TANGLE-LEAF PAPERS. 71 



dered a little river. At the foot of the hill I 

 met a man driving a team of six horses hitched 

 to a wagon whereon was a saw-log sixteen 

 feet long and nearly four feet in diameter. 

 The log was tulip, usually called poplar in the 

 West, the Liriodendron lulipifera of the bota- 

 nists, and appeared not to have a blemish of 

 any sort in it. What a grand tree it must have 

 been when standing, and for how many Junes 

 it had bloomed in the woods, its huge flowers 

 flaming among its rich green leaves. 



For some distance my road now skirted 

 the foot of a bluff along the bank of the river. 

 At one point I stopped for awhile to watch 

 a fisherman casting for bass. He was in a 

 little skiff near the middle of the river and 

 was casting down stream with a minnow for 

 bait. He appeared to understand his busi- 

 ness, but I got tired, and drove on before he 

 caught anything ; still I carried away with me 

 a pleasing impression, in my memory a pict- 

 ure of the silver current breaking around the 

 skiff and the tall graceful angler patiently ply- 

 ing his rod and reel. What fascinating uncer- 

 tainty there is in angling ! What a big fish 

 one is always just on the point of catching ! 

 As I write I have in my ears the murmur of 

 every brook from Canada to the chestnut-cov- 

 ered hills of North Georgia. 



Turning aside from the main road I pushed 

 my tricycle up a steep, stony hill and mount- 

 ing, soon found myself following the mean- 

 derings of a narrow cart-way, overshadowed by 

 wide-branching beech trees just beginning 

 to show their leaves. A half-mile of slow 

 riding brought me to a thicket of wild plum 

 bushes loaded with their fragrant white 



