A Bouquet of Song Birds 



of its wildwood haunts ; only the dew of morn- 

 ing sparkles on the grass, and the joyousness of 

 sunrise, or the solemn glory of the west, 



" Where the Day joins th« past Eternity," 



becomes a rare effluence of gladness or of grav- 

 ity that radiates from every landscape view or 

 woodland melody, according as we see or hear 

 it at the springing or the dying hour of day. 



In contrast with the open, broad, imposing 

 view along the Hudson, is a rare bit of secluded 

 sylvan scenery, keyed, in musical phrase, in a 

 richer and more mellow scale, to be found in a 

 walk along the banks of the Bronx River, 

 traversing the reservation called Bronx Park, a 

 few miles out from New York City, and easily 

 accessible in various ways. The river through 

 this region is of a sort to please an artist's eye, 

 a scene of limpid loveliness, wandering through 

 a rocky gorge, embowered in fragrant and 

 melodious shade, with here a waterfall, there a 

 cascade, now babbling over shallows, and now 

 expanding into motionless and glassy basins, in 

 which the full inverted lengths of over-arching 



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