FIELD-DAYS IN CALIFORNIA 



am moved to suggest that a bird is something 

 like a man, say what you will about our assumed 

 human supremacy ; and it is conceivable that a 

 bird may sing as fervently as any Scotchman or 

 Switzer, " My heart 's in the Highlands." 



I myself am neither Scotch nor Swiss; I 

 never saw so much as a distant mountain till I 

 was a man grown ; but if I could have my will, 

 not a year should pass without my knowing at 

 least once the exhilaration (there is nothing in 

 the world just like it) of standing under the sky 

 in some high place, the higher and more lonesome, 

 the better. I remember days, a beggarly few, 

 alas ! on mountain-tops East and West. And 

 among the brightest of such memories is that of 

 my few hours on Pike's Peak, when these flut- 

 tering, storm-tossed titlarks, twittering on the 

 edges of snowbanks, were my sole but sufficient 

 company. 



And if a born lowlander delights to spend a 

 few hours now and then at such altitudes, why 

 is it to be deemed altogether surprising that 

 creatures to the manner born, brave and self- 

 reliant souls, needing neither highway nor trail, 

 accustomed from the shell to live in the " un- 

 tented cosmos" and "travel the uncharted," 

 should find themselves drawn as by an irresisti- 

 ble attraction to spend the summer there? It 



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