108 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 



mous branches ; these again divide many feet above, and 

 finally all terminate in a labyrinth of leaf-bearing twigs 

 that effectually shut out the sun. This leafy roof is s*ixty 

 feet above me when I stand at the base of the main 

 branches. 



One does not always care to ramble at mid-day, at least 

 in July, so I frequently find myself terminating the day's 

 stroll at a convenient twist of certain of the beech's largest 

 limbs, that collectively afford an incomparable resting- 

 place, with a sloping back and arms of equal comfort and 

 greater security than most modern furniture affords. 

 There is no creaking of loose joints nor danger of collis- 

 ion with other chairs. Hercules himself could not have 

 rocked over in this easy chair, and even the blizzard of 

 last March did nothing more than make it tremble. A 

 few bits of coarse bagging nailed from limb to limb 

 smooth away all asperities, and luxury in its truest sense 

 is here, if anywhere, at hand. 



But what is gained by sitting in a tree ? So much 

 that my allotted space would not suffice to catalogue it. 

 Rather, what is not gained ? Cozily seated among beechen 

 boughs are not those five words tantalizing to the toil- 

 worn folks of the cities, even in early July ? Here is a gain 

 not given to him who happens to be on the ground, even 

 though sitting in the shade of some old tree. I find that 

 I am far less an object of suspicion, and the birds ignore 

 me while I take note of their pretty ways. 



The casual observer might think that the July woods 

 are entirely deserted, and that little transpired in compari- 

 son to the hum and bustle of boisterous May. But this is 

 a sad mistake. May is much like a crowded street ; July 

 more like the quiet centers where the great business trans- 

 actions of the world are quietly effected. What birds we 

 now have are here for the summer, and are nesting too, 

 just now, so whatever transpires is bird life at its best. 



