Who walks the earth with eyes to see,

Who finds the hieroglyphics clear

Which God has written everywhere,”

as we journey along the Connecticut. Especially apt were the lines by Charles Cotton, when we had driven several miles out of our way to spend Sunday in Rumney, because we remembered the place so pleasantly:

“Oh, how happy here’s our leisure!

Oh, how innocent our pleasure!

O ye valleys! O ye mountains!

O ye groves and crystal fountains!

How I love at liberty

By turns to come and visit ye!”