AT NATURAL BRIDGE 277 



all such contrivances, — it was wonderful 

 what an air of elegance they conferred, 

 though the paint of the doors was to be con- 

 sidered, of course, in the same connection. 



By this time the road was approaching the 

 slope of Buck Hill, and high noon as it was, 

 I must run up for another half-hour among 

 the old trees at the top, — with no special 

 result except to disturb a summer tanager, 

 who fired off volley after volley of objurga- 

 tory expletives, and altogether seemed to be 

 in a terrible state of mind. His excitement 

 was all for nothing ; unless — what was 

 likely enough — it served to give him favor 

 in the eyes of his mate, who may be pre- 

 sumed to have been somewhere within hear- 

 ing. Lovers, I believe, are supposed to 

 welcome an opportunity to play the hero. 



My last afternoon at the Bridge was de- 

 voted to a longish tramp into a new piece of 

 country, where for an hour I had hopes of 

 adding at least a name or two to my Virginia 

 bird-list, which for twenty-four hours had 

 been at a standstill. I came unexpectedly 

 upon a mill, and what was of greater ac- 

 count, a millpond, — "a long, dirty pond,'* 

 as my uncivil pencil describes it. Here were 



