primitive age and a health and hope far remote from towns and cities.
Standing quite alone, far in the forest, while the wind is shaking down
snow from the trees, and leaving the only human tracks behind us, we
find our reflections of a richer variety than the life of cities. The
chickadee and nut-hatch are more inspiring society than statesmen and
philosophers, and we shall return to these last as to more vulgar
companions. In this lonely glen, with the brook draining the slopes,
its creased ice and crystals of all hues, where the spruces and
hemlocks stand up on either side, and the rush and sere wild oats in
the rivulet itself, our lives are more serene and worthy to contemplate.

As the day advances, the heat of the sun is reflected by the
hill-sides, and we hear a faint but sweet music where flows the rill
released from its fetters, and the icicles are melting on the trees,
and the nut-hatch and partridge are heard and seen. The south wind
melts the snow at noon, and the bare ground appears with its withered
grass and leaves, and we are invigorated by the perfume which exhales
from it as by the scent of strong meats.

Let us go into this deserted woodman's hut, and see how he has passed
the long winter nights and the short and stormy days. For here man has
lived under this south hill-side, and it seems a civilized and public
spot. We have such associations as when the traveler stands by the
ruins of Palmyra or Hecatompolis. Singing birds and flowers perchance
have begun to appear here, for flowers as well as weeds follow in the
footsteps of man. These hemlocks whispered over his head, these
hickory logs were his fuel, and these pitch-pine roots kindled his
fire; yonder fuming rill in the hollow, whose thin and airy vapor still
ascends as busily as ever, though he is far off now, was his well.
These hemlock boughs, and the straw upon this raised platform, were his