16 GREEN TRAILS AND UPLAND PASTURES 



thanks to a trail recently cut by the son of Frederick 

 Goddard Tuckerman, whose collected poems, published 

 in 1860, have been quite unjustly forgotten. The 

 Tuckerman trail is a steep and rough one, part way 

 through absolutely virgin timber, where the trunks of 

 the great canoe birches are green with age and moss, 

 and it leads to the finest view in the White Mountains, 

 finer than that from Washington or Lafayette. But we 

 shall not leave our pasture now for the peak. The peak 

 is for special occasions, the pasture for our daily solace. 

 All day long in this pasture the Peabodies, or white- 

 throated sparrows, sing their flutelike call; out in the 

 sunlight or in the cool woods above the cow-bells tinkle 

 drowsily. All day long the great north peak looks down 

 upon you from the east, and you look down, in turn, 

 upon the world to the west or so much of it as you can 

 glimpse through the vista of the steep trail in the ever- 

 greens. Looking westward, if you raise your eyes, you 

 see the pointed firs cutting sharp against the sky, the 

 sentinels of the pasture. It is at the sunset hour in 

 June that we love the pasture best, for it was at such an 

 hour that we discovered it many years ago, we two 

 together. The sun may have dropped behind Flagstaff 

 Hill when we leave the valley, and the cows have de- 

 scended to stand lowing behind the barn, but our ascent 

 is as rapid as the sun's declension, and we reach the up- 

 land in time to find the west taking fire, flaming into 

 gold. 



