140 LAND OF THE LINGERING SNOW. 



consciousness and of perception. That moment 

 of awakening was one of them to me. In this 

 world or the next I shall ever be able to recall 

 the clarion of that brown thrush, the pure 

 beauty of that star, and the contour of hill and 

 forest, river and tented boats. I aroused my 

 friend, and we sought a high, open pasture be- 

 hind the pines, where we noted the order in 

 which bird songs or calls reached us. The song 

 sparrow, the whip-poor-will, the robin, the crow, 

 the chickadee, the ruby-crowned kinglet, the field 

 sparrow, came in quick succession, the last reach- 

 ing us at twenty minutes past four. The partridge 

 had drummed all night. If the owls had been 

 silent at all it was for little more than an hour. 



Not long after the sun swung clear of Fair- 

 haven Hill our voyage upstream was resumed. 

 The wind came from a bank of cold gray clouds, 

 which rose rapidly from the north and soon ob- 

 scured sun, moon, and pale blue sky. A spring 

 flowing from a rugged ledge filled our jug with 

 ice-cold water. On the ledge, columbine was in 

 full bloom, a fact not often recorded for the 25th 

 of April. Beyond, lay Fairhaven Bay, a beauti- 

 ful widening of the river framed in wooded hills. 

 Upon the crest of one of these hills stood three 

 pines, and into the middle one a hawk descended 

 upon its nest. Beyond the bay came a belt of 

 meadow shore where the wind had a wide sweep. 



