THE world is never as empty as it seems; but then, when beyond the town limits, one must be willing to link arms with a weed or commune with a cobble-stone. For an hour I had seen little but water, the boat merely skimming the surface in response to the oar-stroke, and disturbing nothing save the few spirit ducks that cleft the clear air without a sound; then I tarried at the fishery, as the seine was drawn, and what wealth of vigorous life was brought to the “keen, sword-cutting air!” Shad, herring, and a host of lesser fry were tossed ashore, — life that so soon before had peopled the unsuspected world of water over which I had thoughtlessly passed. Let me again protest against the common impression that life is absent because beyond the range of our vision. If it should so happen that at a given hour everyone remained in-doors, a city would appear deserted; so the well-wooded banks of the river as I passed by. Not a leaf seemed to stir, and not a bird came or went; not even a swallow. Life absent, indeed! Rounding a pine-clad point, while drifting in the mile-wide stream where not a feather was to be seen, the music from a hundred gleesome throats was mingled: the tireless redeye's half-impatient cry, the fretting of the overanxious crows, the boasting oriole's exultant call, the sad song of the plaintive thrush, the ceaseless chatter of the restless wren, here met upon the waters.

A moment here and the silence was oppressive; turning but a step and all the world was merry. There seems to be little doubt but that birds and blossoms have tastes in common. Of all the features of a bright May morning, no one is more in touch with the conditions than the north-bound warblers. It may be that, if they tarried long, we would count them tiresome, but never at such a time as this will one weary of watching such marvels of brilliant bird-life. There are three to be found in this river valley that match well with the bright plumage of the birds of the tropics, — the hooded, the spotted, and Blackburnian warblers. To-day I had the spotted only to keep me company, and had they chosen to remain so long, I would willingly still be sitting in my boat. Never a pessimistic thought clouds their joy, and none overshadows the on-looker at such a time and place. The sobering thought that these birds were dealing death to myriads of unseen insects does not intrude.

It is well to be without a settled purpose if, .being baffled in that, we are stranded and helpless. I turned from the river's bank to the river's bed, hoping to see and recognize some, at least, of the many fishes found here. In this I failed. All were in too great haste to reach some distant point, and the occasional dark flash or silvery glitter may have been a herring or a perch. Not even the minnows tarried within range, and the curious darters that rest on the sand jerked themselves into new positions or quite burrowed under flat pebbles whenever I moved my head for a better view. At last a puff of wind half turned the drifting boat,, and a little company of these darters was brought to view. I had not to move to see each one, and, very conveniently, they did not stir. These fish cannot take a leisurely stroll up or down stream; it is either a question of sitting still or darting off to new quarters. As I looked at them to-day, each rested as demurely on the rippled sand as listening and learned judges.

Let us hope they have thoughts to occupy them, for they appear to have little else; and that their wits are ready events proved. A small snake passed dangerously near, and straightway these little darters disappeared; but it was a desperate effort. Not a tittle of the ease of a startled pike, but a heavy contortion of the whole body, rapid vibration of every fin, and a mad rush for shelter. In spite of this, they seemed to take in their surroundings at a glance, for the snake passed by without a victim, and then, reaching down, I lifted here and there a flat pebble, and found these fish beneath them.

But one source of entertainment was lacking. No sturgeons were seen. One hundred and forty-two years ago an observing traveller passed this very spot, and has left on record, "Sturgeons leaped often a fathom into the air. We saw them continuing this exercise all day, till we came to Trenton." It is not so strange that our bird-life should have lost many attractive features, as cranes and pelicans, but the bottom of the river appeared to offer a fairly, safe harbor for even such huge fishes. If increase of human population has alone to do with it, are we slowly being reduced to domestic animals and insects?

What an undiscovered country is the bed of a river! A mile or more away, where the water was much deeper, I again endeavored to peer into the depths, and saw more than one suggestive object. Not strange forms of life merely, albeit there were many, and these may well suffice to bid us pause, for however commonplace any creature may be when dead and out of place, it is an object of ceaseless interest when in its native haunts. Let one watch mackerel in the open sea, and then draw comparison with the hacked and salted carcass in the corner grocery. There were dimly to be discerned traces of old-time navigation, and how I longed to catch a glimpse of an Indian canoe! Doubtless a vain wish, but not an absurd one. Writes Peter Kalm of the Indians of this very river valley: “Whenever they intended to hollow out a thick tree for a canoe, they laid dry branches all along the stem of the tree as far as it must be hollowed out. They then put fire to those dry branches, and as soon as they were burnt they were replaced by others.... The tree being burnt hollow as far as they found it sufficient,.. they took... stone hatchets or sharp flints and quartzes, or sharp shells, and scraped off the burnt part of the wood and smoothened the boats within. By this means they likewise gave it what shape they pleased.... A canoe was commonly between thirty and forty feet long."

There are doubtless many of these deeply buried in the river mud, but how small the chance of their discovery! I have no such excellent fortune to report, but something scarcely less suggestive: above the sand projected a ship-timber; possibly a bit of some old Dutchman's boat, such as passed up and down this stream almost three centuries ago. It looked old, and why not think it? It is on record that about 1624-25 the Dutch West India Company established a trading-house on a small island near the western shore of the Delaware, just below Trenton Falls, — a mere rocky ripple, — and placed thereon four families. The Dutch carried on a profitable trade with the Indians as early as 1621. There is evidence of this in the objects gathered from one-time village sites, and many valuable relics were unearthed well-nigh a century ago near the head of tide-water, which would be worth their weight in gold were they in existence now; but they were valueless then, when the Indians were looked upon simply as “heathen" and scarcely human; although a book concerning them had appeared declaring them to be the lost tribes. Was it not enough to juggle them out of their lands without permitting a crank to lie about them afterwards? This slowly-decaying piece of hewn timber was suffering no sea-change. Neither coral nor sea-weed beautified it, and the few lazy mussels that ploughed the sand near by were as dull and forbidding in hue; but there was, better than all this, a wealth of suggestiveness.

Taking my oars in hand, I hurried now to the opposite shore and landed upon a narrow but clean, bright, pebbly beach. Again the Indian loomed up, but without the Dutch traders. The rounded bits of many different rocks were full of beauty in themselves, and here they were mingled with fragments of bog iron ore or limonite, which recalled the contents of more than one Indian grave I had opened. Here were scattered little cups and rings and many an oddly-fashioned form such as attracted other eyes, centuries ago, for reasons given; and it was evident whence came the cue to the Indian in the matter of personal adornment. Not a type of stone ornament as they are found on the upland fields but has its double in the water-worn and frost-fractured fragments that strewed the beach. But was there ever an Indian at this point? Who can say? Nevertheless, as I pushed my boat off shore, I sighted a broken arrow-point.

It was a quick transition from the past to the present, but not an unwelcome one. A straining tug rounded the near-by bend, and, following in its wake, a string of rafts. Here was a golden opportunity to return without labor. I had but to hold to the long rudder of the hindmost raft, and did so. All was novel, and he who loves laziness would have been charmed. Still, I could not be altogether idle. The same incentive, it may be, moved the birds, and many took the ride with me. It was rather startling to see a green heron perched upon a log and in no wise concerned about my close proximity. It seldom shifted its position, and seemed asleep, not even noticing its fellows that continually crossed and recrossed the river. These were never silent; my companion always so, for which I was grateful, as the others were forever clearing their throats, and never getting beyond a guttural. Purple grakles hopped from log to log, insect-hunting, I supposed, but nothing like a bug was within sight from where I sat. A song-sparrow came within a log's length and sang twice before departing. All told, we were a merry company; and what a luxury is elbow-room! Public highways a mile wide are seldom a feature of the land. Here we were as much alone as if in the moon.