2o8 In Touch with Nature. 



I have been drifting in the canoe for an hour 

 and the east grows gray. Afar off, there is the 

 half-uttered note of a sleepy bird that dies upon 

 the river. I have to be more than watchful to 

 catch the next note that comes, but as the light 

 strengthens, a hundred voices announce the dawn, 

 and the wide world is again astir. A filmy thread 

 of smoke rises from the woods, and why be so 

 prosy as to think of farmers and the kitchen 

 stove? As yet, civilization has nowhere marred 

 the broad landscape, so why not this thread of 

 smoke the sign of an Indian camp ; or, perhaps, 

 of more gloomy import ? Here is what a close 

 observer writes me of Indian mortuary customs : 

 " According to local tradition, the Indians never 

 buried their dead in this part of the Delaware 

 valley, but placed them in the sun to dry, cover- 

 ing the bodies with bark and leaves. When thus 

 laid out they were carefully watched and fires kept 

 burning to keep wild animals away. After a certain 

 time the bodies were burned. This crude tradition 

 is verified, I think, by the numerous stone graves 

 or cists found in this neighborhood. The stones 

 forming the framework of the graves were flat 



