True, the voice of Trenton would hardly make an echo of Niagara, but are not the echoes the most glorious of all sounds? The same forces that carved the mighty Niagara made Trenton falls, too, and it should not be ignored just because it is small. Having seen the Madonnas by Raphael, shall we now ignore the works of Powers? Or having seen the Rose of Sharon, shall we cease to admire the humbler flowers of spring? The wood thrush's song today is divine, yet, the simpler ditty of the wren has a sweetness not found in the larger minstrel's song. Here one is not bored with the "ohs" and "ahs" of gasping tourists, who scream their delights in tones that drown the voice of the falls. You can at least grow intimate with them, and their beauty although not awesome, grows upon you like a river into the life of childhood. It is a very graceful stream with wilder surroundings than Niagara. One fears his visit to Niagara will spoil his journey to Trenton, and finds himself repeating these significant lines of Shakespeare: "When the moon shone, we did not see the candle; So doth the greater glory dim the less." But, Shakespeare never saw Trenton falls, or he never would have written those lines. What could be more beautiful than its lovely cascades flashing in the sun or hidden away among the shadows among the pine and maple? A little red squirrel barked and chattered among the pine boughs as if reprimanding us for eating so many of the luscious blackberries that grew near the falls. Seeing that his attempts to make us move were of no avail, he scampered down the tree, coming quite near us and giving vent to his outraged feelings, punctuating each remark with a sudden jerk of his bushy red tail, scolding and gesticulating like an Irish cop. He seemed to be by far the most important personage of the forest, not excepting the inquisitive bluejay who rightfully cried "thief! thief!" at us from a maple near by. Both the red squirrel and bluejay have been classed as villains by all Nature writers; yet when we thought of the wonderful part they both play in disseminating seeds far and wide, we readily forgave them their bloody deeds and treated both with the respect due Nature's Master Foresters, which both of them truly are. "Gaily, freely, see me, hear me," sang a small olive colored bird in the leafy maples above us. We agreed that his song came to us gaily and most freely, and all heard it so well that we paused as often amidst our berry-eating as he, while he refrained from singing just long enough to knock a luscious green canker worm in the head and devour it. It was the warbling vireo we heard. What a lesson is his mingling melody with work uncomplainingly and helping to keep the woods green and beautiful by his constant industry, co-partner with the squirrel and jay.