22 



BIRDS AND FLOWERS. 



I have sometimes dared to hope that I might catch a 

 distant glimpse of the magic minstrel. One such view 

 I had at Au Sable Chasm in July, 1898, when a her- 

 mit perched on a blasted pine on the opposite side of 

 the gorge and poured forth his soul at eventide; but 

 he was too far away for recognition. We saw nothing 

 but a dusky silhouette in the evening light. Still, 

 that was a satisfaction, for I knew then that the bird 

 is a live creature, who makes his home on earth. 



On Tuesday, May 14, 1901, my great piece of good 

 luck befell. We had been rambling about the Turkey 

 Brook region in Millville, and had seen nothing more 

 remarkable than a catbird, a redstart, a yellow war- 

 bler, a bobolink and a female bluebird on a mullein 

 stalk. We had resumed our drive on the Silk Farm 

 Road, intending to see what the meadows in the Iron 

 Works district might afford. 



As we approached the top of Silver Hill my atten- 

 tion was at once arrested by the ethereal melody, 

 which has grown rare, alas ! since the pines about Con- 

 cord have been ruthlessly slaughtered. We drove 

 nearer, and there on a small birch just inside the stone 

 wall, not a rod from our wagon, sat the poet of Amer- 

 ica, his little bill quivering with ecstasy and a foun- 

 tain of music gushing from his magic throat. We 



