IN THE MOUNT HOPE LANDS 75 



and the crackling of an approaching cow 

 in the underbrush fills me tor the moment 

 with strange awe. Who can blame Philip 

 for loving dearly that fair Rhode Island 

 country? When there amid its loveliness 

 I always feel deeply for him and his noble 

 tribe who died in its defence. 



On the further side of the mount is the 

 Norseman's Rock, whose face bears, at 

 least to me, an unreadable inscription. 

 The view from the summit of the mount 

 is fair, not bold ; but my eyes never rested 

 on one more lovely.' It is "a matchless 

 panorama of verdant fields, of waving for- 

 ests and of sparkling waters." The rock 

 that marks the highest point is only two 

 hundred feet above the bay. A mountain 

 climber would sneer at it ; but it was 

 named Montaup, and is to-day Mount 

 Hope ; so let it remain. 



From two willows, near a pond on the 

 side of an old road, on the morning of the 

 twentieth, two goldfinches were singing ; 

 one was clad almost in summer garb, while 

 the other had not lost his winter coat. Cow- 

 birds were here in numbers, and a flicker 

 had taken possession of a hole under the 

 eaves of a summer cottage. The only 



