Not only the 66 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 notthey 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 outstretched 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 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 windtroubled 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 pleasure 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 granted me the freedom of their state"; There the world seemed more full of meaning here. 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. Remember, 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. For permission to reprint portions of several of the following chapters the author is indebted to the publishers of "Harper's Young People," of the "Popular Science Monthly," of "Garden and Forest," and of "The American," of Philadelphia. PROSPECT HILL, TRENTON, N. J., March 20, 1889. C. C. A. |