Unless wholly wedded8 to the town, it is not cheering to think of the surrounding country as worn out. It is but little more than two centuries since the home-seeking folk of other lands came here to trick or trade with the 10Indians, wild as the untamed world wherein they dwelt; and now we look almost in vain for country as Nature fashioned it. Man may make of a desert a pleasant place, but he also unmakes the forest and bares the wooded hills until as naked and desolate as the fire-swept ruins of his own construction. It is but a matter of a few thousand cart-loads of the hill moved to one side, and the swamp that the farmer dreads9 because it yields no dollars is obliterated10. He has never considered its wealth of suggestiveness. “A fig11 for the flowers and vermin. I must plant more corn.”
But here and there the tall trees are still standing12, and their tops are an untravelled country. I climbed an oak this cool midsummer morning; clambered beyond the mists, which were rolling away as I seated myself far above the ground, safe from intrusion, and resting trustfully on yielding branches that moved so gently in the passing breeze that I scarcely perceived their motion.
How much depends upon our point of view! The woodland path may not be charming if the undergrowth too closely shuts us in. In all we do, we seek a wider vision than our arm’s length. There may be nothing better 11beyond than at our feet, but we never believe it. It is as natural to ask of the distant as of the future. They are closely akin14. Here in the tree-top my wants were supplied. I was only in the least important sense cribbed, cabined, and confined.
Wild life, as we call it, is very discriminating15, and that part of it which notices him at all looks upon man as a land animal; one that gropes about the ground, and awkwardly at that, often stumbling and ever making more noise than his progress calls for; but when perched in a tree, as an arboreal17 creature, he is to be studied anew. So, at least, thought the crows that very soon discovered my lofty quarters. How they chattered18 and scolded! They dashed near, as if with their ebon wings to cast a spell upon me, and, craning their glossy19 necks, spoke20 words of warning. My indifference21 was exasperating22 at first, and then, as I did not move, they concluded I was asleep, dead, or a dummy23, like those in the corn-fields. The loud expostulations gave place to subdued24 chatterings, and they were about to leave without further investigation26, when, by the pressure of my foot, I snapped a dead twig27. I will not attempt description. Perhaps 12to this day the circumstance is discussed in corvine circles.
It is difficult to realize the freedom of flight. Twisting and turning with perfect ease, adapting their bodies to every change of the fitful wind, these crows did not use their wings with that incessant28 motion that we need in using our limbs to walk, but floated, rose and fell, as if shadows rather than ponderable bodies. Until we can fly, or, rather, ride in flying-machines, we cannot hope to know much of this flight-life of birds, and it is the better part of their lives. But it was something to-day to be with even these crows in the air. Following their erratic29 flight from such a point of view, I seemed to be flying. We are given at times to wonder a great deal about birds, and they have equal reason to constantly consider us. Who can say what these crows thought of me? All I can offer to him who would solve the problem is that their curiosity was unbounded, and this is much if their curiosity and ours are akin. Of course they talked. Garner30 need not have gone to Africa to prove that monkeys talk, and no one can question that crows utter more than mere31 alarm-cries.
13A word more concerning crows. What so absurd, apparently32, as this?
“A single crow betokens33 sorrow,
Two betoken34 mirth,
Three predict a funeral,
And four a birth.”
Yet it is a very common saying, being repeated whenever a few, or less than five, fly over. It is repeated mechanically, of course, and then forgotten, for no one seems to worry over one or three crows as they do when a looking-glass breaks or the dropped fork sticks up in the floor. Seems to worry, and yet I strongly suspect a trace of superstition35 lingers in the mind of many a woman. Those who will not sit as one of thirteen at a table are not dead yet. Can it be that all this weakness is only more concealed36 than formerly37, but none the less existent?
I watched the departing crows until they were but mere specks38 in the sky, and heard, or fancied I heard, their cawing when half a mile away. It is ever a sweet sound to me. It means so much, recalls a long round of jolly years; and what matters the quality of a sound if a merry heart prompts its utterance39?
14I was not the only occupant of the tree; there were hundreds of other and more active travellers, who often stopped to think or converse40 with their fellows and then hurried on. I refer to the great, shining, black ants that have such a variety of meaningless nicknames. Its English cousin is asserted to be ill-tempered, if not venomous, and both Chaucer and Shakespeare refer to them as often mad and always treacherous41. I saw nothing of this to-day. They were ever on the go and always in a hurry. They seemed not to dissociate me from the tree; perhaps thought me an odd excrescence and of no importance. No one thinks of himself as such, and I forced myself upon the attention of some of the hurrying throng42. It was easy to intercept43 them, and they grew quickly frantic44; but their fellows paid no attention to such as I held captive for the moment. I had a small paper box with me, and this I stuck full of pin-holes on every side and then put half a dozen of the ants in it. Holding it in the line of the insects’ march, it immediately became a source of wonderment, and every ant that came by stopped and parleyed with the prisoners. A few returned earthward, and then a number 15came together, but beyond this I could see nothing in the way of concerted action on the part of the ants at large looking towards succoring45 their captive fellows. Releasing them, these detained ants at once scattered46 in all directions, and the incident was quickly forgotten. Where were these ants going, and what was their purpose? I wondered. I was as near the tree’s top as I dared to go, but the ants went on, apparently to the very tips of the tiniest twigs47, and not one that I saw came down laden48 or passed up with any burden. It is not to be supposed they had no purpose in so doing, but what? There is scarcely an hour when we are not called upon to witness just such aimless activity,—that is, aimless so far as we can determine.
Nothing molested49 these huge black ants, although insect-eating birds came and went continually. One lordly, great-crested fly-catcher eyed them meditatively50 for some seconds, and then my identity suddenly dawned upon him. His harsh voice, affected51 by fear, was more out of tune52 than ever, and, coupled with his precipitant flight, was very amusing. The bird fell off the tree, but quickly caught himself, and then, as usual, curiosity overcame 16fear. Students of bird-ways should never forget this. The fly-catcher soon took a stand wherefrom to observe me, and, if intently staring at me for thirty seconds was not curiosity, what shall we call it? Is it fair to explain away everything by calling it mere coincidence? It is a common practice, and about as logical as the old cry of “instinct” when I went to school. To have said, when I was a boy, that a bird could think and could communicate ideas to another of its kind, would have brought down ridicule53 upon my head out of school, and brought down something more weighty if the idea had been expressed in a “composition.” I speak from experience.
To return to the cheerier subject of curiosity in birds: our large hawks54 have it to a marked degree, and advantage can be taken of this fact if you wish to trap them. I have found this particularly true in winter, when there is a general covering of the ground with snow. Food, of course, is not then quite so plenty, but this does not explain the matter. An empty steel trap on the top of a hay-stack is quite as likely to be tampered57 with as when baited with a mouse. The hawk55 will walk 17all around it, and then put out one foot and touch it here and there. If we can judge from the bird’s actions, the question, What is it, anyway? is running through its mind. I once played a trick upon a splendid black hawk that had been mousing over the fields for half the winter. It often perched upon a stack of straw instead of the lone58 hickory near by. Early one morning I placed a plump meadow-mouse on the very top of the stack, to which I had attached a dozen long strands59 of bright-red woollen yarn60 and a bladder that I had inflated61. This was secured to the mouse by a silk cord, and all were so concealed by the snow and straw that the hawk noticed the mouse only. The bird was suspicious at first: it was too unusual for a mouse not to move when a hawk hovered63 above it. Then the bird alighted on the stack and walked about the mouse, pecking at it once, but not touching64 it. Then putting out one foot, he seized it with a firm grip, the talons65 passing through the carcass, and at the same time spread his wings and moved slowly towards the lone hickory that towered near by. I was near enough to see every movement. It was evident that the hawk did not look down at first, 18and saw nothing of the streaming threads and bobbing bladder; but it did a moment later, and then what a quickening of wings and hasty mounting upward! The hawk was frightened, and gave a violent jerk with one foot, as if to disengage the mouse, but it was ineffectual. The sharp claws had too strong a hold, and the effect was only to more violently bob the bladder. Then the hawk screamed and dashed into the trees near by, and was out of sight.
A curious and disappointing occurrence, while sitting aloft, was the frequent discovery of my presence by birds and their sudden right-about movement and departure. Occasionally I could see them coming as if directly towards me, but their keen eyes noticed the unusual object, and they would dart66 off with a promptness that showed how completely at home they were while on the wing. Even the bluebirds, usually so tame, had their misgivings67, and came to rest in other trees. But if the birds were not always about and above me, there were many below, and the sweet song of the wood-robin from the tangled68 underbrush seemed clearer and purer than when sifted69 through a wilderness70 of leaves.
19It was not until noon that the wood and open fields became silent or nearly so, for the red-eye came continually, and, whether insect-hunting in the tree or on the wing, it seemed never to cease its singing, or querulous cry, which more aptly describes its utterance. To hear this sound throughout a long summer day is depressing, particularly if you hear nothing else, for the steady hum of insect-life hardly passes for sound. It was only when I listened for it that I was aware that millions of tiny creatures were filling the air with a humming that varied71 only as the light breeze carried it away or brought it nearer and clearer than before. There is a vast difference between absolute and comparative or apparent silence. The former is scarcely ever a condition of the open country unless during a still, cold winter night, and never of one of our ordinary woodland tracts72. We do find it, however, in the cedar74 swamps and pine-land, even during summer. I have often stood in “the pines” of Southern New Jersey75 and tried to detect some sound other than that of my own breathing, but in vain. Not a twig stirred. The dark waters of the pools were motionless; even the scattered clouds 20above were at rest. It was to be absolutely alone, as if the only living creature upon earth. But ere long a gentle breeze would spring up, there was a light and airy trembling of the pines, and the monotone of a whispered sigh filled the forest. Even this was a relief, and what a joy if some lonely bird passed by and even lisped of its presence! The dee-dee of a titmouse at such a time was sweeter music than the choral service that heralds76 the coming of a bright June morning.
At noon, the day being torrid, there was comparative silence, and yet as I looked about me I saw ceaseless activity in a small way. The ants were still journeying, and red admiral and yellow swallow-tailed butterflies came near, and the latter even passed high overhead and mingled78 with the chimney-swifts. Had I been on the ground, walking instead of waiting, I should have sought some sheltered spot and rested, taking a hint from much of the wild life I was watching.
AT NOONTIDE.
Where cluster oaks and runs the rapid brook79,
Repose80 the jutting81 rocks beneath the ferns;
Here seeks the thrush his hidden leafy nook,
And wandering squirrel to his hole returns.
21Afar the steaming river slowly wends
Its tortuous82 way to mingle77 with the sea;
No cheerful voice its languid course attends;
The blight83 of silence rests upon the lea.
Where the wide meadow spreads its wealth of weeds,
Where the rank harvest waves above the field,
The testy84 hornet in his anger speeds,
And stolid85 beetle86 bears his brazen87 shield.
Give them the glowing, fiery88 world they love,
Give me the cool retreat beside the stream;
While sweeps the sun the noontide sky above,
Here would I linger with the birds and dream.
The Chesapeake Oak
And now what of the tree itself? Here I have been the better part of a long fore-noon, and scarcely given this fine young oak a thought. A young oak, yet a good deal older than its burden; an oak that was an acorn89 when the century was new, and now a sturdy growth full sixty feet high, straight of stem to its undermost branches and shapely everywhere. Such trees are not remarkable90 of themselves, though things of beauty, but at times how suggestive! Think of pre-Columbian America; then there were oaks to make men marvel92. “There were giants in those days.” Occasionally we meet with 22them even now. A year ago I camped on the shore of Chesapeake Bay near an oak that measured eighteen feet six inches in circumference93 four feet from the ground, and in St. Paul’s church-yard, not a great way off, are five big oaks, one of which is twenty feet around shoulder high from the roots. Such trees are very old. The church-yard was enclosed two centuries ago, and these were big trees then, and so older by far than any monument of white men on the continent, except possible traces of the Norsemen. If a tree such as this in which I have been sitting is full to overflowing94 with suggestiveness, how much more so a noble patriarch like that upon the bay shore! It is usually not easy to realize the dimensions of a huge tree by merely looking at it, but this mammoth95 impressed one at first sight. The branches were themselves great trees, and together cast a circular patch of shade, at noon, three paces more than one hundred feet across. As a tree in which to ramble96 none could have been better shaped. The lowest branches were less than twenty feet from the ground, and after reaching horizontally a long way, curved upward and again outward, dividing 23finally into the leaf-bearing twigs. Course after course continued in this way, the size decreasing gradually, and the whole forming, as seen from a distance, a magnificent dome-shaped mass. Comparisons with the tree’s surroundings were full of suggestiveness. The ground immediately about was densely98 covered with rank ferns and the acorn sprouts100 of one or two years’ growth. Yet, where they were, it seemed but a smoothly-shaven lawn, so insignificant101 were they when seen with the tree; and the sproutland beyond, which would otherwise have been a wood, was absolutely insignificant. Yet, in truth, everything here was on a grand scale. The ferns were tall, and to prove it I sat upon the ground among them and so shut out all view of the great tree and its surroundings. I spent many hours seated upon different branches of this oak, and every one had features all its own. From those nearest the ground I surveyed the bird-life in the thicket102 beneath, and was entertained by a pair of nesting cardinal103 red-birds that came and went as freely as if quite alone, and whistled cheerfully morning, noon, and night. I fancied I made friends with these birds, for early one 24morning the male bird came to camp, as if to inspect my nest, thinking I was not up, and he expressed his favorable opinion in most glowing terms. A pair of doves, too, had a nest in sight, and their melancholy104 cooing seemed out of tune here, where Nature had done her work so well. Once, at least, while I was there, the bald eagle came for a few moments, and, big bird as he is, was not conspicuous105, and had not a flash of sunlight fallen upon his yellow beak106 and white head, I should not have been aware of his presence, as he certainly was not of mine. What I took to be a duck-hawk, a few days later, interested me much more. He was a splendid bird, and tarried but a short time. The leaves so concealed him that I was not sure, having no field-glass at the time, but do not think I was mistaken. The eagle did not appear to disturb the fish-hawk’s temper in the least, but the great hawk did, and he was much excited until the bird disappeared in the steam and smoke that as a great cloud rested above Baltimore.
The birds of this retired107 spot may be divided into two classes,—those of the oak and of the sproutland growths about it, and 25the birds of the air, principally swallows, which hung over the tree as a trembling cloud. Never were swallows more numerous, except when flocked prior to migration108. In the tree and bushes were always many birds, yet often they were far from each other. This gave me an excellent idea of what a great oak really is. Birds quite out of sight and hearing of each other were resting on branches from the same trunk. Although the middle of July, there was no lack of song, and second nesting of many familiar birds is, I judge, more common in Maryland than in New Jersey. Of all the birds that came, the little green herons were the most amusing. A pair doubtless had a nest near by, or young that were not yet on the wing. They walked sedately109 along the level branches, as a man might pace up and down his study, buried in deep thought. I listened carefully for some expression of content, but they made no sound except when they were startled and flew off. I was much surprised to find the beach-birds occasionally darting110 among the branches, and once a spotted111 sandpiper rested a moment near me. These birds we associate with water and the open country, 26although this species is less aquatic112 than its fellows. They were always in sight from the door of my tent, and always an earlier bird than I. I recall now standing upon the beach long before sunrise, marking the promises of the coming day, as I interpreted them. The fish-hawks were ahead of me; so, too, the little sand-pipers. Their piping at this time was very clear and musical. It was a delightful113 accompaniment to the rippling114 water. The dear old song-sparrows were quiet, and I was very glad; but with the first flooding of the sea with sunlight they all sang out, and the Chesapeake was afar off and I in the home meadows on the Delaware. I prefer novelty when away. It is well to utterly115 forget, at times, that which we most prize. What boots it to stand on the hill-top, if your thoughts are forever in the lowlands? Twice, from the branches of the old oak, I saw a splendid sunset, but nothing equal to the sunrise of to-day. With many a matter of this life the beginning is better than the end. We had a superb sunset last night. The color was gorgeous, but it was plain and commonplace compared to the sunrise of to-day. Perhaps no tint116 was 27really brighter in one case than in the other, but my mind was. The sunset was too closely linked with the death of the day; there was the idea of a grand finale before the curtain drops, and this tends to dull enthusiasm. It is not so with sunrise. It is all freshness,—a matter of birth, of beginning, of a new trial of life,—and with so happy an entrance, the exit should be one of gladness only; but there is no trace of pity in Nature. In awful certainty the night cometh.
I was not surprised at every visit to this tree to find some new form of life resting on its branches. A beautiful garter-snake had reached a low branch by climbing to it from a sapling that reached a little above it. There was no break in the highway that led to its very summit. The grass leaned upon ferns, these upon shrubs117, these again upon saplings, and so the tree was reached. Any creeping thing could have climbed just eighty feet above the earth with far less danger than men encounter clambering over hills.
And not only a zoological garden was this and is every other old tree, but the oak had its botanic garden as well. When we consider that many of the branches were so wide 28and level that one could walk upon them, it is not strange that earth, dead leaves, and water should lodge118 in many places. Indeed, besides the two gardens I have mentioned, the oak had also an aquarium119. But I cannot go into particulars. The parasitic120 plant-life—not truly such, like the mistletoe—was a striking feature. Maple121 seeds had lodged122 and sprouted123, and in a saucer-shaped depression where dust and water had lodged a starved hawkweed had got so far towards maturity124 as to be in bud.
It may appear as utter foolishness to others, but I believe that trees might in time become tiresome125. Whether in leaf or bare of foliage126, there is a fixedness127 that palls128 at last. We are given to looking from the tree to the world beyond; to hurrying from beneath their branches to the open country. To live in a dense99 forest is akin to living in a great city. There is a sense of confinement129 against which, sooner or later, we are sure to rebel. We long for change. The man who is perfectly130 satisfied has no knowledge of what satisfaction really is. Logical or not, I turned 29my attention from the tree at last, and thought, What of the outlook? Directly north, in the shallow basin, hemmed131 in by low hills, lies the town. A cloud of smoke and steam rests over it, and barely above it reach the church-spires and tall factory chimneys, as if the place was struggling to be free, but only had its finger-tips out of the mire132 of the town, of which I know but little. My wonder is that so many people stay there, and, stranger still, wild life not only crowds its outskirts133, but ventures into its very midst. In one town, not far away, I found the nests of seventeen species of birds, but then there was a large old cemetery134 and a millpond within its boundaries. Time was when through the town before me there flowed a creek135, and a pretty wood flourished along its south bank. The creek is now a sewer136, and an open one at that, and yet the musk-rat cannot quite make up his mind to leave it. Stranger than this was seeing recently, in a small creek discolored by a dyeing establishment, a little brown diver. How it could bring itself to swim in such filth137 must remain a mystery. A queer old character that had lived all his life in the country once said 30of the nearest town, “It is a good place to dump what we don’t want on the farm.” This old fellow would always drive me out of his orchard138 when apples were ripe, but I liked him for the sentiment I have quoted.
I am out of town now, and what of the world in another direction? Turning to the east, I have farm after farm before me; all different, yet with a strong family likeness139. This region was taken up by English Quakers about 1670 and a little later, and the houses they built were as much alike as are these people in their apparel. The second set of buildings were larger only and no less severely140 plain; but immediately preceding the Revolution there were some very substantial mansions141 erected142. From my perch16 in the tree-top I cannot see any of the houses distinctly, but locate them all by the group of Weymouth pines in front and sometimes both before and behind them. The old-time Lombardy poplar was the tree of the door-yards at first, but these, in this neighborhood, have well-nigh all died out, and the pines replace them. One farm-house is vividly143 pictured before me, although quite out of sight. The owner 31made it a home for such birds as might choose to come, as well as for himself, and what royal days have been spent there! There was no one feature to attract instant attention as you approached the house. The trees were thrifty144, the shrubbery healthy, the roses vigorous, and the flowering plants judiciously145 selected; but what did strike the visitor was the wealth of bird-life. For once let me catalogue what I have seen in and about one door-yard and what should be about every one in the land. At the end of the house, and very near the corner of the long portico146, stood a martin-box, occupied by the birds for which it was intended. In the porch, so that you could reach it with your hand, was a wren147’s nest, and what a strange house it had! It was a huge plaster cast of a lion’s head, and between the grim teeth the bird passed and repassed continually. It promenaded148 at times on the lion’s tongue, and sang triumphantly149 while perched upon an eyebrow150. That wren certainly saw nothing animal-like in the plaster cast as it was, and I have wondered if it would have been equally free with a stuffed head of the animal. My many experiments with animals, as to their recognition of animals 32as pictured, have demonstrated everything, and so, I am afraid I must admit, nothing. In the woodbine on the portico were two nests,—a robin’s and a chipping-sparrow’s. These were close to each other, and once, when sitting in a rocking-chair, I swayed the woodbine to and fro without disturbing either bird. In the garden were a mocking-bird, cat-bird, thistle-finch151, song-sparrow, brown thrush, yellow-breasted chat, and red-eyed vireo. In the trees I saw a great-crested fly-catcher, purple grakle, a redstart, spotted warbler, and another I failed to identify. In the field beyond the garden were red-winged blackbirds and quail152, and beyond, crows, fish-hawks, and turkey-buzzards were in the air; and, as the day closed and the pleasant sights were shut out, I heard the clear call of the kill-deer plover153 as they passed overhead, heard it until it mingled with my dreams. “Providence154 Farm” is indeed well named, for the birdy blessing155 of Providence rests upon it; but were men more given to considering the ways and wants of wild life, we might find such pleasant places on every hand. Farms appear to be growing less farm-like. The sweet simplicity156 of colonial days has been 33well-nigh obliterated, and nothing really better has replaced it. On the other hand, a modern “country place,” where Nature is pared down until nothing but the foundation-rocks remain, is, to say the least, an eyesore. There is more pleasure and profit in an Indian trail than in an asphaltum driveway.
Westward157 lie the meadows, and beyond them the river. Seen as a whole, they are beautiful and, like all of Nature’s work, will bear close inspection158. The bird’s-eye view to-day was too comprehensive to be altogether enjoyable: it was bewildering. How completely such a tract73 epitomizes a continent! The little creek is a river; the hillock, a mountain; the brushland, a forest; the plowed159 tract, a desert. If this fact were not so generally forgotten we would be better content with what is immediately about us. Mere bigness is not everything. So, too, with animal life. We spend time and money to see the creatures caged in a menagerie, and never see the uncaged ones in the thicket behind the house. Every lion must roar, or we have not seen the show; a lion rampant161 is everything, a lion couchant, nothing. There was no visible violence in the meadows to-day; 34Nature was couchant, and I was thankful. When the tempest drives over the land I want my snug162 harbor by the chimney-throat. The sparks can fly upward to join the storm if they will. The storms I enjoy are matters of hearsay163.
Take up a ponderous164 government quarto of the geological survey and glance over the splendid plates of remarkable rocks, ca?ons, and high hills, and then look out of your window at the fields and meadow. What a contrast! Yes, a decided165 one, and yet if you take an open-eyed walk you will find a good deal of the same thing, but on a smaller scale. You have not thought of it before; that is all. I put this matter to a practical test not long ago, and was satisfied with the result. The last plate had been looked at and the book was closed with a sigh, and a restless youth, looking over the wide range of fields before him, was thinking of the grand mountains, strange deserts, and deep ca?ons pictured in the volume on his lap, and comparing such a country with the monotonous166 surroundings of his home.
“What a stupid place this part of the world is!” he said at last. “I wish I could go out West.”
35“Perhaps it is not so stupid as it looks,” I replied. “Let’s take a walk.”
I knew what the book described at which the lad had been looking, and had guessed his thoughts. We started for a ramble.
“Let us follow this little brook as far as we can,” I suggested, “and see what a stupid country can teach us,” purposely quoting my companion’s words, with a little emphasis.
Not fifty rods from beautiful old trees the collected waters, as a little brook, flowed over an outcropping of stiff clay, and here we voluntarily paused, for what one of us had seen a hundred times before was now invested with new interest. There was here not merely a smooth scooping167 out of a mass of the clay, to allow the waters to pass swiftly by; the least resisting veins168 or strata169, those containing the largest percentage of sand, had yielded quickly and been deeply gullied, while elsewhere the stiff, black ridges171, often almost perpendicular172, still withstood the current, and, confining the waters to narrow limits, produced a series of miniature rapids and one whirlpool that recalled the head-waters of many a river.
Near by, where, when swollen173 by heavy 36rains, the brook had filled the little valley, temporary rivulets174 had rushed with fury over the clay, and cut in many places deep and narrow transverse channels. From their steep sides projected many a pebble175 that gave us “overhanging rocks,” and one small bowlder bridged a crevice176 in the clay, and was in use at the time as a highway for a colony of ants. Near it stood slender, conical pillars of slightly cemented sand, some six inches in height, and every one capped with a pebble of greater diameter than the apex177 of the supporting sand. These were indeed beautiful.
“I have never seen them before,” remarked the boy.
“Very likely,” I replied, “but you have crushed them under foot by the dozens.” They were not to be overlooked now, though, and in them he saw perfect reproductions of wonderful “monument rocks” which he had so lately seen pictured in the ponderous government geological report.
Withdrawing to the field beyond, where a bird’s-eye view of the brook’s course could be obtained, we had spread out before us a miniature, in most of its essentials, of a ca?on country. The various tints178 of the clay gave 37the many-colored rocks; the different densities179 of the several strata resulted in deep or shallow ravines, fantastic arches, caverns180, and beetling181 precipices182. On a ridiculously small scale, you may say. True, but not too small for the eyes of him who is anxious to learn.
A few rods farther down the stream we came to a small sandy island which divided the brook and made a pleasant variety after a monotonous course through nearly level fields. A handful of the sand told the story. Here, meeting with so slight an obstruction183 as a projecting root, the sandy clays from above had been deposited in part, and year after year, as the island grew, the crowded waters had encroached upon the yielding banks on either side, and made here quite a wide and shallow stream. Small as it was, this little sand-bar had the characteristic features of all islands. The water rippled184 along its sides and gave it a pretty beach of sloping, snow-white sand, while scarcely more than half a foot inland the seeds of many plants had sprouted, and along the central ridge170 or backbone185 the sod was thick set, and several acorns186, a year before, had sprouted through it. We found snails187, spiders, and insects 38abundant, and faint footprints showed that it was not overlooked by the pretty teetering sand-piper.
Now came a total change. Abruptly188 turning from its former straightforward189 course, the brook entered a low-lying swamp, crowded to the utmost with dense growths of tangled vines and stunted190 trees. The water was no longer sparkling and colorless, but amber13-tinted, and in many a shallow pool looked more like ink. Life here appeared in many forms. Small mud-minnows, turtles, and snakes were found in the gloomy, weed-hidden pools, and numberless insects crowded the rank growths above as well as the waters beneath. The mutual191 dependence192 of vegetation and animal life was here very striking. Previously193 we had found comparatively little either in the brook or about it, but now our eyes were gladdened not only with what I have mentioned, but birds, too, were in abundance.
Bent194 upon freeing my native county from the charge of stupidity, I led the way through this “dismal swamp.” It was no easy task. Nowhere were we sure of our footing, and it required constant leaping from root to root 39of the larger trees. There was at times no well-defined channel, and often we could hear the gurgling waters hurrying beneath our feet, yet catch no glimpse of them.
Here, too, other springs welled to the surface, and the augmented195 volume of waters finally left the swamp a stream of considerable size, which, after a tortuous course through many fields, entered a deep and narrow ravine. After untold196 centuries the brook has worn away the surface soil over which it originally flowed, then the gravel197 beneath, and so down to the clay, thirty feet below. Upon this now rest the bowlders and such coarser material as the waters could not transport.
Clinging to the trees growing upon the sides of the ravine, we closely followed the course of the troubled, bubbling, foamy199 waters, stopping ever and anon to look at the exposed sections of sand and gravel here shown in curious alternate layers. The meaning of the word “deposits,” so frequently met with in descriptive geology, was made plain, and when we noticed of how mixed a character was the coarse gravel, it was easy to comprehend what had been read of that most interesting phase of the 40world’s past history, the glacial epoch201, or great ice age. The gravel was no longer an unsuggestive accumulation of pebbles202, but associated rolled and water-worn fragments of a hundred different rocks that by the mighty203 forces of ice and water had been brought to their present position from regions far away.
The ravine ended at the meadows, through which the waters passed with unobstructed flow “to join the brimming river.” As we stood upon the bank of the mighty stream I remarked, “This is a stupid country, perhaps, but it has some merits.” I think the boy thought so, too.
The meadows are such a comprehensive place that no one knows where to begin, if the attempt is made to enumerate204 their features. There is such a blending of dry land and wet, open and thicket-grown, hedge and brook and scattered trees, that it is bewildering if you do not choose some one point for close inspection. From the tree-top I overlook it all, and try in vain to determine whether the azure205 strip of flowering iris206 or the flaunting207 crimson208 of the Turk’s cap lilies 41is the prettier. Beyond, in damper soil, the glistening209 yellow of the sunflowers is really too bright to be beautiful; but not so where the water is hidden by the huge circular leaves of the lotus. They are majestic210 as well as pretty, and the sparse211 bloom, yellow and rosy212 pink, is even the more conspicuous by reason of its background. How well the birds know the wild meadow tracts! They have not forsaken213 my tree and its surroundings, but for one here I see a dozen there. Mere inky specks, as seen from my point of view, but I know them as marsh214-wrens and swamp-sparrows, kingbirds and red-wings, that will soon form those enormous flocks that add so marked a feature to the autumn landscape. It needs no field-glass to mark down the passing herons that, coming from the river-shore, take a noontide rest in the overgrown marsh.
I had once, on the very spot at which I was now looking, an unlooked-for adventure. For want of something better to do, I pushed my way into the weedy marsh until I reached a prostrate215 tree-trunk that during the last freshet had stranded216 there. It was a wild place. The tall rose-mallow and wavy217 cat-tail 42were far above my head, and every trace of civilization was effectually shut out. It was as much a wilderness as any jungle in the tropics. Nor was I alone. Not a minute elapsed before a faint squeak218 told me that there were meadow-mice in the hollow log on which I sat. Then the rank grass moved and a least bittern came into view and as quickly disappeared. I heard continually the cackle of the king-rail, and the liquid twittering of the marsh-wrens was a delight. The huge globular nests of these birds were everywhere about me; but the birds did not think of me as having any evil designs upon them, so they came and went as freely as if alone. This is bird-viewing that one too seldom enjoys nowadays. Often, and very suddenly, all sound ceased and every bird disappeared. I did not recognize the cause at first, but was enlightened a moment later. A large bird passed over, and its very shadow frightened the little marsh-dwellers. If not, the shadow and fright were a coincidence several times that morning. The day, for me, ended with the unusual chance of a close encounter with a great blue heron. I saw the bird hover62 for a moment directly overhead, and then, letting 43its legs drop, it descended219 with lead-like rapidity. I leaned backward to avoid it, and could have touched the bird when it reached the ground, it was so near. I shall never know which was the more astonished. Certainly, had it chosen, it could have stabbed me through and through.
I was glad to be again on drier land and in open country. There had been adventure enough; and yet, as seen from a distance, this bit of marsh was but weeds and water.
Southward there stands the remnant of a forest: second- and third-growth woodland usually; for trees of really great age are now generally alone. I can see from where I sit three primeval beeches220 that are known to be over two centuries old, and not far away towered one giant tulip-tree that since the country’s earliest settlement had stood like a faithful sentinel, guarding the south bank of a nameless spring brook. Ever a thing of beauty, it shone with added splendor221 at night, when the rising full moon rested in its arms, as if weary at the very outset of her journey. My grandfather told me that in his boyhood it was known as the “Indian tree,” because a basket-maker and his squaw had a wigwam 44there. That was a century ago, and often, of late years, I have hunted on the spot for some trace of these redskins, but found nothing, although all about, in every field, were old Indian relics223, even their cherished tobacco-pipes. Small, recent growths of timber, even where they have succeeded an ancient forest, are not, as a rule, attractive. Their newness is too evident, and, except for a few passing birds, they are not apt to harbor much wild life. As I look at the mingled foliage of oaks and elms, beeches, hickories, and wild cherry, I give little heed224 to that before me and recall forests worthy225 of the name, doing precisely226 what I have declared unwise. A naturalist227 could find more material in these few acres of woodland than he could “work up” in a lifetime. I have underrated them. From the little thicket of blackberry vines I see a rabbit slowly loping, as if in search of food. It is a full-grown fellow, and suggests the round of the traps in late autumn and the woods in winter.
I never knew a boy brought up in the country who was not at one time an enthusiastic trapper. Just as mankind in the infancy228 45of the world were forced to pit their energy and skill against the cunning of the animals needed for food or of such that by reason of their fierceness endangered human life, so the country boy of to-day puts his intelligence to work to circumvent229 the superiority of such animal life as by fleetness of foot or stroke of wing can avoid the pursuer. It is a question largely of brain against anatomical structure. No Indian, even, ever outran a deer, nor savage230 anywhere by mere bodily exertion231 stopped the flight of a bird. Men were all sportsmen, in a sense, when sport, as we call it, was necessary to human existence. As centuries rolled by, such animals and birds as came in daily contact with man necessarily had their sleepy wits aroused, and now it is a case of cunning against cunning. We are all familiar with such phrases as “wild as a hawk” and “shy as a deer.” In the morning of man’s career on earth there were no such words as “shy” and “wild.” They came into use, as words are constantly coming into our language, because circumstances make them a necessity; and as men were trappers before they were traders or tillers of the field, so the words 46are old, and while animal life lasts they will be retained.
Nowadays we generally outgrow232 this love of trapping, or it remains233 in the love of sport with gun or rod. But, old Izaak Walton and Frank Forrester to the contrary notwithstanding, I hold that nothing in fishing or shooting has that freshness, that thrilling excitement, that close touch with nature, that clings to our early days, when, in autumn and winter, we went the round of the traps. How through the long night we had visions of the rabbit cautiously approaching the box-trap on the edge of the swamp! How clearly we saw in the corner of the weedy old worm-fence the stupid opossum bungling234 along, and awoke with a start as the clumsy creature sprang the trap from the outside! I pity the boy who has not had such a distressing235 dream.
No boy ever turned out before sunrise with a smiling countenance236 to milk or help in any way with farm work; but how different when it was a matter of the traps he had set the night before! The anticipation237 of success is an all-sufficient incentive238, and neither bitter cold nor driving storm deters239 him. Of a winter dawn much might be said. No boy 47ever was abroad so early that the squirrels were not before him, and in the fading light of the stars he will hear the crows cawing and the blue-jays chattering25 in the woods. To the naturalist, of course, such time of day is full of suggestiveness; but the general belief that it is a proper time to sleep will never be given up. Indeed, judging others by myself, as the boy gets well on in his teens there is a growing disposition240 to let the traps go until broad daylight and even until after breakfast. This is unfortunate in two ways: there is a likelihood of seeing animal life in the full flush of activity in the pre-sunlit hours that is unknown as the day advances; the night-prowlers are all gone to their dens97, and the birds that roost in colonies have dispersed241 for the day. One seldom overtakes a raccoon or a weasel at or near noontide, and in the woods where a thousand robins242 have roosted there may now not be one. Then, again, your visit to the traps may be anticipated if you are too deliberate in starting on your rounds. This is an experience that no boy of spirit can calmly undergo, and no wonder. The rude box-trap was not easy to make, considering the usual condition of tools upon a 48farm. The hunt for likely places whereat to set it had been real labor243. The long tramp in the gloaming when tired out from a day at school; the early tramp, before sunrise perhaps, for he must be on time at school that morning,—all this is to be considered; but if success crowns the effort, all is well. On the other hand, to find that some rascal244 has been ahead of you and your labor has gone for nothing—— I never knew a boy to be a saint at such a time.
I can recall a well-marked rabbit-path I once found, half a mile from home, and with great secrecy245 carried one of my traps to the place. It was on the next farm, and so I had to be more than usually careful. Nothing could be done in daylight for fear the boys living on that farm would find me out, and this sort of poaching was not tolerated. At first I was successful, catching246 two fine rabbits, and then, alas247! was so elated that, boylike, I said too much. Some one must have tracked me, for I caught no more, although it was evident that the trap had been disturbed. Straightway I suspected treachery, and prepared for revenge.
Now, auntie had a fur tippet, or “boa,” 49as she called it, which was just six feet long. The moths248 one summer had ruined it, and for some time it had been lying around uncared for and a plaything for the younger children. This I appropriated, and fastened to one end of it a rabbit’s head, with the ears wired up and with huge painted marbles bulging249 from the sockets250 for eyes. It was a startling if not life-like creature.
Armed with this, I started after dark to the trap, and soon had all in readiness for my victim. I coiled the “boa” into the rear of the box and placed the head near the opening of the trap. The “figure-of-four” triggers were laid outside in such a way as to suggest that the trap had been sprung by an animal. Then I went home.
The next morning I went to school without visiting the spot, fearing I might meet with the supposed offender251. All day long I wondered. No boy had any marvellous tale to tell and no one looked at all guilty. There soon came over me a feeling that perhaps I had played a trick upon myself, and by sundown I was rather reluctant to determine if anything had happened; but go I did. The trap had evidently been disturbed. The 50“boa” with the rabbit’s head was lying at full length outside and the bushes were broken as if a bull had rushed through them. But who or what had been there?
Two days of most distressing doubt passed, and then came Saturday. I was ill at ease and took no pleasure in my holiday; but about noon our neighbor came over, and I heard him tell grandfather how, on Fifth-day, while the family were at breakfast, Bill, the bound boy, came rushing into the room and exclaimed, excitedly, “Something from the menagerie’s broke loose and got in the rabbit-trap!”
I had had my revenge.
A wood, to be at its best, should be located on the shore of a lake or river, or, perhaps better still, a river should run through it. Here are my impressions of such a wood, from my note-book of 1892, under date of May 1:
Nothing could have been more fitting than to take a May-day outing at such a place. The swift current of the Great Egg Harbor River rolled resistlessly along, its waters black as night, save where, over the pebbly252 shallows, it gleamed like polished amber. The wind that swayed the tall crowns of the towering 51pines made fitting music, according well with the rippling laugh of the fretted253 river, while heard above all were the joyous254 songs of innumerable warblers.
We had placed our boat upon a wagon255 six miles below our point of departure, and partly realized on our way what this pine region really was. The cedar swamp, the oak openings, the arbutus that gave color to the narrow wagon-track, the absence of man’s interference,—all tended to give us the full significance of that most suggestive word, wilderness. We needed but to catch a glimpse of an Indian to see this part of creation precisely as it was in pre-Columbian days. I sat for some time in the boat before taking up the anchor. This was but the entrance, I was told, to spots more beautiful, but it was hard to believe. Here was a river hidden in a forest, and what more could one wish? The warblers well knew that May-day had come again, and every one of the mighty host greeted the brilliant sunshine. There seemed literally256 to be hundreds of them. Flashing like gems257 were redstarts, light as swallows upon the wing. Bright-spotted warblers, and others sombre gray, laughed 52as they tarried on the trembling twigs; then, mounting into the sunlight, sang loudly as they flew, or darted258 into gloomy nooks so hidden that not even a sunbeam could follow them.
The river with its attendant birds could not claim all the merit; the land was no less beautiful. The oaks were not yet in leaf, but there was no lack of green. The holly’s foliage was bright as May, the polished leaves of the tea-berry shone as a midsummer growth, the ink-berry had defied the winter’s storms, and the maples259 glowed as a great ruddy flame. Really distinct as was every object, yet, as a whole, the outlook was dreary260, hazy261, half obscure, as we looked directly into the wood, where the drooping262 moss263 festooned the branches of the smaller oaks.
No voyager ever set forth264 from so fair a port.
My companion knew the route, and with an oar160 he took his place astern to guide the boat safely down the swift stream. It was all right as it proved, but at times I forgot that I had come to see the forest. Instead, an element of doubt as to the guide’s ability came painfully to the front. With devilish 53malignancy, as I thought, trees had prostrated265 themselves and rested just beneath the water’s surface, or stood up, with outreached arms, as if defying us. How we passed many a crook266 and turn I cannot now remember. I was too much occupied with desperately267 clutching at anything within reach to notice the “when” or “how,” but there still remains the delicious sensation of suddenly shooting into smooth water and feeling—brave as a lion.
For several miles on either side of the stream we had a typical mixed forest. The willow-oak predominated at times, and the delicate foliage, so unlike other oaks, was very beautiful. The leaves appeared translucent268 in the bright sunlight, fairly sparkled, and once made a splendid background to scarlet269 tanagers that flashed through them. In this long reach of dense woods there were fewer birds than at our starting-point, or perhaps they held back as we passed. But other life was not wanting. From many a projecting stump270 there slid many a turtle into the dark waters, and a mink271 or musk-rat crossed our bow. Careful search would no doubt have revealed numerous creatures, for here was a safe retreat for all the 54fauna of the State. The deer are not yet quite gone, possibly a few bears remain. Certainly the raccoon and otter272 must be abundant. I was constantly on the lookout273 for minks274, for the river abounds275 in fish. This animal is sometimes mistaken for a huge snake, as it rises several inches above the water at times, and has then a rather startling appearance. An old fisherman on Chesapeake Bay told me that he had seen a mink with a huge eel56 in its mouth come to the surface, and then the wriggling276 fish and long, lithe277 body of the mink together looked like two serpents fighting. I can readily imagine it. Birches, liquidambars, and pines in clusters would next command attention, and usually there was a dense undergrowth. Holding the boat, at times, we could hear the water rushing through the roots of this tangled mass, and found that what we had supposed was firm land afforded no certain footing, and a bluff278 of firm earth was very welcome when we thought of landing for a hasty lunch. This firm earth did indeed support us, but in reality it was the most unstable279 of shifting sands, being held in place by reindeer-moss, partridge-berry, and other pine-barren growths. 55Nothing was in sight but the scrubby pines, and we had to be very careful that our fire did not get among the “needles” and dash through the woods. I found here absolutely no birds. They seem all to prefer the tracts covered by deciduous280 trees; but insect-feeders could have flourished here. The steam of our dinner-pot brought more substantial forms than mosquitoes, one house-fly being determined281 to share my Frankfurter and successfully defying all attempts at capture.
Again afloat, we soon came to the mouth of an inflowing stream called Dead River, said to be very deep. This point was perhaps the wildest of all. The open water here was very wide, and a forest of projecting stumps282 of various heights showed plainly that we were on the edge of an area of drowned land. In the distance was an unbroken background of pines, which now looked black. At wide intervals283 could be seen huge pines that had escaped the charcoal-burner or lumberman. The stems and lower branches were, of course, concealed, but in the hazy atmosphere the tops were as floating islands of darkest green, standing boldly out against the pearly sky behind them.
56Here, at the mouth of Dead River, we beheld284 a pretty sight. A wood-duck with her brood rushed over the water in a most lively manner, flecking the black expanse with patches of white foam200. Such incidents add much to such a journey. An empty forest is as forbidding as an empty house.
In the coves285 there were changes from the surrounding scenery that were not to be overlooked. A rank growth of golden-club resting on the dark waters was very striking. The picture was such as we see on a Claude Lorrain glass. Near by fresh sphagnum in a shallow pool was bronze and green: a place for frogs to squat286 unseen, but I could find none. How often this happens! At the very places where we think animal life will be in abundance we can find no trace of it. Then, looking up, we see but trees. No break in the line that hems91 us in. Trees old and young, trees living and dead, great and small; nothing but trees.
The wind freshened as the day grew old, and doubly troubled were the waters. There was no rest for them now, even in sheltered nooks, and it was only by sturdy strokes of the oars198 that we made headway at all. There 57was no perceptible current to bear us along as before. The waves dashing against the bare trunks of trees long dead and now bent by the wind added much to the wild scene. Novel as it all was, I could not quite enjoy it. It was something to be contemplated287 from the shore, I thought. I know I was laughed at, but the many “blind” stumps, or those just beneath the surface, of which my companion spoke so unconcernedly came too prominently to mind when I least expected them, and added much significance to the fact that I cannot swim.
As we neared home the scene abruptly changed, and the river was lost in a wide expanse that might be called a lake if the fact was not so evident that it is a mill-pond. This, however, did not detract from the beauty of the surroundings, and before our final landing we drew up to a bold bit of shore and searched, while it was yet day, for pyxie. There was an abundance of blooming andromeda, too, and arbutus, with clubmoss of richest green. I almost placed my hand on a centipede that glowed like an emerald. It was resting on ruddy sphagnum, and made a splendid picture. I could not 58capture the creature. An attempt to do so on my part was followed by its disappearance288 with a suddenness that could be likened only to the flashes of light that played upon its back. Here I heard many frogs, but could find none. The rattle289 and peep were not like the voices of those in the meadows at home, and I wondered about Cope’s new tiger-frog and the little green hyla that is so rare here in Jersey. Possibly I heard them both; probably not.
We returned to prosy life when the boat was lifted over the dam, and the incidents were few and commonplace in the short drift that carried us to an old wharf290, a relic222 of the last century.
What a difference between such a forest and a few hundred oaks and ashes at home! and yet these are far better than treeless fields. It is these few trees that hold many of our migratory291 birds, and through them, in spring, troop the north-bound warblers. In the gloaming a small tract of woodland widens out, and, seeing no open country beyond, what does it matter, if we walk in a circle, whether it be one acre or one thousand? 59There is good philosophy in “Small favors thankfully received.” Here in this little wood are beautiful white-footed mice, a shy, nocturnal jerboa, flying-squirrels, and, if I mistake not, a whole family of opossums. Here, until autumn, are wood-robins that never weary us by overmuch singing, and cat-birds, chewinks, and the rose-breasted grosbeak. I do not complain, but as the summer passes I regret that these birds have their appointed time and will soon be gone. Why so soon? I often wonder, for their haunts do not lose their loveliness for weeks after they have disappeared.
No wall of green above, about,
They silently steal away;
With but a carpet of withered292 leaves,
The minstrel will not stay.
But the spot is no “banquet-hall deserted,” for all that; the departure of the summer birds is but to make way for those who have gladdened Canadian woods for many weeks. The purple finch will soon be here, and tree-sparrows in great companies, and the gentle white-throat; and these, with our stately cardinal for a leader, will hold forth melodiously293, 60though the north winds blow and the angry east wind brings the snow upon its wings.
In the smile of winter sunshine there will be enacted294 another drama, but now it is comedy rather than tragedy. There are no conflicting interests now, no serious quarrels, no carking cares—the world is really in good humor and our days of early darkness are misunderstood.
Let him who doubts—and there are but few who do not—turn from the worn lines of travel, go well out of the beaten path, and find, in the way-side nooks his neighbors have neglected, most excellent company: birds of brave heart that can sing in the teeth of a storm; and many a creature, wrapped in his furry295 coat, laughs at the earnest efforts of winter to keep him from his outings.
Did I dare sit in this same oak when the leaves have fallen, I should have strange tales to tell,—tales so strange that the summertide would be commonplace in comparison.
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1
ripple
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| n.涟波，涟漪，波纹，粗钢梳；vt.使...起涟漪，使起波纹； vi.呈波浪状，起伏前进 | |
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2
heartiest
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| 亲切的( hearty的最高级 )； 热诚的； 健壮的； 精神饱满的 | |
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3
desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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5
canopy
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| n.天篷，遮篷 | |
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boundless
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| adj.无限的；无边无际的；巨大的 | |
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7
tempting
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| a.诱人的, 吸引人的 | |
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8
wedded
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| adj.正式结婚的；渴望…的，执著于…的v.嫁，娶，（与…）结婚( wed的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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9
dreads
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| n.恐惧，畏惧( dread的名词复数 )；令人恐惧的事物v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的第三人称单数 ) | |
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10
obliterated
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| v.除去( obliterate的过去式和过去分词 )；涂去；擦掉；彻底破坏或毁灭 | |
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fig
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| n.无花果(树) | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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amber
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| n.琥珀；琥珀色；adj.琥珀制的 | |
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14
akin
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| adj.同族的，类似的 | |
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discriminating
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| a.有辨别能力的 | |
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perch
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| n.栖木，高位，杆；v.栖息，就位，位于 | |
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arboreal
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| adj.树栖的；树的 | |
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chattered
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| （人）喋喋不休( chatter的过去式 )； 唠叨； （牙齿）打战； （机器）震颤 | |
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glossy
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| adj.平滑的；有光泽的 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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exasperating
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| adj. 激怒的 动词exasperate的现在分词形式 | |
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dummy
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| n.假的东西；(哄婴儿的)橡皮奶头 | |
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subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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25
chattering
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| n. （机器振动发出的）咔嗒声，(鸟等)鸣，啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的，啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
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investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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twig
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| n.小树枝，嫩枝；v.理解 | |
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28
incessant
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| adj.不停的，连续的 | |
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erratic
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| adj.古怪的，反复无常的，不稳定的 | |
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garner
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| v.收藏；取得 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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betokens
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| v.预示，表示( betoken的第三人称单数 ) | |
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34
betoken
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| v.预示 | |
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35
superstition
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| n.迷信，迷信行为 | |
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36
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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37
formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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38
specks
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| n.眼镜；斑点，微粒，污点( speck的名词复数 ) | |
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39
utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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40
converse
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| vi.谈话，谈天，闲聊；adv.相反的，相反 | |
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41
treacherous
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| adj.不可靠的，有暗藏的危险的；adj.背叛的，背信弃义的 | |
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42
throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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43
intercept
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| vt.拦截，截住，截击 | |
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44
frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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45
succoring
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| v.给予帮助( succor的现在分词 ) | |
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46
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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47
twigs
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| 细枝，嫩枝( twig的名词复数 ) | |
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48
laden
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| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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49
molested
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| v.骚扰( molest的过去式和过去分词 )；干扰；调戏；猥亵 | |
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50
meditatively
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| adv.冥想地 | |
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51
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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52
tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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53
ridicule
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| v.讥讽，挖苦；n.嘲弄 | |
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54
hawks
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| 鹰( hawk的名词复数 )； 鹰派人物，主战派人物 | |
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55
hawk
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| n.鹰，骗子；鹰派成员 | |
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56
eel
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| n.鳗鲡 | |
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57
tampered
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| v.窜改( tamper的过去式 )；篡改；（用不正当手段）影响；瞎摆弄 | |
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58
lone
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| adj.孤寂的，单独的；唯一的 | |
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59
strands
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| n.（线、绳、金属线、毛发等的）股( strand的名词复数 )；缕；海洋、湖或河的)岸；（观点、计划、故事等的）部份v.使滞留，使搁浅( strand的第三人称单数 ) | |
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60
yarn
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| n.纱，纱线，纺线；奇闻漫谈，旅行轶事 | |
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61
inflated
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| adj.（价格）飞涨的；（通货）膨胀的；言过其实的；充了气的v.使充气（于轮胎、气球等）( inflate的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）膨胀；（使）通货膨胀；物价上涨 | |
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62
hover
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| vi.翱翔，盘旋；徘徊；彷徨，犹豫 | |
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63
hovered
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| 鸟( hover的过去式和过去分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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64
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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65
talons
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| n.（尤指猛禽的）爪( talon的名词复数 )；（如爪般的）手指；爪状物；锁簧尖状突出部 | |
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66
dart
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| v.猛冲，投掷；n.飞镖，猛冲 | |
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67
misgivings
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| n.疑虑，担忧，害怕；疑虑，担心，恐惧( misgiving的名词复数 )；疑惧 | |
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68
tangled
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| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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69
sifted
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| v.筛( sift的过去式和过去分词 )；筛滤；细查；详审 | |
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70
wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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71
varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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72
tracts
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| 大片土地( tract的名词复数 )； 地带； （体内的）道； （尤指宣扬宗教、伦理或政治的）短文 | |
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73
tract
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| n.传单，小册子，大片(土地或森林) | |
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74
cedar
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| n.雪松，香柏(木) | |
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75
jersey
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| n.运动衫 | |
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76
heralds
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| n.使者( herald的名词复数 )；预报者；预兆；传令官v.预示( herald的第三人称单数 )；宣布（好或重要） | |
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77
mingle
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| vt.使混合，使相混；vi.混合起来；相交往 | |
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78
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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79
brook
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| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
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80
repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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81
jutting
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| v.（使）突出( jut的现在分词 )；伸出；（从…）突出；高出 | |
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82
tortuous
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|
| adj.弯弯曲曲的，蜿蜒的 | |
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83
blight
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| n.枯萎病；造成破坏的因素；vt.破坏，摧残 | |
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84
testy
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|
| adj.易怒的；暴躁的 | |
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85
stolid
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|
| adj.无动于衷的，感情麻木的 | |
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86
beetle
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|
| n.甲虫，近视眼的人 | |
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87
brazen
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|
| adj.厚脸皮的，无耻的，坚硬的 | |
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88
fiery
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|
| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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89
acorn
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|
| n.橡实，橡子 | |
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90
remarkable
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|
| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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91
hems
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| 布的褶边，贴边( hem的名词复数 )； 短促的咳嗽 | |
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92
marvel
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|
| vi.(at)惊叹vt.感到惊异；n.令人惊异的事 | |
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93
circumference
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| n.圆周，周长，圆周线 | |
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94
overflowing
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|
| n. 溢出物,溢流 adj. 充沛的，充满的 动词overflow的现在分词形式 | |
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95
mammoth
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|
| n.长毛象；adj.长毛象似的，巨大的 | |
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96
ramble
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| v.漫步，漫谈，漫游；n.漫步，闲谈，蔓延 | |
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97
dens
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| n.牙齿，齿状部分；兽窝( den的名词复数 )；窝点；休息室；书斋 | |
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98
densely
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| ad.密集地；浓厚地 | |
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99
dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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100
sprouts
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|
| n.新芽，嫩枝( sprout的名词复数 )v.发芽( sprout的第三人称单数 )；抽芽；出现；（使）涌现出 | |
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101
insignificant
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|
| adj.无关紧要的，可忽略的，无意义的 | |
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102
thicket
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| n.灌木丛，树林 | |
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103
cardinal
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| n.(天主教的)红衣主教；adj.首要的，基本的 | |
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104
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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105
conspicuous
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|
| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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106
beak
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| n.鸟嘴，茶壶嘴，钩形鼻 | |
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107
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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108
migration
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| n.迁移，移居，（鸟类等的）迁徙 | |
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109
sedately
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| adv.镇静地，安详地 | |
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110
darting
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的现在分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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111
spotted
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| adj.有斑点的，斑纹的，弄污了的 | |
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112
aquatic
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| adj.水生的，水栖的 | |
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113
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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114
rippling
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| 起涟漪的，潺潺流水般声音的 | |
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115
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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116
tint
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| n.淡色，浅色；染发剂；vt.着以淡淡的颜色 | |
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117
shrubs
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| 灌木( shrub的名词复数 ) | |
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118
lodge
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| v.临时住宿，寄宿，寄存，容纳；n.传达室，小旅馆 | |
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119
aquarium
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| n.水族馆，养鱼池，玻璃缸 | |
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120
parasitic
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| adj.寄生的 | |
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121
maple
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| n.槭树，枫树，槭木 | |
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122
lodged
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| v.存放( lodge的过去式和过去分词 )；暂住；埋入；（权利、权威等）归属 | |
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123
sprouted
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| v.发芽( sprout的过去式和过去分词 )；抽芽；出现；（使）涌现出 | |
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124
maturity
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| n.成熟；完成；(支票、债券等)到期 | |
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125
tiresome
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| adj.令人疲劳的，令人厌倦的 | |
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126
foliage
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| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
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127
fixedness
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| n.固定；稳定；稳固 | |
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128
palls
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| n.柩衣( pall的名词复数 )；墓衣；棺罩；深色或厚重的覆盖物v.（因过多或过久而）生厌，感到乏味，厌烦( pall的第三人称单数 ) | |
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129
confinement
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| n.幽禁，拘留，监禁；分娩；限制，局限 | |
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130
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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131
hemmed
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| 缝…的褶边( hem的过去式和过去分词 )； 包围 | |
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132
mire
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| n.泥沼，泥泞；v.使...陷于泥泞，使...陷入困境 | |
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133
outskirts
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| n.郊外，郊区 | |
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134
cemetery
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| n.坟墓，墓地，坟场 | |
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135
creek
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| n.小溪，小河，小湾 | |
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136
sewer
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| n.排水沟，下水道 | |
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137
filth
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| n.肮脏，污物，污秽；淫猥 | |
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138
orchard
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| n.果园，果园里的全部果树，(美俚)棒球场 | |
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139
likeness
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| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
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140
severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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141
mansions
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| n.宅第，公馆，大厦( mansion的名词复数 ) | |
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142
ERECTED
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| adj. 直立的，竖立的，笔直的 vt. 使 ... 直立，建立 | |
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143
vividly
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|
| adv.清楚地，鲜明地，生动地 | |
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144
thrifty
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|
| adj.节俭的；兴旺的；健壮的 | |
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145
judiciously
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| adv.明断地，明智而审慎地 | |
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146
portico
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| n.柱廊，门廊 | |
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147
wren
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| n.鹪鹩；英国皇家海军女子服务队成员 | |
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148
promenaded
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| v.兜风( promenade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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149
triumphantly
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| ad.得意洋洋地；得胜地；成功地 | |
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150
eyebrow
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| n.眉毛，眉 | |
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151
finch
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| n.雀科鸣禽(如燕雀，金丝雀等) | |
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152
quail
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| n.鹌鹑；vi.畏惧，颤抖 | |
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153
plover
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| n.珩，珩科鸟，千鸟 | |
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154
providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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155
blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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156
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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157
westward
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| n.西方，西部；adj.西方的，向西的；adv.向西 | |
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158
inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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159
plowed
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| v.耕( plow的过去式和过去分词 )；犁耕；费力穿过 | |
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160
oar
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| n.桨，橹，划手；v.划行 | |
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161
rampant
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| adj.(植物)蔓生的；狂暴的，无约束的 | |
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162
snug
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| adj.温暖舒适的，合身的，安全的；v.使整洁干净，舒适地依靠，紧贴；n.（英）酒吧里的私房 | |
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163
hearsay
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| n.谣传，风闻 | |
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164
ponderous
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| adj.沉重的，笨重的，(文章)冗长的 | |
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165
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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166
monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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167
scooping
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| n.捞球v.抢先报道( scoop的现在分词 )；（敏捷地）抱起；抢先获得；用铲[勺]等挖（洞等） | |
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168
veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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169
strata
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| n.地层（复数）；社会阶层 | |
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170
ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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171
ridges
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| n.脊( ridge的名词复数 )；山脊；脊状突起；大气层的)高压脊 | |
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172
perpendicular
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| adj.垂直的，直立的；n.垂直线，垂直的位置 | |
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173
swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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174
rivulets
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| n.小河，小溪( rivulet的名词复数 ) | |
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175
pebble
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| n.卵石，小圆石 | |
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176
crevice
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| n.(岩石、墙等)裂缝；缺口 | |
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177
apex
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| n.顶点，最高点 | |
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178
tints
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| 色彩( tint的名词复数 )； 带白的颜色； （淡色）染发剂； 痕迹 | |
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179
densities
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| 密集( density的名词复数 )； 稠密； 密度（固体、液体或气体单位体积的质量）； 密度（磁盘存贮数据的可用空间） | |
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180
caverns
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| 大山洞，大洞穴( cavern的名词复数 ) | |
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181
beetling
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| adj.突出的，悬垂的v.快速移动( beetle的现在分词 ) | |
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182
precipices
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| n.悬崖，峭壁( precipice的名词复数 ) | |
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183
obstruction
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| n.阻塞，堵塞；障碍物 | |
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184
rippled
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| 使泛起涟漪（ripple的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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185
backbone
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| n.脊骨，脊柱，骨干；刚毅，骨气 | |
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186
acorns
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| n.橡子，栎实( acorn的名词复数 ) | |
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187
snails
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| n.蜗牛；迟钝的人；蜗牛( snail的名词复数 ) | |
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188
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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189
straightforward
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| adj.正直的，坦率的；易懂的，简单的 | |
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190
stunted
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| adj.矮小的；发育迟缓的 | |
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191
mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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192
dependence
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| n.依靠，依赖；信任，信赖；隶属 | |
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193
previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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194
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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195
Augmented
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| adj.增音的 动词augment的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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196
untold
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| adj.数不清的，无数的 | |
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197
gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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198
oars
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| n.桨，橹( oar的名词复数 )；划手v.划（行）( oar的第三人称单数 ) | |
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199
foamy
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| adj.全是泡沫的，泡沫的，起泡沫的 | |
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200
foam
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| v./n.泡沫，起泡沫 | |
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201
epoch
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| n.(新)时代；历元 | |
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202
pebbles
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| [复数]鹅卵石； 沙砾； 卵石，小圆石( pebble的名词复数 ) | |
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203
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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204
enumerate
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| v.列举，计算，枚举，数 | |
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205
azure
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| adj.天蓝色的，蔚蓝色的 | |
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206
iris
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| n.虹膜，彩虹 | |
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207
flaunting
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| adj.招摇的，扬扬得意的，夸耀的v.炫耀，夸耀( flaunt的现在分词 )；有什么能耐就施展出来 | |
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208
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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209
glistening
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| adj.闪耀的，反光的v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的现在分词 ) | |
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210
majestic
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| adj.雄伟的，壮丽的，庄严的，威严的，崇高的 | |
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211
sparse
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| adj.稀疏的，稀稀落落的，薄的 | |
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212
rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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213
Forsaken
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| adj. 被遗忘的, 被抛弃的 动词forsake的过去分词 | |
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214
marsh
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| n.沼泽，湿地 | |
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215
prostrate
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| v.拜倒，平卧，衰竭；adj.拜倒的，平卧的，衰竭的 | |
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216
stranded
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| a.搁浅的，进退两难的 | |
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217
wavy
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| adj.有波浪的，多浪的，波浪状的，波动的，不稳定的 | |
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218
squeak
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| n.吱吱声，逃脱；v.（发出）吱吱叫，侥幸通过；（俚）告密 | |
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219
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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220
beeches
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| n.山毛榉( beech的名词复数 )；山毛榉木材 | |
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221
splendor
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| n.光彩；壮丽，华丽；显赫，辉煌 | |
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222
relic
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| n.神圣的遗物，遗迹，纪念物 | |
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223
relics
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| [pl.］n.遗物，遗迹，遗产；遗体，尸骸 | |
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224
heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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225
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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226
precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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227
naturalist
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| n.博物学家(尤指直接观察动植物者) | |
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228
infancy
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| n.婴儿期；幼年期；初期 | |
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229
circumvent
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| vt.环绕，包围；对…用计取胜，智胜 | |
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230
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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231
exertion
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| n.尽力，努力 | |
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232
outgrow
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| vt.长大得使…不再适用；成长得不再要 | |
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233
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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234
bungling
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|
| adj.笨拙的，粗劣的v.搞糟，完不成( bungle的现在分词 )；笨手笨脚地做；失败；完不成 | |
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235
distressing
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| a.使人痛苦的 | |
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236
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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237
anticipation
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| n.预期，预料，期望 | |
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238
incentive
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| n.刺激；动力；鼓励；诱因；动机 | |
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239
deters
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| v.阻止，制止( deter的第三人称单数 ) | |
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240
disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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241
dispersed
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| adj. 被驱散的, 被分散的, 散布的 | |
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242
robins
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| n.知更鸟，鸫( robin的名词复数 )；（签名者不分先后，以避免受责的）圆形签名抗议书（或请愿书） | |
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243
labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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244
rascal
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| n.流氓；不诚实的人 | |
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245
secrecy
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| n.秘密，保密，隐蔽 | |
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246
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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247
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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248
moths
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| n.蛾( moth的名词复数 ) | |
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249
bulging
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| 膨胀； 凸出（部）； 打气； 折皱 | |
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250
sockets
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| n.套接字，使应用程序能够读写与收发通讯协定(protocol)与资料的程序( Socket的名词复数 )；孔( socket的名词复数 )；（电器上的）插口；托座；凹穴 | |
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251
offender
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| n.冒犯者，违反者，犯罪者 | |
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252
pebbly
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| 多卵石的，有卵石花纹的 | |
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253
fretted
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| 焦躁的，附有弦马的，腐蚀的 | |
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254
joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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255
wagon
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| n.四轮马车，手推车，面包车；无盖运货列车 | |
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256
literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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257
gems
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| growth； economy； management； and customer satisfaction 增长 | |
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258
darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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259
maples
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| 槭树，枫树( maple的名词复数 )； 槭木 | |
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260
dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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261
hazy
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| adj.有薄雾的，朦胧的；不肯定的，模糊的 | |
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262
drooping
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| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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263
moss
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| n.苔，藓，地衣 | |
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264
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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265
prostrated
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| v.使俯伏，使拜倒( prostrate的过去式和过去分词 )；（指疾病、天气等）使某人无能为力 | |
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266
crook
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| v.使弯曲；n.小偷，骗子，贼；弯曲(处) | |
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267
desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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268
translucent
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| adj.半透明的；透明的 | |
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269
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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270
stump
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| n.残株，烟蒂，讲演台；v.砍断，蹒跚而走 | |
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271
mink
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| n.貂，貂皮 | |
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272
otter
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| n.水獭 | |
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273
lookout
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| n.注意，前途，瞭望台 | |
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274
minks
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| n.水貂( mink的名词复数 )；水貂皮 | |
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275
abounds
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| v.大量存在，充满，富于( abound的第三人称单数 ) | |
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276
wriggling
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|
| v.扭动，蠕动，蜿蜒行进( wriggle的现在分词 )；（使身体某一部位）扭动；耍滑不做，逃避（应做的事等）；蠕蠕 | |
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277
lithe
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| adj.(指人、身体)柔软的，易弯的 | |
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278
bluff
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| v.虚张声势，用假象骗人；n.虚张声势，欺骗 | |
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279
unstable
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| adj.不稳定的，易变的 | |
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280
deciduous
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| adj.非永久的；短暂的；脱落的；落叶的 | |
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281
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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282
stumps
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| （被砍下的树的）树桩( stump的名词复数 )； 残肢； （板球三柱门的）柱； 残余部分 | |
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283
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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284
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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285
coves
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| n.小海湾( cove的名词复数 )；家伙 | |
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286
squat
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| v.蹲坐，蹲下；n.蹲下；adj.矮胖的，粗矮的 | |
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287
contemplated
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| adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
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288
disappearance
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| n.消失，消散，失踪 | |
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289
rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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290
wharf
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| n.码头，停泊处 | |
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291
migratory
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| n.候鸟，迁移 | |
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292
withered
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| adj. 枯萎的，干瘪的，（人身体的部分器官）因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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293
melodiously
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294
enacted
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| 制定（法律），通过（法案）( enact的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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295
furry
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| adj.毛皮的；似毛皮的；毛皮制的 | |
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