AT NATURAL BRIDGE 251 



wild, ringing, long-drawn shout, a true voice 

 of the wilderness ; as if the Hebrew pro- 

 phecy were fulfilled, and the mountains and 

 the hills had found a tongue. 



It was not until the sixth day that I went 

 to Lincoln Heights, a place worth all the 

 rest of the countryside, I soon came to think, 

 with the single exception of Cedar Creek 

 ravine. A winding wood road carried me 

 thither (the distance may be two miles ; but 

 I have little idea what it is, though I covered 

 it once or twice a day for the next four days), 

 and might have been made — half made, 

 just to my liking — for my private conven- 

 ience. I believe I never met any one upon 

 it, going or coming. 



The glory of the spot is its trees ; but with 

 me, as things fell out, these took in the 

 order of time a second place. My first ad- 

 miration was not for them, admirable as they 

 were, but for a few birds in the tops of them. 

 In short, at my first approach to the Heights 

 (there is no thought of climbing, but only 

 the most gradual of ascents) I began to 

 hear from the branches overhead, now here, 

 now there, an occasional weak warbler's song 

 that set my curiosity on edge. It was not 



