A VISIT TO MOUNT AGASSIZ 231 



I talk to them, and one, his curiosity respon- 

 sive to mine, comes near to listen. The 

 Canadian warbler, I have long noticed, has 

 the bump of inquisitiveness exceptionally 

 well developed. 



So I go on — a few rods of progress and 

 a few minutes' halt. If there are no birds 

 to look at, there are always flowers, leaves, 

 and berries : goldthread leaves, the prettiest 

 of the pretty — it is a joy to praise them ; 

 and dwarf cornel berries, gorgeous rosettes ; 

 and long-stemmed mountain-hoUy berries, 

 of a color indescribable, fairly beyond prais- 

 ing ; and bear-plums, the deep-blue berries 

 of the clintonia. And while the eye feasts 

 upon color the ear feasts upon music : a dis- 

 tant brook babbling downhill among stones, 

 and a breath of air whispering in a thousand 

 treetops ; noises that are really a superior 

 kind of silence, speaking of deeper and 

 better things than our human speech has 

 words for. Quietness, peace, contentment, 

 we say; but such vocables, good as they 

 are, are but poor renderings of this natu- 

 ral chorus of barely audible sounds. If you 

 are still enough to hear it — inwardly still 



