302 DAYS OUT OF BOORS. 



stairway such as a cliamois might admire. My thoughts 

 were all in one channel while I followed ; hut the charm 

 of the falling waters compensated for the discomforts of 

 such superlatively rough walking. The lichened rocks, 

 ancient masonry, scattered shrubbery, troubled waters, and 

 the fretted frost-work, each beautiful in itself, lent a charm 

 to the whole, and but a few birds were needed to complete 

 the picture. These were wanting, and a single nest of the 

 red-eyed vireo was the only evidence that birds were ever 

 here ; and yet I am assured that the whole valley is alive 

 with warblers during the early summer. The mill- 

 dams harbor so much winter life at home, even birds, that 

 its absence here struck me the more forcibly. It seemed 

 incredible that no winter wren was spider-hunting in the 

 wide gaps between those loose piled stones. But, this 

 late December day, I could not expect to find that 



" From 'neath the arching barberry stems, 

 My footstep scares the sly chewink ; " 



yet in southern New Jersey this is no uncommon occur- 

 rence, for the chewink is a hardy bird, and haunts the 

 sunny nooks of the hill-side from early to late, and some- 

 times tarries the year through. 



The barberry bushes, still holding their ruddy fruit, 

 were the more attractive because as yet we have none on 

 our mill-pond banks ; and, on the other hand, I failed, at 

 first sight, to recognize the privet growing here. At 

 home this shrub is almost an evergreen, and fruits but 

 sparingly, while the branches of the bushes along Beaver 

 Brook were weighted with coal-black hemes, recalling the 

 ebon clusters of our glaucous smilax. 



So staid and steady, save when stirred by freshets, is 

 the flow of the spring brooks in the Jersey lowlands that 

 a roaring torrent tossing over rocks, even when on a 

 humble scale, works a potent spell, and I would gladly 



