10 WASTE-LAND WANDEPwINGS. 



If long ages before tliem the Indians living along tlie 

 bold north shore had a tradition of such silUness on the 

 part of one of their maidens, they kept it carefully to 

 themselves, for all which we may be devoutly thankful. 

 It is vaguely hinted in one old record tliat here tliere 

 was once a battle fought between Indians and Indians. 

 This fact seems to have so slightly impressed the primi- 

 tive chronicler that we must rest content with so bare a 

 statement as that Linden Bend has had its tragedy ; but 

 as to every particular, ^' lost is lost ; gone is gone for- 

 ever." 



TVhile yet overshadowed by the towering lindens, my 

 course was suddenly checked by some unseen obstacle 

 that took firm hold of my little boat. I had run upon 

 a sunken tree, the boat being wedged between two out- 

 reaching, arm-like roots. There were yet hours of day- 

 light, so I did not worry, and every vestige of annoyance 

 passed away when a song-thrush, perched upon an over- 

 hanging bough, sung those sweet strains of which one 

 never tires. 



Perhaps nowhere else in this long valley could a 

 thrush sing to better advantage than here. The steep 

 bluff upon one side, and wall-like setting of tall trees 

 upon the other, resulted in its song being distinctly re- 

 peated once, and a second fainter echo gave back the 

 louder notes. This, too, late in July, weeks after the 

 care of nest and young are over. The bird was sing- 

 ing solely for its own pleasure, and enjoyed, I am sure, 

 the delightful echoing and re-echoing of its notes, that 

 filled the valley. Indeed, the bird often stopped sud- 



