Waste-land wanderings

Front matter

®Ijp B. in. 'Mi SJtbrarg

CHARLES R. SANDERS, JR.

Americana-Southeastern States 123 Montgomery Street Raleigh, North Carolina

Chapter I. At Linden Bend

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

Chapter II. Buzzard's Eest

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

CHAPTER IIL WATSON'S CROSSING.

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

A-

X CONTEXTS.

CHAPTER IV. SWAMP WniTE-OAK BEND

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

Chapter V. Dead Willow Bend

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

Chapter VI. The Twin Islands

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

Chapter VII. Mill Creek

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

CONTENTS. xi

Chapter VIII. The Landing

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

Chapter IX. The Dkawbridge

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

INDEX 303

WASTE-LAND AVANDERINGS.

Chapter I. At Linden Bend

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

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

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

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

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

AT LIXDEX BEXD. 3

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

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

A curious growth is the crooked hornbeam. Even the youngest sapling has a jaded, care-worn look. Many of them have more the appearance of mossy elk-horn than of wood. It may be said to grow without a plan^ and for general uncertainty outranks the average white man. It springs from the ground, closely to the water's edge, and leans over it. That is about the only law of its growth. Often, where the main stem meets with that of another tree, or a projecting branch, it will twine about it as closely as a vine, and so, before reaching any considerable size except length, has probably turned many angles of every degree. Another peculiar feature is the uniformity of the diameter of the trunk for an unusual length; in this respect resembling the grape-vine or poison ivy. An hexagonal stem of one of these trees which I was tempted to measure is uniformly ten inches in circumference for twenty feet. It bends sharply at two points, and makes a shapely letter Z, slightly tilted upward, and so far resembles the "E" maple" on Poaetquissings Creek, some miles away.

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

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

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

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

AT LIXDEX BEXD. r.

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

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

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

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

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

AT LIXDEX BEXD. 7

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

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

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

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

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

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

AT LINDEN BEND. 9

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

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

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

10 WASTE-LAND WANDEPwINGS.

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

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

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

AT LINDEN BEXD. 11

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

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

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

This is not an uncommon exj^eriencc. Curiosity is

WASTE-LAXD WANDERINGS.

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

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

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

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

AT LIXDEX BEND. 13

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

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

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

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

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

AT LINDEX BEND. 15

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

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

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

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

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

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