24 LITERARY PILGRIMAGES 



hill's shoulder from its summit, which is a close- 

 cropped cow pasture. Here the winds of all the 

 world blow keen and free and you may look north 

 to the crystal hills of New Hampshire whence 

 come their strength. Eastward under the sun lies 

 the pale rim of the sea. Kenoza Lake opens two 

 wide blue eyes at your feet, and all along beneath 

 you roll bare, round-topped hills sloping down to 

 dark woods and scattered fields, as unspoiled 

 by man as in Whittier's days. The making of 

 farms does not spoil the beauty of a country; it 

 adds to it. It is the making of cities that spells 

 havoc and desolation. Through the pasture, up 

 the steep slopes to the summit of Job's Hill, that 

 seems so bare at first glimpse, climb all the lovely 

 pasture things to revel in the free winds. Fore- 

 most of these is the steeplebush, prim Puritan of 

 the open wold, erect, trying to be just drab and 

 green and precise, but blushing to the top of his 

 steeple because the pink wild roses have insisted 

 on dancing with him up the hill, their cheeky rosy 

 with the wind, their arms twined round one an- 

 other at first, then round him as well. Somehow 

 this bachelor bush which would be so austere re- 



