A MAY VISIT TO MOOSILAUKE 7 



Once over the bridge, the road climbed quickly 

 out of the naxrow gorge, and at the first turn 

 brought me in sight of a small painted house, 

 with a small orchard of thrifty-looking small 

 trees behind it. Here a venerable collie came 

 running forth to bark at the stranger, but yielded 

 readily to the usual blandishments, and after 

 sniffing again and again at my heels, just to 

 make sure of knowing me the next time, went 

 back, contented, to lie down in his old place be- 

 fore the window. He was the only person that 

 spoke to me — the only one I met — during 

 the forenoon, though I spent it all on the high- 

 way. 



Another patch of woods, where a distant 

 Canadian nuthatch is calling (strange how I 

 love that nasal, penetrating, far-reaching voice, 

 whose quality my reasoning taste condemns), 

 and I see before me another house, standing in 

 broad acres of cleared land. This one is not 

 painted, and, as I presently make out, is unin- 

 habited, its old tenant gone, dead or discouraged, 

 and no new one looked for ; an " abandoned 

 farm," such as one grows used to seeing in our 

 northern country. It is beautiful for situation, 

 one of those sightly places which the city-worn 

 passer-by ia a mountain wagon pitches upon at 

 once as just the place he should like to buy and 



