ng up, and caught
something from it. I could not tell whether it was real or imaginary. He
held it up to his breast, and appeared to caress it, and try to twine it
about his neck. I thought at first it was a coal of fire; perhaps it was
smoke. Three times he leaped nearly into the flames in this way, and
darted at something which he apparently tried to seize. Then he seemed
to assure the others that he had accomplished his purpose; and they all
went immediately off, without looking back.

APRIL 20, 1869.

We are surprised to find so many New-England people about us. Many of
those who are interested in the sawmills are lumbermen from Maine. The
two men who first established themselves in the great wilderness, with
unbroken forest, and only Indians about them, are still living near us.
They are men of resources, as well as endurance. A man who comes to do
battle against these great trees must necessarily be of quite a
different character from one who expects, as the California pioneer did,
to pick up his fortune in the dust at his feet. I am often reminded of
Thoreau's experience in the Maine woods. He says, "The deeper you
penetrate into the woods, the more intelligent, and, in one sense, less
countrified, do you find the inhabitants; for always the pioneer has
been a traveller, and to some extent a man of the world; and, as the
distances with which he is familiar are greater, so is his information
more general and far-reaching."

MAY 30, 1869.

The gulls and crows give parties to each other on the sand, at low-tide.
Farther out are the ducks, wheeling about, and calling to each other,
with sharp, lively voices. It is curious to watch them, and try to
understand their impulses. Sometimes they are all perfectly motionless,
sitting in companies of hundreds, in the deepest calm; sometimes all in
a flutter, tripping over the water, with their wings just striking it,
uttering their shrill cry. They dive, but never come to shore. What one
does, all the rest immediately do. Sometimes the whole little fleet is
gone in an instant, and the water unruffled above them.

The prettiest among them is the spirit-duck,--its motion is so
beautiful, as it breasts the little billows, or glides through the still
water. Their bosoms are so like the white-caps, I have to look for their
little black heads, to see where they are. Once in a while, a loon comes
sailing along, in its slow, stately way, turning its slender, graceful
ne