28 LITERARY PILGRIMAGES 



of the woodland slept peacefully for a little, then 

 gasped with troubled dreams. Seeking to dis- 

 cover this ghost I found a little way along the road 

 from the bridge a broad grassy avenue that led 

 with a certain majesty in its sweep as if to some 

 woodland castle whose people were so light-footed 

 that they wore no paths in their broad green 

 avenue. Yet after all it led me only to a wide 

 meadow where the sighing I had heard was that 

 of the grass going to sleep under the magic passes 

 of a mower's scythe. No clatter of mowing 

 machine was here, just the swish of a scythe such 

 as the meadow has heard yearly since the pioneers 

 came. There were deer tracks here along the 

 margin of Country Brook, and all the gentle wild 

 life of woods and meadows seemed to pass freely, 

 without care or fear. 



And so I found all the country about the Whit- 

 tier homestead an epitome of the free, cheerful, 

 country life of the New England of a century 

 ago. They lighted a fire for me in Whittier's 

 fireplace — and as the rose glow on the walls of 

 the old living-room brought back the hearth-cheer 

 of bygone years, as the witches, daintily making 



