NOTES FROM A DIARY 149 



and again to sun themselves on the sun- 

 kissed granite stones. 



Here it seemed that there was deep 

 silence, till the ear became attuned to the 

 sylvan key ; then out crept sounds and 

 shadows of sounds innumerable, the faint 

 rustle of life in the underwood, the distant 

 tap-tap of a pivert pecking the bark of a 

 tree, the hum of countless insects buzzing 

 in the hot air. Friendly voices these, all 

 calling to the wizard-uplands. Through 

 a young oak thicket we pass to the open 

 landes and all the joys of solitude. Indeed, 

 I did not meet a single soul that livelong 

 day till in the gloaming I encountered one 

 old miller, and he was as deaf as a post. 

 Yet at times as I fished there came, 

 muffled and far away, the sound of chop- 

 ping timber. There was a farmstead, too, 

 beyond the wooded hillock ; its chimneys 

 lay concealed, but blue peat-smoke capped 

 the spruce- tops and touched a homely 

 chord. I did not need them, yet I knew 

 that men still lived. 



The river that morning looked perfect. 

 Perhaps its waters were a trifle low and 

 clear over the shallows, but they darkened 



