ers no
obstruction to the view. For a time I had a seat, which after a little
two strangers ventured to occupy with me; for "it's an ill wind that
blows nobody good," and there happened to be on the car one piece of
baggage,--a coffin, inclosed in a pine box. Our sitting upon it could
not harm either it or us; nor did we wean any disrespect to the man,
whoever he might be, whose body was to be buried in it. Judging the
dead charitably, as in duty bound, I had no doubt he would have been
glad if he could have seen his "narrow house" put to such a use. So we
made ourselves comfortable with it, until, at an invisible station, it
was taken off. Then we were obliged to stand, or to retreat into a
miserable small box-car behind us. The platform would lurch a little now
and then, and I, for one, was not experienced as a "train hand;" but we
all kept our places till the Frankenstein trestle was reached. Here,
where for five hundred feet we could look down upon the jagged rocks
eighty feet below us, one of the trio suddenly had an errand into the
box-car aforesaid, leaving the platform to the other stranger and me.
All in all, the ride through the Notch had never before been so
enjoyable, I thought; and late in the evening I found myself once again
at the Crawford House, and in one of the best rooms,--as well enough I
might be, being the only guest in the house.

The next morning, before it was really light, I was lying awake looking
at Mount Webster, while through the open window came the loud, cheery
song of the white-throated sparrows. The hospitable creatures seemed to
be inviting me to come at once into their woods; but I knew only too
well that, if the invitation were accepted, they would every one of
them take to hiding like bashful children.

The white-throat is one of the birds for whom I cherish a special
liking. On my first trip to the mountains I jumped off the train for a
moment at Bartlett, and had hardly touched the ground before I heard his
familiar call. Here, then, was Mr. Peabody at home. Season after season
he had camped near me in Massachusetts, and many a time I had been
gladdened by his lively serenade; now he greeted me from his own native
woods. So far as my observations have gone, he is common throughout the
mountain region; and that in spite of the standard guide-book, which
puts him down as patronizing the Glen House almost exclusively. He knows
the routes too well to need any guide, however, and may