A Bouquet of Song Birds 
of its wildwood haunts; only the dew of morn- 
ing sparkles on the grass, and the joyousness of 
sunrise, or the solemn glory of the west, 
‘‘ Where the Day joins the past Eternity,” 
becomes a rare effluence of gladness or of grav- 
ity that radiates from every landscape view or 
woodland melody, according as we see or hear 
it at the springing or the dying hour of day. 
& 
In contrast with the open, broad, imposing 
view along the Hudson, is a rare bit of secluded 
sylvan scenery, keyed, in musical phrase, in a 
richer and more mellow scale, to be found ina 
walk along the banks of the Bronx River, 
traversing the reservation called Bronx Park, a 
few miles out from New York City, and easily 
accessible in various ways. ‘The river through 
this region is of a sort to please an artist’s eye, 
a scene of limpid loveliness, wandering through 
a rocky gorge, embowered in fragrant and 
melodious shade, with here a waterfall, there a 
cascade, now babbling over shallows, and now 
expanding into motionless and glassy basins, in 
which the full inverted lengths of over-arching 
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