AT NATURAL BRIDGE 273 



ing woods. Once a crossbill called and a 

 cardinal whistled almost in the same breath, 

 — a kind of northern and southern duet. 

 Then a cuckoo and a dove fell to cooing on 

 opposite sides of me ; very different sounds, 

 though in our poverty we designate them by 

 the same word. The dove's voice is a thou- 

 sand times more plaintive than the cuckoo's, 

 and to hear it, no matter how near, might 

 come from a mile away; as I have known 

 the little ground dove to be "mourning" 

 from a fig-tree at my elbow while I was en- 

 deavoring to sight it far down the field. The 

 dove's note is the voice of the future or of 

 the past, I am not certain which. A few 

 rods from the spot where I had taken my 

 station, a single deerberry bush ( Vaccinium 

 stamineura) was in profuse bloom, and 

 made a really pretty show ; loose sprays of 

 white flaring blossoms all hanging down- 

 ward, each with its cluster of long protrud- 

 ing stamens, till the bush, I thought, was 

 like a miniature candelabrum of electric 

 lights. As Thoreau might have said, for so 

 homely a plant the deerberry is very hand- 

 some. Either from association or for some 

 other reason, it wears always a certain com- 



