A MOUNTAIN-SIDE RAMBLE. 165 



thought of beholding a strange species of 

 fowl, or of considering a new sort of lily, 

 proving even more attractive than the pros- 

 pect of listening to a new minister, or, what 

 is somewhat less probable, of hearing a new 

 sermon. 



Thus it was with me, not long ago, when 

 I found myself suddenly left alone at a 

 small hotel in the Franconia Valley. The 

 day was lowery, as days in the mountains 

 are apt to be ; but when duty goes along 

 with inclination, a possible sprinkling is no 

 very serious hindrance. Besides, a fort- 

 night of " catching weather " had brought 

 me into a state of something like philosophi- 

 cal indifference. I must be reckoned either 

 with the just or with the unjust, so I had 

 come to reason, and of course must ex- 

 pect now and then to be rained on. Ac- 

 cordingly, after dinner I tucked my faith- 

 ful umbrella under my arm, and started up 

 the Notch road. 



I had in view a quiet, meditative ramble, 

 in harmony with the spirit of the day, and 

 could think of nothing more to the purpose 

 than a visit to a pair of deserted farms, out 

 in the woods on the mountain-side. The 



