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IN "THE CIRCUIT OF THE SUMMER 

 HILLS" 



TO sit on one's rustic porch, or at the door of 

 one's tent, and see the bees working on the 

 catnip or motherwort or clover, to see the cattle 

 grazing leisurely in the fields or ruminating under 

 the spreading trees, or the woodchucks creeping 

 about the meadows and pastures, or the squirrels 

 spinning along the fences, or the hawks describing 

 great spirals against the sky; to hear no sound but 

 the voice of birds, the caw of crows, the whistle of 

 marmots, the chirp of crickets; to smell no odors 

 but the odors of grassy fields, or blooming meadows, 

 or falling rain; amid it all, to lift one's eyes to the 

 flowing and restful mountain lines this 'is to get 

 a taste of the peace and comfort of the summer hills. 

 This boon is mine when I go to my little gray 

 farmhouse on a broad hill-slope on the home farm 

 in the Catskills. Especially is it mine when, to get 

 still nearer nature and beyond the orbit of house- 

 hold sounds and interruptions, I retreat to the big 

 hay-barn, and on an improvised table in front of the 

 big open barn doors, looking out into the sunlit 

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