130 Bo^-Trotting for OrcHids 



far beyond. That pile of granite upon the brow of 

 West Rock, designated in history as Judge's Cave, 

 stood guard over the hills about me. Farther off, 

 toward Westville, many a roof glistened and peered 

 out among the newly leaved trees of the hillsides. One 

 of them was that of Ik Marvel's home, where per- 

 chance he had smoked the dream pipes of his Bachelor' s 

 Revery. Smoke now curled above the chimney-tops, 

 full of the drowsiness of May mornings. 



The song of thrushes and orioles amid the bushes 

 burst joyously upon me, and during the interludes I 

 heard the hum of bees and the distant murmurings of 

 streams. Butterflies sailed by, flashing their brilliant 

 colors in the sunlight, and the air was laden with the 

 delicate fragrance of early w'oodlands. It was a day 

 marked by hope and promise. Who can forget those 

 fields of spring where forget-me-nots and violets bloom? 



During the afternoon of this glorious day, I jour- 

 neyed to Mount Carmel beyond Lake Whitney. The 

 old canal from Northampton to New Haven formerly 

 passed along this valley, and although the channel is 

 partly filled in, the towpath still remains, and is well- 

 trodden. I followed it from the end of the car-line, 

 until I reached an elevated ledge of rock to the right. 

 This little hill, clothed with white cedars and junipers, 

 lies beneath the stern brow of the Giant, w^hose face is 

 plainly outlined against the sky far above the village. 



After exploring the ridge hereabout, and finding 

 it covered with Columbine in bud, I descended to the 

 hollow, along the stream. In the rocky crevices at the 



