92 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 



of the North American warblers, I am well aware ; but as 

 migratory birds, seen only in transit, they rouse little en- 

 thusiasm, and those that remain suffer by association with 

 birds of other families ; with the exception, perhaps, of 

 the Maryland yellow-throat. 



The sixth outing was an up-river ramble. Leaving 

 the rocks against which the incoming tides fretted in 

 vain, we started at the end of the non-tidal river and com- 

 menced an ascent, so gentle here that the ever down-flow- 

 ing waters are our only evidence that we rise higher and 

 higher above the ocean's level, almost at every furlong 

 of our progress. But it is a different country. No 

 change from the home meadows could be more abrupt 

 and complete. Here we have the often outcropping bed- 

 rock, and to some extent a different flora. Here, hepatica 

 and bloodroot blossom in the woods, flowers that win our 

 love at the first glance ; and later smilacina, delicate as 

 lilies of the valley, cover the crevices of many a bared 

 rock near the water's edge. 



Nowhere is there uncertain footing — quicksand, mud, 

 or floating weeds ; but always smooth, compa,cted sand, a 

 thickset sod, or smooth pebbles, long since water-worn, 

 but now only overflowed when the river is at a freshet 

 stage. It was at such now, and a single raft glided past — 

 a few score of insignificant sticks, and as nothing in com- 

 parison with the mighty pine and hard- wood timber, that 

 a century ago was floated yearly from the mountains 

 above. 



Lumbering on the Delaware is now a thing of the past, 

 and to-day the banks of the stream have next to nothing 

 left that the waters can float to market; but still the 

 mountains are beautiful. Saplings and underbrush, like 

 charity, cover a multitude of sins. As we pass by, their 

 green is as rich as that of forest growths, and we are not 

 unhappy if we do not stop to think. 



