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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0579eac --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #69355 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/69355) diff --git a/old/69355-0.txt b/old/69355-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 13a243a..0000000 --- a/old/69355-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,5095 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Footing it in Franconia, by Bradford -Torrey - -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 -www.gutenberg.org. 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. - -Title: Footing it in Franconia - -Author: Bradford Torrey - -Release Date: November 14, 2022 [eBook #69355] - -Language: English - -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) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FOOTING IT IN FRANCONIA *** - - - - - -Books by Mr. Torrey. - - - =EVERYDAY BIRDS.= Elementary Studies. With twelve colored - Illustrations reproduced from Audubon. Square 12mo, $1.00. - - =BIRDS IN THE BUSH.= 16mo, $1.25. - - =A RAMBLER’S LEASE.= 16mo, $1.25. - - =THE FOOT-PATH WAY.= 16mo, gilt top, $1.25. - - =A FLORIDA SKETCH-BOOK.= 16mo, $1.25. - - =SPRING NOTES FROM TENNESSEE.= 16mo, $1.25. - - =A WORLD OF GREEN HILLS.= 16mo, $1.25. - - - HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO. - BOSTON AND NEW YORK. - - - - - FOOTING IT IN - FRANCONIA - - BY - BRADFORD TORREY - - “And now each man bestride his hobby, and - dust away his bells to what tune he pleases.” - - CHARLES LAMB. - - [Illustration] - - BOSTON AND NEW YORK - HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY - The Riverside Press, Cambridge - 1901 - - - - - COPYRIGHT, 1901, BY BRADFORD TORREY - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED - - _Published October, 1901_ - - - - -CONTENTS. - - - PAGE - - AUTUMN 1 - - SPRING 79 - - A DAY IN JUNE 120 - - BERRY-TIME FELICITIES 147 - - RED LEAF DAYS 177 - - AMERICAN SKYLARKS 195 - - A QUIET MORNING 208 - - IN THE LANDAFF VALLEY 217 - - A VISIT TO MOUNT AGASSIZ 228 - - - - -FOOTING IT IN FRANCONIA - - - - -AUTUMN - - “There did they dwell, - As happy spirits as were ever seen; - If but a bird, to keep them company, - Or butterfly sate down, they were, I ween, - As pleased as if the same had been a Maiden-queen.” - - WORDSWORTH. - - -Five 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 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 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. - -The last thing to be _thought_ 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 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.” - -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, and we -decline to waste it on theoretical considerations. - -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.” - -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 _Aster -Lindleyanus_, telling us meanwhile 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. - -That willow I can never see anywhere without thinking of the man who -first told me about it. Whether I pass the single 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 _his_ willow. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -“This is living!” I found myself repeating aloud, as I went up the -longish hill to the plateau above Gale River, on the Bethlehem 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 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, _tut, tut_, -in their characteristic manner, without a note of song. - -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 _Grapta_, 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. - -The forenoon was not without its tragedy, nevertheless. As I came out -into the open, on my return from the river woods toward 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? - -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 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. - -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 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? - -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 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. - -At the lake there are certain to be numbers 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. _Sick-a-day-day_, they call, and soon a -little brown-headed 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. -_Sick-a-day-day-day_, 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. - -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 _wicker, wicker_, 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 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. - -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 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. - -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 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. - -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. - -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 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! - -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 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. - -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. -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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 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. - -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 _Vaccinium -uliginosum_, _V. cæspitosum_, and _V. Pennsylvanicum_ (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 ground between the -boulders. At that exposed height not even a blueberry bush ventures -to stand upright. One of them, _V. cæspitosum_, 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 the summit. -At the sight my fellow traveler broke out,-- - - “My heart leaps up when I behold - An eagle in the sky.” - -On that point, as concerning the fine qualities of the cespitose -blueberry, we were fully agreed. - -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, 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. - -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 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 (_Vanessa Milberti_). 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, 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. - -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 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. - -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. - -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 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 nothing for it but to play the looker-on and -listener. In that part I hope I was less of a failure. - -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.[1] - -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 _specific_ honors, I -say, are common in her case,--common almost to satiety. But to have -a _genus_ 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.” - -Thinking how above measure I should be exalted in such circumstances, -I am surprised 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 _édition de luxe_ of her most famous story; -for an entomologist may be also a novelist, if she has a _mind_ 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. - -“It is too bad _you_ can never have a genus,” she will say in her -bantering tone; “the name is already taken up, you know.” - -“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. - -“But then, perhaps you would never have had a genus named for you, -anyhow,” the entomologist continues, still bent upon mischief. - -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. - - * * * * * - -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. - -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. - -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,--_Limenitis Arthemis_, 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 -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;-- - - “And I could wish _my_ days to be - Bound each to each by natural piety.” - -A little way up the valley we come to an ancient mill and a bridge; a -new bridge it 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 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. - -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 drop -into in the fall. That, too, I am sure to remember as often as I pass -this way. - -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. - - “Therefore are feasts so solemn and so rare.” - -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 _is_ a hermit. - -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 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, _Dryobates villosus_ has no need to cultivate decision of -character. Every word is peremptory, and every action speaks of energy -and a mind made up. - -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 (_Salix balsamifera_). 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. 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 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. - -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. _My_ -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 completely passed out of mind. Memory, like a sundial, had marked -only the bright hour. - -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. - -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 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. - -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 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. - -Not far ahead, on the other side of the way,--to return to the Landaff -Valley,--is a _red_ 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 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. - -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 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. - -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. - -Just here the road makes a sudden bend, passes again into light woods, -and presently emerges upon a little knoll overlooking the 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. - -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 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. - - “I know not, oh, I know not,” - -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. - -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. - -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 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.” - -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. - -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 _Sick-a-day-day_. 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. - -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 -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 _be_ 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. - -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, 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.) - -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 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. - -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,--_Aspidium spinulosum_ and perhaps _A. dilatatum_, 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, 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. - -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. - -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 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. - -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 brush waving me -farewell. He was gone so instantaneously that it was hard to believe he -had really been there. - -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 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 -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. - -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; 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 _feel_ the most, not of -necessity the one in which we _see_ the most; or, to put it differently -still, the one in which we _do_ see the most, but with - - “that inward eye - Which is the bliss of solitude.” - -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:-- - - “Enjoyment, and not sorrow, is our destined end.” - -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 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. - -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[2]--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; 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. - -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, 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. - -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 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 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. - -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 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. - -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 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. - -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. - -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. - -Meanwhile, having beaten the brush over, 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,[3] 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. - -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 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. - -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 -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. - -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. - -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. - -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 -_Melospiza lincolni_. 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. - -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 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. - -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 -_cheep_, 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 _tut_. 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 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.” - -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 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. - -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. - -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. - - - - -SPRING - - “He would now be up every morning by break of day, walking to and fro - in the valley.”--BUNYAN. - - -It 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 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. - -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. - -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, 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. - -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 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;[4] 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. - -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 and handsomer than the one before it, till the white stems -made a handful. - -“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? - -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 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 it, on our way up and -down! The “Torrey willow” he always called it, stroking my vanity; and -I liked the word. - -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 _he_ is a dweller in these upper -mountain woods![5] 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 _z_, is like the -finest of wire. Another water-bar surmounted, and 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 -_z_ 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. - -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. - -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 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. - -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, 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. - -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 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”?),[6] 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,” he -pronounces it, like a “fine corkscrew stream issuing with incessant -tinkle from a cork.” “Tinkle” is exactly the word. Trust Thoreau to -find _that_, 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. - -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 (_Amelanchier oligocarpa_). The common _A. -Canadensis_ 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. - -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,-- - - “Samples and sorts, not for themselves alone, but for their - atmosphere.” - -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. - -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 sure -enough, a Tennessee’s voice was one of the first to greet me. _This_ -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.[7] - -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 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. - -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 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? - -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 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 _could_ 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. - -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 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. - -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, twenty or more together, dropped into the short grass before -me. Every one of them was a male. - -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. - -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 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. - -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 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. - -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, 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 of four quick, decisive strokes was a novelty to my ears, so -far as I could remember. - -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 _zee-zee-zee-zee_. 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. - -The next morning, nevertheless, there was 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 _was_ 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 _zees_, 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. - -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 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 _zee-zee_. 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. - -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, 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. - -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 _pip-pip_. 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 _quay-quéer_ 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 catbird, not far off, amused me by whistling a most -exact reproduction of his breezy _quit, quee-quée-o_. 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. - -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. - -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 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. - -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 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 _zee-zee-zee_ was heard again. _This_ 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 _zip-zip_, 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 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. - -I stayed by him till my patience failed, the mosquitoes helping to -wear it out; and all the while he reiterated that comparatively lively -_zip-zip_, so very different from the listless _zee-zee_, which I had -seen him use on previous 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. - -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;[8] and as the day began, 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. - -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 -printed.[9] 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. - -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 _Hylocichlæ_, -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. - -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 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? - -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, 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,--_pip-pip_,--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! - -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. - -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 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. - -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 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. - -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. - -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. - -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 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. - -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, 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? - - - - -A DAY IN JUNE - -THE FORENOON - - “The air that floated by me seem’d to say, - ‘Write! thou wilt never have a better day,’ - And so I did.” - - KEATS. - - -All 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 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. _Ank, ank_: 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. _Ank, ank_: 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. - -“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 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. - -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” 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. - -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 -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. - -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 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. - -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 _pip, pip_, a robin -cackles, an oven-bird recites his piece with schoolboy emphasis, an -alder flycatcher _queeps_, and a vesper sparrow sings. And at the end, -as if for good measure, a Maryland yellow-throat adds his _witchery, -witchery_. 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. - -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 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. - -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 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 _r_. Some of the birds add a concluding -measure of quick notes, like _wit, wit, wit_. 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. - -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 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.[10] -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 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 _tseep_ which would -put an eighty-seventh name into my vacation catalogue. - -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 _Cornus florida_ -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 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. - -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 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. - - -THE AFTERNOON - -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. - -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. - -The brightest and prettiest thing here, 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 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 -_morale_. 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 _at_ 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. - -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 -_heard_ him casually) the place where he was accustomed to leave the -road in going after them--which 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. - -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 _had_ found: -my peace of mind. Subjectively, as 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. - -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. - -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 _blanda_ had suddenly become. Almost it might be said that there -was nothing 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 _zeeing_ 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. - -“This is the best thing I have had yet.” 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. - -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 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. - -But there is much else to delight me. 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 _my_ 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 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. - -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. - -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 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:-- - - “Hark! hark! the _oven-bird_ at heaven’s gate sings”-- - -you would hardly recognize that for Shakespeare. - -As I shift my position, trying one after another of the seats which -the rocks offer 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. - -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 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. - -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 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.” - - - - -BERRY-TIME FELICITIES - - “A nice and subtle happiness, I see, - Thou to thyself proposest.” - - MILTON. - - -Once 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. - -After breakfast I took the Bethlehem road at the slowest pace. The last -time I 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. - -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. - -Wild red cherries (_Prunus Pennsylvanica_) 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. - -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, _Microstylis ophioglossoides_. -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 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. - -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 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.” - -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. - -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, 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.” - -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. - -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. - -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, 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. _Storeria occipitomaculata_, 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. - -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 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 _wish_ to be happy -who deal in superlatives and exclamations. - -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 _Spiræa tomentosa_, 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 (_Salix -balsamifera_) near the edge of the wood. This I must get over the fence -and put my 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. - -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 insects would bring such destruction? -Misfortunes never come singly. After the wasps the woodpecker. “Which -things are an allegory.” - - * * * * * - -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 _dis_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. - -Franconia boys, I have noticed, have a 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. - -“Mamma,” he said, “can’t I spend part of my money for a fishing-rod?” - -“But, my dear,” said his mother, “you know it was agreed that the first -of it should go for clothes.” - -“Yes, mamma, but a boy can get along without clothes; and I’ve never -had any fishing-rod but a peeled stick.” - -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 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. - -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 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.” - -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, 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,-- - -“Oh, Mr. ----, I do so enjoy the birds! I sit at my window and listen -to the meadow larks by the hour.” - -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. - -“Meadow larks!” he answered, knowing there was no bird of that kind -within ten miles of the spot in question. - -“Well,” said his fair interlocutor, “they are either meadow larks or -song sparrows.” - -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. - -For myself, though my present mood was rather Whitmanian than -scientific, I did devote 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, 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. - -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! - -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. - -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 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 _l_’s and _d_’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! - -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 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. - -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 -days afterward, when the weather has changed its mind again, and the -mercury is once more reaching for the century mark. - - * * * * * - -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. - -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 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. - -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. - -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 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 _deeing_; 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. - -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--_Totanus_, not _Actitis_. 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.” - -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. - -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 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. - -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 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 _too_ shy. If her complexion were fairer, -possibly she would be less retiring. - -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! - -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 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. - -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. - -Here I sat and dreamed. I was near home, with time to spare; the wind -was perfection, 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, - - “In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts - Bring sad thoughts to the mind.” - -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 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.” - -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. - - - - -RED LEAF DAYS - - “Woods over woods in gay theatric pride.” - - GOLDSMITH. - - -White Mountain 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 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. - -The white birches, which should have supplied that hue, were -practically leafless. A small caterpillar (the larva of a tiny moth, -one of the _Microlepidoptera_) 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. - -We were four at table, and in front of the evening fireplace, but -in footing it we 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. - -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 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.” - -It is all true. We looked at plants, and sometimes gathered them. The -botanist had thorn-bushes on his mind, the genus _Cratægus_ 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 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. - -Once I detected an aster which the botanist had passed by and yet, -upon a second look, thought worth taking home; it was probably -_Lindleyanus_, 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 _Cratægus_ -collector, who knows American trees if anybody 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”! - -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. - -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 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. - -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. - -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. - -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 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. - -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. - -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. - -For the present, nevertheless, the birds are all in high spirits, -warbling, twittering, 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. - -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 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, how came he to describe the scarlet tanager -as having black wings and tail, and the brown thrasher a streaked -breast? - -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. - -In and out among the bushes we made our way, one calling to the other -softly at each new development. - -“What was that?” said I. “Wasn’t that a bobolink?” - -“It sounded like it,” answered the other listener. - -“But it can’t be. Hark!” - -The quick, musical drop of sound--a “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. - -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,-- - - “Then felt I like some watcher of the skies - When a new planet swims into his ken.” - -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 only of another insect. This -minute is to him no better than any other. And the man’s nerves are -tingling with excitement. - -“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.” - -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. - -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 _chuck_ -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, though all except the goldfinches and the -chickadees were noticeably out of voice. Once a grouse drummed, and -once a flicker called _hi, hi_, 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 _zee-zee-zee_, 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. - -The breeziest voice of the week was a pileated woodpecker’s--a -flicker’s resonant _hi, hi_, 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. - -Every bird season has peculiarities of its 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. - - - - -AMERICAN SKYLARKS - - “Right hard it was for wight which did it heare, - To read what manner musicke that mote bee.” - - SPENSER. - - -On the second day after our arrival in Franconia[11] 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 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. - -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. - -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. - -Our bird of to-day interested me by displaying his “horns,”--curious -adornments 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. - -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. - -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 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 _Otocoris_.” 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 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. - -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. - -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. - -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 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 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. - -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. - -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. “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. - -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 made aware of what was going -on by hearing the notes overhead. - -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.” - -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 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, “_they_’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.” - -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 -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. - -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. - - - - -A QUIET MORNING - - “Such was the bright world on the first seventh day.” - - HENRY VAUGHAN. - - -It 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. - -Across the valley are the glorious newly 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. - -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. 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. - -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. 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. - -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 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. - -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 _chebec_ 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.) _Que-quee-o_, 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! - -About my feet are creamy white tiarella spires and pretty blue violets. -The air is 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. - -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. _Chebec, chebec_, 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, -_Sitta carolinensis_. 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 below contains many of his happy kind, -and one of them has come up within hearing to brighten my page. - -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. - -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 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. - -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 is good for a man’s bird-list as well -as for his soul. - -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.” - - - - -IN THE LANDAFF VALLEY - - -The 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. - -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 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. - -We had never met with _Dendroica tigrina_ 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. - -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 _zee-zee-zee-zee_ 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 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. - -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. - -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. - -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.” - -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, may my curse follow the man -that shoots him. - -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. - -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 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. - -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 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. But I am glad of the picture of -the bird that I have in my mind. - -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” 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. - -“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. - -A friend of mine, a truly devout woman, 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 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-- - - “He prayeth best, who loveth best - All things, both great and small,”-- - -especially small church-going lepidoptera of the rarer sorts. - -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! - - “Has she not shown us all? - From the clear space of ether, to the small - Breath of new buds unfolding? From the meaning - Of Jove’s large eyebrow, to the tender greening - Of April meadows?” - -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. - - - - -A VISIT TO MOUNT AGASSIZ - - -Mount Agassiz 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. - -Red crossbills and pine siskins were calling in the larch trees near -the house as 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. - -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 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. - -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. 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. - -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 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. - -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, 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. - -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 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.[12] - -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 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. - -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 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.” - -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 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.” - -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 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. - -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 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. - -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. - -For myself, I have learned to wait; and 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 _quay-queer_ -(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. - -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 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. - -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 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 yield myself to the great painter’s enchantments. - -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. - -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 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. - -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. - -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 _nice_ 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 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. - -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 _zee-zee-zee_, 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. - - - - -INDEX - - - - -INDEX - - - Adder’s-mouth, 149. - - Arbutus, trailing, 57, 91, 133. - - Aster Lindleyanus, 5, 181. - - Azalea, Lapland, 140. - - - Beech-fern, 146. - - Blueberries, alpine, 24. - - Bluebird, 123, 125, 209, 210, 234. - - Bobolink, 97, 110, 117, 213. - - Butterflies, 10, 28, 36, 123, 145, 172. - - - Catbird, 29, 106, 117, 189, 191. - - Cedar-bird, 15, 187. - - Cherry, wild red, 79, 130, 148, 211; - rum, 183. - - Chickadee, black-capped, 13, 15, 16, 22, 72, 83, 94, 170, 191; - Hudsonian, 15, 53. - - Chokeberry, 133. - - Chokecherry, yellow, 181. - - Cicada, 54. - - Clintonia, 164, 231. - - Coltsfoot, 67. - - Cornel, dwarf, 57, 122, 133, 150, 163, 231. - - Creeper, brown, 129, 138. - - Crossbill, red, 19, 194, 228; - white-winged, 19. - - Crow, 11, 97, 210. - - Cuckoo, black-billed, 145. - - - Finch, pine, 126, 144, 170, 228; - purple, 117. - - Fleas, 32. - - Flowers, alpine, 140. - - Flycatcher, alder, 105, 125, 148, 214, 230, 240; - crested, 99, 125, 210, 214; - least, 212, 213, 214; - olive-sided, 101, 105, 130, 169, 212, 214; - yellow-bellied, 101, 215. - - Fox, 58. - - - Goldfinch, 72, 172, 189, 191, 211. - - Goldthread, 57, 83, 133, 150, 231. - - Grosbeak, rose-breasted, 86, 117, 127. - - Grouse, 27, 101, 192, 205, 210, 211. - - - Hardhack, 155. - - Hawk, sparrow, 240. - - Hobble-bush, 13, 130. - - Houstonia, 133. - - Humming-bird, 160, 205. - - Hyla, 192. - - - Indigo-bird, 159. - - - Kinglet, golden-crowned, 138, 192, 246; - ruby-crowned, 29, 66, 72, 192. - - Kingfisher, 16. - - - Lady’s-slipper, pink, 108, 133; - yellow, 111, 235. - - Lark, meadow, 115; - prairie horned, 162, 166, 195, 217, 234. - - Lonesome Lake, 11. - - - Martin, purple, 117. - - Maryland yellow-throat, 72, 125, 145, 189. - - Merganser, 221. - - Mountain ash, 17. - - Mountain holly, 163, 231. - - - Nuthatch, red-breasted, 17, 121, 194; - white-breasted, 189, 213, 216. - - - Oriole, 117. - - Oven-bird, 125, 143, 216. - - Owl, barred, 22. - - - Phœbe, 191, 209. - - - Raspberry, 151, 162. - - Rhodora, 85, 133. - - Robin, 13, 22, 74, 117, 170, 189, 191. - - - Salix balsamifera, 6, 41, 85, 155. - - Sandpiper, solitary, 89, 115, 170. - - Sandwort, Greenland, 25. - - Sapsucker, 68, 148, 183, 184, 189, 215, 230. - - Shadbush, 80, 83, 91, 133, 211. - - Shadbush, few-flowered, 91, 133. - - Siskin, pine, 126, 144, 170, 228. - - Snowbird, 14, 15, 63, 240. - - Sparrow, chipping, 77; - English, 118; - field, 77, 116, 117, 159, 189; - fox, 57; - Lincoln’s, 68, 74, 77; - savanna, 78; - song, 72, 74, 77, 117, 123, 159, 170, 189, 191, 210; - swamp, 74, 172; - vesper, 8, 44, 51, 116, 117, 123, 160, 191; - white-crowned, 74, 77, 114, 194; - white-throated, 13, 15, 25, 57, 66, 74, 83, 93, 130, 148, 160, 170, - 189, 191. - - Spiders, 31. - - Spring-beauty, 88, 89. - - Swallow, bank, 117; - barn, 97, 117, 118, 152, 159, 234, 240; - cliff, 117; - tree, 117. - - Swift, 134, 240. - - - Tanager, 72, 101, 117, 126. - - Thorn-bush, 180. - - Thrush, gray-cheeked, 117; - hermit, 14, 21, 29, 30, 39, 80, 113, 115, 117, 148, 159, 165, 191, - 237; - olive-backed (Swainson’s), 14, 21, 22, 101, 117, 144, 189, 193; - water, 105; - Wilson’s (veery), 101, 110, 115, 117; - wood, 112, 117, 126, 127. - - Toad, 131. - - Trillium, painted, 83, 133. - - - Violet, dog-tooth, 89; - round-leaved, 88, 89, 130; - Selkirk’s, 122, 135. - - Vireo, Philadelphia, 189, 190; - red-eyed, 18, 72, 116, 144, 159, 170, 210; - solitary, 8, 66, 68, 72, 117, 148, 189, 191; - warbling, 120; - yellow-throated, 115, 214. - - - Warbler, bay-breasted, 72, 73, 87, 94; - Blackburnian, 86, 87, 94, 135; - black-and-white, 104; - blackpoll, 72, 142; - black-throated blue, 126; - black-throated green, 72, 189; - blue yellow-backed, 127, 216; - Canada, 101, 230; - Cape May, 94, 102, 103, 106, 107, 111, 198, 217; - chestnut-sided, 72, 73, 170; - magnolia, 101, 127, 144; - mourning, 112, 128; - myrtle, 68, 72, 143, 144, 189, 211, 240; - Nashville, 127, 189, 213; - Tennessee, 41, 92, 101, 102, 103, 105; - Wilson’s black-cap, 114. - - Woodchuck, 61, 86, 96. - - Wood pewee, 169, 214. - - Woodpecker, arctic three-toed, 14; - downy, 68; - golden-winged, 16, 68, 72; - hairy, 41; - pileated, 45, 99, 156, 183, 193, 234. - - Wood-sorrel, 167. - - Wren, winter, 10, 57, 72, 90, 117. - - - The Riverside Press - _Electrotyped and printed by H. O. Houghton & Co. - Cambridge, Mass., U. S. A._ - - - - -FOOTNOTES: - -[1] The species was not new. A Maine collector had anticipated her, I -believe. Whether _his_ name was given to the flea I did not learn or -have forgotten. - -[2] The _Atlantic Monthly_. - -[3] “I named it Tom’s Finch,” says Audubon, “in honor of our friend -Lincoln, who was a great favorite among us.” - -[4] But the brightness of red-maple groves at this season is mostly not -in the leaves, but in the fruit. - -[5] Yes, he has even been seen (and “taken”), so I am told, at the -summit of Mount Washington. - -[6] No, the line is Coleridge’s:-- - - “the merry nightingale - That crowds, and hurries, and precipitates With - fast thick warble his delicious notes.” - -[7] 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. - -[8] 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. - -[9] _The Auk_, vol. v. p. 151. - -[10] 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. - -[11] This and the two succeeding chapters are records of a vacation -visit in May, 1901. - -[12] 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. - - - - -TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES: - - - Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_. - - Emboldened text is surrounded by equals signs: =bold=. - - Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. - - Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized. - - Archaic or variant spelling has been retained. - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FOOTING IT IN FRANCONIA *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -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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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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