A DAY IN JUNE 137 



we say, my hunt had prospered. Now I 

 could climb Bald Mountain with good hope 

 of an hour or two of serene enjoyment at the 

 summit. 



The climb is short, though the upper half 

 of it is steep enough to merit the name, and 

 the " mountain " (it will pardon me the quo- 

 tation marks) is no more than a point of 

 rocks, an outlying spur of Lafayette. Its 

 attractiveness is due not to its altitude, but 

 to the exceptional felicity of its situation ; 

 commanding the lake and the Notch, and 

 the broad Franconia Valley, together with a 

 splendid panorama of broken country and 

 mountain forest ; and over all, close at hand, 

 the solemn, bare peak of Lafayette. 



I took my time for the ascent (blessed be 

 all-day jaunts, say I), minding the mossy 

 boulders, the fern-beds, and the trees (many 

 of them old friends of mine — it is more 

 than twenty years since I began going up 

 and down here), and especially the violets. 

 It was surprising, not to say amusing, now 

 that I had violets in my eye, how ubiquitous 

 the httle hlanda had suddenly become. Al- 

 most it might be said that there was nothing 



