the brown and velvety cows grazing in thickets seem (as the train flies by) almost like venison. There are swelling meadows against the sky, white with daisies and Queen Anne's lace; the lichened gray fences, horses straining at the harrow and white farmhouses sitting back among the domes of trees.
Then comes the glorious Susquehanna—that noble river that caught the fancy of R. L. S., you remember. He once began a poem with the refrain, "Beside the Susquehanna and along the Delaware." Olive-green below the high railway bridge, the water tints off to silver in the pale summer haze toward Port Deposit. The B. and O. bridge strides over an island in midstream, and looking down on the tops of the (probably) maples, they are a bright yellow with some blossom-business of their own. A lonely fisherman was squatting in a gray and weathered skiff near the bridge, What a river to go exploring along!
It is quaint that men who love to live in damp and viewless hollows always select the jovial and healthy spots to bury themselves in. Just beyond the Susquehanna, on the south side of the track, we pass a little graveyard in quite the most charming spot thereabouts, high on a hill overlooking the wide sweep of the river. And then again the green rolling ridges of Harford county, with yellow dirt roads luring one afoot, and the little brooks scuttling down toward Chesapeake through coverts of
