21 lule*afDe IRamble 



borly, there were footpath- ways. Here and there 

 some lone tree may be standing that was much 

 more of a landmark to our forefathers than it is to 

 us. Trees, I am sure, were something more than 

 so many oaks and elms to the lovers of the last 

 century. Be this as it may, they are trees only to 

 us, and utterly without association of like import. 

 The old-time paths have long since been blotted 

 out, and so I hold it as my most excellent good 

 fortune to find to-day a trace of one that was full 

 of suggestiveness. 



In a long-neglected corner of a high pasture 

 meadow, to which none but the very highest 

 freshets ever reached, there stands a curious group 

 of trees, five in all, two willows, an oak, a maple, 

 and a hickory. There is no great difference in 

 their ages, and all are trees of the preceding cen- 

 tury. I directed my steps toward them, more 

 because they were the scene of a noisy gathering 

 of crows than for any other reason that I can re- 

 call. Jays, a wary pigeon-hawk, and wandering 

 robins flew above, and, I fancied, turned their 

 heads when directly over me, as if they pitied any 

 one who had to crawl upon the rough ground. I 

 did not wonder. The hearty cries of these birds, 

 as they dashed through the frosty air, expressed 

 abundant joy. The call of the jay and whistling 

 scream of the hawk, like the harsh plaint of the 

 nuthatch and rattle of the flicker, accorded well 

 with the surroundings, and bore the same relation 

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