A WEEK ON WALBEN'S RIDGE. 173 



After our ramble along Shoal Creek we 

 rested at the ford, near a brilliant show of 

 laurel and rhododendron, and ate our lun- 

 cheon to the music of the stream. I finished 

 first, as my evil habit is, and was crossing 

 the brook on natural stepping-stones when 

 a bird — a warbler of some unknown kind 

 ' — saluted me from the thicket. Making 

 my com]3anion a signal not to disturb us by 

 driving into the stream, I gave myself up 

 to discovering the singer ; edging this way 

 and that, while the fellow moved about also, 

 always unseen, and sang again and again, 

 now a louder song, now, with charming effect, 

 a quieter and briefer one, till I was almost as 

 badly beside myself as the preacher had been 

 half an hour before. But my warfare was 

 less successful than his, for, with all my 

 pains, I saw not so much as a feather. 

 There is nothing prettier than a jungle of 

 laurel and rhododendron in full bloom, but 

 there are many easier places in which to 

 make out a bird. 



Williams Point, which we reached on foot, 

 after driving as near it as the roughness of 

 the unfrequented road would comfortably 

 allow, is not in itself equal to Signal Point, 



