Travels in a Tree-top 51 



ering pines made fitting music, according well 

 with the rippling laugh of the fretted river, 

 while heard above all were the joyous songs 

 of innumerable warblers. 



We had placed our boat upon a wagon six 

 miles below our point of departure, and partly 

 realized on our way what this pine region 

 really was. The cedar swamp, the oak 

 openings, the arbutus that gave color to the 

 narrow wagon-track, the absence of man's 

 interference, — all tended to give us the full 

 significance of that most suggestive word, wil- 

 derness. We needed but to catch a glimpse 

 of an Indian to see this part of creation pre- 

 cisely as it was in pre-Columbian days. I 

 sat for some time in the boat before taking up 

 the anchor. This was but the entrance, I 

 was told, to spots more beautiful, but it was 

 hard to believe. Here was a river hidden in 

 a forest, and what more could one wish ? 

 The warblers well knew that May-day had 

 come again, and every one of the mighty 

 host greeted the brilliant sunshine. There 

 seemed literally to be hundreds of them. 

 Flashing like gems were redstarts, light as 

 swallows upon the wing. Bright-spotted 

 warblers, and others sombre gray, laughed 



