A BED OF BOUGHS. 



WHEN Aaron came again to camp and tramp with 

 me, or, as he wrote, " to eat locusts and wild honey 

 with me in the wilderness," it was past the middle 

 of August, and the festival of the season neared its 

 close. We were belated guests, but perhaps all the 

 more eager on that account, especially as the coun- 

 try was suffering from a terrible drought, and the 

 only promise of anything fresh or tonic or cool was 

 in primitive woods and mountain passes. 



" Now, my friend," said I, " we can go to Canada, 

 or to the Maine woods, or to the Adirondacks, and 

 thus have a whole loaf and a big loaf of this bread 

 which you know as well as I will have heavy streaks 

 in it, and will not be uniformly sweet ; or we can 

 seek nearer woods, and content ourselves with one 

 week instead of four, with the prospect of a keen 

 relish to the last. Four sylvan weeks sound well, 

 but the poetry is mainly confined to the first one. 

 We can take another slice or two of the Catskills, 

 ?an we not, without being sated with kills and divid- 

 jog ridges ? " 



