144 LAND OF THE LINGERING SNOW. 



distant, was Way land village, and just ahead 

 was the sunny slope of Heard's Island, our ulti- 

 ma Thule. Nothing short of another snow-squall 

 could have made us leave the dancing swallows, 

 but the squall came, and we sought Heard's Is- 

 land and friendly firesides. 



After resting a bit we put on all the warm 

 clothes we could muster, and took a brisk walk 

 to Heard's pond, which bounds the island on the 

 southwest, and to the Wayland elm, the noblest 

 tree in Massachusetts. The cold appealed to us 

 as strongly as though February had come again, 

 and we feared that the birds, buds, and flowers 

 would suffer during the night. Heard's pond 

 is a charming sheet of water, soon doubtless to 

 become the centre of a circle of cheery summer 

 cottages. As for the Wayland elm, it is a won- 

 derful triumph of nature. As we paced under 

 it from north to south, its ancient branches 

 seemed to extend over one hundred and twenty- 

 five feet from one side of its lawn to the other. 

 Two very large elms which stand near it are 

 dwarfed by its royal size. Its symmetry, the per- 

 fect condition of its many branches and myriad 

 twigs, the healthy state of its unscarred bark, 

 and the simple dignity of its position, all make it 

 an ideal tree, one which a savage might adore 

 as the abiding place of a spirit. That night the 

 canoes slept alone on the edge of the cold mead- 



