. Literary pilgrimages of a naturalist. mbrous uproar of thesurf. Telling the pearls on this rosary of a path inthe homeward direction one is led beyond thehomestead and on, by a slenderer, less troddenway to the old Pilgrim cemetery where the greatman lies buried among the pioneers of the neigh-borhood, Peregrine White, the Winslows, and ahost of others whose fame has not gone so farperhaps, but those names may be written in thefinal domesday book in letters as large as does any storied monument recite the deedsof the statesman or bear his name higher thanthat of his fellows. A simple
. Literary pilgrimages of a naturalist. mbrous uproar of thesurf. Telling the pearls on this rosary of a path inthe homeward direction one is led beyond thehomestead and on, by a slenderer, less troddenway to the old Pilgrim cemetery where the greatman lies buried among the pioneers of the neigh-borhood, Peregrine White, the Winslows, and ahost of others whose fame has not gone so farperhaps, but those names may be written in thefinal domesday book in letters as large as does any storied monument recite the deedsof the statesman or bear his name higher thanthat of his fellows. A simple slab with the nameonly stands above the mound beneath which helies, and in the side of this mound a woodchuckhas his burrow, seeming to emphasize by hispresence the cosy friendliness of the little is a hillock, just a little way from the house,just a little way from the big orchard whichWebster loved so well, surrounded by pasture andcranberry bog and with the marsh drawing lov-ingly up to it on one side. Over this marsh comes. IN OLD MARSHFIELD 13 the free salt air of the sea, but a little more gentlyto the lowly hillock than to the summit of BlackMount. Because of this loitering gentleness it hastime to drop among the lingerers there all the wildaromas and soft perfumes of the marsh andpasture and bring all the soothing sounds of lifeto ears that for all I know hear them dreamily andapprove. Quail, the first I have heard in NewEngland for a long time, whistled cheerily one toanother from nearby thickets. Nor did theseseem fearful of man. One whistled as a wagonrattled by his hiding place on the dusty windingroad, and held his perch beneath a berry bush tillI approached so near that I could hear the fullinflection of the soft note with which he prefixedhis bob white, see the swell of his white throatand the tilt of his head as he sent forth the pair of mourning doves crooned in the old appleorchard and flew on whistling wings as I ap-proached too near. I have h
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1900, bookdecade1910, booki, booksubjectnaturalhistory
