. Literary pilgrimages of a naturalist. ghost I found a little way along the roadfrom the bridge a broad grassy avenue that ledwith a certain majesty in its sweep as if to somewoodland castle whose people were so light-footedthat they wore no paths in their broad greenavenue. Yet after all it led me only to a widemeadow where the sighing I had heard was thatof the grass going to sleep under the magic passesof a mowers scythe. No clatter of mowingmachine was here, just the swish of a scythe suchas the meadow has heard yearly since the pioneerscame. There were deer tracks here along themargin of
. Literary pilgrimages of a naturalist. ghost I found a little way along the roadfrom the bridge a broad grassy avenue that ledwith a certain majesty in its sweep as if to somewoodland castle whose people were so light-footedthat they wore no paths in their broad greenavenue. Yet after all it led me only to a widemeadow where the sighing I had heard was thatof the grass going to sleep under the magic passesof a mowers scythe. No clatter of mowingmachine was here, just the swish of a scythe suchas the meadow has heard yearly since the pioneerscame. There were deer tracks here along themargin of Country Brook, and all the gentle wildlife of woods and meadows seemed to pass freely,without care or fear. And so I found all the country about the Whit-tier homestead an epitome of the free, cheerful,country life of the New England of a centuryago. They lighted a fire for me in Whittiersfireplace — and as the rose glow on the walls ofthe old living-room brought back the hearth-cheerof bygone years, as the witches, daintily making. Watching the crane and pendant trammels growblack against the blaze See page 18
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1900, bookdecade1910, booki, booksubjectnaturalhistory
