10 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 



stone wall left me, and then the fence ; 

 instead of turning toward the valley I was 

 gradually tending around the shoulder of 

 the hill, and burying myself deeper and 

 deeper in the woods. &quot;And all the air a 

 solemn stillness held,&quot; a silence which 

 seemed no less a silence though it was full 

 of the hum of crickets and other insects. 

 By the way, have you ever lain awake at 

 night, even in the depth of the winter, and 

 found your ears filled with a humming 

 and a rustling, until you wondered whether 

 it would be possible to distinguish any 

 other sound through it all, and then specu 

 lated whether there was really any sound 

 whether it was all the music of the spheres, 

 whether it was external to you, whether it 

 was the rushing of your own life s tide 

 through your blood-vessels, or whether it 

 was after all pure imagination ? 



The damp air of the evening, like the 

 warm sun of midday, brings out the pleas 

 ant smell of the fallen leaves, and their 

 rustle under the feet is agreeable ; but I 

 feared lest I was being caught in a cul-de- 

 sac, or perhaps should be led out into the 

 highway at too many miles distance from 

 home for so late an hour. 1 therefore 

 retraced my steps, and was astonished to 



