70 NEW HAMPSHIRE 



ing in : the sunsliine, the stiUness, the temper- 

 ate airs, the bright encircling forest, in which 

 my little hilltop is cradled, and the white peak 

 yonder in the sky. The snow lends it lightness, 

 airiness, buoyancy. As I said just now, it seems 

 almost to float in the ether. 



I remained with this beauty for an hour, di- 

 vided at the last between the luminous, snowy 

 peak above me and the soft — ineffably soft — 

 world of leafy tree-tops below. Then, as I had 

 done only day before yesterday, I bade the place 

 good-by. Probably I should not come this way 

 again till next summer, at the soonest. Good-by, 

 old mountain. Good-by, old woods. No doubt 

 you have many worthier lovers, but let me be 

 counted as one of the faithful. 



I was still on the cone, making my way down- 

 ward, when a grouse drummed and in a minute 

 or two repeated himself. The sound struck me 

 as curiously wanting in resonance, as if the log 

 were water-soaked (though I do not believe he 

 was striking one), or his breast not fully inflated. 

 Perhaps he was a young fellow, a new hand with 

 the drumsticks, and so excusable. Certainly the 

 difficulty lay not in the matter of distance, for 

 between two of the performances I turned a sharp 

 corner, effectively triangulating the bird, and it 

 was impossible that he should be more than a few 



