178 BIRCH BROWSINGS. 



makes the darkest hour just before day. It is steep, 

 steeper, steepest, till you emerge on the smooth, level 

 or gently rounded space at the top, which the old ice- 

 gods polished off so long ago. 



We found this mountain had a hollow in its back 

 where the ground was soft and swampy. Some gi- 

 gantic ferns, which we passed through, came nearly 

 to our shoulders. We passed also several patches of 

 swamp honeysuckles, red with blossoms. 



Our guide at length paused on a big rock where the 

 land began to dip down the other way, and concluded 

 that he had gone far enough, and that we would now 

 have no difficulty in finding the lake. " It must lie 

 right down there," he said, pointing with his hand. 

 But it was plain that he was not quite sure in his 

 own mind. He had several times wavered in his 

 course, and had shown considerable embarrassment 

 when bearing to the left across the summit. Still 

 we thought little of it. We were full of confidence, 

 and, bidding him adieu, plunged down the mountain- 

 side, following a spring run that we had no doubt led 

 to the lake. 



In these woods, which had a southeastern exposure, 

 I first began to notice the wood-thrush. In coming 

 up the other side I had not seen a feather of any 

 kind, or heard a note. Now the golden trillide-de of 

 the wood-thrush sounded through the silent woods. 

 While looking for a fish-pole about half-way down 

 the mountain, I saw a thrush's nest in a little sapling 

 about ten feet from the ground. 



