AN OCTOBER DIARY. 387 



within half a mile of the house ; and I can never believe 

 they were not purposely hidden among the leaves. 



October 31. — Still dull and dismal, as a northeast rain 

 can make it. Everywhere, the superabundant moisture 

 makes travelling troublesome ; all that we touch is cold, 

 clammy, and repugnant. Enthusiasm needs constant 

 pricking to keep it alive, and backward glances towards 

 home are dangerously seductive. Still, I resolutely 

 passed down tlie hillside towards the weediest pastures, 

 anticipating nothing but possible rheumatism ; but the 

 gloom was more apparent than real, as the warblers of 

 yesterday tarried with us, and a brave-hearted yellow- 

 throat whistled encouragingly. Whistled nothing in 

 particular, but merely a generous series of emphatic 

 notes, translatable by every one to meet his fancy. I 

 construed them into a welcome, and stood by a mam- 

 moth pin -oak taking in fresh inspiration with every 

 repetition of his song. The storm-stayed warblers took 

 heart in time, and they too sang cheery notes; a merry 

 treble to the doleful bass of the dripping, ceaseless drip- 

 ping, from the overarching trees. 



The richest green is now along the borders of the 

 hillside springs. An herbarium of pretty plants may 

 be gathered from the margins of the little pools, where 

 the water bubbles upward into daylight, after miles of 

 subterranean flow. The frogs have learned of these 

 spots, or have stumbled upon them by accident, and 

 winter therein, often in such numbers as to crowd each 

 other. Wriggling salamanders likewise find it a safe 



