JUNE IN FRANCONIA. 33 
almost ripe fruit was abundant, there was 
scarce any that had taken on the final tinge 
and flavor. Then I began to be aware of 
faint, sibilant noises about me, and, glan- 
cing up, I saw that the ground was already 
“preémpted”’ by a company of cedar-birds, 
who, naturally enough, were not a little in- 
dignant at my poaching thus on their pre- 
serves. They showed so much concern (and 
had gathered the ripest of the berries so 
thoroughly) that I actually came away the 
sooner on their account. I began to feel 
ashamed of myself, and for once in my life 
was literally hissed off the stage. 
Even on my last page I must be permitted 
a word in praise of Mount Cannon, of which 
I made three ascents. It has nothing like 
the celebrity of Mount Willard, with which, 
from its position, it is natural to compare it; 
but to my thinking it is little, if at all, less 
worthy. Its outlook upon Mount Lafayette 
is certainly grander than anything Mount 
Willard can offer, while the prospect of the 
Pemigewasset Valley, fading away to the 
horizon, if less striking than that of the 
White Mountain Notch, has some elements 
of beauty which must of necessity be lacking 
