202 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 



a translucent blue overhead to a warm pale 

 tint above the hills, with detached fleecy 

 clouds which seem as if every drop of 

 moisture had been squeezed out of them, 

 and they were of no more promise to the 

 vegetable or animal world than so much 

 gun-cotton ; while marshalled around the 

 horizon are the faint blue-pink heaps 

 which from hour to hour hold out to us 

 the promise which they never keep. 



This is the scene upon which I look. 

 And as I write I hear the characteristic 

 note of the thistle bird as it plunges along 

 in its diving flight ; in front, flutters a yel 

 low butterfly, and above soar two or three 

 swallows seeking for insects ; the line of 

 shadow draws nearer to my feet, and I 

 notice the leaves of the melon vines wilting 

 in the fervent heat. And still the trees 

 wave and bend before the breeze, and I 

 seem to hear a low rumble as of distant 

 tl mnder. Hush ! Hark ! Yes, it surely is ; 

 but still the eye sinks far away into the 

 blue of the sky, and the hot sunlight beats 

 upon the hillside. 



JULY 29, 1894. 



