IN THE MOUNT LAFAYETTE FOKEST 



IT is one of the cool mornings that descend 

 rather suddenly upon our White Mountain 

 country with the coming of autumn ; cool morn- 

 ings that are liable to be followed by warm days. 

 I was in doubt how to dress as I set out, and 

 for the first mile or two almost regretted that I 

 had not taken an extra garment. Then all at 

 once the sun broke through the clouds, and even 

 the one coat became superfluous and was thrown 

 over my arm. This state of things lasted till I 

 had crossed the golf links and entered the woods. 

 At that point the sun withdrew his shining, and 

 now, between the clouds and the shadow and 

 dampness of the forest, I have put on my coat 

 again and buttoned it up ; and what counts for 

 more, I am driven to walk less slowly than one 

 would always prefer to do in such a place. 



A fresh breeze stirs the tree-tops, so that I am 

 not without music, let the birds be as silent as 

 they will. Nearly or quite the only voice I have 

 so far heard was that of an unseen Maryland 

 yellow-throat, some distance back, who sprang 

 into the air and delivered himself of a song with 



