because I had two ladies with me, which was as good as bushing the boat. He was an interesting, eagle-like object as he sat upright on his perch with his back to ns, now and then looking over his shoulder, the broad-backed, flat-headed, curve-beaked bird.
March 26, 1855. 6 a. m. Still cold and blustering. I see a musk-rat house just erected, two feet or more above the water, and sharp. At the Hubbard Path a mink comes tetering along the ice by the side of the river. I am between him and the sun, and he does not notice me. He seems daintily lifting his feet with a jerk as if his toes were sore. They seem to go a-hunting at night along the edge of the river. Perhaps I notice them more at this season when the shallow water freezes at night, and there is no vegetation along the shore to conceal them.
The lark sings perched on the top of an apple tree, seel-yah seel-yah, and then perhaps seel-yah-see-e, and several other strains quite sweet and plaintive, contrasting with the cheerless season and the bleak meadow. Farther off I hear one with notes like ah-tick-seel-yah.
p. m. Sail down to the Great Meadows. A strong wind with snow driving from the west and thickening the air. The farmers pause to see me scud before it. At last I land and walk further down on the meadow bank. . . . . I no-
