An Over- Ardent June 105 



valleys into the shimmering heat, and the scent of 

 a late azalea draws you to a thicket where it mod 

 estly blossoms, caring not that it is unseen ; or the 

 merest waft of fragrance, like the exhaling spirit of 

 bloom, tells you that there are moccasin-flowers 

 somewhere hidden in the hollow. Then, too, on 

 those ledges, in the fullest glare of the fierce sun 

 light, nods and trembles the graceful corydalis, 

 and the brave mountain fern, the woodsia, springs 

 in cheerful tufts in crevices of the rock, green 

 enough now, but in later summer as dry as the 

 rock itself. 



Over and over the white clouds float, and from 

 peak to peak and tree to tree in the forest the 

 birds fly, catbirds and thrushes and finches, now 

 and then a tanager, and many warblers, and the 

 whole natural earth breathes a symphony of con 

 tent. Not yet the springs have dried from the 

 mountain tops, and one who knows their ways can 

 drop half a hundred feet, or may be a full hundred, 

 to a pool of refreshing water, or to where a rivulet 

 issues beneath the broken rocks, still feeding the 

 mountain growths. The squirrels are full of life, 

 and when one misses their calls and their sharp 

 casual chatter, he can always hear the evidences of 

 humble life in the beetles and ants that roam be 

 neath the leaves and rustle them to dispel the ab 

 solute solitude. These do not mind the heat, and 



