NOVEMBER 



II 



The eagle is a bird of large ideas ; he embraces 

 long distances ; the continent is his home. I never 

 look upon one without emotion ; I follow him 

 with my eye as long as I can. I think of Canada, 

 of the Great Lakes, of the Rocky Mountains, of 

 the wild and sounding seacoast. The waters are 

 his, and the woods and the inaccessible cliffs. He 

 pierces behind the veil of the storm, and his joy is 

 height and depth and vast spaces. 



BURROUGHS: Pepacton. 



12 



As I stood . . . near Flint's Pond, a flock of a 

 dozen chickadees came flitting and singing about 

 me with great ado, a most cheering and enlivening 

 sound, with incessant day-day-day, and a fine wiry 

 strain, between whiles, flitting ever nearer and 

 nearer inquisitively, till the boldest was within five 

 feet of me; then suddenly, their curiosity sated, 

 they flitted by degrees farther away, disappeared, 

 and I heard with regret their retreating day-day- 

 days. 



THOREAU: Autumn. 



