wa East and West 
parent to the casual view that the oak, as 
well as the butternut, hickory, and chestnut, 
are gradually left behind, as if the lower levels 
were more congenial to ‘‘Jove’s own tree,” 
which indeed they are. Birch, maple, and 
beech continue, while spruce and balsam only 
make their appearance when we are well up in 
the hills. In this ascent, the northern hare 
replaces the cottontail, and the box turtle 
disappears. Among the birds, too, some are 
left behind with the hickory and chestnut, 
and one is not long in discovering the ab- 
sence of the thrasher, the chewink, the chat, 
and certain vireos, such as the white-eyed, 
warbling, and yellow-throated. At the same 
time an inexpressibly wild and fitful burst of 
melody from an invisible singer among the 
moss-covered boulders and fallen tree trunks 
advises us that we have reached the abode of 
the winter wren, while a serene and exalted 
voice chanting afar off on the mountain-side 
is a further sign that we are indeed on Par- 
nassus, on the sacred heights where alone in 
the solemn twilight of the hemlocks, the her- 
mit-thrush intones the most beautiful bird 
song to be heard on the American continent. 
From the valley of the Hudson, the abrupt 
mass of the Catskills, hovering like an azure 
