UNCLE SAM'S FARM. 169 



of atmosphere. In the spring, vihWe the skirts of 

 winter still hang over this high cold region, and the 

 trees seem afraid to put on their buds, the Pontoosne 

 breaks forth from its icy bars, and leaps and rushes 

 on as if with conscious joy for its recovered liberty. 

 It is the first sound that breaks upon the wearisome 

 lingering of winter, and its music strikes upon the 

 ear like the sweetest of human sounds, the morning 

 song of a child waking one from a dreary dream. 



"In summer, as there is little on these savage 

 hills of what is peculiar to summer, flowers and 

 fruitfulness, it is a happy chance to make this pass 

 when piles of clouds hide the hot sun, and the rain is 

 pouring down in sheets, when every little dropping 

 rill that has dried away in the summer's heat is sud- 

 denly swelled into a waterfall, and over the banks and 

 down the cliffs they come pouring and leaping, 

 reminding one of that wild fable of German, imag- 

 ining Undine and all her clan of water-spirits doing 

 their whimsical feats. 



" In autumn, the beeches and maples on the hill- 

 sides are glowing with a metallic brightness, softened 

 and set off most exquisitely by the evergreen of the 

 towering pines, the massive cones of the Norway firs, 

 15 



