less heights, with the serene grandeur that is now Monadnock.
How the poets have loved this mountain! How their genius has lifted it to such a position as Mt. Soracte held of old in the heart of the early Romans! Into his haunting epic on Monadnock, the gentle Sage of New England crystallized his profound love for the inscrutable, Sphinx-like Spirit of the mountain—"Well-known, but loving not a name." Eagerly the lonely soul of Thoreau followed the "Climbing Oreads to their arcades." On the hearts of Longfellow, Whittier, Channing, a host of kindred minds, the magnetic touch of the mountain fell and held them in its spell.
"Monadnock, Wise Old Giant, busy with his 'sky affairs,' who makes us sane and sober and free from little things, if we trust him,—this Monadnock came to mean everything in the world that is helping and healing and full of quiet. He never failed us."
Thus came English Kipling under the mystic spell, in his Vermont home, whence
