Walks in New England 



tion. The farewell that is breathed by these 

 ferny scents and last lingering leafage, the shy 

 and mysterious essence of the witch hazel pene 

 trating through it all with a charm that cannot 

 be defined, but is like a spiritual greeting this is 

 most sane and ennobling, and leaves the lover of 

 Nature a blessing for the imprisoning period of 

 the snows. 



In the seasonable pause before the storm, though 

 the mists drift over the glens and the sunshine 

 but fitfully gleams on the hills and lights for a 

 moment a forest, all is as the lover of Nature 

 would have it. Was it said that Paradise was 

 lost ? But is it not Paradise ? this valley in 

 which, among the bright flames of maples and the 

 ruddy back-log glow of oaks, and in the viburnum 

 thickets with their purple-grays and the spice- 

 bushes with their garnered sunlight, amid these 

 and so much more, the birds of June are flocking, 

 bluebirds and robins, flickers and jays, juncos, 

 chickadees and phoebes, mountain sparrows and 

 now and then a chippie, are flocking and some 

 times warbling. Surely this is a valley of Para 

 dise, where none has yet entered to molest or 

 make afraid. Into the valley flows a flood of 

 heaven, out of it flows the streams of healing for 

 the discomforts of civilization. Nay, why are not 

 the four rivers that watered Eden here ? or streams 



