CHOCORUA IN NOVEMBER. 
205 
the snow was continuous or at all deep. No 
sooner had I struck the snow area than I began 
to find evidence of the passing along and across 
the path of the creatures of the woods. In five 
or six places a fox had followed the path for 
several rods. Rabbits had crossed it over and 
over again, and mice even had recognized it as 
a thoroughfare and taken laborious journeys in 
its drifts. 
A few minutes past noon I reached the top 
of Ball Mountain, or, as it is generally called, 
Bald Mountain. Here the snow lay four to 
eight inches deep upon everything except the 
bare ledges, which were dry and warm. As I 
gained the crest, a hawk sailed over me and out 
into that sea of space above the valley. What 
joy it must be to fly, and especially to soar and 
float, in high ether, with scarce a muscle mov¬ 
ing! Suddenly a plaintive note fell upon my 
ear, and, turning, I saw a bird about the size 
of a robin flying northward. It soon vanished 
in the distance, I meanwhile striving to recall 
when, where, and from what bird I had heard 
that sad cry before. Hoping to see more birds, 
and seeking an uninterrupted view of the peak, 
I climbed to the top of the ledges intermediate 
between Bald Mountain and the foot of the 
peak, and there, upon a broad, dry face of 
granite, on the edge of the steep incline which 
