THE WOODS. 145 



quently blazed by old woodsmen. A beech, however, 

 for some reason, has, singularly, more bruises and dis- 

 torted growths on its bark than any other tree, and 

 these curious distortions frequently resemble a blaze; 

 but the bark ordinarily is smooth, while the maple, 

 which otherwise shows the blaze quite well, has such 

 rough, flaky, uneven bark that after some years' growth 

 the old strokes of the ax become too indistinct for a 

 ready sight. It is decidedly an exhilarating experience 

 to blaze one's way into the wilderness, and then to 

 retrace the line of yellow patches through the darken- 

 ing forest; and you will have done your work well if 

 you shall not at some time behind the leaves lose sight 

 of the trail for an instant before you reach camp. 



What a tangle a big tree is that has fallen by the 

 wind or from decay ! Great weeds grow up among the 

 dead limbs and branches, and sough in the wind's wild 

 requiem; and the whole of it has a look of age. The 

 bark scales off, and the old wood beneath it is filled 

 with ants and borers, and its surface is furrowed and 

 scrawled over and criss-crossed with the wandering 

 paths of insects worn in channels into It — the familiar 

 hieroglyphics of Nature. 



And the old logs — how long have they been there, 

 lying in the sunlight and shadow and under the snow, 

 decaying through the years, and enriching the soil with 

 the best of fertility? What chance of wind or storm 

 or old age brought them to the ground? Or perhaps 

 the misfortune of being a bee or a- 'coon tree was the 

 cause of their downfall, or a fellow monarch, in the 

 felling, may have brought another with Itself to the 

 earth. Hunters, perhaps, have rested upon It, with a 



