ringing reveille of the cardinal must have awakened the
sleepiest denizen of the forest.

But another song rises pure and serene above the general chorus
of vireos and warblers. You saunter along a murmuring stream,
scarce noting the fresh green of bush and tree, or the ferns,
flowers and moss that are massed in marvelous beauty. Nature has
arranged her stage in the amphitheater of the hills for some
great pageant. All the while you are listening to the rich
melody coming from the shadowy depths of hemlock in the
direction of Mount Willard. "It seemed as if some unseen Orpheus
had strayed to earth and from some remote height was thrumming a
divine accompaniment." Here among the majesty and stillness of
the White Mountains was a song most fitting and infinitely
beautiful to express their loveliness. It seemed to have in it
the purity and depth of crystal clear lakes; the solemn and
shadowy grandeur of hemlock forests, the faint, far-away spirit
music of mountain echoes, the calm serenity of evening skies,
the prayers and hopes and longings of all creation. With such a
prelude as this did we behold the coming of the dawn. Nature had
erected an emerald portal for the triumphal entry of the king of
day. The curtains of misty green were drawn back at the signal
of some nymph. Between the broken ridges of Mount Clinton and
Jackson the sun appeared long after his first beams were old on
the opposite side of the mountains.

While the swallows that built their nests beneath the eaves of
the Crawford House were busy many hours with their family cares,
the card-crazed players and the dancers of the night before were
sleeping the troubled sleep of the idlers.