IN THE HEMLOCKS. .81 



both the smaller and the larger growths. Every 

 bush and branch and sprig is dressed up in the most 

 rich and fantastic of liveries; and, crowning all, the 

 long bearded moss festoons the branches or swaya 

 gracefully from the limbs. Every twig looks a cent- 

 ury old, though green leaves tip the end of it. A 

 young yellow birch has a venerable, patriarchal look, 

 and seems ill at ease under such premature honors. 

 A decayed hemlock is draped as if by hands for some 

 solemn festival. 



Mounting toward the upland again, I pause rever- 

 ently as the hush and stillness of twilight come upon 

 the woods. It is the sweetest, ripest hour of the day. 

 And as the hermit's evening hymn goes up from the 

 deep solitude below me, I experience that serene ex- 

 altation of sentiment of which music, literature, and 

 ^ligiou are but the faint types and symbols. 



Maryland Yellow-throat. 



