ON BALD MOUNTAIN 71 



yards away. On all sides the little nuthatches 

 were calling to each other in their quaint childish 

 treble. I love to hear them, and the goldcrests 

 also ; but here, as on the heights above, the birds 

 were less than the forest. I was in a susceptible 

 mood, I suppose. The mere sight of the tall, 

 straight trunks, with the lights and shadows on 

 them, gave me a pleasure indescribable. Though 

 the friend who had been my walking companion 

 for a week past (and no man could wish a better 

 one) is sure to read this column, I cannot refrain 

 from saying that solitariness has its mercifid al- 

 leviations. I was no longer tempted to babble, 

 and the wise old trees took their turn at talking. 

 If I could only repeat what they said ! 



