64 IRature StuMe0 in Berfcebire. 



feeling that it was harbouring the " blind old man of 

 Scio's rocky isle." It was a fit haven for old Homer, 

 and we were glad to know that the rumours of his 

 demise were unfounded. 



We would have stayed longer, on the chance of 

 seeing the old fellow. But there were still six good 

 miles between us and our goal at North Adams, and 

 we pushed on to the charming home whose hospit- 

 able roof received us long before supper-time, the 

 richer by an afternoon of untempered outdoor joys. 



I pass the Sunday which followed, when the 

 wheelman was metamorphosed into a parson, and 

 preached under the shadow of Greylock. By night 

 the clouds returned and the rain fell, and Monday 

 morning was ushered in with muggy airs and a 

 blurred and uncertain sky. But the itinerary had to 

 be kept somehow, and the circumvented mountain 

 photographed. We planned to wheel as far as 

 Adams and pick up a train for Pittsfield there. But, 

 alas ! The soft and sticky road and the softer and 

 stickier air cut down all hopes of a speedy run, and 

 long before we had accomplished half the distance by 

 the "back road," the warning whistle in the valley 

 below told us of our defeat. But we consoled our- 

 selves by one or two tries with the camera at Grey- 

 lock's round shoulder, as it rose, not unlike our 

 beloved Dome in southern Berkshire, the splendid 

 background to a broad and lovely valley. 



Then came more mud in the roadbed, and more 

 language on the lips of the riders, which rose the 



