WARBLER SUNDAY. 



I FULLY intended to climb Nobscot Hill on 

 Sunday, May 10th, but when I reached the 

 Massachusetts Central Railway Station in North 

 Cambridge, I found that there were no Sunday 

 trains, my apparently straightforward time-table 

 to the contrary notwithstanding. Blessing that 

 railway, as I had frequently blessed it before, I 

 hurried back to Porter's Station and took a 

 train on the Fitchburg. Just where I was to 

 leave that train I was uncertain. It was my hope 

 that the conductor, or the brakeman, could tell 

 me which station was nearest to Nobscot Hill. 

 So I went to South Acton and changed to a 

 train for Marlborough. Neither conductor nor 

 brakeman had ever heard of Nobscot Hill, and 

 said there were so many hills I could get out 

 almost anywhere and find what I wanted. As 

 no impressive hill could be seen from the car 

 windows, I finally left the train at a place called 

 Rockbottom. A merciless red sun beat down 

 upon the little village. Scarcely a breath of air 

 was stirring. The loiterers around the station 

 were Irish mill operatives who knew nothing 



