120 LAND OF THE LINGERING SNOW. 



hollow near this bend. A pewee called to us as she 

 hurried through the grove. A flock of five white- 

 bellied swallows cut swift circles against the 

 kindly sky. The voice of the west wind in the 

 ancient pines sang a song full of rest and con- 

 tentment, and for us, as for the river, it was 

 pleasant and purifying to linger there before 

 going on to the friction and the pollution of the 

 city. In all that day's wandering I saw no sign 

 of terror in any living thing that was not caused 

 by man. Nature by herself is not all peace, by 

 any means, but she is far nearer to it than when 

 man is present. 



On the edge of these beautiful pines, as at 

 several other points in our walk, my friend and 

 I were angered to find the largest and finest 

 trees selected as posting places for advertise- 

 ments ; cloth, paper, wood, and metal signs telling 

 of the supposed merits of certain Boston firms 

 and daily newspapers, having been nailed to the 

 trees. It is hard to say which fact is most dis- 

 agreeable to contemplate, the boldness of the 

 advertisers in disfiguring private property, or 

 the indifference of the public to the damage 

 done. 



Following up the Charles through the pines 

 we reached the Sudbury River aqueduct, and 

 from the top of its sodded embankment gained 

 a near view of Wellesley and its castles of 



