A MOUNTAIN-SIDE RAMBLE. 167 



wrested from the encompassing forest at no 

 small cost of patience and hard labor; and 

 after all, they had proved not to pay for 

 their tillage. A waste of energy, as things 

 now looked ; but who is to judge of such 

 matters ? It is not given to every man to 

 see the work of his hands established. A 

 good many of us, I suspect, might be thank- 

 ful to know that anything we have ever 

 done would be found worthy of mention 

 fifty years hence, though the mention were 

 only by way of pointing a moral. 



The old barn was long ago blown down, 

 and as I mounted the fence a woodclmck 

 went scampering out of sight among the 

 timbers. The place was not entirely un- 

 inhabited, as it seemed, in spite of appear- 

 ances: and as I turned toward the house, 

 the door of which stood uninvitingly open, 

 there sat a second woodchuck in the door- 

 way, facing me, intent and motionless, full 

 of wonderment, no doubt, at the unspeak- 

 able impertinence of such an intrusion. I 

 was glad to see him, at any rate, and made 

 haste to tell him so ; greeting him in the 

 rather unceremonious language wherewith 

 the now famous titmouse is said to have 



