ADIRONDAC. 113 



loafed at leisure. The woods were Nature's 

 own. It was a luxury to ramble through 

 them, rank, and shaggy, and venerable, 

 but with an aspect singularly ripe and mel- 

 low. No fire had consumed and no lumber- 

 man plundered. Every trunk and limb and 

 leaf lay where it had fallen. At every step 

 the foot sank into the moss, which like a 

 soft green snow covered everything, making 

 every stone a cushion and every rock a bed, 

 a grand old Norse parlor, adorned beyond 

 art and upholstered beyond skill. 



Indulging in a brief nap on a rug of club- 

 moss carelessly dropped at the foot of a pine- 

 tree, I woke up to find myself the subject of 

 a discussion of a troop of chickadees. Pres- 

 ently three or four shy wood- warblers came 

 to look upon this strange creature that had 

 wandered into their haunts ; else I passed 

 quite unnoticed. 



By the lake, I met that orchard-beauty, 

 the cedar wax-wing, spending his vacation 

 in the assumed character of a fly-catcher, 

 whose part he performed with great accuracy 

 and deliberation. Only a month before, I 

 had seen him regaling himself upon cherries 

 in the garden and orchard ; but as the dog- 

 days approached, he set out for the streams 



