfort, and do not even seek the shade. 
 A pair of these have a nest near by, but I can not find it. 
 It is so near that its position is unsuspected, and next au- 
 
JULY. 171 
 
 tumn, when the trees are bare, I shall find it and wonder 
 how it was possible that it escaped detection before. The 
 warbling vireos carry worms to a certain tree, and then 
 like lightning-flashes disappear. It is provoking, but at 
 ninety degrees in the shade, what can I do ? I can sit in 
 the beeches and wonder, but never a day's nesting for me 
 in the middle of July. 
 
 Another pair kept closely to the corner of the house, 
 but I found them out at last. Search for a long time had 
 proved futile, but, as has so often happened, what I had 
 in vain hunted for was discovered by accident. A large 
 nocturnal moth, such as one seldom sees during the day, 
 was flying about the upper branches of a tall old locust 
 tree, and had attracted the attention of a cat-bird. I saw 
 them both, the moment the latter made an attack, and 
 was watching the absurd antics of the cat-bird, bewildered 
 as it was by the flapping of the moth's huge wings. The 
 commotion was all too near the vireo's young for that 
 bird's fancy, and its distress led to the discovery of the 
 nest a pretty structure, leaf-hidden and far out of reach. 
 
 Another bird that visits me while in the beeches is 
 the less well known black and white tree-creeping warbler. 
 A long name for a little bird, but nothing else has ever 
 been suggested. It is a warbler, but can scarcely be said 
 to warble ; it creeps all day long among the trees, but in 
 one sense is not a creeper. A nice muddle in the matter 
 of names, but unavoidable. This bird contents itself with 
 a monotonous tzeez tzeez tsis, uttered at irregular inter- 
 vals, and all the while it is intent upon insect hunting. 
 Recently I saw one with a worm wriggling in its beak. It 
 seemed somewhat ill at ease the bird no less than the 
 worm and chirped in a peculiar manner. I happened to 
 be seated upon the ground at the time, and remained 
 motionless, to see what direction the bird would go, for 
 I knew it had a nest. But it would not go, and it dawned 
 
172 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 upon me I might be very near the nest where I sat, and 
 so was the cause of the bird's discomfort. This proved to 
 be true. I had one foot dangerously near the structure, 
 which filled a little cave that I think the bird must have 
 dug. Perhaps not ; but it was a happy find, if of other 
 origin. A more unlikely place could not well be imagined. 
 I quickly withdrew, but kept my eye on the spot, and 
 soon the bird flew to it and then came away, chirping in 
 a very satisfied manner. It evidently thought that all 
 danger was passed; and so it was, so far as I was con- 
 cerned. The young were nearly ready to leave their nest, 
 and two days after, when I again visited the spot, I found 
 the brood had dispersed. It was not a voluntary nest- 
 leaving, however, and soon I found one of the young birds 
 perched in a low shrub. The antics of the parent bird 
 were very amusing and at times pathetic. By every means 
 it endeavored to draw me away by feigning every degree 
 of helplessness. Its strangest action was to raise one wing 
 straight up and trail the other, as though it was broken, 
 and then run along the ground with a ludicrous halt gait. 
 Finding this of no avail, it came very near me and chirped 
 vigorously, and induced the timid young bird to leave its 
 perch and hide in the grass near by. 
 
 The other young were some distance off and not to- 
 gether ; so the parent bird had a hard time of it feeding 
 them. I saw but one parent, and this is true of the one 
 other nest I have found. Does the male bird leave his 
 mate after incubation commences ? I have found many 
 a nesting bird, particularly vireos and fly-catchers, where 
 but the one parent was to be seen ; and I am as yet unable 
 to determine the cause. These pretty creeping warblers 
 have no end of pretty ways, and often are surprisingly 
 unsuspecting. I wandered into a weedy meadow recently, 
 having no special object then in view. Do not think be- 
 cause a meadow is weedy, it is necessarily repulsive. This 
 
173 
 
 one was pink with pale erigeron, golden with buttercups, 
 purple with flags, and afar off a tardy cockspur thorn 
 recalled the memorable snow-drifts of March, so dense 
 and purely white were its clustered blossoms. Above all, 
 towered a splendid shellbark hickory, and here I sat down. 
 Inquisitive sparrows quickly found me out, and I had 
 company from that moment. Other birds came ; then a 
 snake, and finally a waddling tortoise. To all appearance 
 I was certainly in luck, and yet, strange to say, I soon 
 wearied of my friends, and, not only this, but ere long fell 
 asleep. For a considerable time, leaning against the shell- 
 bark's shaggy trunk, I slept soundly, and was roused by 
 the rattling thrill of the loose ribbons of bark that hang 
 from these trees when fully grown. One of these curled 
 strips was still trembling, almost in contact with my ear, 
 as I opened my eyes. I saw no cause for this, and just as 
 I raised my hand to rub my filmy eyes, a little bird, with 
 a shrill chirp, flew from my side. 
 
 As is so seldom the case, I had my wits about me at 
 the right moment, and, trusting for a solution of the 
 matter, remained perfectly still. Presently a faint rat- 
 tling was heard that quickly became louder, and a black 
 and white tree-creeping warbler came around the tree 
 just in a line with my face. It came so near me that I 
 could not see it, for I dared not move a muscle, and then 
 halted, as though not quite satisfied that I was a part of 
 the tree. I waited for perhaps a minute and then heard 
 the bird move from me when I ventured to turn my face 
 toward it. Our eyes met, or at least I saw its plainly, and 
 with a frightened chirp it darted away. 
 
 I shall never know but always shall believe that this 
 bird once ran directly over me. I can give no reason, 
 save the paltry one that I thought I could feel the tingle 
 of its claws across my face. 
 
 I am not, on second thought, disposed to stamp this 
 
174: DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 as absurd. I have often been astonished at the boldness 
 of many a timid creature when it believed the dreaded 
 foe before it was either asleep or dead. Nor can it be 
 shown that bravery or fear depends upon the presence or 
 absence of motion. Certainly both birds and mammals 
 have discriminative powers largely developed, and recog- 
 nize even slight differences. We alj know, too, how in- 
 different birds become to locomotives, even when the 
 whistle screams and the smoke-stack belches forth its 
 sooty clouds. 
 
 I have noticed, while lounging in the beech tree's 
 branches, for how long the young of many birds follow 
 their parents. This feature of bird-life necessarily varies 
 a great deal, but is more prolonged with many species than 
 is recorded. Many a young bird is practically helpless for 
 days after it has learned to fly. "What an awkward little 
 ragamuffin, for instance, is the young nuthatch when ac- 
 quiring his scrambling powers ! I watched one of a late 
 brood recently imitating its parent, and it was pure imi- 
 tation. Not a morsel did it find, or expect to, I take it, 
 for it never ceased a most doleful chirping which touched 
 the heart of the lithe parent, which fed it continually 
 with white, waxy grubs delved from hidden crannies in 
 the bark. When the old bird flew, the youngster followed, 
 and the call of the former was always echoed by the 
 querulous cry of the fledgling. If other birds came near, 
 it flew to the branch whereon its parent happened to be at 
 the moment, and begged protection with trailing, trem- 
 bling wings. 
 
 The flicker or pigeon woodpecker often feeds its 
 young when the latter are fully grown and strong upon 
 the wing ; the rose-breasted grosbeak does the same, and 
 last summer a brood of pewees was fed at times, by their 
 parents, after a second brood was hatched and constantly 
 clamoring for food. Busier birds than these poor parents 
 
JULY. 175 
 
 I never saw, yet they accepted the situation with apparent 
 cheerfulness. 
 
 Nor is it unusual, I may add, to see young birds fol- 
 lowing their parents in this half -helpless way, even as late 
 as the first week in October. I refer to migratory birds 
 species said not to nest nearer than northern New Eng- 
 land. If so, then young birds capable of a long migra- 
 torial journey accompanied their parents, and were often 
 fed by them. But another possibility suggests itself. May 
 there not be overlooked areas in northern New Jersey 
 hemlock forests, rhododendron ravines, spots that are cool 
 as autumn the summer long where straggling pairs lurk 
 unseen and rear their young ? It is nonsense to say that 
 this or that report of the occurrence of a bird is a case of 
 " faulty identification of the species." Our birds are not 
 so very similar in appearance, as a rule, to make this prob- 
 able, and I have record upon record of early appearance in 
 autumn (September), or even earlier, of northern species 
 which I believe had not been so extremely far away ; and 
 this matter of young but wing-strong birds still following 
 their parents, bears out the impression gained from other 
 sources, that our home mountains are not yet sufficiently 
 well studied. Then, too, there are occasional instances of 
 birds breaking the rigid rule of their kind, which may 
 not be repeated for years. The wood-tattler or solitary 
 sandpiper has nested in central New Jersey. Here is a 
 case where faulty identification is simply impossible. 
 
 I recently sought a cool retreat of which I had heard 
 the day before, hoping there to escape the terrors of a tor- 
 rid day. I hopefully trudged for more than a mile down 
 a sunny highway where the shrill creaking of crickets was 
 the only sound I heard. Every weed was wilted ; not a 
 daisy but was brown with gritty sand, and the one-time 
 starry St. John's-wort was dulled with dust. Still I 
 plodded on, hoping the cedars, each in its angle of an old 
 
176 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 worm fence, would offer a cool shade for a moment's rest, 
 but the comfort I fancied proved a fancy only. Then the 
 road turned abruptly and a hedge of nature's planting 
 cast a long shadow ; here I tarried, doubtful if anything 
 better could be found. The panting sparrow from the 
 fields beyond gathered here, and squirrels, snakes, and 
 turtles found it a pleasant refuge. But for me the spot 
 proved a relief merely by contrast, and I foresaw the com- 
 ing noon-tide. It would surely prove but a fool's paradise, 
 and the cool retreat for which I had started loomed up as 
 a garden of delights. I turned without regret from the 
 birds in the hedge, though they sang cheerily, and the 
 wild roses that brightened the shady nooks, and again 
 hurried on until the old mill was reached. 
 
 There is something sweetly seductive in those words, 
 " the old mill." How vividly the broad pond with its 
 deeply indented shores and floating isles of lilies comes to 
 mind! And the tumbling waters at the dam; the mill 
 itself, dusty with the grists of ages ; and the sparkling race, 
 where the freed waters rejoice as though conscious of 
 valued labors well performed. Not a feature here but 
 suggests escape from tropical July ; still I pass all by un- 
 heeded, and, with careful steps and slow, seek that mys- 
 terious depth beneath the mill where steadily, for nearly a 
 century, a dripping wheel has turned. Not a ray of the 
 outer world's bright sunshine could reach me here, and 
 glittering moss replaced the parched grasses of the road- 
 side. 
 
 But my friend had hoaxed me. Of course it was a 
 cool retreat, but the hygrometric conditions were not to be 
 ignored. Cool, but oh, so wondrous damp ! The very air 
 was dripping with tangible mist. I had been victimized, 
 but my thoughtlessness deserved the punishment. Still, 
 a few minutes spent in such a place could work no ill, 
 and I ventured, as a zoologist, upon its exploration be- 
 
JULY. 177 
 
 fore re-entering the tropics overhead. It was a lucky 
 thought. 
 
 Peering into the wide cracks between the huge stones 
 of the mill's foundation walls, I found many a one was 
 tenanted. Lithe salamanders, spotted frogs, a mouse, and 
 huge gray spiders innumerable were brought to light, and 
 either darted into inaccessible crevices or boldly plunged 
 into the waters beneath the wheel. One frog was a phi- 
 losopher. He leaped upon the descending face of the 
 wheel and sat there, the picture of content and defiance, 
 until the water was reached, when he dived into its spark- 
 ling depths. 
 
 Wlwit these frogs found to eat can only be conjectured ; 
 for, indifferent as they appeared to be in the matter of 
 food, I doubt if one would dare to pounce upon the fero- 
 cious-looking spiders which alone represented invertebrate 
 life in this semi-aquatic spot. Possibly these frogs were 
 cannibals. This is not unusual. I have at present in a 
 Wardian case a specimen of the rare green tree-toad, or 
 Anderson's hyla, captured in " the pines " of southern 
 New Jersey. While feeding it with flies a few days ago 
 which it takes from my fingers I was startled by the 
 sudden on-rush of a little wood-frog, which, impatient for 
 its own dinner, seriously attempted to swallow both the 
 tree-toad and my fingers at one mighty gulp. Being pre- 
 pared by the initial attempt, I coaxed the frog into re- 
 peating the effort. A mighty effort it was, too ! With 
 widely gaping jaws, which were distended before the leap 
 was made, the frog attempted to scoop up the toad and 
 swallow it, or get such a hold as would make subse- 
 quent swallowing an easy task ; and yet the difference in 
 size of the two creatures was very little. As for the tree- 
 toad, it took the whole proceeding as a matter of course, 
 not moving a muscle, even when such great danger was 
 apparently imminent. The whole tribe of tailless batra- 
 
 12 
 
178 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 chians are much alike in this respect, seemingly taking it 
 for granted that they were born to be eaten, and stuff 
 themselves until fate wills it that they go to stuff others. 
 There is an exception to this that deserves mention all 
 these creatures have a wholesome dread of snakes but 
 the common hop-toad is the greatest coward. Frogs hop 
 away as fast as they can go ; but the toad will squeal as 
 he hurries off, and cries most piteously the moment the 
 snake's teeth pierce his wrinkled skin. But I am scarcely 
 wrong so far as frogs are concerned. I have seen little 
 fellows, just from the tadpole state, in dangerous prox- 
 imity to patriarchal bull-frogs, which were then only wait- 
 ing for their appetites to return to swallow a half-dozen 
 of their own grandchildren. It is strange that infantile 
 frogs should have an instinctive fear of snakes, and yet 
 none of their greater enemies, the adults of their own 
 race. 
 
 As I disturbed the frogs, all took refuge in the water 
 beneath the wheel, and then worked their way down 
 stream toward the outer world. I followed, but without 
 creeping under the wheel, and found where I little ex- 
 pected it a positively cool and yet not superlatively damp 
 retreat. The sparkling water ran over a pebbly channel, 
 shut in from the direct sunlight by a swinging gate, a half- 
 circle in shape, which nearly closed the great stone arch 
 in the mill's foundation wall. Here I sat down to watch, 
 not only the frogs, but a whole host of little fishes, and 
 soon found that my discovery of this truly pleasant place 
 was an old story with the birds. This sheltered, hidden, 
 half-dark mill-race was their favorate bathing-place. 
 
 A fearless wren was the first to appear ; then a song- 
 sparrow; then several barn-swallows; and finally a cat-bird. 
 Except the swallows which, perhaps, did not actually 
 bathe, although they dipped into the ripple these birds, 
 as bathers, are very much alike, the wren, strangely enough, 
 
being more timid than the others. The song-sparrow ap- 
 peared to dive, but really did not, and neither it nor 
 the cat-bird waded into water more than an inch deep. 
 Perhaps this was due to the swiftness of the current, as 
 every movement suggested that the birds feared to loose 
 their foot-hold. How I wanted to give them a good push 
 from the rear, just as I have treated timid small boys ! 
 
 It is somewhat surprising that many, if not all strictly 
 land birds, do not voluntarily take to swimming, consider- 
 ing that they all, when wounded, can paddle over the 
 water at a lively rate. Many a chase have I had for crip- 
 pled birds in the old barbarous collecting days. It is 
 true, these wing-tipped birds could not rise unaided from 
 the water ; but such an accomplishment could readily be 
 acquired, if these same birds would but practice. This 
 remark may possibly provoke a smile, but it is not foolish, 
 nevertheless. I have known birds to practice much more 
 difficult feats, and persevere, too, until they were masters of 
 the art. But there is one land bird that can float as buoy- 
 antly as a duck, and take wing again when it desires the 
 familiar crow blackbird or purple grakle. An excellent 
 observer informs me that he has often seen the blackbirds 
 settle upon the river in the wake of a passing boat and 
 gather the floating morsels that had been thrown over- 
 board ; that he had thrown bits of bread from his skiff, 
 and seen the birds alight upon the waters and swim 
 up to them, eating the smaller pieces and carrying off one 
 of the larger masses. My informant described the birds' 
 movements as painfully awkward in appearance, if they 
 were not so in fact, but never were they unsuccessful. 
 The tail and wings were kept in an upraised position and, 
 constantly in motion, as if to keep a buoyant current of 
 air constantly beneath them, upon which they depended 
 when flight was resumed. What these purple grakles do 
 is within the capabilities of our thrushes and finches, and, 
 
180 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 could food be got in no other manner, few, I imagine, 
 would starve before they learned to swim. 
 
 To return to the bathers. It was a pretty sight to 
 watch the sparrow and cat-bird preening their feathers, 
 each perched upon a projecting pebble, from which they 
 could see themselves reflected in the water, albeit a quiver- 
 ing and distorted image. Did they recognize it? At 
 least, the wren did not, as it sat on the opposite side of 
 the stream, scanning the stone wall in hopes of a lunch. 
 Think of a house-wren contemplating a stone wall in 
 silence ! Yet this one did ; but it soon proved too great 
 a task, and as it darted through a knot-hole into the outer 
 world, I heard its fault-finding chatter, even above the 
 drip and rattle of the ponderous water-wheel. 
 
 Before they left, the swallows went through a series of 
 bewildering antics in front of, above, and almost beneath 
 the wheel. In and out the rolling cloud of mist and 
 through every thin sheet of water pouring from the 
 wheel's broad front, these birds pursued some phantom 
 through the trackless air. Not for a second did they 
 check their course, nor cease to chatter as they threaded 
 like lightning the cramped quarter of the wheel-house. 
 What was their object? Do not ask. Although there 
 may be many who assume to know, it were, in truth, as 
 idle to question the Sphinx as to attempt to unravel the 
 mystery of bird ways. Again and again, as the year rolls 
 by, the rambler must be content to merely witness, not to 
 unfathom the why's and wherefores of a bird's doing ; but 
 still this unpleasant experience does not go for naught. 
 It very soon teaches him that birds are something beyond 
 what those who should know better have asserted them 
 to be. To learn this is a great gain. It is well to give 
 heed to him or her who carries a spy-glass ; but as to him 
 who merely carries a shot-gun, and robs birds' nests in 
 the name of science, faugh ! 
 
JULY. . 181 
 
 So, sitting here, within sight and hearing of the mist- 
 enveloped wheel, I spent the long torrid summer after- 
 noon. Perhaps he who thought to play a joke upon me 
 became frightened at my non-appearance and imagined 
 me dead or helpless in the gloomy depth, as he pictured 
 it. I have not yet had sufficient curiosity to ask him 
 what he thought ; but when I met him on my way home 
 in the cool of the evening, his astonishment rendered him 
 speechless as I descanted upon the wheel-room's merits 
 and thanked him for his suggestion. 
 
 It was one of the unpleasant features of a recent out- 
 ing to see a bird and not be sure of its identity. Perhaps 
 it was a mocking-bird, a partially albino cat-bird, or a 
 Southern shrike. I incline now to the latter opinion. 
 They are much like their Northern cousins, the butcher- 
 birds, in every habit, and not very dissimilar in appear- 
 ance. The bird I saw came from over a wide reach of 
 meadows and flew directly to the nearest woods. There 
 it alighted upon an exposed branch of an oak, and from 
 where I sat I could see it, but not so distinctly as to deter- 
 mine its colors. The shrike, if this it was, seemed restless 
 and uncertain as to its movements, and impatiently jerked 
 its tail, as though it would shake it off. Presently it dived 
 into the thicket beneath, and at once there was a commo- 
 tion among the small fry. Sparrows, warblers, and tits 
 appeared in numbers, chattering vehemently. This, more 
 than all else, makes me think that the bird was a South- 
 ern shrike. 
 
 The great Northern butcher-bird is also more likely 
 to be seen about the creeks than in any point of the up- 
 lands. The character of the winter does not affect its 
 movements, but in December, if not earlier, it comes, 
 be the weather moderate or cold, and in April it departs. 
 
 I remember one, demure as a scheming crow, with eyes 
 half shut and with not a trace of treachery or cunning in 
 
182 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 his face. His blue and white plumage, tastefully trimmed 
 with black, made him conspicuous, but he lessened the ill 
 effects of this fact by the manner he assumed. No bird, 
 however timid, would step aside for such as he. Indeed, 
 they perched upon the same branch of the tree he was on, 
 almost upon the same twig, and where was he ? Like a 
 flash the shrike had disappeared, and now, fifty paces dis- 
 tant, he is perched upon another tree, plucking feathers 
 from a kinglet's head and regaling himself with his vic- 
 tim's brains. 
 
 This incident recalls one of these birds I called my 
 " garden " shrike, for in that inclosure he remained 
 nearly three months. It is now ten years ago, but there 
 is no change except the absence of this cunning bird. I 
 first saw him on the morning of November 30. It was 
 a cool, pleasant autumn day, with a veil of thin clouds 
 overhead that allowed only semi-sunshine to sift through, 
 affording a light that casts no shadow and is the most 
 grateful to the eyes. Northern sparrows were abundant, 
 and the winter sojourners generally had arrived, among 
 them many kinglets. My garden shrike may have followed 
 them ; at all events, a moment after I saw him for the 
 first time, he had a kinglet in his beak. 
 
 My indignation at the killing of this bird caused me 
 to drive the murderer away, and for a week I saw no 
 more of him. The tall weeds in the garden did not, I 
 think, conceal him, and a host of small birds were ap- 
 parently free from all molestation. But shrikes are never 
 abundant, and I soon regretted my attack. Had I, indeed, 
 permanently frightened him ? Should he come back, he 
 might have a bird a day, without my interference, pro- 
 vided he went to the highway for English sparrows. I 
 certainly could spare no kinglets from* my door-yard, even 
 that I might study a shrike. It mattered nothing what I 
 wished, thought, or promised concerning him. That 
 
JULY. 183 
 
 shrike was in the garden all the while, and but for close 
 inspection of every bush for cocoons, I might never have 
 seen him. As it was, he proved unlike others of his 
 tribe, and all day long sat mopish as an owl except upon 
 occasion. 
 
 In past years when I have met with these birds, they 
 have been as active as thrushes, and in their movements 
 so like them that, when known at all, they are thought to 
 be birds of that family. They have a few harsh utter- 
 ances peculiar to themselves, and a knack of mimicking 
 other birds to a limited extent. This also adds to their 
 thrush-like features, and has led to their being called 
 " mocking-birds." Not altogether a misnomer, either, for 
 they have a direful way of mocking at the protests small 
 birds make when their true characters are recognized ; and 
 conclude their mockery by killing another and another of 
 the fault-finders. 
 
 I do not know how far it holds good elsewhere, but 
 shrikes in winter, as I have found them, prefer the banks 
 of creeks, and particularly such as are overgrown with 
 evergreens. In other words, they skulk among the 
 cedars rather than roam about the fields, and seldom 
 take a protracted flight. In the limited area they choose 
 for their winter haunts, they are content to remain, pro- 
 vided the food supply is kept up ; but they are not con- 
 tent to remain idle. They are, rather, constantly on the 
 go, but only from one tree to another, and at intervals 
 rushing with closed wings from the dense cedars to some 
 thicket near by, from which they promptly reappear, with 
 their victims held hopelessly in their powerful beaks. 
 
 One of several mysteries connected with the flight of 
 birds is this of protracted, swift progression with closed 
 wings. I have seen a shrike leave a tree by giving two 
 or three vigorous strokes of the wings, and then, with 
 these held closely to the body, swiftly pass into a thicket 
 
18i DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 or another tree. To be sure, it was a downward progres- 
 sion in every case, but the angle of declination was but 
 slight, and the alighting point evidently predetermined, 
 and the body's motion was under control of the bird's will 
 as much as though the wings were in use. That two or 
 three, or even half a dozen strokes of the wings should 
 impart to the bird's body sufficient impetus to progress 
 fully one hundred feet is incredible ; yet there appears to 
 be no other explanation of the fact. I believe no other 
 bird, except the falcons, can exercise this power to the 
 same degree ; and even with them it is always a steeply 
 sloping course, and not one, as with the shrike, but a few 
 degrees from a horizontal line. 
 
 As the winter wore away the shrike became weaker 
 and quite tame. I offered him bits of raw beef, which he 
 gladly devoured, but would never permit of my near ap- 
 proach. At first I placed these bits of beef on sharpened 
 twigs, just as the bird is accustomed to impale small 
 birds and insects, but those that I so placed the shrike 
 would not eat. He did not even notice them, apparently. 
 When, on the other hand, I laid the food on dead leaves 
 in exposed positions, he would fly down and dart at each 
 piece as though it was alive, and then and there devour it ; 
 or, seizing it in his beak fly back, to his perch in the quince 
 bush, and swallow the morsel after having held it for 
 several minutes. 
 
 His efforts to fly when upon the ground were very 
 curious. Having almost no use of his injured legs, the 
 shrike would throw himself backward until his body was 
 nearly perpendicular, and then, by a quick vibration of the 
 wings and an impetuous forward movement of the body, 
 it would be uplifted sufficiently to enable the bird to fly 
 as usual. Occasionally the first and even the second at- 
 tempt would prove failures, and the bird would become 
 so exhausted that a rest for several minutes was necessary. 
 
JULY. 185 
 
 Taking advantage of the bird's absence, I pointed a 
 number of twigs of the .quince bush, and offered many 
 more bits of beef than the bird could eat, but none were 
 gathered and impaled, as this bird when in .health gathers 
 and impales much of its prey. This was not because the 
 disabled bird was unable to do so, as care was taken to 
 have a series of available thorn-like points within easy 
 reach of his accustomed resting-place. It is a little pecul- 
 iar that although there are one or more shrikes on the 
 hill-side, and others along the creek, every winter, yet 
 almost never do they indulge in this habit of impaling 
 their prey. Is it because food is always abundant ? 
 
 The monotonous life of my garden shrike came to a 
 tragical ending. It was a beautifully cool, crisp February 
 morning, with every weed in the garden sparkling with 
 feathery frost. All our winter birds were astir and sing- 
 ing merrily. Up from the hill-side came a pair of cardi- 
 nals, and they, too, whistled their best tunes in the garden. 
 "While seed-hunting, suddenly these restless redbirds came 
 upon the half-hidden shrike. With a loud chirping that 
 brought a robin and several grakles to the spot, they com- 
 menced an attack upon the unfortunate creature. Get 
 out of the quince bush he must, whistled the redbirds, 
 yet no one dared to make a direct assault. Finally the 
 robin madly dashed at him, and started the persecuted 
 shrike from his perch. A little half -helpless tumble, and 
 he was on his wings, and, regardless of all the others, pur- 
 sued one of the officious cardinals. Away it flew, scream- 
 ing, over the hill-side, into a thicket of smilax, followed 
 closely by the shrike. Whether the latter was actually in 
 pursuit or not could not be determined, although I fol- 
 lowed as best I could. In the thicket I lost the birds, 
 and quiet reigned in the garden, as well as on the hill- 
 side ; so the birds had apparently gone far off over the 
 meadows. But it proved otherwise ; as, later in the day, 
 
188 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 at the foot of a tall cedar, I found a few red feathers and 
 near them the body of the shrike. 
 
 This plucky bird was greatly emaciated, and the legs 
 showed they had been injured months before. Crippled 
 as he was, he had wandered from his distant home, and, 
 under enormous disadvantage managed to provide for him- 
 self almost to the time of returning to his summer haunts 
 in the North, or, at least, to the cooler mountains. 
 
 There are other carnivorous birds than hawks and 
 shrikes. Among the gentle songsters of our gardens we 
 see little, if any, evidence of their blood-thirsty propensi- 
 ties, and yet they all possess them to a greater or less de- 
 gree. Evidence of this can be had, particularly during 
 the nesting season, by watching patiently a single indi- 
 vidual or a pair of birds. When our small birds fight 
 among themselves or with other species death seldom re- 
 sults. Never does a sparrow, for instance, attack another 
 that it may feed upon it ; but are not all birds, however 
 gentle they may appear to us, nest-robbers at times? 
 Occasion offering, will not the great majority of even seed- 
 eating birds kill and at least attempt to devour newly 
 hatched birds ? This is a broad question a sweeping in- 
 ference ; but I make it after years of endeavor to persuade 
 myself that it is not true. What bird can be less suggest- 
 ive of cruelty than the turtle-dove ! yet I have seen a pair 
 of these birds attack and kill a whole brood of redstarts 
 that, leaving their nest too soon, rested upon a branch 
 close to the dove's nest. We all know how ready are 
 chickens to eat raw meat as well as young mice, birds, or 
 fish ; and quails, in early summer, will devour the eggs 
 and young of song-sparrows and bay-winged buntings. 
 Of this I have positive knowledge ; and even the nests of 
 larger birds are not safe. The late T. A. Conrad, the geol- 
 ogist, informed me that he once witnessed a long combat 
 between a quail and a brown thrush, the former having 
 
JULY. 187 
 
 raided the nest of the latter. Mr. Conrad said that the 
 quail endeavored to avoid the attacks of the thrush by 
 dodging among the thick weeds, but was not always suc- 
 cessful, as the thrush made downward swoops, as a hawk 
 would, and appeared to use both beak and claws to advan- 
 tage. The quail was ultimately forced to retreat. 
 
 How well I remember a long-drawn battle between a 
 pair of great-crested fly-catchers and of bluebirds. By 
 chance they had chosen hollows in adjacent apple trees for 
 their nests, and so were brought daily into more or less 
 close association. So far as I could see, all went well. The 
 fly-catchers hawked for insects among the tree-tops ; the 
 bluebirds were content with worms from near the ground. 
 But by and by the eggs of the bluebirds were hatched 
 at least, I assume that they were and at that time the 
 young of the fly-catchers were well-nigh grown. Before 
 sunrise, one morning, when the bluebirds were happier 
 than usual, there arose a clatter in the lane, such as I have 
 seldom heard among birds. 
 
 Every robin stopped singing, the wrens forgot their 
 broods, orioles screeched, and every cat-bird bawled Mur- 
 der ! without knowing what the trouble was. Even the 
 poultry took it up, and for many minutes that quiet, shady 
 lane, ordinarily the very picture of peace, was an actual 
 Pandemonium. It did not take many minutes to fathom 
 the mystery. While every bird present was thoroughly 
 excited, there were four upon which my attention was at 
 once centered. Brave as lions, the bluebirds, little furies 
 now, hurled themselves against the fly-catchers, which, 
 although stronger, could not withstand them. Vainly 
 they attempted to dodge their pursuers, but the bluebirds 
 were too quick. They had acquired new powers, and 
 with strength, courage, and endurance I never supposed 
 them to possess, they drove the fly-catchers far a-field and 
 kept them there. 
 
188 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 The bluebirds had been robbed and, of course, had 
 caught the fly-catchers in the act. The event narrated 
 proves this ; and while I saw no trace of the murdered 
 in the young nest of the latter, the bluebirds' home was 
 empty. 
 
 Even in the seemingly gentle song-bird world, every 
 community is made up of saints and sinners. 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 AUGUST. 
 
 EXCEPT in magnificent floral displays, August is not a 
 favorite month with the naturalist. The characteristic 
 features of summer are well-nigh over, and when we linger 
 in the shade of the old oaks, our thoughts are more apt 
 to revert to what has been, than to become centered upon 
 what is. And yet how prone we are to forget the char- 
 acter of the seasons, once they are passed ! Probably the 
 remarkable rainfall and excessive humidity of the summer 
 of 1887 were forgotten as soon as the dusty days of Sep- 
 tember came with their blinding clouds of grit and whirl- 
 ing pillars of new-fallen leaves. As compared with other 
 summers in the last decade, it was one, however, that a 
 naturalist is likely to remember. 
 
 Our total annual rainfall varies exceedingly. It has 
 been as little as 23-35 inches, and as much as 67 inches. 
 Comparing 1886 and 1887, there was a difference of 8'49 
 inches for the first ten months of the year, and this was 
 largely confined to May and the three summer months. 
 Of course, an additional rainfall of two inches effects great 
 changes. 
 
 Let us consider the birds, as the most prominent form 
 of animal life in ordinary country neighborhoods. Late 
 in April and early in May the usual host of thrushes, 
 warblers, and finches appeared in their accustomed haunts. 
 They came, they sang, they nested ; and the middle of 
 
190 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 June found most of them with nothing to do but gather 
 in the damp nooks and corners, and eat. Time hung 
 heavily upon their wings. The season had proved favor- 
 able in all respects, no nest-destroying storms occurring ; 
 so, by June 20, the songs at dawn had largely dwindled to 
 twitterings of robins and plaint of fretful pewees. There 
 was not that absolutely songless condition that might be 
 inferred from the writings of many ornithologists as com- 
 mon to summer after nesting was practically over a con- 
 dition that never occurs but the vigor of the May-day 
 concerts was wanting. Then, late in June, came the rains, 
 the fogs, the phenomenal temperature. The upland fields 
 became meadows; the meadows, marshes; the marshes, 
 weedy ponds. A tropical luxuriance characterized all 
 vegetation. Insect life responded to these conditions, and 
 besides mosquitoes, forms available as food for birds were 
 abundant and widely spread. Instead of the limited 
 range that a drought causes, the birds were as well off in 
 one spot as another, and soon their spring-time vigor re- 
 appeared. First, the songs at day-break were renewed ; 
 then the old nesting-sites were revisited, and many 
 species that ordinarily nest but once, nested a second 
 time ; this being true, I think, of all such birds as place 
 their nests in comparatively sheltered places. The orioles, 
 on the contrary, made no such attempt, and, more strange- 
 ly still, the grakles, that colonized the pines about my 
 house as usual, did not relish the constant winds, rain, 
 and electrical storms, and sought the sheltered meadows 
 after the first brood were strong upon the wing. This I 
 never knew them to do before. 
 
 The change in habits among mammals was not notice- 
 able, except in the case of the musk-rat, which wandered 
 into the upland fields and ensconced himself in little 
 hollows, ordinarily dry but now miniature lakes. The 
 marsh turtles shared the fields with the box-tortoise ; the 
 
AUGUST. 
 
 marsh frogs associated with the upland toads ; and these 
 often looked hopelessly at sea, with puddles replacing all 
 their sandy haunts and rank grass growing where seldom 
 a blade of grass had grown before. Even the water snakes 
 ventured from the creek and summered in the highlands, 
 finding many a pool that sufficed them when they yearned 
 for a comfortable swim. 
 
 Many of the forest trees budded again and grew a 
 new series of leaves, and early flowers reopened their 
 blossoms and gave the botanist an excellent opportunity 
 to compare fresh specimens of such as bloom in April 
 with those that blossom late. Some of the early autumn 
 blossoms, on the other hand, were hastened to maturity, 
 and particularly about our water courses September 
 flowers were prominent in early August. This may not 
 have been due to the season, however, for these plants 
 vary every year, according to locality, and often single 
 plants bloom much in advance of their proper time. But, 
 more strangely still, some species that were abundant a 
 year ago are now not to be found. They have totally dis- 
 appeared. Whether this has been brought about by the 
 weather, or causes in operation last winter, as ice, is diffi- 
 cult to determine ; but such sudden appearances and dis- 
 appearances are not uncommon. In the case of the sum- 
 mer of 1887 the excessive rainfall might well be a cause 
 of a plant's disappearance, inasmuch as the ground was 
 so thoroughly soaked that the roots must have been in- 
 jured, if not destroyed ; while the year before, for months 
 the same spot was comparatively dry, and then the plant 
 flourished admirably. But plants also appeared where 
 they had not grown before. Some instances of this kind 
 were very marked. Upon a knoll in one of the higher 
 meadows, which usually supports no other plant life than 
 dwarfish mosses and lichens, there suddenly appeared 
 many patches of bluets and scattered clusters of pent- 
 
192 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 stemon, the flower blooming late in August as freely as 
 ever in June. Equally marked, but with less apparent 
 reason, was the second flowering of marsh marigolds, 
 which gilded a long strip of marsh during the last 
 weeks of August as brilliantly as they had done four 
 months before. Stress should not be laid, however, upon 
 plants blooming " out of season." Here on the meadows, 
 protected by the high terrace that surrounds them from 
 the north winds, plants know no seasons, or respect none, 
 as they do upon the upland fields. Dandelions, bluets, 
 and violets, of the better known flowers, have been found 
 in bloom every month in the year. 
 
 There is an important lesson to be learned from such 
 a summer as the one now waning a lesson that has not 
 been taught by those who lecture upon zoology ; a lesson 
 not laid down in the text-books the want of fixity of 
 habit. Usually, in our natural histories, after a description 
 of an animal is given, there is a paragraph, perhaps a 
 dozen, on the habits of the animal, and these are detailed 
 in such a way that one gets the idea that the creature 
 referred to is a sort of machine. That it comes and goes, 
 eats, drinks, and sleeps, in precisely the same manner, day 
 in and day out, and once you have seen it you have seen 
 it forever. 
 
 This mathematical regularity is often dwelt upon as 
 characteristic of bird migration, but it does not hold 
 good ; and again of nesting habits, but the past summer 
 contradicts it ; and so through every phase of bird life ; it 
 can be shown that while any given species will prove 
 much the same bird, year after year, if the seasons are 
 similar, it needs but little change to bring about all the 
 differences, especially in nesting habits, such as I have 
 described as observed during the close of the summer. 
 
 Another phase of the subject may be touched upon 
 the close relationship between various forms of animal life, 
 
AUGUST. 193 
 
 of plant life, and the weather. There can be no doubt but 
 that the birds were stirred to renewed activity by the 
 unusual abundance of insects available for food, and 
 these again had scarcely any struggle for existence, be- 
 cause of undiminished vigor of plant life due to the unu- 
 sual rainfall. The interrelationship was clearly evident 
 to any thoughtful observer, and yet it would be impossible 
 to follow the chain link by link. One feature of the con- 
 ditions described was unmistakable every form of life 
 common to a given locality was exceedingly abundant, and 
 I well remember how, late in the evening, as I noted 
 down the occurrences of the day, the noise of the katy- 
 dids, the crickets, and nocturnal insect-life generally, far 
 exceeded that of any preceding summer that I remem- 
 bered ; but while our birds very generally sing long after 
 their nesting labors are over, nevertheless, it was some- 
 thing of a novelty as August closed to hear the rose- 
 breasted grosbeak singing at sunset, with the full measure 
 of his springtide ardor ; to hear the thrushes in the lane 
 recall the evenings when the apple blossoms made my 
 yard a garden of roses ; to hear, mingled with the crickets' 
 autumn cries, the many voices that mark early May morn- 
 ings as red-letter days. 
 
 The summer of 1887, as we have seen, was a remarkable 
 one in many ways, and in nothing more pronouncedly so 
 than in its influence upon animal life. It showed us the 
 most familiar forms in new roles, and demonstrated be- 
 yond all question that no bird, and probably no animal of 
 any class, is so fixed in its habits that sudden and radical 
 changes may not occur. 
 
 A word in conclusion. I have spoken of the excessive 
 rainfall in the Middle States ; perhaps it was not uniform, 
 and in the valley of the Delaware more excessive than 
 east or west of it ; and I would have my readers bear in 
 
 13 
 
194 DATS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 mind that I am treating of a limited locality that has been 
 daily under my observation. Because of the assumption 
 that what is true of one locality must be true of all at 
 least, I can think of no other explanation I have time 
 and again had my attention called to conditions noticed 
 by others which conflicted with my observations as de- 
 scribed by me, and the question asked if I was not proba- 
 bly mistaken. It never occurs to a critic that possibly he 
 may have been misled or misinformed. The explanation 
 lies in the fact that even meteorological phenomena are not 
 always wide-spread. My correspondence, on the whole, 
 has proved instructive to me, if not wholly satisfactory to 
 those to whom I have sent replies, for it has led to deter- 
 mining, in many cases, that even but a few miles away, an 
 animal or a plant may have quite different habits and 
 habitats from what obtains near where I live. Let no 
 one be surprised, then, when comparing notes with his 
 neighbor, to find how widely asunder are their impres- 
 sions of the same creatures, plants, and, I may add, phe- 
 nomena. 
 
 I heard a katydid last night, the first of these tiresome 
 singers, and, I am told, there will be frost in six weeks. 
 It is certainly appropriate that the frost should occur on 
 so suggestive a date as September 21 the day when sum- 
 mer really ends. But August suggests the close of the 
 season in other ways ; the gathering of the reed birds in 
 the marshes, the flocking of the blackbirds, the evening 
 roostward flight of the crows, to say nothing of early 
 asters and golden-rod, among flowers that are now bloom- 
 ing along the dingy, dusty roads. I have noticed all 
 these, and some at a much earlier date than the first faint 
 lisping of a timid katydid ; and all such sights and sounds 
 are similarly suggestive the summer is drawing to its 
 close. 
 
AUGUST. 195 
 
 To determine what shall be the objective point of an 
 August ramble is seldom an easy task. Occasionally there 
 is a bewildering profusion of attractive features; fre- 
 quently, there is a dearth of them. 
 
 Kecently, when neither upland nor meadow appeared 
 specially attractive in the glare of August sunshine, I 
 plunged into a pathless marsh, led on solely by a hope of 
 novelty. 
 
 Except you have had experience in such tramps, there 
 is little to attract one, however rank the vegetation, gor- 
 geous the bloom, brilliant the butterflies, or abundant the 
 manifold forms of life ; for the charm of a ramble is lost 
 when too prominent a feeling of uncertainty as to your 
 own safety surrounds you when we lack the assurance of 
 a firm footing. How often I hesitated to leave the trem- 
 bling tussock upon which I stood, not knowing but a 
 treacherous quicksand spread out before me ! Still, I vent- 
 ured on, hidden from all the world at times by the tall 
 reeds or sword-like foliage of the stately typha. The testy 
 marsh wrens scolded as I passed ; the lisping swamp spar- 
 row stared and stammered from his perch, and great blue 
 herons cast ominous shadows as they fled. Without a ves- 
 tige of reason for so doing, beyond a forlorn hope of nov- 
 elty, I still struggled forward, to find at last a bush-clad 
 island of firm earth. Here was a happy combination, as 
 it proved, of novelty an evidence of summer's close and 
 an opportunity to rest. 
 
 It was plainly evident that what was now a marsh had 
 at some distant time been a broad and shallow stream. 
 There was yet to be traced a narrow, tortuous channel, 
 through which flowed the waters that gathered here from 
 a hundred hill-foot springs near by ; and now this un- 
 suspected remnant of a prehistoric creek was indeed 
 beautiful gorgeous with its wealth of pink rose-mallow, 
 not pink alone, but mingled with flowers white as driven 
 
196 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 snow, others that were deep rose-purple, and many with 
 a brilliant crimson eye that glowed like coals of fire. 
 
 I had not been overrash although the outlook was so 
 unpromising at the start ; for here, indeed, was novelty. 
 In past years this water plant was to be met with here 
 but very sparingly, and now there were hundreds in dense 
 clusters. The birds that flew over, the fishes that gazed 
 skyward, and the frogs that skulked among the humbler 
 weeds alone knew of this bright water garden, and well 
 had they kept the secret. I wondered not that they pro- 
 tested so vehemently, when by lucky chance I too dis- 
 covered it. 
 
 Heresy, if you please, but flowers alone can not fill for 
 me a long summer's day. I will not say that in this case 
 I tired of them ; but ere long I was ready for other ob- 
 jects to fill in the wide landscape, and soon they came. 
 A pair of snowy egrets dropped from the fleecy clouds, 
 sinking earthward with as soft a flight as might bits of the 
 clouds themselves. Nearer and nearer they came, until I 
 could see the fluttering down upon their breasts. Then, 
 with closed wings, these beautiful creatures touched the 
 water with their extended feet and stood upon the soft 
 mud, the embodiment of grace. They came to rest rather 
 than to feed, and preening a misplaced plume was the extent 
 of their labors. Nor did they speak. I could not detect 
 the faintest utterance, although so very near them. Over 
 a little space of open water, they occasionally walked to and 
 fro, as if the statuesque attitude they usually assumed be- 
 came at times a little tiresome. Despite their beauty they 
 were stupid, and their listlessness robbed them of all in- 
 terest after a few minutes' gazing at them. I became im- 
 patient at last, and suddenly emerging from my retreat, 
 shouted loudly. With startled cries they instantly took 
 wing and rose to a great height before deciding upon any 
 course. I thought that they might return, but they did 
 
AUGUST. 197 
 
 not. Nevertheless, I was not to be left alone. I had 
 startled the many small birds that throng the marshes, 
 and these life-long familiars crowded about me. I am not 
 far wrong when I say, the smaller the bird the greater its 
 curiosity. 
 
 Among the many that ventured even into the cluster 
 of button-bushes that was my shelter, came a crested tit- 
 mouse, and I laughed when it sang, after due inspection 
 of the spot, V sweet here, V sweet here ! The bird was 
 right ; I had found an enchanted isle. 
 
 "While the day lasted I was content with these small 
 birds wrens, thrushes, warblers, titmice, and sparrows. 
 All came and went without let or hinderance, and accepted 
 my presence without complaint, as some had done while 
 I was struggling in the marsh. Some sang sweetly, and 
 others chirped in so contented a strain that their voices 
 were musical by merit of suggestiveness. Association is 
 the needed charm when we watch the birds. The stately 
 egrets were soon forgotten ; but who can forget the door- 
 yard songsters that have been favorites for years ? I even 
 forgot the treacherous marsh as well as its rare visitors 
 and was again at home. My feathered friends had merely 
 rambled from the garden and lawn with me, and we were 
 sojourning together in a little wilderness a picnic more 
 enjoyable by far than many I have attended. With such 
 fancies I whiled away the sunny afternoon, and feared that 
 no trace of an adventure would enter into the day's out- 
 ing ; but at last it came. 
 
 Certainly, not one of the birds in the bushes was nest- 
 ing ; nor were any accompanied by young birds. Think- 
 ing of this, I thought to imitate the cry of a fledgling in 
 distress, to see if the birds near by would be disturbed. 
 Immediately a cat-bird shrieked its alarm cry and came 
 very near to me. It located the sound I had made un- 
 erringly and berated me soundly for supposed cruelty. I 
 
198 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 was harassing a young bird, it thought, and must give it 
 up. The marsh wrens were straightway up in arms, but 
 held aloof ; the swamp sparrows twittered excitedly, but 
 bravest of all were two cat-birds. They longed to thrash 
 me soundly, and almost came within my reach. As sud- 
 denly as I had started the commotion the birds suppressed 
 it. Since that day I am convinced that sudden thoughts 
 occasionally strike a bird. When most demonstrative, in 
 the abruptest manner, one of the cat-birds took up a posi- 
 tion directly in front of me, but was silent. He remained 
 but a second and then, in a changed voice, chattered im- 
 pressively to all within hearing. 
 
 " What fools we have all been ! " he seemed to say ; 
 " there are no young birds now to worry about " and 
 straightway the gathered crowd dispersed in almost per- 
 fect silence. 
 
 I may be in error, but if actions ever correctly interpret 
 an animal's intention, this story of the cat-bird is literally 
 true. 
 
 It was with a tinge of regret that I finally retraced my 
 steps, or attempted to do so. I found less supporting 
 growth and deeper mud on my return, but reached the 
 higher meadows in reasonable time. As I took a farewell 
 glance at the reed-hidden isle, locating it in fancy, for it 
 was really hidden, a cloud of redwings settled over it for 
 the night, and filled the air with the matchless charm of 
 their flute-like whistle. So what indeed matters it if the 
 katydids do sing, and summer has but six weeks left to 
 it ? These need not prove six weeks of idleness, nor will 
 they lack abundant charm, if happily we know where to 
 look. 
 
 In one secluded corner, where the old worm fence was 
 well-nigh hidden by poison ivy, blackberry briers, and a 
 straggling grape-vine, I caught a glimpse of a gray lizard, 
 one doubtless that I had set at liberty when studying 
 
AUGUST. 199 
 
 them a year ago. I have hopes now that they may again 
 flourish on the home hill-side, as they did long years ago. 
 
 I was induced to forego the pleasure of constant tropi- 
 cal rambling during the heated term of August, 1887, and 
 spent my time in watching a host of these lizards, sent me 
 from the pine barrens. The conclusions reached when I 
 studied them in the field, three months before, and during 
 many a long sultry August afternoon, subsequently, I trust 
 will bear repeating. 
 
 On the outskirts of the quaint little village of May's 
 Landing, New Jersey, there is seen that rare object an 
 abandoned railroad. Starting near this place, and run- 
 ning eastward for a distance of some six miles, is a single 
 track, laid upon a once substantial road-bed of gravel, and 
 extending through typical Jersey pine barrens. For sev- 
 eral years not a car has passed over the rails, which, left 
 to nature, have grown nutty-brown with rust, and often 
 concealed by luxuriant growths of false ipecac, great cir- 
 cular mats of deep purple or pale-green foliage, for such 
 is the freak of the plant to vary thus in color. 
 
 When 1 visited this spot late in May, 1887, the charm 
 of the abandoned railroad was rivaled by the beauties of 
 the surroundings. The glistening, snow-white sands were 
 thickly starred with golden Hudsonia ; the creek's banks 
 weighted with densest foliage, brilliant with sarracenia in 
 the height of its glory ; and everywhere the more modest 
 grasses gave way to sparkling sun-dews. One knew not 
 where to turn, so crowded were the spot's enticing feat- 
 ures, and the rambler was likely to return empty-handed, 
 as is so apt to be the case where attractions are spread 
 out in bewildering profusion. Wondering what novelties 
 might be in store as I passed the outlying traces of the 
 village, I soon found my progress suddenly and effectually 
 stayed I had reached the tottering, crumbling trestle 
 over Babcock's Creek. Here the gray lizards found a 
 
200 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 most congenial home, and the peculiar locality offered 
 every reasonable facility for studying them. A long-de- 
 sired opportunity was at last mine, and birds and botany 
 were no longer thought of. 
 
 This pretty creature, known as the gray or pine-tree 
 lizard, is also in many localities called the " brown swift " ; 
 and this seems a most appropriate name, as we read the 
 remarks of Holbrook, De Kay, and of Alexander Wilson, on 
 the habits of the creature. For instance, the last named, 
 in his "Ornithology," expresses surprise that a sharp- 
 shinned hawk should have captured one, "as lightning 
 itself seems scarce more fleet than this little reptile." I 
 was not prepared, therefore, to find the " swifts " on the 
 trestle anything but swift. It was by hiding, and not 
 through speed, that they sought to escape, and it proved 
 comparatively easy to capture them with the unaided 
 hand. Often they played bo-peep merely around the 
 timbers, and were readily surprised, so that they ran into 
 one hand as they avoided the other. This proved to be 
 the case, also, when I searched for the lizards in the pine 
 woods, which were as readily captured when up on trees 
 as were those on the trestle. 
 
 The village boys adopted ordinarily the simple plan of 
 using a thread-noose placed at the end of a short stick. 
 Dropping the noose gently about the neck of the lizard, 
 they lifted the creature slightly, when its struggles at once 
 tightened the thread and made it a prisoner. It was a 
 favorite pet with the children, and when I asked some of 
 them if it ever bit or snapped at their fingers, they were 
 greatly amused. I lay stress upon this point, because of 
 the rather widely spread opinion that these lizards are 
 venomous. It is one with the equally absurd impression, 
 due to ignorance and belittling prejudice, that all our 
 snakes are harmful ; but a curious feature in this case is 
 the fact that the impression of the lizard being venomous 
 
AUGUST. 201 
 
 obtains in inverse ratio to the abundance of the animal. 
 Where exceedingly rare the lizard is dreaded ; while, where 
 abundant, as at May's Landing, it is a favorite pet with 
 the children. 
 
 Probably a closer study of animal life would materially 
 reduce the list of species supposed to be harmful by those 
 who see but little and know absolutely nothing about 
 them, and put an effectual check upon those who, taking 
 advantage of the ignorance of their audiences, assert de- 
 liberate falsehoods, because more entertaining than the 
 simple truth. 
 
 As is well known, the pine-tree lizard is quite sensitive 
 to low temperatures.' It does not make its appearance in 
 southern New Jersey earlier than May, nor remain abroad 
 later than September. Of course, this is a general state- 
 ment, and only approximately true, as all such statements 
 must be. Perhaps there can be found nothing more ab- 
 surd in scientific literature than the frequent ex-cathe- 
 dra statements for instance, concerning the movements 
 and range of our birds, as though the latter recognized 
 any other law than that of their own convenience and 
 fancy. 
 
 At May's Landing I found the lizards sensitive even 
 to the ordinary variations of temperature of average sum- 
 mer days, observing that whenever it was cloudy, they 
 were far less abundant, and actually sluggish. On the 
 other hand, the extreme degree of heat to which they are 
 willing to expose themselves is not a very high one, judg- 
 ing from the actions of a large number kept in confine- 
 ment. 
 
 Fifteen adult lizards were placed in an inclosure in 
 which every prominent feature of their homes was repro- 
 duced. I found that at 120 Fahr., with the atmosphere 
 perfectly still, they invariably sought shelter, clustering in 
 one cooler and dark corner; but at 100 they were ex- 
 
202 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 ceedingly active, particularly if hungry, and made no 
 effort to avoid the direct rays of the sun. 
 
 When exposed to a sudden transition from a very high 
 to a low temperature, they quickly became inert, and, as 
 the warmth was allowed to increase, it was instructive to 
 see the sluggish movements of both the lizards and the 
 imprisoned flies give way to more active ones, which culmi- 
 nated in the restored suppleness of the reptiles being equal 
 to the capture of the swiftly darting insects. Forced ex- 
 posure, for a period of three hours, to a temperature of 
 135 caused death in four instances, and brought about a 
 condition akin to aestivation in nine specimens thus ex- 
 posed. As the pine-tree lizards are always found in local- 
 ities where there is adequate shelter from excessively 
 high temperature, it is not probable that aestivation ever 
 occurs, as it does occasionally among some of our wild 
 mice ; but it is interesting to note that a condition closely 
 allied to it can be artificially produced. 
 
 The conclusion reached by both field observation and 
 experiments was, in brief, that when the temperature is 
 such that those forms of insect life upon which they de- 
 pend become inactive, the lizards withdraw to their shel- 
 ters and likewise remain quiet if not asleep, this period of 
 inactivity extending over several days, as during the prev- 
 alence of a northeast storm, or a protracted " spell " of 
 cool and cloudy weather. Again, experiments with a large 
 number in confinement showed that when kept without 
 food at a low temperature, they live for many days, while 
 a like number starved in a short time when a high tem- 
 perature was maintained. This lizard, therefore, appears 
 to be one originally belonging to a tropical climate that 
 has gradually become adapted to a temperate and variable 
 one. 
 
 The normal coloring of the pine-tree lizard is distinctly 
 protective. Whether this has been gradually acquired or 
 
AUGUST. 203 
 
 not, it is certain that it now renders the animal quite in- 
 conspicuous. Particularly when it is resting upon a rough- 
 barked tree is this true ; and one of my first objects in 
 studying the species in its native haunts was to determine 
 how far the markings were changeable and under their 
 owner's control. Many specimens were found to be quite 
 dark indeed, almost black while others were so light 
 that the undulating transverse bars upon the back were 
 very distinct and discernible at a considerable distance. 
 This difference, I am quite sure, bore no relation to the 
 surroundings; and the specimens subsequently collected 
 and kept under daily observation for nine weeks practi- 
 cally retained the light or dark coloring they possessed at 
 the time of capture. In confinement many individuals 
 remained of a light color under all circumstances ; others, 
 that were dark when received, became light for brief peri- 
 ods, but were very dark fully ninety-five per cent of the 
 time they were under observation. 
 
 The long and broad glistening green markings upon 
 each side of the abdomen are equally variable certainly 
 not a distinction of sex, as suggested by Le Conte and Say 
 and often absent for weeks in specimens which occasion- 
 ally exhibited them in all their brilliancy. 
 
 In no instance was there that prompt change of hue 
 that we see in the tree-toad, and even more so in the 
 wood-frog. The change in the latter is as abrupt and 
 complete as in certain fishes, and is particularly significant, 
 inasmuch as it is the only frog that needs protective color- 
 ing, living as it does in woodland tracts, where it is ex- 
 posed to an abundance of enemies; and may it not be 
 that, by its power to adapt itself to the general color of 
 the surroundings, it renders itself inconspicuous to the 
 insects upon which it preys ? If so, the control over its 
 color becomes doubly advantageous. 
 
 Vision in the pine-tree lizard is apparently not very 
 
204 DATS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 acute, although the eyes are exceedingly bright, arid, when 
 coupled with certain movements of the head, suggest con- 
 siderable intelligence. It was found very difficult to test 
 their visual powers, although, once captured, these lizards 
 became extremely tame, patient, and obedient, and I could 
 only infer that the sense of sight was none of the best from 
 the fact that when held to a mosquito-frame in a window, 
 upon which house-flies were walking, they missed fully one 
 half of those at which they snapped ; and other lizards in 
 confinement, but where every possible freedom of move- 
 ment was practicable, often made many attempts to capt- 
 ure flies before success crowned their eiforts. If, there- 
 fore, when at large, they depended principally upon winged 
 insects for subsistence, their lives would indeed be labori- 
 ous ones ; but insects of sluggish movements, ants, and 
 small spiders, are all freely partaken of. A friend who is 
 a very careful observer assures me that of the two insects, 
 house-flies and Croton-bugs, his lizards certainly preferred 
 the latter, but were not particularly expert in capturing 
 them. And now, assuming that the eye-sight of these 
 little reptiles is not highly developed, what of the curious 
 " pineal eye " which they possess ? Prof. Macloskie has 
 recently announced in " Science " that it " is so well devel- 
 oped . . . that it may probably seem to warn its owner of 
 the advent of daylight. It is a lenticular, glassy area of 
 the skin of the vertex (about a millimetre in sagittal di- 
 ameter), surrounded by a yellow border, and having a dark 
 spot in its center. The dark spot is opaque, caused by a 
 mass of pigment internal to the dermis, set on the extrem- 
 ity of a pineal outgrowth from the brain. The clear area 
 around it is caused by the dermis, which is transparent 
 and free from the pigment which covers it internally in 
 other parts. The eye is covered by an escutcheon shaped 
 epidermal shield, more transparent in the center and 
 larger (three by three millimetres) than the normal epider- 
 
AUGUST. 205 
 
 mal scales. The only sign of degeneracy is the central 
 cloudy mass of pigment, like a big cataract." 
 
 I was naturally desirous of determining for myself 
 how far it was sensitive to light, but found the investiga- 
 tion beset with difficulties. Chloroformed lizards that 
 were deprived of their eyes, although the amputation was 
 dexterously performed, did not revive sufficiently to make 
 their subsequent movements suggestive; or did sympa- 
 thetic ophthalmia set in and affect the pineal eye ? 
 
 I subsequently hit upon a plan, using very thin India- 
 rubber cloth, by which the eyes proper were effectually 
 closed, and the " eye " of the vertex left free. The lizards 
 thus provided with a blinding head-gear were separated 
 from their fellows and placed in a roomy inclosure, made 
 up of several almost dark and very light alternate sec- 
 tions, the temperature being even throughout the lizards' 
 range. The arrangement was, perhaps, too artificial for a 
 satisfactory series of observations, but it became evident 
 at once that the lizards recognized the difference between 
 the dark and light areas, and their prompt return to 
 the latter when removed from them, and again their ac- 
 tions when they returned, all showed the appreciation of 
 a difference, which I -know was not one of temperature, 
 but beyond this I could determine nothing ; but I recalled, 
 at this juncture, the significant . fact that in the woods 
 about May's Landing I noticed many lizards buried in the 
 fine sand and leaf-mold, their eyes closed and covered, 
 but the top of the head and a portion of the back for its 
 whole length exposed. The same was subsequently noted 
 as a position frequently assumed by the lizards in my 
 Wardian cases. If, therefore, the " pineal eye " is sensi- 
 tive to light, it is still of some use to the creature, as it 
 would certainly respond to a passing shadow, and so warn 
 the animal of the approach of a possible enemy. It cer- 
 tainly would be greatly to the lizard's advantage if it had 
 
206 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 a perfect eye in the top of its head, especially when it 
 rests upon the trunks of trees, and is exposed to the attacks 
 of predatory birds ; but the " pineal eye " is at most but 
 a remote approach to this. On the other hand, it was 
 found that whenever I converged the rays of light with a 
 burning-glass, always so suddenly that no thermal effect 
 was produced, there was caused a movement of uneasiness, 
 a flinching, on the part of the lizard that was extremely 
 suggestive. 
 
 The most superficial examination of the external ear 
 of the pine-tree lizard will at once lead one to infer that 
 the animal's hearing is acute; and this is true. When 
 watching the lizards on the trestle over Babcock's Creek, 
 at May's Landing, I was forcibly struck with this fact. 
 Such of them as were basking on the timbers of the 
 bridge were not disturbed when I approached them with 
 moderate care, stepping only on the cross-ties, or between 
 them ; but if I struck the rails with my cane they instantly 
 took notice of it and assumed a listening attitude. I sub- 
 sequently experimented upon this point, and found that 
 when my companion struck the rails a smart blow, even 
 at a distance of fifty yards, the lizards were aware of the 
 peculiar sound, and acted accordingly, even darting out 
 of sight with that swiftness that characterizes their first 
 few steps. I have recently learned from a correspondent 
 that his observations lead him to conclude that the sense 
 of hearing is not very acute, but the character of his ex- 
 periments to demonstrate this does not seem to me to be 
 such as should carry conviction with it, and I find it is 
 contrary to the general impression of those more or less 
 familiar with this lizard. 
 
 It is a most interesting fact, although so very wild 
 when first met with, that once captured, the pine-tree 
 lizards instantly become tame. Indeed, I have had them 
 lie quietly upon my hand, while walking in the woods, 
 
AUGUST. 207 
 
 and make no effort to escape. There is a bare possibility 
 that the efforts on their part to escape, and fear, when 
 finally captured, may produce a hypnotic condition, or 
 something like it, but this would pass by and leave them 
 wild. This, I think, never occurs. Once in my hand, I 
 have never known a pine-tree lizard to be otherwise than 
 perfectly tame. But, in a large series in confinement, I 
 found that the sense of hearing was constantly brought 
 into play, as shown by their ludicrous actions when flies, 
 shut in a thin paper box, were placed near them. They 
 not only heard but recognized the noise a very impor- 
 tant matter, bearing as it does upon their intelligence. 
 Indeed, in the woods about May's Landing I found that 
 the lizards were perfectly familiar with many sudden 
 sounds and paid no attention whatever to them. Some of 
 these were the sonorous croak of the bull-frog, the quick 
 scream of the blue jay, the rattle of the golden-winged 
 woodpecker, and the coarse cry of the great-crested fly- 
 catcher. These were all unheeded, while my own cough- 
 ing, the whistling of a single note, or the loud utterance 
 of a word, caused them either to assume a make-ready 
 attitude or to dart away. On the other hand, have these 
 lizards any voice ? Their actions inter se are strongly 
 suggestive of the affirmative, but, so far as I am able to 
 determine, their utterances are confined to hissing, and 
 this I only heard when I provoked the creatures by the 
 sudden infliction of severe pain. Among a large number, 
 in nine weeks I never heard a voluntary hiss. This, how- 
 ever, is wholly negative evidence, and I am disposed to 
 believe that an animal possesses a voice, if its habits, in 
 their entirety, suggest that it has one. This perhaps un- 
 scientific method of reasoning arises, on my part, from 
 the fact of having long suspected that certain fishes and 
 salamanders had voices, before they were detected my 
 suspicions being based upon the habits, as a whole, of 
 
208 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 these creatures. Certain snakes, too, that are now thought 
 only to hiss, will, I believe, be found to have a limited 
 range of scarcely audible utterances so with the pine-tree 
 lizards. I certainly have no reason to believe they talk, 
 but possibly they may whisper in each other's ears. 
 
 Upon several occasions I sat, unseen by them, for a 
 long time, very near my pen of lizards, and listened 
 attentively, hoping to catch some sound that was clearly 
 a voluntary utterance of a lizard. I only determined that 
 one's ears, under such circumstances, become highly super- 
 sensitive, and a great deal is heard at a time when, in 
 fact, positive silence prevails. Generally, the lizards were 
 perfectly quiet, but at times one would move, and then a 
 general scuffling ensued; but how far the noises were 
 attributable to their activity I can not say ; probably en- 
 tirely so. The faint, snake-like hiss, that has fairly to be 
 squeezed out of them, is the range of their vocal utter- 
 ances, so far as I yet know. 
 
 Concerning the breeding habits of this creature, I had 
 no positive knowledge prior to my visit to the pine-barren 
 regions of southern New Jersey. I had heard the state- 
 ment made that the eggs were small, quite numerous, 
 and deposited on the under side of prostrate logs, and 
 even in loose wood-piles that were constantly disturbed, 
 and that the eggs were not concealed or protected in any 
 way. All this I knew to be false ; but where were the 
 eggs of the pine-tree lizard placed ? Questioning observ- 
 ing residents of localities where the species abounded, I 
 was invariably informed that the eggs were laid in sand, 
 in pits dug by the lizards, and carefully covered up. They 
 were only discovered by accident, no trace of their pres- 
 ence being noticeable. Further, that after heavy showers 
 the eggs were sometimes exposed, and in this way a check 
 was put upon the increase of the animal's numbers. Of 
 course, solar heat alone was relied upon to mature the 
 
AUGUST. 209 
 
 eggs. Kecently, a resident of May's Landing has informed 
 me that the eggs " are said to be laid in bunches," but 
 just what is meant by being " bunched " I am at a loss to 
 understand. They certainly are not attached to each 
 other by any agglutinating substance. At least, the fe- 
 male lizards in my pens laid only dry, free eggs, which 
 they deposited in conical pits, one egg, the lowermost, 
 being in the bottom, then three above it, and four in the 
 third tier. Such was the position in two sets of eggs, 
 while the others were scattered over the sand in bewilder- 
 ing confusion. None of these hatched, the failure to do 
 so, inasmuch as they were fertile, being due, I believe, to 
 the surroundings being too dry. Probably a certain 
 amount of decaying vegetable matter is mingled with the 
 sand when the eggs are laid, and thus a moist heat is pro- 
 duced, which is as necessary as it is in the case of the eggs 
 of the alligators and crocodiles. 
 
 The ova laid by my penned lizards were long, narrow, 
 covered with a tough skin, free from calcareous matter, 
 and varied in weight from twenty to twenty-four grains. 
 At May's Landing, I am told, the eggs are usually laid 
 about June 1st, and hatch about July 10th. 
 
 While the abandonment of their eggs in this appar- 
 ently heartless manner leads to the supposition that they 
 are indifferent to their offsprings' welfare, which is true, 
 it is somewhat interesting to notice how very tolerant they 
 are of the petty annoyances to which their own or anoth- 
 er's young subject them. My observations on this point 
 were made from a number of young and old confined in a 
 roomy Wardian case, but probably what I there saw holds 
 good among the lizards in their native haunts. I am sure 
 it did among the many living on the old trestle at May's 
 Landing. Often a little lizard, and sometimes two, would 
 perch upon the head and back of an adult, and there be 
 allowed to sit for fully an hour. The sharp claws of these 
 
 14 
 
210 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 youngsters seemed at times dangerously near the eyes and 
 ears of the patient old one, but it offered no resistance, 
 and, when I forced such burdened lizards to move, it was 
 always with a deliberateness that suggested that they were 
 really averse to disturbing those resting upon them. 
 Again, adults would often rest upon each other, in what 
 appeared to be a most uncomfortable manner for the one 
 beneath, often pressing the head of the latter into the 
 sand and completely blinding it for the time ; yet I never 
 saw the slightest evidence of ill-humor, not even when 
 they were being fed. Often it happened that some sleepy 
 fellow would quietly snap up the fly toward which another 
 lizard was cautiously crawling, yet no fight ensued. Any- 
 thing more trying than this to humanity can not be ima- 
 gined, yet the lizards took every such occurrence as a mat- 
 ter of course. 
 
 In running, as well as when walking about deliberately, 
 which they less often do, the lizard brings all four limbs 
 equally into play, and their gait is much like that of a cat. 
 When progress is suddenly -arrested, they usually squat 
 upon their hind limbs only, holding their head well up 
 and elevating the body, as does a cat or dog, by keeping 
 the fore limbs straight. Every attitude is suggestive of 
 intelligence, and I refer particularly to the matter, because 
 the differences in these respects between this lizard and 
 the blue-tailed skink, the only other saurian found in New 
 Jersey, is very marked ; the latter, as we shall see, al- 
 though having less suggestive manners, has, I believe, a 
 greater degree of intelligence. 
 
 I have spoken of the rapid and complete submission of 
 the pine-tree lizard when captured. This did not prove 
 true of the great brown skink that I captured among the 
 rocks at Lake Hopatcong. This specimen I placed in a 
 Wardian case, May 20th, and immediately it burrowed in 
 the thick mat of sphagnum at the bottom, and for a week 
 
AUGUST. <2H 
 
 seldom if ever made its appearance. I could only deter- 
 mine that it was alive by searching for it, and invariably 
 was bitten. It then showed a disposition to come from 
 its intersphagnian retreat, but remained wholly suspicious 
 of every sound or object that approached. Concealing 
 myself, I watched it carefully, and found that the shutting 
 of a door, the crowing of a cock near the window, and 
 loud conversation in an adjoining room, always fright- 
 ened it; while the singing of a canary, and of robins in a 
 tree near by, were not noticed. A quickly passing shadow 
 was particularly feared. Did it associate this with the 
 birds of prey that are the skink's most dangerous ene- 
 mies? Having disappeared, it never returned by the 
 same burrow, but, cautiously peeping from a hole in an 
 opposite corner of the case, studied the outlook for a long 
 time before reappearing. It showed no disposition to be 
 sociable until June 10th, when it seemed suddenly to gain 
 confidence, but only to a slight degree. June 19th it ate 
 for the first time, and then became somewhat tamer, but 
 still was essentially wild, and seemed perhaps the more so 
 because of the contrast with the pair of lizards that were 
 all the while its companions. July 29th it was transferred 
 to a roomy fernery belonging to a friend, where it found 
 a close resemblance to its lake-side home in all essential 
 features, and immediately it became more active ; and 
 now, three months after capture, has become compara- 
 tively tame. 
 
 The skink, as we have seen, is exceedingly shy, irritable, 
 and resents the slightest interference by biting savagely, 
 but of course is entirely harmless. Nearly every promi- 
 nent feature of the lizard is represented by an opposite 
 trait in the skink. What appeared to be evidence of more 
 sluggish wits than the former possesses, is the fact that it 
 did not learn to associate my presence with a supply of 
 food, as was true of the others, but the truth is it was its 
 
212 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 greater fear of man that held it back, and not really a 
 want of cunning. 
 
 In many respects the skink recalls the snakes, and its 
 manner of crawling, often without making any use of the 
 posterior limbs, and generally keeping the body greatly 
 bent, adds to the resemblance ; and so, despite its shyness 
 and courage when captured, evidences of intellectual 
 strength, the skink seems lower in the scale of intelligence 
 than the pine-tree lizard, but is probably its superior. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 SEPTEMBER. 
 
 THE Delaware Indians called September Kitschitacli- 
 quoach gischuch ! and this is said by Heekewalder to sig- 
 nify " the autumn month." This is next to meaningless, 
 and I suggest as nearer the Indians' meaning, and cer- 
 tainly more appropriate, the Moon of the First Frost. I 
 doubt if ever the month passes without some trace of it, 
 and until it comes, the month differs nothing from the 
 one preceding. Every rambler has noticed how song 
 gives place to silence toward the end of August. The 
 monotony of soulless sunshine has proved irksome, and 
 the birds that have not already departed cluster by the 
 dripping springs. The squirrels, until now a timid and 
 day-shunning folk, thread the tall, out-reaching oaks, 
 tapping, in ill-humor, at the still resisting acorns. Im- 
 patience is now the moving factor of the animal world, 
 and with it is sulky silence. Furred and feathered life, 
 alike, are heartily tired of summer and await a change 
 do they know what ? He who is given to country rambles 
 has long since learned the secret it is the first frost. 
 
 The first frost does not usher in a new season, but re- 
 news the summer. Sleepy, silent August days, half stifled 
 in a worn-out atmosphere, are the really melancholy ones, 
 " the saddest of the year " ; but at once, with the first 
 frost, is activity renewed. This earliest intimation of the 
 on-coming winter need not be everywhere. You will find 
 
214 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 no trace of it upon the upland fields. There are, in low- 
 lying, damp, weed-hidden nooks, a few dainty crystals, 
 that disappear before the sun rises, as though frightened 
 at what they have done. They might well have tarried, 
 for they deserve a blessing. 
 
 What then does this first frost accomplish? The 
 pulses of the song-birds quicken, and they resume their 
 singing. Their limp wings are braced, and they scatter 
 over the fields, along the wooded hill-side and close-woven 
 thicket. Not only they, the wearied summer visitors, re- 
 appear among their several spring-time haunts, but down 
 from a frostier north, the advance guard of the winter 
 songsters come Canadian tree-sparrows, a cheery, twitter- 
 ing host come, as do many others, to make glad our 
 winters and replace those that, fearing to face the ruder 
 blasts of the north wind, seek shelter in the south. It is 
 strange that the idea is so prevalent that here in New 
 Jersey we have comparatively birdless winters. There are 
 two score species that are, with very few exceptions, mod- 
 erately abundant ; many are phenomenally so. Even 
 about the most unpromising spots, a dozen or fifteen 
 species of winter birds may readily be found. Every one 
 of the forty has been listed, and without going into a 
 wilderness too, by more than one observer. The fact is, 
 to see birds at this season, one must not stick closely to the 
 highways, but pass from field to meadow, from woodland 
 to marsh, to do so. Forty species may seem an extrava- 
 gant claim, but it is a simple statement of fact. There 
 are at least forty. Why call it thirty-nine ? It has been 
 flatly contradicted. Well, there is an element of our 
 population that, having ears and eyes, yet neither hear 
 nor see, and these are they who, lacking powers of obser- 
 vation, are prone to criticism. It is a good plan to listen 
 to the nut-hatch, while these critics carp, for the bur- 
 den of that bird's song is crank-crank ! crank-crank! 
 
SEPTEMBER. 215 
 
 It boldly sings what politeness forbids us even to whis- 
 per. 
 
 The first frost has come ; dare autumn leaves be men- 
 tioned ? I have seen a striking picture of an irate editor 
 flooring the twentieth spring poet that had that day called 
 upon him. Should I not take warning? At least, I 
 should not venture far. Whether or not the frost act- 
 ually ripens the leaves, it can not be gainsaid that the 
 change of color begins at this time or earlier ; but often, 
 excepting one or two trees, a year passes with no change 
 save somber brown. Always, however, there are tiny areas 
 of the brightest tints, a change more beautiful than the 
 general reddening of the forest. A branch of a maple 
 turned to dusty gold, a solitary gum tree clothed in scar- 
 let, a winding creeper bronzed to the very tips such bits 
 as these, rare as gems along the pebbly shore, are com- 
 monly held to be the fruits of the first frost, and loved 
 the more because of their rarity. 
 
 Those faithful friends of the poets, asters and golden- 
 rods, convenient blooms that have done duty in literature 
 for a solid century, flourish, it is true, before the coming 
 of the frost, but renew their youth in the reinvigorated 
 air. It is not they alone, however, that brighten the dusty 
 highways and deck the winding wood-lanes ; at least, not 
 here. The dittany empurples the leaf-strewed forest ; with 
 mosses and sweet fern, it carpets the upland woods ; and 
 then, with the first frost, comes the chincapin a pygmy, 
 but still a very prince among our nuts, graciously evolved 
 for impatient autumn-lovers. To gather them is only a 
 foretaste of the nutting season proper, it is true, but a 
 foretaste often with a keener flavor than the feast that 
 follows offers. Chincapins are the last gift of summer a 
 gift that comes with gladness ; solid nuggets of sunshine 
 not wrapped in dead leaves and sodden with the tears 
 of melancholy November. 
 
216 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 What of the cooler meadows and the lotus ? It would 
 dampen my ardor certainly if it were cut down ; but it is 
 not. Hailing as it does from far warmer lands, we trem- 
 ble for the tardier blossoms, yet really need not. From 
 afar I can see those gigantic leaves and tall flower-stalks, 
 capped with the roseate bloom of this historic plant. It 
 is as much at home and as hardy as the sweet white lily 
 or the yellow nuphar. And here, in the flooded marshes, 
 we can go nutting again. From the great funnel-shaped 
 torus or seed-pod of the lotus, one can gather sweet 
 fruit, larger and as toothsome as upland chincapins. In 
 the dense shade of this lotus of Eastern lands, I recall 
 that rare native form, once cultivated here by the Indians. 
 Perhaps I am wrong here. My friend the State botanist 
 tells me it is far more probable that the widely separated 
 localities where the native lotus still flourishes are rem- 
 nants of a wide area over which, long, long ago perhaps 
 before the great ice age the plant flourished as now do 
 our native lilies, splatter-docks, and calamus. If, then, it 
 was not a cultivated but a wild plant, it was still highly 
 prized by the Indians. There are abundant historical 
 references to this effect. Eecalling these to-day, I can 
 picture a group of Indian women in canoes, or perhaps 
 their vagabond husbands wading in the water, gathering 
 the large seed a true nut or reaching into the shallow 
 depths for the newer growth of tubers. From the nut 
 was made a good flour ; the tubers, boiled, are equal to 
 potatoes. The Indians did this far back in prehistoric 
 times ; some of their descendants do so still ; and it would 
 not be strange, could it be shown, that where I to-day 
 gather lotus nuts in the same marsh, the long-forgotten 
 Indians, in centuries past, did the same. Be this as it 
 may be, nutting in the marshes is one of the luxuries 
 following a first frost for the nonce, I am a happy lotus- 
 eater. 
 
SEPTEMBER. 217 
 
 In the woods and over the meadows alike, the air 
 trembles with the cry of innumerable crickets if not 
 they, then of insects unknown to me. Single shrill 
 trumpeters are hard to find. Trace up never so closely 
 the sound that issues from a certain bush, when at a given 
 distance the noise ceases. You rest a while, and it begins 
 again ; you move, it stops ; one step more, and it ceases 
 altogether. Scan with all care every leaf, twig, main 
 stem, and very roots of the shrub, if such it was, but you 
 will not find the musician. To crickets we attribute all 
 these late summer sounds not made by birds or frogs, but 
 how far correctly I would that I knew. 
 
 It was long after the first hard frost, and even thin 
 ice had formed once or twice, that I happened along the 
 Crosswicks meadow with a friend, and our talk had been 
 of insect sounds. There was a thrill in the air, at the 
 time ascribable to millions of insects, but not a single 
 utterance could we detect. At last, upon the bank of a 
 ditch, a shriller stridulation could be heard, a sound that 
 could be located. Very cautiously, upon hands and 
 knees, my friend approached the spot. For minutes there 
 was profound silence, and then the sound would start up 
 more distinctly than before. With all the caution of a 
 well-trained setter, my friend drew near, and at last, be- 
 lieving he had marked the precise spot, he sprang forward 
 and seized a clod of meadow mud. He had stalked his 
 game successfully. In his hands was a mole-cricket. So 
 I learned that this creature, too, is an autumn as well as 
 a summer songster. 
 
 Not the first frost nor the second no, nor a black frost 
 seals to silence either the tree-toad or the red frog of the 
 woods. They croak spasmodically at all times and sea- 
 sons, but give no hint of the utterance's proper interpre- 
 tation. It may be a croak of thanks for such sweet, life- 
 giving days, or a complaint that the chilly nights have 
 
218 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 lessened their food supply. If there is any distinction, it 
 is an all-hearing ear that can detect it. To the average 
 rambler they croak, and nothing more. It is the same 
 note now that is heard at short intervals all summer long, 
 and that they utter in early spring when they join in a 
 deafening epithalamium. 
 
 But one glory of the time of early frosts has well-nigh 
 departed but fitfully, at best, do the roostward flying 
 crows pass over. No more are seen the long lines that 
 streaked the eastern sky a scarcely broken procession, 
 whose front reached the meadows about 2 p. M., and the 
 rear rank was still on the move as the sun went down. 
 This, thirty years ago, was so regular a feature of each 
 autumn and winter day that the old hall clocks of the 
 farmers along the ridge might well have been regulated 
 by it. The crow-roost of recent years, to which these birds 
 flocked at night, was in Pennsylvania, about Rocky Woods 
 and in the Pigeon Swamp. I give these particulars for a 
 purpose, being a Jerseyman. 
 
 In the " American Naturalist " for August, 1886, Mr. 
 Samuel W. Rhoades has published an interesting article on 
 these birds and their habits, but at the very outset I am 
 puzzled at certain of his statements. He writes : " Care- 
 ful observation and inquiry convince me that during 
 winter a radial sweep of one hundred miles, described 
 from the city of Philadelphia and touching the cities of 
 New York, Harrisburg, and Baltimore, will include in the 
 day-time, in its western semicircle, fully two thirds of the 
 crows inhabiting North America, and at night an equal 
 proportion of its eastern half. The eastern area of this 
 circle, with the exception of more fertile portions of west 
 and north Jersey, is as notably devoid of them by day as 
 it is infested by them at night. Their most extensive 
 breeding grounds in New Jersey are well-nigh deserted 
 during severe weather. 
 
SEPTEMBER. 219 
 
 " The popular local notion that crows all ' go to Jersey 
 to roost ' and return to Pennsylvania to forage, while far 
 from correct, has more truth in it than the average Jer- 
 seyman will admit," and I add, the average Jerseyman is 
 correct in denying it. For over a century, the crows have 
 roosted on the Pennsylvania side of the river, as all can 
 see for themselves of an autumn afternoon, and if these 
 same people will be astir at dawn, they can see the same 
 crows coming back to Jersey, where they will forage until 
 noon. Fools if they didn't ! There is a wonderful differ- 
 ence between the two sides of the river in the matter of 
 temperature, and so follows a difference in plant and ani- 
 mal life. Many a day the winter through, when a crow 
 would starve in Pennsylvania, amid snow and ice, the 
 ground would be not only bare but unfrozen in Jersey. 
 How the impression got abroad, and became so general, 
 that all Jersey was a crow-roost and never a bird flew 
 westward during the afternoon, I can not learn, but it 
 does not hold good in the writer's region. 
 
 Mr. Ehoades says : " As yet no evidence is at hand to 
 justify the supposition that the roosting-place which Wil- 
 son and Godman have vaguely described as situated ' near 
 Bristol ' was in Pennsylvania. It seems more probable that 
 it was located either on Burlington Island or on the main- 
 land near the site of the city of Burlington, in New Jersey." 
 
 There is evidence, though, for the spot has been but 
 recently disturbed, and I live on a line with the main 
 flight that, so long as I can remember, crossed over the 
 river and continued westward into Pennsylvania for some 
 three miles. Both this and the Florence Heights roosts 
 were occupied at about the same time ; and if, as stated, 
 the latter was deserted forty-five years ago, it was again 
 reoccupied by a small colony an off-shoot possibly of the 
 overcrowded one in Pennsylvania, four or five miles west 
 of it. 
 
220 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 I doubt if ever the crows were given to keeping within 
 such hard and fast lines as has been suggested. At all 
 events, if it is applicable to the sandy pine barrens of south 
 Jersey to say the crows only roost there, it is not true of 
 central Jersey, at and about the head of tide water in the 
 Delaware Valley. I think I have positive evidence that 
 Wilson was right in speaking of a crow-roost near Bristol, 
 Pennsylvania ; and I have personal knowledge of the oc- 
 cupancy of such a one for many years one that is yet 
 occupied, but only by a tithe of the former numbers that 
 frequented it. It is not unlikely that a great change in 
 the birds' habits is being brought about. They appear 
 to be decreasing in numbers, and probably their cunning is 
 leading them to the safer method of scattering over wider 
 areas to roost. 
 
 In spite of all the ugly things I have heard of crows 
 not one in a hundred of them really true I early learned 
 to love the bird, and their full-toned autumn cries are mu- 
 sic to my ears. It is ever with regret I hear of woodland 
 tracts laid bare, and the poor birds' roosting-trees de- 
 stroyed. More and more the crows are scattered autumn 
 after autumn, and so the close of summer loses one consid- 
 erable charm. It is painful to think that even the scanty 
 remnants of our forests may soon disappear that the 
 black frost of greed may ere long irreparably blight the 
 country. 
 
 After a pleasant ride over the rolling hills and across 
 many a pretty intervale, I found myself, recently, in a 
 commodious tent, erected in anticipation of my coming, 
 and from this, my present comfortable quarters, I have 
 given myself to strolling wheresoever my fancy led me, for 
 I have been spending in camp nearly the whole month of 
 September. Searching for nothing in particular, I was 
 eager to light upon every novelty of which this favored 
 
SEPTEMBER. 221 
 
 region, the valley of Brush Creek, in Adams County, Ohio, 
 might boast. And my last ramble was one of greatest in- 
 terest. Passing over a monotonous stretch of bottom land, 
 now a forest of ripening corn, I came suddenly upon the 
 babbling creek that scarcely concealed the time-worn peb- 
 bles of its narrow bed. On either side tower gigantic syc- 
 amores and grand old elms, a wealth of autumn flowers 
 clustering about their trunks. For a narrow space, nature 
 had outwitted the grasping farmer, and wildness reigned 
 supreme. 
 
 Whatever might be in store, I could not pass hurriedly 
 by the creek that I had found. I tarried long, lulled by 
 the music of its rippling waters that, singing the same sweet 
 song, cheers many an idle hour at home. Nor was I alone. 
 Strange, indeed, if ever so sweet a spot should be deserted. 
 As I strolled slowly down the stream, a lone wood-duck 
 from a grassy cove sped like an arrow into leafy depths. 
 Quails called to their mates, vireos warbled, the titmice 
 gave warning, and cardinal redbirds flashed through the 
 thickets, whistling as they went. My shadow startled 
 many a timid fish wee minnows that I wonder should 
 have any fear ; and anxious crayfish, from the mud-lined 
 dens, hastened to muddier and to deeper caves. My pres- 
 ence was a source of trouble to all the life about me, and 
 thought of this alone was the shadow, sure to be, that 
 dimmed my joy. Wild life seldom stops to argue the 
 question whether you are friend or foe, but forms its 
 own conclusions when at a safe distance. 
 
 But the day was fast closing, and I had yet other fields 
 to explore. Threading a tangle of rich autumn bloom, I 
 was stopped by a crumbling wall of jutting rock, deeply 
 scarred and caverned by corroding time. A hundred feet 
 in height, or more, it frowned in the glittering light of 
 the setting sun and denied my further progress. 
 
 I was in no humor to be denied. The valley soon 
 
222 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 would be shut in by mist, and I was all anxious to escape 
 the pent creek's gathering damp. I walked boldly to the 
 cliff and seized whatever projection offered. The pleasure 
 of the stroll had vanished. Progress now meant toil, if 
 not danger. Every promising cranny seemed to shrink as 
 I placed my hand within it ; every jutting corner trembled 
 as I placed my foot upon it. The rock that at first was 
 perpendicular was now overhanging, and at every incli 
 that I progressed the valley receded a foot. To scramble 
 over gravel bluffs at home proved a poor schooling now. 
 Every tree was just beyond my reach, and the half-way 
 ledges, promising a refuge and rest, were but snares, need- 
 ing little more than a hand's weight to send them thun- 
 dering to the creek below. I am yet alive, and why recall 
 a perilous and painful past ? The summit was reached 
 no matter how and in due time I stood upon a broad 
 plateau, overlooking miles of wooded valleys and beyond 
 the reach of those threatening rocks, which, in future, I 
 shall contemplate, and leave to others to explore. But if 
 not directly upon rock, I stood upon firm earth. Save a 
 solitary maple, that for years has stood the lone spot's si- 
 lent sentinel, no trees sheltered it from storm or sunshine ; 
 and here, on this bleak, unprotected bluff, Art, not Na- 
 ture, held the upper hand. The transition was indeed 
 startling. 
 
 If it taxes the equanimity of the average person to 
 come suddenly upon even a harmless snake, what shall be 
 said of him who, with head and shoulders at last exulting- 
 ly raised above a beetling cliff, finds himself confronted by 
 a serpent more than a thousand feet in length, and witli its 
 huge jaws widely agape ? Yet this is the fortune of him 
 who clambered, at one point, from the Brush Creek Valley 
 to the high ground above. But I speak enigmatically. 
 The serpent is not and has never been alive. It is not 
 even, as the reader may have guessed, some great fossil of 
 
SEPTEMBER. 
 
 a distant geological epoch. It is the Art that here over- 
 shadows every natural feature, to which I have referred 
 the handiwork of an unknown people, who, finding this 
 region suited to their needs, wrested it from Nature. 
 
 The great Serpent Mound of southern Ohio is one of 
 those curious earth- works that for nearly half a century 
 has been a puzzle and delight to American archaeologists, 
 and one that has led to much wild speculation. Much of 
 this is truly funny, and none of it more absurd than the 
 dogmatic assertion recently given to the world that it is 
 of Cherokee origin and of no significant antiquity. But 
 before discussing its age and origin, let us consider what 
 it is as it appears to the visitor of to-day. At first glance, 
 one might suppose that the earth had merely been heaped 
 up into a long and gracefully curved line, so as to repre- 
 sent an uncoiling serpent or a snake in motion. It is 
 more than this. Before its construction, the place was 
 leveled, and the serpent, in all probability, outlined with 
 stones and clay, and not only all the material gathered in 
 clearing the ground, but more was brought to the spot. 
 In short, the work was planned before its construction was 
 commenced, and built with care. Its architect was at 
 once an engineer, a naturalist, and an artist ; or, if the 
 joint product of a community, then they all showed skill 
 in high departments of human intelligence, such as we 
 look for in vain among historic Indians. 
 
 When, by whom, and for what purpose, then, was this 
 Serpent Mound constructed ? These are the three ques- 
 tions every visitor will ask does ask, at this writing of 
 the eminent archaeologist, Prof. F. W. Putnam, who is now 
 on the spot endeavoring to solve this triple problem. I 
 will not, at this time, anticipate any of his conclusions, but 
 consider some of the suggestions he and others have al- 
 ready given to the world. 
 
 Concerning the antiquity of the mound-builders and 
 
224: DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 their works, Prof. M. C. Read, with apparent good 
 grounds for so doing, has remarked that the evidence was 
 well-nigh conclusive that when occupied by this people 
 and these works erected, the site and the surrounding 
 country was a treeless region. He writes : " Their erec- 
 tion with mound-builders' tools, if it involved the clearing 
 of a forest as a preliminary work, is so nearly impossible 
 that we can not imagine it would be ever undertaken. It 
 involved not only the clearing of the lands of the forest, 
 but also the neighboring lands which were to be subjected 
 to tillage. It is with the utmost difficulty, in moist and 
 tropical climates, that men armed with the best of steel 
 tools make a successful battle with the forests. It is much 
 more reasonable to suppose that these works were origi- 
 nally located in a treeless region, and the works evidently 
 of the same age scattered over (this portion of Ohio) indi- 
 cate that this treeless region was of large extent. . . . The 
 inference would follow that the abandonment of the region 
 marked the time when the slow intrusion of the forests 
 reduced the amount of tillable land below the necessities 
 of the community. "When this took place can only be 
 vaguely estimated, but that it was many hundreds of years 
 ago is beyond all question. It required many centuries, 
 as has been frequently proved, for a mixed forest growth 
 to take possession of a country." It is in vain to attempt 
 to express by numbers the age of an earth-work, but a 
 scientific examination of both the structure and its sur- 
 roundings may demonstrate a relative age that antedates 
 all history. 
 
 This has already been accomplished, so far as the Ser- 
 pent Mound is concerned. It is a veritable relic of re- 
 mote antiquity. 
 
 By whom was the Serpent Mound erected ? Here we 
 are confronted by a problem that probably will never be 
 solved to universal satisfaction. It is an unfortunate fact 
 
SEPTEMBER. 225 
 
 that the great subject of the origin of races is, and is 
 likely to be, in a miserably chaotic state. The craniolo- 
 gist, the philologist, and archgeologist agree only to disa- 
 gree ; and the student of general anthropology can not 
 yet, it is quite certain, blend the strong arguments of 
 these specialists, and reach to a plausible conclusion. The 
 stronger the argument of any one phase of anthropologi- 
 cal science, the more decidedly contradictory is it of the 
 assertions of the others. It was not a cheering outlook 
 when, at a recent scientific gathering, an eminent anato- 
 mist remarked that he " did not care a rap for languages 
 as a means of race identification," to which a philologist 
 replied, " What is so variable as the shape of a skull ? " - 
 But the shape of a skull seems to have some bearing 
 on the question of racial origin in connection with the 
 Serpent Mound. The recent exhaustive examination of 
 the broad plateau stretching southeastward from the 
 earth-work has yielded, among others, the very significant 
 fact that two peoples have used the place as one of burial, 
 and that one antedates the other ; and it is further very 
 significant that the evidently more recent occupants were 
 historic Indians. After all, the shape of the skull does 
 mean something is a tangible fact ; and the difference 
 between the crania of Indians and of the earlier mound- 
 builders is too persistent to be denied or explained away 
 as a mere coincidence. In the burial place that I have men- 
 tioned, the more ancient interments those, that is, that 
 may be safely referred to the time of the Serpent Mound 
 and its builders are of a short-headed people, that were 
 of the same stock as the ancient Mexicans. I would not be 
 understood as saying that the mound-builders were Mexi- 
 cans or vice versa, but that they were both offshoots from 
 a brachycephalic race that reached America by a trans- 
 pacific route. This is the view that has been expressed 
 by Prof. Putnam in recent lectures, and his most recent 
 
 15 
 
226 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 explorations have yielded nothing that conflicts with it. 
 On the contrary, every fact gathered by the most laborious 
 and exhaustive examination of mound after mound goes 
 to establish the view that the people who built them were 
 not the historic Indians, nor even their immediate ances- 
 tors. On the other hand, that certain well-known tribes 
 of Indians, notably the Shawnees and Natchez, as an in- 
 stance, were descended remotely and indirectly from these 
 builders of earth-works, is extremely probable. 
 
 The fact that Indians, in very recent times even, built 
 mounds mere conical shapes of earth placed over their 
 dead does not warrant us in assuming from such a fact 
 alone that the elaborate structures, such as the Serpent 
 Mound, were also the work of their hands. Had it and 
 many other of the earth-structures in Ohio been erected 
 by them or their immediate ancestors, it is highly improb- 
 able that this fact, and that of their significance, should 
 have been completely forgotten ; yet not one of them 
 finds place in Indian history. 
 
 Its purpose ? Whether we admit its origin to be pre- 
 Indian or not, this question will be asked, and it is a curi- 
 ous fact in the experience of the writer that the visitors to 
 the Serpent Mound never wait to hear a reply after put- 
 ting the question, but follow it with their own views. 
 Probably the average student of archaeology would only 
 go so far as to suggest the probability that it had, in 
 the minds of the builders, a religious significance. This 
 view, I have found, meets with little favor from the casual 
 visitor. " Injuns were heathen, and hadn't no religion," 
 was the prompt reply of one. 
 
 In the minds of its builders, this great earth- work was 
 doubtless tenanted by a serpent spirit which was thought 
 to faithfully guard the dead who rested near it, if not the 
 living who dwelt in the surrounding region. But that 
 kindly spirit slumbers as profoundly now as do the mighty 
 
SEPTEMBER. 227 
 
 coils and gaping jaws that have braved for unknown cent- 
 uries alike the torrid heat of summer and pitiless raging 
 of midwinter storms. 
 
 This religious or symbolical character of the entire 
 structure is emphasized, I think, from the fact that a 
 large oval embankment is situated directly in front of the 
 serpent's gaping jaws. This added earth-work gives an 
 even more life-like appearance to the whole, although it 
 was by no means needed. What, of course, is the signifi- 
 cance of the "egg," as this oval structure is popularly 
 called, can only be conjectured ; but indeed there is little 
 to be done but guess, and never very shrewdly perhaps, 
 while we wander along the curves or pause to admire the 
 gracefully coiled tail, or, from the park-land behind it 
 all, we survey the structure as a whole. 
 
 And here let me add that every opportunity is now 
 offered to him who would study this vestige of antiquity. 
 It was a happy thought to preserve it for all time from the 
 destruction that threatened it. Eecently it was purchased 
 by private contributions, and is now, with all the immedi- 
 ately adjacent land, held in trust by the Peabody Museum 
 of American Archaeology of Cambridge, Massachusetts. 
 
 I saw the Serpent last when a death-like stillness 
 brooded over all ; when even the cricket's restless rasping 
 was hushed, and it was fitting at such a time to bid this 
 mystery of a distant past farewell. 
 
 On the 10th of the month I happened to be wandering 
 along the enormous curves of the Serpent Mound when my 
 attention was called to a little tuft of grass that for some 
 reason had been left standing. 
 
 The day before the ground for a considerable space 
 had been closely mowed, and not a trace of the beautiful 
 autumn bloom that had made the spot a garden of de- 
 lights had been left standing. Mist-flower, golden-rod, 
 
228 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 iron-weed, and asters were all laid low, leaving the lone 
 tuft of grass a prominent object. On a near approach 
 I found that it covered but did not conceal a sitting 
 quail. Stooping down, I put my face within a foot of the 
 brave bird, and yet she would not move ; but never for an 
 instant did she take her eyes from me. It was evident 
 that I must actually touch her before she would leave her 
 nest, and this I abstained from doing. 
 
 Day after day I saw her, and she was always equally 
 courageous. A week later, my companion happened to 
 pass by, and found that the nest had been abandoned. 
 The mother bird and her brood had gone, but the nest 
 was not really empty. Seven pearly egg-shells remained, 
 and they were well worthy of study. Each had been 
 opened not merely broken alike and in a curious man- 
 ner. A clean cut had been made nearly around the shell, 
 but enough remained intact to hold the two portions to- 
 gether. This unsevered portion acted as a hinge, and so 
 the little quails had merely opened a wide door of their 
 own making, and through it stepped out of their cramped 
 quarters of the past two weeks or more into the outer 
 world. Occasionally I have seen a single egg, or perhaps 
 two in a nest, the shells of which had been opened in such 
 a methodical manner, but never before where such marked 
 similarity characterized the whole series. 
 
 I have said that the young birds had " stepped out " ; 
 rather they had run, and I can testify to what good pur- 
 pose they can put their tender feet. Still, for the first 
 day of their freedom they were somewhat bewildered by 
 the strange sights about them, and their helplessness 
 when but a few hours old touched even the heart of the 
 grizzled archaeologist who for weeks had been studying 
 the mysterious earthen serpent that for centuries has 
 rested upon the summit of the cliff. He almost wished 
 himself a naturalist, as in former days, when the callow 
 
SEPTEMBER. 229 
 
 creature that he caught and carefully stroked was cud- 
 dled in the hollow of his hand, and a spark of old-time 
 enthusiasm thrilled him when the warning cry of the 
 mother bird was heard, to which the captured baby quail 
 feebly responded. But here the unearthing of relics 
 called the archaeologist away, and I took up the study of 
 the quail. 
 
 That parent birds are cunning all the world knows, 
 and it is commonly added that young birds, the moment 
 they are hatched, know by instinct the meaning of their 
 parents' calls. I do not believe it. Baby quails have a 
 good deal to learn in the first two or three days of their 
 lives, and the old birds realize that it falls to them to be 
 the teachers as well as protectors of their offspring. It 
 was very evident, I hold, that the seven little quails at the 
 Serpent Mound did not understand the urgent whistling 
 of their parents when they squatted in the grass. They 
 did not now respond, nor had the antics of the mother 
 bird, when she feigned being wounded, any effect upon 
 them. They occasionally shifted their positions, and as 
 often exposed themselves as sought a better cover. Later, 
 when the field was clear, the parent birds gathered them, 
 after long search, and as systematically as a shepherd 
 traces the wanderings of lost sheep. For at least a day, 
 if not for two, the anxious movements of the old quails 
 were meaningless to their young; but not so a day or 
 two later. Then you could no more have caught the 
 latter than the former. A little experience had gone a 
 great way in educating the brood, but that little was 
 necessary. 
 
 I have laid stress upon this trivial occurrence, as I wish 
 to add a word of caution as to the common use of the 
 term " instinct." It is better to explain the habits of an 
 animal by other means, and fall back upon instinct when 
 all else fails. I have followed the fortunes of many a 
 
230 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 hundred broods of wild birds, and know with what as- 
 tonishing rapidity they mature intellectually. In many 
 cases it is but a matter of two or three days, but it is a 
 transit from ignorance to knowledge, nevertheless. 
 
 I had no glimpse even of these young quails after they 
 were four days old ; yet I knew they were very near me 
 many times each day. They had learned that mankind 
 were enemies not from instinct, but through instruction ; 
 their parents had told them so. This may seem strained 
 and overfanciful, but after being many weeks afield and 
 disposed to observe without preconceived notions, I, for 
 one, always fall back upon this leading thought, that 
 birds, at least, if not all animal life, are quite well gifted 
 with sound common sense, and this is their main safe- 
 guard. 
 
 For a month a pair of Bewick's wrens dwelt opposite 
 my tent, holding our ample wood-pile against all comers. 
 At sunrise, let the weather be what it might, they were 
 astir, ready to resent the near approach of any bird, and 
 for an hour or more each day sang so sweetly that the best 
 efforts of the crested tit, the summer redbird, or the cardi- 
 nal seemed poor indeed. 
 
 Close at hand was the rude oven of unhewed stones, 
 about which Katie, the cook, flitted industriously, and 
 her the suspicious wrens ignored entirely. As breakfast 
 was being prepared the old wren cheered her with his 
 song, but I was never to be so favored. Neither my com- 
 panion nor myself could do aught but listen from our 
 tents. The moment either appeared, the bird darted to 
 some safe cranny among the logs. This, as I have said, 
 was not a chance occurrence, but the established habit of 
 the wrens. They were not afraid of a woman ; they were 
 afraid of men. 
 
 There was of course some reason for this, and I would 
 that I could report its discovery as mathematically demon- 
 
SEPTEMBER. 231 
 
 strated ; but how seldom can we do this ! I let my fancy 
 run riot for three weeks, and imagined all sorts of extrava- 
 gant explanations. At last a ray of light seemed to fall 
 upon the mystery. Toward the close of my days in camp 
 I noticed that when the wood-pile was rudely disturbed 
 by the chopper, the wrens appeared and scolded vehe- 
 mently ; and then until the next day all would be quiet, and 
 the morning song lost none of its sweetness because of the 
 ruffled temper of the day before. A week later the ox- 
 team brought a load of drift-wood from the creek, and 
 when this was rudely tossed, stick by stick, upon the pile, 
 again the wrens protested. 
 
 Here, then, was an apparent clew. Whatever the 
 wrens suffered was by the hands of men, while the ever- 
 present Katie in no wise interfered with their pleasure. Is 
 it possible that the birds realized the difference between 
 Wallace and his ox-team, or Martin with his axe, and 
 Katie the cook? It certainly appeared so. With my 
 field-glass I watched these wrens one morning, more 
 closely than usual, as soon as they appeared. Early as it 
 was, Katie was already astir, yet the wrens appeared not 
 even to see her. Without hesitation they flew into the 
 open kitchen and caught the chilled flies that had clus- 
 tered about the pots and dishes. If Katie came too near, 
 they flitted to the other end of the long table and con- 
 tinued their hunt, and when their morning meal was over, 
 the old male sweetly warbled thanks for both. 
 
 There can be no question but that they recognized our 
 cook as their friend, perhaps supposed she provided the 
 flies for them. Be this as it may, they were bold to a 
 degree until the professor or I appeared, when they 
 promptly skurried off, to be seen no more that day. I 
 may be wrong, but I believe my explanation is not wholly 
 wild. It is something to watch the same pair of birds 
 for weeks. You get by so doing an insight into their char- 
 
232 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 acter that a chance meeting will never afford. I came to 
 look upon these cunning wrens as creatures that thought, 
 and I hold, indeed, that we should so look upon all 
 birds. 
 
 Away from camp, down in the tangle of the wild 
 Brush Creek bottom, I found many a cunning bird. How 
 cleverly, just as I leveled my field-glass, they all eluded 
 pursuit and disappeared in the caves along the cliff, or, if 
 not there, in the cavernous old dead sycamores ! Cardi- 
 nals, jays, titmice, sparrows, fly-catchers, and wrens, they 
 all knew they were upon dangerous ground, and shunned 
 au^iving creatures but themselves. 
 
 Why dangerous ground ? Those rocky ledges, draped 
 with impenetrable growths, were the black-snakes' para- 
 dise; the bleached and hollow trees that stood like so 
 many ghastly sentinels along the creek's crooked shores 
 ambushed innumerable hawks and owls. There was scarce- 
 ly a cave but harbored a mink, a raccoon, or a skunk ; 
 while in the dark pools into which the rippling waters 
 ominously disappeared lurked the wily soft-shelled turtles 
 that have a serpent's neck and head, with also their agility 
 and cunning. In such a spot it behooved the harmless 
 and helpless birds to be cunning and careful, for their 
 safety lay only in their quickness of wit. When I saw 
 what hosts of enemies surrounded them I did not wonder 
 at their wildness. 
 
 Within a stone's throw of my home in New Jersey 
 these same birds are abundant, but there their foes are 
 few. I can always approach reasonably near to them 
 without difficulty. They quickly learn that here they are 
 comparatively safe. A few months ago I chanced upon a 
 nest of the small green-crested fly-catcher without disturb- 
 ing the sitting bird. Twice daily after that I visited the 
 nest to see if I could have so remarkable an experience as 
 did a friend with another sitting bird. Before the young 
 
SEPTEMBER. 233 
 
 had left the nest I twice stroked the parent bird without 
 her taking flight. Never, I venture to say, a nesting bird in 
 the Brush Creek Valley would prove so trustful. Nature 
 there is more evenly balanced, and every bird that tarries 
 has a veritable struggle for its existence. Certainly those 
 that nested in the more open shrubbery (and they were 
 many) must have been ever on the alert. Indeed, I came 
 to look upon every empty nest as necessarily the scene of 
 a tragedy, yet in truth the great majority had escaped 
 molestation. 
 
 But this cunning had its ludicrous phases ; at least I 
 was daily entertained by the quick wits of the kill-deer 
 plover. During September these birds were phenomenally 
 abundant. Even throughout the night they passed over 
 my tent incessantly, often at a great elevation. Aroused 
 at times by the hooting of the great horned owls, I have 
 caught the faint dee-dee of a wandering plover, falling as 
 softly as the whisper of a star, and then, as the bird 
 swooped earthward, the shrill kill-deer ! kill-deer ! rang 
 out with startling distinctness on the still night air. 
 They gloried in the glimmer of the harvest-moon as I 
 never before had known birds to do ; but where were they 
 at high noon? I missed them for a long time, and 
 learned at last that they were skulking, often in silence, 
 upon the plowed fields. I often tried to approach, but 
 found it impracticable. Long before I was within a rea- 
 sonable distance I was discovered, and away they flew. I 
 tried stalking, but this proved of no avail; they knew 
 they were being pursued, and posted sentinels wherever 
 they were. Think for a moment what an elaborate men- 
 tal effort this implies ! These birds devised an intricate 
 plan to insure, not individual safety, but that of their lit- 
 tle community. Their actions showed that they not only 
 planned, but jointly planned ; and therefore, be it lan- 
 guage or something else, they had a means of conveying 
 
234: DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 their thoughts one to the other. The few kill-deers that 
 frequent the meadows in early spring at home had never 
 appeared to advantage as birds of brains; but here, in 
 southern Ohio, they were pre-eminently so. 
 
 I have not exhausted the list of birds I found within 
 the limits of my daily walks while in camp, but they were 
 all alike in this one respect they were quick-witted. 
 Vultures were abundant, yet, though they often swept by 
 the trees upon the cliff, not even a timid sparrow lifted a 
 wing, knowing full well their harmlessness ; but if merely 
 the shadow of a passing hawk fell upon the leaves, the 
 timid birds that instant sought safety in the dense under- 
 growth beneath. I had noticed something of this before, 
 at home, but never until now in so marked a degree. 
 Here is an instance where discriminating knowledge has 
 been acquired. 
 
 To see a bird poise upon a trembling twig or cut the 
 clear air with its pulsing wing, to hear it sing of a bright 
 May morning or warn its callow brood when danger is 
 near, is to see simply, but never to learn also, -what man- 
 ner of creature a bird really is. To live among them for 
 weeks, and to watch them daily and nightly, is to gain at 
 least an inkling of their true character ; and they who do 
 this are of one accord, I think, that a bird possesses a 
 goodly store of wit. 
 
 And the same is equally true of other forms of life. 
 My tent had not been pitched more than an hour before I 
 had occasion to enter it, and to my surprise I found it al- 
 ready tenanted. A grim gray spider had an elaborate 
 web in one corner, in which a fly was already tangled ; a 
 gray lizard was dozing on the mattress ; shining beetles 
 crept through the cracks of the loose board floor. This 
 was encouraging. I was assured of many friends under 
 my canvas to entertain me during rainy days, and so it 
 proved. Beetles in abundance, but stupid to the last ; 
 
SEPTEMBER. 235 
 
 spiders, lizards, and snakes, knowing creatures all of them, 
 and endlessly amusing. 
 
 Let us consider them in the order named. I was 
 soon compelled to make friends with the spiders, as they 
 straightway became so numerous and fearless that mutual 
 toleration was necessary. Had there been rebellion on 
 either side, the chances were in favor of my discomfiture. 
 
 I had no trouble. Not a nook or corner for several 
 days but was occupied by a web, and often I was forced to 
 destroy these to get at some of my photographic or other 
 apparatus. In a few days the spiders learned where I was 
 most apt to be and what objects in the tent were likely 
 to be disturbed, and retired to the ridge-pole, beneath my 
 table, and behind certain boxes that were constantly 
 opened but never moved from their places. 
 
 This is a bold if not a rash statement. I have said 
 the spiders " learned." Do spiders learn by experience ? 
 Can they be taught ? Let us see. From the very neces- 
 sities of the case spiders must be cunning or they would 
 starve. Their food is not taken by brute force, nor capt- 
 ured by outrunning the pursued insect. As their de- 
 pendence is so largely if not wholly upon strategy, a high 
 degree of intelligence must be accorded them. Spiders 
 have been known to weight their webs with stones that 
 they might be steadied during a gale of wind, and one 
 at least has been known to completely alter its mode of 
 life because of accident making impracticable the ordi- 
 nary methods of food-capture. These more wonderful 
 .evidences of mental strength are too well attested to be 
 doubted, and I was well prepared to find those spiders 
 that crowded my tent equal to all that I have recorded of 
 them. 
 
 As is my wont, I devised various simple experiments 
 to test their cunning, and so whiled away many a lonely 
 hour. Choosing one great gray fellow that had an elab- 
 
236 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 orate web just back of my table, I endeavored to deter- 
 mine if it would recognize me as a purveyor if I assumed 
 that office. At the outset no sooner was my candle lighted 
 and I had taken my seat than the spider would retreat 
 to its innermost sanctum, and not reappear while I was 
 at work. It was afraid of me, and of me only, and not 
 of the candle or its nickering flame. I commenced then by 
 offering a fly impaled upon a delicate splint from Katie's 
 broom. No notice was taken of it so long as my hand 
 was in sight. I kept the fly in position all the evening, 
 resting it between two books, but still in line with my 
 hand, which was in constant motion, for I was busy writing. 
 Directly after I retired the fly was seized and dragged 
 away. Night after night I struck a match to determine 
 this, and always with the same result. It was quick work 
 with the spider, for I relighted my candle several times 
 almost the same moment that I extinguished it, but never 
 caught the spider, and yet the fly had disappeared. It 
 evidently followed my movements very closely a proof 
 itself of cunning. 
 
 During the second week the necessary confidence was 
 gained, and the flies were seized if the splint was several 
 inches long and I did not move my hand. The rest was 
 easy, and every night the splint was shortened until but 
 two inches in length, but I never could induce the spider 
 to take a fly directly from my fingers or allow me to touch 
 it. Then came the concluding evidence of the spider's 
 teachableness. Long before I left camp it would come 
 from its web and take its place before me, when the. 
 candle was lighted and I had sat down to write, expecting 
 its nightly ration of two or three flies. These I nearly 
 always provided. During the day the spider did not pay 
 any attention to me, nor would it show itself at night if I 
 moved about restlessly, had company, or made any unusual 
 noise, such as whistling. It had learned to associate my 
 
SEPTEMBER. 237 
 
 position at the table, directly facing its web, with an avail- 
 able supply of food; and probably of my personality, 
 otherwise, it had no conception. It did not, I think, go 
 so far as to distinguish me from others ; but still it can be 
 said that the spider had proved teachable. 
 
 Sir John Lubbock, in a recent volume on " Animal In- 
 telligence," does not consider that spiders have good eye- 
 sight at all ; but certainly my " tent " specimens saw what 
 they were about, or, if not, by what means were they 
 guided to act as I have described ? Indeed, one seemed 
 even to see in the dark, but in this case, I think, the exact 
 bearings were taken and it felt its way along something, 
 by the way, that was truly marvelous, considering the ra- 
 pidity of the creature's movements. 
 
 Another cunning spider in my tent had an enormous 
 web attached to the roof and around the ridge-pole. To 
 it I made daily many offerings of house-flies. It seemed 
 at last to know me and expect them, so I tested the creat- 
 ure's patience, if not its ingenuity. Filling a homoeo- 
 pathic vial with flies, I placed it just beyond the web and 
 suspended it by a thread to the pole. The spider made 
 several attempts to reach them from the nearest point of 
 the web, and, failing in this, made an addition to it, and so 
 secured the vial, but could, of course, go no farther. Daily 
 additional webs were placed about the little bottle until it 
 was almost concealed. The flies were all dead on the third 
 day, and on the morning of the fourth the bottle was lying 
 on the floor of the tent. I do not know, but suspect that 
 the spider pitched it overboard in disgust. 
 
 A word more concerning spiders. About noon one 
 clear, warm, quiet September day I chanced to pause at 
 a turnstile before going through, and at that moment 
 caught sight of a curious spider. It appeared to be stand- 
 ing upon its head and fore legs, and was quite motionless. 
 On examination I found that it was spinning almost in- 
 
238 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 visible threads, which mounted directly upward and were 
 lost to view. First one and then another spinneret gave 
 up its thread, and a dozen or more were wafted into space 
 while I stood watching. Then, without any premonition, 
 the spider gave a leap, and with its legs folded up beneath 
 it, passed upward and out of sight. 
 
 My old favorites the gray lizards too were ever present. 
 Fly-catchers, like the spiders, they rambled over the tent 
 without hinderance, and afforded no end of amusement. 
 They were never careful of the spiders' rights, and often 
 ran recklessly through an elaborately adjusted web. The 
 spiders never resented this ; not because they were afraid, 
 I think, but for the reason that they were powerless. Not 
 one was capable of effectively biting denser tissues than 
 those of insects. None, probably, either in the fields or 
 woods, are venomous. Some may be, but the danger has 
 in all cases been grossly exaggerated, and the common 
 fear of our spiders is not warranted by anything known 
 of these creatures as a class. 
 
 One old lizard became exceedingly tame, and was my 
 tent companion for many days. Its fear of mankind van- 
 ished on the day of capture, and it was very glad to have 
 me offer it flies, which it took directly from my fingers. 
 I soon learned the reason it was not expert at catching 
 them. I saw it make many failures, and so I soothed its 
 disappointment frequently by catching them for it. I be- 
 came, therefore, associated with food in its mind, and so 
 gained its confidence. 
 
 One afternoon I entered the tent suddenly and placed 
 a large dead garter-snake upon my table. I did not notice 
 the lizard at the time, but it was watching me, and no 
 sooner had I laid the serpent down than it darted behind 
 my mattress. I was not sure but this was a mere coinci- 
 dence, and brought it back to the table. The instant I 
 put it down uncontrollable fear possessed it, and its efforts 
 
to escape were indescribably frantic. Eecapturing it the 
 second time, I placed it in a pen, quickly constructed of 
 books and boards, and slowly introduced the snake, push- 
 ing it forward, inch by inch. Immediately the lizard 
 stood nearly upright, and as the snake's head touched it, 
 swelled up until I thought it would burst, and then fell 
 over, limp, shriveled, and apparently dead. 
 
 I was puzzled at this, and left the tent in hopes of 
 finding another lizard in the wood-pile. Failing in this, 
 I returned, and was more surprised than ever to find that 
 the lizard had not really died from fright, but had merely 
 swooned from fear. It was now partly itself again, almost 
 colorless or a very pale gray, crouched as far as possible 
 from the snake, and trembling. Did it expect every mo- 
 ment to be seized and devoured ? I am at a loss to know ; 
 the more so because I have had serpents and these gray 
 swifts, as they are usually called, associated in Wardian 
 cases, and no evidence of fear on the part of either was de- 
 tected. I can only suggest that my tent lizard had had an 
 ugly experience in which a snake had prominently figured. 
 A valuable point would be gained could this be proved, for 
 then it would be shown that lizards have memory. But 
 those persons who have had them as pets are generally 
 convinced of this ; and is not general conviction tanta- 
 mount to a demonstration ? Not always, I admit ; but in 
 such a matter as evidence of intelligence in low animal 
 forms it is about all that can be offered. 
 
 And here is what I have to offer as evidence that my 
 pet remembered. When I released the creature it slowly 
 crawled away, for it was yet weak, and gradually widened 
 the distance until hidden in a far corner of the tent. 
 Three days later I chanced upon it as it was darting after 
 flies. Its activity showed that it had wholly recovered. 
 Again I brought it to the table, and although neither 
 snake, books, nor boards were there, the lizard was sorely 
 
240 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 frightened, and made desperate efforts to escape, and this 
 fear of that spot, the table-top, continued during the re- 
 mainder of my stay in camp. 
 
 I had no pet snakes, I am sorry to say, but I made 
 some progress in acquiring the good graces of one small 
 serpent, a half-grown garter-snake, that was brought to 
 me a day or two after my arrival. While I held it in my 
 hands, and for the two days it was in a little box, all ef- 
 forts to tame it were a flat failure. As it was quite unin- 
 teresting, I let it go, and it took refuge under the floor. 
 During the heat of the day this timid snake would bask 
 on the floor while I was out, but scuttled off as soon as I 
 appeared. So I tried my old tactics of gradual approach. 
 First my shadow would fall upon it, then I would move 
 a step or two forward and remain a moment perfectly 
 still, then advance, and so on. Day by day I gained a 
 little, and at last could enter the tent. But this was all. 
 The snake preserved a make-ready attitude, and if I 
 stooped or swung my arms it was gone in an instant. 
 Very different proved a young black-snake that my asso- 
 ciate, the archaeologist, had nerve enough to bring to me. 
 It would do nothing but bite, and fairly exhausted itself 
 in impotent rage. Although less than a foot in length 
 and but a few weeks old, it was unteachable. Its hatred 
 of mankind had not been developed by experience, but 
 was inherited, and this law of heredity I endeavored to 
 overcome by kindness. But the snake would have none 
 of it, and not even when alone would it accept the food 
 provided. I mention this because an adult black-snake, 
 although fierce and brave when cornered, is something of 
 a coward, after all ; and, as I know by experience, it is 
 intelligent and tamable. I have never dared to write the 
 history of one I finally conquered by persistent kindness. 
 But does not this all go to show how intelligent snakes 
 really are ? When young, hopelessly unreasonable ; when 
 
SEPTEMBER. 
 
 older, willing to listen to reason, and at last be guided by 
 it. Does not this smack of human nature just a little ? 
 
 So ended my camp experiences in the study of animal 
 intelligence. The results were all the same, whatever 
 forms of life I tested. Cunning, ingenuity, memory, all 
 were evidently features of their minds. I say " minds," 
 for I can think of no other word that meets the case. 
 How, indeed, can one creature outwit another ; how can 
 it plan to meet some desired end, new until then to its 
 experience ; how can it remember people, places, things 
 unless it has what we call in ourselves a mind ? 
 
 16 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 OCTOBER. 
 
 A WRINKLED quince, a rotting pear, three grapes, and a 
 gnarly apple comprise the list of " goodly fruits " that I 
 gathered, this hazy, dreamy second of October, 1887, from 
 an old garden, of which but the merest traces are remain- 
 ing. The day was fitted only for retrospective work such 
 as this. The mellow light of the half-hidden sun, the 
 muffled notes of the birds from the fog- wrapped meadows, 
 the steady dropping of decaying leaves, all led to medita- 
 tion. I called back the spring time of another century. 
 
 It was of this garden that Jane Bishop, in May, 1703, 
 wrote : " We have now an abundance of goodly fruit, which 
 father planted some seven years ago ; and it is with joy 
 that I see growing, as we wished, the blossoms that sister 
 and I did gather from the adjoining woods." 
 
 Jane Bishop was young then, and cared far more for 
 flowers and the wild world about her than the monoto- 
 nous tirades against frivolous pleasures to which every 
 First-day she was doomed to listen. Her love of flowers 
 and a spirit of mischief went hand in hand, and she it 
 was who, in October, 1705, deluged a meeting of sedate 
 old Friends, at her father's house, with thousands of scar- 
 let autumn leaves. It was purely an accident, so she said, 
 and of course it was not. She it was who, on plea of 
 shading the little porch, cunningly chose Virginia creep- 
 ers, that soon covered the cottage, and made it as brilliant 
 
OCTOBER. 243 
 
 as any tree of the forest after the first touch of frost. 
 Never a blossom was found nestling in her hair, so far as 
 we are told, but they clung to her dress accidentally, of 
 course. Mild reproof proved irksome at last, and her 
 troubles ended by marrying out of meeting. 
 
 Let this suffice of her, this Quaker fairy, as she was 
 called, save casual reference ; and what now of the rem- 
 nant of her father's garden ? Perhaps not a tree or vine 
 that I found was one of those planted one hundred and 
 ninety years ago; but the pear may have been. That 
 pear tree is beyond description. Once it was a stately 
 growth, perhaps nearly two feet in diameter ; now a mere 
 fragment of a hollow trunk is left, from which projects a 
 single stunted branch, and from this I gathered a single, 
 rotting pear. The little that remained of it at all edible 
 was evidence that in its day the Bishops had excellent 
 fruit. I ate that morsel with closed eyes, and sat by the 
 fireside of the Bishops in early colonial days. Is this not 
 happiness enough for a hazy, dreamy October day? 
 
 Three grapes! Small, seedy, and sour, yet what of 
 that ? Whether or no John Bishop planted the vine for 
 it was not a native grape some one had, and I saw the 
 Quaker fairy gathering fruit as I plucked the three wrink- 
 led berries. Their bitterness brought tears to my eyes, 
 but with what juice they had I drank a deep draught of 
 that cunning wine which Jane Bishop well knew how to 
 make. For home-made wine was then as much a neces- 
 sity as vinegar, and far more wholesome. And while I 
 struggled with the mat of weeds, hoping to trace out the 
 narrow path edged with the white stones " dear cousin 
 William gave me," as she has left on record, I found the 
 neck of a small glass decanter. It was well buried in the 
 soil that here has certainly never been disturbed since the 
 old garden was abandoned. How vividly the old side- 
 board, a remnant of which I cherish, floated into space, 
 
244 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 and the living-room of the old stone house replaced the 
 garden site, while I stood amid the weeds, holding a bit of 
 broken glass ! 
 
 The quince proved better as a nosegay than as fruit to 
 eat. It was hard beyond safe mastication, but the fra- 
 grance was delicious. How sadly changed the fruit of 
 that tree during the long years of its abandonment ! 
 Plump as the finest apple of them all, as deep a yellow as 
 the orange itself, with what care the fruit was once gath- 
 ered and prepared for winter use ! A dainty that set well 
 with venison, bear-steak, and pheasants ; for the Bishops 
 loved good living then, nor accounted a well-appointed 
 feast one of life's vanities. Quince jelly was their boast, 
 and it was with pride, however they might have denied it, 
 that they saw the jelly stand alone as they emptied the 
 cracked cups that held it. Sugar was a luxury then, and 
 this secret of their jelly-making died with the thrifty 
 Quakers of early colonial times. 
 
 And that apple ! it certainly came from a compara- 
 tively young tree ; for there be none that have weathered 
 the storms of well-nigh two centuries. I say compara- 
 tively young ; the tree had been large, and was now but 
 the merest ghost of its former self ; perhaps it was a cent- 
 ury ago that the seed was planted ; dropped from a core 
 thrown down by one of the fair Jane Bishop's children, 
 it may be. The tree stood too near the " pebble-edged " 
 path, I think, to have been intentionally planted. 
 
 Apple orchards were one of the features of Indian 
 farming about here, and the juice of the fruit was no 
 novelty to the earliest English settlers. Thrifty old Mah- 
 lon Stacy wrote from near here, in 1680 : " I have seen 
 orchards laden with fruit to admiration, their very limbs 
 torn to pieces with the weight, and most delicious to the 
 taste, and lovely to behold. I have seen an apple tree 
 from a pippin-kernel yield a barrel of curious cyder." He 
 
OCTOBER. 245 
 
 who could write this thought well of his stomach, and how 
 was the cider " curious," one wonders ? Was it so tickling 
 to his palate that he felt " curious " ? Well, let us hope 
 not ; but such a thing was not so dreadful then as now. 
 
 How diligently I searched for traces of those wild 
 flowers that Jane and her sister gathered " from the ad- 
 joining woods " ! It was only one hundred and eighty-five 
 years ago that they were here, and a bit of that old forest 
 still remains. Every flower that I found now asters and 
 golden-rods only I fancied spring blossoms, and direct de- 
 scendants of those she mentioned. It was child's play, I 
 know ; a game of making believe but what of that ? If 
 one would indulge in retrospection of a dreamy, hazy 
 October day, he must not stick too closely to the naked 
 fact. I had wandered along the hill, at first without a 
 purpose ; then to locate the old garden, if I could ; this 
 done, had I not earned the right to play I was of an earlier 
 time an inhabitant of this degenerated locality in its 
 happy, long-gone, early colonial days ? 
 
 Kick as vigorously as he may, if one does not dress 
 conformably to the custom of his station he must pay 
 a social penalty of no light severity. It is different when 
 beyond town limits ; but here let me disclaim all intention 
 of advocating carelessness. He who assumes to be wholly 
 independent of custom in such matters gains absolutely 
 nothing, and risks a good deal. 
 
 What may be worn in the country comes under the 
 headings worn in the field, and in the house. A success- 
 ful outing becomes practicable when the subject of cloth- 
 ing is farthest from our thoughts, yet if at all inappropri- 
 ate it will enforce itself upon your attention continually. 
 Stuffs that adhering matters will not injure, cut to fit you 
 accurately, cover the whole ground ; with such a suiting go 
 stout boots. Clad thus, when in the field, one is in full 
 
246 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 dress ; but when the day's jaunt is over, if we return to 
 the house instead of camping out, every stitcli of such a 
 suit is a dead weight, and boots are little better than a ball 
 and chain. 
 
 It is nothing but affectation to carry the ways of the 
 woods and marshes to the house. In early colonial days, 
 when cloth was scarce, it may have been necessary, but not 
 so now. The most enthusiastic rambler has no excuse for 
 bringing wet boots to the library andirons. In gown and 
 slippers he can prove the most delightful of companions, 
 but as a mud-bespattered mortal, indoors, is little less than 
 a nuisance. 
 
 Such thoughts came well-nigh spoiling a recent out- 
 ing, and not until I had had my growl could I attempt 
 the narration of groping in a fog. 
 
 It is a common practice to pronounce a rainy day a 
 dismal one, and to suppose all the world is of your way 
 of thinking. This is quite untrue, and the question of 
 clothing settled, a walk in a rain is really delightful. It 
 is quite practicable now, for weather-proof stuffs are 
 readily obtained that defy the rambler's arch enemy, rheu- 
 matism. 
 
 Very recently a fog, a Scotch mist, and the ragged edge 
 of a northeast storm came arm in arm up the river, and 
 picnicked on the meadows. From the upland fields 
 nothing could be seen of the low-lying tract but the tops 
 of the tallest trees. So dense a fog I had never seen be- 
 fore. Previous to its arrival birds and insects had been 
 unusually abundant; now nothing was to be seen or 
 heard. This roused my curiosity, and I tested water- 
 proof clothing at the same time as I took a well-worn 
 path to the pasture meadow. When I left the last tree at 
 the foot of the hill I was completely at sea, so far as my 
 point of orientation was concerned. I might as well have 
 been on the bottom of the ocean. Instead of being caught 
 
OCTOBER. 247 
 
 up I was held down in a cloud. Space, save the little 
 grass-plot at my feet, was shut out. Think of standing 
 nowhere on a bit of sod ! 
 
 Such were the fog- wrapped meadows yesterday. Guess- 
 ing the direction, I struck out, but never knew where I 
 was until some familiar object solemnly ushered itself into 
 my meager range of vision. The silence was absolute at 
 first. Even the adhering drops that I brushed from the 
 taller grass and bushes rolled noiselessly to the ground. 
 The sound of my own footsteps was muffled and borne 
 earthward before it reached me. Passing on, the density 
 of the vapor was somewhat less pronounced, and faint 
 sounds came from many directions, but none was dis- 
 tinguishable. Finally I saw a song-sparrow scarcely an 
 arm's length away. It made no attempt to fly, but drop- 
 ping from the bush hopped off into fog- wrapped space. 
 Reaching the marshes, I found the little rail birds happy. 
 They cackled more loudly and incessantly than ever be- 
 fore, but I saw none. Skirting the marsh, for I now had 
 a clew to my whereabouts, I passed to my neighbor's past- 
 ure, when a curious sound, one wholly new to me, was 
 heard. To learn its origin became an interesting prob- 
 lem, and I strove to proceed in the apparent direction of 
 the sound's course. This was no easy matter, and whether 
 I was going east or west soon became a question I could 
 not answer; but the strange noise never ceased, and I 
 kept on. Suddenly a familiar clump of bushes was dimly 
 outlined before me, and I knew that I was near the rail- 
 road. Not a safe place certainly, but I followed the track 
 without walking upon it. The low cat-like cry as of 
 an animal in distress, so the strange sound now seemed, 
 was still heard, and appeared to come from the direction 
 in which I was going. I was delighted at my success, 
 and felt sure of being on the eve of a discovery. What 
 that feeling is the rambler well knows. Then the sound 
 
218 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 ceased, and I was baffled and angry. Should I go on ? 
 I asked myself a dozen times, and while in doubt it re- 
 commenced. I hurried forward, and a huge black mass 
 stood up before me. What could it be? I stared and 
 listened, then stepped forward, and the mass took shape. 
 I was facing a locomotive on a side track. The wheezy 
 escaping of steam was the strange sound that had lured 
 me over fog-bound meadows. 
 
 As the sun rose yesterday there came with it a dainty 
 film of cloud, that by noon had thickened and shut out 
 the sky ; later, a faint murmur only the trained ear could 
 catch filled the dark pine trees' lofty tops, telling a secret 
 to the favored few. So I gathered firewood to the music 
 of peeping hylas and whistling white-throats, knowing 
 full well the storm was on its way. The sun set, without 
 a sign, three hours ago, and the steady trickle and drip 
 from the trees and the low eaves of the cottage tell their 
 own story October's northeast storm has come at last. 
 
 I know not what others may be doing, cooped in the 
 burned air of their furnace-heated houses ; but what so 
 fitting on such nights as these as facing the andirons ? 
 The fire is not really needed for its warmth, but is wel- 
 come as the inspirer of pleasant fancy. It is too se- 
 ductive for the student, for the hours prove as light- 
 footed as the flickering flames; but for idle whim or 
 retrospection, a crackling blaze upon the andirons has no 
 equal. 
 
 Safe from the storm without, I still think of the happy 
 creatures I met while gathering wood. Where are they 
 now? They need a shelter quite as much as man. If 
 they had yesterday an inkling of what was coming they 
 heeded it not, and until afternoon to-day the squirrels 
 barked, the birds sang, the hylas peeped, the green frogs 
 croaked. Even the south-bound warblers were not mute, 
 
OCTOBER. 24-9 
 
 and many a one chirped so cheerily it reached the border- 
 land of song. 
 
 The squirrels, the tree-toads, and the frogs are well 
 provided for ; but what of the many birds abroad to-night ? 
 The last one that I saw was a grass-finch that flew up from 
 the deep ruts in the lane and darted into the high weeds. 
 As they shun the trees and do not dig caves, where do 
 they go ? It is raining so hard now the grass and weeds 
 will be soaked ; yet at daybreak, if the storm be over, 
 they will be abroad, chirping a little, and active as 
 crickets. 
 
 I remember one fearful February day, cold as Green- 
 land and blowing a gale, when many birds took refuge 
 in the overhanging banks of a ravine ; I knew that car- 
 dinal redbirds will seek the shelter of a hollow tree, and 
 bluebirds gather where the densest cedars grow ; but still 
 the great problem is yet to be solved of where and how 
 birds find shelter from the storms. Sparrows and thrushes 
 remain abroad until the storm is really here, and reappear 
 so promptly at its close that it is hard to believe they 
 suddenly speed away to the outer edge of its path, and so 
 escape its severity. To find dead or disabled birds after 
 a wild night is not usual, but happens frequently enough 
 to convince one that the great bulk of every species have 
 suitable shelter in mind to which they can resort when 
 necessary. I have long hoped to come across such places, 
 and searched diligently, but not with much success. 
 Some of the ways of birds are still a mystery, but I am not 
 disposed to believe they are past finding out. 
 
 The wind is rising. The angry blast that tugs at the 
 fastened shutter screams shrilly in its rage, and at last 
 finds entrance through some petty cranny that I knew 
 nothing of. With what fiendish delight it pounces upon 
 my shoulders, and sends a chill to the very marrow ! It 
 
250 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 matters not that the fire burns with renewed vigor ; there 
 is little comfort in a blistered face while your shoulders 
 ache with cold. How I long for the high-backed settle 
 that graced the kitchen fire-place forty years ago ! Then 
 you could snap your fingers at the wind though it blew 
 a hurricane; now you are largely at the east wind's 
 mercy. 
 
 Find the pin-hole through which the monster rushes 
 before resuming work or play. Shut it out, or, though 
 you were soaring afar off in the realms of fancy, you will 
 be brought back ingloriously to the level of plain prose. 
 When finally I had guarded my fort against another 
 such assault of the wind fiends, I placed the remaining 
 stick upon the andirons a gnarly, hollow, twisted knot 
 of oak and settled to an hour of retrospection ; but the 
 men and women of colonial times were not called up, as I 
 had hoped. Instead, a redbacked salamander trotted from 
 that last stick, and in blank astonishment stared at the 
 fire and then darted toward me. The fender checked it, 
 and it became frantic. I gave it full liberty as promptly 
 as I could, and now it is cowering in a far corner. When 
 fumbling among the books piled there I shall one day 
 find its shriveled skin, but I need not search for it now 
 that its history may be written. 
 
 Spiders, centipedes, beetles, and 'such small deer have 
 often crawled from the rough wood that I gather along 
 the hill-side, and once a mouse crept from a stump I 
 dragged from the meadows after a freshet ; but never be- 
 fore a salamander. If this was a common occurrence in 
 days of yore, no wonder that these creatures should have 
 been held in horror by the good folks of colonial times, 
 especially if their only knowledge of them came in such a 
 way, which is scarcely possible. At any rate, this horror 
 at length took shape in the belief that salamanders were 
 bred in the fire, and another phase of it was that too long 
 
OCTOBER. 251 
 
 continued fires upon the hearth would cause the house to 
 overrun with them. Of course, too, they were thought be 
 to be venomous. The ignorance and superstition of two 
 centuries ago was something marvelous, and it is scarcely 
 less strange that until to-day even ignorance of our 
 commonest forms of life is the rule rather than the ex- 
 ception. 
 
 Whatever the origin of salamandrine myths, they were 
 more than myth to our ancestors ; and how my grand- 
 father would laugh as he told the following, which doubt- 
 less has been told in many a hundred families in the 
 land: 
 
 A long and bitterly cold night was succeeded by the 
 coldest day of the winter. After much hesitation, rheu- 
 matic Uncle Natty Olden, a man with not the sweetest 
 temper in the world, arose, and hurried to the forbidding- 
 looking hearth to see how the coals had kept through 
 the night. They had not kept well. From the cold gray 
 ashes a few were raked, and with numb fingers he gathered 
 them together, and endeavored to start a blaze with 
 the light kindling he had prepared the night before. 
 But the fates were against him, and the snow that drifted 
 down the chimney had dampened them. Crouching on 
 all fours, he blew upon the coals, rearranged the splinters, 
 blew again, and interlarded all with ominous grumblings. 
 He had known happier moments. At last, a flickering 
 flame shot up, and then another and another, and a cheer- 
 ful blaze was about to reward his labors. At that moment 
 there came a thundering knock at the door, and the 
 prompt " Who's there ? " brought reply from Jemmy 
 Cumberford. Knowing the voice, Uncle Natty unbarred 
 the door, and Jemmy stalked into the dimly lighted 
 kitchen and stood for a moment before the fire; then 
 seizing the piggin on the bench, he dashed the water it 
 contained upon the hearth, extinguishing every trace of 
 
252 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 blaze, and said to Uncle Natty, " Your fire's so old it'll 
 breed salamanders." 
 
 The row that morning between these men the reader 
 can imagine. For myself, I love old furniture, old ways, 
 and to revel in thoughts of old times, but am duly thank- 
 ful lucifer matches were invented when they were. 
 
 There have been several nipping frosts already, and 
 now the cold gray sky threatens rain. Under the oaks 
 there is naught but gloomy silence 
 
 " The very birds are mute, 
 Or, if they sing, 'tis with so dull a cheer 
 The leaves look pale, dreading the winter's near." 
 
 And well they may, for soon the shortening days will 
 bring a northern blast that shall strip bare the trees ; the 
 winding woodpath will be hidden, and the moss-grown 
 roots great wooden serpents, harshly kinked and curled 
 will be lost; the scattered birds'-nests in the leafless 
 thicket stand out in melancholy array, a deserted village. 
 A new world is open now to the rambler ; but let him 
 take heed lest his thoughts be of what has been and not 
 of what is. It is a too common error. 
 
 There are many compensations for the want of leaves. 
 The showy dogwood that this year blossomed before the 
 snow-banks of the great March storm had melted, offers 
 berries of the brightest crimson in their place. The fruit- 
 laden alder glows as a cloud of fire ; but turning from these 
 last brilliant gifts of the dying year, let us take up a hum- 
 bler theme. I love to gather acorns. I learned to love them 
 many a year ago, when, daftly transforming them into cups 
 and saucers, I dealt out tea to others, fun-loving as myself. 
 Such retrospection is too sad to be courted now, but 
 every acorn that I gather summons a picture that but 
 slowly fades. 
 
OCTOBER. 253 
 
 A half-dozen or more species of oaks that either cluster 
 on the hill-side or are scattered over the meadows provide 
 acorns of as many patterns, but all are, of course, distinct- 
 ively that fruit. One can not mistake the acorn for any 
 other nut, as he might the leaves of the tree that bore it. 
 Those of one species are like the chestnut's foliage ; an- 
 other's is like that of the willow. Of the various shapes, 
 colors, and sizes, I prefer the pretty marbled fruit of the 
 chestnut oak, which is usually as richly colored as the 
 asters and golden-rods upon which it falls. Why I gather 
 them, often until my pockets overflow, I can not tell ; but 
 as I look upon them they appear such goodly nuts that 
 none should go to waste ; and yet, of all tree-products, 
 none seem so neglected so without a purpose, here, at 
 home. Unlike the chincapin or hazel-nut, they can not 
 be eaten ; at least, I have yet to find a person who owns to 
 eating them ; and not one in thousands, if it sprouts, be- 
 comes even a sapling ; not one in a million reaches to the 
 dignity of an oak tree. 
 
 Are acorns bitter or sweet according to the soil upon 
 which they grow? I am surprised to find any of them 
 asserted to be edible, in Gray's Manual. Here they are 
 disgustingly bitter ; or are we overnice, because of having 
 such an abundance of sweeter nuts ? I have called them 
 a " neglected " nut, and so they really seem. Nor mice 
 nor squirrels care for them while other food lasts. I have 
 found untouched hoards of acorns that squirrels had 
 gathered, but left because the shell-barks also stored had 
 proved sufficient. And yet I have seen squirrels bury 
 them with care, as though foreseeing their needs, and 
 planting an oak for their indefinitely great grandchildren. 
 I do not suppose a squirrel proposes to disinter the nuts it 
 hides singly in the ground and use them as food. A 
 mammal with such an extraordinary memory would soon 
 cease to be a mere mammal by reason of it. It is, per- 
 
254: DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 haps, as hard to believe that it plants the acorn that a tree 
 may grow. Why it does it is a problem yet to be solved. 
 It may have no connection with the hoarding of many 
 nuts in the hollow of a tree, the purpose of which is un- 
 mistakable. Is it a survival of a habit established in an 
 earlier geological epoch ? 
 
 Birds are said to eat them, but this is a rare occur- 
 
 frence here, I am sure. The blue jay is said to hoard them 
 fc> r winter use.l?) I have never seen any evidence of this, 
 
 ; but have known these birds to feed upon beechnuts and 
 chincapins. These latter nuts, however, do not appear 
 ever to be stored away, in this neighborhood, by the jays. 
 Life higher in the scale than the larvae of insects, it 
 would seem, practically ignores the acorn. It appears, 
 therefore, to be a fruit born under a lucky star, but is it ? 
 Plant one and be you ever so careful the chances are 
 slim that you will possess an oak. As a twig with two 
 leaves it is full of promise ; but there, alas ! the matter 
 ends. The upstart weeds of April crowd them to the 
 wall. An infant oak shrinks to fatal obscurity beneath 
 the shadow of a bramble. But should Fortune smile upon 
 the timid growth and saplinghood be reached, then prac- 
 tically all danger is passed, and a perfect oak is promised 
 to the succeeding century. Until at least one hundred 
 years old the tree is incomplete, however symmetrical its 
 branches or stately its general mien. The solid, gnarly 
 limb ; the wide-spreading crown, in outline almost a globe ; 
 the deeply wrinkled bark ; the twisted roots above the sod 
 and mossy nooks between them; these are not features 
 of a growing tree, but of the completed growth. 
 
 It is an ideal forest where these trees are grouped, and 
 pleasure enough for a day's ramble to meet with even one 
 such tree. Oak forests are features of the past, and when 
 we come to deal with dry statistics the number of really 
 fine old oaks scattered over the country is painfully small. 
 
OCTOBER. 255 
 
 Happy is he who can lead his friend to a dozen in a 
 day's walk. Let me not be misunderstood. I do not re- 
 fer to oak trees merely, but to matured oaks trees from 
 one to four or five centuries old. At present I know of 
 but one, to which I have already referred, and it is per- 
 fect. 
 
 Two hundred years ago it was vigorous and large, 
 and was spared for the goodly shade it gave, when, in 
 1690, the Crosswicks meeting-house was built. Five 
 generations of my kin have gathered beneath its wide- 
 spreading branches, and whenever I chance to pass that 
 way I long to know the wealth of secrets locked in its 
 speechless heart. In the traditions of half a score of 
 families that I could name this old oak prominently 
 figures. It has been the silent witness of mild tragedy 
 and harmless comedy from generation to generation. 
 Eye has met eye, and hand clasped hand beneath this 
 tree, that so doing sealed the happiness of many an anx- 
 ious heart. Under the Crosswicks oak to-day the past 
 and present mingle. Time hath wrought few changes 
 save in those who come and go. Were the Friends who 
 worshiped here two centuries ago to return to earth, 
 they would know the meeting-house they built, and this 
 noble oak beside it. 
 
 There are several pin-oaks in the home meadows of 
 which I never tire. Three that shade a dozen rods of a 
 pretty brook are giants of their race, and gathered near 
 are all the glories of October. To explore these trees is to 
 learn much of the wild life of the neighborhood, for 
 squirrels, oppossums, and occasionally a coon, harbor in the 
 hollows of their trunks or find security in the wilderness 
 of their close-set limbs; mice safely tunnel among the 
 tangled roots ; birds nest in the tree in summer, as well 
 as rest in it throughout the year. From its topmost 
 twig the sentinel crow announces the danger, if any, to 
 
256 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 its weed-hidden followers in the marsh ; and a red-letter 
 day is that when an eagle deigns to spend a few hours on 
 the meadows, making the largest of those pin-oaks his 
 resting place. His presence is only submitted to under 
 ! very audible protest by the resident birds. Particularly if 
 it be spring or early summer, the crows and king-birds are 
 not only very outspoken, but follow the words with blows. 
 I have seen a thoroughly organized band of crows attack 
 an eagle and cause him to retire. The dauntless king- 
 bird does not hesitate to rise above and pounce down upon 
 the eagle's back so long as the latter remains compara- 
 tively near the ground, but the fearless fly-catcher can 
 not follow when the eagle soars to any great elevation. 
 
 Throughout October, unless storm-beaten, the leaves 
 and acorns drop but slowly, and there is often dense shade 
 beneath these pin- oaks during November's half -mythical 
 Indian summer. As yet, there is no change ; leaves and 
 fruit are still stem-bound, although the month is near its 
 close. But elsewhere, a mighty change has been effected, 
 and the richness of color scattered along the hill-side is 
 something marvelous. When the meadows, in Septem- 
 ber, were purple with Vernonia and the brookside golden 
 with Helenium, the limit of gorgeous display was sup- 
 posed to have been reached, but how it pales before Octo- 
 ber's tinted leaves ! If the meadows were grand in Sep- 
 tember the adjoining hill-side is fairly dazzling now. The 
 little forest has caught the trick of the sunset, and glows 
 at the season's setting with all the glory of the evening's 
 western sky. 
 
 But the wind is rising. The robins chatter, the king- 
 lets scold, and many a warbler hurries from the oaks as if 
 it feared the shower of leaves and acorns that fills the air. 
 In such a shower, I am all eagerness to stand and catch at 
 the listless leaves that seem never ready to quite touch the 
 ground. The acorns that fall at such a time are really few 
 
OCTOBER. 257 
 
 in number. I do not remember ever being struck by one, 
 al though to lie under the tree, face upward, and watch 
 the fluttering leaves, is a favorite pastime. It is the sharp 
 clatter upon the heaped up leaves, or dull thud as they 
 strike the yielding moss, that gives a contrary impression ; 
 and generally, although so often forewarned, I look to see 
 the ground covered ; when, in fact, sharp eyes are needed 
 to find the few that fell. 
 
 It may not have occurred to ramblers generally, but to 
 lie upon one's back and study a tree-top, and particularly 
 an old oak while in this position, has many advantages. 
 If not so markedly so in October as in June, still the 
 average tree-top is a busy place, though you might not 
 expect it, judged by the ordinary methods of observation. 
 If you simply stand beneath the branches of a tree or 
 climb into them, you are too apt to be looked upon as an 
 intruder. If you lie down and watch the play often a 
 tragedy with a good glass, you will certainly be rewarded ; 
 and, not least of all, you can take your departure without 
 some one or more of your muscles being painful from too 
 long use. If the tree-top life deigns to consider you at all 
 when you are flat upon your back, it will count you merely 
 as a harmless freak of Nature. 
 
 Often have I been fairly startled by the boldness of 
 migrating warblers that came to the lowermost twigs and 
 then scanned me closely as though I too might prove good 
 feeding-ground. I have expected, more than once, that 
 the birds would alight upon me, but as yet they have only 
 come very near to doing so. 
 
 I have often been asked which of our wild birds is the 
 tamest. All seem tame enough to me, but the two which 
 have appeared the most indifferent to my presence are the 
 brown tree-creeper and the black and white tree-creeping 
 warbler. Only recently, while gathering acorns under 
 the big pin-oaks, I had them come within reach of my 
 17 
 
258 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 cane ; and in fact they usually do so ; but when to watch 
 other birds I have been lying beneath the tree where its 
 limbs nearly touch the ground, they have come as near as 
 possible, without leaving the tree's trunk, around which 
 they ran. Often I have tried to catch with my hands the 
 brown tree-creeper, but it always kept just out of reach. 
 Unless I was too demonstrative, it would seldom fly. The 
 creeping warbler is not quite so tame, yet I have many 
 times marveled at its fearlessness ; particularly during cool 
 October days, when it seemed more intent upon food- 
 gathering than its personal safety. 
 
 A circumstance, itself of little moment, held me, not 
 long since, until a one-act comedy was performed. My 
 readers will agree that one spectator was enough. For 
 some time I had been gazing skyward from the ground 
 beneath an oak. Its widespread, labyrinthine top was 
 silent for a time, and if I did not fall quite asleep, I at 
 least had but a confused idea of my whereabouts, and the 
 dropping of an acorn, falling very near my head, did not 
 arouse me ; but soon another and another came in quick 
 succession, and I was at last aware of being in the line of 
 some busy squirrel, or jay, perhaps, overhead. I could not 
 see the acorn-plucking creature, and somewhat curious 
 about it, awaited developments with my eyes widely open. 
 Presently a flock of noisy robins came from behind me, 
 and alighting in the oak I forgot the dropping acorns as 
 I listened to them. Then I heard, but could not see, a 
 flock of redwings that came from over the creek and 
 rested in the same old oak. Their voices with those of 
 the robins filled the air with music, and I was charmed as 
 I watched and listened, lying flat upon my back but sud- 
 denly all were silent, and then, like a flash of light, red- 
 wings and robins together beat a precipitate retreat with 
 a pigeon- hawk in pursuit, darting earthward and outward 
 over the meadow and directly over me. 
 
OCTOBER. 259 
 
 So far, a tragedy rather ; but there is yet more to tell. 
 I was directly in the track of these frightened birds, and 
 to the cathartic effects of fear I am ready to testify. 
 
 For the moment I thought it more, but it was, in fact, 
 but a trivial matter, although I do not care to have it re- 
 peated ; and now, while I write, I am ready again, weather 
 permitting, to lie under the oaks, or to wander beneath 
 their outreaching branches and fill my pockets with 
 acorns. 
 
CHAPTER XL 
 
 NOVEMBER. 
 
 THE change of the landscape's prevailing tint from 
 green to brown is not a cheerful one. Look wheresoever 
 one may, he is pretty sure, in November, to drift into a 
 brown study, and this is seldom exhilarating. 
 
 " Whither shall I wander ? " has been the initial ques- 
 tion of each available day, and now, a goodly portion of 
 the month having passed, I find my note-books recording, 
 to describe it somewhat figuratively, the fact that my 
 home has been the wheel's hub and my daily routes a se- 
 ries of closely set spokes. The dreary, lifeless, and repel- 
 lent features of many a ramble had better be passed by in 
 silence. Winter's skirmishers, the white frosts, have 
 strewed many a field with dead flowers, and who cares to 
 crush their bleached skeletons at every step ? But deflect- 
 ing a little from the preceding day's course, I have some- 
 times avoided these sad reminders of the defeated summer 
 and chanced upon sheltered nooks from which the besieg- 
 ing frosts have retired discomfited. One such, strange as 
 it may seem, was a wide reach of level meadow dotted, 
 with old trees. The day was essentially forbidding. A 
 gray sky, a fog-patched atmosphere, and a fitful, chilly 
 breeze that smote my cheek whichever way I turned, were 
 discouraging at the outset, but abundant recompense 
 awaited me, for the meadow was yet beautiful, green as in 
 May, and rang with the voices of a thousand forms of life. 
 
NOVEMBER. 261 
 
 The meadow-mice held high carnival in their grass-hidden 
 runways; the birds of the season, best equipped of all 
 creatures for finding where summer still lingers, had con- 
 gregated here. Snakes still tarried, although the nights 
 are cool, and insect-life crowded alike the trees, shrubbery, 
 and sod, singing and humming without appreciable rest, 
 and above all I heard from the tangled marsh afar off a 
 regretful frog twanging his unstrung harp. 
 
 Small areas of such cheerful meadow are not uncom- 
 mon, and during November and all through the winter 
 they are a source, or wonder. A sense of mystery rests 
 over them. An acre, or perhaps ten or more of living 
 green, surrounded by hundreds of lifeless brown, impresses 
 every one who sees it. At least, I have escaped those who 
 could pass it by unheeded. Abercromby, in his volume 
 on weather, remarks : " From the fact that frost de- 
 pends on radiation, we can readily explain why cold is so 
 local. Radiation is very sensitive; the least breath of 
 wind or any local shelter may interfere with the free play 
 of radiation, and so we find two places only a few miles 
 apart, one of which records 10 or 15 lower than the 
 other." 
 
 In a somewhat similar, if not precisely the same way, 
 the home meadows differ inter se. I have not gone to 
 the trouble of hanging thermometers at different points, 
 and tabulated the readings of a given hour, but the nat- 
 ural effect of a difference of 10 or 15 is often noticed 
 between two meadow tracts, separated, perhaps, by only so 
 slight a barrier as a willow hedge. But this alone can not 
 account for all the differences we find, and to the warming 
 influence of a wind-guard must be added the condition of 
 the soil, the amount of decomposition of vegetable matter, 
 and the elevation above tide- water. Then again, many a 
 green meadow remains so throughout the winter, because 
 hardy plants have replaced less vigorous ones, and we 
 
2G2 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 have many growths that retain their chlorophyl unaltered, 
 even though subjected to actual freezing. 
 
 I have had reference only to such tracts as could be 
 walked over in safety ; bat the same difference in a more 
 marked degree is noticeable in the low-lying wet meadows 
 which are often scarcely more than a quaking mass of 
 weeds and water, often many feet in depth. Summer 
 lingers among these tracts in direct proportion to the 
 abundance of bottom springs. I have been long familiar 
 with some forty acres of such quaking meadow, or, more 
 properly, marsh. Three years ago it was divided by a 
 gravel bank, of considerable width, that rests upon the 
 hard-pan, and prevents the commingling of the water on 
 the two sides. One half of the tract remains as it has 
 always been ; the other is permanently submerged to such 
 a depth that the characteristic vegetation of the marsh 
 has been killed. It is most instructive to walk during 
 the winter along the embankment. Summer lingers in 
 the marsh ; even when the drowned meadow is firmly 
 frozen. The severest weather has little effect upon the 
 unaltered tract, and never has its " Seven Spring Corner " 
 been glazed with ice. As a consequence, animal life is 
 little affected where the warm spring water keeps the 
 meadow green ; and here it is that, in the matter of their 
 habits, the many forms of animals living in this marshy 
 tract contradict the statements of those who think of win- 
 ter as reducing the active life of summer to comparative 
 inactivity, or as its actual destroyer. The destructive ef- 
 fects of severe cold hold largely good, of course, of the up- 
 land ponds, and is true, now, of the " lake," as my neighbor 
 calls his submerged meadow, but it is not applicable to the 
 unaltered marsh that adjoins it. If the startling differ- 
 ences sometimes to be seen between adjoining fields, and 
 more frequently between contiguous tracts of meadow, had 
 been more generally noticed by out-of-door students of an- 
 
NOVEMBER. 263 
 
 imal life, dogmatic statements to the effect that, once win- 
 ter arrives, life flees the spot or retires to hibernacula, 
 would not so frequently mar the pages of our natural his- 
 tories. 
 
 To return to the green meadow with its towering trees, 
 that had not yet acknowledged the sovereignty of winter. 
 I had first to marvel at the abundance of the birds. Their 
 voices filled the air, yet I could not find them. Save a 
 brown creeper or a blue nut-hatch, not a feather showed 
 in any tree nor in the tangle that now hid the treacherous 
 barbed- wire fence through which I had had to struggle. 
 As I progressed in my too eager search, I finally came, 
 very abruptly, upon the congregated songsters, an enor- 
 mous flock of cowpen birds. These are small, steel-blue 
 blackbirds, with a dozen common names and one hideous 
 scientific one. As single individuals, they excite little 
 interest, and their best efforts at singing fall far short of 
 success ; but when a thousand or more are gathered to- 
 gether, their united voices closely verge upon melody, 
 although never so thrilling as is a chorus of ten thousand 
 redwings. 
 
 Desirous of watching these birds close at hand, as they 
 ran over the ground, reminding me of an excited colony 
 of ants, I approached far more cautiously than I had been 
 doing, and kept my hands behind me. My curiosity in- 
 creasing, I attempted to approach within a dozen steps of 
 them, and so, as usual, overstepped the mark. The birds 
 nearest me arose, each with a warning chirp, and in a 
 moment the broad landscape before me was shut from 
 view. Broader and higher grew this solid wall of birds, 
 and when its base line was lifted from the ground, the 
 curious spectacle of a retreating hill confronted me ; for I 
 can liken this moving mass unto nothing else. Suddenly 
 caught by a .passing breeze, more quickly than it had 
 veiled the landscape, the flock became a thin sheet, of 
 
264: DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 which I could see but a ragged, fluttering edge. Then, 
 caught by the wind, each bird was tilted toward me for an 
 instant, the light played upon its back, and a broad sheet 
 of silver floated across the meadow, settling slowly on the 
 leaf-strewed sod and lost to view, although not twenty 
 rods away. 
 
 Piqued by my failure to approach as closely as I wished, 
 I made a second attempt, creeping this time upon my 
 hands and knees for nearly one hundred yards. But this 
 again was illy planned. I could see the birds at times, it 
 was true, but only caught the most aggravating glimpses, 
 and learned nothing, except that the same extraordinary 
 restlessness possessed them that I had previously noticed. 
 Tiring soon of my futile efforts to learn even the cause of 
 this, I arose without any caution and stood in full view, 
 not five paces distant. Not a bird noticed me ! If they 
 saw me at all, I was mistaken for a bush ; but I gained 
 one point I saw that they were feeding upon insects. 
 Kunning forward and shouting at the same moment, the 
 whole thousand or more took flight as one bird, drifting 
 before the wind like the autumn leaves that mingled with 
 them, over and beyond the adjoining marshes. 
 
 The departing cowpen birds did not leave me deserted ; 
 but the contrast for a time suggested solitude. The merry 
 clatter of their many voices still rang in my ears, but was 
 gone in a moment, when I heard the sharp " peep " of 
 Pickering's hyla. Perhaps no autumn sound is so gener- 
 ally misinterpreted as this. Few people in this region 
 seem to know that so small a tree-toad exists, and most of 
 those who do, attribute its shrill call, particularly when 
 heard in November, to a bird. It is not a strange mis- 
 take. The familiar tree-toad of summer has long since 
 been silent, or practically so ; and then we never associate 
 him with November and the leafless tree-tops. At best, 
 he lives among the lower branches, and I, for one, have 
 
NOVEMBER. 2G5 
 
 never found them at any great distance from the ground. 
 Among the old apple trees in the lane, all that I have ever 
 seen have been nearer the ground than the trees' tops ; 
 but, on the other hand, the dainty little yellow tree-toad 
 Pickering's hyla of the naturalists is seldom content 
 with so humble a perch, and when in summer they quit 
 their aquatic and mud life for an arboreal one, they often 
 wander to the very highest available resting-places in the 
 trees. I once found one at the very top of a tulip tree, at 
 least sixty feet from the ground. " Peeping " shrilly at 
 such an elevation, it is little wonder that the sound should 
 be thought to be the whistling of a bird. 
 
 As so often happens at the close of a dreary autumn 
 day, the sun shone then with peculiar splendor. For a 
 few minutes the meadows were gilded with a mellow light 
 that brought out even distant objects with startling dis- 
 tinctness. Animal life at once responded to the welcome 
 change. Rabbits darted from their forms, squirrels scam- 
 pered through the trees, and mice stood up above their 
 runways, as though in doubt about their safety. Many 
 birds, whose presence I had not suspected, began to sing, 
 and the crows, that had been silently seeking their roosts, 
 abruptly broke ranks and clamored at the strange advent 
 of a sunny day. Moping herons rose from the rank 
 growths of the weedy marshes, sailed in the gilded air 
 above me, crossed and recrossed the meadow and returned 
 their sole object apparently in so doing, the pleasure of a 
 sun-bath. And beyond, where the creek shone like molten 
 metal, water-snakes, roused to active life again, left behind 
 them tortuous streaks of brilliant light ; while everywhere, 
 above, beneath, and on every side, rang out the shrill chirp 
 of the restless cricket. Here, in this still green meadow, 
 summer reigned. Asters, golden-rod, violets even, and 
 scattered dandelions acted well their part. I had but to 
 keep the leafless trees from view, and it was June again. 
 
266 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 The landscape from any comprehensive point of view 
 still shows a wealth of foliage, although it is the first week 
 of November, 1887, and until very recently it was neces- 
 sary to search for colored leaves. Here, about the home 
 meadows, the painting of the woods is an uncertain occur- 
 rence. The frosts of October dulled the freshness of the 
 leaves as a whole, but many held their summer hue for 
 weeks after, and others will do so to the very last, and 
 finally turn brown, wither, and fall in wonderfully quick 
 succession, the whole change occurring within two or 
 three days. 
 
 There are always, it is true, maples, liquidambars, and 
 Virginia creepers that show a varied range of red and yel- 
 low just as in August the tupelo turns crimson but 
 these make up but a small part of the woods. 
 
 To-day I have been rambling in a ravine where trickle 
 the waters of a hundred springs, gathering "autumnal 
 leaves that strow the brook," and I culled them while 
 standing among green ferns, fresh-leaved privet, and in 
 the shade of white oaks. The latter will retain their foli- 
 age, although crisp and brown, until the coming March 
 winds blow. Indeed, I have seen them cling to the 
 branches until apparently pushed off by the swelling leaf- 
 buds of the new year. The privet will be green until 
 January at least, and sometimes until later ; but the ferns 
 are quite contradictory. Last winter I found them fresh 
 as a May morning along the roadside, and in an exposed 
 position, yet in what appeared to be more sheltered spots 
 the same species in October had withered and disap- 
 peared. 
 
 It is really an open question whether or not the frost 
 kills the leaves of our forest trees, or is the cause of their 
 changing color ; and there are grounds for thinking that 
 the two occurrences are merely synchronous, and have 
 from this fact been considered as cause and effect. We 
 
NOVEMBER. 267 
 
 all know that prior to any trace of frost some forest trees 
 lose the green tint of their leaves, and assume quite brill- 
 iant colors ; and, too, a single branch may change, while 
 the other limbs of the tree remain unchanged ; again, in a 
 cluster of trees of the same species one or more may 
 change, but not the others this occurring either before 
 or after a frost or a succession of them. 
 
 Fortunately, premature frosts, as we may call such as 
 occur earlier than September 20, are of such rare occur- 
 rence that their effects can not be satisfactorily studied. 
 It has often been asserted that when such frosts did occur 
 the foliage quickly responded by changing its color. In 
 but one instance have I been able to test the truth of this, 
 and I found that the trees apparently affected were in 
 every case those that change early in September, quite 
 irrespective of the temperature. Like the Virginia 
 creeper and the tupelo, there are several trees and some 
 small shrubs that undergo this change of color as the sum- 
 mer draws to a close, but such growths when scattered in 
 a wood are not apt to be noticed. Autumn leaves are 
 not generally known as a phenomenon of summer, so 
 are not looked for ; but they are a sturdy fact, neverthe- 
 less. 
 
 So uncertain and contradictory seemed the whole 
 matter that I have for several summers followed the trees' 
 course from early spring until autumn, in hopes of learn- 
 ing something concerning the supposed relationship of 
 frost and the coloring of leaves ; the following may bear 
 significantly upon the question. 
 
 The condition of the growth of the leaves in spring 
 appears to have much to do with the progress of the 
 autumnal change. As an instance of this I may men- 
 tion that three enormous beeches near my home were in 
 full foliage, May 1, 1886, and the rich yellow-green of the 
 growing leaves had wholly disappeared. During the first 
 
268 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 week in June, the branches of one of these trees having 
 an eastern exposure, produced a copious second growth of 
 leaves. In October following, when the foliage generally 
 had dropped, this second growth still held its place, and 
 did not fall until the middle of November. It came a 
 month later and tarried that much longer. The same 
 phenomenon I have often noticed in connection with the 
 many oaks that abound here, and notably the broad- 
 leaved or post-oak. 
 
 Frost, it is well known, is quite irregular in its distri- 
 bution. It needs but a slight variation in condition to 
 ward it off when all about the ground is covered as with 
 snow ; but it seems scarcely possible that a tree standing 
 alone in an open field should be affected upon one side 
 and not on the other, and that the branches that bear a 
 second growth of leaves should always be those that escape 
 being chilled during the first few frosty nights. The 
 leaf, it would appear, like the fruit, has a given time for 
 growth and ripening, if we may call its coloring by that 
 name ; and if the tree is in full vigor, the occurrence of 
 frosty weather does not more than hasten the process, if 
 it does that. I do not believe that it is the primary 
 cause. This is an old view, and as applicable to southern 
 New Jersey, I subscribe to it. 
 
 During the spring of the current year I noticed that 
 trees of the same species varied exceedingly in the time 
 of coming into leaf a difference that may be explained, 
 I suppose, by the variation in the temperature of the soil ; 
 and at this time, November, these same trees may be di- 
 vided into three classes: leafless, with colored foliage, 
 and those with curled but still green leaves. The trees 
 came into leaf last April in the order named ; those now 
 bare being the earliest to bud ; those still in the leaf, the 
 latest. In particular I recall two shell-bark hickories 
 growing not two hundred yards apart, and one no more 
 
NOVEMBER. 269 
 
 protected than the other. These varied last spring by 
 just two weeks in the growth of the foliage ; and diifered 
 by the same length of time in October ; one being golden 
 while the other was still green, and when leafless the 
 other was yet clothed in maroon-tinted leaves of great 
 beauty. The fruit of the two ripened at the same time. 
 
 The effect of a drought, whether early or late, is also 
 to be considered. While I am not aware that any pro- 
 tracted period of dry weather prevented the leaf-bud 
 from maturing, it is true that the size of the leaf is 
 affected with many trees, and the differences in this re- 
 spect between a dry April and one that has had an abun- 
 dance of rain, is a matter of from one eighth to one fourth 
 in the size of the leaves. This is particularly noticeable 
 among oaks and chestnuts, unless they are grown in 
 permanently wet situations, as near springs or in low 
 meadows. 
 
 We see, too, the effect of an early drought during the 
 following autumn, for the leaves fall earlier in the season 
 if they were checked in April by want of moisture ; but 
 a long drought, as is now so common in August or Sep- 
 tember, does not affect the leaves injuriously as they 
 freshen when rain does come or to any noticeable extent 
 so far as their falling is concerned. We had a test case 
 in 1886, when there occurred a protracted late summer 
 drought, yet the leaves remained upon the trees longer 
 than usual a fact not to be ascribed to absence of frost, 
 but to the vigor they received from a superabundance 
 of rain in April and early May, a vigor in nowise checked 
 by the low temperature of August 29, when frost formed 
 in damp situations. And well I remember the parched 
 and dusty summer of 1874. From May until September 
 scarcely a drop of rain fell. In August the leaves began 
 to fall, and the woods were bare by October 1. There 
 were no colored leaves in the forest save of such trees as 
 
2TO DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 become brightly hued late in the summer ; and these were 
 dull and withered. 
 
 But autumn leaves have another than their natural 
 history like autumn sunshine they have merits that 
 concern the rambler, who cares not a fig for their botani- 
 cal significance what may be called their sentimental 
 history. Concerning this it behooves me not to speak. 
 Many have essayed to record autumn's full suggestive- 
 ness, and succeeded admirably. For myself, I never wade 
 through the dead leaves that litter the paths in the woods 
 without thinking of the past. Their rustling, like the 
 monotonous creak of the mole cricket, is, I know not 
 why, associated with days so far happier than the present 
 that I am sobered by the sounds. To-day I rested full 
 length on a bed of autumn leaves, but happily had no 
 gloomy thoughts. The birds were abundant, and they, 
 too, appear to love to send them flying hither and yon. 
 Thrushes and sprightly chewinks that the few frosts have 
 not frightened, scratched among them to their hearts' de- 
 light, and chirped so merrily one might call it song. And 
 the chipmunks scurried over the leaf -hidden ground, and 
 then stopping suddenly, barked at one another, until the 
 little wood resounded with their squeaky voices. The 
 crested tit and Carolina wrens sang lustily, the jays 
 scolded, and many native sparrows sang as though it were 
 May, and not November. There was nothing gloomy in 
 that little wood, and I started homeward at peace with 
 my own thoughts started almost joyously, but the leaves 
 creaked ominously as I trod them under foot. That 
 sound suggested nothing but the dead past. 
 
 But yesterday it seemed that I wandered beneath 
 these same leaves, thankful for the pleasant shade they 
 cast. What though the air was filled with that dreamy 
 haze that makes an Indian summer of the day? Save 
 in these woods Nature seemed daintly dusted with old 
 
NOVEMBER. 271 
 
 gold ; very beautiful, but with not a trace of springtide 
 activity. And as I walked the air was full of falling 
 leaves. Slowly they floated earthward, as though strug- 
 gling against fate. Who, indeed, could be merry in a 
 shower of autumn leaves ? 
 
 The mellow mist that wraps the hills, 
 
 And floods the blighted meadows, 
 The river's winding valley fills ; 
 
 Fled are the forest shadows. 
 A melancholy ending, this, 
 
 Of summer's wealth of vigor ; 
 A veritable Judas' kiss, 
 
 Forerunning winter's rigor. 
 
 While last these sad November days, 
 
 The leafy rain that clatters 
 About the bosky nooks and ways, 
 
 Wherein the squirrel chatters, 
 Calls back the withered hopes that seemed 
 
 Life's gold in days departed, 
 And endless summer, ours, we dreamed, 
 
 But age, how wintry hearted ! 
 
 And what perfect days do we often have, even so late 
 as in the last week of November ! The white fog, like 
 snow-banks, shuts out the horizon only, making a fitting 
 background for the forest that rims the river's valley. So 
 the rambler had a little world to himself, and though, save 
 the dark-blue sky, there was little color but brown, that 
 little with its scarlet, winterberry and rich red bittersweet 
 were the more beautiful. But why strive to prove brown 
 Nature dreary ? The birds were happy take a hint from 
 them. Nor was it only the many birds that charmed. 
 Among the still clinging, crisply crackling leaves there 
 was piping gayly a hidden hyla. 
 
 I have had much to say, in times past, of the activity 
 of our frogs during the late autumn and winter, and here 
 
272 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 would only add a word more about Pickering's hyla, as it 
 is usually called. I endeavored, during last winter, to de- 
 termine just how far it was affected by extreme cold, and 
 was quite unsuccessful. One incident, however, bears 
 upon the matter. During a sleety, snowy, northeast 
 storm in December I heard one peeping in a tall birch tree, 
 and searched long for it. It appeared to be among the 
 lower branches, but of this I could not be sure. It is pre- 
 eminently a wood-note that is difficult to locate. 
 
 At last, chilled from long clinging to the icy branches, 
 I sprang to the ground, and in so doing brushed the hyla 
 with me to the heaped leaves in the wood-road. This I 
 discovered, for twice as it crouched among them I heard 
 its shrill peep, and then caught sight of it as with one 
 desperate leap it vanished. 
 
 If here, where 
 
 " sultry summer overstays 
 When autumn chills the plain," 
 
 but did not that winter's day, the hylas can find heart .to 
 peep, I am ready to hear them at any time, let the mer- 
 cury range where it will. 
 
 Just before a sudden blast from the north with its 
 attendant iciness closed the month, there was a soft south 
 wind that warmed not only the air but the water, and 
 brought all of our batrachian life to the fore. Great bull- 
 frogs, spotted croakers, green rattlers, pygmy peepers 
 silent now and daintiest of all, Pickering's tree-toad, 
 which peeped continually. Then, among the wind-swept 
 leaves that clogged the brook were salamanders of all sizes 
 brown, spotted, red, yellow, and striped. But the little 
 tree-toad, now calling through the woods and always the 
 most difficult to discover, I despaired of finding, but for- 
 tune favored me, and I saw a single one as it gave a mighty 
 leap and came to rest upon an oak leaf across the ditch. 
 
NOVEMBER. 273 
 
 Grasping my companion's hand, I leaned over as far as 
 possible and covered the creature with my hand, nor vent- 
 ured to so much as even peep at my prisoner until I 
 reached the house. While my right hand was thus con- 
 verted into a frog-pen, I saw a single Savannah cricket or 
 spring peeper, and this, too, I caught. How aggravating 
 to have seen a third desideratum with both hands in lim- 
 bo ! But I didn't. 
 
 The two little frog-like creatures are in a glass case 
 before me as I write, and a word concerning them before 
 returning to the leafless woods. One is a tree-toad, and 
 has little circular pads on the ends of its toes, by the aid 
 of which it holds on even to the glass. The other has 
 pointed toes, but with some effort, and by always remain- 
 ing in wet spots, it too can hold on to smooth surfaces mar- 
 velously well. The former is the autumn songster ; the 
 other is the earliest of springtide vocalists. The tree-toad 
 is of an unchangeable pale-buff color, the other is green- 
 bronze dashed with old gold, black, and white, and further- 
 more can change its colors from very dark to extremely pale 
 tints. Both are active, and their prominent bright eyes 
 suggest a deal of wisdom, which even long-continued ob- 
 servation fails to detect. Yet they must think ! As I 
 watch them now it is impossible to foretell their actions. 
 They prepare for subsequent movements in so deliberate 
 a manner one can not help thinking they decide in ad- 
 vance upon much that they do. The manner in which 
 the tree-toad followed a house-fly showed a modicum of 
 common sense. Again, there was always a " make-ready, 
 take aim," posing before either gave a leap that was read- 
 ily interpreted. Yet no amount of experience is sufficient 
 to teach a frog the nature of a pane of glass. And at 
 times, as if by accident, they lodge in some comfortable 
 nook, and remain motionless for many minutes. What 
 then, I wonder, is the nature of their thoughts ? 
 18 
 
274: DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 The birds that thronged the thickets to-day were emi- 
 nently suggestive. Most of them were from the north, 
 and here to spend the winter. "Were any of them the 
 same individuals that were here a year ago ? Perhaps this 
 is not so absurd a question as it may at first seem. Let 
 me ask, have or have not birds a love of locality as have 
 some mammals ? If such a feeling exists among resident 
 species, why, indeed, may it not among those that migrate? 
 And, too, of those birds that come to us in the spring from 
 the south, are there not some that visit the same spot year 
 after year. It is a widespread impression, and probably 
 based upon fact. The whole subject is one of great inter- 
 est, and has its bearing upon the subject of the permanent 
 mating of many species. 
 
 In the woods to-day were dozens of white-throated 
 sparrows, and their pleasing whistle banished every trace 
 of the gloom that silent, leafless thickets always have. 
 Their presence brought up the subject of local attach- 
 ments, and I discussed with myself some points of the 
 question as I wandered along the hill-side. 
 
 If certain birds that spend the summers with us come 
 year after year to the same spot, then there is no reason 
 why the same should not be true of birds that come from 
 the north to spend the winter. The fact that the former 
 nest here, and so have stronger reasons for attachment to 
 a given locality, is, it is true, an argument wanting in 
 the other case, but this want does not relegate the matter 
 to the limbo of improbability. 
 
 Let us consider some of the common spring birds, as 
 the familiar house-wren and the cat-bird, for instance. 
 In the early spring of 1859 a little box was placed in a 
 tempting position for the benefit of the wrens. In May 
 of that year the box was occupied by a pair of these birds, 
 and during the subsequent twenty-seven years the box has 
 been tenanted regularly from May 1 until September. 
 
NOVEMBER. 275 
 
 Always two, and sometimes three broods have been raised. 
 It is evident that the pair which first occupied the box 
 can not be proved to have subsequently nested in the 
 same quarters, but there is, I maintain, so great a degree of 
 probability that they did, that it is of value in determin- 
 ing that other phase of bird life permanent mating. The 
 question hinges largely upon whether we can or not 
 recognize individual birds by their actions. This claim 
 has, as a matter of course, been ridiculed by some, and 
 doubted by almost every one ; and yet I am by no means 
 convinced that it is a fallacy. My friend Mr. Thomas 
 Proctor, of Brooklyn, has published some very pertinent 
 remarks upon the subject, from which I quote as fol- 
 lows: 
 
 " A gentleman with whom I am acquainted has a 
 fondness for cage-birds amounting almost to a passion. 
 The European linnet (Fringilla linota) is his favorite, 
 and in the course of years he has kept as pets several 
 hundreds of them. He has assured me that individual 
 traits in this species are as apparent to him as such traits 
 are to him in human beings. In those birds, he says, such 
 traits are manifest in form, motion, manner, expression of 
 face, in voice, and even in moral characteristics. When 
 standing at the outside of the closed door of the room 
 in which he keeps his pets, he will be able to recognize 
 the voice of any particular one of his fifteen or so linnets 
 by its distinctive quality, usually at the first chirp or note 
 given, and when in the room with them, he can recognize 
 any particular one of them by characteristics shown in 
 manner of motion, and most generally at the first hop of the 
 bird from one perch to another. ' And there is an indi- 
 viduality,' he contends, * shown in a bird's mere attitude 
 in resting.' . . . 
 
 " In my experience with cage-birds, distinctive individu- 
 al traits are more readily to be perceived in the European 
 
276 DATS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 goldfinch, than in any other species ; and I think that I 
 can safely say that I should readily be able to recognize 
 any particular bird of that species which had been kept 
 by me as a pet for a period of six months, in case of its 
 subsequent absence from me, in other hands, for a period 
 of two years, unseen by me in the mean while." 
 
 And while I will not be as positive about the migratory 
 wild birds that nest near my house summer after summer, 
 I will say that I have recognized the same pairs of some, 
 from year to year, my guide being their individuality. To 
 do so needs no other art than to become acquainted with 
 the birds, by patiently watching them day after day, and 
 finally getting their confidence. House-wrens, for instance, 
 are never mute. The moment they alight, even after a 
 long migratory flight, they commence singing. On one 
 point concerning their arrival in spring I am very positive 
 they do not straggle into the river valley, and wander 
 aimlessly about for some time before they take possession 
 of the boxes. Yesterday there was no wren along the 
 hill-side at dawn to-day they are in full song, and perched 
 upon or very near the box that was last year their home. 
 There was no hunting for a nesting site, no feverish 
 courtship, no coaxing of a coy female to inspect the box, 
 no discussion of the availability of the site, no quarreling 
 among a half-dozen, more or less, for possession. Yester- 
 day the spot was as deserted as at Christmas; to-day, 
 not the male wren alone, but he and his mate are at 
 home. 
 
 If the wrens that each summer occupied this one box 
 were not mated when they started from their winter 
 quarters, then their courtship occurred while on their 
 northward journey, for I can not believe that, arriving in 
 the night, this pair of wrens agreed not to disagree for a 
 season, some time betwixt midnight and dawn. The sum 
 and substance of the matter is, the actions of the birds 
 
NOVEMBER. 277 
 
 can best be interpreted by supposing they are permanently 
 mated, and knew where they were going in advance of 
 their migratorial journey. It may be what a willing critic 
 calls a " surprising hypothesis," but I believe it, neverthe- 
 less. Three decades of familiarity with the birds of a 
 country dooryard may not be sufficient to determine such 
 a matter, but it makes one very positive about it, never- 
 theless, and captious contradiction goes for nothing. 
 
 The same promptness to visit, examine, and linger 
 about last summer's nesting tree is characteristic of the 
 Baltimore oriole ; and to say, as has been said, that the 
 sexes never arrive at the same time is rot, pure and sim- 
 ple. Even if it were true, it would not conflict with the 
 " hypothesis " of being mated for longer than a season. 
 
 Let us turn now to the consideration of cat-birds. 
 Having thought for several summers that possibly it was 
 the same pair that nestled in a clump of blackberry canes 
 near by, I carefully watched them, a year ago, to deter- 
 mine their feeding-grounds, if so be it they had any par- 
 ticular range during the arduous weeks when they had 
 young to feed. I could only determine that the garden 
 was more frequently visited than the hill-side or meadows, 
 and so placed food in easy reach and plain sight. This 
 was soon discovered and continually visited. Gradually I 
 removed the board upon which were placed the fruit and 
 insects farther and farther from the nest, and finally 
 placed it beneath a large gooseberry bush at the other end 
 of the garden. After the young were grown they and 
 the old birds continued to rely upon it for their food sup- 
 ply, which I kept up pretty regularly until the end of 
 August. 
 
 The following April cat-birds reappeared, and the first 
 that I saw were industriously hunting in and about the 
 gooseberry bush, a spot not at all likely to be visited by 
 these birds under ordinary circumstances. In May I re- 
 
278 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 commenced the supplies of food, and the old nesting site 
 was reoccupied, although then a much more exposed 
 position than it was during the preceding summer. 
 Here was an association of two localities in the minds of 
 the birds, and an error of judgment, of course, in suppos- 
 ing the food supply at one point depending on the nest be- 
 ing at another. It is important to note here as usual that 
 there was not at first a single bird but a pair, and they 
 were so intimately associated as to lead any one to sup- 
 pose that they were mated on arrival. 
 
 The same character of evidence has been noted of many 
 species, and the whole subject in its different aspects, of 
 love of locality, permanent mating, and preference of 
 winter visitants for certain spots to which they possibly 
 return season after season, loses much of its vagueness 
 and improbability when birds are studied in one locality 
 year after year for many years. 
 
 Impressions of this kind acquired by field studies can 
 not be readily described in minute detail, but one point, 
 however, can be insisted upon dogmatically when a pair 
 of birds are studied for a season, long before the time 
 of their departure at the close of summer they will be 
 very different birds to the observer from all others of 
 their kind. It is not difficult to distinguish their indi- 
 viduality. 
 
 Everybody, it would seem, speaks of Indian summer 
 with that glibness that should arise from positive knowl- 
 edge, but far oftener it is the outcome of positive igno- 
 rance. 
 
 Multitudinous as are the references to the subject, 
 there are but few elaborate essays treating solely of it. 
 Indeed, it is but very recently that I have found a few of 
 these. On the other hand the various references to the 
 short-lived season are by no means harmonious state- 
 
NOVEMBER. 279 
 
 ments. The impressions of a dozen authors that I have 
 collated, as to its time, place, and circumstance, are 
 quite as hazy as the brief " summer " itself certainly is. 
 
 By most people it is claimed to be peculiar to Novem- 
 ber, and warm, hazy, dolce far niente days in October or 
 December are simply so much good luck, but not typical 
 Indian summer. This extreme view is not commonly 
 held, although the correct one ; and by people generally 
 December days of the proper sort are allowed to pass. 
 As there is no established authority on the subject, the 
 laity are happy in being allowed to think as they please 
 a very dangerous liberty, by the way, as is proved by the 
 fact that this same leaderless laity are quite at sea as to 
 what Indian summer really is; all of which matters 
 nothing to them, and they talk about it as freely as of the 
 round of the seasons. 
 
 The term " Indian summer " was applied to the occa- 
 sional brief spell of pleasant weather in November about 
 two centuries ago the writers having New England in 
 mind, and probably to this day the " summer " of late au- 
 tumn is more regular in its occurrence there than it is or 
 has ever been in New Jersey. But why call it " Indian " 
 at all? It can scarcely be considered a happy chosen 
 name, even if the following is to be accepted as the ex- 
 planation : 
 
 " In the early periods of our history, when the Indian 
 enemies lurked in the forests and burst out from their 
 ambuscades on the planter, the first settlers enjoyed little 
 security, except in the winter, when the severity of the 
 season prevented the incursions of the savages. The 
 coming of winter was hailed as the commencement of 
 peace by the early inhabitants of the country ; they sallied 
 out from the little forts and block-houses, in which they 
 had been hemmed up, with the joyful feelings of prisoners 
 escaping from confinement, and busily gathered in their 
 
280 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 harvests. To our ancestors the snows of winter were more 
 pleasant than the flowers of spring, as they brought the 
 cessation of the horrors of war. But it often happened 
 that the mild day of November afforded the red men 
 another opportunity of visiting the settlements with those 
 desolating blows, which burst like the lightning from the 
 cloud, leaving the record of their effects in the blaze that 
 followed the stroke. The activity of the red men during 
 these periods gave, as is supposed, the name of ' Indian 
 summer ' to those bright days, when autumn bestows its 
 last parting favors." 
 
 From Hubbard's " Memorials of a Half Century " I clip 
 the following, as descriptive of the true Indian summer 
 and its peculiarities : " Early New England writers," he 
 states, " speak of this serene portion of autumn as pecul- 
 iar to America, hence the name they gave it. But we 
 look in vain for any recognition of it in pages not more 
 than half a century old. It seems to have departed from 
 the land of the Puritans with the vanished forests, and 
 doubtless these had much to do with its former preva- 
 lence. The French of Canada, called the season ' St. Mar- 
 tin's summer.' . . . 
 
 "Yet the Indian summer is no myth. It often 
 breaks upon us from the very midst of storm, frost, 
 and snow, true to the tradition that there must first 
 be a c squaw winter ' before we can have an ' Indian ' sum- 
 mer. . , . 
 
 " Pleasant as our autumns usually are, . . . not more 
 than one in three or four presents any period of successive 
 days which take on the character of well-defined Indian 
 summer. Intervals between such years may vary from one 
 to ten. ... Of the fifty years from 1835 to 1885, ten are 
 marked on my calendar as having each a full week of well- 
 defined Indian summer, viz., 1837, '39, '44, '48, '53, '59, 
 '08, '73, '75, and '84 ; two as having eleven to fifteen days, 
 
NOVEMBER. 281 
 
 viz., 1840 and '50 ; two as having thirty days, 1865 and 
 '74, and one, forty-two days, 1849. . . . 
 
 " 1865, a cold, changeable, and dry year, but closing 
 with an autumn exceedingly pleasant and warm ; the whole 
 month of November being balmy and delightful, though 
 with comparatively little haze, which characterizes true 
 Indian summer." 
 
 The above describes the autumn weather of the south- 
 ern shore of Lake Michigan, at and about Chicago. Let 
 us now consider this portion of the year at home. 
 
 In Peirce's little volume on the weather of Phila- 
 delphia and vicinity, for fifty-seven consecutive years, the 
 author mentions Indian summer but three times ; so the 
 pleasant weather of fifty-four years may be assumed not 
 to have reached the standard required. As I understand 
 it, the true " summer " week must occur in November, 
 and a very marked hazy condition of the atmosphere is an 
 absolutely essential feature. And here let me ask, was 
 this peculiarity a regular feature, or approximately so, of 
 late autumn in Indian times ? Had the generally densely 
 forested condition of the country aught to do with it ? 
 This is not improbable, and one evidence of it still holds. 
 Among the mountains, where there are still tracts of 
 woodland, although a meager second or third growth, 
 there often occurs a typical Indian summer when such 
 weather is wanting in the comparatively treeless tracts of 
 the lower, level country. But, after all, why the Indians 
 are coupled with it, remains a mystery. The term implies 
 that the aborigines did not appreciate the summer proper, 
 which is not true. They were partial to it, and recognized 
 all its merits. May they called the beginning of sum- 
 mer, June was summer proper, and July was known by 
 a long name, the meaning of which is quite suggestive 
 " when the bees are busiest." There is no evidence that 
 they ignored three months of fruitful weather for an un- 
 
282 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 certain week in autumn that perfected nothing. Ifc ac- 
 quired no place in their religion, and if it was weather to 
 their liking they failed to do more than say as much 
 among themselves; but it suggested nothing, nor were 
 prayers offered for its continuance. 
 
 In our own weather-lore, strangely enough, the season, 
 or " spell," does not figure prominently. It is given in 
 " Signal Service Notes," No. IX, Weather Proverbs, that, 
 " If we don't get our Indian summer in October or No- 
 vember, we will get it in winter." How jolly a thought 
 for the rambler, but alas ! as is so often the case with glib 
 sayings, there is not a vestige of truth in it. How it 
 collapses when confronted by statistics ! 
 
 Be then the history of Indian summer what it may, 
 all know it when it really appears, as is evidenced by the 
 readiness to herald a spurious article ; and the contempla- 
 tive rambler plans his outings to cover all the ground. 
 
 And wherein lies the charm of this short season? 
 Undoubtedly the yellow haze that softens the horizon and 
 gives the world a dreamy look has all to do with it. The 
 character of this haze is an open question. It is said to 
 be animal life so minute as to escape microscopical exam- 
 ination hypothetical creatures that make up in numbers 
 what they lack in size, and at one time shake the atmos- 
 phere and obscure the sun. By many it is thought to be 
 of vegetable origin ; and by a great many, in a pompous 
 manner, it is said to be " haze, and any fool knows what 
 that is." This, the remark of a prominent citizen who is 
 not suspected by his neighbors to be the greatest fool of 
 them all. And of such is many a town made up and 
 kept down. 
 
 I glory in being one of the fools that do not know 
 what haze is. The few Indian summers that I have 
 known have put me in possession of but one or two insignifi- 
 cant facts concerning it. In the first place, it is never 
 
NOVEMBER. 283 
 
 just where you happen to be ; it is everywhere else, except 
 directly overhead, and disappears as promptly as you 
 change your own position. Again, it is delightfully rest- 
 less, outwriggling any child in church, so I am told. No 
 dancer has such nimble legs. From sunrise to sunset it 
 waltzes with the distant tree-tops, while the trees near 
 where I am standing remain, like myself, a quiet specta- 
 tor. But when I run across the pasture meadow, the trees 
 have changed places those that were dancing are now 
 sedate spectators. 
 
 But no one should stand during Indian summer, al- 
 though it is not a season of activity. I compromised the 
 matter by taking my boat and rowing down Crosswicks 
 Creek from the draw-bridge to the Delaware four miles 
 or more of a most crooked course; here, between wide 
 meadows but a foot or two above high tide, and there, at 
 the foot of a wooded bluff, where the current is swifter 
 and ripples over shallows studded with pebbles, mussels, 
 and, strange to say, even to this day, stone implements 
 fashioned by prehistoric men. The vicissitudes of centu- 
 ries, one would think, should have buried them before 
 this. But the floods divide their favors, and where they 
 cover here, they expose elsewhere. For how long 
 must this valley have been inhabited, so thickly studded 
 is the meadow mud with weapons of rude workmanship ! 
 Yet not here does the story of man's occupancy of Amer- 
 ica open. There is an earlier and even more striking 
 chapter. 
 
 The suggestion that absolutely primitive man ever ex- 
 isted in America has been and still is vehemently denied ; 
 but it is cheering to know that gradually his presence in 
 an earlier geological epoch is being admitted. Why so 
 cautiously admitted, though, is not quite clear. Still it is 
 something gained to have him in the probability stage, in 
 a new school-book. 
 
284: DATS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 As I round the wooded bends and weedy corners, I 
 conjure up this ancient man, and people the near-by hills 
 with him and his, picturing to myself what time the first 
 Indian summer dimmed the near distance with its golden 
 mists. Not strictly speaking an " Indian " summer then, 
 but the mellowing of an ice-age autumn. This, when the 
 river was a mightier stream, and the first tide of the creek 
 was yet to flow. 
 
 And later, when the black mud that now makes these 
 wide, weedy meadows was being slowly laid down, yet 
 another folk were here, and after them the Indian. 
 There is something mysterious in the human mind that 
 it rebels the instant that man's antiquity is broached. The 
 mammoth and mastodon, the moose, reindeer, and ex- 
 tinct great beaver, they are all well known, and none 
 doubt their place in the earth's geological history ; there 
 are the same evidences of men, earlier in time than the 
 Indian, mingled with the animals I have named, yet the 
 statement makes men still shrug their shoulders. The 
 just law that sauce for the goose should be sauce for the 
 gander, fails for once. Bones of mammals are as old as 
 the deposits that contain them ; but bones of men must be 
 intrusive objects. Why, must be, has never been explained. 
 Superstition has such a grip upon the world, it may yet 
 die in ignorance. 
 
 But let us to a more pleasant subject, where rancorous 
 discussion can not creep in. The dreamy days of this 
 short season do not have a depressing effect upon animal 
 life. I startle the wary wild duck as I round a jutting 
 bush-clad point, and its clear alarm cry goes bounding up 
 the valley until lost in the open meadows. The foraging 
 musk-rats cross the creek before me, bearing calamus 
 roots upon, if not above, the surface of the water ; but 
 more delightful than all else to see or hear now, are the 
 close-gathered redwings that fill the whole valley with 
 
NOVEMBER. 285 
 
 their united voices. It matters not to them whether it 
 be spring or autumn, summer or winter ; there is melody 
 in their hearts at all seasons, and they mean that the 
 world shall know it. 
 
 The flowers of summer, even the everywhere present 
 golden-rods of September, are not missed at such a time. 
 A single happy bird will make glad the dreariest land- 
 scape; and before Indian summer came, the meadows 
 and creek-side were filled with a cheerful, chirping host 
 that will spend the winter with us. I never want for a 
 companion when I come to the creek. It is the great 
 highway of an endless host, and to be one with them, if 
 not of them, is a treat fit for the gods. 
 
 However full the day, the thought that this sweet 
 " summer " is so short will constantly intrude. Not a 
 cloud flecks the sky but we wonder what of the morrow ? 
 Not a breeze stirs the branches and rattles the withered 
 but still clinging leaves but we scan the northern skies 
 for a herald of winter. As quickly as the Indian summer 
 came, so she departs. The storm-king takes up the 
 scepter, and a new order is established. 
 
 The Delaware Indians called the eleventh month Wini- 
 gisclmcli, or Snow Moon, and our records show that the 
 first snow-fall is usually before December 1st. Hence the 
 common saying that the date of the first rabbit-tracking 
 snow in November indicates the number of snow-storms 
 of the winter ; and trustworthy meteorological records 
 show that snow and ice are more a feature of the eleventh 
 month than is a week of beautiful, warm, and hazy 
 weather. Nevertheless, November is neither a winter nor 
 a wintry month. 
 
 A jumping mouse that I have had for weeks has be- 
 come so stupid since the mild days of last month that I 
 have generously passed it over to a friend. A word is in 
 
286 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 season, therefore, when these creatures are out of season 
 concerning not only this one in particular, but others of 
 its kind. My field notes and indoor studies are as fol- 
 lows : 
 
 March 13, 1887, was a delightful day. There was suffi- 
 cient warmth to cause one to forget that winter had still 
 the upper hand. Peewees were abundant, and those 
 about the old draw-bridge over Crosswicks Creek sang 
 suggestively. Frogs croaked hopefully something like 
 " no more frost ! no more frost ! " was the burden of their 
 unceasing chorus; but I may add, parenthetically, that 
 there was more frost, and for the benefit of those who 
 have expressed a doubt, even snow in April. 
 
 With two enthusiastic " outers " for companions, an 
 exploration of a curious mound in the meadows was under- 
 taken, we three being archaeologists for the nonce. The 
 little hill proved to be Dame Nature's work, and no long 
 resting bones of Lenni Lemipe were brought to light. 
 But we did not come away empty-handed. The first 
 shovelful of dirt removed exposed a hibernating jumping 
 mouse. It was a cold, stiff, globular mass, looking wonder- 
 fully like a huge hairy caterpillar, closely curled. One of 
 my companions wrapped it in his handkerchief, and 
 placed the bundle in the capacious side pocket of his 
 overcoat. From time to time the package was examined, 
 and in less than an hour his mouseship was quite active 
 and required extra precautions to prevent his escape. 
 Some hours later, when placed in fairly comfortable 
 quarters, he showed no disposition to return to a torpid 
 condition. It was evident that anticipating summer had 
 no ill-effects upon the creature's health. 
 
 This mouse lived for several months, and finally be- 
 came quite tame, but never changed its nocturnal to di- 
 urnal habits. 
 
 To-day, November 21, has proved thoroughly delight- 
 
NOVEMBER. 
 
 ful for outdoor occupations. Too cool, perhaps Indian 
 summer on ice ; but not disagreeable to take. Late in the 
 afternoon, a cozily nesting jumping mouse was exhumed 
 from a high knoll on one of the upland fields. The ani- 
 mal was in a globular nest of closely interwoven grass, and 
 this was about six inches from the surface. 
 
 As in all cases that have come to my knowledge, the 
 position was such that under ordinary circumstances the 
 nest would remain dry, although at such an inconsiderable 
 depth. But the creatures do not always make a wise 
 choice in this all-important matter, as we have already 
 seen, for the freshets sometimes wash the earth away from 
 their retreats, and the occupants are drowned, often with- 
 out previously being roused to consciousness. 
 
 In the locality examined to-day, the ordinary autumn 
 saturation of the soil would, of itself, not penetrate the 
 thick mat of grass that filled the burrow, and the ground 
 freezing early in the winter would thereby further pro- 
 tect the nest from protracted rainfalls and the soaking 
 arising from the melting of snow. So far as I have been 
 able to determine, open winters, with alternating freezing 
 and thawing and rain instead of snow, are more destruct- 
 ive to these mammals than steady cold, however intense 
 or prolonged. Indeed, the latter condition can never 
 prove hurtful, so long as the hibernacula remain undis- 
 turbed. Hence the greater abundance of the species 
 farther north (?). 
 
 This curious kangaroo-like creature is certainly not 
 favorably constructed for elaborate burrowing. The fore 
 feet are weak, and the fore limbs too short, or so it seems ; 
 and yet the winter quarters of the specimen found to-day 
 were neatly arranged, and the more interesting from the 
 fact that it is not very clear how the hibernating chamber 
 had been constructed. There was no evidence, such as 
 loose dirt or a hole in the surface of the ground. Had 
 
288 DAYS OUT OF DOOI2S. 
 
 the presence of the animal been suspected, I do not think 
 there existed the slightest clew to its precise whereabouts. 
 The excavation, as judged by the undisturbed portion, was 
 nearly globular, and about five inches in diameter. The 
 cavity was filled with fine, flexible grasses, except the 
 very center, wherein was curled the torpid jumping mouse. 
 As with the earth-chamber, so the grasses lining it were 
 without the slightest trace of an entrance to the center. 
 Apparently, after the mouse had curled itself up, it had 
 kept one paw, at least, free and shut the door and 
 barred it on the inside. Then, tucking this paw under 
 its chin, the world was to go easy with it until next 
 spring-tide. 
 
 My captured and now contented mouse was thrown 
 from its nest to the surface of a load of sand, and fortu- 
 nately rested on the load instead of beneath it. The 
 creature's unceremonious eviction did it no harm, and 
 when first seen, at the end of a very short journey, it was 
 subjected to a toss to the hard ground, upon which it fell 
 with some force. A moment later, it was handed to me. 
 From the time of its exposure until I received it, not 
 more than ten minutes, if so much, had elapsed. When 
 I laid it upon the palm of my hand, it was, to all appear- 
 ances, a fuzzy stone a hard, cold, oval pebble, such as 
 one might pick up anywhere. Neither ears, limbs, nor 
 tail were visible, the former being pressed closely against 
 the breast and abdomen, while the tail was lost to sight in 
 the fur of the back and head, to which it clung as closely 
 as poison ivy to the oak. 
 
 With it still in the position mentioned, I sat by a 
 stove for fifty minutes, intent upon watching the effect 
 of a high temperature, trusting the transition would not 
 prove too sudden and so fatal. It was no light task to- 
 ward the last, but I persevered in spite of discomfort. 
 For twenty minutes there was no change beyond that of 
 
NOVEMBER. 289 
 
 temperature, the mouse no longer feeling like ice, and, I 
 think, the tail relaxed slightly. About two minutes later, 
 there was a well-marked, convulsive movement at the 
 neck, the head rising a short distance from the breast 
 and then resting against it again. This occurred at inter- 
 vals of about forty seconds, for four or five minutes, and 
 then ceased. In the mean while the tail uncurled, but did 
 not move when placed in different positions. 
 
 For about three minutes the mouse seemed dead. I 
 could not detect its breathing, and when gently prodded it 
 did not flinch. Then suddenly the fore feet commenced 
 twitching at about one minute intervals. Five minutes 
 later, the hinder limbs likewise twitched, and a tremor 
 siezed the whole body. The movements collectively 
 strongly suggested that this tedious process of returning 
 to consciousness was decidedly painful ; which, of course, 
 it can not be. The general trembling and twitching 
 grew gradually more violent, but less rapid, and finally de- 
 veloped into long-drawn inspirations, or what appeared to 
 be such, and suggested more strongly than ever severe pain. 
 
 At the elapse of forty minutes from the time of com- 
 mencing my observations, control of the limbs was ac- 
 quired and the mouse stood up; regaining its position 
 whenever pushed over on its side or turned upon its back. 
 It now appeared to be asleep merely, the violent respira- 
 tion or spasmodic thoracic movements that disturbed the 
 whole body having ceased. Fully ten minutes later the 
 eyes opened, but such a sheepish, sleepy look it had ! 
 Still it kept them open and was evidently trying to collect 
 its thoughts, a task that required some time for it to 
 accomplish. 
 
 I infer, from the movements of the animal, that it 
 was absolutely unconscious during the time the body was 
 steadily responding to the influence of the warm atmos- 
 phere surrounding it. 
 19 
 
290 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 Since the above was written, I have had my jumping 
 mouse in cozy quarters for sufficient time to have learned 
 a good deal about its other habits, but have not done so. 
 Except upon rare occasions, it has proved undemonstra- 
 tive and uninteresting to a degree. One difficulty in the 
 study of its habits is not readily overcome, that of the 
 creature being active only at night. And yet, while 
 strictly nocturnal, the creature never appears dazed, even 
 when suddenly plunged into the brightest sunlight. The 
 eyes are small and bead-like, and have not the suggestive- 
 ness of weak vision and star-lit nights that do the large 
 blinking eyes of the flying squirrel and white-footed 
 mouse ; and yet the creature is always inactive during the 
 day. Judging solely from certain movements and the re- 
 sult of simple experiment, it is probable, at least, that the 
 creature's other senses are exceedingly acute more so 
 than with the true mice and that this supplies the de- 
 ficiency, if such exist, of weak vision. In more than one 
 sense, I have had to work in the dark, to determine this, 
 if, indeed, it is determined. 
 
 Twice my specimen has been on the alert when I 
 opened the cage to supply food and water, and with 
 astonishing quickness made one desperate leap and van- 
 ished. To recapture it was difficult ; and it was during 
 these two occasions that I learned the quite unsuspected 
 fact that its scansorial ability is sufficient to stand it 
 well in need. If a surface was moderately rough, the 
 fact that it was perpendicular did not bar its progress. 
 Hence, while scrutinizing the carpet, as though looking 
 for a pin, his mouseship was on top of a table, con- 
 templating my senseless search. Nevertheless, I had op- 
 portunities on both occasions to observe its gait upon 
 level surfaces, and found it to be quite the same as that 
 of an ordinary house-mouse. It only leaped when I 
 attempted to place my hand over it. In other words, 
 
NOVEMBER. 291 
 
 when pursued, it ran, and only leaped when about to be 
 overtaken. 
 
 And in all these weeks my mouse has never squeaked. 
 Even when his tail is pinched, it has muttered to 
 itself, if at all ; and during the gloaming, and often until 
 well in the night, I have sat in darkness by its cage, hear- 
 ing its movements and dimly discerning them, but not a 
 sound has it uttered. Yet I can not think that it is a mute 
 individual ; and I know that in the field, of a warm sum- 
 mer night, they can and do squeak, and sometimes soften 
 this short utterance until you might almost say they 
 sang. 
 
 Probably, had I found my specimen in May instead of 
 November, when fresh from a long winter's nap, instead 
 of being suddenly aroused at the commencement of it, I 
 should have had something more interesting to report 
 concerning it ; for such as I have seen within a year or 
 two, in the field, have shown themselves to be exceedingly 
 intelligent ; particularly in their usually successful efforts 
 to elude their enemies, which are so abundant that it is 
 a marvel the species has been able to maintain its ground ; 
 although, of course, its nocturnal habits are somewhat in 
 its favor ; as is also the fact that for some five months of 
 each year it is safely tucked away from the jaws and claws 
 of its most persistent foes. Yet, notwithstanding all 
 this, the species, in this vicinity at least, is not nearly so 
 common as the beautiful white-footed mouse, the Hes- 
 peromys, daintiest of all our mammals. 
 
 A year has now passed since this second section was 
 written, and I have again something more to say of the 
 little fellow. Some years ago, I expressed a doubt as to 
 the possibility of this mammal leaping as far as stated by 
 Dr. Godman, " from five to six feet at every spring." I 
 have learned since then that the white-footed mouse can 
 do this, and here we have a mammal whose construe- 
 
292 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 tion does not suggest as marked leaping powers. I recent- 
 ly chased one over the smooth rocks of Brush Creek, in 
 southern Ohio, where I could mark and measure its tracks 
 as it sped over the mud-coated stones. Its leaps varied 
 from two to three feet, and once, bounding over a shallow 
 pool, the distance cleared was a few inches more than a 
 yard. 
 
 Brayton, in his report on the mammals of Ohio, says 
 of the jumping mouse, the " kangaroo-like structure en- 
 ables this little animal to take enormous leaps, of even 
 eight to ten feet when alarmed," and I have found this 
 true of the species in New Jersey. Early one morning, 
 during the summer just gone, I noticed in a clover stub- 
 ble a great commotion, in which a hen that had her 
 chicks with her was the only visible participant. Sus- 
 pecting that a weasel might have attacked her brood, I 
 approached without due caution something a naturalist 
 should never do and was startled when quite near to 
 see a small mammal give a sudden bound into the air and 
 reach the ground again at a surprising distance. I knew 
 of no other creature possessing like jactatorial power, and 
 pronounced it a jumping mouse. A very hard chase, di- 
 rectly afterward, proved that I was correct. To make an 
 accurate measurement of this creature's initial leap was 
 not practicable, but certain mullein stalks from which it 
 started and at which it landed led me to believe that the 
 distance was little if anything less than nine feet. 
 
 Of course such jumping is unusual, but I noticed that 
 while I pursued the same mouse, it several times gave sur- 
 prising leaps, after running in a zigzag course for some 
 distance. It appeared to be able to leap only when it 
 reached some spot peculiarly adapted to the act a lay of 
 the land, as it were, that took the place of a spring-board. 
 I say, it " appeared so " ; but in all such matters one can 
 not safely express an opinion unless based upon a series of 
 
NOVEMBER. 293 
 
 observations and experiments. These are necessarily dif- 
 ficult, good luck rather than good management making 
 them practicable. On one point, however, all observers 
 will undoubtedly agree that no other of our mammals 
 possesses leaping powers equal to those of the pretty jump- 
 ing mouse. 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 DECEMBER. 
 
 THE round of the seasons three or four centuries ago 
 was less frequently interrupted, probably, than now by 
 overstaying summer. The Delaware Indians, as has been 
 mentioned, expected at least one snow-fall in November. 
 This year, 1888, we have had next to none even in Decem- 
 ber. It was continually "in the air," so my neighbors 
 averred, but if so, it remained where it was ; but at last, the 
 long threatening clouds assembled in full force. A dim 
 and dusty atmosphere shut out the horizon. The gloomy 
 pine trees' pointed tops trembled, though there was no 
 wind, and a muffled moan filled the long avenues of leafless 
 oaks. Not a bird chirped ; aye, not one hopped from its 
 perch, as I passed them by, snow birds and tree sparrows, 
 as if even they too, although visitors from the north, awaited 
 with fear the coming of the storm. Soon, with no avant- 
 courier to warn, singly, through the locked branches of 
 the thickset trees, sifted the icy snow-flakes. No patter 
 was heard, as of April rain on last year's leaves. They 
 each came silently, glinting a moment in the fading light 
 and straightway disappeared. Then, as the clouds dark- 
 ened, they fell in greater haste, whirling against and at 
 last enshrouding alike tree, bush, brier, and withered wind- 
 rowed leaves. 
 
 The first snow had come, and to-morrow field, meadow, 
 and hill-sides will be new countries to explore. And so it 
 
DECEMBER. 295 
 
 proved. Throughout the night the storm continued, and 
 at sunrise I thought how happily the Indians had named 
 the year's last month, M'chakhocque gisclmch, the moon 
 when the trees bend with snow. 
 
 That we have less snow than formerly can not be 
 questioned; that we shall have next to none when our 
 forests are all gone, goes without saying; but, happily, 
 it yet occasionally invades even the sheltered meadows, 
 and I, for one, am duly thankful. It is a fact that it mat- 
 ters not how intense the cold may be, nature is never at 
 rest, nor wild life banished ; merely every object is more 
 strictly conditioned. Even an arctic winter teems with 
 suggestiveness, and a mild one is too often but a summer 
 in undress. 
 
 Field, meadow, and hill-side, alike snow-clad ; let us 
 ramble over them. Even were the country literally cov- 
 ered with the snow, a day's outing would not prove fruit- 
 less, for there are ever the -birds that soar above it crows 
 in the upper air, larks in the tree-tops, and sparrows in 
 the hedge-rows ; then, too, the snow itself is often alive 
 with pretty creatures akin to fleas, marvels of activity and 
 grace as they flee from your advancing shadow. Still, the 
 average rambler is not an Eskimo ; his ancestry is tropical 
 rather, and winter is loved only as a novelty. Hence, 
 how the countenance brightens during a winter walk 
 when one comes to a bare spot of earth ! How tenderly 
 he kneels to examine and perhaps to pluck some little 
 faded flower a bit of chick-weed or withered dandelion ! 
 But I did more than this ; tired with picking my way over 
 half a mile of stubble, starting the mice from their run- 
 ways and flushing grass-finches from their favorite hol- 
 lows, I came, at the public road, upon a narrow strip of 
 naked earth. So, at least, it was in common parlance ; 
 but what a beggarly idea of nature one must have to call 
 it naked ! 
 
296 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 At the upper margin of the loose, red earth, that near- 
 est the unsheltered field above, the frost had lifted sand- 
 grains and even pebbles from their beds, and wrought 
 many a winding cave, crystal grotto, and ravine ; but beau- 
 tiful as they were, they smacked of winter, and I turned 
 my back upon them ; for scarcely more than a pace dis- 
 tant, this same red earth was carpeted with pink-fruited 
 lichen, and holding yet against the season's rigor was a 
 forest of sweet-fern. Here rested summer and winter face 
 to face, if not hand in hand. Summer, plucky to the last, 
 and not to be ousted winter, impotent to harm, despite 
 its bluster. 
 
 Such little spots are not uncommon, and interest the 
 more for that so many, like this road-side slope, have a 
 northern outlook, and the temperature, of course, falls 
 very low at times. To-day, when all is gloomily arctic in 
 the fields hard by, here is no hint save that of a genial 
 summer sun, for the sweet-fern although bronzed and 
 brittle has not yet wilted. Recalling the birds and mice 
 that I had found on my way hither, the conditions at the 
 road-side contradicted the general impression as to wild 
 life in winter. It does not always seek the more sheltered 
 places ; for, notwithstanding the northern exposure, this 
 was a sheltered spot; else why such vigorous growths? 
 Lichens, it is true, are unaffected by ordinary winter 
 weather, but besides this, there were other growths that 
 remained green and fresh as ever a plant in June saxi- 
 frage, prince's pine, and Mitchella with its crimson ber- 
 ries. 
 
 But animal life : there should have been an abundance 
 of it, I thought, coursing over such a cheerful scene, but I 
 could find spiders only, and very few of them. Hurry- 
 ing over the ground, they looked quite formidable, and 
 were doubtless indignant at my interference, but far too 
 timid to resent it. 
 
DECEMBER. 297 
 
 Leaving this brilliant winter garden, I passed down 
 the road, and where the slope was higher and equally ex- 
 posed to every breath of the north wind, I found the ferns 
 still green. This excites no surprise at favored spots on 
 the home hill-side, where the sun looks down at noon and 
 every breeze but that from the south is held at bay. But 
 here on the road-side every condition is reversed, and 
 where one would naturally look for the earliest effects of 
 frost none are to be found. This can be explained in part 
 by recalling the conditions holding good in summer. 
 Having a northern exposure, it lost none of its moisture 
 through exposure to the direct sunlight, and while plant 
 life on the opposite side of the road was withered and sere 
 throughout the dry weeks of August and September, here 
 it was fresh and green as in early June. There was no 
 check to its growth from early spring until late autumn, 
 and so it had vigor enough to withstand the ordeal of a 
 winter's cold. This is the apparent reason, but, alas! 
 apparent reasons are not always the correct ones. 
 
 Climbing to the top of the bank, the snow-clad field 
 is again before me, and with a feeling akin to dread I 
 start across it. The bright sunshine is blinding ; the fit- 
 ful breeze is all too keen for comfort ; but even here there 
 is plant life that bids both the wind and snow defiance. 
 Trailing Mitchella, laden with crimson berries, brightens 
 the little circle of sod beneath a lone cedar, where no 
 plow appears ever to have invaded. A bit of mossy, gray- 
 green sod there has as aged a look as the old tree itself, 
 and this we know has weathered the storms of two centuries 
 an all-suggestive bit of sod, upon which one might fancy 
 still remained the imprint of an Indian moccasin ; a bit 
 of sod that should have been studded with arrowheads, 
 and here, indeed, I found a fragment of one. With the 
 whole world laid bare in midsummer, what matters a 
 mere speck of weedy ground ? Nothing then, perhaps 
 
298 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 but now how we treasure the little space that the cedar 
 has shielded ! It is useless to attempt the spot's descrip- 
 tion ; a serious task to enumerate all that might be 
 gathered. With a spray of the partridge berries to re- 
 member it, I pass on, wondering why the season's first 
 snow is not more suggestive. My mind runs continually 
 upon what it hides and not what upon it is. The treasures 
 beneath it I am continually seeking, and give scarce a 
 thought to their covering. Even now, as a quail whirls 
 up before me, bouncing from the little cluster of rag- 
 weed, the snow-dust in the noonday sun a pink and 
 gilded cloud is less admired than the speedy but grace- 
 ful flight of the bird. The corn-rows can still be traced, 
 and, although many a one is beautifully arched with snow, 
 I lose sight of them directly as the grass-finch threads the 
 glittering maze before me, recalling what time this same 
 bird ran in the deep ruts of the dusty lane all summer 
 long, keeping just out of danger as the carriage hurried by. 
 The field I am crossing ends at the bluff overlooking 
 the low-lying meadows, and here, as at the road-side, the 
 transition is startling. What strange power has made 
 way with the snow? The leaves are again bare, and, 
 where they have not enviously concealed the hardier 
 growths, green plants cover much of the ground. One 
 has but to pass down the hill-side a few paces to realize 
 what winter sunshine may be, give it half a chance. The 
 tops of the tall trees are waving in a wind that never 
 reaches the ground; and no obstacle intervenes, except 
 the clouds, to shut out the noonday sun. It is rarely the 
 case but that what snow gathers during the night is here 
 melted before night comes again; and when the great 
 storms, such as were more common a century ago than now, 
 deeply covered even this sunny, southern slope, it was the 
 first ground to reappear when the skies were again clear. 
 And so, even now, in December, although 
 
DECEMBER. 299 
 
 " Icicles hang by the wall, 
 
 And Dick the shepherd blows his nail, 
 And Tom bears logs into the hall, 
 And milk comes frozen home in pail," 
 
 I can collect green growths under the old oaks, and 
 make me a nosegay of saxifrage, columbine, pale cory- 
 dalus, feverfew, fleshy stalks of narcissus, and dainty 
 spring beauty. Leaves, nothing but leaves, remember ; 
 but these have grown in importance since the flowers fell, 
 and will increase therein after the first snow has been 
 long forgotten, and until the impatient buds bursting 
 their bonds smile upon the lingering drifts of the winter's 
 last snow-storm. 
 
 But winter is not always so behindhand ; not so two 
 years ago when the storm-driven snow-flakes beat angrily 
 upon the windows, as if daring me to face their fury; 
 while from the trees came threats of dire import, as their 
 bare branches lashed the whitened air. A long-planned 
 outing seemed indefinitely postponed ; but New England's 
 December weather proved as uncertain as is that of New 
 Jersey, and as quickly as the wind and snow appeared, so 
 they passed by. 
 
 As they scurried together over the distant hills, leav- 
 ing bright sunshine in their track, my companion and I 
 started for a walk, hoping, between the acts of a capri- 
 cious winter day, to see the oaks at Waverley. 
 
 It was fitting that I should see the spot where these 
 trees stood for the first time in winter ; for it was that 
 great winter of many thousand years ago, the Glacial 
 Epoch, that gave to the place its present contour. 
 
 Crossing an undulating meadow that was a novelty to 
 me in that our home lowlands have no projecting rocks, 
 we reached one of those strange and not yet wholly ac- 
 counted for earth-works of the long vanished ice-sheet 
 known to geologists as a kame ; and upon its side, with 
 
300 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 others, stands the largest of the oaks that cluster here, a 
 majestic growth of mighty girth " the noblest Roman of 
 them all." For how long it has withstood the winter 
 storms and summer heats of New England's fickle climate 
 it were in vain to conjecture ; yet, guided by what is 
 known of oaks the world over, it is safe to say that this 
 one had burst its acorn-shell before Columbus sighted the 
 Western Continent. And for him who loves an outing, 
 it is something to stand beneath the outreaching branches 
 of a tree that has doubtless sheltered many an Indian, 
 and may have, deeply imbedded within it, the illy aimed 
 arrowheads of the stone-age hunter. 
 
 Leaving the old oak for a time, we passed along the 
 curious heap of earth and stones upon which it stands. 
 I can recall nothing that offers a similar outlook at 
 home to that which presents itself when walking on the 
 crest of the kame, except, perhaps, the high railroad bank 
 that skirts the Delaware River meadows. Before reaching 
 its termination, I thought of the great Serpent Mound in 
 Ohio; but this ice-age mound is straight, not tortuous, 
 and suggested rather a legless lizard that had gorged 
 itself with loose stones until its skin had burst. 
 
 On either side of the kame was an undulating mead- 
 ow, rough and wrinkled with outcropping rocks as the 
 skin of a warty toad. Near by flows Beaver Brook, which 
 I was compelled to cross, and learned then and there how 
 sadly at fault were my level-country legs. There is a 
 world of comfort in feeling that your footing is sure. 
 The tussocks in the home meadows never fail me, but I 
 had no faith in those gloomy, ice-bespattered rocks. 
 They seemed to take the world quite coolly, with spark- 
 ling waters at their feet, and armed cap-a-pie with icicles, 
 but I could not. Rocks and rapids, I maintain, are pretty 
 features of a road-side, but poor substitutes, particularly in 
 winter, for the highway itself. How my companion 
 
DECEMBER. 301 
 
 crossed the brook I never knew ; I crept cautiously, and 
 with fair success reached grassy ground again. 
 
 A grand old elm, now much decayed, graces the 
 meadow here, and called up at once some of these splendid 
 trees near home. Although so very large, it is not im- 
 probable that this tree at Waverley is much younger 
 than some of the oaks near which it stands. I know of 
 many of great size that have not yet rounded out a cent- 
 ury, and one in my own yard that not quite sixty years 
 ago was planted by my grandfather the tree being then 
 little more than a switch now measures over three feet in 
 diameter a yard or more above the ground, and at the 
 root it covers half a square rod, at least. Few would sus- 
 pect it to be so young a tree. 
 
 Why, when such trees as are perfect specimens of 
 their kind stand near public roads, can they not be held 
 well, semi-sacred, at least? Should not their owners 
 be induced to let them stand? Indeed, could a com- 
 munity do better with a portion of the public funds 
 than to purchase all such trees for the common good? 
 Particularly is it true of a level country that the only 
 bit of nature held in common is the sky. I would that 
 here and there a perfect tree could be added to the list. 
 I have known enormous oaks to be felled because they 
 shaded too much ground and only grass could be made 
 to grow beneath them. It is sad to think that trees, re- 
 spected even by the Indians, should have no value now. 
 The forest must inevitably disappear, but do our necessi- 
 ties require that no monuments to it shall remain ? 
 
 My companion, 
 
 " Climbing the loose-piled wall that hems 
 The road along the mill-pond's brink," 
 
 led the way to the ruins of an ancient mill and old mill- 
 dam that is still intact, and fairly darted down a stony 
 
302 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 stairway such as a chamois might admire. My thoughts 
 were all in one channel while I followed ; but the charm 
 of the falling waters compensated for the discomforts of 
 such superlatively rough walking. The lichened rocks, 
 ancient masonry, scattered shrubbery, troubled waters, and 
 the fretted frost-work, each beautiful in itself, lent a charm 
 to the whole, and but a few birds were needed to complete 
 the picture. These were wanting, and a single nest of the 
 red-eyed vireo was the only evidence that birds were ever 
 here ; and yet I am assured that the whole valley is alive 
 with warblers during the early summer. The mill- 
 dams harbor so much winter life at home, even birds, that 
 its absence here struck me the more forcibly. It seemed 
 incredible that no winter wren was spider-hunting in the 
 wide gaps between those loose piled stones. But, this 
 late December day, I could not expect to find that 
 
 " From 'neath the arching barberry steins, 
 My footstep scares the sly chewink ; " 
 
 yet in southern New Jersey this is no uncommon occur- 
 rence, for the chewink is a hardy bird, and haunts the 
 sunny nooks of the hill-side from early to late, and some- 
 times tarries the year through. 
 
 The barberry bushes, still holding their ruddy fruit, 
 were the more attractive because as yet we have none on 
 our mill-pond banks ; and, on the other hand, I failed, at 
 first sight, to recognize the privet growing here. At 
 home this shrub is almost an evergreen, and fruits but 
 sparingly, while the branches of the bushes along Beaver 
 Brook were weighted with coal-black berries, recalling the 
 ebon clusters of our glaucous smilax. 
 
 So staid and steady, save when stirred by freshets, is 
 the flow of the spring brooks in the Jersey lowlands that 
 a roaring torrent tossing over rocks, even when on a 
 humble scale, works a potent spell, and I would gladly 
 
DECEMBER. 303 
 
 have tarried here until the close of day. It is strange, 
 though, that mere mechanical activity should be so fasci- 
 nating. I have sat for hours by a meadow brook at home, 
 seeing nothing but the rippling waters, oblivious even to 
 the mosquito's ominous hum. Here, at the mill-pond, 
 are forever the same immovable rocks, and the waters that 
 lash them sing forever the same song. It matters little, 
 whether we come in June or December, a bit whiter or 
 greener as the case may be, yet we stand and gaze by the 
 hour, and, lulled by the rushing waters, are often lost in 
 thought. But there are torrents of ever rushing life of 
 far mightier import than mere troubled waters, and why, 
 it may well be asked, do they so seldom attract us? 
 Though cold and forbidding the day, as I clambered, 
 almost helplessly, down what my companion called the 
 " steps," I found in a crevice of the mist-dampened 
 rocks a small black spider that resisted all my efforts 
 to entrap him. Think of the current of his thoughts 
 as they rushed through his brain ! for spiders, be they 
 great or small, are as actively intelligent as any ant or 
 bee. 
 
 Doubtless, until within a few weeks the icy waters 
 have sheltered madcap life as impetuous in its way as the 
 plunging currents that encompassed it, but it were in vain 
 to seek for it at such a time as this. No fishes flash in 
 the shallows now ; no salamanders lurk beneath the flat 
 stones, and beyond, down the stream, where hardy weeds 
 have worked their way through the crowded rocks, no 
 overbrave frog lingers to contemplate the round of the 
 seasons. All have fled to hidden quarters beyond the reach 
 of some forbidding feature of the winter here, but what 
 that feature is, who knows ? I can now, far better than 
 heretofore, realize how many are the differences between 
 localities but three or four hundred miles apart, and how 
 widely the same creatures vary in habit, whether in Massa- 
 
304 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 chusetts or New Jersey ; a fact that merits constant repe- 
 tition until its full significance is felt. 
 
 Except the ceaseless sound of the falling waters, noth- 
 ing broke the silence of the little valley. What music 
 would we then have had, had a flock of tree-sparrows 
 settled in the scattered shrubs ! What melody, if, perched 
 upon the top of a lone cedar, the cardinal had whistled 
 his winter roundelay! How I longed for the bluebirds 
 and the crested tit, and placed, in my fancy, a Caroli- 
 na wren upon the rocks, where its song would blend 
 with the roar of the rushing waters about it. Could 
 the winter songs that gladden my home hill-side but be 
 brought to this wild spot and paradise would be almost 
 regained. 
 
 It was with unwilling steps that I turned from the 
 flashing water-fall. That unchecked flow leaping over 
 and through the loose wall soothed me, as does the moan- 
 ing of pine trees or the murmur of the sea ; and who, 
 while happy, cares to brave an uncertain world ? The 
 distant hill-top, bathed in warm light, was so beautiful 
 from afar that one might readily doubt if its merits would 
 increase by nearer acquaintance. 
 
 Following, as best I could, my sure-footed companion, 
 we crossed the valley and walked rapidly over steadily 
 rising ground. Rapidly ? He did, but time and again I 
 stopped to catch my breath and allow my heart to become 
 less active. But such halting progress has its merit. At 
 one corner by an old stone wall I flushed a partridge. 
 The whirr of its wings was indeed music. We had been 
 out for hours and this was the first bird that I had seen 
 or heard. Then, noiselessly, and high overhead, a spar- 
 row winged its way toward the woods. I listened for at 
 least a chirp, but the bird was too intent upon reaching 
 some distant goal. As I passed up the cleared field that 
 extends to the summit of Helmet Hill, I confidently ex- 
 
DECEMBER. 305 
 
 pected some visitor from Canada, some hardy sparrow 
 from the Arctic Circle, to flit across my path, but I saw 
 not even a stray feather floating in the wind. However 
 beautiful a country may be, and the outlook here is grand, 
 I must confess to a feeling of disappointment if there be no 
 birds. However artistic in design, or complete in all its 
 appointments, it may be, a deserted dwelling has for me 
 but little attraction. Its beauty is in proportion to the 
 evidence of the happiness of its occupants, and Helmet 
 Hill in winter sadly needs what it lacked when I was 
 there birds, birds, birds ! 
 
 From the hill's rounded and half-wooded top we 
 looked westward awhile toward Mount Wachusett, whose 
 outline was but dimly discerned, and then, glad to escape 
 a cutting wind, turned our faces homeward, and far more 
 quickly than we went up, descended and reached that 
 curious kame again upon which stand several of the 
 Waverley oaks. Here we again halted. The sunset it- 
 self was enough to hold us; but this afternoon the at- 
 mosphere was of unusual clearness, and against the sun- 
 set's ruddy hues the gnarly branches and interwoven 
 twigs of the old oaks stood out in bold relief, presenting 
 the trees under a new, beautiful, and somewhat novel 
 aspect. Leafless trees seen against the gray winter sky 
 are familiar to many, and all acknowledge their beauty ; 
 the same trees sharply limned upon a rich red sunset are a 
 memorable sight. The minutest twigs were as clearly de- 
 fined as the largest branches ; while the great rounded 
 stumps of the oaks' amputated limbs flecked the western 
 sky as bits of the blackest storm-cloud might. I was for- 
 tunate in^ seeing these noble trees at the close of day 
 wrapped in such a warm and mellow light. Giants of 
 their race, they stood in quiet repose, conscious of their 
 might ; ready alike to battle in their own defense with 
 the fiercest of midwinter storms, or offer shelter, in due 
 20 
 
306 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 season, from the hottest of midsummer suns, to him who 
 loves their shade. 
 
 They built no houses in happy colonial days in which 
 the chimney was an inconspicuous feature, hidden in the 
 end wall, and very likely to prove a death-trap, through 
 the carelessness or cupidity of the contractor. On the 
 contrary, there was erected an enormous chimney, and 
 a cozy house was built surrounding it. " Blow, wind ! 
 Come, wrack ! " it mattered not ; the chimney stood up 
 for the house, and never allowed even a hurricane to 
 harry it. 
 
 Besides the fire-places of which more anon these 
 chimneys had other features of merit. The sustaining 
 arch in the cellar, in one case at least, had yearly stored 
 therein the choice barrels of cider that were not intended 
 for vinegar there was no chance for change save for the 
 better as a beverage. And the weather-stained bricks 
 above the roof they too are worthy of consideration. An 
 uncouth box-shaped mass, it is true, but beautiful of a 
 keen winter day, when, after a long tramp, one marks the 
 curling smoke. However grotesquely it shapes itself in 
 the upper air whether it runs to hieroglyph or rune, it 
 matters not. For the chilled rambler it has but one 
 meaning comfort. 
 
 A vacant hearth is as repellent as a coffin. It is not 
 strange that in summer they are screened by fire-boards, 
 and these again by high-backed chairs. Stately chairs that 
 overtopped the surbase, and torturing to humanity to- 
 day, were shunned, I doubt not, in the good old times. 
 At least, I have never had a friend to remain long in one 
 of my great-grandmother's chairs. Occasionally a victim 
 drops into one, but only to squirm ; then he arises and 
 stares at the innocent-looking structure. I have never 
 heard any remarks, but the countenance, at such times, 
 
DECEMBER. 307 
 
 speaks volumes. Yet who could throw away his great- 
 grandmother's parlor chairs ? 
 
 But it is winter now, and the hearth is not vacant. 
 About it, in proper place, are the andirons, shovel, tongs, 
 bellows, face-screens, and, never to be ignored, quaint 
 silhouettes above the tall wooden mantel with its narrow 
 shelf. Add to these a generous supply of hickory blazing 
 on the hearth, and he who could not be happy when 
 a winter storm rages deserves discomfort to his dying 
 day. 
 
 The dignified pillars of the bright brass andirons 
 stand to-night like sentinels between me and the fire, and 
 I would that they were able to cope with those who will 
 raid upon the heaped up hickory in spite of every form of 
 protest. 
 
 Neither shovel nor tongs are essential to the main- 
 tenance of a wood fire, although the latter are con- 
 venient ; but I have been tempted to spoil the hearth's 
 appearance and remove them, because of the meddlesome 
 disposition of every adult visitor. I have yet to see the 
 man who was content to let an open fire remain as he 
 finds it. It seems to matter not how cold he may be, he 
 must rearrange the sticks, before spreading his hands to 
 receive the wholesome heat of hickory coals. 
 
 I am told that Ben South, keeper of the cross-roads 
 tavern, a century ago, determined that his bar-room fire 
 should remain unmolested for at least one day, and to effect 
 this he removed every bit of fire-side furniture. He was 
 unsuccessful. Every customer asked for the tongs before 
 asking for his toddy, and nine in ten kicked the logs 
 the tenth burned his fingers, shaking the andirons, and 
 threatened to withdraw his custom. " Such a fire as that 
 was too unsociable for him," was his remark. Ben gave 
 up, and so do I. I know what is coming when my city 
 friends drop in. The smile, the rubbing of the hands, 
 
308 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 and the suggestive ah ! all forewarn me of an attack upon 
 my fire. If an angel from heaven were to place the hick- 
 ory in order and every nickering flame was the perfection 
 of grace, it would avail nothing. There would be instant 
 interference from the first mortal who happened in. Of 
 course, I wish each one of my friends to consider himself 
 the exception that proves the rule ; at the same time, I 
 would have all my readers, who know me not, understand 
 that there are no exceptions. 
 
 The pretty, fan-like screens for the face that I have 
 mentioned have ever interested me more than all else 
 about the hearth. It requires some effort to realize that 
 your great-grandmother was once a girl, but it is true, and 
 what might not these neatly decorated bits of board, which 
 shielded her pretty but not painted face what might 
 they not tell us, could they but speak ! How steadily have 
 bright eyes gazed upon them that dared not look up; 
 how stealthily have they glanced aside, meeting other eyes, 
 yet shielded from all the company. Can it be possible 
 that in a quiet way there was a mild form of flirtation 
 even among the early Quakers ? These screens hint at it ; 
 and we do know that they were always widely awake to 
 all the world's real worth witty, fond of literature, nor 
 accounted it vanity to see themselves in print. It is emi- 
 nently appropriate to take up the volumes of the " Evening 
 Fireside," published eighty years ago, and read the pithy 
 prose and dainty verses of many a young Friend. Indeed, 
 at least one of the contributors to this earliest of literary 
 weeklies has sat before my fire and held these screens, 
 listening, as I do now, to the moaning of the wind in the 
 chimney, singing then as now, as her poetry shows, a 
 melancholy song of long ago. But how different her 
 " long ago " from mine ! I think of the time when this 
 country was young, as long ago ; and my great-grand- 
 mother then was recalling the stories she had heard of her 
 
DECEMBER. 309 
 
 parents' home in England; stories, it is hard to under- 
 stand why, that have not been handed down. 
 
 It needs the fire's red glare and sickly candle-light to 
 animate the inky silhouettes upon the wall. They are 
 best stared at in such a light and when a storm rages. 
 The coziness of an open fire leads to contemplation, and 
 a step further, to retrospection. Fancy plays tricks with 
 us on a wild night, when the north wind leaps from the 
 tall pines and screams like a demon as it swoops down 
 the chimney, scattering the ash-hidden sparks that gather 
 again in force and rush headlong after the howling fiend, 
 as it seeks the outer world again. We are ready for wild 
 fancies then ; and when the wind returns, as if repenting 
 of its rashness, mild of mood and sighing dolefully, I hear 
 my ancestors uniting in a prayer to reassemble before 
 these andirons once again. Then the silhouettes take 
 livelier shape, and one after another slowly float before 
 me. What were their whims, or were they always as sober 
 as their portraits ? They are puzzles now ; for the women 
 have head-gear no Quaker ever wore, and the men 
 strange overhanging locks of hair that would have en- 
 dangered their status in meeting had they ever worn 
 them. 
 
 But we must not forget the fuel, nor its history. I 
 would not give a fig for straight-grained wood that prompt- 
 ly turns to ashes without protest. Give me, rather, knotty 
 and gnarly sticks that boldly fight for their crookedness, 
 and, at last, become coals that fiercely glare at you in im- 
 potent rage. Better than all is some old stump that has 
 lain long upon the ground and perhaps been tunneled by 
 mice and beetles, and long the fortress of the grim, gray 
 spiders of the woods. These stumps do not find their way 
 to the wood-pile, and are too scattered to be gathered by 
 cartloads. Hence the necessity of systematic chunk-hunt- 
 ing a most delightful sport. 
 
310 DAYS OUT Of DOORS. 
 
 Many a curious adventure have I had, and, too, some 
 narrow escapes. Once, from the brow of a steep slope, I 
 attempted to dislodge a cedar stump. Long I tugged at 
 it and made slow but, as I thought, sure progress. Sud- 
 denly it gave way, and with a mixed but otherwise inde- 
 scribable sensation I rolled with it to the ditch below. 
 The stump won the race, and I collected my senses while 
 sitting upon it. Bruised as I was, I shouldered it, and 
 that night nursed myself by the genial warmth it gave, 
 as the substantial back-log of my open fire. Next to the 
 gathering of a night's supply of wood when in camp, for 
 solid satisfaction, is chunk-hunting ; and I have no pa- 
 tience with a heartless critic at my elbow who suggests 
 that the pastime illustrates a peculiar phase of human 
 nature. " If," she says, " the chunk-hunter is asked to 
 carry twenty pounds to a neighbor's house, he is helpless 
 at once ; but forty pounds have been carried twice as far, 
 and no hint of fatigue escaped the hunter as he marched 
 in triumph to the fire-place." It is prudent not to re- 
 
 Pty- 
 
 It was on the eve of a storm when I gathered the 
 chunk now upon the andirons a half of a persimmon 
 stump. It is garnished with windfalls from the oaks and 
 beeches, and all goes well. This bit of a persimmon tree 
 has a history, too ; as I dragged it from the mat of leaves 
 and sand that had been accumulating for several years, I 
 unearthed a colony of mole-crickets. Perhaps the associ- 
 ation was accidental, but there were certainly a hundred of 
 them, huddled in a little space. They did not stridulate 
 when disturbed, and scarcely squirmed, but all appeared 
 to be alive. These are among the creatures, I have 
 learned, that fill the air at night with an unceasing dis- 
 syllabic thrill, from early in August until after frost. I 
 find them credited with singing in spring and early sum- 
 mer, a statement that does not hold good of the species 
 
DECEMBER. 311 
 
 found to-day. The last song of this cricket heard this 
 year was October 18th, and my companion caught it in 
 the act. There was not the same vim in its stridulation 
 that marks a hot night in August, but it was unmistaka- 
 bly the same sound ; and with it was heard a full chorus 
 of croaking green frogs, for these, unlike their spotted 
 cousins, croak even during the winter months. 
 
 It was on the eve of a storm when I gathered the 
 wood ; it was raining when I settled by my fire. The crick- 
 ets that I had thoughtlessly left exposed, perhaps to die, 
 disturbed my thoughts. I hoped their sluggish senses 
 might so far revive that they could burrow out of harm's 
 way. Then, for a time a burrowing cricket myself, I wan- 
 dered among the roots of the hill-side trees ; wandered 
 until long past midnight, a victim of my own cruelty ; 
 and then, in very truth, found myself, a chilled mortal, 
 with cold ashes, face to face. 
 
 The lotus and the lily are no more. Through the clear 
 ice upon the meadow pools I can see but shriveled ghosts 
 of noble plants that bore, the summer through, the queen- 
 liest of flowers. The royal lotus, once the pride of Egypt, 
 tall, stately, and commanding ; the modest lily, unassum- 
 ing, but sure to receive its full share of recognition. Now, 
 at Christmas-tide, these flowers are but vivid memories at 
 the best, and the wide wild meadows, save where streakily 
 shaded by the leafless trees, are evenly coated with dreary, 
 death-like brown, nature's funereal tint. 
 
 It is not strange that the crackle of dead grass and 
 rustling of decaying leaves should jar upon the rambler's 
 ears ; they are sounds that would drive him houseward, 
 were it not that from afar come the welcome cawing of 
 the crow, the cracked-flute calling of the prowling jay, the 
 twitter of tree-sparrows, and fife-like exultation of the 
 crested tit. These are sounds to revive the depressed and 
 
312 DATS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 breathe a new soul into his declining faith. So it was, at 
 least, when I last turned meadowward, bent upon a ram- 
 ble, caring not where nor how long, merely hopeful of 
 finding some green spot. 
 
 It is true the cedars and the pine trees are green, 
 and, where the hill-foot springs are bubbling, ferns still 
 hold their freshness, but it is a weariness to the flesh 
 to sit all day in a tree-top, even when, by so doing, 
 you keep company with the birds ; and then one can not 
 enter the little territory of a single spring. While he 
 gathers summer in his arms, Jack Frost is tugging at his 
 heels. Between green growths and the snow-bank you 
 can not lay your cane without encroaching upon both. Is 
 there no greater green-clad spot than a hill-foot spring ? 
 
 The birds' songs cease, as I pass from the hill-side, on 
 my quest for color, but ears and eyes must be separately 
 humored in midwinter, and I turn to the glowing win- 
 terberry and climbing bittersweet with pleasure, where 
 they make an almost vain effort to restore the summer 
 freshness of vine-tangled fences, and then pass on to an 
 uncertain glow of green in the heart of a smilax wilder- 
 ness ; but attempting to pass through it proves the ver- 
 dancy to be more a feature of yourself than of it. 
 
 The thin vaulted ice roofs that protect the ditches' 
 banks shut in long strips of green that need a sharp eye 
 to detect ; and here crouch hardy spotted frogs, patiently 
 waiting for spring or the January thaw, and never so stiff- 
 ened with cold but that they can leap into the depths 
 when my shadow warns them. They sprawl into the gray 
 mud that a moment before was but the smooth floor for 
 the liquid crystal that sparkled above it now the current 
 is a troubled flow of smoky quartz. There is ever a bit of 
 summer lingering by the brook-side, but ever too small a 
 bit to satisfy. 
 
 But afar, beyond my neighbor's pasture and over Poset- 
 
DECEMBER. 313 
 
 quissings Creek, I see a film of smoke that hovers in the 
 still air above a treacherous meadow. The tract is as level 
 as a table-top, rankly sodded as a well-tended lawn, but 
 lacks firmness below. William Penn might have written 
 his " Sandy foundations, shaken," while walking there ; 
 but he never came, I know, although his manor-house and 
 brewery are almost within sight. 
 
 What the " smoke " might be I conjectured as I bent 
 my steps that way; and at last my hoped-for green 
 Christmas was veritably before me. Brown trees, brown 
 moss, brown hedges, and brown grass ; even the ice was 
 dusty ; the country everywhere was dripping with dreari- 
 ness but at this one spot. The supposed smoke was really 
 mist, mellowed by the sunlight, and beneath it was a 
 rank, tropically rank green forest, which for birds and 
 butterflies harbored fish, frogs, and salamanders. 
 
 As a small picture usually looks well within a walnut 
 frame, so the deep brown of the frost-bitten world proved 
 a suitable surrounding here ; and the picture was covered, 
 that no rude wind should mar it, with water, now so 
 smooth and clear, except where the upward current 
 reached the surface, that no image was distorted, or any 
 object, however small, obscured. 
 
 As a tired, homeless wanderer in a city seeks to find 
 rest and warmth by peering into the windows of some 
 Croesus's house, so I forgot that it was winter where I stood, 
 seeing only the perpetual summer of my neighbor's great 
 meadow spring. To merely witness the life and beauty 
 there made me forget that I had long since lost hold of 
 my own youthful vigor, and must soon return to a dreary 
 world, perhaps both cold and hungry. For a- time these 
 weaknesses were likewise forgotten ; and this, I take it, is 
 next akin to annihilating them. Before me was as near 
 the fabled youth-renewing spring as I have hopes of find- 
 ing, and it is a discovery I would be well pleased to make. 
 
314 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 He who regrets not his lost youth may make an excellent 
 angel, but has proved his manhood to have been de- 
 fective. 
 
 And now let us consider the main features of this 
 noble spring. It is never frozen. The vast volume of 
 water, rushing upward from a silvery sand-pit, twenty 
 feet below the meadow's surface, varies but a degree or two 
 the year round. With this great depth is proportionate 
 width, and a pond fifty feet in diameter is not insignifi- 
 cant in these monotonous meadows ; while as a spring it 
 is worthy of notice, even where nature is on a grander 
 scale than here. 
 
 But why call it green? Colorless water and white 
 sand ; let the sunlight play what tricks it my, it will never 
 make them green. True, but with them grow, in rank pro- 
 fusion, beautiful water starwort, a water spearwort, and 
 that dainty aquatic growth, Nitella ; and of late, a splendid 
 water moss that threatens to crowd out the other growths ; 
 while hard by the common water-weed covers the bottom 
 of the spring's overflow, making a beautiful background 
 for the brighter and lighter colored starwort. Do you 
 wonder why I call it green at this time and place ? That 
 is, surely, the predominating color. 
 
 And that such favored nooks are beloved of water 
 animals is not strange. With what a stony glare the pike 
 looks up at me, as I stand by, motionless; but trusts 
 nothing if I move my arms. Then he is afar off on the 
 other side, as I see by the quivering of the rank water 
 weeds that would puzzle any other creature to penetrate. 
 As he goes, the dainty newts peep from their leafy quarters, 
 stretch themselves in the open water, and are gone ; while 
 ever and anon the brilliant leopard-frog rises up to the 
 surface, sniffs at the outer air, and seeks repose again in 
 the sandy depths. 
 
 There is no moment of the year when this spring 
 
DECEMBER. 315 
 
 basin is more full of vigorous, active life than now, when 
 it has greener growths, or creatures more alive to their 
 own little world ; yet we are wont to think of winter as 
 a dead season ; or, if not dead, sleeping. 
 
 And I recall now a holiday visit years ago, when the 
 snow covered all the ground, and a biting north wind 
 screamed through the naked branches of the oaks near 
 by. It was the same spring then. Long I lingered by its 
 side, forgetful of all else, and, as the day closed, suddenly 
 a flood of sunlight swept over the meadows. The win- 
 dows of my neighbor's house were all aflame. Color, 
 color everywhere, as I glanced for the last time into the 
 crystalline depths before me, over the wide meadows 
 about me, over the cloud-flecked horizon beyond the 
 distant hills. A melting rainbow showered the whole 
 world ; but for me, it was then, and ever will be, here, a 
 green Christmas. 
 
INDEX. 
 
 Abies canadensis, 111. 
 Abercromby, Ralph, quoted, 261. 
 Acer, sp., 111. 
 Acipenser brevirostris, 66. 
 
 sturio, 56. 
 Acorns, 252. 
 
 Acris crepitans, 34, 37, 273. 
 Adams County, Ohio, 146. 
 Aegialitis melodus, 158. 
 
 vociferus, 110. 
 Aegiothus linarius, 24. 
 Agclaius phoeniceus, 47, 194. 
 Aix sponsa, 221. 
 Alosa sapidissima, 65. 
 Amelanchier canadensis, 1 35. 
 Ampelopsis quinquefolia, 242, 266. 
 Anderson's tree-toad, 117. 
 Andromeda mariana, 83. 
 Anguilla acutirostris, 97. 
 Anixi gischuch, 9. 
 Antrostomus vociferus, 103. 
 Ants, 115. 
 
 nests of, 115 
 
 Apple orchards, ancient, 244. 
 April, 74. 
 
 showers, 76. 
 
 snow-storms, 74. 
 Aquilegia canadensis, 111, 299. 
 Ardea herodias, 24, 42. 
 Arenaria squarrosa, 125. 
 Arvicola riparia, 15, 39, 41, 43. 
 Aspen, 111, 113. 
 Aspidonectes spinifer, 222. 
 Aster, 194, 215, 228, 265. 
 August, 189. 
 
 Babcock's Creek, Atlantic County, 
 
 N. J., 199. 
 Barberry, 302. 
 Bay, 20. 
 
 Bay-winged bunting, 186. 
 Beach plum, 125. 
 Beech, 44, 61, 63, 167, 267. 
 Beetles, 250. 
 Bernicla canadensis, 53. 
 Betulalenta, 111. 
 
 nigra, 47, 64. 
 Big Bird Creek, 79, 86. 
 Birch, black, 47, 64. 
 
 sweet, 111. 
 Birds, abundance of, in winter, 214. 
 
 carnivorous habits of, 186. 
 
 intelligence of, 28. 
 
 migration of, 28. 
 
 of New Jersey, 29. 
 Bittern, 88. 
 
 least, 141. 
 
 Bittersweet, 271, 312. 
 Blackberry, 198. 
 Blackbirds, red-winged, 47, 194, 
 
 258, 284. 
 Blood-root, 92. 
 
 Bluebirds, 12, 24, 66, 145, 187. 
 Bluets, 89, 97, 191. 
 Bonaparte, Joseph, 64, 134. 
 Bonasa umbellus, 304. 
 Bordentown, N. J., 64. 
 Botaurus lentiginosus, 88. 
 Box tortoise, 190. 
 Brayton, A. M., quoted, 147, 292. 
 Brewer, T. M., quoted, 104. 
 
318 
 
 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 Bristol, Penn., crow-roost near, 220. 
 Brush Creek, Adams County, Ohio, 
 
 221, 232, 292. 
 Bull-frog, 32, 37. 
 Burlington Island, N. J., 219. 
 Burroughs, John, 67. 
 Buttercups, 97. 
 Buzzard-weed, 126. 
 
 Callitriche heterophylla, 314. 
 Caltha palustris, 134. 
 Cambarus, sp., 148, 221. 
 Cardinal grosbeak red-bird 47, 
 
 134, 185, 221, 232. 
 Cardinalis virginianus, 47, 134, 185, 
 
 221, 232. 
 Carya alba, 268. 
 Cassandra calyculata, 83. 
 Castanea vesca, 60, 64. 
 Catalpa bignonioides, 64. 
 Cat- bird, 70, 94, 124, 160, 177, 187, 
 
 274, 277. 
 Cat, wild, 116. 
 Cedar, 65, 135. 
 
 Cedars, " Islands " of (Cupressus 
 thyoides), 124. 
 
 swamp, 108. 
 
 Celastrus scandens, 271, 312. 
 Centipedes, 250. 
 Ceryle alcyon, 44, 88, 90, 94. 
 Chat, yellow-breasted, 132. 
 Chaucer, Geoffrey, quoted, 76. 
 Chelydra serpentina, 98. 
 Cherry, wild, 111. 
 Chestnut, 60, 64. 
 Chewink, 88, 94, 123, 161. 
 Chickadee, 96. 
 
 Chimaphila umbellata, 20, 83. 
 Chimney swift, 163. 
 Chincapin, 215. 
 Chipmunk, 116, 161. 
 Chipping sparrow, 90, 94. 
 Chrysomitris pinus, 66. 
 
 tristis, 91. 
 Chub, 113. 
 
 Chwame gischuch, 65. 
 Cladonia cristatale, 123. 
 Claytoniavirginica, 48, 62, 89, 299. 
 Cohansey Creek, N. J., 104. 
 Columbine, 111, 299. 
 Concord, Mass., 98. 
 
 Conoclinium coelestinum, 227. 
 Conrad, T. A., quoted, 186. 
 Cornus florida, 252. 
 Corvus americanus, 16, 23, 45, 47, 
 
 59, 66, 88, 134, 149, 162, 181, 
 
 256, 265, 295, 311. 
 Corydalus glauca, 299. 
 Cowpen bird, 263. 
 Crayfish, 148, 221. 
 Crosswicks, N. J., 81. 
 great oak at, 166. 
 meeting-house at, 255. 
 Creek, 283, 286. 
 Croton-bug, 35. 
 Crow, 16, 23, 45, 47, 59, 66, 88, 134, 
 
 149, 162, 181, 256, 265, 295, 
 
 311. 
 
 Crow-blackbird, 179. 
 Crow-foot, floating, 110. 
 Crow-roosts, 218. 
 Cumberland County, N. J., 104. 
 Cyanurus cristatus, 27, 85, 232, 270, 
 
 311. 
 
 Cyprinidse, 43, 153. 
 Cypripedium acaule, 121. 
 
 Dandelion, 192, 265. 
 December, 294. 
 
 De Kay, James E., quoted, 200. 
 Delaware Indians, 9, 75, 81, 294. 
 Delaware River, 53, 55, 283. 
 
 fisheries of, 55. 
 
 valley of, 9, 220. 
 Dendrojca Blackburniae, 113. 
 , palmarum, 90. 
 
 virens, 105. 
 Dentaria laciniata, 88. 
 Dicentra cucularia, 97. 
 Diospyrus virginiana, 64. 
 Dittany, 215. 
 Divers, 57. 
 Dog- wood, 252. 
 Drosera, sp., 125, 199. 
 Duck, wild, 284. 
 " Dutchman's breeches," 97. 
 
 Eagle, 256. 
 
 Earth stars, 123. 
 
 Ectobia germanica, 35. 
 
 Eel, 97. 
 
 Egret, snowy, 196. 
 
INDEX. 
 
 319 
 
 Elder, red-berried, 111. 
 Elm, 301. 
 
 Eumeces fasciatus, 112, 114. 
 Euryomia inda, 88. 
 
 Fagus ferruginea, 44, 61, 63, 167, 
 
 267. 
 
 False ipecac, 199. 
 February, 34. 
 Ferns, 266. 
 Feverfew, 299. 
 
 Fiber zibethicus, 16, 23, 116. 
 Finch, fox-colored, 61. 
 Fish, intelligence of, 155. 
 Fish-bones, preservation of, 55. 
 Fish-crow, 138. 
 Fish-hawk, 57. 
 Flagg, Wilson, quoted, 105. 
 Flicker, 139, 174. 
 Florence Heights, N. J., 219. 
 Fly -catcher, great-crested, 187. 
 
 green-crested, 232. 
 Foliage, second growth of, 191. 
 Freshets, 16. 
 Fringilla linota, 275. 
 Frog, green, 248. 
 Frogs, 31, 43, 117, 177, 196, 271 
 
 286, 303. 
 
 Galeoscoptes carolinensis, 70, 94, 
 124, 160, 177, 187, 274, 277. 
 
 Gcaster hygrometricum, 123. 
 
 Geese, wild, 53. 
 
 Gnatcatchers, blue-gray, 91. 
 
 Godman, Dr. John, quoted, 291. 
 
 Golden club, 128. 
 
 Golden-rod, 194, 215, 227, 265, 
 285. 
 
 Gold-finch, European, 276. 
 
 Goniaphea ludoviciana, 94. 
 
 Grakle, 88, 185, 190. 
 
 Grape hyacinth, 89. 
 
 Grape-vine, 198. 
 
 Grapta insculpta, 86. 
 
 Grass-finch, 67, 295. 
 
 Gray lizard, 198. 
 
 Great Egg Harbor River, 122, 127. 
 
 Grosbeak, rose-breasted, 94, 193. 
 
 Gull, black-headed, 59. 
 
 Gulls, 57. 
 
 Gum tree, 64, 80, 82, 125. 
 
 Haliaetus leucocephalus, 255. 
 
 Harporhynchus rufus, 100. 
 
 Hawk, pigeon, 258. 
 
 Hawks, 16, 61. 
 
 Heart's-ease, 97. 
 
 Heckewelder, Rev. John, quoted, 
 
 213. 
 Helianthcmum corymbosum, 125, 
 
 131. 
 
 Helenium autumnale, 256. 
 Hemlock, 111. 
 Ilepatica triloba, 92. 
 Heron, great blue, 24, 42, 134. 
 
 night, 36, 43, 265. 
 Hickory, shell-bark, 268. 
 Holbrook, Dr. J. E., quoted, 200. 
 Hopatcong, Lake, 105, 108, 210. 
 
 meaning of word, 117. 
 Houstonia cerulea, 89, 97. 
 Hubbard, Bela, quoted, 280. 
 Iludsonia ericoides, 119, 131, 199. 
 Hyla Andersonii, 177. 
 
 Pickeringii, 37, 248, 264, 271. 
 Hy lodes (Acris wepitans), 34, 37, 
 
 273. 
 Hylotomus pileatus, 122. 
 
 Icterus baltimore, 106. 
 Indian relics, 117, 132. 
 
 summer, 278. 
 
 Indians, Delaware, 9, 102, 156, 285, 
 286. 
 
 of New Jersey, 117, 131. 
 Indigo finch, 123. 
 Insect life, 16, 22. 
 Ipecac, false, 120. 
 Iron-weed, 228. 
 
 January, 9. 
 
 thaw, 12. 
 
 Jay, blue, 27, 85, 232, 270, 311. 
 Jefferies, Richard, 17. 
 July, 167. 
 
 Junco hyemalis, 66. 
 June-berry, 135. 
 Juniper, 65. 
 Juniperus communis, 65. 
 
 virginiana, 65. 
 
 Kalmia angustifolia, 125, 131. 
 Katydid, 194. 
 
320 
 
 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 Kennicott, Robert, quoted, 147. 
 King, T. Starr, quoted, 77. 
 King-bird, 256. 
 Kingfisher, 44, 88, 90, 94. 
 Kinglet, golden-crowned, 82. 
 
 ruby-crowned, 29. 
 Kinglets, 40. 
 Kitschitachquoach giscliuch, 213. 
 
 Lambkill, 125, 131. 
 
 Lark, meadow, 61. 
 
 Le Conte, John, quoted, 203. 
 
 Leiophyllum buxifolium, 125. 
 
 Lenni LenapS. (See Delaware In- 
 dians.) 
 
 Lepomis gibbosus, 98, 109. 
 
 Lepus sylvaticus, 265. 
 
 Leucanthemum parthenium, 299. 
 
 Leucothoe racemosa, 126. 
 
 Lichen, scarlet- blooming, 123. 
 
 Lichens, 83, 86. 
 
 Ligustrum vulgare, 266, 302. 
 
 Lily, water, 124, 311. 
 
 Linaria canadensis, 125. 
 
 Lindera benzoin, 29 
 
 Lindsay, W. Lauder, quoted, 28. 
 
 Linnet, European, 275. 
 
 Liquidambar styraciflua, 64, 266. 
 
 Lizard, gray, 198, 234, 238. 
 
 Log-cock, 122. 
 
 Lophophanes bicolor, 21, 40, 47, 
 96. 
 
 Lotus, 216, 311. 
 
 Lubbock, Sir John, quoted, 151. 
 
 Lupine, 125. 
 
 Lutra canadensis, 98, 116. 
 
 Lynx rufus, 116. 
 
 Macloskie, Prof. George, quoted, 
 
 204. 
 
 Magnolia glauca, 20. 
 Mammoth, 284. 
 Mandrake, 88. 
 Maple, 111, 266. 
 March, 49. 
 
 winds, 56, 60. 
 Marsh marigold, 134, 192, 
 Martin, purple, 94. 
 Maryland yellow-throat, 161. 
 Mastodon, 284. 
 
 May, 102. 
 
 May's Landing, village of, 88, 119, 
 
 199, 201. 
 oaks at, 119. 
 
 M'chakhocque gischuch, 295. 
 Meadow-lark, 61, 295. 
 Melanerpes erythroccphalus, 94. 
 Melospiza melodia, 25, 39, 62, 66, 
 
 88, 124, 178, 186, 247. 
 Mice, wild, 85, 261. 
 Mimus polyglottus, 122, 181. 
 Mink, 16, 142, 232. 
 Minnows, 43, 85, 97, 153, 162. 
 Mist-flower, 227. 
 Mistletoe, 82, 125. 
 Mitchella, 296. 
 
 Mniotilta varia, 124, 171, 257. 
 Mocking-bird, 122, 181. 
 Mole-cricket, 217, 310. 
 Moose, 284. 
 
 Morris County, N. J., 104. 
 Mount Wachusett, 305. 
 Mouse, common, 177. 
 
 jumping, 15, 285. 
 Muscari botryoides, 89. 
 Musk-rats, 16, 23, 116, 146, 190, 
 
 284. 
 Mussels ( Unios), 146. 
 
 Nelumbium luteum, 216. 
 
 speciosum, 216, 311. 
 New Jersey, birds of, 29. 
 Niagara Falls, 63. 
 
 River, 79. 
 
 Night heron, 36, 43, 265. 
 Nitella, sp., 314. 
 November, 260. 
 Nuphar ad vena, 56, 216. 
 Nuthatch, white-bellied, 174, 263. 
 Nycticorax nsevius, 36, 43, 265. 
 Nymphea odorata, 124, 311. 
 Nyssa multiflora, 64, 80, 82, 98. 
 
 Oak, pin, 255. 
 
 post, 268. 
 
 scarlet, 100. 
 
 white, 81, 98. 
 Oaks, 44, 64, 80, 135, 254. 
 October, 242. 
 Orange, N. J., 104. 
 
INDEX. 
 
 321 
 
 Orchids, 121. 
 
 Oriole, Baltimore, 106, 124, 187, 
 
 190, 277. 
 
 Orontium aquaticum, 128, 134. 
 Otter, 98, 116, 135. 
 Oven-bird, 113, 123. 
 
 Palaeolithic man, traces of, 93. 
 
 Pandion haliaetus, 57. 
 
 Parula americana, 104. 
 
 Parus atricapillus, 96. 
 
 Partridge, 304. 
 
 Passerella iliaca, 61. 
 
 Peabody Museum of Archaeology, 
 
 Cambridge, Mass., 227. 
 Pewee, 61, 71, 190, 286. 
 
 wood, 169 
 
 Peirce, Charles, quoted, 79, 281. 
 Pentstemon pubescens, 192. 
 Persimmon, 64. 
 Philadelphia, Pa., 81. 
 Phoradendron flavescens, 82. 
 Pickering's hyla, 37, 248. 
 Pigeon Swamp, Bucks County, Pa., 
 
 218. 
 
 Pike, 162. 
 Pine-finch, 66. 
 Pine, three-leaved, 120. 
 
 two-leaved, 120. 
 
 white, 47. 64, 95. 
 Pines, 120. 
 Pin-oak, 90. 
 
 Pinus strobus, 47, 64, 95. 
 Pipilo erythrophthalmus, 123. 
 Pitcher-plant, 86, 123. 
 Platanus occidentalis, 42, 61. 
 Plover, kill-deer, 110, 233. 
 
 piping, 158. 
 
 Poaetquissings Creek, 98. 
 Podicipidse, 57. 
 Podophyllum pcltatum, 88. 
 Poison ivy, 198. 
 Polioptila ccrulea, 91. 
 Poccetes gramineus, 67, 186, 295. 
 Populus tremuloides, 111, 113. 
 Prince's pine, 296. 
 Prinos verticillata, 271, 312. 
 Privet, 266, 302. 
 Proctor, Thomas, quoted, 275. 
 Procyon lotor, 116. 
 Progne subis, 94. 
 21 
 
 Prunus maritima, 125. 
 
 serotina, 111. 
 Putnam, Professor F. W., quoted, 
 
 223. 
 
 Putorius vison, 16. 
 Pyranga erythromelas, 106. 
 Pyxidanthera barbulata, 84, 119. 
 "Pyxie," 84, 119. 
 
 Quail, 186, 221, 228. 
 Quercus alba, 81, 98. 
 
 coccinea, 100. 
 
 obtusiloba, 268. 
 
 palustris, 90. 
 Quiscalus purpureus, 88. 
 Quitauweuhewi gischuch, 75. 
 
 Rabbit, 265. 
 Raccoon, 116, 232. 
 Rail, king, 141. 
 
 Virginia, 36, 141, 247. 
 Rainfall, remarkable, 189. 
 Rallus elegans, 141. 
 
 virginianus, 36, 247. 
 Rana clamitans, 248. 
 Ranunculus bulbosus, 97. 
 
 multifidus, 110. 
 
 aquatilis, 314. 
 Red-bird, 47. 
 Redstart, 106, 186. 
 Read, Professor M. C., quoted, 224. 
 Reed-birds, 194. 
 Regulus calendula, 29, 88. 
 
 satrapa, 88. 
 
 Reindeer moss, 83, 120. 
 Rhoades, S. W., quoted, 218. 
 " River Styx," 108. 
 Robin, 66, 77, 161, 169, 190, 258. 
 Rock-rose, 125, 131. 
 Rocky Woods, Bucks County, Pa., 
 
 218. 
 
 Rose-mallow, 195. 
 Ruticilla setophaga, 106, 186. 
 
 Salix nigra, 137. 
 Salamander, red-backed, 250. 
 
 yellow, 22. 
 
 Salamanders, 177, 303. 
 Salmo salar, 93. 
 Salmon, 93. 
 Sambucus pubens, 111. 
 
322 
 
 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 
 
 Sand myrtle, 125. 
 Sandpiper, spotted, 136. 
 Sand wort, 125. 
 Sanguinaria canadensis, 92. 
 Sarracenia purpurea, 83, 123, 199. 
 Sassafras, 20, 64. 
 
 officinale, 20, 64. 
 
 Savannah cricket. (See Hylodes.) 
 Saxifrage, 296. 
 Say, Thomas, quoted, 203. 
 Sayornis fuscus, 61, 71. 
 Scaphiopus Holbrookii, 37. 
 Sciuropterus volucella, 9, 18. 
 Sciurus Hudsonius, 85, 116. 
 Seiurus auricapillus, 113. 
 Semotilus bullaris, 113. 
 September, 213. 
 Serpent Mound, Adams County, 
 
 Ohio, 146, 223, 300. 
 Shad, 55. 
 
 fisheries, 137. 
 Shell-heaps, Indian, 55. 
 Shrews, 20. 
 Shrike, Southern, 181. 
 
 Northern, 181. 
 
 Sialia sialis, 12, 24, 66, 145, 187. 
 Skink, 112, 114, 210. 
 Skunk, 232. 
 
 Smilacina bifolia, 92, 110. 
 Smilax, 27, 33, 312. 
 
 glauca, 302. 
 
 rotundifolia, 27, 33. 
 Snake, black, 240. 
 
 garter, 240. 
 
 water, 265. 
 Snow, 25, 74. 
 Snow-birds, 66. 
 Soricidae (shrews), 20. 
 Spade-foot toad, 37. 
 Sparrow, English, 94, 162, 182. 
 
 field, 97. 
 
 song, 25, 39, 62, 66, 88, 124, 178, 
 186, 247. 
 
 swamp, 198. 
 
 tree, 23, 33, 40, 47, 66, 311. 
 
 white-throated, 248, 274. 
 Sparrow-hawk, 139. 
 Spelerpes bilineata, 22. 
 Spice-wood, 29. 
 Spider, cunning of, 235. 
 
 flying, 237. 
 
 Spiders, 22, 112, 130, 177, 234, 250, 
 
 296, 303. 
 Spizella monticola, 23, 33, 40, 47, 66. 
 
 socialis, 91, 94. 
 
 pusilla, 97. 
 
 Splatter-dock, 56, 145. 
 Spring-beauty, 48, 62, 89, 299. 
 Squirrel, flying, 9, 18. 
 
 red, 85, 116. 
 Squirrels, 249. 
 Stacy, Mahlon, quoted, 244. 
 Stagger-bush, 83. 
 St. John's-wort, 175. 
 Sturnella magna, 61. 
 Sun-dew, filiform, 124. 
 Sundews, 125, 199. 
 Sunfish, 98, 109, 154. 
 Swallows, bank, 139. 
 
 barn, 178, 180. 
 
 white-bellied, 94. 
 Sweet-fern, 215, 296. 
 Sycamore, 42, 232. 
 
 Tachycineta bicolor, 94. 
 Taimas striata, 116. 
 Tanager, scarlet, 106, 134. 
 Tauwinipen gischuch, 102. 
 Thoreau, H. D., quoted, 98, 169. 
 Thrush, brown, 100, 186. 
 
 hermit, 89. 
 
 wood (song), 123, 169. 
 Thryothorus ludovicianus, 40, 70. 
 Titmouse, crested, 21, 40, 47, 96, 
 
 124, 197, 232, 270, 311. 
 Toad, common, 34, 117, 129, 178. 
 
 spade-foot, 37. 
 Toad-flax, purple, 125. 
 Todd, J. E., quoted, 68. 
 Toothwort, 88. 
 Torrey, Bradford, 70. 
 Tree-creeper, brown, 257, 263. 
 Tree-toad, 217. 
 Trippe, T. M., quoted, 104. 
 Troglodytes hyemalis, 24. 
 Tropidonotus sipedon, 15, 109. 
 Tsqualli gischuch, 34. 
 Tupelo, 98. 
 Turdus migratorius, 66, 77. 
 
 mustelinus, 89. 
 
 pallasii, 88. 
 Turkey-beards, 126, 130. 
 
INDEX. 
 
 323 
 
 Turk's-cap lily, 127. 
 Turtle, snapping, 98. 
 
 soft-shelled, 232. 
 Turtle-dove, 186. 
 Turtles, 16, 149. 
 Typha angustifolia, 195. 
 Tyrannus carolinensis, 256. 
 
 Usnea ceratina, 83. 
 florida, 83. 
 
 Vcndues, 50. 
 
 Vernonia fasciculata, 228. 
 
 noveboracensis, 256. 
 Viburnum, sp., 131. 
 Viola tricolor, 97. 
 Violets, 89, 97, 192, 265. 
 Vireo, red-eyed, 105, 169. 
 
 warbling, 170. 
 
 white-eyed, 128. 
 
 yellow-throated, 137. 
 Vireosylvia olivacea, 105, 169. 
 Virginia creeper, 242, 266. 
 Vulture (turkey-buzzard), 234. 
 
 Warbler, Blackburnian, 113. 
 
 black-throated green, 105. 
 
 black and white tree-creeping, 
 124, 171, 257. 
 
 blue yellow-backed, 104. 
 
 yellow red-polled, 90. 
 Warblers, 136. 
 Water-lily, 124, 311. 
 
 Water-snake, 15, 109. 
 Water spear wort, 314. 
 
 starwort, 314. 
 
 Waverley, Mass., white oaks at, 299. 
 Weather-lore, 53. 
 Weather prophets, 12, 49. 
 Whip-poor-will, 103. 
 Wilson, Alexander, quoted, 200, 
 
 220. 
 
 Willow, 136. 
 Wini gischuch, 285. 
 Winter-berry, 271, 312. 
 Wintergreen, 20, 83. 
 Winter wren, 24. 
 Wissahickon Creek, Pa., 89. 
 Wood-duck, 221. 
 Wood-frog, 35, 177, 217. 
 Wood-pecker, red-headed, 94. 
 Wood-tattler, 175. 
 Wren, Bewick's, 230. 
 
 Carolina, 40, 70, 270, 304. 
 
 golden-crested, 88. 
 
 house, 169, 178, 180, 187, 276. 
 
 ruby-crowned, 88. 
 
 winter, 24, 302. 
 
 Xerophyllum setifolium, 127. 
 Yellow-bird, 91. 
 
 Zapus Hudsonius, 15, 285. 
 Zeisberger, Rev. David, quoted, 75. 
 Zonotrichia albicollis, 248, 274. 
 
 THE END. 
 
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 of the great age of the human race, and to show us what man was, in respect of 
 customs, industries, and moral or religious ideas, before the use of metals wa 
 known to him." New York Sun. 
 
 "An interesting, not to say fascinating volume." New York Churchman. 
 
 ANIMAL INTELLIGENCE. By GEORGE J. ROMANES, F. R. S., 
 Zoological Secretary of the Linnaean Society, etc. 12mo. Cloth, $1.75. 
 
 " My object in the work as a whole Is twofold : Fir^t, I have thought it de- 
 sirable that there should be something resembling a text-book of the facts of Com- 
 parative Psychology, to which men ot science, and also metaphysicians, may turn 
 whenever they have occasion to acquaint themselves with the particular level ot 
 intelligence to which this or that species of animal attains. My second and much 
 more important object is that of considering the facts of animal intelligence in 
 their relation to the theory of descent." -from the Preface. 
 
 "Unless we are greatly mistaken, Mr. Romanes's work will take its place as 
 one of the most attractive volumes of the * International Scientific Series. Some 
 persons may, indeed, be disposed to say that it if too attractive, that it feeds the 
 popular taste for the curious and marvelous without supplying any commensurate 
 discipline in exact scientific reflection ; but the author has, we think, fully justi- 
 fied himself in hie modest preface. The result is the appearance of a collection 
 of facts which will be a real boon to the student of Comparative Psychology, for 
 this is the first attempt to present systematically well-assured observations on the 
 mental life of animals." Saturday Review. 
 
 " The author believes himself, not without ample cause, to have completely 
 bridged the supposed gap between instinct and reason by the authentic proofs 
 here marshaled of remarkable intelligence in some of the higher animals. It ia 
 the seemingly conclusive evidence of reasoning powers furnished by the adapta- 
 tion of means to ends in cases which can not be explained on the theory of in- 
 herited aptitude or habit." New York Sun. 
 
 THE SCIENCE OF POLITICS. By SHELDON AMOS, M. A., author 
 of "The Science of Law," etc. 12mo. Cloth, $1.75 
 
 " To the political student and the practical statesman it ought to be of great 
 value." New York Herald. 
 
 " The author traces the subject from Plato and Aristotle in Greece, and Cicero 
 in Rome, to the modern schools in the English field, not slighting the teachings 
 of the American Revolution or the lessons of the French Revolution of 1793, 
 Forms of government, political terms, the relation of law, written and unwritten, 
 to the subject, a codification from Justinian to Napoleon in France and F"ield in 
 America, are treated as parts of the subject in hand. Necessarily the subjects of 
 executive and legislative authority, police, liquor, and land laws are considered^ 
 and the question ever growing in importance in all countries, the relations or cor 
 poratious to the state." New York Observer. 
 
 New York: D. APPLETON & CO.. I, 3. & 5 Bond Street. 
 
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