IT is exhilarating to test those faculties that usually lie dormant, as when, being caught in the rain, you accommodate yourself with bewildering promptness to the new order of things. It is to be accounted good fortune, if the mere turning from a well-worn rut and running over new ground leads one to make merry by reason of such trivial novelty. To particularize: I, with two companions, was caught in the rain recently. All were disposed to make the best of it, and found that which contemplation would have painted in sombre tints delightfully rose-colored.

Somewhere ahead of us — how far or near we knew not — there was reported to be an excellent Indian field, and each was eager to collect some curious carving, shapely weapon, or even homely potsherds. We had come many miles and dreaded returning empty-handed; but, as if the spirits of departed red men were in league with the clouds, when near our journey's end it began to rain, and our courage was not equal to facing a storm. It remained to us to return home or seek the shelter of a near-by woods, and we chose the latter.

Let us hope that our horse was not unhappy, browsing the wet leaves of chestnut sprouts; we certainly were not, feasting on many a product of foreign lands; an inspiriting lunch suggesting postprandial contemplation on my part and a spirit of exploration on the part of my companions. I sat in the carriage and studied the woods in front of me; they hunted for wild-flowers where the trees offered moderate protection: we were all happy.

There is little merit in a pine woods or a cedar swamp, because of its monotony. We may be impressed with the silence that pervades it, or by its vast extent, but the pleasure that Byron asserts of pathless woods, if he had such as these in mind, is to me a myth. Animal-life seems largely to shun such spots, as if the same feeling of intense loneliness unpleasantly affected it; but when we stroll leisurely along, or quietly seat ourselves in such a wood as this, where trees of many sorts are grouped, wholly different feelings arise. That pleasure which variety affords is now our own. We can turn from the tall, arrowy pine to the stately chestnut, from sturdy oaks to the graceful liquidambar; or, tiring of these, scan the thrifty undergrowth that to-day was brilliant with golden, pink, purple, and snow-white bloom.

But for the time this mixed woods was silent. I could detect no sound save the dripping of the sullen rain-drops upon the leaves. Not a bird chirped, not a squirrel barked, or timid wood-mouse rustled last year's leaves. Wanting this feature, I turned to the trees themselves.

One noble chestnut, directly before me, embodied all the dignity of tree-growth, and I longed to know its history. What of the storms that had tested its strength; what of the summer's heat and winter's cold that had nourished its growth and bade it rest for a season; what of the men that had come and gone, resting for a while in its generous shade; what of the children that had gathered its fruit, since its first few nuts were scattered on the ground beneath it? But a tree is not communicative upon short acquaintance. It is shy of a stranger, as it were, and only warms into genial but mute companionship upon seeking its protection. Then, it may be, every wrinkle of its rugged bark will brighten to a smile, and the limbs that at first were held aloft will reach over us as sheltering arms.

With the many beautiful flowers that the wanderers continually brought to the carriage were numbers of those clammy, curious growths, familiar to many as “Indian pipe." Attention being called to it, the plant was found growing in great luxuriance everywhere about us. It was a rather strange but pleasant coincidence. Here we were deterred from relic-hunting, and with this plant, that is so suggestive of the Indian's chief treasure, his tobacco-pipe, scattered over the ground. If it be true that the plain bowl and slender stem, fashioned in clay by the Indians, is their oldest and original form of pipe, then, indeed, they may have taken a hint from the plant in question. Nothing is more common on one-time village-sites of these people than clay pipes of this pattern, and their close resemblance to the plant mentioned very naturally gave rise to the common name.

Time and again, as my companions wandered away in search of new treasures, I fell a-dreaming; and therein lies a merit of a wet day in the woods. The patter of the rain upon the carriage- roof, like the songs of childhood, brought back that other, beneath which I can never rest again, the roof of the little unceiled chamber of the old farm-house, where I whiled away the rainy days of forty years ago. The same low plaint of the dripping trees rilled the air; the same gray mist walled in our little world; the same dull, leaden sky shut out the sun. But never a hint of sadness sobered us then; why should it now? Why, indeed? But how usually it does! Be the effort ever so sincere, we fall short of perfect joy, having put by childish things. I know I love the woods as when a child, but their greeting now is more formal. I can chase a butterfly with old-time ardor, but the ecstasy of victory is mine no longer. It is a melancholy change from loving a captive for its beauty only to merely prizing a specimen because of its rarity.

I have said there were no birds about the woods. As the day drew to a close, crows began flying over, and their familiar calls filled the air. Again I should have indulged in reverie, but my companions' return held me to the solid ground of heartless fact. It was time to return, and my eagerness to still listen to the “dear old crows," as I called them, was greeted with ridicule. That such a bird should awaken pleasant memories, or be listened to with pleasure, was evidence of mental weakness. I do not know what passed in their minds, but that they feared I was strangely affected was more than apparent. But no gibes can cure me of loving the crows, and I trust not to suffer from so strange a whim. If man, to be happy, must have a hobby, why not this of mine? My defence of these much-maligned birds led to my hearers' suggestion, to talk thus savored of a crank; but, bless me! why worry if dolts call you names? Who ever saw a fool in a flock of crows? and, alas! who ever saw a flock of men without its quota? To be cunning as a crow is a laudable ambition; to be knowing as a crow, a liberal education. Why not love them? They afford me both pleasure and profit, and of what use, under the sun, are the dolts who bray “crank" “crank" when they encounter men who can see beyond their shadows?

Dispute, happily, ended as we turned towards home, and as the horse would not or could not take a quick step, we had abundant opportunity for botanizing by the road-side, if by so dignified a name one may call the gathering by armfuls of goldenrod, asters, and that gorgeous September bloom, gerardia. All the available space in the carriage being filled with flowers, it is little wonder that pedestrians stared and children called to us. As we afterwards learned, the county fair had closed the day before, and we were credited with being benighted individuals that had not been aware, at the proper time, that the visitors were leaving. How strangely vivid is the average imagination! All on a strictly scientific errand, and my companions learned specialists from a great city, and yet this was the impression of the villagers we met!

Free from the gibes of one village, we were even less fortunate in the next, for as the horse neared the stable his pace quickened, and undue haste broke the carriage. Here was, indeed, disaster! The yellow dust of the golden-rod had showered upon us until we were well streaked, and now the generous mud of Jersey by-roads spotted us freely. And in this plight we had to walk to the railway station. It was of little use to talk learnedly in the hearing of others. My companions were set down as tramps, and nothing more, and so, it seemed, were in proper company, for to be thus accounted has been my fate whenever and wherever I have rambled, whether the skies were clear or, as to-day, I chanced to be caught in the rain.