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and showing an appreciation for water greater, I 

 think, than that of any other landsman. These 

 birds, the ptarmigan and the ouzel, along with 

 the willow thrush, who sings out his melody amid 

 the shadows of the pines, who puts his woods 

 into song, — these birds of the mountains are 

 with me when memory takes me back a solitary 

 visitor to the lonely places of the Rockies. 



The birds of the Rockies, as well as the bigger 

 folk who live there, have ways of their own which 

 distinccuish them from their kind in the East. 

 They sing with more enthusiasm, but with the 

 same subtle tone that everywhere tells that all is 

 right with the world, and makes all to the manner 

 born glad to be alive. 



Nothing delights me more than to come across 

 a person who is interested in trees ; and I have 

 long thought that any one who appreciates trees 

 or birds is one who is either good or great, or 

 both. I consider it an honor to converse with one 

 who knows the birds and the trees, and have 

 more than once gone out of my way to meet one 

 of those favored mortals. I remember one cold 

 morning I came down off the mountains and 



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