MAT. 133 



TMs whole region, I am told, is one great " pine bar- 

 ren." It is so marked upon the official map, and so re- 

 ported by the State Geologist; but it is well not to be 

 misled by this vaguely descriptive term, for, while there 

 are acres that are the abode of desolation, there are also, 

 and far more frequently, nature-planted gardens, un- 

 matched by any this great continent over. 



In '88, 1 spent the month at home, and every day had 

 its notable adventure. Indeed, does not every hour have 

 its tragedy or comedy? 



As we all know, poets have a " comer " in May day, 

 and let them. Do not suppose it is the only merit of the 

 month. Indeed, if it be hot and sunny, it is not a time 

 for unalloyed pleasure. The noon-tide is too like mid- 

 summer. 



I chose the fourth for my first considerable outing, 

 with its clouds and brief showers ; and how far wisely, let 

 others decide. For me, at least, it was a red-letter day. 



Bound riverward, we had the tide to baffle with un- 

 willing oars, for rowing is irksome at best, unless one's 

 thought is only for his muscles. Slowly working our way 

 against the swift current that swirled between the pier and 

 abutments of the ancient bridge, we foolishly looked up- 

 ward as a wagon passed over us, as though by so doing 

 we might escape some danger, or expected to see the horse 

 drop down upon us, and received the just due of our 

 thoughtlessness in a shower of dust that smarted both our 

 eyes and nostrils. 



I have passed under this bridge a hundred times or 

 more, and whenever a wagon crosses it at that moment, I 

 always do this worse than childish thing and receive the 

 merited punishment therefor. Experience has taught me 

 nothing; never will. Verily, "what fools these mor- 

 tals be." 



