with the hum of insects, each one the forerunner of a berry the most natural, wholesome, and palatable that the soil can produce.—The early low blueberry, which I will call "bluet," adopting the name from the Canadians, is probably the prevailing kind of whortleberry in New England, for the high blueberry and huckleberry are unknown in many sections.
In many New Hampshire towns, a neighboring mountain top is the common berry field of many villages, and in the season such a summit will be swarming with pickers. A hundred at once will rush thither from the surrounding villages, with pails and buckets of all descriptions, especially on a Sunday, which is their leisure day. When camping on such ground, thinking myself out of the world, I have had my solitude very unexpectedly interrupted by such a company, and found that week days were the only Sabbath days there. . . . The mountain tops of New Hampshire, often lifted above the clouds, are thus covered with this beautiful blue fruit in greater profusion than any garden.
What though the woods be cut down. This emergency was long ago foreseen and provided for by nature, and the interregnum is not allowed to be a barren one. She is full of resources, and not only begins instantly to heal that scar, but she consoles and refreshes us with fruits
