216 THROUGH LIBRARY WINDOWS 



lost feeling but not anxious as long as birds and 

 flowers are in evidence; and then you are sure 

 of coming upon house or barn, or cultivated 

 field, meeting laborer or cow-boy or berry-pick- 

 er, and can ask the nearest way out. There is a 

 genuine pleasure hunting in every possible niche 

 for some wild flower that has long escaped you, 

 and then snug up to some old log or sheltered 

 rock or brook's bank or out in the open sud- 

 denly finding a perfect specimen, sepals and 

 petals and pistils and stamen and color and 

 striation, everything just right. While in the 

 ecstasy of that floral find to hear the most ex- 

 travagant song that a Warbling Vireo can utter 

 is full enough for a whole day; that sweet 

 toned "te-tee-yu-wh'tee," and ever so much 

 more undefinable repeated o'er and o'er with 

 most delicate modifications so characteristic of 

 the warbler, and ending with that high-up note 

 "tweet," it seems to vibrate in pulsating circles 

 like the strains of a high-keyed aeolian harp. 

 This is the sweetest warbler of the forest or 

 field. 



Just at lunch hour I fortunately came upon 

 a rail fence, a rough, crooked fence of primitive 

 type and times. It was thoroughly poetic and 

 artistic, it looked it and its belongings empha- 

 sized the look. For thirty years it has stood 



