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diff --git a/old/69355-h/69355-h.htm b/old/69355-h/69355-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index 1322f2b..0000000 --- a/old/69355-h/69355-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,7786 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html> -<html lang="en"> -<head> - <meta charset="UTF-8"> - <title> - Footing it in Franconia, by Bradford Torrey—A Project Gutenberg eBook - </title> - <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> - <style> - -body { - margin-left: 10%; - margin-right: 10%; -} - - h1,h2,h3 { - text-align: center; - clear: both; -} - -p { - margin-top: .51em; - text-align: justify; - margin-bottom: .49em; -} - -hr { - width: 33%; - margin-top: 2em; - margin-bottom: 2em; - margin-left: 33.5%; - margin-right: 33.5%; - clear: both; -} - -hr.tb {width: 45%; margin-left: 27.5%; margin-right: 27.5%;} -hr.tiny {width: 10%; margin-left: 45%; margin-right: 45%;} -hr.chap {width: 65%; margin-left: 17.5%; margin-right: 17.5%;} -@media print { hr.chap {display: none; visibility: hidden;} } - -div.chapter {page-break-before: always;} -h2.nobreak {page-break-before: avoid;} - -table { - margin-left: auto; - margin-right: auto; -} - -.tdr {text-align: right;} - -.antiqua { - font-family: Blackletter, Fraktur, Textur, "Old English Text MT", "Olde English Mt", "Olde English", Gothic, serif, sans-serif;} - -a {text-decoration: none;} - -.pagenum { - position: absolute; - left: 92%; - font-size: smaller; - text-align: right; - font-style: normal; - font-weight: normal; - font-variant: normal; - text-indent: 0; -} - -.blockquot { - margin-left: 17.5%; - margin-right: 17.5%; -} - -.x-ebookmaker .blockquot { - margin-left: 7.5%; - margin-right: 7.5%; -} - -.bbox {border: 2px solid; padding: 1.5em;} - -.center {text-align: center;} - -.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} - -.ph1 {text-align: center; font-size: large; font-weight: bold;} -.ph2 {text-align: center; font-size: xx-large; font-weight: bold;} -.ph3 {text-align: center; font-size: x-large; font-weight: bold;} - -div.titlepage {text-align: center; page-break-before: always; page-break-after: always;} -div.titlepage p {text-align: center; font-weight: bold; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: 2em;} - -.xlarge {font-size: 150%;} -.large {font-size: 125%;} - -.x-ebookmaker .hide {display: none; visibility: hidden;} - -.figcenter { - margin: auto; - text-align: center; - page-break-inside: avoid; - max-width: 100%; -} - -.footnote {margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} - -.footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 75%; text-align: right;} - -.fnanchor { - vertical-align: super; - font-size: .8em; - text-decoration: - none; -} - -.indentleft {margin-left: 12em;} - -.indent {margin-left: 1.5em;} - -.poetry-container {text-align: center;} -.poetry {display: inline-block; text-align: left;} -.poetry .verse {text-indent: -2.5em; padding-left: 3em;} -.poetry .stanza {margin: 1em auto;} -.poetry .indent6 {text-indent: 5.5em;} -.poetry .verseright { text-align: right;} -.poetry .first {text-indent: -3em; padding-left: 3em;} -.poetry .center {text-align: center;} -@media print { .poetry {display: block;} } -.x-ebookmaker .poetry {display: block; margin-left: 2em;} - -.transnote {background-color: #E6E6FA; - color: black; - font-size:smaller; - margin-left: 17.5%; - margin-right: 17.5%; - padding: 1em; - margin-bottom: 1em; - font-family:sans-serif, serif; } - -</style> -</head> -<body> -<p style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Footing it in Franconia, by Bradford Torrey</p> -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Footing it in Franconia</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Bradford Torrey</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: November 14, 2022 [eBook #69355]</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>Produced by: Emmanuel Ackerman, David E. Brown, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)</p> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FOOTING IT IN FRANCONIA ***</div> - -<div class="figcenter hide"><img src="images/coversmall.jpg" width="450" alt=""></div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="bbox"> -<p class="ph1"><span class="antiqua">Books by Mr. Torrey.</span></p> - -<hr class="tb"> - -<p><b>EVERYDAY BIRDS.</b> Elementary Studies.<br> -With twelve colored Illustrations reproduced<br> -from Audubon. Square 12mo, $1.00.</p> - -<p><b>BIRDS IN THE BUSH.</b> 16mo, $1.25.</p> - -<p><b>A RAMBLER’S LEASE.</b> 16mo, $1.25.</p> - -<p><b>THE FOOT-PATH WAY.</b> 16mo, gilt top, $1.25.</p> - -<p><b>A FLORIDA SKETCH-BOOK.</b> 16mo, $1.25.</p> - -<p><b>SPRING NOTES FROM TENNESSEE.</b> 16mo, $1.25.</p> - -<p><b>A WORLD OF GREEN HILLS.</b> 16mo, $1.25.</p> - -<p class="center"> -HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO.<br> -<span class="smcap">Boston and New York.</span></p> -</div></div></div></div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_title.jpg" alt=""></div> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="titlepage"> -<h1> -FOOTING IT IN<br> -FRANCONIA</h1> - -<p>BY<br> - -<span class="xlarge">BRADFORD TORREY</span></p> - -<p>“And now each man bestride his hobby, and<br> -dust away his bells to what tune he pleases.”<br> - -<span class="indentleft"><span class="smcap">Charles Lamb.</span></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_titlelogo.jpg" alt=""></div> - -<p>BOSTON AND NEW YORK<br> -<span class="large">HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY</span><br> -<span class="antiqua">The Riverside Press, Cambridge</span><br> -1901</p> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p class="center">COPYRIGHT, 1901, BY BRADFORD TORREY<br> -ALL RIGHTS RESERVED<br> -<br> -<i>Published October, 1901</i></p> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak">CONTENTS.</h2> -</div> - -<hr class="tiny"> - -<table> - -<tr><td class="tdr" colspan="2"><small>PAGE</small></td></tr> - -<tr><td><span class="smcap">Autumn</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_1"> 1</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td><span class="smcap">Spring</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_79"> 79</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td><span class="smcap">A Day in June</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_120"> 120</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td><span class="smcap">Berry-Time Felicities</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_147"> 147</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td><span class="smcap">Red Leaf Days</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_177"> 177</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td><span class="smcap">American Skylarks</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_195"> 195</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td><span class="smcap">A Quiet Morning</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_208"> 208</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td><span class="smcap">In the Landaff Valley</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_217"> 217</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td><span class="smcap">A Visit to Mount Agassiz</span>      </td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_228"> 228</a></td></tr> -</table> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_1">[1]</span> - -<p class="ph2">FOOTING IT IN FRANCONIA</p> - -<hr class="tiny"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="AUTUMN">AUTUMN</h2> -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="indent6">“There did they dwell,</div> -<div class="verse">As happy spirits as were ever seen;</div> -<div class="verse">If but a bird, to keep them company,</div> -<div class="verse">Or butterfly sate down, they were, I ween,</div> -<div class="verse">As pleased as if the same had been a Maiden-queen.”</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verseright"><span class="smcap">Wordsworth.</span></div> -</div></div></div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Five</span> or six hours of pleasant railway -travel, up the course of one river valley after -another,—the Merrimac, the Pemigewasset, -the Baker, the Connecticut, and finally the -Ammonoosuc,—not to forget the best hour -of all, on the shores of Lake Winnipisaukee, -the spacious blue water now lying full in the -sun, now half concealed by a fringe of -woods, with mountains and hills, Chocorua, -Paugus, and the rest, shifting their places -beyond it, appearing and disappearing as -the train follows the winding track,—five<span class="pagenum" id="Page_2">[2]</span> -or six hours of this delightful panoramic -journey, and we leave the cars at Littleton. -Then a few miles in a carriage up a long, -steep hill through a glorious autumn-scented -forest, the horses pausing for breath as one -water-bar after another is surmounted, and -we are at the height of land, where two or -three highland farmers have cleared some -rocky acres, built houses and painted them, -and planted gardens and orchards. As we -reach this happy clearing all the mountains -stand facing us on the horizon, and below, -between us and Lafayette, lies the valley -of Franconia, toward which, again through -stretches of forest, we rapidly descend. At -the bottom of the way Gale River comes -dancing to meet us, babbling among its -boulders,—more boulders than water at -this end of the summer heats,—in its cheerful -uphill progress. Its uphill progress, I -say, and repeat it; and if any reader disputes -the word, then he has never been there -and seen the water for himself, or else he is -an unfortunate who has lost his child’s heart -(without which there is no kingdom of heaven -for a man), and no longer lives by faith in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_3">[3]</span> -his own senses. On the spot I have called -the attention of many to it, and they have -every one agreed with me. Mountain rivers -have attributes of their own; or, possibly, -the mountains themselves lay some spell -upon the running water or upon the beholder’s -eyesight. Be that as it may, Lafayette -all the while draws nearer and nearer, we -going one way and Gale River the other, until, -after leaving the village houses behind -us, we alight almost at its base. Solemn and -magnificent, it is yet most companionable, -standing thus in front of one’s door, the first -thing to be looked at in the morning, and -the last at night.</p> - -<p>The last thing to be <i>thought</i> of at night -is the weather,—the weather and what goes -with it and depends upon it, the question of -the next day’s programme. In a hill country -meteorological prognostications are proverbially -difficult; but we have learned to “hit -it right” once in a while; and, right or -wrong, we never omit our evening forecast. -“It looks like a fair day to-morrow,” says -one. “Well,” answers the other, with no -thought of discourtesy in the use of the subjunctive<span class="pagenum" id="Page_4">[4]</span> -particle, “if it is, what say you to -walking to Bethlehem by the way of Wallace -Hill, and taking in Mount Agassiz on -our return after dinner?” Or the prophet -speaks more doubtfully, and the other says, -“Oh well, if it is cloudy and threatening, -we will go the Landaff Valley round, and -see what birds are in the larch swamp. If -it seems to have set in for a steady rain, -we can try the Butter Hill road.”</p> - -<p>And so it goes. In Franconia it must be -a very bad half day indeed when we fail to -stretch our legs with a five or six mile jaunt. -I speak of those of us who foot it. The -more ease-loving, or less uneasy members of -the party, who keep their carriage, are naturally -less independent of outside conditions. -When it rains they amuse themselves indoors; -a pitch of sensibleness which the rest -of us may sometimes regard with a shade of -envy, perhaps, though we have never admitted -as much to each other, much less to any -one else. To plod through the mud is more -exhilarating than to sit before a fire; and -we leave the question of reasonableness and -animal comfort on one side. Time is short,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">[5]</span> -and we decline to waste it on theoretical considerations.</p> - -<p>Our company, as I say, is divided: carriage -people and pedestrians, we may call -them; or, if you like, drivers and footmen. -The walkers are now no more than the -others. Formerly—till this present autumn—they -were three. Now, alas, one of them -walks no longer on earth. The hills that -knew him so well know him no more. The -asters and goldenrods bloom, but he comes -not to gather them. The maples redden, but -he comes not to see them. Yet in a better -and truer sense he is with us still; for we remember -him, and continually talk of him. -If we pass a sphagnum bog, we think how -at this point he used to turn aside and put -a few mosses into his box. Some professor -in Germany, or a scholar in New Haven, had -asked him to collect additional specimens. -In those days of his sphagnum absorption -we called him sometimes the “sphagnostic.”</p> - -<p>If we come down a certain steep pitch in -the road from Garnet Hill, we remind each -other that here he always stopped to look for -<i>Aster Lindleyanus</i>, telling us meanwhile<span class="pagenum" id="Page_6">[6]</span> -how problematical the identity of the plant -really was. Professor So-and-So had pronounced -it Lindleyanus, but Doctor Somebody-Else -believed it to be only an odd form -of a commoner species. In the Wallace Hill -woods, I remember how we spent an afternoon -there, he and I, only two years ago, -searching for an orchid which just then had -come newly under discussion among botanists, -and how pleased he was when for once -my eyes were luckier than his. If we are -on the Landaff road, my companion asks, -“Do you remember the Sunday noon when -we went home and told E—— that this wood -was full of his rare willow? And how he -posted over here by himself, directly after -dinner, to see it? And how he said, in a tone -of whimsical entreaty, ‘Please don’t find it -anywhere else; we mustn’t let it become too -common’?” Oh yes, I remember; and my -companion knows he has no need to remind -me of it; but he loves to talk of the absent,—and -he knows I love to hear him.</p> - -<p>That willow I can never see anywhere -without thinking of the man who first told -me about it. Whether I pass the single<span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">[7]</span> -small specimen between Franconia and the -Profile House, so close upon the highway -that the road-menders are continually cutting -it back, or the one on the Bethlehem -road, or the great cluster of stems on Wallace -Hill, it will always be <i>his</i> willow.</p> - -<p>And indeed this whole beautiful hill country -is his. How happy he was in it! I used -sometimes to talk to him about the glories -of our Southern mountains,—Tennessee, -North Carolina, Virginia; but he was never -to be enticed away even in thought. “I -think I shall never go out of New England -again,” he would answer, with a smile; and -he never did, though in his youth he had -traveled more widely than I am ever likely -to do. The very roadsides here must miss -him, and wonder why he no longer passes, -with his botanical box slung over his shoulder -and an opera-glass in his hand,—equally -ready for a plant or a bird. He was always -looking for something, and always finding it. -With his happiness, his goodness, his gentle -dignity, his philosophic temper, his knowledge -of his own mind, his love of all things -beautiful, he has made Franconia a dear -place for all of us who knew him here.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">[8]</span>To me, as to all of us, it is dear also for -its own sake. This season I returned to it -alone,—with no walking mate, I mean to -say. He was to join me later, but for eight -or ten days I was to follow the road by myself. -At night I must make my own forecast -of the weather and lay out my own morrow.</p> - -<p>The first day was one of the good ones, -fair and still. As I came out upon the -piazza before breakfast and looked up at -Lafayette, a solitary vireo was phrasing -sweetly from the bushes on one side of the -house, and two or three vesper sparrows -were remembering the summer from the open -fields on the other side. It was the 22d of -September, and by this time the birds knew -how to appreciate a day of brightness and -warmth.</p> - -<p>Seeing them in such a mood, I determined -to spend the forenoon in their society. I -would take the road to Sinclair’s Mills,—a -woodsy jaunt, yet not too much in the forest, -always birdy from one end to the other.</p> - -<p>“This is living!” I found myself repeating -aloud, as I went up the longish hill to -the plateau above Gale River, on the Bethlehem<span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">[9]</span> -road. “This is living!” No more -books, no more manuscripts,—my own or -other people’s,—no more errands to the -city. How good the air was! How glorious -the mountains, unclouded, but hazy! -How fragrant the ripening herbage in the -shelter of the woods!—an odor caught for -an instant, and then gone again; something -that came of itself, not to be detected, much -less traced to its source, by any effort or -waiting. The forests were still green,—I -had to look closely to find here and there -the first touch of red or yellow; but the -flowering season was mostly over, a few -ragged asters and goldenrods being the chief -brighteners of the wayside. About the sunnier -patches of them, about the asters especially, -insects were hovering, still drinking -honey before it should be too late: yellow -butterflies, bumble-bees (of some northern -kind, apparently, marked with orange, and -not so large as our common Massachusetts -fellow), with swarms of smaller creatures of -many sorts. If I stopped to attend to it, -each aster bunch was a world by itself. And -more than once I did stop. There was no<span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">[10]</span> -haste; I had chosen my route partly with a -view to just such idling; and the birds were, -and were likely to be, nothing but old favorites. -And they proved to be not many, -after all. The best of them were the winter -wrens, which I thought I had never seen -more numerous; every one fretting, <i>tut, tut</i>, -in their characteristic manner, without a note -of song.</p> - -<p>On my way back, the sun being higher, -there were many butterflies in the road, flat -on the sand, with wings outspread. If ever -there is comfort in the world, the butterfly -feels it at such times. Here and there half -a dozen or more of yellow ones would be huddled -about a damp spot. There were mourning-cloaks, -also, and many small angle-wings, -some species of <i>Grapta</i>, I knew not which, -of a peculiarly bright red. Once or twice, -wishing a name for them, I essayed to catch -a specimen under my hat; but it seemed a -small business, at which I was only half -ashamed to find myself grown inexpert.</p> - -<p>The forenoon was not without its tragedy, -nevertheless. As I came out into the open, -on my return from the river woods toward<span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">[11]</span> -the Bethlehem road, a carriage stopped -across the field; a man jumped out, gun in -hand, ran up to an unoccupied house standing -there by itself, with a tract of low meadow -behind it, peeped cautiously round the -corner, lifted his gun, leveled it upon something -with the quickness of a practiced -marksman, and fired. Then down the grassy -slope he went on the run out of sight, and -in a minute reappeared, holding a crow by -its claw. He took the trophy into the carriage -with him,—two ladies and a second -man occupying the other seats,—and as I -emerged from the pine wood, fifteen minutes -afterward, I found it lying in the middle of -the road. Its shining feathers would fly no -more; but its death had brightened the day -of some of the lords and ladies of creation. -What happier fate could a crow ask for?</p> - -<p>One of my first desires, this time (there -is always something in particular on my -mind when I go to Franconia), was to revisit -Lonesome Lake, a romantic sheet of -water lying deep in the wilderness on the -back side of Mount Cannon, at an elevation -of perhaps twenty-eight hundred feet, or<span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">[12]</span> -something less than a thousand feet above -the level of Profile Notch. One of its two -owners, fortunately, is of our Franconia -company; and when I spoke of my intention -of visiting it again, he bade me drive up -with his man, who would be going that way -within a day or two. Late as the season -was getting, he still went up to the lake once -or twice a week, it appeared, keeping watch -over the cabin, boat-house, and so forth. The -plan suited my convenience perfectly. We -drove to the foot of the bridle path, off the -Notch road; the man put a saddle on the -horse and rode up, and I followed on foot.</p> - -<p>The climb is longer or shorter, as the -climber may elect. A pedestrian would do -it in thirty minutes, or a little less, I suppose; -a nature-loving stroller may profitably -be two hours about it. There must be at -least a hundred trees along the path, which -a sensitive man might be glad to stop and -commune with: ancient birches, beeches, -and spruces, any one of which, if it could -talk, or rather if we had ears to hear it, -would tell us things not to be read in -any book. Hundreds of years many of the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[13]</span> -spruces must have stood there. Some of -them, in all likelihood, were of a good height -long before any white man set foot on this -continent. Many of them were already old -before they ever saw a paleface. What -dwarfs and weaklings these restless creatures -are, that once in a while come puffing up the -hillside, halting every few minutes to get -their breath and stare foolishly about! -What murderer’s curse is on them, that they -have no home, no abiding-place, where they -can stay and get their growth?</p> - -<p>It is a precious and solemn stillness that -falls upon a man in these lofty woods. -Across the narrow pass, as he looks through -the branches, are the long, rugged upper -slopes of Lafayette, torn with slides and -gashed into deep ravines. Far over his head -soar the trees, tall, branchless trunks pushing -upward and upward, seeking the sun. -In their leafy tops the wind murmurs, and -here and there a bird is stirring. Now a -chickadee lisps, or a nuthatch calls to his -fellow. Out of the tangled, round-leaved -hobble-bushes underneath an occasional robin -may start with a quick note of surprise, or a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[14]</span> -flock of white-throats or snowbirds will fly -up one by one to gaze at the intruder. In -one place I hear the faint smooth-voiced -signals of a group of Swainson thrushes and -the chuck of a hermit. A few siskins (rarer -than usual this year, it seems to me) pass -overhead, sounding their curious, long-drawn -whistle, as if they were blowing through a -fine-toothed comb. Further up, I stand still -at the tapping of a woodpecker just before -me. Yes, there he is, on a dead spruce. A -sapsucker, I call him at the first glance. But -I raise my glass. No, it is not a sapsucker, -but a bird of one of the three-toed species; -a male, for I see his yellow crown-patch. -His back is black. And now, of a sudden, -a second one joins him. I am in great luck. -This is a bird I have never seen before except -once, and that many years ago on Mount -Washington, in Tuckerman’s Ravine. The -pair are gone too soon, and, patiently as I -linger about the spot, I see no more of them. -A pity they could not have broken silence. -It is little we know of a bird or of a man till -we hear him speak.</p> - -<p>At the lake there are certain to be numbers<span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[15]</span> -of birds; not water birds, for the most -part,—though I steal forward quietly at the -last, hoping to surprise a duck or two, or a -few sandpipers, as sometimes I have done,—but -birds of the woods. The water makes a -break in the wilderness,—a natural rendezvous, -as we may say; it lets in the sun, also, -and attracts insects; and birds of many -kinds seem to enjoy its neighborhood. I do -not wonder. To-day I notice first a large -flock of white-throats, and a smaller flock of -cedar-birds. The latter, when I first discover -them, are in the conical tops of the -tall spruces, whence they rise into the air, -one after another, with a peculiar motion, as -if a hand had tossed them aloft. They are -catching insects, a business at which no bird -can be more graceful, I think, though some -may have been at it longer and more exclusively. -Their behavior is suggestive of play -rather than of a serious occupation. Near -the white-throats are snowbirds, and in the -firs by the lakeside chickadees are stirring, -among which, to my great satisfaction, I -presently hear a few Hudsonian voices. <i>Sick-a-day-day</i>, -they call, and soon a little brown-headed<span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[16]</span> -fellow is directly at my elbow. I -stretch out my hand, and chirp encouragingly. -He comes within three or four feet -of it, and looks and looks at me, but is not -to be coaxed nearer. <i>Sick-a-day-day-day</i>, -he calls again (“I don’t like strangers,” he -means to tell me), and away he flits. He is -almost always here, and right glad I am to -see him on my annual visit. I have never -been favored with a sight of him further -south.</p> - -<p>The lake is like a mirror, and I sit in the -boat with the sun on my back (as comfortable -as a butterfly), listening and looking. -What else can I do? I have pulled out -far enough to bring the top of Lafayette -into view above the trees, and have put -down the oars. The birds are mostly invisible. -Chickadees can be heard talking -among themselves, a flicker calls <i>wicker, -wicker</i>, whatever that means, and once a -kingfisher springs his rattle. Red squirrels -seem to be ubiquitous, full of sauciness and -chatter. How very often their clocks need -winding! A few big dragon-flies are still -shooting over the water. But the best thing<span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[17]</span> -of all is the place itself: the solitude, the -brooding sky (the lake’s own, it seems to be), -the solemn mountain-top, the encircling forest, -the musical woodsy stillness. The rowan -trees were never so bright with berries. -Here and there one still holds full of green -leaves, with the ripe red clusters shining -everywhere among them.</p> - -<p>After luncheon I must sit for a while in -the forest itself. Every breath in the treetops, -unfelt at my level, brings down a -sprinkling of yellow birch leaves, each with -a faint rustle, like a whispered good-by, as -it strikes against the twigs in its fall. -Every one preaches its sermon, and I know -the text,—“We all do fade.” May the -rest of us be as happy as the leaves, and -fade only when the time is ripe. A nuthatch, -busy with his day’s work, passes near -me. Small as he is, I hear his wing-beats. -A squirrel jumps upon the very log on which -I am seated, but is off in a jiffy on catching -sight of so unexpected a neighbor. So short -a log is not big enough for two of us, he -thinks. By and by I hear a bird stirring -on a branch overhead, and look up to find<span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[18]</span> -him a red-eyed vireo. One of the belated, -he must be, according to my almanac. He -peers down at me with inquisitive, sidelong -glances. A man!—in such a place!—and -sitting still! I like to believe that he, -as well as I, feels a pleasurable surprise at -the unlooked-for encounter. We call him -the preacher, but he is not sermonizing to-day, -perhaps because the falling leaves have -taken the words out of his mouth.</p> - -<p>It is one of the best things about a place -like this that it gives a man a most unusual -feeling of remoteness and isolation. To be -here is not the same as to be in some equally -wild and silent spot nearer to human habitations. -The sense of the climb we have -made, of the wilderness we have traversed, -still folds us about. The fever and the fret, -so constant with us as to be mostly unrealized -or taken for the normal state of man, -are for the moment gone, and peace settles -upon the heart. For myself, at least, there -is an unspeakable sweetness in such an hour. -I could stay here, forever, I think, till I became -a tree. That feeling I have often had,—a -state of ravishment, a kind of absorption<span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">[19]</span> -into the life of things about me. It -will not last, and I know it will not; but it -is like heaven, for the time it is on me,—a -foretaste, perhaps, of the true Nirvana.</p> - -<p>Yet to-day—so self-contradictory a creature -is man—there were some things I -missed. The dreamer was still a hobbyist, -and the hobbyist had been in the Lonesome -Lake woods before; and he wondered what -had become of the crossbills. The common -red ones were always here, I should have -said, and on more than one visit I had found -the rarer and lovelier white-winged species. -Now, in all the forest chorus, not a crossbill’s -note was audible.</p> - -<p>One day, bright like this, I was sitting at -luncheon on the sunny stoop of the cabin, -facing the water, when I caught a sudden -glimpse of a white-wing, as I felt sure, about -some small decaying gray logs on the edge -of the lake just before me, the remains of a -disused landing. The next moment the bird -dropped out of sight between two of them. -I sat motionless, glass in hand, and eyes -fixed (so I could almost have made oath) -upon the spot where he had disappeared. I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[20]</span> -fancied he was at his bath. Minute after -minute elapsed. There was no sign of him, -and at last I left my seat and made my way -stealthily down to the shore. Nothing rose. -I tramped over the logs, with no result. It -was like magic,—the work of some evil -spirit. I began almost to believe that my -eyes had been made the fools of the other -senses. If I had seen a bird there, where -in the name of reason could it have gone? -It could not have dropped into the water, -seeking winter quarters in the mud at the -bottom, according to the notions of our old-time -ornithologists!</p> - -<p>Half an hour afterward, having finished -my luncheon, I went into the woods along -the path; and there, presently, I discovered -a mixed flock of crossbills,—red ones and -white-wings,—feeding so quietly that till -now I had not suspected their presence. -My waterside bird was doubtless among -them; and doubtless my eyes had not been -fixed upon the place of his disappearance -quite so uninterruptedly as I had imagined. -It was not the first time that such a thing -had happened to me. How frequently have<span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[21]</span> -we all seen a bird dart into a bit of cover, -and never come out! If we are watchful -and clever, we are not the only ones.</p> - -<p>Luck has no little to do with a bird-lover’s -success or failure in any particular walk. -If we go and go, patience will have its -wages; but if we can go but once or twice, -we must take what Fortune sends, be it little -or much. So it had been with me and the -three-toed woodpeckers, that morning. I -had chanced to arrive at that precise point -in the path just at the moment when they -chanced to alight upon that dead spruce,—one -tree among a million. What had been -there ten minutes before, and what came ten -minutes after, I shall never know. So it -was again on the descent, which I protracted -as much as possible, for love of the woods -and for the hope of what I might find in -them. I was perhaps halfway down when I -heard thrush calls near by: the whistle of -an olive-back and the chuck of a hermit, -both strongly characteristic, slight as they -seem. I halted, of course, and on the instant -some large bird flew past me and -perched in full sight, only a few rods away.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[22]</span> -There he sat facing me, a barred owl, his -black eyes staring straight into mine. How -big and solemn they looked! Never tell me -that the barred owl cannot see by daylight.</p> - -<p>The thrushes had followed him. It was -he, and not a human intruder, to whom they -had been addressing themselves. Soon the -owl flew a little further away (it was wonderful -how large he looked in the air), the -thrushes still after him; and in a few minutes -more he took wing again. This time -several robins joined the hermit and the -olive-back, and all hands disappeared up the -mountain side. Probably the pursuers were -largely reinforced as the chase proceeded, -and I imagined the big fellow pretty thoroughly -mobbed before he got safely away. -Every small bird has his opinion of an owl.</p> - -<p>What interested me as much as anything -connected with the whole affair was the fact -that the olive-back, even in his excitement, -made use of nothing but his mellow staccato -whistle, such as he employs against the most -inoffensive of chance human disturbers. -Like the chickadee, and perhaps some other -birds, he is musical, and not over-emphatic, -even in his anger.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[23]</span>Again and again I rested to admire the -glory of Mount Lafayette, which loomed -more grandly than ever, I was ready to declare, -seen thus partially and from this point -of vantage. Twice, at least, I had been on -its summit in such a fall day,—once on the -1st of October, and again, the year afterward, -on a date two days earlier. That -October day was one of the fairest I ever -knew, both in itself (and perfect weather is -a rare thing, try as we may to speak nothing -but good of the doings of Providence) and -in the pleasure it brought me.</p> - -<p>For the next year’s ascent, which I remember -more in detail, we chose—a brother -Franconian and myself—a morning -when the tops of the mountains, as seen from -the valley lands, were white with frost or -snow. We wished to find out for ourselves -which it was, and just how the mountain -looked under such wintry conditions.</p> - -<p>The spectacle would have repaid us for a -harder climb. A cold northwest wind (it -was still blowing) had swept over the summit -and coated everything it struck, foliage -and rocks alike, with a thick frost (half an<span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[24]</span> -inch or more in depth, if my memory is to be -trusted), white as snow, but almost as hard -as ice. The effect was strangely beautiful. -A dwarf fir tree, for instance, would be snow -white on one side and bright green on the -other. As we looked along the sharp ridge -running to the South Peak, so called (the -very ridge at the face of which I was now -gazing from the Lonesome Lake path), one -slope was white, the other green. Summer -and winter were divided by an inch.</p> - -<p>We nestled in the shelter of the rocks, on -the south side of the summit, courting the -sun and avoiding the wind, and lay there -for two hours, exulting in the prospect, and -between times nibbling our luncheon, which -latter we “topped off” with a famous dessert -of berries, gathered on the spot: three sorts -of blueberries, and, for a sour, the mountain -cranberry. The blueberries were <i>Vaccinium -uliginosum</i>, <i>V. cæspitosum</i>, and <i>V. -Pennsylvanicum</i> (there is no doing without -the Latin names), their comparative abundance -being in the order given. The first -two were really plentiful. All of them, of -course, grew on dwarf bushes, matting the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[25]</span> -ground between the boulders. At that exposed -height not even a blueberry bush ventures -to stand upright. One of them, <i>V. -cæspitosum</i>, was both a surprise and a luxury, -the small berries having a most deliciously -rich fruity flavor, like the choicest -of bananas! Probably no botanical writer -has ever mentioned the point, and I have -great satisfaction in supplying the deficiency, -apprehending no rush of epicures to the place -in consequence. About the fact itself there -can be no manner of doubt. My companion -fully agreed with me, and he is not only a -botanist of international repute, but a most -capable gastronomer. Much the poorest -berry of the three was the Pennsylvanian, -the common low blueberry of Massachusetts. -“Strawberry huckleberry” it used to be -called in my day by Old Colony children, -with a double disregard of scientific proprieties. -Even thus late in the season the Greenland -sandwort was in perfectly fresh bloom; -but the high cold wind made it a poor “bird -day,” though I remember a white-throated -sparrow singing cheerily near Eagle Lake, -and a large hawk or eagle floating high over<span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[26]</span> -the summit. At the sight my fellow traveler -broke out,—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="first">“My heart leaps up when I behold</div> -<div class="verse">An eagle in the sky.”</div> -</div></div> - -<p>On that point, as concerning the fine qualities -of the cespitose blueberry, we were fully -agreed.</p> - -<p>Even in Franconia, however, most of our -days are spent, not in mountain paths, but -in the valley and lower hill roads. We keep -out of the mountains partly because we love -to look at them (“I pitch my walk low, but -my prospects high,” says an old poet), and -partly, perhaps, because the paths to their -summits have seemed to fall out of repair, -and even to become steeper, with the lapse -of years. One of my good trips, this autumn, -was over the road toward Littleton, -and then back in the direction of Bethlehem -as far as the end of the Indian Brook road. -That, as I planned it, would be no more than -six or seven miles, at the most, and there I -was to be met by the driving members of the -club, who would bring me home for the mid-day -meal,—an altogether comfortable arrangement. -It is good to have time to spare,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[27]</span> -so that one can dally along, fearful only of -arriving at the end of the way too soon. -Such was now my favored condition, and I -made the most of it. If I crossed a brook, -I stayed awhile to listen to it and moralize -its song. If a flock of bluebirds and sparrows -were twittering about a farmer’s barn, -I lingered a little to watch their doings. -When a white-crowned sparrow or a partridge -showed itself in the road in advance -of me, that was reason enough for another -halt. It is a pretty picture: a partridge -caught unexpectedly in the open, its ruff -erect, and its tail, fully spread, snapping -nervously with every quick, furtive step. -And the fine old trees in the Littleton hill -woods were of themselves sufficient, on a -warm day like this, to detain any one who -was neither a worldling nor a man sent for -the doctor. They detained me, at all events; -and very glad I was to sit down more than -once for a good season with them.</p> - -<p>And so the hours passed. At the top of -the road, in the clearing by the farms, I -met a pale, straight-backed young fellow -under a military hat. “You look like a man<span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[28]</span> -from Cuba or from Chickamauga,” I ventured -to say. “Chickamauga,” he answered laconically, -and marched on. Whether it was -typhoid fever or simple “malaria” that had -whitened his face there was no chance to inquire. -He was munching an apple, which -at that moment was also my own occupation. -I had just stopped under a promising-looking -tree, whose generous branches spilled -their crop over the roadside wall,—excellent -“common fruit,” as Franconians say, mellow, -but with a lively, ungrafted tang. Here -in this sunny stretch of road were more of -my small Grapta butterflies, and presently I -came upon a splendid tortoise-shell (<i>Vanessa -Milberti</i>). That I would certainly -have captured had I been armed with a net. -I had seen two like it the day before, to the -surprise of my friends the carriage people, -ardent entomological collectors, both of them. -They had found not a single specimen the -whole season through. “There are some -advantages in beating out the miles on -foot,” I said to myself. I have never seen -this strikingly handsome butterfly in Massachusetts, -as I once did its rival in beauty,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[29]</span> -the banded purple (Arthemis); and even -here in the hill country it is never so common -as to lose that precious bloom which -rarity puts upon whatever it touches.</p> - -<p>As I turned down the Bethlehem road, -the valley and hill prospects on the left became -increasingly beautiful. Here I passed -hermit thrushes (it was good to see them -already so numerous again, after the destruction -that had wasted them a few winters -ago), a catbird or two, and a few ruby-crowned -kinglets,—some of them singing,—and -before long found myself within the -limits of a rich man’s red farm; fences, -houses, barns, poultry coops, and the rest, -all painted of the same deep color, as if to -say, “All this is mine.” I remembered the -estate well, and have never grudged the -owner of it his lordly possessions. I enjoy -them, also, in my own way. He keeps his -roads in apple-pie order, without meddling -with their natural beauty (I wish our Massachusetts -“highway surveyors” all worked -under his orders, or were endowed with his -taste), and is at pains to save his woods from -the hands of the spoiler. “Please do not<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[30]</span> -peel bark from the birch trees,”—so the -signs read; and I say Amen. He has splendid -flower gardens, too, and plants them -well out upon the wayside for all men to -enjoy. Long may it be before his soul is -required of him.</p> - -<p>By this time I was in the very prettiest -of the red-farm woods. Hermit thrushes -were there, also, standing upright in the -middle of the road, and in the forest hylas -were peeping, one of them a real champion -for the loudness of his tone. How full of -glory the place was, with the sunlight sifting -through the bright leaves and flickering -upon the shining birch trunks! If I were -an artist, I think I would paint wood interiors.</p> - -<p>My forenoon’s walk was ended. Another -turn in the road, and I saw the carriage before -me, the driver minding the horses, and -the passengers’ seat vacant. The entomologists -had gone into the woods looking for -specimens, and there I joined them. They -were in search of beetles, they said, and had -no objection to my assistance; I had better -look for decaying toadstools. This was easy<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[31]</span> -work, I thought; but, as is always the way -with my efforts at insect collecting, I could -find nothing to the purpose. The best I -could do was to bring mushrooms full of -maggots (larvæ, the carrier of the cyanide -and alcohol bottles called them), and what -was desired was the beetles which the larvæ -turned into. Once I announced a small spider, -but the bottle-holder said, No, it was -not a spider, but a mite; and there was no -disputing an expert, who had published a -list of Franconia spiders,—one hundred -and forty-nine species! (She had wished -very much for one more name, she told me, -but her friend and assistant had remarked -that the odd number would look more honest!) -However, it is a poor sort of man -who cannot enjoy the sight of another’s -learning, and the exposure of his own ignorance. -It was worth something to see -a first-rate, thoroughly equipped “insectarian” -at work and to hear her talk. I should -have been proud even to hold one of her -smaller phials, but they were all adjusted -beyond the need, or even the comfortable -possibility, of such assistance. There was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[32]</span> -nothing for it but to play the looker-on and -listener. In that part I hope I was less of -a failure.</p> - -<p>The enthusiastic pursuit of special knowledge, -persisted in year after year, is a phenomenon -as well worth study as the song -and nesting habits of a thrush or a sparrow; -and I gladly put myself to school, not only -this forenoon, but as often as I found the -opportunity. One day my mentor told me -that she hoped she had discovered a new -flea! She kept, as I knew, a couple of pet -deer-mice, and it seemed that some almost -microscopic fleas had left them for a bunch -of cotton wherein the mice were accustomed -to roll themselves up in the daytime. These -minute creatures the entomologist had -pounced upon, clapped into a bottle, and -sent off straightway to the American flea -specialist, who lived somewhere in Alabama. -In a few days she should hear from him, -and perhaps, if the species were undescribed, -there would be a flea named in her honor.<a id="FNanchor_1" href="#Footnote_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[33]</span>Distinctions of that nature are almost -every-day matters with her. How many -species already bear her name she has never -told me. I suspect they are so numerous -and so frequent that she herself can hardly -keep track of them. Think of the pleasure -of walking about the earth and being able -to say, as an insect chirps, “Listen! that -is one of my species,—named after me, -you know.” Such <i>specific</i> honors, I say, -are common in her case,—common almost -to satiety. But to have a <i>genus</i> named for -her,—that was glory of a different rank, -glory that can never fall to the same person -but once; for generic names are unique. -Once given, they are patented, as it were. -They can never be used again—for genera, -that is—in any branch of natural science. -To our Franconia entomologist this honor -came, by what seemed a poetic justice, in -the Lepidoptera, the order in which she began -her researches. Hers is a genus of -moths. I trust they are not of the kind that -“corrupt.”</p> - -<p>Thinking how above measure I should be -exalted in such circumstances, I am surprised<span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[34]</span> -that she wears her laurels so meekly. Not -that she affects to conceal her gratification; -she is as happy over her genus, perhaps, as -over the new <i>édition de luxe</i> of her most -famous story; for an entomologist may be -also a novelist, if she has a <i>mind</i> to be, as -Charles Lamb would have said; but she -knows how to carry it off lightly. She and -the botanist of the party, my “walking -mate,” who, I am proud to say, is similarly -distinguished, often laugh together about -their generic namesakes (his is of the large -and noble Compositæ family); and then, -sometimes, the lady will turn to me.</p> - -<p>“It is too bad <i>you</i> can never have a -genus,” she will say in her bantering tone; -“the name is already taken up, you know.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, indeed, I know it,” I answer her. -An older member of the family, a —th cousin, -carried off the prize many years ago, -and the rest of us are left to get on as best -we can, without the hope of such dignities. -When I was in Florida I took pains to see -the tree,—the family evergreen, we may -call it. Though it is said to have an ill -smell, it is handsome, and we count it an -honor.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[35]</span>“But then, perhaps you would never have -had a genus named for you, anyhow,” the -entomologist continues, still bent upon mischief.</p> - -<p>And there we leave the matter. Let the -shoemaker stick to his last. Some of us -were not born to shine at badinage, or as -collectors of beetles. For myself, in this -bright September weather I have no ambitions. -It is enough, I think, to be a follower -of the road, breathing the breath of life and -seeing the beauty of the world.</p> - -<hr class="tb"> - -<p>In the afternoon I took the Landaff Valley -round, down the village street nearly to -the junction of Gale River and Ham Branch, -then up the Ham Branch (or Landaff) Valley -to a crossroad on the left, and so back -to the road from the Profile Notch, and by -that home again. The jaunt, which is one -of our Franconia favorites, is peculiar for -being substantially level; with no more uphill -and downhill than would be included in -a walk of the same distance—perhaps six -miles—almost anywhere in southern New -England.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[36]</span>The first thing a man is likely to notice -as he passes the last of the village houses, -and finds himself skirting the bank of Ham -Branch (which looks to be nearly or quite -as full as the river into which it empties itself), -is the color of the water. Gale River -is fresh from the hills, and ripples over its -stony bed as clear as crystal. The branch, -on the contrary, has been flowing for some -time through a flat meadowy valley, where -it has taken on a rich earthy hue, to which -it might be natural to apply a less honorable -sounding word, perhaps, if it were a question -of some neutral stream, in whose character -and reputation I felt no personal, friendly -interest.</p> - -<p>Just as I came to it, that afternoon, I saw -to my surprise a white admiral butterfly sunning -itself upon an alder leaf. I hope the -reader knows the species,—<i>Limenitis Arthemis</i>, -sometimes called the banded purple,—one -of the prettiest and showiest of New -England insects, four black or blackish -wings crossed by a broad white band. It -was much out of season now, I felt sure, -both from what my entomological friends<span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[37]</span> -had told me, and from my own recollections -of previous years, and I was seized with a -foolish desire to capture it as a sort of trophy. -It lay just beyond my reach, and I -disturbed it, in hopes it would settle nearer -the ground. Twice it disappointed me. -Then I threw a stick toward it, aiming not -wisely but too well, and this time startled it -so badly that it rose straight into the air, -sailed across the stream, and came to rest far -up in a tall elm. “You were never cut out -for a collector of insects,” I said to myself, -recalling my experience of the forenoon; -but I was glad to have seen the creature,—the -first one for several years,—and went -on my way as happy as a child in thinking -of it. In the second half of a man’s century -he may be thankful for almost anything -that, for the time being, lifts twoscore of -years off his back. The best part of most -of us, I think, is the boy that was born with -us. So far I am a Wordsworthian;—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="first">“And I could wish <i>my</i> days to be</div> -<div class="verse">Bound each to each by natural piety.”</div> -</div></div> - -<p>A little way up the valley we come to an -ancient mill and a bridge; a new bridge it<span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[38]</span> -is now, but I remember an old one, and a -fright that I once had upon it. With a fellow -itinerant—a learned man, whose life -was valuable—I stopped here to rest of a -summer noon, and my companion, with an -eye to shady comfort, clambered over the -edge of the bridge and out upon a joist -which projected over the stream. There he -sat down with his back against a pillar and -his legs stretched before him on the joist. -He has a theory, concerning which I have -heard him discourse more than once,—something -in his own attitude suggesting -the theme,—that when a man, after walking, -“puts his feet up,” he is acting not -merely upon a natural impulse, but in accordance -with a sound physiological principle; -and in accordance with that principle -he was acting now, as well as the circumstances -of the case would permit. We -chatted awhile; then he fell silent; and -after a time I turned my head, and saw him -clean gone in a doze. The seat was barely -wide enough to hold him. What if he -should move in his sleep, or start up suddenly -on being awakened? I looked at the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[39]</span> -rocks below, and shivered. I dared not disturb -him, and could only sit in a kind of -stupid terror and wait for him to open his -eyes. Happily his nap did not last long, -and came to a quiet termination; so that -the cause of science suffered no loss that -day; but I can never go by the place without -thinking of what might have happened.</p> - -<p>Here, likewise, on an autumnal forenoon, -two or three years ago, I had another memorable -experience; nothing less (nothing -more, the reader may say) than the song of -a hermit thrush. It was in the season after -bluebirds and hermits had been killed in -such dreadful numbers (almost exterminated, -we thought then) by cold and snow at the -South. I had scarcely seen a hermit all the -year, and was approaching the bridge, of a -pleasant late September morning, when I -heard a thrush’s voice. I stopped instantly. -The note was repeated; and there the bird -stood in a low roadside tree; the next minute -he began singing in a kind of reminiscential -half-voice,—the soul of a year’s -music distilled in a few drops of sound,—such -as birds of many kinds so frequently<span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[40]</span> -drop into in the fall. That, too, I am sure -to remember as often as I pass this way.</p> - -<p>In truth, all my Franconia rambles (I am -tempted to write the name in three syllables, -as I sometimes speak it, following the example -of Fishin’ Jimmy and other local worthies),—all -my “Francony” rambles, I say, -are by this time full of these miserly delights. -It is really a gain, perhaps, that I make the -round of them but once a year. Some things -are wisely kept choice.</p> - -<p class="center">“Therefore are feasts so solemn and so rare.”</p> - -<p>To get all the goodness out of a piece of -country, return to it again and again, till -every corner of it is alive with memories; -but do not see it too often, nor make your -stay in it too long. The hermit thrush’s -voice is all the sweeter because he <i>is</i> a hermit.</p> - -<p>This afternoon I do not cross the bridge, -but keep to the valley road, which soon runs -for some distance along the edge of a hackmatack -swamp; full of graceful, pencil-tipped, -feathery trees, with here and there a -dead one, on purpose for woodpeckers and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[41]</span> -hawks. A hairy woodpecker is on one of -them at this moment, now hammering the -trunk with his powerful beak (hammer and -chisel in one), now lifting up his voice in a -way to be heard for half a mile. To judge -from his ordinary tone and manner, <i>Dryobates -villosus</i> has no need to cultivate decision -of character. Every word is peremptory, -and every action speaks of energy and -a mind made up.</p> - -<p>In this larch swamp, though I have never -really explored it, I have seen, first and last, -a good many things. Here grows much of -the pear-leaved willow (<i>Salix balsamifera</i>). -I notice a few bushes even now as I pass, -the reddish twigs each with a tuft of yellowing, -red-stemmed leaves at the tip. Here, -one June, a Tennessee warbler sang to me; -and there are only two other places in the -world in which I have been thus favored. -Here,—a little farther up the valley,—on -a rainy September forenoon, I once sat for -an hour in the midst of as pretty a flock of -birds as a man could wish to see: south-going -travelers of many sorts, whom the fortunes -of the road had thrown together.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[42]</span> -Here they were, lying by for a day’s rest in -this favorable spot; flitting to and fro, -chirping, singing, feeding, playfully quarreling, -as if life, even in rainy weather and in -migration time, were all a pleasure trip. It -was a sight to cure low spirits. I sat on the -hay just within the open side of a barn -which stands here in the woods, quite by itself, -and watched them till I almost felt myself -of their company. I have forgotten -their names, though I listed them carefully -enough, beyond a doubt; but it will be long -before I forget my delight in the birds themselves. -Ours may be an evil world, as the -pessimists and the preachers find so much -comfort in maintaining, but there is one -thing to be said in its favor: its happy days -are the longest remembered. The pain I -suffered years ago I cannot any longer make -real to myself, even if I would, but the joys -of that time are still almost as good as new, -when occasion calls them up. Some of them, -indeed, seem to have sweetened with age. -This is especially the case, I think, with simple -and natural pleasures; which may be -considered as a good reason why every man<span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[43]</span> -should be, if he can, a lover of nature,—a -sympathizer, that is to say, with the life of -the world about him. The less artificial our -joys, the more likelihood of their staying by -us.</p> - -<p>Not to blink at the truth, nevertheless, -I must add a circumstance which, till this -moment, I had clean forgotten. I was still -watching the birds, with perhaps a dozen -species in sight close at hand, when suddenly -I observed a something come over them, and -on the instant a large hawk skimmed the -tops of the trees. In one second every bird -was gone,—vanished, as if at the touch of -a necromancer’s wand. I did not see them -fly; there was no rush of wings; but the -place was empty; and though I waited for -them, they did not reappear. Two or three, -indeed, I may have seen afterward, but the -flock was gone. <i>My</i> holiday, at all events, -or that part of it, was done,—shadowed by -a hawk’s wing. Undoubtedly a few minutes -of safety put the birds all in comfortable -spirits again, however; and anyhow, it bears -out my theory of remembered happiness, that -this less cheerful part of the story had so<span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[44]</span> -completely passed out of mind. Memory, -like a sundial, had marked only the bright -hour.</p> - -<p>Beyond this lonely barn the soil of the -valley becomes drier and sandier. Here are -two or three houses, with broad hayfields -about them, in which live many vesper sparrows. -No doubt they have lived here longer -than any of their present human neighbors. -Even now they flit along the wayside in advance -of the foot-passenger, running a space, -after their manner, and anon taking wing to -alight upon a fence rail. Their year is done, -but they linger still a few days, out of love -for the ancestral fields, or, it may be, in -dread of the long journey, from which some -of them will pretty certainly never come -back.</p> - -<p>All the way up the road, though no mention -has been made of it, my eyes have been -upon the low, bright-colored hills beyond the -river,—sugar-maple orchards all in yellow -and red, a gorgeous display,—or upon the -mountains in front, Kinsman and the more -distant Moosilauke. The green meadow is -a good place in which to look for marsh<span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[45]</span> -hawks,—as well as of great use as a foreground,—and -the hill woods beyond are -the resort of pileated woodpeckers. I have -often seen and heard them here, but there is -no sign of them to-day.</p> - -<p>Though these fine birds are generally described—one -book following another, after -the usual fashion—as frequenters of the -wilderness, and though it is true that they -have forsaken the more thickly settled parts -of the country, I think I have never once -seen them in the depths of the forest. To -the best of my recollection none of our -Franconia men have ever reported them -from Mount Lafayette or from the Lonesome -Lake region. On the other hand, we meet -them with greater or less regularity in the -more open valley woods, often directly upon -the roadside; not only in the Landaff Valley, -but on the outskirts of the village toward -Littleton and on the Bethlehem road. In -this latter place I remember seeing a fellow -prancing about the trunk of a small orchard -tree within twenty rods of a house; and not -so very infrequently, especially in the rum-cherry -season, they make their appearance<span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[46]</span> -in the immediate vicinity of the hotel; for -they, like some of their relatives, notably the -sapsucker, are true cherry-birds. In Vermont, -too, I have found their freshly cut -“peck-holes” on the very skirts of the village. -And at the South, so far as I have -been able to observe, the story is the same. -About Natural Bridge, Virginia, for example, -a loosely settled country, with plenty of -woodland but no extensive forests, the birds -were constantly in evidence. In short, untamable -as they look, and little as they may -like a town, they seem to find themselves -best off, as birds in general do, on the borders -of civilization. They have something -of Thoreau’s mind, we may say: lovers of -the wild, they are yet not quite at home in -the wilderness, and prefer the woodman’s -path to the logger’s.</p> - -<p>Not far ahead, on the other side of the -way,—to return to the Landaff Valley,—is -a <i>red</i> maple grove, more brilliant even -than the sugar orchards. It ripens its leaves -earlier than they, as we have always noticed, -and is already past the acme of its annual -splendor; so that some of the trees have a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[47]</span> -peculiarly delicate and lovely purplish tint, -a real bloom, never seen, I think, except on -the red maple, and there only after the -leaves have begun to curl and fade. Opposite -it (after whistling in vain for a dog with -whom in years past, I have been accustomed -to be friendly at one of the houses—he -must be dead, or gone, or grown reserved -with age), I take the crossroad before mentioned; -and now, face to face with Lafayette, -I stop under a favorite pine tree to enjoy the -prospect and the stillness: no sound but the -chirping of crickets, the peeping of hylas, -and the hardly less musical hammering of a -distant carpenter.</p> - -<p>Along the wayside are many gray birches -(of the kind called white birches in Massachusetts, -the kind from which Yankee schoolboys -snatch a fearful joy by “swinging off” -their tops), the only ones I remember about -Franconia; for which reason I sometimes -call the road Gray Birch Road; and just -beyond them I stop again. Here is a bit for -a painter: a lovely vista, such as makes a -man wish for a brush and the skill to use it. -The road dips into a little hollow, turns<span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[48]</span> -gently, and passes out of sight within the -shadow of a wood. And above the over-arching -trees rises the pyramidal mass of -Mount Cannon, its middle part set with dark -evergreens, which are flanked on either side -with broad patches of light yellow,—poplars -or birches. The sun is getting down, and -its level rays flood the whole mountain forest -with light.</p> - -<p>Into the shadow I go, following the road, -and after a turn or two come out at a small -clearing and a house. “Rocky Farm,” we -might name it; for the land is sprinkled -over with huge boulders, as if giants had -been at play here. Whoever settled the -place first must have chosen the site for its -outlook rather than for any hope of its fertility. -I sit down on one of the stones and -take my fill of the mountain glory: Garfield, -Lafayette, Cannon, Kinsman, Moosilauke,—a -grand horizonful. Cannon is almost within -reach of the hand, as it looks; but the arm -might need to be two miles long.</p> - -<p>Just here the road makes a sudden bend, -passes again into light woods, and presently -emerges upon a little knoll overlooking the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[49]</span> -upper Franconia meadows. This is the -noblest prospect of the afternoon, and late -as the hour is growing I must lean against -the fence rail—for there is a house at this -point also—and gaze upon it. The green -meadow is spread at my feet, flaming maple -woods range themselves beyond it, and behind -them, close at hand, loom the sombre -mountains. I had forgotten that this part -of the road was so “viewly,” to borrow a -local word, and am thankful to have reached -it at so favorable a moment. Now the -shadow of the low hills at my back overspreads -the valley, while the upper world -beyond is aglow with light and color.</p> - -<p>It is five o’clock, and I must be getting -homeward. Down at the valley level the -evening chill strikes me, after the exceptional -warmth of the day, and by the time -Tucker Brook is crossed the bare summit of -Lafayette is of a deep rosy purple,—the -rest of the world sunless. The day is over, -and the remaining miles are taken somewhat -hurriedly, although I stop below the Profile -House farm to look for a fresh bunch of -dumb foxglove,—not easy to find in the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[50]</span> -open at this late date, many as the plants -are,—and at one or two other places to -pluck a tempting maple twig. Sated with -the magnificence of autumnal forests, hill -after hill splashed with color, the eye loves -to withdraw itself now and then to rest upon -the perfection of a blossom or a leaf. Wagonloads -of tourists come down the Notch -road, the usual nightly procession, some silent, -some boisterously singing. Among the -most distressing of all the noises that human -beings make is this vulgar shouting of “sacred -music” along the public highway. This -time the hymn is Jerusalem the Golden, -after the upper notes of which an unhappy -female voice is vainly reaching, like a boy -who has lost his wind in shinning up a tree, -and with his last gasping effort still finds -the lowest branch just beyond the clutch of -his fingers.</p> - -<p class="center">“I know not, oh, I know not,”</p> - -<p>I hear her shriek, and then a lucky turn in -the road takes her out of hearing, and I listen -again to the still small voice of the brook, -which, whether it “knows” or not, has the -grace to make no fuss about it.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[51]</span>Let that one human discord be forgotten. -It had been a glorious day; few lovelier -were ever made: a day without a cloud (literally), -and almost without a breath; a day -to walk, and a day to sit still; a long feast -of beauty; and withal, it had for me a perfect -conclusion, as if Nature herself were setting -a benediction upon the hours. As I -neared the end of my jaunt, the hotel already -in sight, Venus in all her splendor hung low -in the west, the full moon was showing its -rim above the trees in the east, and at the -same moment a vesper sparrow somewhere -in the darkening fields broke out with its -evening song. Five or six times it sang, -and then fell silent. It was enough. The -beauty of the day was complete.</p> - -<p>The next day, October 1, was no less delightful: -mild, still, and cloudless; so that -it was pleasant to lounge upon the piazza in -the early morning, looking at Lafayette,—good -business of itself,—and listening to -the warble of a bluebird, the soft chirps of -myrtle warblers, or the distant gobbling of a -turkey down at one of the river farms; while -now and then a farmer drove past from his<span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[52]</span> -morning errand at the creamery, with one -or two tall milk-cans standing behind him in -the open, one-seated carriage. If you see a -man on foot as far from the village as this, -you may set him down, in ornithological language, -as a summer resident or a transient -visitor. Franconians, to the manner born, -are otherwise minded, and will “hitch up” -for a quarter of a mile. As good John Bunyan -said, “This is a valley that nobody walks -in, but those that love a pilgrim’s life.”</p> - -<p>As I take the Notch road after breakfast -the temperature is summer-like, and the foliage, -I think, must have reached its brightest. -Above the Profile House farm, on the edge -of the golf links, where the whole Franconia -Valley lies exposed, I seat myself on the -wall, inside a natural hedge that borders -the highway, to admire the scene: a long -verdant meadow, flanked by low hills covered, -mile after mile, with vivid reds and yellows; -splendor beyond words; a pageant glorious -to behold, but happily of brief duration. -Human senses would weary of it, though the -eye loves color as the palate loves spices and -sweets, or, by force of looking at it, would -lose all delicacy of perception and taste.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[53]</span>Even yet the world, viewed in broad spaces, -wears a clean, fresh aspect; but near at hand -the herbage and shrubbery are all in the sere -and yellow leaf. So I am saying to myself -when I start at the sound of a Hudsonian -chickadee’s nasal voice speaking straight into -my ear. The saucy chit has dropped into -the low poplar sapling over my head, and -surprised at what he discovers underneath, -lets fall a hasty <i>Sick-a-day-day</i>. His dress, -like his voice, compares unfavorably with -that of his cousin, our familiar black-cap. In -fact, I might say of him, with his dirty brown -headdress, what I was thinking of the roadside -vegetation: he looks dingy, out of condition, -frayed, discolored, belated, frost-bitten. -But I am delighted to see him,—for -the first time at any such level as this,—and -thank my stars that I sat down to rest -and cool off on this hard but convenient -boulder.</p> - -<p>A chipmunk thinks I have sat here long -enough, and feels no bashfulness about telling -me so. Why should he? Frankness is -esteemed a point of good manners in all natural -society. A man shoots down the hill<span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[54]</span> -behind me on a bicycle, coasting like the -wind, and another, driving up, salutes him -by name, and then turns to cry after him in -a ringing voice, “How <i>be</i> ye?” The emphatic -verb bespeaks a real solicitude on the -questioner’s part; but he is half a mile too -late; he might as well have shouted to the -man in the moon. Presently two men in a -buggy come up the road, talking in breezy -up-country fashion about some one whose -name they use freely,—a name well known -hereabout,—and with whom they appear -to have business relations. “He got up -this morning like a —— —— thousand of -brick,” one of them says. A disagreeable -person to work for, I should suppose. And -all the while a child behind the hedge is taking -notes. Queer things we could print, if -it were allowable to report verbatim.</p> - -<p>When this free-spoken pair is far enough -in the lead, I go back to the road again, -traveling slowly and keeping to the shady -side, with my coat on my arm. As the climb -grows steeper the weather grows more and -more like August; and hark! a cicada is -shrilling in one of the forest trees,—a long-drawn,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[55]</span> -heat-laden, midsummer cry. I will -tell the entomologist about it, I promise myself. -The circumstance must be very unusual, -and cannot fail to interest her. (But -she takes it as a matter of course. It is -hard to bring news to a specialist.)</p> - -<p>So I go on, up Hardscrabble and Little -Hardscrabble, stopping like a short-winded -horse at every water-bar, and thankful for -every bird-note that calls me to a halt between -times. An ornithological preoccupation -is a capital resource when the road is -getting the better of you. The brook likewise -must be minded, and some of the more -memorable of the wayside trees. A mountain -road has one decided and inalienable advantage, -I remark inwardly: the most perversely -opinionated highway surveyor in the -world cannot straighten it. How fast the -leaves are falling, though the air scarcely -stirs among them! In some places I walk -through a real shower of gold. Theirs is an -easy death. And how many times I have -been up and down this road! Summer and -autumn I have traveled it. And in what -pleasant company! Now I am alone; but<span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[56]</span> -then, the solitude itself is an excellent companionship. -We are having a pretty good -time of it, I think,—the trees, the brook, -the winding road, the yellow birch leaves, -and the human pilgrim, who feels himself -one with them all. I hope they would not -disown a poor relation.</p> - -<p>It is ten o’clock. Slowly as I have come, -not a wagonload of tourists has caught up -with me; and at the Bald Mountain path I -leave the highway, having a sudden notion -to go to Echo Lake by the way of Artist’s -Bluff, so called, a rocky cliff that rises -abruptly from the lower end of the lake. -The trail conducts me through a veritable -fernery, one long slope being thickly set -with perfectly fresh shield-ferns,—<i>Aspidium -spinulosum</i> and perhaps <i>A. dilatatum</i>, -though I do not concern myself to be sure of -it. From the bluff the lake is at my feet, -but what mostly fills my eye is the woods on -the lower side of Mount Cannon. There is -no language to express the kind of pleasure -I take in them: so soft, so bright, so various -in their hues,—dark green, light green, -russet, yellow, red,—all drowned in sunshine,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[57]</span> -yet veiled perceptibly with haze even -at this slight distance. If there is anything -in nature more exquisitely, ravishingly beautiful -than an old mountainside forest looked at -from above, I do not know where to find it.</p> - -<p>Down at the lakeside there is beauty of -another kind: the level blue water, the clean -gray shallows about its margin, the reflections -of bright mountains—Eagle Cliff and -Mount Cannon—in its face, and soaring -into the sky, on either side and in front, the -mountains themselves. And how softly the -ground is matted under the shrubbery and -trees: twin-flower, partridge berry, creeping -snowberry, goldthread, oxalis, dwarf cornel, -checkerberry, trailing arbutus! The very -names ought to be a means of grace to the -pen that writes them.</p> - -<p>White-throats and a single winter wren -scold at me behind my back as I sit on a -spruce log, but for some reason there are -few birds here to-day. The fact is exceptional. -As a rule, I have found the bushes -populous, and once, I remember, not many -days later than this, there were fox sparrows -with the rest. I am hoping some time to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[58]</span> -find a stray phalarope swimming in the lake. -That would be a sight worth seeing. The -lake itself is always here, at any rate, especially -now that the summer people are gone; -and if the wind is right and the sun out, so -that a man can sit still with comfort (to-day -my coat is superfluous), the absence of other -things does not greatly matter.</p> - -<p>This clean waterside must have many -four-footed visitors, particularly in the twilight -and after dark. Deer and bears are -common inhabitants of the mountain woods; -but for my eyes there is nothing but squirrels, -with once in a long while a piece of -wilder game. Twice only, in Franconia, -have I come within sight of a fox. Once I -was alone, in the wood-road to Sinclair’s -Mills. I rounded a curve, and there the -fellow stood in the middle of the way, smelling -at something in the rut. After a bit -(my glass had covered him instantly) he -raised his head and looked down the road -in a direction opposite to mine. Then he -turned, saw me, started slightly, stood quite -still for a fraction of a minute (I wondered -why), and vanished in the woods, his white<span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[59]</span> -brush waving me farewell. He was gone so -instantaneously that it was hard to believe -he had really been there.</p> - -<p>That was a pretty good look (at a fox), -but far less satisfying than the other of my -Franconia experiences. With two friends -I had come down through the forest from -the Notch railroad by a rather blind loggers’ -trail, heading for a pair of abandoned farms, -grassy fields in which it is needful to give -heed to one’s steps for fear of bear-traps. -As we emerged into the first clearing a fox -was not more than five or six rods before us, -feeding in the grass. Her eyes were on her -work, the wind was in our favor, and notwithstanding -two of us were almost wholly -exposed, we stood there on the edge of the -forest for the better part of half an hour, -glasses up, passing comments upon her behavior. -Evidently she was lunching upon -insects,—grasshoppers or crickets, I suppose,—and -so taken up was she with this -agreeable employment that she walked directly -toward us and passed within ten yards -of our position, stopping every few steps for -a fresh capture. The sunlight, which shone<span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[60]</span> -squarely in her face, seemed to affect her -unpleasantly; at all events she blinked a -good deal. Her manner of stepping about, -her motions in catching her prey,—driving -her nose deep into the grass and pushing it -home,—and in short her whole behavior, -were more catlike than doglike, or so we all -thought. Plainly she had no idea of abbreviating -her repast, nor did she betray -the slightest grain of suspiciousness or wariness, -never once casting an eye about in -search of possible enemies. A dog in his -own dooryard could not have seemed less -apprehensive of danger. As often as she approached -the surrounding wood she turned -and hunted back across the field. We -might have played the spy upon her indefinitely; -but it was always the same thing -over again, and by and by, when she passed -for a little out of sight behind a tuft of -bushes, we followed, careless of the result, -and, as it seemed, got into her wind. She -started on the instant, ran gracefully up a -little incline, still in the grass land, turned -for the first time to look at us, and disappeared -in the forest. A pretty creature she<span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[61]</span> -surely was, and from all we saw of her she -might have been accounted a very useful -farm-hand; but perhaps, as farmers sometimes -say of unprofitable cattle, she would -soon have “eaten her head off” in the poultry -yard. She was not fearless,—like a -woodchuck that once walked up to me and -smelled of my boot, as I stood still in the -road near the Crawford House,—but simply -off her guard; and our finding her in such -a mood was simply a bit of good luck. -Some day, possibly, we shall catch a weasel -asleep.</p> - -<p>In a vacation season, like our annual fortnight -in New Hampshire, there is no predicting -which jaunt, if any, will turn out -superior to all the rest. It may be a longer -and comparatively newer one (although in -Franconia we find few new ones now, partly -because we no longer seek them—the old is -better, we are apt to say when any innovation -is suggested); or, thanks to something in -the day or something in the mood, it may -be one of the shortest and most familiar. -And when it is over, there may be a sweetness -in the memory, but little to talk about;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[62]</span> -little “incident,” as editors say, little that -goes naturally into a notebook. In other -words, the best walk, for us, is the one in -which we are happiest, the one in which we -<i>feel</i> the most, not of necessity the one in -which we <i>see</i> the most; or, to put it differently -still, the one in which we <i>do</i> see the -most, but with</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="indent6">“that inward eye</div> -<div class="verse">Which is the bliss of solitude.”</div> -</div></div> - -<p>Whatever we may call ourselves at home, -among the mountains we are lovers of pleasure. -Our day’s work is to be happy. We -take our text from the good Longfellow as -theologians take theirs from Scripture:—</p> - -<p class="center">“Enjoyment, and not sorrow, is our destined end.”</p> - -<p>We are not anxious to learn anything; our -thoughts run not upon wisdom; if we take -note of a plant or a bird, it is rather for the -fun of it than for any scholarly purpose. We -are boys out of school. I speak of myself -and of the man I have called my walking -mate. The two collectors of insects, of -course, are more serious-minded. “No day -without a beetle,” is their motto, and their -absorption, even in Franconia, is in adding<span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[63]</span> -to the world’s stock of knowledge. Let -them be respected accordingly. Our creed -is more frankly hedonistic; and their virtue—I -am free to confess it—shines the -brighter for the contrast.</p> - -<p>This year, nevertheless, old Franconia -had for us, also, one most welcome novelty, -the story of which I have kept, like the good -wine,—a pretty small glassful, I am aware,—for -the end of the feast. I had never -enjoyed the old things better. Eight or -nine years ago, writing—in this magazine<a id="FNanchor_2" href="#Footnote_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a>—of -June in Franconia, I expressed a fear -that our delight in the beauty of nature -might grow to be less keenly felt with advancing -age; that we might ultimately be -driven to a more scientific use of the outward -world, putting the exercise of curiosity, -what we call somewhat loftily the acquisition -of knowledge, in the place of rapturous contemplation. -So it may yet fall out, to be -sure, since age is still advancing, but as far -as present indications go, nothing of the sort -seems at all imminent. I begin to believe, -in fact, that things will turn the other way;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[64]</span> -that curiosity will rather lose its edge, and -the power of beauty strike deeper and -deeper home. So may it be! Then we shall -not be dead while we live. Sure I am that -the glory of mountains, the splendor of autumnal -forests, the sweetness of valley prospects, -were never more rapturously felt by -me than during the season just ended. And -still, as I started just now to say, I had special -joy this year in a new specimen, an additional -bird for my memory and notebook.</p> - -<p>The forenoon of September 26, my fourth -day, I spent on Garnet Hill. The grand -circuit of that hill is one of the best esteemed -of our longer expeditions. Formerly we did -it always between breakfast and dinner, having -to speed the pace a little uncomfortably -for the last four or five miles; but times -have begun to alter with us, or perhaps we -have profited by experience; for the last few -years, at any rate, we have made the trip an -all-day affair, dining on Sunset Hill, and loitering -down through the Landaff Valley—with -a side excursion, it may be, to fill up -the hours—in the afternoon. This trip, -being, as I say, one of those we most set by,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[65]</span> -I was determined to hold in reserve against -the arrival of my fellow foot-traveler; but -there is also a pleasant shorter course, not -round the hill, but, so to speak, over one -side of it: out by the way of what I call -High Bridge Road (never having heard any -name for it), and back by the road—hardly -more than a lane for much of its length—which -traverses the hill diagonally on its -northeastern slope, and joins the regular Sugar -Hill highway a little below the Franconia -Inn.</p> - -<p>I left the Littleton road for the road -to the Streeter neighborhood, crossed Gale -River by a bridge pitched with much labor -at a great height above it (a good indication -of the swelling to which mountain streams -are subject), passed two or three retired valley -farms (where were eight or ten sleek -young calves, one of which, rather to my surprise, -ate from my hand a sprig of mint as -if she liked the savor of it), and then began -a long, steep climb. For much of the distance -the road—narrow and very little traveled—is -lined with dense alder and willow -thickets, excellent cover for birds. It was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">[66]</span> -partly with this place in my eye that I had -chosen my route, remembering an hour of -much interest here some years ago with a -large flock of migrants. To-day, as it happened, -the bushes were comparatively birdless. -White-throats and snowbirds were -present, of course, and ruby-crowned kinglets, -with a solitary vireo or two, but nothing -out of the ordinary. The prospect, however, -without being magnificent or—for Franconia—extensive, -was full of attractiveness. -Gale River hastening through a gorge overhung -with forest, directly on my right, -Streeter Pond farther away (two deer had -been shot beside it that morning, as I learned -before night,—news of that degree of importance -travels fast), and the gay-colored -hills toward Littleton and Bethlehem,—maple -grove on maple grove, with all their -banners flying,—these made a delightsome -panorama, shifting with every twist in the -road and with every rod of the ascent; so -that I had excuse more than sufficient for -continually stopping to breathe and face -about. In one place I remarked a goodly -bed of coltsfoot leaves, noticeable for their<span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">[67]</span> -angular shape as well as for their peculiar -shade of green. I wished for a blossom. -If the dandelion sometimes anticipates the -season, why not the coltsfoot? But I found -no sign of flower or bud. Probably the -plant is of a less impatient habit; but I have -seen it so seldom that all my ideas about it -are no better than guesswork. Along the -wayside was maiden-hair fern, also, which I -do not come upon any too often in this -mountain country.</p> - -<p>Midway of the hill stands a solitary house, -where I found my approach spied upon -through a crack between the curtain and the -sash of what seemed to be a parlor window; -a flattering attention which, after the manner -of high public functionaries, I took as a -tribute not to myself, but to the rôle I was -playing. No doubt travelers on foot are -rare on that difficult, out-of-the-way road, -and the walker rather than the man was -what filled my lady’s eye; unless, as may -easily have been true, she was expecting to -see a peddler’s pack. At this point the -road crooks a sharp elbow, and henceforth -passes through cultivated country,—orchards<span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">[68]</span> -and ploughed land, grass fields and -pasturage; still without houses, however, -and having a pleasant natural hedgerow of -trees and shrubbery. In one of the orchards -was a great congregation of sparrows and -myrtle warblers, with sapsuckers, flickers, -downy woodpeckers, solitary vireos, and I -forget what else, though I sat on the wall -for some time refreshing myself with their -cheerful society. I agreed with them that -life was still a good thing.</p> - -<p>Then came my novelty. I was but a little -way past this aviary of an apple orchard -when I approached a pile of brush,—dry -branches which had been heaped against the -roadside bank some years ago, and up -through which bushes and weeds were growing. -My eyes sought it instinctively, and -at the same moment a bird moved inside. -A sparrow, alone; a sparrow, and a new -one! “A Lincoln finch!” I thought; and -just then the creature turned, and I saw his -forward parts: a streaked breast with a -bright, well-defined buff band across it, as if -the streaks had been marked in first and -then a wash of yellowish had been laid on<span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[69]</span> -over them. Yes, a Lincoln finch! He was -out of sight almost before I saw him, however, -and after a bit of feverish waiting I -squeaked. He did not come up to look at -me, as I hoped he would do, but the sudden -noise startled him, and he moved slightly, -enough so that my eye again found him. -This time, also, I saw his head and his -breast, and then he was lost again. Again -I waited. Then I squeaked, waited, and -squeaked again, louder and longer than before. -No answer, and no sign of movement. -You might have sworn there was no bird -there; and perhaps you would not have perjured -yourself; for presently I stepped up -to the brush-heap and trampled it over, and -still there was no sign of life. Above the -brush was a low stone wall, and beyond that -a bare ploughed field. How the fellow had -slipped away there was no telling. And -that was the end of the story. But I had -seen him, and he was a Lincoln finch. It -was a shabby interview he had granted me, -after keeping me waiting for almost twenty -years; but then, I repeated for my comfort, -I had seen him.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">[70]</span>He was less confusingly like a song sparrow -than I had been prepared to find him. -His general color (one of a bird’s best marks -in life, hard as it may be to derive an exact -idea of it from printed descriptions), gray -with a greenish tinge,—a little suggestive -of Henslow’s bunting, as it struck me,—this, -I thought, supposing it to be constant, -ought to catch the eye at a glance. Henceforth -I should know what to look for, and -might expect better luck; although, if this -particular bird’s behavior was to be taken as -a criterion, the books had been quite within -the mark in emphasizing the sly and elusive -habit of the species, and the consequent difficulty -of prolonged and satisfactory observation -of it.</p> - -<p>The Lincoln finch, or Lincoln sparrow, -the reader should know, is a congener of the -song sparrow and the swamp sparrow, a native -mostly of the far north, and while common -enough as a migrant in many parts of -the United States, is, or is generally supposed -to be, something of a rarity in the -Eastern States.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile, having beaten the brush over,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">[71]</span> -and looked up the roadside and down the -roadside and over the wall, I went on my -way, stopping once for a feast of blackberries,—as -many and as good as a man could -ask for, long, slender, sweet, and dead ripe; -and at the top of the road I cut across a -hayfield to the lane before mentioned, that -should take me back to the Sugar Hill highway. -Now the prospects were in front of -me, there was no more steepness of grade, I -had seen Tom Lincoln’s finch,<a id="FNanchor_3" href="#Footnote_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> and the day -was brighter than ever. Every sparrow that -stirred I must put my glass on; but not one -was of the right complexion.</p> - -<p>Then, in a sugar grove not far from the -Franconia Inn, I found myself all at once -in the midst of one of those traveling flocks -that make so delightful a break in a bird-lover’s -day. I was in the midst of it, I say; -but the real fact was that the birds were -passing through the grove between me and -the sky. For the time being the branches -were astir with wings. Such minutes are -exciting. “Now or never,” a man says to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">[72]</span> -himself. Every second is precious. At this -precise moment a warbler is above your -head, far up in the topmost bough perhaps, -half hidden by a leaf. If you miss him, he -is gone forever. If you make him out, well -and good; he may be a rarity, a prize long -waited for; or, quite as likely, while busy -with him you may let a ten times rarer one -pass unnoticed. In this game, as in any -other, a man must run his chances; though -there is skill as well as luck in it, without -doubt, and one player will take a trick or -two more than another, with the same hand.</p> - -<p>In the present instance, so far as my -canvass showed, the “wave” was made up -of myrtle warblers, blackpolls, baybreasts, -black-throated greens, a chestnut-side, a -Maryland yellow-throat, red-eyed vireos, -solitary vireos, one or more scarlet tanagers -(in undress, of course, and pretty late -by my reckoning), ruby-crowned kinglets, -chickadees, winter wrens, goldfinches, song -sparrows, and flickers. The last three or -four species, it is probable enough, were in -the grove only by accident, and are hardly -to be counted as part of the south-bound<span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">[73]</span> -caravan. Several of the species were in -good force, and doubtless some species -eluded me altogether. No man can look all -ways at once; and in autumn the eyes must -do not only their own work, but that of the -ears as well.</p> - -<p>All the while the birds hastened on, flitting -from tree to tree, feeding a minute and -then away, following the stream. I was especially -glad of the baybreasts, of which -there were two at least, both very distinctly -marked, though in nothing like their spring -plumage. I saw only one other specimen -this fall, but the name is usually in my autumnal -Franconia list. The chestnut-side, -on the other hand, was the first one I had -ever found here at this season, and was correspondingly -welcome.</p> - -<p>After all, a catalogue of names gives but -a meagre idea of such a flock, except to -those who have seen similar ones, and -amused themselves with them in a similar -manner. But I had had the fun, whether -I can make any one else appreciate it or -not, and between it and my joy over the -Lincoln finch I went home in high feather.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">[74]</span>Five days longer I followed the road -alone. Every time a sparrow darted into -the bushes too quickly for me to name him, -I thought of <i>Melospiza lincolni</i>. Once, indeed, -on the Bethlehem road, I believed that -I really saw a bird of that species; but it -was in the act of disappearing, and no -amount of pains or patience—or no amount -that I had to spare—could procure me a -second glimpse.</p> - -<p>On the sixth day came my friend, the -second foot-passenger, and was told of my -good fortune; and together we began forthwith -to walk—and look at sparrows. This, -also, was vain, until the morning of October -4. I was out first. A robin was cackling -from a tall treetop, as I stepped upon the -piazza, and a song sparrow sang from a -cluster of bushes across the way. Other -birds were there, and I went over to have a -look at them: two or three white-throats, as -many song sparrows, and a white-crown. -Then by squeaking I called into sight two -swamp sparrows (migrants newly come, they -must be, to be found in such a place), and -directly afterward up hopped a small grayish<span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">[75]</span> -sparrow, seen at a glance to be like my -bird of nine days before,—like him in -looks, but not in behavior. He conducted -himself in the most accommodating manner, -was full of curiosity, not in the least shy, -and afforded me every opportunity to look -him over to my heart’s content.</p> - -<p>In the midst of it all I heard my comrade’s -footfall on the piazza, and gave him -a whistle. He came at once, wading through -the wet grass in his slippers. He knew from -my attitude—so he firmly declared afterward—that -it was a Lincoln finch I was -gazing at! And just as he drew near, the -sparrow, sitting in full view and facing us, -in a way to show off his peculiar marks -to the best advantage, uttered a single -<i>cheep</i>, thoroughly distinctive, or at least -quite unlike any sparrow’s note with which -I am familiar; as characteristic, I should -say, as the song sparrow’s <i>tut</i>. Then he -dropped to the ground. “Yes, I saw him, -and heard the note,” my companion said; -and he hastened into the house for his boots -and his opera-glass. In a few minutes he -was back again, fully equipped, and we set<span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">[76]</span> -ourselves to coax the fellow into making another -display of himself. Sure enough, he -responded almost immediately, and we had -another satisfying observation of him, though -this time he kept silence. I was especially -interested to find, what I had on general -considerations suspected, that Lincoln -finches were like other members of their -family. Take them right (by themselves, -and without startling them to begin with), -and they could be as complaisant as one -could desire, no matter how timid and elusive -they might be under different conditions. -Our bird was certainly a jewel. For -a while he pleased us by perching side by -side with a song sparrow. “You see how -much smaller I am,” he might have been saying; -“you may know me partly by that.”</p> - -<p>And we fancied we should know him -thereafter; but a novice’s knowledge is -only a novice’s, as we were to be freshly -reminded that very day. Our jaunt was -round Garnet Hill, the all-day expedition -before referred to. I will not rehearse the -story of it; but while we were on the farther -side of the hill, somewhere in Lisbon, we<span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[77]</span> -found the roadsides swarming with sparrows,—a -mixed flock, song sparrows, field sparrows, -chippers, and white-crowns. Among -them one of us by and by detected a grayish, -smallish bird, and we began hunting -him, from bush to bush and from one side -of the road to the other, carrying on all -the while an eager debate as to his identity. -Now we were sure of him, and now everything -was unsettled. His breast was streaked -and had a yellow band across it. His color -and size were right, as well as we could say,—so -decidedly so that there was no difficulty -whatever in picking him out at a -glance after losing him in a flying bunch; -but some of his motions were pretty song-sparrow-like, -and what my fellow observer -was most staggered by, he showed a blotch, -a running together of the dark streaks, in -the middle of the breast,—a point very -characteristic of the song sparrow, but not -mentioned in book descriptions of Melospiza -lincolni. So we chased him and discussed -him (that was the time for a gun, the professional -will say), till he got away from us -for good.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">[78]</span>Was he a Lincoln finch? Who knows? -We left the question open. But I believe -he was. The main reason, not to say the -only one, for our uncertainty was the pectoral -blotch; and that, I have since learned, -is often seen in specimens of Melospiza lincolni. -Why the manuals make no reference -to it I cannot tell; as I cannot tell why they -omit the same point in describing the savanna -sparrow. In scientific books, as in -“popular” magazine articles, many things -must no doubt be passed over for lack of -room. In any case, it is not the worst misfortune -that could befall us to have some -things left for our own finding out.</p> - -<p>And after all, the question was not of -supreme importance. Though I was delighted -to have seen a new bird, and doubly -delighted to have seen it in Franconia, the -great joy of my visit was not in any such -fragment of knowledge, but in that bright -and glorious world; mountains and valleys -beautiful in themselves, and endeared by the -memory of happy days among them. Sometimes -I wonder whether the pleasures of -memory may not be worth the price of growing -old.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">[79]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">SPRING</h2> -</div> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p class="center">“He would now be up every morning by break of day, -walking to and fro in the valley.”—<span class="smcap">Bunyan.</span></p> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">It</span> was a white day, the day of the red -cherry,—by the almanac the 20th of May. -Once in the hill country, the train ran hour -after hour through a world of shrubs and -small trees, loaded every one with blossoms. -Their number was amazing. I should not -have believed there were so many in all New -Hampshire. The snowy branches fairly -whitened the woods; as if all the red-cherry -trees of the country round about were assembled -along the track to celebrate a festival. -The spectacle—for it was nothing less—made -me think of the annual dogwood -display as I had witnessed it in the Alleghanies -and further south. I remembered, -too, a similar New England pageant of some -years ago; a thing of annual occurrence, -of course, but never seen by me before or<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[80]</span> -since. Then it happened that I came down -from Vermont (this also was in May) just -at the time when the shadbushes were in -their glory. Like the wild red-cherry trees, -as I saw them now, they seemed to fill the -world. Such miles on miles of a floral -panorama are among the memorable delights -of spring travel.</p> - -<p>For the cherry’s sake I was glad that my -leaving home had been delayed a week or -two beyond my first intention; though I -thought then, as I do still, that an earlier -start would have shown me something more -of real spring among the mountains, which, -after all, was what I had come out to see.</p> - -<p>The light showers through which I drove -over the hills from Littleton were gone before -sunset, and as the twilight deepened I -strolled up the Butter Hill road as far as -the grove of red pines, just to feel the ground -under my feet and to hear the hermit -thrushes. How divinely they sang, one on -either side of the way, voice answering to -voice, the very soul of music, out of the -darkening woods! I agree with a friendly -correspondent who wrote me, the other day,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[81]</span> -fresh from a summer in France, that the -nightingale is no such singer. I have never -heard the nightingale, but that does not alter -my opinion. Formerly I wished that the -hermit, and all the rest of our woodland -thrushes, would practice a longer and more -continuous strain. Now I think differently; -for I see now that what I looked upon as a -blemish is really the perfection of art. Those -brief, deliberate phrases, breaking one by -one out of the silence, lift the soul higher -than any smooth-flowing warble could possibly -do. Worship has no gift of long-breathed -fluency. If she speaks at all, it is in the -way of ejaculation: “Therefore let thy words -be few,” said the Preacher,—a text which -is only a modern Hebrew version of what -the hermit thrush has been saying here in the -White Mountains for ten thousand years.</p> - -<p>One of the principal glories of Franconia -is the same in spring as in autumn,—the -colors of the forest. There is no describing -them: greens and reds of all tender and -lovely shades; not to speak of the exquisite -haze-blue, or blue-purple, which mantles the -still budded woods on the higher slopes. For<span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">[82]</span> -the reds I was quite unprepared. They -have never been written about, so far as I -know, doubtless because they have never been -seen. The scribbling tourist is never here -till long after they are gone. In fact, I -stayed late enough, on my present visit, to -see the end of them. I knew, of course, -that young maple leaves, like old ones, are -of a ruddy complexion;<a id="FNanchor_4" href="#Footnote_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a> but somehow I -had never considered that the massing of -the trees on hillsides would work the same -gorgeous, spectacular effect in spring as in -autumn,—broad patches of splendor hung -aloft, a natural tapestry, for the eye to feast -upon. Not that May is as gaudy as September. -There are no brilliant yellows, and -the reds are many shades less fiery than autumn -furnishes; but what is lacking in intensity -is more than made up in delicacy, as -the bloom of youth is fairer than any hectic -flush. The glory passed, as I have said. -Before the 1st of June it had deepened, and -then disappeared; but the sight of it was of -itself enough to reward my journey.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[83]</span>The clouds returned after the rain, and -my first forenoon was spent under an umbrella -on the Bethlehem plateau, not so much -walking as standing about; now in the woods, -now in the sandy road, now in the dooryard -of an empty house. It was Sunday; the -rain, quiet and intermittent, rather favored -music; and all in all, things were pretty -much to my mind,—plenty to see and hear, -yet all of a sweetly familiar sort, such as one -hardly thinks of putting into a notebook. -Why record, as if it could be forgotten or -needed to be remembered, the lisping of -happy chickadees or the whistle of white-throated -sparrows? Or why speak of shadblow -and goldthread, or even of the lovely -painted trilliums, with their three daintily -crinkled petals, streaked with rose-purple? -The trilliums, indeed, well deserved to be -spoken of: so bright and bold they were; -every blossom looking the sun squarely in -the face,—in great contrast with the pale -and bashful wake-robin, which I find (by -searching for it) in my own woods. One -after another I gathered them (pulled them, -to speak with poetic literalness), each fresher<span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[84]</span> -and handsomer than the one before it, till -the white stems made a handful.</p> - -<p>“Oh,” said a man on the piazza, as I returned -to the hotel, “I see you have nosebleed.” -I was putting my hand to my -pocket, wondering why I should have been -taken so childishly, when it came over me -what he meant. He was looking at the -trilliums, and explained, in answer to a question, -that he had always heard them called -“nosebleed.” Somewhere, then,—I omitted -to inquire where,—this is their “vulgar” -name. In Franconia the people call them -“Benjamins,” which has a pleasant Biblical -sound,—better than “nosebleed,” at all -events,—though to my thinking “trillium” -is preferable to either of them, both for -sound and for sense. People cry out against -“Latin names.” But why is Latin worse -than Hebrew? And who could ask anything -prettier or easier than trillium, geranium, -anemone, and hepatica?</p> - -<p>The next morning I set out for Echo Lake. -At that height, in that hollow among the -mountains, the season must still be young. -There, if anywhere, I should find the early<span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[85]</span> -violet and the trailing mayflower. And -whatever I found, or did not find, at the end -of the way, I should have made another ascent -of the dear old Notch road, every rod -of it the pleasanter for happy memories. I -had never traveled it in May, with the -glossy-leaved clintonia yet in the bud, and -the broad, grassy golf links above the Profile -House farm all frosty with houstonia -bloom. And many times as I had been -over it, I had never known till now that -rhodora stood along its very edge. To-day, -with the pink blossoms brightening the -crooked, leafless, knee-high stems, not even -my eyes could miss it. Our one small pear-leaved -willow, near the foot of Hardscrabble, -was in flower, its maroon leaves partly grown. -Well I remembered the June morning when -I lighted upon it, and the interest shown by -the senior botanist of our little company when -I reported the discovery, at the dinner table. -He went up that very afternoon to see it for -himself; and year after year, while he lived, -he watched over it, more than once cautioning -the road-menders against its destruction. -How many times he and I have stopped beside<span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[86]</span> -it, on our way up and down! The -“Torrey willow” he always called it, stroking -my vanity; and I liked the word.</p> - -<p>Now a chipmunk speaks to me, as I pass; -it is not his fault, nor mine either, perhaps, -that I do not understand him; and now, -hearing a twig snap, I glance up in time to -see a woodchuck scuttling out of sight under -the high, overhanging bank. So <i>he</i> is a -dweller in these upper mountain woods!<a id="FNanchor_5" href="#Footnote_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a> I -should have thought him too nice an epicure -to feel himself at home in such diggings. -But who knows? Perhaps he finds something -hereabout—wood-sorrel or what not—that -is more savory even than young -clover leaves and early garden sauce. From -somewhere on my right comes the sweet—honey-sweet—warble -of a rose-breasted grosbeak; -and almost over my head, at the topmost -point of a tall spruce, sits a Blackburnian -warbler, doing his little utmost to express -himself. His pitch is as high as his perch, -and his tone, pure <i>z</i>, is like the finest of -wire. Another water-bar surmounted, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[87]</span> -a bay-breast sings, and lets me see him,—a -bird I always love to look at, and a song that -I always have to learn anew, partly because -I hear it so seldom, partly because of its -want of individuality: a single hurried -phrase, pure <i>z</i> like the Blackburnian’s, and -of the same wire-drawn tenuity. These -warblers are poor hands at warbling, but -they are musical to the eye. By this rule,—if -throats were made to be looked at, and -judged by the feathers on them,—the Blackburnian -might challenge comparison with -any singer under the sun.</p> - -<p>As the road ascends, the aspect of things -grows more and more springlike,—or less -and less summer-like. Black-birch catkins -are just beginning to fall, and a little higher, -not far from the Bald Mountain path, I notice -a sugar maple still hanging full of pale -straw-colored tassels,—encouraging signs to -a man who was becoming apprehensive lest -he had arrived too late.</p> - -<p>Then, as I pass the height of land and begin -the gentle descent into the Notch, fronting -the white peak of Lafayette and the -black face of Eagle Cliff, I am aware of a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[88]</span> -strange sensation, as if I had stepped into -another world: bare, leafless woods and sudden -blank silence. All the way hitherto -birds have been singing on either hand, my -ear picking out the voices one by one, while -flies and mosquitoes have buzzed continually -about my head; here, all in a moment, not -a bird, not an insect,—a stillness like that -of winter. Minute after minute, rod after -rod, and not a breath of sound,—not so -much as the stirring of a leaf. I could not -have believed such a transformation possible. -It is uncanny. I walk as in a dream. The -silence lasts for at least a quarter of a mile. -Then a warbler breaks it for an instant, and -leaves it, if possible, more absolute than before. -I am going southward, and downhill; -but I am going into the Notch, into the very -shadow of the mountains, where Winter -makes his last rally against the inevitable.</p> - -<p>And yes, here are some of the early flowers -I have come in search of: the dear little -yellow violets, whose glossy, round leaves, no -more than half-grown as yet, seem to love -the very border of a snowbank. Here, too, -is a most flourishing patch of spring-beauties,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[89]</span> -and another of adder’s-tongue,—dog-tooth -violet, so called. Of the latter there must -be hundreds of acres in Franconia. I have -seen the freckled leaves everywhere, and now -and then a few belated blossoms. Here I -have it at its best, the whole bed thick with -buds and freshly blown flowers. But the -round-leaved violet is what I am chiefly -taken with. The very type and pattern of -modesty, I am ready to say. The spring-beauty -masses itself; and though every blossom, -if you look at it, is a miracle of delicacy,—lustrous -pink satin, with veinings -of a deeper shade,—it may fairly be said -to make a show. But the violets, scattered, -and barely out of the ground, must be sought -after one by one. So meek, and yet so bold!—part -of the beautiful vernal paradox, that -the lowly and the frail are the first to venture.</p> - -<p>As I come down to the lakeside,—making -toward the lower end, whither I always -go, because there the railroad is least obtrusively -in sight and the mountains are faced -to the best advantage,—two or three solitary -sandpipers flit before me, tweeting and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">[90]</span> -bobbing, and a winter wren (invisible, of -course) sings from a thicket at my elbow. -A jolly songster he is, with the clearest and -finest of tones—a true fife—and an irresistible -accent and rhythm. A bird by himself. -This fellow hurries and hurries (am I -wrong in half remembering a line by some -poet about a bird that “hurries and precipitates”?),<a id="FNanchor_6" href="#Footnote_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a> -till the tempo becomes too much -for him; the notes can no longer be taken, -and, like a boy running down too steep a -hill, he finishes with a slide. I think of -those pianoforte passages which the most -lightninglike of performers—Paderewski -himself—are reduced to playing ignominiously -with the back of one finger. I know -not their technical name, if they have one,—finger-nail -runs, perhaps. I remember, also, -Thoreau’s description of a song heard in -Tuckerman’s Ravine and here in the Franconia -Notch. He could never discover the -author of it, but pretty certainly it was the -winter wren. “Most peculiar and memorable,”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[91]</span> -he pronounces it, like a “fine corkscrew -stream issuing with incessant tinkle -from a cork.” “Tinkle” is exactly the word. -Trust Thoreau to find <i>that</i>, though he could -not find the singer. If the thrushes are left -out of the account, there is no voice in the -mountains that I am gladder to hear.</p> - -<p>Near the outlet of the lake, in a shaded -hollow, lies a deep snowbank, and not far -away the ground is matted with trailing arbutus, -still in plentiful bloom. One of the -most attractive things here is the few-flowered -shadbush (<i>Amelanchier oligocarpa</i>). -The common <i>A. Canadensis</i> grows near by; -and it is astonishing how unlike the two species -look, although the difference (the visible -difference, I mean) is mostly in the arrangement -of the flowers,—clustered in one -case, separately disposed in the other. To-day -the “average observer” would look -twice before suspecting any close relationship -between them; a week or two hence he -would look a dozen times before remarking -any distinction. With them, as with the -red cherry, it is the blossom that makes the -bush.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">[92]</span>So much for my first May morning on the -Notch road and by the lake: a few particulars -caught in passing, to be taken for what -they are,—</p> - -<p class="center">“Samples and sorts, not for themselves alone, but for their atmosphere.”</p> - -<p>In the afternoon I went over into the -Landaff Valley, having in mind a restful, -level-country stroll, with a view especially to -the probable presence of Tennessee warblers -in that quarter. One or two had been singing -constantly near the hotel for two days -(ever since my arrival, that is), and Sunday -I had heard another beside the Bethlehem -road. Whether they were migrants only, or -had settled in Franconia for the season, they -ought, it seemed to me, to be found also in -the big Landaff larch swamp, where we had -seen them so often in June, ten or twelve -years ago. As I had heard the song but -once since that time, I was naturally disposed -to make the most of the present opportunity.</p> - -<p>I turned in at the old hay barn,—one of -my favorite resorts, where I have seen many -a pretty bunch of autumnal transients,—and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">[93]</span> -sure enough, a Tennessee’s voice was -one of the first to greet me. <i>This</i> fellow -sang as a Tennessee ought to sing, I said to -myself. By which I meant that his song -was clearly made up of three parts, just as I -had kept it in memory; whereas the birds -near the hotel, as well as the one on the -Bethlehem road, divided theirs but once. -No great matter, somebody will say; but a -self-respecting man likes to have his recollections -justified, even about trifles, particularly -when he has confided them to print.<a id="FNanchor_7" href="#Footnote_7" class="fnanchor">[7]</a></p> - -<p>The swamp had begun well with its old -eulogist; but better things were in store. I -passed an hour or more in the woods, for the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">[94]</span> -most part sitting still (which is pretty good -after-dinner ornithology), and had just taken -the road again when a bevy of talkative -chickadees came straggling down the rim of -the swamp, flitting from one tree to another,—a -morsel here and a morsel there,—after -their usual manner while on the march. -Now, then, for a few migratory warblers, -which always may be looked for in such company.</p> - -<p>True to the word, my glass was hardly in -play before a bay-breast showed himself, in -magnificent plumage; then came a Blackburnian, -also in high feather, handsomer -even than the bay-breast, but less of a rarity; -and then, all in a flash, I caught a -glimpse of some bright-colored, black-and-yellow -bird that, almost certainly, from an -indefinable something half seen about the -head, could not be a magnolia. “That -should be a Cape May!” I said aloud to -myself. Even as I spoke, however, he was -out of sight. Down the road I went, trying -to keep abreast of the flock, which moved -much too rapidly for my comfort. Again I -saw what might have been the Cape May, but<span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">[95]</span> -again there was nothing like certainty. And -again I lost him. With the trees so thick, -and the birds so small and so active, it was -impossible to do better. I had missed my -chance, I thought; but just then something -stirred among the leaves of a fir tree close -by me, on the very edge of the swamp, and -the next moment a bird stepped upon the -outermost twig, as near me as he could get, -and stood there fully displayed: a splendid -Cape May, in superb color, my first New -England specimen. “Look at me,” he said; -“this is for your benefit.” And I looked -with both eyes. Who would not be an ornithologist, -with sights like this to reward -him?</p> - -<p>The procession moved on, by the air line, -impossible for me to follow. The Cape -May, of course, had departed with the rest. -So I assumed,—without warrant, as will -presently appear. But I had no quarrel -with Fate. For a plodding, wingless creature, -long accustomed to his disabilities, I -was being handsomely used. The soul is -always seeking new things, says a celebrated -French philosopher, and is always pleased<span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">[96]</span> -when it is shown more than it had hoped -for. This is preëminently true of rare warblers. -Now I would cross the bridge, walk -once more under the arch of willows,—happy -that I <i>could</i> walk, being a man only,—and -back to the village again by the upper -road. For a half mile on that road the -prospect is such that no mortal need desire -a better one.</p> - -<p>First, however, I must train my glass upon -a certain dark object out in the meadow, to -see whether it was a stump (it was motionless -enough for one, but I didn’t remember -it there) or a woodchuck. It turned out to -be a woodchuck, erect upon his haunches, -his fore paws lifted in an attitude of devotion. -The sight was common just now in -all Franconia grass land, no matter in what -direction my jaunts took me. And always -the attitude was the same, as if now were -the ground-hog’s Lent. “Watch and pray” -is his motto; and he thrives upon it like a -monk. Though the legislature sets a price -on his head, he keeps in better flesh than -the average legislator. Well done, say I. -May his shadow never grow less! I like<span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">[97]</span> -him, as I like the crow. Health and long -life to both of them,—wildings that will -not be put down nor driven into the outer -wilderness, be the hand of civilization never -so hostile. They were here before man -came, and will be here, it is most likely, -after he is gone; unless, as the old planet’s -fires go out, man himself becomes a hibernator. -I have heard a hunted woodchuck, at -bay in a stone wall, gnashing his teeth -against a dog; and I have seen a mother -woodchuck with a litter of young ones playing -about her as she lay at full length sunning -herself, the very picture of maternal -satisfaction: and my belief is that woodchucks -have as honest a right as most of us -to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.</p> - -<p>As I walked under the willows,—empty -to-day, though I remembered more than one -happy occasion when, in better company, -I had found them alive with wings,—I -paused to look through the branches at a -large hawk and a few glossy-backed barn -swallows quartering over the meadow. -Then, all at once, there fell on my ears a -shower of bobolink notes, and the birds,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">[98]</span> -twenty or more together, dropped into the -short grass before me. Every one of them -was a male.</p> - -<p>A strange custom it is, this Quakerish -separation of the sexes. It must be the females’ -work, I imagine. Modesty and bashfulness -are feminine traits,—modesty, bashfulness, -and maidenly discretion. The wise -virgin shunneth even the appearance of -evil. Let the males flock by themselves, -and travel in advance. And the males -practice obedience, not for virtue’s sake, I -guess, but of necessity; encouraged, no -doubt, by an unquestioning belief that the -wise virgins will come trooping after, and -be found scattered conveniently over the -meadows, each by herself, when the marriage -bell strikes. That blissful hour was -now close at hand, and my twenty gay bachelors -knew it. Every bird of them had -on his wedding garment. No wonder they -sang.</p> - -<p>It took me a long time to make that half -mile on the upper road, with the narrow, -freshly green valley outspread just below, -the river running through it, and beyond<span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">[99]</span> -a royal horizonful of mountains; some near -and green, some farther away and blue, and -some—the highest—still with the snow on -them: Moosilauke, Kinsman, Cannon, Lafayette, -Garfield, the Twins, Washington, -Clay, Jefferson, and Adams; all perfectly -clear, the sky covered with high clouds. A -sober day it was, sober and still, though the -bobolinks seemed not so to regard it. While -I looked at the landscape, seating myself -now and then to enjoy it quietly, I kept an -ear open for the shout of a pileated woodpecker, -a wildly musical sound often to be -heard on this hillside; but to-day there was -nothing nearer to it than a crested flycatcher’s -scream, out of the big sugar orchard.</p> - -<p>On my way down the hill toward the red -bridge, I met a man riding in some kind of -rude contrivance, not to be called a wagon -or a cart, between two pairs of wheels. He -lay flat on his back, as in a hammock, and, -to judge by his tools and the mortar on his -clothing, must have been a mason returning -from his work. He was “taking it easy,” -at all events. We saluted each other, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">[100]</span> -he stopped his horse and sat up. “You -used to be round here, didn’t you?” he -asked. Yes, I said, I had been here a good -deal, off and on. He thought he remembered -me. He had noticed me getting out of -Mr. Prime’s carriage at the corner. “Let’s -see,” he said: “you used to be looking after -the birds a good deal, didn’t you?” I -pleaded guilty, and he seemed glad. “You -are well?” he added, and drove on. Neither -of us had said anything in particular, but -there are few events of the road more to my -taste than such chance bits of neighborly -intercourse. The man’s tone and manner -gave me the feeling of real friendliness. If -I had fallen among thieves, I confide that -he would have been neither a priest nor a -Levite. May his trowel find plenty of work -and fair wages.</p> - -<p>This was on May 22. The next three -days were occupied with all-day excursions -to Mount Agassiz, to Streeter Pond, and to -Lonesome Lake path. With so many hands -beckoning to me, the Cape May warbler -was well-nigh forgotten. On the morning -of the 26th, however, the weather being dubious,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">[101]</span> -I betook myself again to the Landaff -swamp, entering it, as usual, by the wood-road -at the barn. Many birds were there: -a tanager (uncommon hereabout), olive-sided -flycatchers, alder flycatchers (first -seen on the 23d, and already abundant), a -yellow-bellied flycatcher (the recluse of the -family), magnolia warblers, Canada warblers, -parula warblers (three beautiful species), -a Tennessee warbler, a Swainson -thrush (whistling), a veery (snarling), and -many more. The Swainson thrush, by the -way, although present, in small numbers -apparently, from May 22, was not heard to -sing a note until June 1,—ten days of silence! -Yet it sings freely on its migration, -even as far south as Georgia. Close at hand -was a grouse, who performed again and -again in what seemed to me a highly original -manner. First he delivered three or -four quick beats. Then he rested for a -second or two, after which he proceeded to -drum in the ordinary way, beginning with -deliberation, and gradually accelerating the -beats, till the ear could no longer follow -them, and they became a whir. That prelude<span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">[102]</span> -of four quick, decisive strokes was a -novelty to my ears, so far as I could remember.</p> - -<p>I had taken my fill of this pleasant chorus, -and was on my way back to the road, when -suddenly I heard something that was better -than “pleasant,”—a peculiarly faint and -listless four-syllabled warbler song, which -might be described as a monotonous <i>zee-zee-zee-zee</i>. -The singer was not a blackpoll: of -that I felt certain on the instant. What -could it be, then, but a Cape May? That -was a shrewd guess (I had heard the Cape -May once, in Virginia, some years before); -for presently the fellow moved into sight, -and I had a feast of admiring him, as he -flitted about among the fir trees, feeding and -singing. If he was the one I had seen in -the same wood on the 22d, he was making -a long stay. Still I did not venture to think -of him as anything but a migrant. The -Tennessee had sung incessantly for five days -in the Gale River larches near the hotel, as -already mentioned, and then had taken -flight.</p> - -<p>The next morning, nevertheless, there was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">[103]</span> -nothing for it—few as my days were growing—but -I must visit the place again, on -the chance of finding the Cape May still -there. And he <i>was</i> there; sitting, for part -of the time, at the very tip (on the terminal -bud, to speak exactly) of a pointed fir. -There, as elsewhere, he sang persistently, -sometimes with three <i>zees</i>, sometimes with -four, but always in an unhurried monotone. -It was the simplest and most primitive kind -of music, to say the best of it,—many an -insect would perhaps have done as well; but -somehow, with the author of it before me, I -pronounced it good. A Tennessee was close -by, and (what I particularly enjoyed) a tanager -sat in the sun on the topmost spray -of a tall white pine, blazing and singing. -“This is the sixth day of the Cape May here, -yet I cannot think he means to summer.” -So my pencil finished the day’s entry.</p> - -<p>Whatever his intentions, I could not afford -to spend my whole vacation in learning -them, and it was not until the afternoon of -the 31st that I went again in search of -him. Then he gave me an exciting chase; -for, thank Fortune, a chase may be exciting<span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">[104]</span> -though the bird is not a “game bird,” and -the man is not a gunner. At first, to be -sure, the question seemed in a fair way to be -quickly settled. I was hardly in the swamp -before I heard the expected <i>zee-zee</i>. The -bird was still here! But after half a dozen -repetitions of the strain he fell silent; and -he had not shown himself. For a full hour -I paced up and down the path, within a space -of forty rods, fighting mosquitoes and awake -to every sound. If the bird was here, I -meant to make sure of him. This was the -tenth day since I had first seen him, and to -find him still present would make it practically -certain that he was here for the season. -As for what I had already heard,—well, the -notes were the Cape May’s, fast enough; -but if that were all, I should go away and -straightway begin to question whether my -ears had not deceived me. In matters of -this kind, an ornithologist walks by sight.</p> - -<p>Once, from farther up the path, I heard a -voice that might be the one I was listening -for; but as I hastened toward it, it developed -into the homely, twisting song of a black-and-white -creeper. Heard at a sufficient distance,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">[105]</span> -this too familiar ditty loses every other -one of its notes, and is easily mistaken for -something else,—especially if something -else happens to be on a man’s mind,—as I -had found to my chagrin on more than one -occasion. Eye and ear both are never more -liable to momentary deception than when -they are most tensely alert.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile, nothing had been heard of the -Tennessee, and it became evident that he -had moved on. The customary water thrush -was singing at short intervals; gayly dressed -warblers darted in and out of the low evergreens, -almost brushing my elbows, much to -their surprise; and an olive-sided flycatcher -kept up a persistent <i>pip-pip</i>. Something -was troubling his equanimity; I had no idea -what. It had been one of my special enjoyments, -on this vacation trip, to renew my -acquaintance with him and his humbler relative, -the alder flycatcher,—the latter a commonplace -body, whose emphatic <i>quay-quéer</i> -had now become one of the commonest of -sounds. The olive-side, by the bye, for all -his apparent wildness, did not disdain to visit -the shade trees about the hotel; and once a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">[106]</span> -catbird, not far off, amused me by whistling -a most exact reproduction of his breezy <i>quit, -quee-quée-o</i>. If the voice had come from a -treetop instead of from the depths of a low -thicket, the illusion would have been complete. -It is the weakness of imitators, always -and everywhere, to forget one thing or -another.</p> - -<p>Still the bird I was waiting for made no -sign, and finally I left the swamp and started -up the road. Possibly he had gone in that -direction, where I first saw him. No, he was -not there, and, giving over the hunt, I turned -back toward the village. Then, as I came -opposite the barn again, I heard the notes in -the old place, and hastened up the path. -This time I was lucky, for there the bird sat -on the outermost spray of a fir-tree branch. -It was his most characteristic attitude. I -can see him there now.</p> - -<p>As I quitted the swamp for good, a man -in a buggy was coming down the road. I -put on my coat, and as he overtook me I said, -“I was putting on my coat because I felt -sure you would invite me to ride.” He -smiled, and bade me get in; and though he<span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">[107]</span> -had been going only to the post office, he -insisted upon carrying me to the hotel, a mile -beyond. Better still, we had a pleasant, humanizing -talk of a kind to be serviceable to -a narrow specialist, such as I seemed just -now in danger of becoming. The use of -tobacco was one of our topics, I remember, -and the mutual duties of husbands and wives -another. My host had seen a good deal of -the world, it appeared, and withal was no -little of a philosopher. I hope it will not -sound egotistical if I say that he gave every -sign of finding me a capable listener.</p> - -<p>Once more only I saw the Cape May. His -claim to be accounted a summer resident of -Franconia was by this time moderately well -established; but on my last spare afternoon -(June 3) I could not do less than pay him a -farewell visit. After looking for him in vain -for twenty years (I speak as a New Englander), -it seemed the part of prudence to -cultivate his acquaintance while I could. At -the entrance to the swamp, therefore, I put -on my gloves, tied a handkerchief about my -neck, and broke a stem of meadow-sweet for -use as a mosquito switch. The season was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">[108]</span> -advancing, and field ornithology was becoming -more and more a battle. I walked up -the path for the usual distance (passing a -few lady’s-slippers, one of them pure white) -without hearing the voice for which I was listening. -On the return, however, I caught -it, or something like it. Then, as I went in -pursuit (a slow process, for caution’s sake), -the song turned, or seemed to turn, into -something different,—louder, longer, and -faster. Is that the same bird, I thought, or -another? Whatever it was, it eluded my -eye, and after a little the voice ceased. I -retreated to the path, where I could look -about me more readily and use my switch to -better advantage, and anon the faint, lazy -<i>zee-zee-zee</i> was heard again. <i>This</i> was the -Cape May, at all events. I was sure of it. -Still I wanted a look. Carefully I edged -toward the sound, bending aside the branches, -and all at once a bird flew into the spruce -over my head. Then began again the -quicker, four-syllabled <i>zip-zip</i>, I craned my -neck and fanned away mosquitoes, all the -while keeping my glass in position. A twig -stirred. Still the bird sang unseen,—the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">[109]</span> -same hurried phrase, not quite monotonous, -since the pitch rose a little on the last couplet. -That was a suspicious circumstance, -and by this time I should not have been -mightily astonished if a Blackburnian had -disclosed himself. Another twig stirred. -Still I could see nothing; and still I fought -mosquitoes (a plague on them!) and kept -my eye steady. Then the fellow did again -what he had done so often,—stepped out -upon a flat, horizontal branch, pretty well -up, and posed there, singing and preening -his feathers. I could see his yellow breast -streaked with jet, his black crown, his reddish -cheeks, with the yellow patch behind -the rufous, and finally the big white blotch -on the wing. We have lovelier birds, no -doubt (the Cape May’s colors are a trifle -“splashy” for a nice taste,—for my own -taste, I mean to say), but few, if any, whose -costume is more strikingly original.</p> - -<p>I stayed by him till my patience failed, -the mosquitoes helping to wear it out; and -all the while he reiterated that comparatively -lively <i>zip-zip</i>, so very different from the listless -<i>zee-zee</i>, which I had seen him use on previous<span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">[110]</span> -occasions, and had heard him use to-day. -He was singing now, I said to myself, -more like the bird at Natural Bridge, the -only other one I had ever heard. It was -pleasant to find that even this tenth-rate performer, -one of the poorest of a poor family, -had more than one tune in his music box.</p> - -<p>My spring vacation was planned to be -botanical rather than ornithological; but we -are not the masters of our own fate, though -we sometimes try to think so, and my sketch -is turning out a bird piece, after all. The -truth is, I was in the birds’ country, and it -was the birds’ hour. They waked me every -morning,—veeries, bobolinks, vireos, sparrows, -and what not;<a id="FNanchor_8" href="#Footnote_8" class="fnanchor">[8]</a> and as the day began,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">[111]</span> -so it continued. I hope I was not blind to -other things. I remember at this moment -how rejoiced I was at coming all unexpectedly -upon a little bunch of yellow lady’s-slippers,—nine -blossoms, I believe; rare -enough and pretty enough to excite the dullest -man’s enthusiasm. But the fact remains, -if comparisons are to be insisted upon, that -a creature like the Cape May warbler has -all the beauty of a flower, with the added -charm of voice and motion and elusiveness. -The lady’s-slippers would wait for me,—unless -somebody else picked them,—but the -warbler could be trusted to lead me a chase, -and give me, as the saying is, a run for my -money. In other words, he was more interesting, -and goes better into a story.</p> - -<p>My delight in him was the greater for a -consideration yet to be specified. Twelve or -thirteen years ago, when a party of us were -in Franconia in June, we undertook a list of -the birds of the township,—a list which the -scientific ornithologist of the company afterward<span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">[112]</span> -printed.<a id="FNanchor_9" href="#Footnote_9" class="fnanchor">[9]</a> Now, returning to the place -by myself, it became a point of honor with -me to improve our work by the addition of -at least a name or two. And the first candidate -was the Cape May.</p> - -<p>The second was of a widely different sort; -one of my most familiar friends, though more -surprising as a bird of the White Mountains -than even the Cape May. I speak of the -wood thrush, the most southern member of -the noble group of singers to which it belongs,—the -<i>Hylocichlæ</i>, so called. It is to -be regretted that we have no collective English -name for them, especially as their vocal -quality—by which I mean something not -quite the same as musical ability—is such -as to set them beyond comparison above all -other birds of North America, if not of the -world.</p> - -<p>My first knowledge of this piece of good -fortune was on the 29th of May. I stood -on the Notch railway, intent upon a mourning -warbler, noting how fond of red-cherry -trees he and his fellows seemingly were, -when I was startled out of measure by a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">[113]</span> -wood thrush’s voice from the dense maple -woods above me. There was no time to look -for him; and happily there was no need. -He was one of the consummate artists of his -race (among the members of which there is -great unevenness in this regard), possessing -all those unmistakable peculiarities which at -once distinguish the wood thrush’s song from -the hermit’s, with which alone a careless listener -might confound it: the sudden drop -to a deep contralto (the most glorious bit of -vocalism to be heard in our woods), and the -tinkle or spray of bell-like tones at the other -extreme of the gamut. As with the Cape -May, so with him, the question was, Will he -stay?</p> - -<p>Two days later I came down the track -again. A hermit was in tune, and presently -a wood thrush joined him. “His tone is -fuller and louder than the hermit’s,” says -my pencil,—flattered, no doubt, at finding -itself in a position to speak a word of momentary -positiveness touching a question of -superiority long in dispute, and likely to remain -in dispute while birds sing and men -listen to them. A quarter of a mile farther,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">[114]</span> -and I came to the sugar grove. Here a second -bird was singing, just where I had heard -him two days before. Him I sat down to -enjoy; and at that moment, probably because -he had seen me (and had seen me stop), he -broke out with a volley of those quick, staccato, -inimitably emphatic, whip-snapping -calls,—<i>pip-pip</i>,—which are more characteristic -of the species than even the song itself. -So there were two male wood thrushes, -and presumably two pairs, in this mountainside -forest!</p> - -<p>On the 1st of June I heard the song there -again, though I was forced to wait for it; -and three days afterward the story was the -same. I ought to have looked for nests, but -time failed me. To the best of my knowledge, -the bird has never been reported -before from the White Mountain region, -though it is well known to breed in some -parts of Canada, where I have myself seen -it.</p> - -<p>Here, then, were two notable accessions to -our local catalogue. The only others (a few -undoubted migrants—Wilson’s black-cap -warbler, the white-crowned sparrow, and the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">[115]</span> -solitary sandpiper—being omitted) were a -single meadow lark and a single yellow-throated -vireo. The lark seemed to be unknown -to Franconia people, and my specimen -may have been only a straggler. He -sang again and again on May 22, but I -heard nothing from him afterward, though I -passed the place often. The vireo was singing -in a sugar grove on the 3d of June,—a -date on which, accidents apart, he should -certainly have been at home for the summer.</p> - -<p>Because I have had so much to say about -the Cape May warbler and the wood thrush, -it is not to be assumed that I mean to set -them in the first place, nor even that I had -in them the highest pleasure. They surprised -me, and surprise is always more talkative -than simple appreciation; but the birds -that ministered most to my enjoyment were -the hermit and the veery. The veery is not -an every-day singer with me at home, and -the hermit, for some years past, has made -himself almost a stranger. I hardly know -which of the two put me under the greater -obligation. The veery sang almost continually, -and a good veery is a singer almost out<span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">[116]</span> -of competition. His voice lacks the ring of -the wood thrush’s and the hermit’s; it never -dominates the choir; but with the coppice -to itself and the listener close by, it has -sometimes a quality irresistible; I do not -hesitate to characterize it as angelic. Of -this kind was the voice of a bird that used -to sing under my Franconia window at half -past three o’clock, in the silence of the -morning.</p> - -<p>The surpassing glory of the veery’s song, -as all lovers of American bird music may be -presumed by this time to know, lies in its -harmonic, double-stopping effect,—an effect, -or quality, as beautiful as it is peculiar. -One day, while I stood listening to it under -the best of conditions, admiring the wonderful -arpeggio (I know no less technical word -for it), my pencil suddenly grew poetic. -“The veery’s fingers are quick on the harp-strings,” -it wrote. His is perfect Sunday -music,—and the hermit’s no less so. And -in the same class I should put the simple -chants of the field sparrow and the vesper. -The so-called “preaching” of the red-eyed -vireo is utter worldliness in the comparison.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">[117]</span>Happy Franconia! This year, if never -before, it had all five of our New England -Hylocichlæ singing in its woods: the veery -and the hermit everywhere in the lower -country, the wood thrush in the maple forest -before mentioned, the olive-back throughout -the Notch and its neighborhood, and the -gray-cheek on Lafayette; a quintette hard -to match, I venture to think, anywhere -on the footstool. And after them—I do -not say with them—were winter wrens, -bobolinks, rose-breasted grosbeaks, purple -finches, solitary vireos, vesper sparrows, field -sparrows, white-throated sparrows, song sparrows, -catbirds, robins, orioles, tanagers, and -a score or two beside.</p> - -<p>One other bright circumstance I am -bound in honor to speak of,—the abundance -of swallows; a state of affairs greatly -unlike anything to be met with in my part -of Massachusetts: cliff swallows and barn -swallows in crowds, and sand martins and -tree swallows by no means uncommon. But -for the absence of black martins,—a famous -colony of which the tourist may see at -Concord, while the train waits,—here would<span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">[118]</span> -have been a second quintette worthy to rank -with the thrushes; the flight of one set being -as beautiful, not to say as musical, as -the songs of the other. As it was, the universal -presence of these aerial birds was a -continual delight to any man with eyes to -notice it. They glorified the open valley as -the thrushes glorified the woods.</p> - -<p>We shall never again see the like of this, -I fear, in our prosier Boston neighborhood. -Within my time—within twenty years, indeed—barn -swallows summered freely on -Beacon Hill, plastering their nests against -the walls of the State House and the Athenæum, -and even under the busy portico of -the Tremont House. I have remembrance, -too, of a pair that dwelt, for one season at -least, above the door of the old Ticknor -mansion, at the head of Park Street. Those -days are gone. Now, alas, even in the suburban -districts, we may almost say that -one swallow makes a summer. An evil -change it is, for which not even the warblings -of English sparrows will ever quite -console me. Yet the present state of things, -the reoccupation of Boston by the British,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">[119]</span> -if you please to call it so, is not without its -grain of compensation. It makes me fonder -of “old Francony.” Skeptic or man of -faith, naturalist or supernaturalist, who does -not like to feel that there is somewhere a -“better country” than the one he lives in?</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">[120]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">A DAY IN JUNE</h2> -</div> - -<h3>THE FORENOON</h3> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="first">“The air that floated by me seem’d to say,</div> -<div class="verse">‘Write! thou wilt never have a better day,’</div> -<div class="verse">And so I did.”</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verseright"><span class="smcap">Keats.</span></div> -</div></div></div> - -<p><span class="smcap">All</span> signs threatened a day of midsummer -heat, though it was only the 2d of -June. Before breakfast, even, the news -seemed to have got abroad; so that there -was something like a dearth of music under -my windows, where heretofore there had -been almost a surfeit. The warbling vireo -in the poplar, which had teased my ear -morning after morning, getting shamelessly -in the way of his betters, had for once fallen -silent; unless, indeed, he had sung his stint -before I woke, or had gone elsewhere to -practice. The comparative stillness enabled -me to hear voices from the hillside across<span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">[121]</span> -the meadow, while I turned over in my -mind a thought concerning the nature of -those sounds—a class by themselves, some -of them by no means unmusical—which -are particularly enjoyable when borne to us -from a distance: crow voices, the baying of -hounds, cowbell tinkles, and the like. The -nasal, high-pitched, penetrating call of the -little Canadian nuthatch is one of the best -examples of what I mean. <i>Ank, ank</i>: the -sounds issue from the depths of trackless -woods, miles and miles away as it seems, just -reaching us, without a breath to spare; dying -upon the very tympanum, like a spent -runner who drops exhausted at the goal, -touching it only with his finger tips. Yet -the ear is not fretted. It makes no attempt -to hear more. <i>Ank, ank</i>: that is the whole -story, and we see the bird as plainly as if he -hung from a cone at the top of the next fir -tree.</p> - -<p>“No tramping to-day,” said my friends -from the cottage as we met at table. They -had been reading the thermometer, which is -the modern equivalent for observing the -wind and regarding the clouds. But my<span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">[122]</span> -vacation, unlike theirs, was not an all-summer -affair. It was fast running out, and -there were still many things to be seen and -done. Immediately after breakfast, therefore, -with an umbrella and a luncheon, I -started for the Notch. I would reverse the -usual route, going by way of the railroad—reached -by a woodland trail above -“Chase’s”—and returning by the highway. -Of itself this is only a forenoon’s jaunt, but -I meant to piece it out by numerous waits—for -coolness and listening—and sundry -by-excursions, especially by a search for -Selkirk’s violet and an hour or two on Bald -Mountain. If the black flies and the mosquitoes -would let me choose my own gait, -I would risk the danger of sunstroke.</p> - -<p>As I come out upon the grassy plain, -after the first bit of sharp ascent, a pleasant -breeze is stirring, and with the umbrella -over my head, and a halt as often as the -shade of a tree, the sight of a flower, or the -sound of music invites me, I go on with -great comfort. Now I am detained by a -close bed of dwarf cornel, every face looking -straight upward, the waxen white “flowers”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">[123]</span> -inclosing each a bunch of dark pin-points. -Now a lovely clear-winged moth hovers over -a dandelion head; and a pleasing sight it is, -to see his transparent wings beating themselves -into a haze about his brown body. -And now, by way of contrast, one of our -tiny sky-blue butterflies rises from the -ground and with a pretty unsteadiness flits -carelessly before me, twinkling over the -sand.</p> - -<p>A bluebird drops into the white birch -under which I am standing, and lets fall a -few notes of his contralto warble. A delicious -voice. For purity and a certain affectionateness -it would be hard to name its -superior. A vesper sparrow sings from the -grass land; and from the woods beyond a -jay is screaming. His, by the bye, is another -of the voices that are bettered by distance, -although, for my own part, I like the -ring of it, near or far. Now a song sparrow -breaks out in his breezy, characteristically -abrupt manner. He is a bird with fine gifts -of cheeriness and versatility; but when he -sets himself against the vesper, as now, it is -like prose against poetry, plain talk against<span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">[124]</span> -music. So it seems to me at this moment, -I mean to say. At another time, in another -mood, I might tone down the comparison, -though I could never say less than that the -vesper is my favorite. His gifts are sweetness -and perfection.</p> - -<p>So I cross the level fields to Chase’s, where -I stand a few minutes before the little front-yard -flower-garden, always with many pretty -things in it. One of those natural gardeners, -the good woman must be, who have a -knack of making plants blossom. And just -beyond, in the shelter of the first tree, I stop -again to take off my hat, put down my umbrella, -and speak coaxingly to a suspicious -pointer (being a friend of all dogs except -surly ones), which after much backing and -filling gets his cool nose into my palm. We -are on excellent terms, I flatter myself, but -at that moment some notion strikes me and -I take out my notebook and pencil. Instantly -he starts away and sets up a furious -bark, looking first at me, then toward the -house, circling about me all the while, at a -rod’s distance, in a quiver of excitement. -“Help! help!” he cries. “Here’s a villain<span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">[125]</span> -of some sort. I’ve never seen the like. A -spy at the very least.” And though he quiets -down when I put up the book, there is no more -friendliness for this time. Man writing, as -Carlyle would have said, is a doubtful character.</p> - -<p>Another stage, to the edge of the woods, -and I rest again, the breeze encouraging me. -A second bluebird is caroling. Every additional -one is cause for thankfulness. Imagine -a place where bluebirds should be as -thick as English sparrows are in our American -cities! Imagine heaven! A crested flycatcher -screams, an olive-side calls <i>pip, pip</i>, -a robin cackles, an oven-bird recites his piece -with schoolboy emphasis, an alder flycatcher -<i>queeps</i>, and a vesper sparrow sings. And at -the end, as if for good measure, a Maryland -yellow-throat adds his <i>witchery, witchery</i>. -The breeze comes to me over broad beds of -hay-scented fern, and at my feet are bunchberry -blossoms and the white star-flower. -At this moment, nevertheless, the cooling, -insect-dispersing wind is better than all -things else. Such is one effect of hot weather, -setting comfort above poetry.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">[126]</span>I leave the wind behind, and take my way -into the wood, where there is nothing in particular -to delay me except an occasional windfall, -which must be clambered over or beaten -about. Half an hour, more or less, of lazy -traveling, and I come out upon the railroad -at the big sugar-maple grove. This is one -of the sights of the country in the bright-leaf -season, say the first week of October; -something, I have never concluded what, -giving to its colors a most remarkable depth -and richness. Putting times together, I -must have spent hours in admiring it, now -from different points on the Butter Hill -round, now from Bald Mountain. At present -every leaf of it is freshly green, and -somewhere within it dwells a wood thrush, -for whose golden voice I sit down in the -shade to listen. He is in no haste, and no -more am I. Let him take his time. Other -birds also are a little under the weather, as -it appears; but the silence cannot last. A -scarlet tanager’s voice is the first to break it. -High as the temperature is, he is still hoarse. -And so is the black-throated blue warbler -that follows him. A pine siskin passes overhead<span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">[127]</span> -on some errand, announcing himself as -he goes. There is no need for him to speak -twice. Then come three warblers,—a Nashville, -a magnolia, and a blue yellow-back; -and after them a piece of larger game, a -smallish hawk. He breaks out of the dense -wood behind me, perches for half a minute -in an open maple, where I can see that he -has prey of some kind in his talons, and -then, taking wing, ascends in circles into the -sky, and so disappears. That is locomotion -of a sort to make a man and his umbrella -envious.</p> - -<p>A rose-breasted grosbeak, invisible (but -I can see him), is warbling not far off. -He has taken the tanager’s tune—which is -the robin’s as well—and smoothed it and -smoothed it, and sweetened it and sweetened -it, till it is smoother than oil and sweeter -than honey. I admire it for what it is, a -miracle of mellifluency; if you call it perfect, -I can only acquiesce; but I cannot say -that it stirs or kindles me. Perhaps I haven’t -a sweet ear. And hark! the wood thrush -gives voice: only a few strains, but enough -to show him still present. Now I am free<span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">[128]</span> -to trudge along up the railroad track, pondering -as I go upon the old question why -railway sleepers are always too far apart for -one step and not far enough for two. At -short intervals I pause at the sound of a -mourning warbler’s brief song, pretty in itself, -and noticeable for its trick of a rolled -<i>r</i>. Some of the birds add a concluding measure -of quick notes, like <i>wit, wit, wit</i>. It is -long since I have seen so many at once. In -truth, I have never seen so many except on -one occasion, on the side of Mount Washington. -That was ten years ago. One a year, -on the average, shows itself to me during the -spring passage—none in autumn. Well I -remember my first one. Twenty years have -elapsed since that late May morning, but I -could go to the very spot, I think, though I -have not been near it for more than half -that time. A good thing it is that we can -still enjoy the good things of past years, or -of what we call past years.</p> - -<p>And a good thing is a railroad, though -the sleepers be spaced on purpose for a foot-passenger’s -discomfort. Without this one, -over which at this early date no trains are<span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">[129]</span> -running, I should hardly be traversing these -miles of rough mountain country on a day of -tropical sultriness. The clear line of the -track gives me not only passage and a breeze, -but an opening into the sky, and at least -twice as many bird sights and bird sounds -as the unbroken forest would furnish.<a id="FNanchor_10" href="#Footnote_10" class="fnanchor">[10]</a> I -drink at the section men’s well—an ice-cold -spring inclosed in a bottomless barrel—cross -the brook which, gloriously alive and -beautiful, comes dashing over its boulders -down the White-cross Ravine, fifty feet below -me as I guess, and stop in the burning -on the other side to listen for woodpeckers -and brown creepers. The latter are strangely -rare hereabout, and this seems an ideal spot -in which to look for them. So I cannot help -thinking as I see from how many of the -trunks—burned to death and left standing—the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">[130]</span> -bark has warped in long, loose flakes, -as if to provide nesting sites for a whole colony -of creepers. But the birds are not here; -or, if they are, they do not mean that an inquisitive -stranger shall know it. An olive-sided -flycatcher calls, rather far off, making -me suspicious for an instant of a red crossbill, -and a white-throated sparrow whistles -out of the gulch below me; but I listen in -vain for the quick <i>tseep</i> which would put an -eighty-seventh name into my vacation catalogue.</p> - -<p>Here is the round-leaved violet, one pale-bright, -shy blossom. How pleased I am to -see it! Hobble-bush and wild red cherry -are still in bloom. White Mountain dogwood, -we might almost call the hobble-bush; -so well it fills the place, in flowering time, -of <i>Cornus florida</i> in the Alleghanies. In -the twilight of the woods, as in the darkness -of evening, no color shows so far as white; -which, for aught I know, may be one of the -reasons why, relatively speaking, white flowers -are so much more common in the forest -than in the open country. In my eyes, -nevertheless, the leaves of the hobble-bush—leaves<span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">[131]</span> -and leaf-buds—are, if anything, -prettier than the blossoms. Such beauty of -shape, such expansiveness, such elegance of -crimpling, and such exceeding richness of -hue, whether in youth or age! If the bush -refuses transplantation, as I have read that -it does, I am glad of it. My sympathies are -with all things, plants, animals, and men, -that insist upon their native freedom, in -their native country, with a touch, or more -than a touch, of native savagery. Civilization -is well enough, within limits; but why -be in haste to have all the world a garden? -It will be some time yet, I hope, before every -valley is exalted.</p> - -<p>With progress of this industriously indolent -sort it is nearly noon by the time I turn -into the footpath that leads down to Echo -Lake. Here the air is full of toad voices; -a chorus of long-drawn trills in the shrillest -of musical tones. If the creatures (the -sandy shore and its immediate shallows are -thick with them) are attempting to set up an -echo, they meet with no success. At all -events I hear no response, though the fault -may easily be in my hearing, insusceptible as<span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">[132]</span> -it is to vibrations above a certain pitch of -fineness. What ethereal music it would be, -an echo of toad trills from the grand sounding-board -of Eagle Cliff! In the density -of my ignorance I am surprised to find such -numbers of these humble, half-domesticated, -garden-loving batrachians congregated here -in the wilderness. If the day were less midsummery, -and were not already mortgaged -to other plans, I would go down to Profile -Lake to see whether the same thing is going -on there. I should have looked upon these -lovely sheets of mountain water as spawning-places -for trout. But toads!—that seems -another matter. If I am surprised at their -presence, however, they seem equally so at -mine. And who knows? They were here -first. Perhaps I am the intruder. I wish -them no harm in any case. If black flies -form any considerable part of their diet, -they could not multiply too rapidly, though -every note of every trill were good for a polliwog, -and every polliwog should grow into -the portliest of toads.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">[133]</span></p> - -<h3>THE AFTERNOON</h3> - -<p>I spoke a little warmly, perhaps, at the -end of the forenoon chapter. Echo Lake, -at the foot of it, is one of the places where I -love best to linger, and to-day it was more -attractive even than usual; the air of the -clearest, the sun bright, the mountain woods -all in young leaf, the water shining. But -the black flies, which had left me undisturbed -on the railroad, though I sat still by the half-hour, -once I reached the lake would allow -me no rest.</p> - -<p>It was twelve days since my first visit. -The snow was gone, and the trailing arbutus -had dropped its last blossoms; but both -kinds of shadbush, standing in the hollow -where a snowbank had lain ten days ago, -were still in fresh bloom. Pink lady’s-slippers -were common (more buds than blossoms -as yet), and the pink rhodora also; with -goldthread, star-flower, dwarf cornel, housonia, -and the painted trillium. Chokeberry -bushes were topped with handsome clusters -of round, purplish buds.</p> - -<p>The brightest and prettiest thing here,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">[134]</span> -however, was not a flower, but a bird; a -Blackburnian warbler fluttering along before -me in the low bushes—an extraordinary -act of grace on the part of this haunter of -treetops—as if on purpose to show himself. -He was worth showing. His throat was like -a jewel. A bay-breast, always deserving of -notice, was singing among the evergreens -near by. So I believed, but the flies were -so hot after me that I made no attempt to -assure myself. I was fairly chased away -from the waterside. One place after -another I fled to, seeking one where the -breeze should rid me of my tormentors, till -at last, in desperation, I took to the piazza -of the little shop—now unoccupied—at -which the summer tourist buys birch-bark -souvenirs, with ginger-beer, perhaps, and -other potables. There I finished my luncheon, -still having a skirmish with the enemy’s -scouts now and then, but thankful to be out -of the thick of the battle. The rippling lake -shone before me, a few swifts were shooting -to and fro above it, but for the time my enjoyment -of all such things was gone. That -half hour of black-fly persecution had dissipated<span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">[135]</span> -the happy mood in which the forenoon -had been passed, and there was no recovering -it by force of will. A military man -would have said, perhaps, that I had lost my -<i>morale</i>. Something had happened to me, -call it what you will. But if one string was -broken, my bow had another. Quiet meditation -being impossible, I was all the readier -to go in search of Selkirk’s violet, the possible -finding of which was one of the motives -that had brought me into the mountains thus -early. To look for flowers is not a question -of mood, but of patience. To look <i>at</i> them, -so as to feel their beauty and meaning, is -another business, not to be conducted successfully -while poisonous insects are fretting -one’s temper to madness.</p> - -<p>If I went about this botanical errand -doubtingly, let the reader hold me excused. -He has heard of a needle in a haystack. -The case of my violets was similar. The -one man who had seen them was now dead. -Years before, he had pointed out to me casually -(or like a dunce I had <i>heard</i> him casually) -the place where he was accustomed to -leave the road in going after them—which<span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">[136]</span> -was always long before my arrival. This -place I believed that I remembered within -perhaps half a mile. My only resource, -therefore, was to plunge into the forest, -practically endless on its further side, and -as well as I could, in an hour or so, look the -land over for that distance. Success would -be a piece of almost incredible luck, no -doubt; but what then? I was here, the -hour was to spare, and the woods were worth -a visit, violets or no violets. So I plunged -in, and, following the general course of the -road, swept the ground right and left with -my eye, turning this way and that as boulders -and tangles impeded my steps, or as the -sight of something like violet leaves attracted -me.</p> - -<p>Well, for good or ill, it is a short story. -There were plenty of violets, but all of -the common white sort, and when I emerged -into the road again my hands were empty. -“Small,” “rare,” says the Manual. My -failure was not ignominious,—or I would -keep it to myself,—and I count upon trying -again another season. And one thing I <i>had</i> -found: my peace of mind. Subjectively, as<span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">[137]</span> -we say, my hunt had prospered. Now I -could climb Bald Mountain with good hope -of an hour or two of serene enjoyment at the -summit.</p> - -<p>The climb is short, though the upper half -of it is steep enough to merit the name, and -the “mountain” (it will pardon me the quotation -marks) is no more than a point of -rocks, an outlying spur of Lafayette. Its -attractiveness is due not to its altitude, but -to the exceptional felicity of its situation; -commanding the lake and the Notch, and -the broad Franconia Valley, together with a -splendid panorama of broken country and -mountain forest; and over all, close at hand, -the solemn, bare peak of Lafayette.</p> - -<p>I took my time for the ascent (blessed be -all-day jaunts, say I), minding the mossy -boulders, the fern-beds, and the trees (many -of them old friends of mine—it is more -than twenty years since I began going up -and down here), and especially the violets. -It was surprising, not to say amusing, now -that I had violets in my eye, how ubiquitous -the little <i>blanda</i> had suddenly become. Almost -it might be said that there was nothing<span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">[138]</span> -else in the whole forest. So true it is that -seeing or not seeing is mostly a matter of -prepossession. As for the birds, this was -their hour of after-dinner silence. I recall -only a golden-crowned kinglet <i>zeeing</i> among -the low evergreens about the cone. He was -the first one of my whole vacation trip, and -slipped at once into the eighty-seventh place -in my catalogue, the place I had tried so -hard to induce the brown creeper to take -possession of two hours before. Creeper or -kinglet, it was all one to me, though the kinglet -is the handsomer of the two, and much the -less prosaic in his dietary methods. In fact, -now that the subject suggests itself, the two -birds present a really striking contrast: one -so preternaturally quick and so continually -in motion, the other so comparatively lethargic. -Every one to his trade. Let the -creeper stick to his bark. Quick or slow, -he should still have been Number 88, and -thrice welcome, if he would have given me -half an excuse for counting him. As things -were, he kept out of my reckoning to the -end.</p> - -<p>“This is the best thing I have had yet.”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">[139]</span> -So I said to myself as I turned to look about -me at the summit. It was only half past -two, the day was gloriously fair, the breeze -not too strong, yet ample for creature comforts,—coolness -and freedom,—and the -place all my own. If I had missed Selkirk’s -violet, I had found his solitude. The joists -of the little open summer-house were scrawled -thickly with names and initials, but the scribblers -and carvers had gone with last year’s -birds. I might sing or shout, and there -would be none to hear me. But I did -neither. I was glad to be still and look.</p> - -<p>There lay Echo Lake, shimmering in the -sun. Beyond was the hotel, its windows still -boarded for winter, and on either side of it -rose the mountain walls. The White Cross -still kept something of its shape on Lafayette, -the only snow left in sight, though almost -the whole peak had been white ten -days before. The cross itself must be fast -going. With my glass I could see the water -pouring from it in a flood. And how plainly -I could follow the trail up the rocky cone of -the mountain! Those were good days when -I climbed it, lifting myself step by step up<span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">[140]</span> -that long, steep, boulder-covered slope. I -should love to be there now. I wonder what -flowers are already in bloom. It must be -too early for the diapensia and the Greenland -sandwort, I imagine. Yet I am not -sure. Mountain flowers are quick to answer -when the sun speaks to them. Thousands -of years they have been learning to -make the most of a brief season. Plants of -the same species bloom earlier here than in -level Massachusetts. After all, alpine plants, -hurried and harried as they are, true children -of poverty, have perhaps the best of it. -“Blessed are ye poor” may have been spoken -to them also. Hardy mountaineers, blossoming -in the very face of heaven, with no -earthly admirers except the butterflies. I -remember the splendors of the Lapland azalea -in middle June, with rocks and snow for -neighbors. So it will be this year, for Wisdom -never faileth. I look and look, till -almost I am there on the heights, my feet -standing on a carpet of blooming willows -and birches, and the world, like another carpet, -outspread below.</p> - -<p>But there is much else to delight me.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">[141]</span> -Even here, so far below the crest of Lafayette, -I am above the world. Yonder is one -of my pair of deserted farms. Good hours -I have had in them. Beyond is the Chase -clearing, and still beyond, over another tract -of woods, are the pasture lands along the -road to “Mears’s.” Then comes the line of -the Bethlehem road, marked by a house at -long intervals—and thankful am I for the -length of them. There I see <i>my</i> house; one -of several that I have picked out for purchase, -at one time and another, but have -never come to the point of paying for, still -less of occupying. When my friends and -I have wandered irresponsibly about this -country it has pleased us to be like children, -and play the old game of make-believe. -Some of the farmers would be astonished to -know how many times their houses have been -sold over their heads, and they never the -wiser. Further away, a little to the right, -I see the pretty farms—romantic farms, I -mean, attractive to outsiders—of which I -have so often taken my share of the crop -from Mount Agassiz, at the base of which -they nestle. To the left of all this are the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">[142]</span> -village of Franconia and the group of Sugar -Hill hotels, with the Landaff Valley (how -green it is!) below them in the middle distance. -Nearer still is the Franconia Valley, -with the Tucker Brook alders, and far down -toward Littleton bright reaches of Gale -River.</p> - -<p>All this fills me with exquisite pleasure. -But longer than at anything else I look at -the mountain forest just below me. So soft -and bright this world of treetops all newly -green! I have no thoughts about it; there -is nothing to say; but the feeling it gives -me is like what I imagine of heaven itself. -I can only look and be happy.</p> - -<p>About me are stunted, faded spruces, -with here and there among them a balsam-fir, -wonderfully vivid and fresh in the comparison; -and after a time I discover that -the short upper branches of the spruces -have put forth new cones, soft to the touch -as yet, and of a delicate, purplish color, the -tint varying greatly, whether from difference -of age or for other reasons I cannot -presume to say. In this low wood, somewhere -near by, a blackpoll warbler, not long<span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">[143]</span> -from South America, I suppose, is lisping -softly to himself. A myrtle warbler, less -recently come, and from a less distance, has -taken possession of a dead treetop, hardly -higher than a man’s head, from which he -makes an occasional sally after a passing -insect. Between whiles he sings. Once I -heard a snowbird, as I thought; but it was -only the myrtle warbler when I came to -look. An oven-bird shoots into the air out -of the forest below for a burst of aerial -afternoon music. I heard the preluding -strain, and, glancing up, caught him at -once, the sunlight happening to strike him -perfectly. All the morning he has been -speaking prose; now he is a poet; a division -of the day from which the rest of us might -take a lesson. But for his afternoon rôle -he needs a name. “Oven-bird” goes somewhat -heavily in a lyric:—</p> - -<p class="center">“Hark! hark! the <i>oven-bird</i> at heaven’s gate sings”—</p> - -<p>you would hardly recognize that for Shakespeare.</p> - -<p>As I shift my position, trying one after -another of the seats which the rocks offer<span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">[144]</span> -for my convenience, I notice that the three-toothed -five-finger—a mountain lover, if -there ever was one—is in bud, and the -blueberry in blossom. The myrtle warbler -sings by the hour, a soft, dreamy trill, a -sound of pure contentment; and two red-eyed -vireos, one here, one there, preach with -equal persistency. They have taken the -same text, I think, and it might have been -made for them: “Precept upon precept, -precept upon precept; line upon line, line -upon line; here a little and there a little.” -Right or wrong, the warbler’s lullaby is -more to my taste than the vireos’ exhortation. -A magnolia warbler, out of sight -among the evergreens, is making an afternoon -of it likewise. His song is a mere nothing; -hardly to be called a “line;” but if -all the people who have nothing extraordinary -to say were to hold their peace, what -would ears be good for? The race might -become deaf, as races of fish have gone -blind through living in caverns.</p> - -<p>These are exactly such birds as one might -have expected to find here. And the same -may be said of a Swainson thrush and a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">[145]</span> -pine siskin. A black-billed cuckoo and a -Maryland yellow-throat, on the other hand, -the yellow-throat especially, seem less in -place. What can have brought the latter -to this dry, rocky hilltop is more than I can -imagine. A big black-and-yellow butterfly -(Turnus) goes sailing high overhead, borne -on the wind. For so unsteady a steersman -he is a bold mariner. A second look at -him, and he is out of sight. Common as he -is, he is one of my perennial admirations. -The peak of Lafayette is no more a miracle. -All the flowers up there know him.</p> - -<p>Now it is time to go. I have been here -an hour and a half, and am determined to -have no hurrying on the way homeward, -over the old Notch road. Let the day be -all alike, a day of leisure and of dreams. -A last look about me, a few rods of picking -my steep course downward over the rocks -at the very top, and I am in the woods. -Here, “my distance and horizon gone,” I -please myself with looking at bits of the -world’s beauty; especially at sprays of -young leaves, breaking a twig here and a -twig there to carry in my hand; a spray of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">[146]</span> -budded mountain maple or of yellow birch. -Texture, color, shape, veining and folding—all -is a piece of Nature’s perfect work. -No less beautiful—I stop again and again -before a bed of them—are the dainty -branching beech-ferns. There is no telling -how pretty they are on their slender shining -stems. And all the way I am taking leave -of the road. I may never see it again. -“Good-by, old friend,” I say; and the trees -and the brook seem to answer me, “Good-by.”</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">[147]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">BERRY-TIME FELICITIES</h2> -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="first">“A nice and subtle happiness, I see,</div> -<div class="verse">Thou to thyself proposest.”</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verseright"><span class="smcap">Milton.</span></div> -</div></div></div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Once</span> more I am in old Franconia, and in -a new season. With all my visits to the -New Hampshire mountains, I have never -seen them before in August. I came on the -last day of July,—a sweltering journey. -That night it rained a little, hardly enough -to lay the dust, which is deep in all these -valley roads, and the next morning at breakfast -time the mercury marked fifty-seven -degrees. All day it was cool, and at night -we sat before a fire of logs in the big chimney. -The day was really a wonder of clearness, -as well as of pleasant autumnal temperature; -an exceptional mercy, calling for -exceptional acknowledgment.</p> - -<p>After breakfast I took the Bethlehem -road at the slowest pace. The last time I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">[148]</span> -had traveled it was in May. Then every -tree had its bird, and every bird a voice. -Now it was August—the year no longer -young, and the birds no longer a choir. -And when birds are neither in tune nor -in flocks, it is almost as if they were absent -altogether. It seemed to me, when I had -walked a mile, that I had never seen Franconia -so deserted.</p> - -<p>An alder flycatcher was calling from a -larch swamp; a white-throated sparrow -whistled now and then in the distance; and -from still farther away came the leisurely, -widely spaced measures of a hermit thrush. -When he sings there is no great need of a -chorus; the forest has found a tongue; but -I could have wished him nearer. A solitary -vireo, close at hand, regaled me with a sweet, -low chatter, more musical twice over than -much that goes by the name of singing,—the -solitary being one of the comparatively -few birds that do not know how to be unmusical,—and -a sapsucker, a noisy fellow -gone silent, flew past my head and alighted -against a telegraph pole.</p> - -<p>Wild red cherries (<i>Prunus Pennsylvanica</i>)<span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">[149]</span> -were ripe, or nearly so; very bright -and handsome on their long, slender stems, -as I stood under the tree and looked up. -With the sun above them they became -fairly translucent, the shape of the stone -showing. They were pretty small, I thought, -and would never take a prize at any horticultural -fair; I needed more than one in the -mouth at once when I tested their quality; -but a robin, who had been doing the same -thing, seemed reluctant to finish, and surely -robins are competent judges in matters of -this kind. My own want of appreciation -was probably due to some pampered coarseness -of taste.</p> - -<p>An orchid, with one leaf and a spike of -minute greenish flowers, attracted notice, -not for any showy attributes, but as a plant -I did not know. Adder’s-mouth, it proved -to be; or, to give it all the Grecian Latinity -that belongs to it, <i>Microstylis ophioglossoides</i>. -How astonished it would be to hear -that mouth-confounding name applied to its -modest little self; as much astonished, perhaps, -as we should be, who are not modest, -though we may be greenish, if we heard<span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">[150]</span> -some of the more interesting titles that are -applied to us, all in honest vernacular, behind -our backs. This year’s goldthread -leaves gave me more pleasure than most -blossoms could have done; lustrous, elegantly -shaped, and in threes. Threes are -prettier than fours, I said to myself, as I -looked at some four-leaved specimens of -dwarf cornel growing on the same bank. -The comparison was hardly decisive, it is -true, since the cornus leaves lacked the -goldthread’s shapeliness and brilliancy; but -I believe in the grace of the odd number.</p> - -<p>With trifles like these I was entertaining -the time when a man on a buckboard reined -in his horse and invited me to ride. He -was going down the Gale River road a -piece, he said, and as this was my course -also I thankfully accepted the lift. I would -go farther than I had intended, and would -spend the forenoon in loitering back. My -host had two or three tin pails between his -feet, and I was not surprised when he told -me that he was “going berrying.” What -did surprise me was to find, fifteen minutes -later, when I got on my legs again, that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">[151]</span> -with no such conscious purpose, and with no -tin pail, I had myself come out on the same -errand. “It is not in man that walketh to -direct his steps.”</p> - -<p>The simple truth was that the raspberries -would not take no for an answer. If I -passed one clump of bushes, another waylaid -me. “Raspberries, all ripe,” they said. -It was not quite true: that would have been -a misfortune unspeakable; but the ripe ones -were enough. Softly they dropped into the -fingers—softly in spite of their asperous -name—and sweetly, three or four together -for goodness’ sake, they melted upon the -tongue. They were so many that a man -could have his pick, taking only those of a -deep color (ten minutes of experience would -teach him the precise shade) and a worthy -plumpness, passing a bushel to select a gill.</p> - -<p>No raspberry should be pulled upon ever -so little; it should fall at the touch; and the -teeth should have nothing to do with it, -more than with honey or cream. So I meditated, -and so with all daintiness I practiced, -finishing my banquet again and again as a -fresh cluster beguiled me; for raspberry-eating,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">[152]</span> -like woman’s work, is never done. If -the apple in Eden was as pleasant to the -eyes and half as good to eat, then I have no -reflections to cast upon the mistress of the -garden. In fact, it seems to me not unlikely -that the Edenic apple may have been nothing -more nor less than a Franconian raspberry. -Small wonder, say I, that one taste -of its “sciential sap” “gave elocution to -the mute.”</p> - -<p>So I came up out of the Gale River -woods into the bushy lane—a step or two -and a mouthful of berries—and thence into -the level grassy field by the grove of pines; -a favorite place, with a world of mountains -in sight—Moosilauke, Kinsman, Cannon, -Lafayette, Haystack, the Twins, and the -whole Mount Washington range. A pile -of timbers, the bones of an old barn, offered -me a seat, and there I rested, facing the -mountains, while a company of merry barn -swallows, loquacious as ever, went skimming -over the grass. Moving clouds dappled the -mountain-sides with shadows, the sun was -good, a rare thing in August, and I was -happy.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">[153]</span>This lasted for a matter of half an hour. -Then a sound of wheels caused me to turn -my head. Yes, a pair of gray horses and a -covered carriage, with a white net protruding -behind,—an entomological flag well -known to all Franconia dwellers in summer -time, one of the institutions of the valley. -A hand was waved, and in another minute I -was being carried toward Bethlehem, all my -pedestrian plans forgotten. I was becoming -that disreputable thing, an opportunist. -But what then! As I remarked just now, -“It is not in man that walketh to direct his -steps.” In vacation days the wisest of us -may go with the wind.</p> - -<p>A pile of decaying logs by the roadside -soon tempted the insect collector to order a -halt. She was brought up, as I have heard -her say regretfully, on the stern New England -doctrine that time once past never returns, -and she is still true to her training. -We stripped the bark from log after log, -but uncovered nothing worth while (such -beetles as the unprofessional assistant turned -up being damned without hesitation as -“common”) except two little mouse-colored,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">[154]</span> -red-bellied snakes, each with two or -three spots on the back of its head. One of -these pretty creatures the collector proceeded -to mesmerize by rubbing its crown gently -with a stick. “See! he enjoys it,” she said; -and if thrusting out the tongue is a sign of -enjoyment, no doubt he was in something -like an ecstasy. <i>Storeria occipitomaculata</i>, -the books call him. Short snakes, like small -orchids, are well pieced out with Latinity. -I would not disturb the savor of raspberries -by trying just then to put my tongue round -that specific designation, though it goes trippingly -enough with a little practice, and is -plain enough in its meaning. One did not -need to be a scholar, or to look twice at the -snake, to see that its occiput was maculated.</p> - -<p>At the top of the hill—for we took the -first turn to the left—“creation widened,” -and we had before us a magnificent prospect -westward, with many peaks of the Green -Mountains beyond the valley. Atmosphere -so transparent as to-day’s was not made for -nothing. Insects and even raspberries were -for the moment out of mind. There was -glory everywhere. We looked at it, but<span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">[155]</span> -when we talked it was mostly of trifles: the -bindweed, the goldenrod, a passing butterfly, -a sparrow. Those who are really happy are -often pleased to speak of matters indifferent. -Sometimes I think it is those who only <i>wish</i> -to be happy who deal in superlatives and -exclamations.</p> - -<p>One thing I was especially glad to see: -the big pastures on the Wallace Hill road -full of hardhack bloom. Many times, in -September and October, I had stopped to -gaze upon those acres on acres of brown -spires; now I beheld them pink. It was -really a sight, a sea of color. If cattle -would eat <i>Spiræa tomentosa</i>, the fields -would be as good as gold mines. So I -thought. I thought, too, what an ocean of -“herb tea” might be concocted from those -millions and millions of leafy stalks. The -idea was too much for me; imagination was -near to being drowned in a sea of its own -creating; and I was relieved when we left -the rosy wilderness behind us, and came to -the famous clump of pear-leaved willow (<i>Salix -balsamifera</i>) near the edge of the wood. -This I must get over the fence and put my<span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">[156]</span> -hand on, just for old times’ sake. A man -may take it as one of the less uncomfortable -indications of increasing age when he loves -to do things simply because he used to do -them, or has done them in remembered company. -In that respect I humor myself. If -there is anything good in the multiplying of -years, by all means let me have it. And so -I wore the willow.</p> - -<p>On the way down the steep hill through -the forest my friends pointed out a maple -tree which a pileated woodpecker had riddled -at a tremendous rate. The trunk contained -the pupæ of wasps (they were not -strictly wasps, the entomologist was careful -to explain, but were always called so by -“common people”), and no doubt it was -these that the woodpecker had been after. -He had gone clean to the heart of the trunk, -now on this side, now on that. Chips by the -shovelful covered the ground. The big, red-crested -fellow must love wasp pupæ almost -as well as some people love raspberries. -Green leaves, a scanty covering, were still -on the tree, but its days were numbered. -Who could have foreseen that the stings of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">[157]</span> -insects would bring such destruction? Misfortunes -never come singly. After the wasps -the woodpecker. “Which things are an -allegory.”</p> - -<hr class="tb"> - -<p>One of my pleasures of the milder sort -was to sit on the piazza before breakfast -(the lateness of the White Mountain breakfast -hour being one of a walking man’s <i>dis</i>pleasures) -and watch the two morning processions: -one of tall milk-cans to and from -the creamery,—an institution which any -country-born New Englander may be glad -to think of, for the comfort it has brought -to New England farmers’ wives; the other -of boys, each with a tin pail, on their way -to serve as caddies at the new Profile House -golf links. This latter procession I had -never seen till the present year. Half the -boys of the village, from seven or eight to -fifteen or sixteen years old, seemed to have -joined it; some on bicycles, some in buggies, -some on foot, none on horseback—a striking -omission in the eyes of any one who has -ever lived or visited at the South.</p> - -<p>Franconia boys, I have noticed, have a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">[158]</span> -cheerful, businesslike, independent way with -them, neither bashful nor overbold, and it -was gratifying to see them so quick to improve -a new and not unamusing method of -turning a penny. Work that has to do with -a game is no more than half work, though -the game be played by somebody else; and -some of the boys, it was to be remarked, -carried golf sticks of their own. Trust a -Yankee lad to combine business and pleasure. -One such I heard of, who was already -planning how to invest his prospective capital.</p> - -<p>“Mamma,” he said, “can’t I spend part -of my money for a fishing-rod?”</p> - -<p>“But, my dear,” said his mother, “you -know it was agreed that the first of it should -go for clothes.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, mamma, but a boy can get along -without clothes; and I’ve never had any -fishing-rod but a peeled stick.”</p> - -<p>It sounds like a fairy tale, but it is strictly -true, that a famous angler, just then disabled -from practicing his art, overheard—or was -told of, I am not certain which—this heart-warming -confession of faith, and at once<span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">[159]</span> -said, “My boy, I will give you a fishing-rod.” -And so he did, and a silk line with it. A -boy who could get on without clothes, but -must have the wherewithal to go a-fishing, -was a boy with a sense of values, a philosopher -in the bud, and merited encouragement.</p> - -<p>While I watched these industrial processions -(“Gidap, Charlie! Gidap!” says a -cheery voice down the road), I listened to -the few singers whose morning music could -still be counted upon: one or two song -sparrows, a field sparrow, an indigo-bird (as -true a lover of August as of feathery larch -tops), a red-eyed vireo, and a distant hermit -thrush. Almost always a score or two of -social barn swallows were near by, dotting -the telegraph wires, or, if the morning was -cold, dropping in bunches of twos and threes -into the thick foliage of young elms. In the -trees, on the wires, or in the air, they were -sure to keep up a comfortable-sounding chorus -of squeaky twitters. The barn swallow -is born a gossip; or perhaps we should say -a talking sage—a Socrates, if you will, or -a Samuel Johnson. Now and then—too<span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">[160]</span> -rarely—a vesper sparrow sang a single -strain, or a far-away white-throat gave voice -across the meadow; and once a passing humming-bird, -a good singer with his wings, -stopped to probe the monk’s-hood blossoms -in the garden patch. The best that can -be said of the matter is that for birds the -season was neither one thing nor another. -Lovers of field ornithology should come to -the mountains earlier or later, leaving August -to the crowd of common tourists, who -love nature, of course (who doesn’t in these -days?), but only in the general; who believe -with Walt Whitman—since it is not necessary -to read a poet in order to share his -opinions—that “you must not know too -much or be too precise or scientific about -birds and trees and flowers and water-craft; -a certain free margin, and even vagueness—even -ignorance, credulity—helping your -enjoyment of these things.”</p> - -<p>Such a credulous enjoyer of beauty I -knew of, a few years ago, a summer dweller -at a mountain hotel closely shut in by the -forest on all sides, with no grass near it except -a scanty plot of shaven lawn. Well,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">[161]</span> -this good lady, an honest appreciator of -things wild, after the Whitman manner, being -in the company of a man known to be -interested in matters ornithological, broke -out upon him,—</p> - -<p>“Oh, Mr. ——, I do so enjoy the birds! I -sit at my window and listen to the meadow -larks by the hour.”</p> - -<p>The gentleman was not adroit (I am not -speaking of myself, let me say). Perhaps -he was more ornithologist than man of the -world. Such a thing may happen. At any -rate he failed to command himself.</p> - -<p>“Meadow larks!” he answered, knowing -there was no bird of that kind within ten -miles of the spot in question.</p> - -<p>“Well,” said his fair interlocutor, “they -are either meadow larks or song sparrows.”</p> - -<p>Such nature lovers, I say, may properly -enough come to the mountains in August. -As for bird students, who, not being poets, -are in no danger of knowing “too much,” if -they can come but once a year, let them by -all means choose a birdier season.</p> - -<p>For myself, though my present mood was -rather Whitmanian than scientific, I did devote<span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">[162]</span> -one forenoon to what might be called -an ornithological errand: I went up to the -worn-out fields at the end of the Coal Hill -road, to see whether by any chance a pair -of horned larks might be summering there, -as I had heard of a pair’s doing eight or ten -years ago. Even this jaunt, however, ran -into—I will not say degenerated into—something -like a berry-picking excursion. -Raspberries and blueberries so thick as to -color the roadside, mile after mile, are a delightful -temptation to a natural man whose -home is in a closely settled district where -every edible berry that turns red (actual -ripeness being out of the question) finds a -small boy beside the bush ready to pick it. -I succumbed at once. In fact, I succumbed -too soon. The road was long, and the berries -grew fatter and riper, or so I thought, -as I proceeded. It was a real tragedy. -Does anything in my reader’s experience -tell him what I mean? If so, I am sure of -his sympathy. If not,—well, in that case -he has my sympathy. Perhaps he has once -in his life seen a small boy who, at table, -not suspecting what was in store for him,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">[163]</span> -ate so much of an ordinary dinner that out -of sheer physical necessity he was compelled -to forego his favorite dessert. Alas, and -alas! A wasted appetite is like wasted time, -a loss irreparable. You may have another, -no doubt, on another day, but never the one -you sated upon inferior fruit.</p> - -<p>Why should berries be so many, and a -man’s digestive capacity so near to nothing? -The very bushes reproached me; like a jealous -housewife who finds her choicest dainties -discarded on the plate. “We have piped -unto you and ye have not danced,” they -seemed to mutter. I grew shame-faced and -looked the other way: at the splendid rosettes -of red bunchberries; at a bush full of -red (another red) mountain-holly berries, -red with a most exquisite purplish bloom, the -handsomest berries in the world, I am ready -to believe. Or I stopped to consider a cluster -of varnished baneberries, or a few modest, -drooping, leaf-hidden jewels of the -twisted stalk. In truth, and in short, it was -berry-time in Franconia. What a strait a -man would have been in if all kinds had -been humanly edible!</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">[164]</span>With all the rest there was no passing the -strangely blue bear-plums, as Northern people -call the fruit of clintonia. A strange -blue, I say. Left to myself I should never -have found a word for it; but by good luck -I raised the question with a man who, as I -now suppose, is probably the only person in -the world who could have told me what I -needed to know. He is an authority upon -pottery and porcelain, and he answered on -the instant, though I cannot hope to quote -him exactly, that the color was that of the -Ming dynasty. Every Chinese dynasty, I -think he said, has a color of its own for its -pottery. When the founder of the Ming -dynasty was asked of what shade he would -have the royal dinner set, he replied: “Let -it be that of the sky after rain.” And so -it was the color of Franconia bear-plums. -Which strikes me as a circumstance very -much to the Ming dynasty’s credit.</p> - -<p>In a lonely stretch of the road, with a cattle -pasture on one side and a wood on the -other, where tall grass in full flower stood -between the horse track and the wheel rut -(this was a good berrying place, also, had I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">[165]</span> -been equal to my opportunity), I stood still -to enjoy the music of a hermit thrush, which -happened to be at just the right distance. -A holy voice it was, singing a psalm, measure -responding to measure out of the same -golden throat. I tried to fit words to it. -“Oh,” it began, but for the remainder of -the strophe there were no syllables in our -heavy, consonant-weighted English tongue. -It might be Spanish, I thought—musical -vowels with <i>l</i>’s and <i>d</i>’s holding them together. -I remembered the reputed saying of Charles -V., that Spanish is the language of the gods, -and was ready to add, “and of hermit -thrushes.” But perhaps this was only a -fancy. One thing was certain: the bird sang -in Spanish or in something better. If a man -could eat raspberries as long as he can listen -to sweet sounds!</p> - -<p>Before the last house there was a brilliant -show of poppies, and beyond, at the limit of -the clearing, an enormous beanfield. Poppies -and beans! Poetry and prose! Something -to look at and something to eat. Such -is the texture of human life. For my part, -I call it a felicitous combination. Here, only<span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">[166]</span> -a little while ago, the man of the house—and -of the beanfield—had come face to face -with a most handsome, long-antlered deer, -which stamped at him till the two, man and -deer, were at close quarters, and then made -off into the woods. Somewhere here, also, -the entomological collector had within a week -or two found a beetle of a kind that had -never been “taken” before except in Arizona! -But though I beat the grass over -from end to end, there was no sign of horned -larks. Ornithology was out of date, as was -more and more apparent.</p> - -<p>My homeward walk, with the cold wind -cutting my face, took on the complexion of -a retreat. I could hardly walk fast enough, -though here and there a clump of virginal -raspberry vines still detained me briefly. It -is amazing how frigid August can be when -the mood takes it. A farmer was mowing -with his winter coat buttoned to the chin. I -looked at him with envy. For my own part -I should have been glad of an overcoat; and -that afternoon, when I went out to drive, I -wore one, and a borrowed ulster over it. -Such feats are pleasant to think of a few<span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">[167]</span> -days afterward, when the weather has changed -its mind again, and the mercury is once more -reaching for the century mark.</p> - -<hr class="tb"> - -<p>In the course of my five days I walked -twice over the road newly cut through the -mountain forest from the foot of Echo Lake -to the golf grounds: first upward, in an afternoon, -returning to Franconia by the old -highway; then downward, in a forenoon, -after reaching the lake by way of the Butter -Hill road and the sleepers, that is to say, the -railroad. Forenoon and afternoon the impression -was the same,—silence, as if the -birds’ year were over, though everything was -still green and the season not so late but that -tardy wood-sorrel blossoms still showed, here -and there one, among the clover-like leaves; -old favorites, that I had not seen for perhaps -a dozen years.</p> - -<p>On the railroad—a place which I have -always found literally alive with song and -wings, not only in May and June, but in -September and October—I walked for forty-five -minutes, by the watch, without hearing -so much as a bird’s note. Almost the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">[168]</span> -only living creature that I saw (three berry-pickers -and a dog excepted) was a red squirrel -which sat on end at the top of a tall -stump, with his tail over his back, and ate -a raspberry, as if to show me how. “You -think you are an epicure,” he said; “and -you stuff yourself so full in half an hour that -you have to fast for half a day afterward. -What sort of epicurean philosophy is that? -Look at me.” And I looked. He held the -berry—which must have been something -less than ripe—between his fore paws, just -as he would have held a nut, and after looking -at me to make sure I was paying attention -twirled it round and round against his -teeth till it grew smaller and smaller before -my eyes, and then was gone. “There!” -said the saucy chap, as he held up his empty -fingers. The operation had consumed a full -minute, at the very least. At that rate, no -doubt, a man could swallow raspberries from -morning till night. But what good would it -do him? He might as well be swallowing -the wind. No human mouth could tell raspberry -juice from warm water, in doses so infinitesimal.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">[169]</span>The sight, nevertheless, gave me a new -conception of the pitch of delicacy to which -the sense of taste might be cultivated. It -was evident that our human faculty, comfortably -as we get on with it in the main, is -only a coarse and bungling tool, never more -than half made, perhaps, or quite as likely -blunted and spoiled by millenniums of abuse. -I could really have envied the chickadee, if -such a feeling had not seemed unworthy of a -man’s dignity. Besides, a palate so supersusceptible -might prove an awkward possession, -it occurred to me on second thought, for one -who must live as one of the “civilized,” and -take his chances with cooks. All things considered, -I was better off, perhaps, with the -old equipment and the old method,—a duller -taste and larger mouthfuls.</p> - -<p>At the end of the forty-five minutes I came -to the burning, a tract of forest over which a -fire had run some two years before. Here, -in this dead place, there was more of life; -more sunshine, and therefore more insects, -and therefore more birds. Even here, however, -there was nothing to be called birdiness: -a few olive-sided flycatchers and wood<span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">[170]</span> -pewees, both with musical whistles, one like -a challenge, the other an elegy; a family -group of chestnut-sided warblers, parents -and young, conversing softly among themselves -about the events of the day, mostly -gastronomic; a robin and a white-throated -sparrow in song; three or four chickadees, -lisping and <i>deeing</i>; a siskin or two, a song -sparrow, and a red-eyed vireo. The whole -tract was purple with willow herb—which -follows fire as surely as boys follow a fire engine—and -white with pearly immortelles.</p> - -<p>Once out of this open space—this forest -cemetery, one might say, though the dead -were not buried, but stood upright like -bleached skeletons, with arms outstretched—I -was again immersed in leafy silence, -which lasted till I approached the lake. -Here I heard before me the tweeting of sandpipers, -and presently came in sight of two -solitaries (migrants already, though it was -only the 4th of August), each bobbing nervously -upon its boulder a little off shore. -The eye of the ornithologist took them in: -dark green legs; dark, slender bills; bobbing, -not teetering—<i>Totanus</i>, not <i>Actitis</i>.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">[171]</span> -Then the eyes of the man turned to rest upon -that enchanting prospect: Eagle Cliff in -shadow, Profile Mountain in full sun, and -the lake between them. The spirit of all the -hours I had ever spent here was communing -with me. I blessed the place and bade -it good-by. “I will come again if I can,” I -said, “and many times; but if not, good-by.” -I believe I am like the birds; no matter how -far south they may wander, when the winter -is gone they say one to another, “Let us go -back to the north country, to the place where -we were so happy a year ago.”</p> - -<p>The last day of my visit, the only warm -one, fell on Sunday; and on Sunday, by all -our Franconia traditions, I must make the -round of Landaff Valley. I had been into -the valley once, to be sure, but that did not -matter; it was not on Sunday, and besides, -I did not really go “round the square,” as -we are accustomed to say, with a fine disregard -of mathematical precision.</p> - -<p>After all, there is little to tell of, though -there was plenty to see and enjoy. The first -thing was to get out of the village; away -from the churches and the academy, and beyond<span class="pagenum" id="Page_172">[172]</span> -the last house (the last village house, -I mean), into the company of the river, the -long green meadow and the larch swamp,—a -goodly fellowship. A swamp sparrow -trilled me a welcome at the very entrance to -the valley, as he had done before, and musical -goldfinches accompanied me for the whole -round, till I thought the day should be -named in their honor, Goldfinch Sunday.</p> - -<p>Pretty Atlantis butterflies were always in -sight, as they had been even in the coolest -weather, with now and then an Atalanta and, -more rarely, a Cybele. I had looked for -Aphrodite, also, being desirous to see these -three fritillaries (Cybele, Aphrodite, and Atlantis) -together, till the entomologist told -me that we were out of its latitude. Commoner -even than Atlantis, perhaps, was the -dusky wood-nymph, Alope (strange notions -the old Greeks must have had of the volatility -of their goddesses and heroines, to -name so many of them after butterflies!), -she of the big yellow blotch on each fore -wing; a wavering, timid creature, always -seeking to hide herself, and never holding a -steady course for so much as an inch—as if<span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">[173]</span> -she were afflicted with the shaking palsy. -“Don’t look at me! Pray don’t look at me!” -she is forever saying as she dodges behind a -leaf. Shyness is a grace—in the feminine; -but Alope is <i>too</i> shy. If her complexion -were fairer, possibly she would be less retiring.</p> - -<p>From the first the warmth of the sun was -sufficient to render shady halts a luxury, and -on the crossroad—“Gray Birch Road,” to -quote my own name for it—where a walker -was somewhat shut away from the wind, I -began to spell “warm” with fewer letters. -Here, too, the dust was excessively deep, so -that passing carriages—few, but too many—put -a foot-passenger under a cloud. Still -I was glad to be there, turning the old corners, -seeing the old beauty, thinking the old -thoughts. How green Tucker Brook meadow -looked, and how grandly Lafayette -loomed into the sky just beyond!</p> - -<p>Most peculiar is the feeling I have for -that sharp crest; I know not how to express -it; a feeling of something like spiritual possession. -If I do not love it, at least I love -the sight of it. Nay, I will say what I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">[174]</span> -mean: I love the mountain itself. I take -pleasure in its stones, and favor the dust -thereof. The loftiest snow-covered peak in -the world would never carry my thoughts -higher, or detain them longer. It was good -to see it once more from this point of special -vantage. And when I reached the corner of -the Notch road and started homeward, how -refreshing was the breeze that met me! -Coolness after heat, ease after pain, these are -near the acme of physical comfort.</p> - -<p>Best of all was a half-hour’s rest under a -pine tree, facing a stretch of green meadow, -with low hills beyond it westward; a perfect -picture, perfectly “composed.” In the foreground, -just across the way, stood a thicket -of chokecherry shrubs shining with fruit, -and over them, on one side, trailed a clematis -vine full of creamy white blossoms. -Both cherry and clematis were common -everywhere, often in each other’s company, -but I had seen none quite so gracefully -disposed. No gardener’s art could have -managed the combination so well.</p> - -<p>Here I sat and dreamed. I was near -home, with time to spare; the wind was perfection,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">[175]</span> -and the day also; I had walked far -enough to make a seat welcome, yet not so -far as to bring on sluggish fatigue; and -everything in sight was pure beauty. Life -will be sweet as long as it has such half hours -to offer us. Yet somehow, human -nature having a perverse trick of letting -good suggest its opposite, I found myself, -all at once,</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="first">“In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts</div> -<div class="verse">Bring sad thoughts to the mind.”</div> -</div></div> - -<p>I looked at the garden patch and the -mowed field, and thought what a strange -world it is—ill-made, half-made, or unmade—in -which man has to live, or, in our pregnant -every-day phrase, to get his living; a -world that goes whirling on its axis and revolving -round its heat-and-light-giving body,—like -a top which a boy has set spinning,—now -roasted and parched, now drenched -and sodden, now frozen dead; a world -wherein, as our good American stoic complained, -a man must burn a candle half the -time in order to see to live; a world to which -its inhabitants are so poorly adapted that -a day of comfortable temperature is matter<span class="pagenum" id="Page_176">[176]</span> -for surprise and thankfulness; a world -which cannot turn round but that men die -of heat and by freezing, of thirst and by -drowning; a world where all things, appetite -and passion, as well as heat and cold, -run continually to murderous extremes. A -strange world, surely, which men have -agreed to justify and condemn in the same -breath as the work of supreme wisdom, -ruined by original sin. Children will have -an explanation. The philosopher says: “My -son, we must know how to be ignorant.”</p> - -<p>So my thoughts ran away with me till the -clematis vine and the cherry bushes brought -me back to myself. The present hour was -good; the birds and the plants were happy; -and so was I, though for the moment I had -almost forgotten it. The mountain had its -old inscrutable, beckoning, admonishing, benignant -look. The wise make no complaint. -If the world is not the best we could imagine, -it is the best we have; and such as it is, it is -a pretty comfortable place in vacation time -and fair weather. Let me not be among -the fools who waste a bright to-day in forecasting -dull to-morrows.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">[177]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">RED LEAF DAYS</h2> -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Woods over woods in gay theatric pride.”</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verseright"><span class="smcap">Goldsmith.</span></div> -</div></div></div> - -<p><span class="smcap">White Mountain</span> woods are generally -at their brightest in the last few days of -September. This year I had but a week or -so to stay among them, and timed my visit -accordingly, arriving on the 22d. As I -drove over the hills from Littleton to Franconia -there were only scattered bits of high -color in sight—a single tree here and there, -which for some reason had hung out its autumnal -flag in advance of its fellows. It -seemed almost impossible that all the world -would be aglow within a week; but I had -no real misgivings. Seed time and harvest -would not fail. The leaves would ripen in -their time. And so the event proved. Day -by day the change went visibly forward -(visibly yet invisibly, as the hands go round<span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">[178]</span> -the face of a clock), till by the 30th the -colors were as brilliant as one could wish, -though with less than the usual proportion -of yellow.</p> - -<p>The white birches, which should have -supplied that hue, were practically leafless. -A small caterpillar (the larva of a tiny -moth, one of the <i>Microlepidoptera</i>) had -eaten the greenness from every white-birch -leaf in the whole country round about. One -side of Mount Cleveland, for example, -looked from a distance as if a fire had swept -over it. It was a real devastation; yet, to -my surprise, as the maple groves turned red -the total effect was little, if at all, less beautiful -than in ordinary seasons. The leafless -purplish patches gave a certain indefinable -openness to the woods, and the eye felt the -duller spaces as almost a relief. I could -never have believed that destruction so -widespread and lamentable could work so -little damage to the appearance of the landscape. -As the old Hebrew said, everything -is beautiful in its time.</p> - -<p>We were four at table, and in front of -the evening fireplace, but in footing it we<span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">[179]</span> -were only two. Sometimes we walked side -by side; sometimes we were rods apart. -When we felt like it we talked; then we -went on a piece in silence, as Christians -should. Let me never have a traveling -companion who cannot now and then keep -himself company. The ideal man for such -a rôle is one who is wiser than yourself, yet -not too wise, lest there be lack of reciprocity, -and you find yourself no better than a -boy rusticating with a tutor. He should be -even-tempered, also, well furnished with -philosophy, loving fair weather and good -living, but taking things as they come; and -withal, while not unwilling to intimate his -own preference as to the day’s route and -other matters, he should be always ready to -defer with all cheerfulness to his partner’s -wish. “The ideal man,” I say; but I am -thinking of a real one.</p> - -<p>We have become well known in the valley, -after many years; so that, although we are -almost the only walkers there, our ambulatory -eccentricity has mostly ceased to provoke -comment. At all events, the people -no longer look upon us as men broken out<span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">[180]</span> -of Bedlam. Time, we may say, has established -our innocence. If a recent comer -expresses concern as we go past, some older -resident reassures him. “They are harmless,” -he says. “There used to be three of -them. They pull weeds, as you see; the -older one has his hands full of them now. -Yes, they are branches of thorn-bushes. -They always carry opera-glasses, too. We -used to think they were looking for land to -buy. Old ——, up on the hill in Lisbon, -tried to sell them his farm at a fancy figure, -but they didn’t bite. I reckon they know -a thing or two, for all their queer ways. -One of ’em knows how to write, anyhow; -he is always taking out pencil and paper. -There! you see how he does. He sets down -a word or two, and away he goes again.”</p> - -<p>It is all true. We looked at plants, and -sometimes gathered them. The botanist -had thorn-bushes on his mind, the genus -<i>Cratægus</i> being a hard one, and, as I -judged, newly under revision. I professed -no knowledge upon so recondite a subject, -but was proud to serve the cause of science -by pointing out a bush here and there. One<span class="pagenum" id="Page_181">[181]</span> -hot afternoon, too, after a pretty long forenoon -jaunt, I nearly walked my legs off, as -the strong old saying is, following my leader -far up the Landaff Valley (“down Easton -way”) to visit a bush of which some one -had brought him word. It was an excellent -specimen, the best we had yet seen; but it -was nothing new, and by no means so handsome -or so interesting as one found afterward -by accident on our way to Bethlehem. -That was indeed a beauty, and its abundant -fruit a miracle of color.</p> - -<p>Once I detected an aster which the botanist -had passed by and yet, upon a second -look, thought worth taking home; it was -probably <i>Lindleyanus</i>, he said, and the -event proved it; and at another time my -eye caught by the wayside a bunch of -chokecherry shrubs hung with yellow clusters. -We were in a carriage at the time, -four old Franconians, and not one of us had -ever seen such a thing here before. Three -of us had never seen such a thing anywhere; -for my own part, I was in a state of something -like excitement; but the <i>Cratægus</i> -collector, who knows American trees if anybody<span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">[182]</span> -does, said: “Yes, the yellow variety is -growing in the Arnold Arboretum, and is -mentioned in the latest edition of Gray’s -Manual.” Bushes have been found at Dedham, -Massachusetts, it appears. The maker -of the Manual seems not to have been aware -of their having been noticed anywhere else; -but since my return home I have been informed -that they are not uncommon in the -neighborhood of Montreal, where yellow -chokecherries are “found with the ordinary -form in the markets”!</p> - -<p>That last statement is bewildering. Is -there anything that somebody, somewhere, -does not find edible? I have heard of eaters -of arsenic and of slate pencils; but -chokecherries for sale in a market! If the -reader’s mouth does not pucker at the words -he must be wanting in imagination.</p> - -<p>In Franconia even the birds seemed to -refuse such a tongue-tying diet. The shrubs -loaded with fruit, some of it red (wine -color), some of it black,—the latter color -predominating, I think,—stood along the -roadside mile upon mile. Sooner or later, -I dare say, the birds must have recourse to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">[183]</span> -them; how else do the bushes get planted so -universally? But at the time of our visit -there was a sufficiency of better fare. Rum -cherries were still plentiful, and birds, like -boys in an apple orchard, and like sensible -people anywhere, take the best first.</p> - -<p>It surprised me, while I was here some -years ago, to discover how fond woodpeckers -of all kinds are of rum cherries. Even the -pileated could not keep away from the trees, -but came close about the house to frequent -them. One unfortunate fellow, I regret to -say, came once too often. The sapsuckers, -it was noticed, went about the business after -a method of their own. Each cherry was -carried to the trunk of a tree or to a telegraph -pole, where it was wedged into a -crevice, and eaten with all the regular woodpeckerish -attitudes and motions. Doubtless -it tasted better so. And the bird might -well enough have said that he was behaving -no differently from human beings, who for -the most part do not swallow fruit under -the branches, but take it indoors and feast -upon it at leisure, and with something like -ceremony. The trunk of a tree is a woodpecker’s -table.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">[184]</span>And for all that, Franconia woodpeckers -are not so conservative as not to be able -to take up with substantial improvements. -They know a good thing when they see it. -These same sapsuckers, or one of them, was -not slow to discover that one of our crew, -an entomological collector, had set up here -and there pieces of board besmeared with a -mixture of rum and sugar. And having -made the discovery, he was not backward -about improving it. He went the round of -the boards with as much regularity as the -moth collector himself, and with even greater -frequency. And no wonder. Here was a -feast indeed; victuals and drink together; -insects preserved in rum. Happy bird! As -the most famous of sentimental travelers -said on a very different occasion, “How I -envied him his feelings!” For there seems -to be no doubt that sapsuckers love a liquid -sweetness, and take means of their own to -secure it.</p> - -<p>On our present trip my walking mate and -I stopped to examine a hemlock trunk, the -bark of which a woodpecker of some kind, -almost certainly a sapsucker, had riddled<span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">[185]</span> -with holes till it looked like a nutmeg -grater; and the most noticeable thing about -it was that the punctures—past counting—were -all on the south side of the tree, -where the sap may be presumed to run earliest -and most freely. Why this particular -tree was chosen and the others left is a different -question, to which I attempt no answer, -though I have little doubt that the -maker of the holes could have given one. -To vary a half-true Bible text, “All the -labor of a woodpecker is for his mouth;” -and labor so prolonged as that which had -been expended upon this hemlock was very -unlikely to have been laid out without a -reason. Every judge of rum cherries knows -that some trees bear incomparably better -fruit than others growing close beside them; -and why should a woodpecker, a specialist -of specialists, be less intelligent touching -hemlock trees and the varying quality of -their juices? A creature who is beholden to -nobody from the time he is three weeks old -is not to be looked down upon by beings -who live, half of them, in danger of starvation -or the poorhouse.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_186">[186]</span>The end of summer is the top of the -year with the birds. Their numbers are -then at the full. After that, for six months -and more, the tide ebbs. Winter and the -long migratory journeys waste them like the -plagues of Egypt. Not more than half of -all that start southward ever live to come -back again.</p> - -<p>Of this every bird-lover takes sorrowful -account. It is part of his autumnal feeling. -If he sees a flock of bobolinks or of red-winged -blackbirds, he thinks of the Southern -rice fields, where myriads of both species—“rice-birds,” -one as much as the other—will -be shot without mercy. A sky full of -swallows calls up a picture of thousands -lying dead at once, in Florida or elsewhere, -after a winter storm. A September humming-bird -leaves him wondering over its -approaching flight to Central America or to -Cuba. Will the tiny thing ever accomplish -that amazing passage and find its way home -again to New England? Perhaps it will; -but more likely not.</p> - -<p>For the present, nevertheless, the birds -are all in high spirits, warbling, twittering,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_187">[187]</span> -feeding, chasing each other playfully about, -as if life were nothing but holiday. Little -they know of the future. And almost as -little know we. Blessed ignorance! It -gives us all, birds and men alike, many a -good hour. If my playmate of long ago had -foreseen that he was to die at twenty, he -would never have been the happy boy that I -remember. Those few bright years he had, -though he had no more. So much was saved -from the wreck.</p> - -<p>Thoughts of this kind come to me as I recall -an exhilarating half-hour of our recent -stay in Franconia. It was on the first morning, -immediately after breakfast. We were -barely out of the hotel yard before we turned -into a bit of larch and alder swamp by the -shore of Gale River. We could do nothing -else. The air was full of chirps and twitters, -while the swaying, feathery tops of the -larches were alive with flocks of whispering -waxwings, the greater part of them birds -of the present year, still wearing the stripes -which in the case of so many species are -marks of juvenility. If individual animals -still pass through a development answering<span class="pagenum" id="Page_188">[188]</span> -to that which the race as a whole has undergone—if -young animals, in other words, resemble -their remote ancestors—then the -evolution of birds’ plumage must have gone -pretty steadily in the direction of plainness. -Robins, we must believe, once had spotted -breasts, as most of their more immediate relatives -have to this day, and chipping sparrows -and white-throats were streaked like -our present song sparrows and baywings. -If the world lasts long enough (who knows?) -all birds may become monochromatic. Wing-bars -and all such convenient marks of distinction -will have vanished. Then, surely, -amateurish ornithologists will have their -hands full to name all the birds without a -gun. Then if, by any miraculous chance, a -copy of some nineteenth century manual of -ornithology shall be discovered, and some -great linguist shall succeed in translating it, -what a book of riddles it will prove! Savants -will form theories without number concerning -it, settling down, perhaps, after a -thousand years of controversy, upon the belief -that the author of the ancient work was -a man afflicted with color blindness. If not,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_189">[189]</span> -how came he to describe the scarlet tanager -as having black wings and tail, and the -brown thrasher a streaked breast?</p> - -<p>These are afterthoughts. At the moment -we were busy, eyes and ears, taking a census -of the swamp. Besides the waxwings, which -were much the most numerous, as well as the -most in sight—“tree-toppers,” one of my -word-making friends calls them—there were -robins, song sparrows, white-throats, field -sparrows, goldfinches, myrtle warblers, a -Maryland yellow-throat, a black-throated -green, a Nashville warbler, a Philadelphia -vireo, two or three solitary vireos, one or -more catbirds, as many olive-backed thrushes, -a white-breasted nuthatch, and a sapsucker. -Others, in all likelihood, escaped us.</p> - -<p>In and out among the bushes we made -our way, one calling to the other softly at -each new development.</p> - -<p>“What was that?” said I. “Wasn’t -that a bobolink?”</p> - -<p>“It sounded like it,” answered the other -listener.</p> - -<p>“But it can’t be. Hark!”</p> - -<p>The quick, musical drop of sound—a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_190">[190]</span> -“stillicidious” note, my friend called it—was -heard again. No; it was not from the -sky, as we had thought at first, but from a -thicket of alders just behind us. Then we -recognized it, and laughed at ourselves. It -was the staccato whistle of an olive-backed -thrush, a sweet familiarity, over which I -should have supposed it impossible for either -of us to be puzzled.</p> - -<p>The star of the flock, as some readers will -not need to be told, having marked the unexpected -name in the foregoing list, was the -Philadelphia vireo. What a bright minute -it is in a man’s vacation when such a stranger -suddenly hops upon a branch before his eyes! -He feels almost like quoting Keats. “Then -felt I,” he might say, not with full seriousness, -perhaps,—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="first">“Then felt I like some watcher of the skies</div> -<div class="verse">When a new planet swims into his ken.”</div> -</div></div> - -<p>Yet how unconcerned the bird seems! To -him it is all one. He knows nothing of -his spectator’s emotions. Rarity? What is -that? He has been among birds of his own -kind ever since he came out of the egg. -Sedately he moves from twig to twig, thinking<span class="pagenum" id="Page_191">[191]</span> -only of another insect. This minute is -to him no better than any other. And the -man’s nerves are tingling with excitement.</p> - -<p>“You will hardly believe me,” said my -companion, who had hastened forward to -look at the stranger, “but this is the second -one I have ever seen.”</p> - -<p>But why should I not believe him? It -was only my third one. Philadelphia vireos -do not feed in every bush. Be it added, -however, that I saw another before the week -was out.</p> - -<p>There were many more birds here now -than I had found six or seven weeks before; -but there was much less music. In early -August hermit thrushes sang in sundry -places and at all hours; now a faint <i>chuck</i> -was the most that we heard from them, and -that but once. And still our September vacation -was far from being a silent one. -Song sparrows, vesper sparrows, white-throats, -goldfinches, robins, solitary vireos, -chickadees (whose whistle is among the -sweetest of wild music, I being judge), -phœbes, and a catbird, all these sang more -or less frequently, and more or less well,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_192">[192]</span> -though all except the goldfinches and the -chickadees were noticeably out of voice. -Once a grouse drummed, and once a flicker -called <i>hi, hi</i>, just as in springtime; and -every warm day set the hylas peeping. -Once, too, a ruby-crowned kinglet sang for -us with all freedom, and once a gold-crest. -The latter’s song is a very indifferent performance, -hardly to be called musical in any -proper sense of the word; nothing but his -ordinary <i>zee-zee-zee</i>, with a hurried, jumbled, -ineffective coda; yet it suggests, and indeed -is much like, a certain few notes of the ruby-crown’s -universally admired tune. The two -songs are evidently of a common origin, -though the ruby-crown’s is so immeasurably -superior that one of my friends seemed almost -offended with me, not long ago, when -I asked him to notice the resemblance between -the two. None the less, the resemblance -is real. The homeliest man may -bear a family likeness to his handsome -brother, though it may show itself only at -times, and chance acquaintances may easily -be unaware of its existence.</p> - -<p>The breeziest voice of the week was a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_193">[193]</span> -pileated woodpecker’s—a flicker’s resonant -<i>hi, hi</i>, in a fuller and clearer tone; and one -of the most welcome voices was that of an -olive-backed thrush. We were strolling past -a roadside tangle of shrubbery when some -unseen bird close by us began to warble confusedly -(I was going to say autumnally, this -kind of formless improvisation being so characteristic -of the autumnal season), in a -barely audible voice. My first thought was -of a song sparrow; but that could hardly be, -and I looked at my companion to see what -he would suggest. He was in doubt also. -Then, all at once, in the midst of the vocal -jumble, our ears caught a familiar strain. -“Yes, yes,” said I, “a Swainson thrush,” -and I fell to whistling the tune softly for the -benefit of the performer, whom I fancied, -rightly or wrongly, to be a youngster at his -practice. Young or old, the echo seemed -not to put him out, and we stood still again -to enjoy the lesson; disconnected, unrelated -notes, and then, of a sudden, the regular -Swainson measure. I had not heard it before -since the May migration.</p> - -<p>Every bird season has peculiarities of its<span class="pagenum" id="Page_194">[194]</span> -own, in Franconia as elsewhere. This fall, -for example, there were no crossbills, even -at Lonesome Lake, where we have commonly -found both species. White-crowned sparrows -were rare; perhaps we were a little too -early for the main flight. We saw one bird -on September 23, and two on the 26th. -Another noticeable thing was a surprising -scarcity of red-bellied nuthatches. We spoke -often of the great contrast in this respect -between the present season and that of three -years ago. Then all the woods, both here -and at Moosilauke, fairly swarmed with these -birds, till it seemed as if all the Canadian -nuthatches of North America were holding -a White Mountain congress. The air was -full of their nasal calls. Now we could travel -all day without hearing so much as a syllable. -The tide, for some reason, had set in -another direction, and Franconia was so much -the poorer.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_195">[195]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">AMERICAN SKYLARKS</h2> -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="first">“Right hard it was for wight which did it heare,</div> -<div class="verse">To read what manner musicke that mote bee.”</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verseright"><span class="smcap">Spenser.</span></div> -</div></div></div> - -<p><span class="smcap">On</span> the second day after our arrival in -Franconia<a id="FNanchor_11" href="#Footnote_11" class="fnanchor">[11]</a> we were following a dry, sandy -stretch of valley road—on one of our favorite -rounds—when a bird flew across it, -just before us, and dropped into the barren, -closely cropped cattle pasture on our left. -Something indefinable in its manner or appearance -excited my suspicions, and I stole -up to the fence and looked over. The bird -was a horned lark, the first one that I had -ever set eyes on in the nesting season. He -seemed to be very hungry, snapping up insects -with the greatest avidity, and was not -in the least disturbed by our somewhat eager -attentions. It was plain at the first glance<span class="pagenum" id="Page_196">[196]</span> -that he was of the Western variety,—a -prairie horned lark, in other words,—for -even in the best of lights the throat and sides -of the head were white, or whitish, with no -perceptible tinge of yellow.</p> - -<p>The prairie lark is one of the birds that -appear to be shifting or extending their -breeding range. It was first described as a -sub-species in 1884, and has since been -found to be a summer resident of northern -Vermont and New Hampshire, and, in -smaller numbers, of western Massachusetts. -It is not impossible, expansion being the order -of the day, that some of us may live long -enough to see it take up its abode within -sight of the gilded State House dome.</p> - -<p>My own previous acquaintance with it had -been confined to the sight of a few migrants -along the seashore in the autumn, although -my companion on the present trip had seen -it once about a certain upland farm here in -Franconia. That was ten years ago, and we -have again and again sought it there since, -without avail.</p> - -<p>Our bird of to-day interested me by displaying -his “horns,”—curious adornments<span class="pagenum" id="Page_197">[197]</span> -which I had never been able to make out before, -except in pictures. They were not carried -erect,—like an owl’s “ears,” let us -say,—but projected backwards, and with -the head at a certain angle showed with perfect -distinctness. The bird would do nothing -but eat, and as our own dinner awaited -us we continued our tramp. We would try -to see more of him and his mate at another -time, we promised ourselves.</p> - -<p>First, however, we paid a visit (that very -afternoon) to the upland farm just now -spoken of. “Mears’s,” we always call it. -Perhaps the larks would be there also. But -we found no sign of them, and the bachelor -occupant of the house, who left his plough -in the beanfield to offer greeting to a pair of -strangers, assured us that nothing answering -to our description had ever been seen there -within his time; an assertion that might -mean little or much, of course, though he -seemed to be a man who had his eyes open.</p> - -<p>This happened on May 17. Six days afterward, -in company with an entomological -collector, we were again in the dusty valley. -I went into the larch swamp in search of a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_198">[198]</span> -Cape May warbler—found here two years -before—one of the very best of our Franconia -birds; and the entomologist stayed -near by with her net and bottles, while the -second man kept on a mile farther up the -valley to look for thorn-bush specimens. So -we drove the sciences abreast, as it were. -My own hunt was immediately rewarded, -and when the botanist returned I thought to -stir his envy by announcing my good fortune; -but he answered with a smile that he -too had seen something; he had seen the -prairie lark soaring and singing. “Well -done!” said I; “now you may look for the -Cape May, and incidentally feed the mosquitoes, -and the lady and I will get into the -carriage and take our turn with <i>Otocoris</i>.” -So said, so done. We drove to the spot, the -driver stopped the horses opposite a strip of -ploughed land, and behold, there was the -bird at that very moment high in the air, -hovering and singing. It was not much of -a song, I thought, though the entomologist, -hearing partly with the eye, no doubt, pronounced -it beautiful. It was most interesting, -whatever might be said of its musical<span class="pagenum" id="Page_199">[199]</span> -quality, and as we drove homeward my companion -and I agreed that we would take up -our quarters for a day or two at the nearest -house, and study it more at our leisure. Possibly -we should happen upon a nest.</p> - -<p>In the forenoon of May 25, therefore, we -found ourselves comfortably settled in the -very midst of a lark colony. The birds, of -which there were at least five (besides two -pairs found half a mile farther up the valley), -were to be seen or heard at almost any -minute; now in the road before the house, -now in the ploughed land close by it, now -in one of the cattle pastures, and now on -the roofs of the buildings. One fellow spent -a great part of his time upon the ridgepole -of the barn (a pretty high structure), commonly -standing not on the very angle or -ridge, but an inch or two below it, so that -very often only his head and shoulders would -be visible. Once I saw one dusting himself -in the rut of the road. He went about the -work with great thoroughness and unmistakable -enjoyment, cocking his head and -rubbing first one cheek and then the other -into the sand. “Cleanliness is next to godliness,” -I thought I heard him saying.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_200">[200]</span>So far as we could judge from our two -days’ observation, the birds were most musical -in the latter half of the afternoon, say -from four o’clock to six. Contrary to what -we should have expected, we saw absolutely -no ascensions in the early morning or after -sunset, although we did see more than one -at high noon. It is most likely, I think, -that the birds sing at all hours, as the spirit -moves them, just as the nightingale does, -and the hermit thrush and the vesper sparrow.</p> - -<p>As for the quality and manner of the song, -with all my listening and studying I could -never hit upon a word with which to characterize -it. The tone is dry, guttural, inexpressive; -not exactly to be called harsh, perhaps, -but certainly not in any true sense of -the word musical. When we first heard it, -in the distance (let the qualification be -noted), the same thought came to both of -us,—a kingbird’s formless, hurrying twitters. -There is no rhythm, no melody, nothing -to be called phrasing or modulation,—a -mere jumble of “splutterings and chipperings.” -Every note is by itself, having to my<span class="pagenum" id="Page_201">[201]</span> -ear no relation to anything before or after. -The most striking and distinguishing characteristic -of it all is the manner in which it -commonly hurries to a conclusion—as if -the clock were running down. “The hand -has slipped from the lever,” I more than once -found myself saying. I was thinking of a -motorman who tightens his brake, and tightens -it again, and then all at once lets go his -grip. At this point, this sudden acceleration -and conclusion, my companion and I -always laughed. The humor of it was irresistible. -It stood in such ludicrous contrast -with all that had gone before,—so halting -and labored; like a man who stammers and -stutters, and then, finding his tongue unexpectedly -loosened, makes all speed to finish. -Sometimes—most frequently, perhaps—the -strain was very brief; but at other times a -bird would sit on a stone, or a fence-post, or -a ridgepole, and chatter almost continuously -by the quarter-hour. Even then, however, -this comical hurried phrase would come in -at more or less regular intervals. I imagined -that the larks looked upon it as the -highest reach of their art and delivered it<span class="pagenum" id="Page_202">[202]</span> -with special satisfaction. If they did, I -could not blame them; to us it was by all -odds the most interesting part of their very -limited repertory.</p> - -<p>The most interesting part, I mean, of that -which appealed to the ear; for, as will readily -be imagined, the ear’s part was really -much the smaller half of the performance. -The wonder of it all was not the music by -itself (that was hardly better than an oddity, -a thing of which one might soon have -enough), but the music combined with the -manner of its delivery, while the singer was -climbing heavenward. For the bird is a true -skylark. Like his more famous cousin, he -does not disdain the humblest perch—a -mere clod of earth answers his purpose; but -his glory is to sing at heaven’s gate.</p> - -<p>His method at such times was a surprise -to me. He starts from the ground silently, -with no appearance of lyrical excitement, and -his flight at first is low, precisely as if he were -going only to the next field. Soon, however, -he begins to mount, beating the air with -quick strokes and then shutting his wings -against his sides and forcing himself upward.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_203">[203]</span> -“Diving upward,” was the word I found -myself using. Up he goes,—up, up, up, -“higher still, and higher,”—till after a -while he breaks into voice. While singing -he holds his wings motionless, stiffly outstretched, -and his tail widely spread, as if he -were doing his utmost to transform himself -into a parachute—as no doubt he is. Then, -the brief, hurried strain delivered, he beats -the air again and makes another shoot heavenward. -The whole display consists of an -alternation of rests accompanied by song (you -can always see the music, though it is often -inaudible), and renewed upward pushes.</p> - -<p>In the course of his flight the bird covers -a considerable field, since as a matter of -course he cannot ascend vertically. He rises, -perhaps, directly at your feet, but before he -comes down, which may be in one minute or -in ten, he will have gone completely round -you in a broad circle; so that, to follow him -continuously (sometimes no easy matter, his -altitude being so great and the light so dazzling), -you will be compelled almost to put -your neck out of joint. In our own case, -we generally did not see him start, but were<span class="pagenum" id="Page_204">[204]</span> -made aware of what was going on by hearing -the notes overhead.</p> - -<p>One grand flight I did see from beginning -to end, and it was wonderful, amazing, -astounding. So I thought, at all events. -There was no telling, of course, what altitude -the bird reached, but it might have been -miles, so far as the effect upon the beholder’s -emotions was concerned. It seemed as if -the fellow never would be done. “Higher -still, and higher.” Again and again this -line of Shelley came to my lips, as, after -every bar of music, the bird pushed nearer -and nearer to the sky. At last he came -down; and this, my friend and I always -agreed, was the most exciting moment of all. -He closed his wings and literally shot to the -ground head first, like an arrow. “Wonderful!” -said I, “wonderful!” And the other -man said: “If I could do that I would -never do anything else.”</p> - -<p>Here my story might properly enough end. -The nest of which we had talked was not -discovered. My own beating over of the -fields came to nothing, and my companion, -as if unwilling to deprive me of a possible<span class="pagenum" id="Page_205">[205]</span> -honor, contented himself with telling me -that I was looking in the wrong place. -Perhaps I was. It is easy to criticise. For -a minute, indeed, one of the farm-hands excited -our hopes. He had found a nest -which might be the lark’s, he thought; it -was on the ground, at any rate; but his description -of the eggs put an end to any such -possibility, and when he led us to the nest -it turned out to be occupied by a hermit -thrush. Near it he showed us a grouse sitting -upon her eggs under a roadside fence. -It was while repairing the fence that he had -made his discoveries. He had an eye for -birds. “Those little humming-birds,” he -remarked, “<i>they</i>’re quite an animal.” And -he was an observer of human nature as well. -“That fellow,” he said, speaking of a young -man who was perhaps rather good-natured -than enterprising, “that fellow don’t do -enough to break the Sabbath.”</p> - -<p>And this suggests a bit of confession. -We were sitting upon the piazza, on Sunday -afternoon, when a lark sang pretty far off. -“Well,” said the botanist, “he sings as well -as a savanna sparrow, anyhow.” “A savanna<span class="pagenum" id="Page_206">[206]</span> -sparrow!” said I; and at the word -we looked at each other. The same thought -had come to both of us. Several days before, -in another part of the township, we had -heard in the distance—in a field inhabited -by savanna and vesper sparrows—an utterly -strange set of bird-notes. “What is -that?” we both asked. The strain was repeated. -“Oh, well,” said I, “that must be -the work of a crazy savanna. Birds are -given to such freaks, you know.” The grass -was wet, we had a long forenoon’s jaunt before -us, and although my companion, as he -said, “took no stock” in my explanation, -we passed on. Now it flashed upon us both -that what we had heard was the song of a -prairie lark. “I believe it was,” said the -botanist. “I know it was,” said I; “I -would wager anything upon it.” And it -was; for after returning to the hotel our -first concern was to go to the place—only -half a mile away—and find the bird. And -not only so, but twenty-four hours later we -saw one soaring in his most ecstatic manner -over another field, a mile or so beyond, beside -the same road.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_207">[207]</span>The present was a good season for horned -larks in Franconia, we told ourselves. Two -years ago, at this same time of the year, I -had gone more than once past all these -places. If the birds were here then I overlooked -them. The thing is not impossible, -of course; there is no limit to human dullness; -but I prefer to think otherwise. A -man, even an amateur ornithologist, should -believe himself innocent until he is proved -guilty.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_208">[208]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">A QUIET MORNING</h2> -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Such was the bright world on the first seventh day.”</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verseright"><span class="smcap">Henry Vaughan.</span></div> -</div></div></div> - -<p><span class="smcap">It</span> is Sunday, May 26, the brightest, pleasantest, -most comfortable of forenoons. I am -seated in the sun at the base of an ancient -stone wall, near the road that runs along the -hillside above the Landaff Valley. Behind -me is a little farmhouse, long since gone to -ruin. At my feet, rather steeply inclined, -is an old cattle pasture thickly strewn with -massive boulders. The prospect is one of -those that I love best. In the foreground, -directly below, is the valley, freshly green, -and, as it looks from this height, as level as -a floor. Alder rows mark the winding -course of the river, and on the farther side, -close against the forest, runs a road, though -the eye, of itself, would hardly know it.</p> - -<p>Across the valley are the glorious newly<span class="pagenum" id="Page_209">[209]</span> -clad woods, more beautiful than words can -begin to tell; and beyond them rise the -mountains: Moosilauke, far enough away to -be blue; the shapely Kinsman range, at -whose long green slopes no man need tire of -looking; rocky Lafayette, directly in front -of me; Haystack, with its leaning knob; -the sombre Twins and the more Alpine-looking -Washington, Jefferson, and Adams. -Farther to the north are the low hills of -Cleveland and Agassiz. A magnificent -horizon. Lafayette, Washington, Jefferson, -and Adams are still flecked with snow. -And over the mountains is the sky, with -high white clouds, cirrus and cumulus. I -look first at the mountains, then at the valley, -which is filled with sunlight as a cup -is filled with wine. The level foreground is -the essential thing. Without it the grandest -of mountain prospects is never quite -complete.</p> - -<p>Swallows circle about me continually, a -phœbe calls at short intervals, and less often -I hear the sweet voice of a bluebird. Both -phœbe and bluebird are most delightfully -plentiful in all this fair mountain country.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_210">[210]</span> -They are of my own mind: they like old -farms within sight of hills. Crows caw, a -jay screams, and now and then the hurrying -drumbeats of a grouse come to my ears. -Somewhere in the big sugar grove behind -me a great-crested flycatcher has been shouting -almost ever since I sat down. The -“great screaming flycatcher,” he should be -called. His voice is more to the point than -his crest. He loves the sound of it.</p> - -<p>How radiantly beautiful the red maple -groves are just now! I can see two, one -near, the other far off, both in varying -shades of red, yellow, and green. The earth -wears them as ornaments, and is as proud of -them, I dare believe, as of the Parthenon. -They are bright, but not too bright. They -speak of youth—and the eye hears them. -A red-eye preaches as if he knew the day -of the week. What a gift of reiteration! -“Buy the truth,” he says. “Going, going!” -But it is never gone. Down the valley road -goes an open carriage. In it are a man and -a woman, the woman with a parasol over her -head. A song sparrow sings his little tune, -and the bluebird gives himself up to warbling.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_211">[211]</span> -Few voices can surpass his for sweetness -and expressiveness. The grouse drums -again (let every bird be happy in his own -way), a myrtle warbler trills (a talker to -himself), and a passing goldfinch drops a -melodious measure. All the chokecherry -bushes are now in white. The day may be -Whitsunday for all that my unchurchly -mind can say. Red cherries, which whitened -the world a few days ago, are fast following -the shadbushes, which have been -out of flower for a week. Apple trees, too, -have passed the height of their splendor. -The vernal procession moves like a man in -haste.</p> - -<p>The sun grows warm. I will betake myself -to the maple grove and sit in the -shadow; but first I notice in the grass by -the wall an abundance of tiny veronica -flowers (speedwell)—white, streaked with -purple, as I perceive when I pluck one. -Not a line but runs true. Everything is -beautiful in its time; the little speedwell no -less than the valley and the mountain. A -red squirrel, far out on a tilting elm spray, -is eating his fill of the green fruit. Mother<span class="pagenum" id="Page_212">[212]</span> -Earth takes care of her children. She -raises elm seeds as man raises wheat. And -foolish man wonders sometimes at what he -thinks her waste of vital energy.</p> - -<p>I have found a seat upon a prostrate -maple trunk, one of the fathers of the grove, -so huge of girth that it was almost a gymnastic -feat to climb into my position. Here -I can see the valley and the mountains only -in parts, between the leafy intervening -branches. Which way of seeing is the better -I will not seek to determine. Both are -good—both are better than either. A flycatcher -near me is saying <i>chebec</i> with such -emphasis that though I cannot see him I -can imagine that he is almost snapping his -head off at every utterance. Much farther -away is a relative of his; we call him -the olive-side. (I wonder what name the -birds have for us.) <i>Que-quee-o</i>, he whistles -in the clearest of tones. He is one of the -good ones. And how well his voice “carries”—as -if one grove were speaking to -another!</p> - -<p>About my feet are creamy white tiarella -spires and pretty blue violets. The air is<span class="pagenum" id="Page_213">[213]</span> -full of the hum of insects, but they are all -innocent. I sit under my own beech and -maple tree, with none to molest or make me -afraid. How many times I have heard -something like that on a Sunday forenoon! -Year in and out, our dear old preacher could -never get through his “long prayer” without -it. He would not be sorry to know that -I think of him now in this natural temple.</p> - -<p>An unseen Nashville warbler suddenly -announces himself. “If you must scribble,” -he says, “my name is as good as anybody’s.” -The little flycatcher has not yet dislocated -his neck. <i>Chebec, chebec</i>, he vociferates. -The swallows no longer come about me. -They care not for groves. They are for the -open sky, the grass fields, and the sun; but -I hear them twittering overhead. If I could -be a bird, I think I would be a swallow. -Hark! Yes, there is the syllabled whistle -of a white-breasted nuthatch. He must go -into my vacation bird-list—No. 79, <i>Sitta -carolinensis</i>. If he would have shown himself -sooner he should have had a higher -place. And now, to my surprise, I hear the -rollicking voice of a bobolink. The meadow<span class="pagenum" id="Page_214">[214]</span> -below contains many of his happy kind, and -one of them has come up within hearing to -brighten my page.</p> - -<p>All the time I have sat here I have been -hoping to hear the hearty, “full-throated” -note of a yellow-throated vireo. This is the -only place in Franconia where I have ever -heard it—two years ago this month. But -the bird seems not to be here now, and I -must not stay longer. My companion, who -has gone higher up the hill to visit a thorn-bush, -will be expecting me on the bridge -by the old grist-mill.</p> - -<p>Before I can get away, however, I add -another name to my bird-list,—a welcome -name, the wood pewee’s. He has just arrived -from the South, I suppose. What a -sweetly modulated, plaintive-sounding whistle! -How different from the bobolink’s -“jest and youthful jollity!” And now the -crested breaks out again all at once, after -a long silence. There is a still stronger -contrast. Four flycatchers are in voice together: -the crested, the olive-sided, the least, -and the wood pewee. I have heard them all -within the space of a minute. As soon as I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_215">[215]</span> -am in the valley I shall hear the alder flycatcher, -and when, braving the mosquitoes, -I venture into the tamarack swamp a little -way to look at the Cape May warbler (I -know the very spot) I shall doubtless hear -the yellow-belly. These, with the kingbird -and the phœbe, which are about all the -farms, make the full New Hampshire contingent. -No doubt there are flies enough -for all of them.</p> - -<p>As I start to leave the grove, stepping -over beds of round-leaved violets and spring-beauties, -both out of flower already, I start -at the sound of an unmusical note, which I -do not immediately recognize, but which in -another instant I settle upon as a sapsucker’s. -This is a bird at whose absence my companion -and I have frequently expressed surprise, -remembering how common we have -found him in previous visits. I go in pursuit -at once, and presently come upon him. -He is in extremely bright plumage, his -crown and his throat blood red. He goes -down straightway as No. 81. I am having -a prosperous day. Three new names within -half an hour! Idling in a sugar orchard<span class="pagenum" id="Page_216">[216]</span> -is good for a man’s bird-list as well as for -his soul.</p> - -<p>An oven-bird is declaiming, a blue yellow-back -is practicing scales, and a field -sparrow is chanting. And even as I pencil -their names a nuthatch (the very one I have -been hearing) flies to a maple trunk and -alights for a moment at the door of his nest. -Without question he passed a morsel to -his brooding mate, though I was not quick -enough to see him. Yes, within a minute -or two he is there again; but the sitting -bird does not appear at the entrance; her -mate thrusts his bill into the door instead. -The happy pair! There is much family -life of the best sort in a wood like this. -No doubt there are husbands and wives, -so called, in Franconia as well as in other -places, who might profitably heed the old -injunction, “Behold the fowls of the air.”</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_217">[217]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">IN THE LANDAFF VALLEY</h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">The</span> greatest ornithological novelty of our -present visit to Franconia was the prairie -horned larks, whose lyrical raptures, falling -“from heaven or near it,” I have already -done my best to describe. The rarest bird -(for there is a difference between novelty -and rarity) was a Cape May warbler; the -most surprisingly spectacular was a duck. -Let me speak first of the warbler.</p> - -<p>Two years ago I found a Cape May settled -in a certain spot in an extensive tract of -valley woods. The manner of the discovery—which -was purely accidental, the bird’s -voice being so faint as to be inaudible beyond -the distance of a few rods—and the -pains I took to keep him under surveillance -for the remainder of my stay, so as to make -practically sure of his intention to pass the -summer here, have been fully recounted in a -previous chapter. The experience was one<span class="pagenum" id="Page_218">[218]</span> -of those which fill an enthusiast with such -delight as he can never hope to communicate, -or even to make seem reasonable, except -to men of his own kind.</p> - -<p>We had never met with <i>Dendroica tigrina</i> -before anywhere about the mountains, and -I had no serious expectation of ever finding -it here a second time. Still “hope springs -immortal;” “the thing that hath been, it is -that which shall be;” and one of my earliest -concerns, on arriving in Franconia again -at the right season of the year, was to revisit -the well-remembered spot and listen for -the equally well-remembered sibilant notes.</p> - -<p>Our first call was on May 17. Perhaps -we were ahead of time; at any rate, we found -nothing. On the 23d we passed the place -again, and heard, somewhat too far away, -what I believed with something like certainty -to be the <i>zee-zee-zee-zee</i> of the bird we were -seeking; but the dense underbrush was -drenched with rain, we had other business in -hand, and we left the question unsettled. If -the voice really was the Cape May’s we -should doubtless have another chance with -him. So I told my companion; and the result<span class="pagenum" id="Page_219">[219]</span> -justified the prophecy, which was based -upon the bird’s behavior of two years before, -when all his activities seemed to be very narrowly -confined—say within a radius of four -or five rods.</p> - -<p>We had hardly reached the place, two days -afterward, before we heard him singing close -by us,—in the very clump of firs where he -had so many times shown himself,—and after -a minute or two of patience we had him under -our opera-glasses. The sight gave me, -I am not ashamed to confess, a thrill of exquisite -pleasure. It was something to think -of—the return of so rare a bird to so precise -a spot. With all the White Mountain -region, not to say all of northern New England -and of British America, before him, he -had come back from the tropics (for who -could doubt that he was indeed the bird of -two years ago, or one of that bird’s progeny?) -to spend another summer in this particular -bunch of Franconia evergreens. He -had kept them in mind, wherever he had -wandered, and, behold, here he was again, -singing in their branches, as if he had known -that I should be coming hither to find him.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_220">[220]</span>The next day our course took us again -past his quarters, and he was still there, and -still singing. I knew he would be. He -could be depended on. He was doing exactly -as he had done two years before. You -had only to stand still in a certain place (I -could almost find it in the dark, I think), -and you would hear his voice. He was as -sure to be there as the trees.</p> - -<p>That afternoon some ladies wished to see -him, and my companion volunteered his escort. -Their experience was like our own; -or rather it was better than ours. The -warbler was not only at home, but behaved -like the most courteous of hosts; coming -into a peculiarly favorable light, upon an -uncommonly low perch, and showing himself -off to his visitors’ perfect satisfaction. It -was bravely done. He knew what was due -to “the sex.”</p> - -<p>On the morning of the 27th I took my -farewell of him. He had been there for at -least five days, and would doubtless stay for -the season. May joy stay with him. I think -I have not betrayed his whereabouts too -nearly. If I have, and harm comes of it,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_221">[221]</span> -may my curse follow the man that shoots -him.</p> - -<p>The “spectacular duck,” of which I have -spoken, was one of several (three or more) -that seemed to be settled in the valley of the -Landaff River. Our first sight of them was -on the 20th; two birds, flying low and calling, -but in so bewildering a light, and so -quick in passing, that we ventured no guess -as to their identity. Three days later, on -the morning of the 23d, we had hardly -turned into the valley before we heard the -same low, short-breathed, grunting, grating, -croaking sounds, and, glancing upward, saw -three ducks steaming up the course of the -river. This time, as before, the sun was -against us, but my companion, luckier than -I with his glass, saw distinctly that they -carried a white speculum or wing-spot.</p> - -<p>We were still discussing possibilities, supposing -that the birds themselves were clean -gone, when suddenly (we could never tell -how it happened) we saw one of them—still -on the wing—not far before us; and even -as we were looking at it, wondering where it -had come from, it flew toward the old grist-mill<span class="pagenum" id="Page_222">[222]</span> -by the bridge and came to rest on the -top of the chimney! Here was queerness. -We leveled our glasses upon the creature -and saw that it was plainly a merganser -(sheldrake), with its crest feathers projecting -backward from the crown, and its wing -well marked with white. Its head, unless -the light deceived me, was brown. The -main thing, however, for the time being, was -none of these details, but the spectacle of the -bird itself, in so strange and sightly a position. -“It looks like the storks of Europe,” -said my companion. Certainly it looked -like something other than an every-day -American duck, with its outstretched neck -and its long, slender, rakish bill showing in -silhouette against the sky.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile, it had put its head partly out -of sight in the top of the chimney, as if it -had a nest there and were feeding its young. -Then of a sudden it took wing, but in a -minute or two was back again, to our increasing -wonderment; and again it dropped -the end of its bill out of sight below the level -of the topmost bricks. Now, however, I -could see the mandibles in motion, as if it<span class="pagenum" id="Page_223">[223]</span> -were eating. Probably it had brought a fish -up from the river. The chimney was simply -its table. Again, for no reason that was -apparent to us, it flew away, and again, after -the briefest absence, it returned. A third -time it vanished, and this time for good. -We kept on our way up the valley, talking -of what we had seen, but after every few -rods I turned about to put my glass upon -the chimney. Evidently that was the duck’s -favorite perch, I said; we should find it there -often. But whether my reasoning was faulty -or we were simply unfortunate, the fact is -that we saw it there no more. On the 25th, -at a place two miles or more above this -point, we saw a duck of the same kind—at -least it was uttering the same grating, croaking -sounds as it flew; and a resident of the -neighborhood, whom we questioned about the -matter, told us that he had noticed such -birds (“ducks with white on their wings”) -flying up and down the valley, and had no -doubt that they summered there. As to -their fondness for chimney-tops he knew nothing; -nor do I know anything beyond the -simple facts as I have here set them down.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_224">[224]</span> -But I am glad of the picture of the bird that -I have in my mind.</p> - -<p>Enthusiasm is a good painter; it is not -afraid of high lights, and it deals in fast -colors. And to us old Franconians, enthusiasm -seems to be one of the institutions, -one of the native growths, one of the special -delectabilities, if you please, of that delectable -valley. The valley of cinnamon roses, -we have before now called it; the valley of -strawberries, blueberries, and raspberries; -the valley of bobolinks and swallows; but -best of all, perhaps, it is the valley of hobbyists. -Its atmosphere is heady. We all -feel it. The world is far away. Worldly -successes, yea, dollars and cents themselves, -are nothing, and less than nothing, and vanity. -A new flower, a new bird, the hundred -and fiftieth spider, these are the things that -count. We are like members of a conventicle, -or like the logs on the hearth. Our -inward fires are mutually communicative and -sustaining. We laugh now and then, it may -be, at one another’s peculiarities. Each of -us can see, at certain moments, that the -other is “a little off,” to use a “Francony”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_225">[225]</span> -phrase; not quite “all there,” perhaps; a -kind of eighth dreamer, “moving about in -worlds not realized;” but at bottom we are -sympathetic and appreciative. We would -not have each other different, unless, indeed, -it were a little younger. A grain of oddity -is a good spice. If we are not deeply interested -in the newest discovery, at least we participate -in the exultation of the discoverer.</p> - -<p>“That’s a good fly,” said the entomologist. -We were driving, three of us, talking -of something or nothing (we are never careful -which it is), when the happy dipteran -blundered into the carriage, and into the -very lap of its admirer. Ten seconds more, -and it was under the anæsthetic spell of cyanide -of potassium, which (so we are told) -puts its victims to sleep as painlessly, perhaps -as blissfully, as chloroform. It was -an inspiration to see how instantly the lady -recognized a “good” one (it was one of a -thousand, literally, for the day was summer-like), -and how readily, and with no waste -of motions, she made it her own. I was reminded -of a story.</p> - -<p>A friend of mine, a truly devout woman,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_226">[226]</span> -of New England birth, and churchly withal -(her books have all a savor of piety, though -all the world reads them), is also an enthusiastic -and widely famous entomological collector. -One Sunday she had gone to church -and was on her knees reciting the service (or -saying her prayers—I am not sure that I -remember her language verbatim), when she -noticed on the back of the pew immediately -in front of her a diminutive moth of some -rare and desirable species. Instinctively her -hand sought her pocket, and somehow, without -disturbing the congregation or even her -nearest fellow-worshiper (my helpless masculine -mind cannot imagine how the thing -was done) she found it and took from it a -“poison bottle,” always in readiness for such -emergencies. Still on her knees (whether -her lips still moved is another point that escapes -positive recollection), she removed the -stopple, placed the mouth of the vial over -the moth (which had probably imagined itself -safe in such ecclesiastical surroundings), -replaced the stopple above it, slipped the bottle -back into her pocket, and resumed (or -kept on with) her prayers. All this had<span class="pagenum" id="Page_227">[227]</span> -taken but a minute. And who says that -she had done anything wrong? Who hints -at a disagreement between science and faith? -Nay, let us rather believe with Coleridge—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="first">“He prayeth best, who loveth best</div> -<div class="verse">All things, both great and small,”—</div> -</div></div> - -<p>especially small church-going lepidoptera of -the rarer sorts.</p> - -<p>With zealots like this about you, as I have -intimated, you may safely speak out. If -you have seen an unexpected, long-expected -warbler, or a chimney-top duck, or a skyward -soaring lark, you may talk of it without fear, -with no restraint upon your feelings or your -phrases. Here things are seen as they are; -truth is cleared of false lights, and Wisdom -is justified of her children. Happy Franconia!</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="indent6">“Has she not shown us all?</div> -<div class="verse">From the clear space of ether, to the small</div> -<div class="verse">Breath of new buds unfolding? From the meaning</div> -<div class="verse">Of Jove’s large eyebrow, to the tender greening</div> -<div class="verse">Of April meadows?”</div> -</div></div> - -<p>Happy Franconia! “Nested and quiet in -a valley mild!” I think of her June strawberries -and her perennial enthusiasms, and -I wish I were there now.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_228">[228]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">A VISIT TO MOUNT AGASSIZ</h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Mount Agassiz</span> is rather a hill than a -mountain; there is no glory to be won in -climbing it, unless, perhaps, by very small -children and elderly ladies; but if a man is -in search of a soul-filling prospect he may -climb higher and see less. The road to -it, furthermore (I speak as a Franconian), -is one of those that pay the walker as he -goes along. Every rod of the five miles is -worth traveling for its own sake, especially -on a bright and comfortable August morning -such as the Fates had this time sent me. It -was eight o’clock when I set out, and with a -sandwich in my pocket I meant to be in no -haste. If invitations to linger by the way -were as many and as pressing as I hoped -for, a mile and a quarter to the hour would -be excellent speed.</p> - -<p>Red crossbills and pine siskins were calling -in the larch trees near the house as<span class="pagenum" id="Page_229">[229]</span> -I left the piazza. The siskins have never -been a frequent sight with me in the summer -season, and finding almost at once a -flock in the grass by the roadside, feeding -upon seeds, as well as I could make out, and -delightfully fearless, I stopped for a few -minutes to look them over. Some of the -number showed much more yellow than -others, but none of them could have been -dressed more strictly in the fashion if their -costumes had come straight from Paris. -Every bird was in stripes.</p> - -<p>Both they and the crossbills are what -writers upon such themes agree to pronounce -“erratic” and “irregular.” Of -most birds it can be foretold that they will -be in certain places at certain times; their -orbits are known; but crossbills and siskins -wander through space as the whim takes -them. If they have any schedule of times -and seasons, men have yet to discover it. -When I come to Franconia, for example, I -never can tell whether or not I shall find -them; a piece of ignorance to be thankful -for, like many another. The less knowledge, -within limits, the more surprise; and the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_230">[230]</span> -more surprise—also within limits—the -more pleasure. At present I can hardly -put my head out of the door without hearing -the wheezy calls of siskins and the importunate -cackles of crossbills. They are among -the commonest and most voluble inhabitants -of the valley, and seem even commoner and -more talkative than they really are because -they are so incessantly on the move.</p> - -<p>An alder flycatcher is calling as I go up -the first hill (he, too, is very common and -very free with his voice, although, unlike -siskin and crossbill, he knows where he belongs, -and is to be found there, and nowhere -else), and when I reach the plateau a sapsucker -alights near the foot of a telegraph -post just before me; a bird in Quakerish -drab, with no trace of red upon either crown -or throat. He (or she) is only two or three -months old, I suppose, like more than half -of all the birds now about us. Not far beyond, -as the road runs into light woods, with -a swampy tract by a brook on the lower side, -I hear a chickadee’s voice and look up to -see also two Canadian warblers, bits of pure -loveliness, the first ones of my present visit.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_231">[231]</span> -I talk to them, and one, his curiosity responsive -to mine, comes near to listen. The -Canadian warbler, I have long noticed, has -the bump of inquisitiveness exceptionally -well developed.</p> - -<p>So I go on—a few rods of progress and -a few minutes’ halt. If there are no birds -to look at, there are always flowers, leaves, -and berries: goldthread leaves, the prettiest -of the pretty—it is a joy to praise them; -and dwarf cornel berries, gorgeous rosettes; -and long-stemmed mountain-holly berries, -of a color indescribable, fairly beyond praising; -and bear-plums, the deep-blue berries -of the clintonia. And while the eye feasts -upon color the ear feasts upon music: a distant -brook babbling downhill among stones, -and a breath of air whispering in a thousand -treetops; noises that are really a superior -kind of silence, speaking of deeper and -better things than our human speech has -words for. Quietness, peace, contentment, -we say; but such vocables, good as they -are, are but poor renderings of this natural -chorus of barely audible sounds. If you -are still enough to hear it—inwardly still<span class="pagenum" id="Page_232">[232]</span> -enough—as may once in a long while -happen, you feel things that tongue of man -never uttered. Life itself is less sweet. -Now and then, as I listen, I seem to hear a -voice saying, “Blessed are the dead.” I -foretaste a something better than this separate, -contracted, individual state of being -which we call life, and to which in ordinary -moods we cling so fondly. To drop back -into the Universal, to lose life in order to -find it, this would be heaven; and for the -moment, with this musical woodsy silence in -my ears, I am almost there. Yet it must -be that I express myself awkwardly, for I -am never so much a lover of earth as at such -a moment. Life is good. I feel it so now. -Fair are the white-birch stems; fair are the -gray-green poplars. This is my third day, -and my spirit is getting in tune.</p> - -<p>In the white-pine grove, where a few -small birds are stirring noiselessly among -the upper branches, my attention is taken -by clusters of the ghostly, colorless plant -which men know as the Indian pipe (its -real name, of necessity, is quite beyond human -ken); the flowers, every head bowed,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_233">[233]</span> -just breaking through a bed of last year’s -needles, while a bumblebee, a capable economic -botanist, visits them one by one. -Then, as I emerge from the grove on its -sunny edge, I catch a sudden pungent odor -of balsam. It rises from the dry leaves, -the sunlight having somehow set it free. In -the shade of the wood nothing of the kind -was perceptible. The fact strikes me curiously -as one that I have often been half -consciously aware of, but now for the first -time really notice. On the instant I am -taken far back. It is a July noon; I am -trudging homeward, and in my proud boyish -hand is a basket of shining black huckleberries -carefully rounded over. The sense -of smell is naturally a sentimentalist; or -perhaps the olfactory nerves have some occult -connection with the seat of memory.</p> - -<p>Here is one of my favorite spots: a level -grassy field, with a ruined house and barn -behind me, between the road and a swampy -patch, and in front “all the mountains,” -from Moosilauke to Adams. How many -times I have stopped here to admire them! -I look at them now, and then fall to watching<span class="pagenum" id="Page_234">[234]</span> -the bluebirds and the barn swallows, -that are here at home. A Boston lady -holds the legal title to the property (be it -said in her honor that she bought it to save -the pine wood from destruction), but the -birds are its actual owners. Six bluebirds -sit in a row on the wire, while the swallows -go twittering over the field. Once I fancy -that I hear the sharp call of a horned lark; -but the note is not repeated, and though I -beat the grass over I discover nothing.<a id="FNanchor_12" href="#Footnote_12" class="fnanchor">[12]</a></p> - -<p>Beyond this level clearing the road winds -to the left and begins its climb to the height -of land, whence it pitches down into Bethlehem -village. Every stage of the course is -familiar. Here a pileated woodpecker once -came out of the woods and disported himself -about the trunk of an apple tree for my delectation—mine -and a friend’s who walked -with me; here a hare sat quiet till I was -close upon him, and then scampered across<span class="pagenum" id="Page_235">[235]</span> -the field with flying jumps; here is a backward -valley prospect that I never can have -enough of; and here, just over the wall, I -once surprised myself by finding a bunch of -yellow lady’s-slippers. All this, and much -else, I now live over again. So advantageous -is it to walk in one’s own steps. Many -times as I have come this way, I have never -come in fairer weather.</p> - -<p>And what is this? It looks like a haying-bee. -Eight horses and two yokes of -oxen, with several empty “hay-riggings” -and as many buggies, stand in confused -order beside the road, and over the wall -men are mowing, spreading, and turning. -It is some widow’s grass field, I imagine, -and her loyal neighbors have assembled to -harvest the crop. Human nature is not so -bad, after all. So I am saying, with the -inexpensive charity natural to a sentimental -traveler, when I find myself near a group -of younger men who are bantering one of -their number (I am behind a bushy screen), -mixing their talk plentifully with oaths; -such a vulgar, stupid, witless repetition of -sacred names—without one saving touch<span class="pagenum" id="Page_236">[236]</span> -of originality or picturesqueness—as our -honest, thoroughbred, rustic New Englander -may challenge the world to equal. These -can be no workers for charity, I conclude; -and when I inquire of a man who overtakes -me on the road (with an invitation to ride), -he says: “Oh, no, that is Mr. Blank’s farm, -and those are all his hired men. He is -about the richest man in Bethlehem.” So -my pretty idyl vanishes in smoke; the -smoke, I am tempted to say, of burning -brimstone. I have one consolation, such as -it is: the men are Bethlehemites, not Franconians, -though I am not so certain that -a swearing match between the two towns -would prove altogether one-sided. It is nothing -new, of course, that beautiful scenery -does not always refine those who live near -it. It works to that end, within its measure, -I am bound to believe, for those who see it; -but “there’s the rub.”</p> - -<p>Whether men see it or not, the landscape -takes no heed. There it stretches as I turn -to look, spaces of level green valley, with -mountains and hills round about—mountains -and valleys each made perfect by the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_237">[237]</span> -other. I sit down once more in a favorable -spot, where every line of the picture falls -true, and drink my fill of its loveliness, -while a hermit thrush out of the hill woods -yonder blesses my ears with music. I have -Emerson’s wish—“health and a day.”</p> - -<p>At high noon, as I had planned, I came -to the top of the mountain. The observatory -was full of chattering tourists, while -three individuals of the same genus stood on -the rocks below, two men and a woman, the -men taking turns in the use—or abuse—of -a horn, with which they were trying to -rouse the echo (a really good one, as I could -testify) from Mount Cleveland and the -higher peaks beyond. Their attempts were -mostly failures. Either the breath wandered -about uneasily inside the brazen tube, -moaning like a soul in pain—abortive mutterings, -but no “toot”—or, if a blast now -and then came forth, it was of so low a pitch -that the mountains, whose vocal register, it -appears, is rather tenor than bass, were unable -to return it effectively. “I can’t get -it high enough,” one of the men said. But -they had large endowments of perseverance—a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_238">[238]</span> -virtue that runs often to pernicious -excess—and seemingly would never have -given over their efforts, only that a gentleman’s -voice from the observatory finally -called out, in a tone of long-suffering politeness, -“Won’t you please let up on that -horn, just for a little while?” The horn-blowers, -not to be outdone in civility, answered -at once with a good-natured affirmative, -and a heavenly silence, a silence that -might be felt, descended upon our ears. -Neither blower nor pleader will ever know -how heartily he was thanked by a man who -lay upon the rocks a little distance below -the summit, looking down into the Franconia -Valley.</p> - -<p>The scene is of exquisite beauty; beauty, -moreover, of a kind that I especially love; -but for the first half-hour I looked without -seeing. It is always so with me in such -places, I cannot tell why. Formerly I laid -my disability to the fact that the eye had -first to satisfy its natural curiosity concerning -the details of a strange landscape; its -instinctive desire to orient itself by attention -to topographical particulars; and no doubt<span class="pagenum" id="Page_239">[239]</span> -considerations of this nature may be supposed -to enter more or less into the problem. -But Mount Agassiz offered me nothing to -be puzzled over; I felt no need of orientation -nor any stirrings of inquisitiveness. -On my left was the Mount Washington -range, in front were Lafayette and Moosilauke, -with the valley intervening, and on -the right, haze-covered to-day, rose peak -after peak of the Green Mountains. These -things I knew beforehand. I had not come -to this Pisgah-top to study a lesson in geography, -but to enjoy the sight of my eyes.</p> - -<p>Still I must practice patience. Time—indispensable -Time—is a servant that cannot -be hurried, nor can his share of any -work be done by the cleverest substitute. -“Beautiful!” I said, and felt the word; -but the beauty did not come home to the -spirit, filling and satisfying it. I wonder at -people who scramble to such a peak, stare -about them for a quarter of an hour, and -run down again contented. Either the plate -is preternaturally sensitive, or the picture -cannot have been taken.</p> - -<p>For myself, I have learned to wait; and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_240">[240]</span> -so I did now. A few birds flitted about the -summit: two or three snowbirds, to whom -the unusual presence of a man was plainly -a trouble (“Why can’t he stay up in the -observatory, like the rest of his kind?”); a -myrtle warbler, chirping softly as he passed; -a white-throat, whistling now and then from -somewhere down the cliffs; an alder flycatcher, -calling <i>quay-queer</i> (a surprising -place this dry mountain-top seemed for a -lover of swampy thickets); an occasional -barn swallow or chimney swift, shooting to -and fro under the sky; and once a sparrow -hawk, welcome for his rarity, sailing away -from me down the valley, showing a rusty -tail.</p> - -<p>By and by, seeing that the crowd had -gone, I clambered up the rocks, eating blueberries -by the way, and mounted the stairs -to the observatory, where the keeper of the -place was talking with two men (a musician -and a commercial traveler, if my practice -as an “observer” counted for anything), -who had lingered to survey the panorama. -The conversation turned upon the usual -topics, especially the Mount Washington<span class="pagenum" id="Page_241">[241]</span> -Railway. Four or five trains were descending -the track, one close behind the other, -and it became a matter of absorbing interest -to make them out through the small telescope -and a field glass. Why be at the -trouble to climb so high, at the cost of so -much wind, unless you do your best to take -in whatever is visible? “Yes, I can see -one—two—three— Oh, yes, there’s the -fourth, just leaving the summit.” So the -talk ran on, with minor variations which -may easily be imagined. One important -question related to the name of a certain -small sheet of water; another to a road that -curved invitingly over a grassy hilltop; another -to the exact whereabouts of a rich -man’s fine estate (questions about rich men -are always pertinent), the red roofs of which -could be found by searching for them.</p> - -<p>I took my full share of the discussion, -but half an hour of it sufficed, and I went -back again to commune with myself upon -the rocks. The sunshine was warm, but the -breeze tempered it till I found it good. -And the familiar scene was lovelier than -ever, I began to think. Here at my feet<span class="pagenum" id="Page_242">[242]</span> -stood the little house, down upon which I -had looked with such rememberable pleasure -on my first visit to Agassiz, I know not how -many years ago. Then a man was cutting -wood before the door. Now there is nobody -to be seen; but the place must still be inhabited, -for I hear the tinkle of a cowbell -somewhere in the woods, and a horse is -pasturing nearer by. Only three or four -other houses are in sight—not reckoning -the big hotel and a few far-away roofs in -Franconia—and very inviting they look, -neatly painted, with smooth, level fields -about them. It is my own elevation that -levels the fields, I am quite aware (when I -stop to think of it), as it is distance that -softens the contours of the mountains, and -the lapse of time that smooths the rough -places out of past years; but for the hour -I take things as the eye sees them. We -come to these visionary altitudes, not to look -at realities but at pictures. Distance is a -famous hand with the brush. To omit details -and to fill the canvas with atmosphere, -these are the secrets of his art. A comfortable -thing it is to lie here at my ease and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_243">[243]</span> -yield myself to the great painter’s enchantments.</p> - -<p>My eye wanders over the landscape, but -not uneasily; nay, it can hardly be said to -wander at all; it rests here and there, not -trying to see, but seeing. Now it is upon -the road, spaces of which show at intervals, -while I imagine the rest—a sentimental -journey; now upon a far-off grassy clearing -among woods (Mears’s or Chase’s), homely -enough, and lonely enough—and familiar -enough—to fit the mood of the hour; now -upon the distant level reaches of the Landaff -Valley. But the beauty of the scene is not -so much in this or that as in all together. -I say now, as I said twenty years ago, -“This is the kind of prospect for me:” a -broken valley, fields and woods intermingled, -with mountains circumscribing it all; -a splendid panorama seen from above, but -not from too far above; from a hill, that is -to say, rather than from a mountain.</p> - -<p>An hour of this luxury and I return to -the tower, where the musician and the -keeper are still in conference. The keeper, -especially, is a man much after my own<span class="pagenum" id="Page_244">[244]</span> -mind. He knows the people who live in -the three houses below us, and speaks of -them racily, yet in a tone of brotherly kindness. -I call his attention to two women -whom I have descried in the nearest pasture, -a bushy place, yellow with goldenrod and -pointed with young larches and firs. They -wear men’s wide-brimmed straw hats (a -black-and-tan collie is with them), and one -carries a broad tin dish, which she holds in -one hand, while she picks berries with the -other. Pretty awkward business, an old -berry-picker thinks.</p> - -<p>Yes, the keeper of the tower says, they -are Mrs. —— and Miss ——; one lives in -the first house, the other in the second. -Now they are leaving the pasture, stopping -once in a while to strip an uncommonly inviting -bush (so I interpret their movements), -and we follow them with our eyes. -The older one, a portly body, walks halfway -across a broad field with her companion, -seeing her so far homeward,—and perhaps -finishing a savory dish of gossip,—and then -returns to her own house, still accompanied -by the dog. Scarcity of neighbors conduces -to neighborliness.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_245">[245]</span>The men who live in such houses, the -keeper tells me, are very wide-awake and -well informed, reading their weekly newspaper -with thoroughness, and always ready -for rational talk on current topics. They -are not rich, of course, in the down-country -sense of the word, and see very little money, -subsisting mainly upon the produce of the -farm; a matter of twenty-five dollars a year -may cover all their expenditures; but they -are better fed, and really live in more comfort, -than a great part of the folks who live -in cities. I am glad to believe it; and I -like the man’s way of standing by his neighbors. -In fact, I think highly of him as a -person of a good heart and no small discrimination; -and therefore I am all the -gladder when, having left the summit and -stopped for a minute in the shade of a tree, -I overhear him say to the musician, “That -old man enjoys himself; he’s a <i>nice</i> old -man.” “Thank you,” say I, not aloud, -but with deep inward sincerity; “that’s -one of the best compliments I’ve had for -many a day.” Blessings on this mountain -air, that makes human speech unintentionally<span class="pagenum" id="Page_246">[246]</span> -audible. An old man that enjoys himself -is pretty near to my ideal of respectable -senility. “Thank you,” I repeat; “that’s -praise, and faith, I’ll print it.” And so I -will, pleasing myself, let the ungentle reader—if -I have one—think what he may. A -good name is more to brag of than a million -of money.</p> - -<p>Yes, I am enjoying myself (why not?), -and I loiter down the road with a light -heart (an old man should be used to going -downhill), pausing by the way to notice a -little group—a family party, it is reasonable -to guess—of golden-crowned kinglets. -One of them, the only one I see fully, has a -plain crown, showing neither black stripes -nor central orange patch. But for his unmistakable -<i>zee-zee-zee</i>, which he is considerate -enough to utter while I am looking at -him, he might be taken for a ruby-crown. -So the lover of beauty and the hobbyist -descend the hill together, keeping step -like inseparable friends. And so may it be -to the end of the chapter.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_247">[247]</span> -<h2 class="nobreak">INDEX</h2> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_248">[248]</span></p> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_249">[249]</span> -<p class="ph3">INDEX</p> -</div> - -<div class="blockquot"> -<p> -Adder’s-mouth, <a href="#Page_149">149</a>.<br> -<br> -Arbutus, trailing, <a href="#Page_57">57</a>, <a href="#Page_91">91</a>, <a href="#Page_133">133</a>.<br> -<br> -Aster Lindleyanus, <a href="#Page_5">5</a>, <a href="#Page_181">181</a>.<br> -<br> -Azalea, Lapland, <a href="#Page_140">140</a>.<br> -<br> -<br> -Beech-fern, <a href="#Page_146">146</a>.<br> -<br> -Blueberries, alpine, <a href="#Page_24">24</a>.<br> -<br> -Bluebird, <a href="#Page_123">123</a>, <a href="#Page_125">125</a>, <a href="#Page_209">209</a>, <a href="#Page_210">210</a>, <a href="#Page_234">234</a>.<br> -<br> -Bobolink, <a href="#Page_97">97</a>, <a href="#Page_110">110</a>, <a href="#Page_117">117</a>, <a href="#Page_213">213</a>.<br> -<br> -Butterflies, <a href="#Page_10">10</a>, <a href="#Page_28">28</a>, <a href="#Page_36">36</a>, <a href="#Page_123">123</a>, <a href="#Page_145">145</a>, <a href="#Page_172">172</a>.<br> -<br> -<br> -Catbird, <a href="#Page_29">29</a>, <a href="#Page_106">106</a>, <a href="#Page_117">117</a>, <a href="#Page_189">189</a>, <a href="#Page_191">191</a>.<br> -<br> -Cedar-bird, <a href="#Page_15">15</a>, <a href="#Page_187">187</a>.<br> -<br> -Cherry, wild red, <a href="#Page_79">79</a>, <a href="#Page_130">130</a>, <a href="#Page_148">148</a>, <a href="#Page_211">211</a>;<br> -<span class="indent">rum, <a href="#Page_183">183</a>.</span><br> -<br> -Chickadee, black-capped, <a href="#Page_13">13</a>, <a href="#Page_15">15</a>, <a href="#Page_16">16</a>, <a href="#Page_22">22</a>, <a href="#Page_72">72</a>, <a href="#Page_83">83</a>, <a href="#Page_94">94</a>, <a href="#Page_170">170</a>, <a href="#Page_191">191</a>;<br> -<span class="indent">Hudsonian, <a href="#Page_15">15</a>, <a href="#Page_53">53</a>.</span><br> -<br> -Chokeberry, <a href="#Page_133">133</a>.<br> -<br> -Chokecherry, yellow, <a href="#Page_181">181</a>.<br> -<br> -Cicada, <a href="#Page_54">54</a>.<br> -<br> -Clintonia, <a href="#Page_164">164</a>, <a href="#Page_231">231</a>.<br> -<br> -Coltsfoot, <a href="#Page_67">67</a>.<br> -<br> -Cornel, dwarf, <a href="#Page_57">57</a>, <a href="#Page_122">122</a>, <a href="#Page_133">133</a>, <a href="#Page_150">150</a>, <a href="#Page_163">163</a>, <a href="#Page_231">231</a>.<br> -<br> -Creeper, brown, <a href="#Page_129">129</a>, <a href="#Page_138">138</a>.<br> -<br> -Crossbill, red, <a href="#Page_19">19</a>, <a href="#Page_194">194</a>, <a href="#Page_228">228</a>;<br> -<span class="indent">white-winged, <a href="#Page_19">19</a>.</span><br> -<br> -Crow, <a href="#Page_11">11</a>, <a href="#Page_97">97</a>, <a href="#Page_210">210</a>.<br> -<br> -Cuckoo, black-billed, <a href="#Page_145">145</a>.<br> -<br> -<br> -Finch, pine, <a href="#Page_126">126</a>, <a href="#Page_144">144</a>, <a href="#Page_170">170</a>, <a href="#Page_228">228</a>;<br> -<span class="indent">purple, <a href="#Page_117">117</a>.</span><br> -<br> -Fleas, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>.<br> -<br> -Flowers, alpine, <a href="#Page_140">140</a>.<br> -<br> -Flycatcher, alder, <a href="#Page_105">105</a>, <a href="#Page_125">125</a>, <a href="#Page_148">148</a>, <a href="#Page_214">214</a>, <a href="#Page_230">230</a>, <a href="#Page_240">240</a>;<br> -<span class="indent">crested, <a href="#Page_99">99</a>, <a href="#Page_125">125</a>, <a href="#Page_210">210</a>, <a href="#Page_214">214</a>;</span><br> -<span class="indent">least, <a href="#Page_212">212</a>, <a href="#Page_213">213</a>, <a href="#Page_214">214</a>;</span><br> -<span class="indent">olive-sided, <a href="#Page_101">101</a>, <a href="#Page_105">105</a>, <a href="#Page_130">130</a>, <a href="#Page_169">169</a>, <a href="#Page_212">212</a>, <a href="#Page_214">214</a>;</span><br> -<span class="indent">yellow-bellied, <a href="#Page_101">101</a>, <a href="#Page_215">215</a>.</span><br> -<br> -Fox, <a href="#Page_58">58</a>.<br> -<br> -<br> -Goldfinch, <a href="#Page_72">72</a>, <a href="#Page_172">172</a>, <a href="#Page_189">189</a>, <a href="#Page_191">191</a>, <a href="#Page_211">211</a>.<br> -<br> -Goldthread, <a href="#Page_57">57</a>, <a href="#Page_83">83</a>, <a href="#Page_133">133</a>, <a href="#Page_150">150</a>, <a href="#Page_231">231</a>.<br> -<br> -Grosbeak, rose-breasted, <a href="#Page_86">86</a>, <a href="#Page_117">117</a>, <a href="#Page_127">127</a>.<br> -<br> -Grouse, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>, <a href="#Page_101">101</a>, <a href="#Page_192">192</a>, <a href="#Page_205">205</a>, <a href="#Page_210">210</a>, <a href="#Page_211">211</a>.<br> -<br> -<br> -Hardhack, <a href="#Page_155">155</a>.<br> -<br> -Hawk, sparrow, <a href="#Page_240">240</a>.<br> -<br> -Hobble-bush, <a href="#Page_13">13</a>, <a href="#Page_130">130</a>.<br> -<br> -Houstonia, <a href="#Page_133">133</a>.<br> -<br> -Humming-bird, <a href="#Page_160">160</a>, <a href="#Page_205">205</a>.<br> -<br> -Hyla, <a href="#Page_192">192</a>.<br> -<br> -<br> -Indigo-bird, <a href="#Page_159">159</a>.<br> -<br> -<br> -Kinglet, golden-crowned, <a href="#Page_138">138</a>, <a href="#Page_192">192</a>, <a href="#Page_246">246</a>;<br> -<span class="indent">ruby-crowned, <a href="#Page_29">29</a>, <a href="#Page_66">66</a>, <a href="#Page_72">72</a>, <a href="#Page_192">192</a>.</span><br> -<br> -Kingfisher, <a href="#Page_16">16</a>.<br> -<br> -<br> -Lady’s-slipper, pink, <a href="#Page_108">108</a>, <a href="#Page_133">133</a>;<br> -<span class="indent">yellow, <a href="#Page_111">111</a>, <a href="#Page_235">235</a>.</span><br> -<br> -Lark, meadow, <a href="#Page_115">115</a>;<br> -<span class="indent">prairie horned, <a href="#Page_162">162</a>, <a href="#Page_166">166</a>, <a href="#Page_195">195</a>, <a href="#Page_217">217</a>, <a href="#Page_234">234</a>.</span><br> -<br> -Lonesome Lake, <a href="#Page_11">11</a>.<br> -<br> -<br> -Martin, purple, <a href="#Page_117">117</a>.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_250">[250]</span><br> -<br> -Maryland yellow-throat, <a href="#Page_72">72</a>, <a href="#Page_125">125</a>, <a href="#Page_145">145</a>, <a href="#Page_189">189</a>.<br> -<br> -Merganser, <a href="#Page_221">221</a>.<br> -<br> -Mountain ash, <a href="#Page_17">17</a>.<br> -<br> -Mountain holly, <a href="#Page_163">163</a>, <a href="#Page_231">231</a>.<br> -<br> -<br> -Nuthatch, red-breasted, <a href="#Page_17">17</a>, <a href="#Page_121">121</a>, <a href="#Page_194">194</a>;<br> -<span class="indent">white-breasted, <a href="#Page_189">189</a>, <a href="#Page_213">213</a>, <a href="#Page_216">216</a>.</span><br> -<br> -<br> -Oriole, <a href="#Page_117">117</a>.<br> -<br> -Oven-bird, <a href="#Page_125">125</a>, <a href="#Page_143">143</a>, <a href="#Page_216">216</a>.<br> -<br> -Owl, barred, <a href="#Page_22">22</a>.<br> -<br> -<br> -Phœbe, <a href="#Page_191">191</a>, <a href="#Page_209">209</a>.<br> -<br> -<br> -Raspberry, <a href="#Page_151">151</a>, <a href="#Page_162">162</a>.<br> -<br> -Rhodora, <a href="#Page_85">85</a>, <a href="#Page_133">133</a>.<br> -<br> -Robin, <a href="#Page_13">13</a>, <a href="#Page_22">22</a>, <a href="#Page_74">74</a>, <a href="#Page_117">117</a>, <a href="#Page_170">170</a>, <a href="#Page_189">189</a>, <a href="#Page_191">191</a>.<br> -<br> -<br> -Salix balsamifera, <a href="#Page_6">6</a>, <a href="#Page_41">41</a>, <a href="#Page_85">85</a>, <a href="#Page_155">155</a>.<br> -<br> -Sandpiper, solitary, <a href="#Page_89">89</a>, <a href="#Page_115">115</a>, <a href="#Page_170">170</a>.<br> -<br> -Sandwort, Greenland, <a href="#Page_25">25</a>.<br> -<br> -Sapsucker, <a href="#Page_68">68</a>, <a href="#Page_148">148</a>, <a href="#Page_183">183</a>, <a href="#Page_184">184</a>, <a href="#Page_189">189</a>, <a href="#Page_215">215</a>, <a href="#Page_230">230</a>.<br> -<br> -Shadbush, <a href="#Page_80">80</a>, <a href="#Page_83">83</a>, <a href="#Page_91">91</a>, <a href="#Page_133">133</a>, <a href="#Page_211">211</a>.<br> -<br> -Shadbush, few-flowered, <a href="#Page_91">91</a>, <a href="#Page_133">133</a>.<br> -<br> -Siskin, pine, <a href="#Page_126">126</a>, <a href="#Page_144">144</a>, <a href="#Page_170">170</a>, <a href="#Page_228">228</a>.<br> -<br> -Snowbird, <a href="#Page_14">14</a>, <a href="#Page_15">15</a>, <a href="#Page_63">63</a>, <a href="#Page_240">240</a>.<br> -<br> -Sparrow, chipping, <a href="#Page_77">77</a>;<br> -<span class="indent">English, <a href="#Page_118">118</a>;</span><br> -<span class="indent">field, <a href="#Page_77">77</a>, <a href="#Page_116">116</a>, <a href="#Page_117">117</a>, <a href="#Page_159">159</a>, <a href="#Page_189">189</a>;</span><br> -<span class="indent">fox, <a href="#Page_57">57</a>;</span><br> -<span class="indent">Lincoln’s, <a href="#Page_68">68</a>, <a href="#Page_74">74</a>, <a href="#Page_77">77</a>;</span><br> -<span class="indent">savanna, <a href="#Page_78">78</a>;</span><br> -<span class="indent">song, <a href="#Page_72">72</a>, <a href="#Page_74">74</a>, <a href="#Page_77">77</a>, <a href="#Page_117">117</a>, <a href="#Page_123">123</a>, <a href="#Page_159">159</a>, <a href="#Page_170">170</a>, <a href="#Page_189">189</a>, <a href="#Page_191">191</a>, <a href="#Page_210">210</a>;</span><br> -<span class="indent">swamp, <a href="#Page_74">74</a>, <a href="#Page_172">172</a>;</span><br> -<span class="indent">vesper, <a href="#Page_8">8</a>, <a href="#Page_44">44</a>, <a href="#Page_51">51</a>, <a href="#Page_116">116</a>, <a href="#Page_117">117</a>, <a href="#Page_123">123</a>, <a href="#Page_160">160</a>, <a href="#Page_191">191</a>;</span><br> -<span class="indent">white-crowned, <a href="#Page_74">74</a>, <a href="#Page_77">77</a>, <a href="#Page_114">114</a>, <a href="#Page_194">194</a>;</span><br> -<span class="indent">white-throated, <a href="#Page_13">13</a>, <a href="#Page_15">15</a>, <a href="#Page_25">25</a>, <a href="#Page_57">57</a>, <a href="#Page_66">66</a>, <a href="#Page_74">74</a>, <a href="#Page_83">83</a>, <a href="#Page_93">93</a>, <a href="#Page_130">130</a>, <a href="#Page_148">148</a>, <a href="#Page_160">160</a>, <a href="#Page_170">170</a>, <a href="#Page_189">189</a>, <a href="#Page_191">191</a>.</span><br> -<br> -Spiders, <a href="#Page_31">31</a>.<br> -<br> -Spring-beauty, <a href="#Page_88">88</a>, <a href="#Page_89">89</a>.<br> -<br> -Swallow, bank, <a href="#Page_117">117</a>;<br> -<span class="indent">barn, <a href="#Page_97">97</a>, <a href="#Page_117">117</a>, <a href="#Page_118">118</a>, <a href="#Page_152">152</a>, <a href="#Page_159">159</a>, <a href="#Page_234">234</a>, <a href="#Page_240">240</a>;</span><br> -<span class="indent">cliff, <a href="#Page_117">117</a>;</span><br> -<span class="indent">tree, <a href="#Page_117">117</a>.</span><br> -<br> -Swift, <a href="#Page_134">134</a>, <a href="#Page_240">240</a>.<br> -<br> -<br> -Tanager, <a href="#Page_72">72</a>, <a href="#Page_101">101</a>, <a href="#Page_117">117</a>, <a href="#Page_126">126</a>.<br> -<br> -Thorn-bush, <a href="#Page_180">180</a>.<br> -<br> -Thrush, gray-cheeked, <a href="#Page_117">117</a>;<br> -<span class="indent">hermit, <a href="#Page_14">14</a>, <a href="#Page_21">21</a>, <a href="#Page_29">29</a>, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>, <a href="#Page_39">39</a>, <a href="#Page_80">80</a>, <a href="#Page_113">113</a>, <a href="#Page_115">115</a>, <a href="#Page_117">117</a>, <a href="#Page_148">148</a>, <a href="#Page_159">159</a>, <a href="#Page_165">165</a>, <a href="#Page_191">191</a>, <a href="#Page_237">237</a>;</span><br> -<span class="indent">olive-backed (Swainson’s), <a href="#Page_14">14</a>, <a href="#Page_21">21</a>, <a href="#Page_22">22</a>, <a href="#Page_101">101</a>, <a href="#Page_117">117</a>, <a href="#Page_144">144</a>, <a href="#Page_189">189</a>, <a href="#Page_193">193</a>;</span><br> -<span class="indent">water, <a href="#Page_105">105</a>;</span><br> -<span class="indent">Wilson’s (veery), <a href="#Page_101">101</a>, <a href="#Page_110">110</a>, <a href="#Page_115">115</a>, <a href="#Page_117">117</a>;</span><br> -<span class="indent">wood, <a href="#Page_112">112</a>, <a href="#Page_117">117</a>, <a href="#Page_126">126</a>, <a href="#Page_127">127</a>.</span><br> -<br> -Toad, <a href="#Page_131">131</a>.<br> -<br> -Trillium, painted, <a href="#Page_83">83</a>, <a href="#Page_133">133</a>.<br> -<br> -<br> -Violet, dog-tooth, <a href="#Page_89">89</a>;<br> -<span class="indent">round-leaved, <a href="#Page_88">88</a>, <a href="#Page_89">89</a>, <a href="#Page_130">130</a>;</span><br> -<span class="indent">Selkirk’s, <a href="#Page_122">122</a>, <a href="#Page_135">135</a>.</span><br> -<br> -Vireo, Philadelphia, <a href="#Page_189">189</a>, <a href="#Page_190">190</a>;<br> -<span class="indent">red-eyed, <a href="#Page_18">18</a>, <a href="#Page_72">72</a>, <a href="#Page_116">116</a>, <a href="#Page_144">144</a>, <a href="#Page_159">159</a>, <a href="#Page_170">170</a>, <a href="#Page_210">210</a>;</span><br> -<span class="indent">solitary, <a href="#Page_8">8</a>, <a href="#Page_66">66</a>, <a href="#Page_68">68</a>, <a href="#Page_72">72</a>, <a href="#Page_117">117</a>, <a href="#Page_148">148</a>, <a href="#Page_189">189</a>, <a href="#Page_191">191</a>;</span><br> -<span class="indent">warbling, <a href="#Page_120">120</a>;</span><br> -<span class="indent">yellow-throated, <a href="#Page_115">115</a>, <a href="#Page_214">214</a>.</span><br> -<br> -<br> -Warbler, bay-breasted, <a href="#Page_72">72</a>, <a href="#Page_73">73</a>, <a href="#Page_87">87</a>, <a href="#Page_94">94</a>;<br> -<span class="indent">Blackburnian, <a href="#Page_86">86</a>, <a href="#Page_87">87</a>, <a href="#Page_94">94</a>, <a href="#Page_135">135</a>;</span><br> -<span class="indent">black-and-white, <a href="#Page_104">104</a>;</span><br> -<span class="indent">blackpoll, <a href="#Page_72">72</a>, <a href="#Page_142">142</a>;</span><br> -<span class="indent">black-throated blue, <a href="#Page_126">126</a>;</span><br> -<span class="indent">black-throated green, <a href="#Page_72">72</a>, <a href="#Page_189">189</a>;</span><br> -<span class="indent">blue yellow-backed, <a href="#Page_127">127</a>, <a href="#Page_216">216</a>;</span><br> -<span class="indent">Canada, <a href="#Page_101">101</a>, <a href="#Page_230">230</a>;</span><br> -<span class="indent">Cape May, <a href="#Page_94">94</a>, <a href="#Page_102">102</a>, <a href="#Page_103">103</a>, <a href="#Page_106">106</a>, <a href="#Page_107">107</a>, <a href="#Page_111">111</a>, <a href="#Page_198">198</a>, <a href="#Page_217">217</a>;</span><br> -<span class="indent">chestnut-sided, <a href="#Page_72">72</a>, <a href="#Page_73">73</a>, <a href="#Page_170">170</a>;</span><br> -<span class="indent">magnolia, <a href="#Page_101">101</a>, <a href="#Page_127">127</a>, <a href="#Page_144">144</a>;</span><br> -<span class="indent">mourning, <a href="#Page_112">112</a>, <a href="#Page_128">128</a>;</span><br> -<span class="indent">myrtle, <a href="#Page_68">68</a>, <a href="#Page_72">72</a>, <a href="#Page_143">143</a>, <a href="#Page_144">144</a>, <a href="#Page_189">189</a>, <a href="#Page_211">211</a>, <a href="#Page_240">240</a>;</span><br> -<span class="indent">Nashville, <a href="#Page_127">127</a>, <a href="#Page_189">189</a>, <a href="#Page_213">213</a>;</span><br> -<span class="indent">Tennessee, <a href="#Page_41">41</a>, <a href="#Page_92">92</a>, <a href="#Page_101">101</a>, <a href="#Page_102">102</a>, <a href="#Page_103">103</a>, <a href="#Page_105">105</a>;</span><br> -<span class="indent">Wilson’s black-cap, <a href="#Page_114">114</a>.</span><span class="pagenum" id="Page_251">[251]</span><br> -<br> -Woodchuck, <a href="#Page_61">61</a>, <a href="#Page_86">86</a>, <a href="#Page_96">96</a>.<br> -<br> -Wood pewee, <a href="#Page_169">169</a>, <a href="#Page_214">214</a>.<br> -<br> -Woodpecker, arctic three-toed, <a href="#Page_14">14</a>;<br> -<span class="indent">downy, <a href="#Page_68">68</a>;</span><br> -<span class="indent">golden-winged, <a href="#Page_16">16</a>, <a href="#Page_68">68</a>, <a href="#Page_72">72</a>;</span><br> -<span class="indent">hairy, <a href="#Page_41">41</a>;</span><br> -<span class="indent">pileated, <a href="#Page_45">45</a>, <a href="#Page_99">99</a>, <a href="#Page_156">156</a>, <a href="#Page_183">183</a>, <a href="#Page_193">193</a>, <a href="#Page_234">234</a>.</span><br> -<br> -Wood-sorrel, <a href="#Page_167">167</a>.<br> -<br> -Wren, winter, <a href="#Page_10">10</a>, <a href="#Page_57">57</a>, <a href="#Page_72">72</a>, <a href="#Page_90">90</a>, <a href="#Page_117">117</a>.<br> -</p> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p class="center"><span class="antiqua">The Riverside Press</span><br> -<i>Electrotyped and printed by H. O. Houghton & Co.<br> -Cambridge, Mass., U. S. A.</i></p> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p class="ph1">FOOTNOTES:</p> -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_1" href="#FNanchor_1" class="label">[1]</a> The species was not new. A Maine collector had anticipated -her, I believe. Whether <i>his</i> name was given to -the flea I did not learn or have forgotten.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_2" href="#FNanchor_2" class="label">[2]</a> The <i>Atlantic Monthly</i>.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_3" href="#FNanchor_3" class="label">[3]</a> “I named it Tom’s Finch,” says Audubon, “in honor -of our friend Lincoln, who was a great favorite among us.”</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_4" href="#FNanchor_4" class="label">[4]</a> But the brightness of red-maple groves at this season -is mostly not in the leaves, but in the fruit.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_5" href="#FNanchor_5" class="label">[5]</a> Yes, he has even been seen (and “taken”), so I am -told, at the summit of Mount Washington.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_6" href="#FNanchor_6" class="label">[6]</a> No, the line is Coleridge’s:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="indent6">“the merry nightingale</div> -<div class="verse">That crowds, and hurries, and precipitates</div> -<div class="verse">With fast thick warble his delicious notes.”</div> -</div></div> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_7" href="#FNanchor_7" class="label">[7]</a> So I was relieved to find all the Franconia white-throated -sparrows introducing their sets of triplets with -two—not three—longer single notes. That was how I -had always whistled the tune; and I had been astonished -and grieved to see it printed in musical notation by Mr. -Cheney, and again by Mr. Chapman, with an introductory -measure of three notes: as if it were to go, “Old Sam, -Sam Peabody, Peabody, Peabody,” instead of, as I remembered -it, and as reason dictated, “Old Sam Peabody, -Peabody, Peabody.” I am not intimating that Mr. -Cheney and Mr. Chapman are wrong, but that my own -recollection was right,—a very different matter, as my -present experience with Tennessee warblers was sufficient -to show.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_8" href="#FNanchor_8" class="label">[8]</a> I made the following list of fifty odd species heard -and seen either from my windows or from the piazza: -bluebird, robin, veery, hermit thrush, olive-backed thrush, -chickadee, Canadian nuthatch, catbird, oven-bird, water -thrush, chestnut-sided warbler, myrtle warbler, redstart, -Nashville warbler, blue yellow-backed warbler, Maryland -yellow-throat, warbling vireo, red-eyed vireo, cedar-bird, -barn swallow, cliff swallow, sand swallow, tree swallow, -goldfinch, purple finch, pine finch, red crossbill, indigo-bird, -snowbird, song sparrow, field sparrow, chipping -sparrow, vesper sparrow, white-throated sparrow, Baltimore -oriole, bobolink, red-winged blackbird, crow, blue -jay, kingbird, phœbe, least flycatcher, olive-sided flycatcher, -alder flycatcher, great-crested flycatcher, wood -pewee, humming-bird, chimney swift, whip-poor-will, -flicker, kingfisher, black-billed cuckoo.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_9" href="#FNanchor_9" class="label">[9]</a> <i>The Auk</i>, vol. v. p. 151.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_10" href="#FNanchor_10" class="label">[10]</a> I was once walking over these same miles of sleepers -with a bird-loving man, when he recalled a reminiscence -of his boyhood. One of his teachers was remarking upon -the need of seeking things in their appropriate places. -“Now if you wanted to see birds,” he said, by way of illustration, -“you wouldn’t go to a railroad track.” -“Which is the very place we do go to,” my companion -added.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_11" href="#FNanchor_11" class="label">[11]</a> This and the two succeeding chapters are records of -a vacation visit in May, 1901.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_12" href="#FNanchor_12" class="label">[12]</a> Four days afterward (August 9) I found larks of -the present season in the Landaff Valley, where I had -watched their parents with so much pleasure in May, as -I have described in a previous chapter. These August -birds were feeding upon oats in the road, like so many -English sparrows.</p> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<div class="transnote"> -<p class="ph1">TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:</p> - -<p>Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.</p> - -<p>Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.</p> - -<p>Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.</p> -</div></div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FOOTING IT IN FRANCONIA ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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