weeks hence.  The promontory is exposed to all winds, and there seems no reason why it should produce the earliest flowers, unless that this is a peculiar race of columbines, which has the precious gift of earlier birth assigned to them in lieu of rich beauty.  This is the first day of the present spring that I have found any quite blown; but last year, I believe, they came considerably earlier.  Here and there appeared a blue violet, nestling close to the ground, pretty, but inconvenient to gather and carry home, on account of its short stalk.  Houstonias are scattered about by handfuls.  Anemones have been in bloom for several days on the edge of the woods, but none ever grow on the Promontory of Columbines.

The grass is a glad green in spots; but this verdure is very partial, and over the general extent the old, withered stalks of last year’s grass are found to predominate.  The verdure appears rich, between the beholder and the sun; in the opposite direction, it is much less so.  Old mullein-stalks rise tall and desolate, and cling tenaciously to the soil when we try to uproot them.  The promontory is broken into two or three heads.  Its only shadow is from a moderately-sized elm, which, from year to year, has flung down its dead branches, all within its circumference, where they lie in various stages of decay.  There are likewise rotten and charred stumps of several other trees.

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The fence of our avenue is covered with moss on the side fronting towards the north, while the opposite side is quite free from it,—­the reason being, that there is never any sunshine on the north side to dry the moisture caused by rains from the northeast.  The moss is very luxuriant, sprouting from the half-decayed wood, and clinging to it as if partially incorporated therewith.

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Towards the dimness of evening a half-length figure appearing at a window,—­the blackness of the background, and the light upon the face, cause it to appear like a Rembrandt picture.

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On the top of Wachusett, butterflies, large and splendid; also bees in considerable numbers, sucking honey from the alpine flowers.  There is a certain flower, a species of Potentilla, I think, which is found on mountains at a certain elevation, and inhabits a belt, being found neither above nor below it.  On the highest top of Wachusett there is a circular foundation, built evidently with great labor, of large, rough stones, and rising perhaps fifteen feet.  On this basis formerly rose a wooden tower, the fragments of which, a few of the timbers, now lie scattered about.  The immediate summit of the mountain is nearly bare and rocky, although interspersed with bushes; but at a very short distance below there are trees, though slender, forming a tangled confusion, and among them grows the wild honeysuckle pretty abundantly, which was in bloom when we were there (Sunday, June 17th).  A flight of rude stone steps ascends the circular stone foundation of the round tower.  By the by, it cannot be more than ten feet high, at the utmost, instead of fifteen.