282 OUR NATIONAL PARKS 



neath the trees and on sunny spots on the hills 

 around the groves, wild rose and rubus, spirsea 

 and ribes, mitella, tiarella, campanula, monar- 

 della, forget-me-not, etc., many of them as 

 worthy of lore immortality as the famous Scotch 

 daisy, wanting only a Burns to sing them home 

 to all hearts. 



In the midst of this glad plant work the birds 

 are busy nesting, some singing at their work, 

 some silent, others, especially the big pileated 

 woodpeckers, about as noisy as backwoodsmen 

 building their cabins. Then every bower in the 

 groves is a bridal bower, the winds murmur 

 softly overhead, the streams sing with the birds, 

 while from far-off waterfalls and thunder-clouds 

 come deep rolling organ notes. 



In summer the days go by in almost constant 

 brightness, cloudless sunshine pouring over the 

 forest roof, while in the shady depths there is the 

 subdued light of perpetual morning. The new 

 leaves and cones are growing fast and make a 

 grand show, seeds are ripening, young birds 

 learning to fly, and with myriads of insects glad 

 as birds keep the air whirling, joy in every wing- 

 beat, their humming and singing blending with 

 the gentle ah-ing of the winds ; while at even- 

 ing every thicket and grove is enchanted by the 

 tranquil chirping of the blessed hylas, the sweet- 

 est and most peaceful of sounds, telling the very 

 heart-joy of earth as it rolls through the heavens. 



