WHERE SWALLOWS ROOST 91 



filling up by the silt brought down by the Hacken- 

 sack River. The river has preserved a right of 

 way, but the bay has given place to a sea of reeds 

 and grasses. 



On a bright August morning I mount a spur of 

 trap rock which reaches out from the western base 

 of the Palisades, and from this elevation have an 

 uninterrupted view over the meadows. The cool, in- 

 vigorating air foretells the approach of autumn ; it 

 is brilliantly clear. The Orange hills stand out 

 with the distinctness of Western mountains. The 

 sun is at my back, and the light shows the meadows 

 to the best advantage. At this distance I get the 

 effect of only the masses of color ; tracts of yellow- 

 ish green meadow grass tinged with copper, and in 

 places thickly sprinkled with the white flowers of 

 the water hemlock and water parsnip ; streaks of 

 light green wild rice, and sharply denned areas of 

 dark green cat-tail flags. The grass grows on the 

 drier land, the wild rice in the small sloughs and 

 creeks which are bordered by the flags. In the 

 spring the wind blows the pollen from the cat-tail 

 blossoms, and a shifting greenish vapor floats over 

 the marsh ; in the autumn a heavy westerly wind 

 raises the seed- bearing down high in the air, carries 

 it over the Palisades, across the Hudson, and it de- 

 scends like a fall of fleecy snow on wondering New 

 York. 



The marsh is a vast arena inclosed by the Pali- 

 sades and Passaic hills ; it is a great plain, with blue 

 stretches of the winding river appearing here and 

 there, and the haystacks are the huts of aborigines. 

 I half close my eyes, and it is a copper-yellow sea. 



