THE HAUNT OF THE ANCHOBITE. 110 



waiting and watching. Presently the green- 

 brown bird drops down, and the flowers which 

 we have been admiring hang over its hidden 

 nest. It is a common species, and we pass on. 



The sombre and twilight of dark woods is 

 pleasant at times ; but for a moment, to be lifted 

 out of it, we span a long straight pine and 

 climb by its boughs to the top. Looking out 

 from our aerial altitude, the world seems a 

 flood of delicate greenery. No tree so beautiful 

 as the Pine. A thousand tender tops seek 

 seek the light — the only moving objects in the 

 landscape. Trailing green -tasselled fingers, 

 how exquisitely beautiful ye are ! How deli- 

 cate your tracery ! And then the balm and 

 gum of resinous woods ! In summer the long 

 pine-boughs . sit like brooding doves over the 

 warm earth. In winter they hang out funereal 

 plumes when the ground is locked in ice. No 

 dead crackling boughs are here — nothing but 

 life ; the warm yielding up, the hum and 

 essence of being. Among the fir-tree tops all 

 is sunlight. Squirrels chatter, wood-pigeons 

 coo. Even the flies have come up here, and 

 lazily revolve in their mazy flight. 



Peeping out of the wood, far out yonder, is 



