and color like the wrecks which strew the bottom, now drifting along over the pebbly bottom, now whirling in tiny eddies and dashing down steep falls, or sweeping rapidly along with the current, or else swaying to and fro at the end of some grass-blade or root.  Anon they will leave their sunken habitations, and, crawling up the stems of plants or to the surface like gnats, as perfect insects henceforth, flutter over the surface of the water or sacrifice their short lives in the flame of our candle at evening.  Down yonder little glen the shrubs are drooping under their burden, and the red alder-berries contrast with the white ground.  Here are the marks of a myriad feet which have already been abroad.  The sun rises as proudly over such a glen as over the valley of the Seine or Tiber, and it seems the residence of a pure and self-subsistent valor such as they never witnessed, which never knew defeat or fear.  Here reign the simplicity and purity of a 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 bed, and this broken dish held his drink.  But he has not been here this season, for the phoebes