TWO VIEWS THROUGH WINTER SUNSHINE. 27 



the eye may roatn over granite peaks, serried 

 ranks of spruce forest, undulating groves of 

 pines and birches, green intervales and snug 

 farmhouses, finding in them a restful charm, 

 a song of sweet New England calm. In this 

 mass of distant houses, factories, grain ele- 

 vators, stores, wharves, churches, marked here 

 and there by historic outlines like Bunker Hill 

 Monument, the golden dome of the State 

 House, Memorial Hall and Mount Auburn 

 Tower, there is something which stirs and stim- 

 ulates rather than soothes, something which re- 

 calls the toil, sorrow, self-sacrifice and eternal 

 restlessness of society, and the ever-present duty 

 of the individual toward it. The mountain 

 view lulls one's conscience ; ' the sight of this 

 nest of cities arouses it to action. 



Westward the view from the heights was 

 monotonous. Low ridges succeeded each other 

 for many miles, holding in their hollows towns, 

 snow-covered farming lands, broken bits of oak 

 or pine forest, and patches of ice on pond or 

 meandering river. But northward the eye found 

 much to rest upon. Along the limits of Middle- 

 sex could be seen the valley of the Merrimac. 

 Then came the border towns of New Hampshire, 

 and beyond them the peaks and rounded sum- 

 mits which are the pride of Jaffrey, Dublin. 

 Peterborough, Temple, and Lyndeborough. 



