IO4 Walks in New England 



a little hot June atmosphere is better than none 

 at all, that is, better for a race used to breathing 

 through lungs. 



Then we might read Kipling, and thank heaven 

 we are not in India. When one fancies himself 

 in that printing office where Kipling met the Man 

 who would be King, or sits with him and the 

 Soldiers Three while Mulvaney, hero that he is, 

 tells tales all night long to keep his comrade 

 from sheer insanity, one feels that there are worse 

 places than New England in a hot June. Or if 

 one likes a change, let him march awhile in the 

 African forest with Stanley, and presently fancy 

 himself going mad as Barttelot did. Or the 

 Death Valley of Arizona is worth contemplating, 

 or Fort Yuma on leaving which for the infernal 

 regions they say one wants to carry a double out 

 fit of winter clothing. It is all a matter of com 

 parison. When one gets used to it, a temperature 

 in the hundreds is not bad not positively bad, 

 though it may be superlatively so. 



On the whole, it has been very pleasant weather. 

 Things grow, though thoughts dwindle, in the 

 presence of heat. It has been delightful to 

 watch the leaves swelling and the full garniture of 

 the trees developing in the sumptuous warmth. 

 The woods are rich in colour and fragrance. Sit 

 for a moment on a broad ledge and gaze down the 



