AN IDLER ON MISSIONARY RIDGE. 23 



female cardinal grosbeak flutters suspiciously 

 about a thicket of tall blackberry vines. Her 

 nest should be there, I think, but a hasty 

 look reveals nothing. Again I come upon 

 the Canadian warbler. If there is only one 

 here, he is often in my way. I sit down 

 upon the leaning, almost horizontal, bole of 

 a large tupelo, — a new tree to me, but com- 

 mon in this country. The thick dark-colored 

 bark is broken deeply into innumerable geo- 

 metrical figures, giving the tree a noticeable, 

 venerable appearance, as wrinkles lend dis- 

 tinction and character to an old man's face. 

 Another species, which, as far as I can tell, 

 should be our familiar tupelo of Massachu- 

 setts, is equally common, — a smaller tree, 

 with larger leaves. The moisture here, slight 

 as it now is, gives the place a vegetation of 

 its own and a peculiar density of leafage. 

 From one of the smaller tupelos (I repeat 

 that word as often as I can, for the music of 

 it) cross-vine streamers are swinging, full of 

 red-and-yellow bells. Scattered thinly over 

 the ground are yellow starflowers, the com- 

 mon houstonia, a pink phlox, and some un- 

 known dark yellow blossom a little like the 

 fall dandelion, — Cynthia, I guess. 



