JUNE IN FRANC ON I A. 23 



(the diapensia was in full flower, with its 

 upright snowy goblets, while the geum and 

 the Greenland sandwort were just beginning 

 to blossom), the magnificent prospect, the 

 stimulating air, and, most of all, the moun- 

 tain itself. I sympathized then, as I have 

 often done at other times, with a remark 

 once made to me by a Vermont farmer's 

 wife. I had sought a night's lodging at her 

 house, and during the evening we fell into 

 conversation about Mount Mansfield, from 

 the top of which I had just come, and di- 

 rectly at the base of which the farmhouse 

 stood. When she went up "the mounting," 

 she said, she liked to look off, of course ; but 

 somehow what she cared most about was 

 "the mounting itself." 



The woman had probably never read a 

 line of Wordsworth, unless, possibly, "We 

 are Seven" was in the old school reader; 

 but I am sure the poet would have liked this 

 saying, especially as coming from such a 

 source. / liked it, at any rate, and am 

 seldom on a mountain-top without recalling 

 it. Her lot had been narrow and prosaic, 

 bitterly so, the visitor was likely to think ; 

 she was little used to expressing herself, and 



