44 Travels in a Tree-top 



there. That was a century ago, and often, 

 of late years, I have hunted on the spot 

 for some trace of these redskins, but found 

 nothing, although all about, in every field, 

 were old Indian relics, even their cherished 

 tobacco-pipes. Small, recent growths of 

 timber, even where they have succeeded an 

 ancient forest, are not, as a rule, attractive. 

 Their newness is too evident, and, except 

 for a few passing birds, they are not apt to 

 harbor much wild life. As I look at the 

 mingled foliage of oaks and elms, beeches, 

 hickories, and wild cherry, I give little heed 

 to that before me and recall forests worthy 

 of the name, doing precisely what I have 

 declared unwise. A naturalist could find 

 more material in these few acres of wood- 

 land than he could "work up" in a lifetime. 

 I have underrated them. From the little 

 thicket of blackberry vines I see a rabbit 

 slowly loping, as if in search of food. It is 

 a full-grown fellow, and suggests the round 

 of the traps in late autumn and the woods in 

 winter. 



I never knew a boy brought up in the 

 country who was not at one time an enthu- 

 siastic trapper. Just as mankind in the in- 



