FAR AND NEAR 



tain-side, where the absence of the snow caused him 

 to lose it. I Hke to think of so wild and shy a crea- 

 ture hokUng its own within sound of the locomo- 

 tive's whistle. 



The fox passes my door in winter, and probably 

 in summer too, as do also the 'possum and the coon. 

 The latter tears down my sweet corn in the garden, 

 and the rabbit eats off my raspberry-bushes and nib- 

 bles my first strawberries, while the woodchucks eat 

 my celery and beans and peas. Chipmunks carry 

 off the corn I put out for the chickens, and weasels 

 eat the chickens themselves. 



Many times during the season I have in my soli- 

 tude a visit from a bald eagle. There is a dead tree 

 near the summit, where he often perches, and w hich 

 we call the " old eagle-tree." It is a pine, killed years 

 ago by a thunderbolt, — the bolt of Jove, — and 

 now the bird of Jove hovers about it or sits upon it. 

 I have little doubt that what attracted me to this 

 spot attracts him, — the seclusion, the savageness, 

 the elemental grandeur. Sometimes, as I look out of 

 my window early in the morning, I see the eagle 

 upon his perch, preening his plumage, or waiting for 

 the rising sun to gild the mountain-tops. When the 

 smoke begins to rise from my chimney, or he sees 

 me going to the spring for water, he concludes it is 

 time for him to be off. But he need not fear the 

 crack of the rifle here ; nothing more deadly than 

 field-glasses shall be pointed at him while I am 



154 



