i PREFACE. 



Not only the 



" ragged clifi 

 Has thousand faces in a thousand hours," 



but this I find true of the tamest pasture, where not 

 even the clover and buttercups of one side are the twins 

 of the buttercups and clover of the other; and think 

 of the bees, birds, beetles, and butterflies that come 

 and go ! These, I know, are not the same, yesterday, 

 to-day, and forever. 



Whether it be the crested tit defying the chilliest 

 blast of January; violets mantling the meadow banks 

 in April ; thrushes singing their farewell summer songs, 

 or dull and dreary dim December days it matters not — 

 they never repeat themselves, or else I am daily a new 

 creature. Nor sight nor sound but has the freshness 

 of novelty, and one rambler, at least, in his maturer 

 years is still a boy at heart. 



If one could take an airy, bird's-eye view of this 

 level country, he would see, more prominently than 

 all other features, save one, a sinuous, leafy serpent, 

 miles in length, with gaping jaws upon the shore of the 

 river, and a delicate, thread-like tail, afar in the out- 

 stretched fields. It is the valley of a near-by creek. 



One has nowhere more than a few rods to vralk 

 back from the stream to find either fields, gardens, or 

 the public road; but such a walk! It is a wilderness 

 that woos the birds ; it is a wild wood that protects the 

 beast ; it is the haunt of many a creeping thing, squat 

 toad, sleek frog, and slippery salamander. Much as has 



