6 JUNE IN FRANCONIA. 



youngest of us could surmount the wall, the 

 singer took wing, flew over our heads far 

 into the woods, and all was silent. It was 

 too bad ; but there would be another day to- 

 morrow. Meantime, we kept on up the hill, 

 and soon were in the old forest, listening 

 to bay - breasted warblers, Blackburnians, 

 black-polls, and so on, while the noise of the 

 mountain brook on our right, a better singer 

 than any of them, was never out of our 

 ears. "You are going up," it said. "I 

 wish you joy. But you see how it is ; you 

 will soon have to come down again." 



I took leave of my companions at Profile 

 Lake, they having planned an all-day excur- 

 sion beyond, and started homeward by my- 

 self. Slowly, and with many stops, I saun- 

 tered down the long hill, through the forest 

 (the stops, I need not say, are commonly the 

 major part of a naturalist's ramble, the 

 golden beads, as it were, the walk itself be- 

 ing only the string), till I reached the spot 

 where we had been serenaded in the morn- 

 ing by our mysterious stranger. Yes, he 

 was again singing, this time not far from 

 the road, in a moderately thick growth of 

 small trees, under which the ground was 



