kly a romance, and yet, strangely enough, a romance of facts, and
"The Quest of El Dorado" is the only volume in the English language when
it deals with the El Dorado; it has all the most attractive qualities of
a romance.

But they are not enough. To them I add, "Bob, Son of Battle," which the
author of "Alice For Short," discovered late in life. It is the greatest
animal-human story ever written, for Owd Bob is nobly human, and the
Black Killer devilishly human, and yet they are dogs; not fabulous dogs,
invented by clever writers. A great book! It is too thrilling; it
reminds of "Wuthering Heights"; I shall, therefore, read this evening
some of Henry Van Dyke's Canadian stories, and end the day with "Pride
and Prejudice."

CHAPTER V

BOOKS AT RANDOM

Among nature books that gave me many happy hours on the banks of the
Delaware--imperial river!--is Charles C. Abbott's "Upland and Meadow."
"Better," Mr. Abbott says, "repeat the twelve labours of Hercules than
attempt to catalogue the varied forms of life found in the area of an
average ramble!" _Soit!_ And better than that, "to feel that whatever
creature we may meet will prove companionable--that is, no stranger, but
rather an amusing and companionable friend--assures both pleasure and
profit whenever we chance abroad."

Who that has made "Upland and Meadow" his companion can forget the
extracts from the diary of the Ancient Man, dated Ninth Month, 1734, in
the Delaware Valley? Noisy guns had reduced the number of wild ducks and
geese, he says, even then. But, nevertheless, Watson's Creek was often
black with the smaller fowl.

I do seldom see the great swans, but father says that they are not
unusual in the wide stretches of the Delaware.

Happy day! when the wedge-shaped battalions of wild geese were almost as
frequently seen as the spattering sparrows now!

Father allowed me [writes the good Quaker boy, in 1734] to
accompany my Indian friend, Oconio, to Watson's creek, that we may
gather wild fowl after the Indian manner. With great eagerness, I
accompanied Oconio, and thus happened it. We did reach the widest
part of that creek early in the morning, I think the sun was
scarcely an half-hour high. Oconio straightway hid himself in the
tall grass by the water, while I was bidden to lie in the tall
grass at a little distance. With his bow and arrows, Oconio quickly
shot a duck that came near, by