3ev\\ehlvc (Blimpses* 73 



But there is a background to this fair scene which 

 the eye of the lover of the hills seeks with joy and 

 sweet content. Westward from our outlook the 

 mountainside falls away into a deep glen, whose 

 sides have been cleared well up the slopes and con- 

 verted into comfortable meadows. Beyond the val- 

 ley, forming the western wall of the ravine, rise a 

 thousand feet of mountainside, thickly clad with 

 chestnut and maple, whose brilliant greens have 

 grown soft with the afternoon haze since we sat on 

 the summit, and fill the fancy with hints of rest, 

 of perfect quiet, of serene repose within their leafy 

 depths. 



The breeze lulls for a moment ; the far sounds 

 from the farms come to our ears softened and sweet. 

 But best and dearest of all sounds, across the glen, 

 from out those woody coverts, there floats the ten- 

 der, liquid trill of the thrush. It is the harbinger of 

 the evening, the first notice the birds serve that the 

 day is waning, and that the shadows are gathering in 

 the forests on the eastern slopes. There is no other 

 woodland note like this. It is perpetual music. It 

 touches the emotions like profoundest poetry. It 

 calls on the religious nature and stirs the deepest 

 soul to joyous praise. There is no bird, among the 

 many which have found their way into song, in other 

 lands or other times,< whose note deserves so much 

 of poet and lover of nature as the wood-thrush. The 

 very spirit of the forest thrills in this vesper-song. It 

 is the trembling note of solitude, rich with the emo- 



