A GREEN MOUNTAIN CORN-FIELD. Ill 



but humming-birds have it for a by-word, 

 " As awkward as a man " ? 



My ruminations were suddenly broken in 

 upon by the approach of a carriage, driven 

 by a boy of perhaps ten years, a son of the 

 farmer from whose land I was, as it were, 

 gathering the first fruits. We had made 

 each other's acquaintance the day before, 

 and now, as he surmounted the hill, he 

 stopped to inquire politely whether I would 

 ride with him. Yes, I answered, I would 

 gladly be carried into the forest a little 

 way. It proved a very little way indeed ; 

 for the road was heavy from recent rains, 

 and the poor old hack was so short of 

 breath that he could barely drag us along, 

 and at every slump of the wheels came to a 

 dead standstill. " Pity for a horse o'er- 

 driven " soon compelled me to take to the 

 woods, in spite of the protestations of my 

 charioteer, who assured me that his steed 

 could trot " like everything," if he only 

 would. It is an extremely unpatriotic Ver- 

 monter, I suspect (I have never yet discov- 

 ered him), who will not brag a little over 

 his horse ; and I was rather pleased than 

 otherwise to hear my flaxen-haired friend 



