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You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: Pastoral Days - or Memories of a New England Year - -Author: William Hamilton Gibson - -Release Date: November 3, 2012 [EBook #41278] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PASTORAL DAYS *** - - - +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 41278 *** Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was @@ -3758,365 +3736,4 @@ battled with the sun, End of Project Gutenberg's Pastoral Days, by William Hamilton Gibson -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PASTORAL DAYS *** - -***** This file should be named 41278-0.txt or 41278-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/1/2/7/41278/ - -Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images available at The Internet Archive) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: Pastoral Days - or Memories of a New England Year - -Author: William Hamilton Gibson - -Release Date: November 3, 2012 [EBook #41278] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PASTORAL DAYS *** - - - - -Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images available at The Internet Archive) - - - - - - - - -PASTORAL DAYS - - - - -PASTORAL DAYS -OR -MEMORIES OF A NEW ENGLAND YEAR - -BY - -W. HAMILTON GIBSON - -Illustrated - -NEW YORK - -HARPER & BROTHERS, FRANKLIN SQUARE - -1881 - -Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1880, by - -HARPER & BROTHERS, - -In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. - -_All rights reserved._ - - -TO - -ONE WHOSE CLOSE COMPANIONSHIP - -HAS WROUGHT THAT HARMONY AND PEACE OF MIND FROM WHICH THIS -BOOK HAS SPRUNG, AND TO WHOM ITS EVERY PAGE RECALLS -A REMINISCENCE OF THE PAST IDENTIFIED -WITH MEMORIES OF MY OWN - -This Memoir is Lovingly Inscribed - -OUR SOUVENIR - -[Illustration] - - - - -THE CYCLE. - - -SPRING: PAGE - -_The Awakening_.....19 - -SUMMER: - -_The Consummation_.....51 - -AUTUMN: - -_The Waning_.....91 - -WINTER: - -_The Sleep_.....125 - - - - -ILLUSTRATIONS. - -DESIGNED BY W. HAMILTON GIBSON. - - -TITLE. ENGRAVER.....PAGE - -THE KINDLED FLAME W. H. CLARK.....18 - -THE AWAKENING H. GRAY.....19 - -A SPRING MORNING F. S. KING.....21 - -CATKINS JOHN FILMER.....23 - -PUSSIES " ".....23 - -EARLY PLOUGHING H. WOLF.....25 - -THE RETURN FROM THE FIELDS GEORGE SMITH.....26 - -VOICES OF THE NIGHT JOHN FILMER.....27 - -A RAINY DAY J. HELLAWELL.....29 - -A HANDFUL FROM THE WOODS H. GRAY.....32 - -AFTER ARBUTUS J. TINKEY.....34 - -THE FAIRY FROND J. P. DAVIS.....35 - -AN APRIL DAY GEORGE SMITH.....36 - -AMONG THE WILD FLOWERS SMITHWICK and FRENCH.....37 - -THE COLUMBINE R. HOSKIN.....38 - -THE MEADOW BROOK " ".....40 - -THE PHOEBE'S NEST W. H. MORSE.....41 - -BUILDING THE NEST HENRY MARSH.....42 - -IN THE APPLE ORCHARD R. HOSKIN.....43 - -LITTLE PLUNDERERS A. HAYMAN.....45 - -ONE OF NATURE'S MARVELS H. MARSH.....46 - -BLUE-FLAGS R. HOSKIN.....47 - -THE CONSUMING FLAME W. H. CLARK.....50 - -THE CONSUMMATION N. ORR.....51 - -DOLCE FAR NIENTE F. S. KING.....55 - -THE OLD GARRET F. JUENGLING.....56 - -AMID THE GRASSES F. S. KING.....58 - -EVEN-TIDE G. KRUELL.....60 - -THROUGH THE SEDGES R. HOSKIN.....62 - -AMONG THE BOGS J. TINKEY.....63 - -SOME ART CONNOISSEURS R. HOSKIN.....64 - -PROFESSOR WIGGLER J. FILMER.....65 - -THE TYRANT OF THE FIELDS H. E. SCHULTZ.....67 - -FAMILIAR FACES AT THE -VILLAGE STORE R. A. MULLER.....70 - -A SOUVENIR SMITHWICK and FRENCH.....72 - -ALONG THE HOUSATONIC GEORGE SMITH.....74 - -JUDD'S BRIDGE P. ANNIN.....78 - -THE HAUNTED MILL J. HELLAWELL.....79 - -PURSUERS AND PURSUED GEORGE ANDREW.....81 - -TOLLING FOR THE DEAD R. SCHELLING.....83 - -WRECKS OF THE TORNADO J. FILMER.....84 - -PASSING THOUGHTS H. GRAY.....86 - -THE SMOULDERING FLAME " ".....90 - -THE WANING A. HAYMAN.....91 - -"EVERY BREEZE A SIGH" F. S. KING.....93 - -AN OCTOBER DAY SMITHWICK and FRENCH.....96 - -A WAY-SIDE PASTORAL J. HELLAWELL.....97 - -WAIFS HENRY MARSH.....100 - -IN THE CORNFIELD W. MILLER.....102 - -THE ROAD TO THE MILL E. HELD.....105 - -THE CIDER-MILL J. P. DAVIS.....107 - -THE "LINE STORM" R. HOSKIN.....109 - -A POINTED REMINDER J. FILMER.....111 - -AFTER THE SHELL-BARKS GEORGE SMITH.....113 - -A CORNER OF THE FARM J. TINKEY.....115 - -BEECH-NUTTING W. H. MORSE.....118 - -THE NORTH WIND MORSE and HOSKIN.....120 - -DESERTED HENRY DEIS.....121 - -THE FLAME EXTINGUISHED H. GRAY.....124 - -THE SLEEP J. TINKEY.....125 - -THE TOMB J. P. DAVIS.....127 - -SNOW-FLAKES OF MEMORY GEORGE SMITH.....129 - -THE OLD MILL-POND H. GRAY.....131 - -THE FIRST SNOW GEORGE SMITH.....133 - -MUTE PROPHECIES H. E. SCHULTZ.....135 - -THE TWITCH-UP F. S. KING.....137 - -THE WINTER'S DARLING HENRY MARSH.....139 - -WHO'S THAT? H. WOLF.....140 - -SUNSHINE AND SHADOW IN THE -WOODS R. HOSKIN.....141 - -A SUNNY CORNER W. H. MORSE.....143 - -WINTER BROWSING SMITHWICK and FRENCH.....144 - -A JANUARY THAW J. FILMER.....145 - -THE MOONLIGHT RIDE J. HELLAWELL.....147 - -THE SHADOWED PAGE J. TINKEY.....149 - -THE GOOD PHYSICIAN R. SCHELLING.....151 - -THE FULFILMENT SMITHWICK and FRENCH.....153 - - - - -SPRING. - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration: THE AWAKENING] - -[Illustration] - - -As far as the eye can reach, the snow lies in a deep mantle over the -cheerless landscape. I look out upon a dreary moor, where the horizon -melts into the cold gray of a heavy sky. The restless wind sweeps with -pitiless blast through shivering trees and over bleak hills, from whose -crests, like a great white veil, the clouds of hoary flakes are lifted -and drawn along by the gale. Down the upland slope, across the -undulating field, the blinding drift, like a thing of life, speeds in -its wild caprice, now swirling in fantastic eddies around some isolated -stack, half hidden in its chill embrace, now winding away over -bare-blown wall and scraggy fence, and through the sighing willows near -the frozen stream; now with a wild whirl it flies aloft, and the dark -pines and hemlocks on the mountain-side fade away in its icy mist. -Again, yonder it appears trailing along the meadow, until, flying like -some fugitive spirit chased from earth by the howling wind, it vanishes -in the sky. On every side these winged phantoms lead their flying chase -across the dreary landscape, and fence and barn and house upon the hill -in turn are dimmed or lost to sight. - -Who has not watched the strange antics of the drifting snow whirling -past the window on a blustering winter's day? But this is not a winter's -day. This is the advent of a New England spring. - -Fortunate are we that its promises are not fulfilled, for the ides of -March might as oft betoken the approach of a tempestuous winter as of a -balmy spring. Consecrated to Mars and Tantalus, it is a month of -contradictions and disappointments, of broken promises and incessant -warfare. It is the struggle of tender awakening life against the -buffetings of rude and blighting elements. No man can tell what a day -may bring forth. Now we look out verily upon bleak December; -to-morrow--who knows?--we may be transported into May, and, with -aspirations high, feel our ardor cooled by a blast of ice and a blinding -fall of snow. But this cannot always last, for soon the southern breezes -come and hold their sway for days, and the north wind, angry in its -defeat, is driven back in lowering clouds to the region of eternal ice -and snow. Then comes a lovely day, without even a cloud--all blue above, -all dazzling white below. The sun shines with a glowing warmth, and we -say unto ourselves, "This is, indeed, a harbinger of spring." The -sugar-maples throb and trickle with the flowing sap, and the lumbering -ox-team and sled wind through the woods from tree to tree to relieve the -overflowing buckets. The boiling caldron in the sugar-house near by -receives the continual supply, and gives forth that sweet-scented steam -that issues from the open door, and comes to us in occasional welcome -whiffs across the snow. Long "wedges" of wild-geese are seen cleaving -the sky in their northward flight. The little pussies on the willows -are coaxed from their winter nest, and creep out upon the stem. The -solitary bluebird makes his appearance, flitting along the thickets and -stone walls with little hesitating warble, as if it were not yet the -appointed time to sing; and down among the bogs, that cautious little -pioneer, the swamp-cabbage flower, peers above the ground beneath his -purple-spotted hood. He knows the fickle month which gives him birth, -and keeps well under cover. - -[Illustration: CATKINS.] - -[Illustration: PUSSIES.] - -Such days in March are too perfect to endure, and at night the sky is -overcast and dark. Then follows a long warm rain that unlocks the ice in -all the streams. The whiteness of the hills and meadows melts into broad -contracting strips and patches. One by one, as mere specks upon the -landscape, these vanish in turn, until the last vestige of winter is -washed from the face of the earth to swell the tide of the rushing -stream. Even now, from the distant valley, we hear a continuous muffled -roar, as the mighty freshet, impelled by an irresistible force, ploughs -its tortuous channel through the lowlands and ravines. The quiet town is -filled with an unusual commotion. Excited groups of towns-people crowd -the village store, and eager voices tell of the havoc wrought by the -fearful flood. We hear how the old toll-bridge, with tollman's house and -all, was lifted from its piers like a pile of straw, and whirled away -upon the current. How its floating timbers, in a great blockade, crushed -into the old mill-pond; how the dam had burst, and the rickety red -saw-mill gone to pieces down the stream. Farmer Nathan's barn had gone, -and his flat meadows were like a whirling sea, strewn with floating -rails and driftwood. Every hour records its new disaster as some eager -messenger returns from the excited crowds which line the river-bank. How -well I remember the fascinating excitement of the spring freshet as I -watched the rising water in the big swamp lot, anxious lest it might -creep up and undermine the wall foundations of the barn! And what a -royal raft I made from the drifting logs and beams, and with the spirit -of an adventurous explorer sailed out on the deep gliding current, -floating high among the branches of the half submerged willow-trees, and -scraping over the tips of the tallest alder-bushes, whose highest twigs -now hardly reached the surface! How deep and dark the water looked as I -lay upon the raft and peered into the depths below! But this jolly fun -was of but short duration. The flood soon subsided, and on the following -morning nothing was seen excepting the settlings of _dbris_ strewn -helter-skelter over the meadow, and hanging on all the bushes. - -The tepid rain has penetrated deep into the yielding ground, and with -the winter's frost now coming to the surface, the roads are well-nigh -impassable with their plethora of mud. For a full appreciation of _mud_ -in all its glory, and in its superlative degree, one should see a New -England highway "when the frost comes out of the ground." The roads are -furrowed with deep grimy ruts, in which the bedabbled wheels sink to -their hubs as in a quicksand, and the hoofs of the floundering horse are -held in the swampy depths as if in a vise. For a week or more this state -of things continues, until at length, after warm winds and sunny days, -the ground once more packs firm beneath the tread. This marks the close -of idle days. The junk pile in the barn is invaded, and the rusty plough -abstracted from the midst of rakes and scythes and other farming tools. -The old white horse thrusts his long head from the stall near by, and -whinnies at the memories it revives, and with pricked-up ears and -whisking tail tells plainly of the eagerness he feels. - -[Illustration: EARLY PLOUGHING.] - -Back and forth through the sloping lot the ploughman slowly turns the -dingy sward, and in the rich brown furrow, following in his track, we -see the cackling troop of hens, and the lordly rooster, with great ado, -searches out the dainty tidbits for his motley crowd of favorites. The -whole landscape has become infused with human life and motion. Wherever -the eye may turn it sees the evidences of varied and hopeful industry. -Yonder we notice an oft-recurring little puff of mist, like a burlesque -snow-drift, ever and anon bursting into view, and softly vanishing -against the sward; another glance detects the slow progress of horse and -cart, as the farmer sows his load of plaster across the whitening field. -Farther up, where the brow of the hill stands clear against the sky, a -pacing figure, with measured sweep of arm, scatters the handfuls of -wheat, and team and harrow soon are in his path, combing and crumbling -the dark-brown mould. High curling wreaths of smoke wind upward from the -flat swamp lot beyond, where hilarious boys enjoy both work and play in -burning off the brush. Here we shall see the first welcome nibble of -fresh grass for the poor bereaved cow, whose lamenting bleat now echoes -through the barn near by; and for those oxen, too, that with swaying, -clumsy gait lug the huge roller across the neighboring field. And what -strange yells and exclamations guide them in their labored progress! "Ho -back! Gee up, ahoy! Ho haw!" From every direction, in voices near, and -others faint with distance, we hear this same queer jargon. Who could -believe that so much good work hung upon the incessant reiteration of -that brief and monotonous vocabulary? Rather would we listen to the -musical ring of the laughing children riding on the big "brush harrow" -down through that barn-yard lane beyond. Now they are out upon the -broken ground where John has strewn the "compost" to be "brushed in." A -broad flat wake follows them around the field, and that same troop of -hens and turkeys revel in the lively feast spread out before them in the -loose upturning. - -[Illustration: RETURN FROM THE FIELDS.] - -[Illustration: VOICES OF THE NIGHT.] - -So runs the record of a busy day in the early New England springtime, -and with its all-absorbing industry it is a day that passes quickly. The -afternoon runs into evening. Cool shadows creep across the landscape as -the glowing sun sinks through the still bare and leafless trees and -disappears behind the wooded hills. The fields are now deserted, and -through the uncertain twilight we see the little knots of workmen with -their swinging pails, and hear their tramp along the homeward road. In -the dim shadows of the evergreens beyond, a faint gray object steals -into view. Now it stops at the old watering-trough, and I hear the sip -of the eager horse and the splash of overflowing water. Some belated -ploughman, fresh, perhaps, from a half-hour's gossip at the village -store. I hear the sound of hoofs upon the stones as they renew their -way, the dragging of the chain upon the gravelly bed, and the receding -form is lost in the darkening road. One by one the scattered barns and -houses have disappeared in the gathering dusk, marked only by the faint -columns of blue smoke that rise above the trees, and melt away against -the twilight sky. I look out upon a wilderness of gloom, where all above -is still and clear, and all below is wrapped in impenetrable mystery. A -plaintive piping trill now breaks the impressive stillness. Again and -again I hear the little lonely voice vibrating through the low-lying -mist. It is only a little frog in some far-off marsh; but what a sweet -sense of sadness is awakened by that lowly melody! How its weird minor -key, with its magic touch, unlocks the treasures of the heart. Only the -peeping of a frog; but where in all the varied voices of the night, -where, even among the great chorus of nature's sweetest music, is there -another song so lulling in its dreamy melody, so full of that emotive -charm which quickens the human heart? How often in the vague spring -twilight have I yielded to the strange, fascinating melancholy awakened -by the frog's low murmur at the water's edge! How many times have I -lingered near some swampy roadside bog, and let these little wizards -weave their mystic spell about my willing senses, while the very air -seemed to quiver in the fulness of their song! I remember the tangle of -tall and withered rushes, through whose mysterious depths the eye in -vain would strive to penetrate at the sound of some faint splash or -ripple, or perhaps at the quaint, high-keyed note of some little -isolated hermit, piping in his sombre solitude. I recall the first -glimpse of the rising moon, as its great golden face peered out at me -from over the distant hill, enclosing half the summit against its broad -and luminous surface. Slowly and steadily it seemed to steal into view, -until, risen in all its fulness, I caught its image in the trembling -ripples at the edge of the soggy pool, where the palpitating water -responded to the frog's low, tremulous monotone. Higher and higher it -sails across the inky sky, its glow now changed to a silvery pallor, -across whose white halo, in a floating film, the ghostly clouds glide in -their silent flight. A dull tinkling of some distant cow-bell breaks -the spell, and recalls my wandering thoughts, and as I again take up my -way along the moonlit road, the glimmering windows on right and left -betray the hiding-places of a score of humble homes. Not far beyond I -see the swinging motion of a flickering lantern, as some tardy farmer's -boy, whistling about his work, clears up his nightly chores. Now he -enters the old barn-door. I see the light glinting through the open -cracks, and hear the lowing of the cows, the bleating of the baby-calf, -and rattling chains of oxen in the stanchion rows. Now again I catch the -gleam at the open door; the swinging light flits across the yard, and -the old corn-crib starts from its obscurity. I see the boyish figure -relieved against the glow within as a basketful of yellow ears are -gathered for the impatient mouths in the noisy manger stalls. Sing on, -my boy, enjoy it while you may! That venerable barn will yield a -fragrance to you in after-life that will conjure up in your heart a -throng of memories as countless as the shining grains that glimmer in -the light you hold, and as golden, too, as they. I wonder if those -soft-winged bats squeak among the clapboards, or make their fluttering -zigzag swoops about your lantern as they were wont to do in olden times. - -Then there was that big-eyed owl, too, that perched upon the maple-tree -outside my window, and cried as if its heart would break at the doleful -tidings it foretold. What a world of kind solicitude that dolorous bird -awakened in our superstitious neighbor across the road! How she -overwhelmed us with her sympathy, aroused by that sepulchral omen! But I -still live, and so does the owl, for aught I know; and I sometimes think -that this aged, stooping dame over the way has never fully recovered -from her disappointment, for she always greets me with a sigh and an -injured expression, as she says, in her high and tremulous voice, "Well! -well! back agin ez hale 'n hearty 's ever; an' arter the way thet ar -witch bird yewst teu call ye, too, night arter night. Jest teu _think_ -on't! an' we'd all a' gi'n ye up fer sartin. Well! well! I never see the -beat on't. Yen deu seem teu hang on _paowerful_;" and, after a moment's -hesitation, seemingly in which to swallow the bitter pill, she usually -adds, with sad solicitude, "Feelin' perty _tol'ble teu_, I spose?" But -the "witch bird" never roused my serious apprehensions. I remember its -plaintive cry only as a tender bit of pathos in the pages of my early -history. - -[Illustration: A RAINY DAY.] - -I recall, too, the pleasant sound upon the shingles overhead as the -dark-clouded sky let fall its tell-tale drops to warn us of the coming -rain. How many times have I glided into dream-land under the drowsy -influence of the patter on the roof, and the ever varying tattoo upon -the tin beneath the dripping eaves! Who can forget those rainy days, -with their games of hide-and-seek in the old dark garret! How we looked -out upon the muddy puddled road, and laughed at the great drifting -sheets of water that ever and anon poured down from some bursting cloud, -and roared upon the roof! And as the driving rain beat against the -blurred window-panes, what strange capers the squirming tree-trunks -outside seemed to play for our amusement: the dark door-way of the barn, -too--now swelling out to twice its size, now stretching long and thin, -or dividing in the middle in its queer contortions. Out in the dismal -barn-yard we saw the forlorn row of hens huddled together on the -hay-rick, under the drizzling straw-thatched shed; and the gabled coop -near by, in whose dry retreat the motherly old hen spread her tawny -wings, and yielded the warmth of her ruffled breast to the tender needs -of her little family, peeping so contentedly beneath her. The rain-proof -ducks dabble in the neighboring puddles, and chew the muddy water in -search of floating dainties, or gulp with nodding heads the unlucky -angle-worms which come struggling to the surface--drowned out of their -subterranean tunnels. - -Now we hear the snapping of the latch at the foot of the garret stairs, -and we are called to come and see a little outcast that John has brought -in from the wood-pile. Close beside the kitchen-stove a doubled piece of -blanket lies upon the floor, and within its folds we find what once was -a downy little chicken, now drenched and dying from exposure. He was a -naughty, wayward child, and would persist in thinking that he knew more -than his mother. At least so I was told--indeed, it was impressed upon -me. But the little fellow was rescued just in time. The warmth will soon -revive him, and by-and-by we shall hear his little chirp and see him -trot around the kitchen-floor, pecking at that everlasting fly, perhaps, -or at some tiny red-hot coal that snaps out from the stove. - -Little did we suspect the mission of those rainy days, so drear and -dismal without, or the sweet surprise preparing for us in the myriad -mysteries of life beneath the sod, where every root and thread-like -rootlet in the thirsty earth was drinking in that welcome moisture, and -numberless sleeping germs, dwelling in darkness, were awakening into -life to seek the light of day, waiting only for the glory of a sunny -dawn to burst forth from their hiding-places! That sunny morn does come -at last, and in its beams it sheds abroad a power that stirs the deepest -root. It is, indeed, a glorious day. The clustered buds upon the -silver-maples burst in their exuberance, and fringe the graceful -branches with their silken tassels. The restless crocus, for months an -unwilling captive in its winter prison, can contain itself no longer, -and with its little overflowing cup lifts up its face to the blue -heaven. Golden daffodils burst into bloom on drooping stems, and -exchange their little nods on right and left. The air is filled with a -faint perfume, in which the very earth mould yields its fragrance--that -wild aroma only known to spring. Our little feathered friends, so few -and far between as yet, are full of song. The bluebird wooes his mate -with a loving warble, full of tender sweetness, as they flit among the -swaying twigs, or pry with diligent search for some snug nesting-place -among the hollow crannies of the orchard trees. The noisy blackbirds -hold high carnival in the top of the old pine-tree, the woodpecker taps -upon the hollow limb his resonant tattoo, and the hungry crows, like a -posse of tramps, hang around the great oak-tree upon the knoll, and -watch to see what they can steal. Down through the meadow the gurgling -stream babbles as of old, and along its fretted banks the alder thickets -are hanging full with drooping catkins swinging at every breeze. The -glossy willow-buds throw off their coat of fur, and plume themselves in -their wealth of inflorescence, lighting up the brook-side with a yellow -glow, and exhaling a fresh, delicious perfume. Here, too, we hear the -rattling screech of the swooping kingfisher, as with quick beats of wing -he skims along the surface of the stream, and with an ascending glide -settles upon the overhanging branch above the ripples. All these and a -thousand more I vividly recall from the memory of that New England -spring; but sweetest of all its manifold surprises was that crowning -consummation, that miracle of a single night, bringing on countless -wings through the early morning mist the welcome chorus of the returning -flocks of birds. How they swarmed the orchard and the elms, where but -yesterday the bluebird held his sway! Now we see the fiery oriole in his -gold and jetty velvet flashing in the morning sun, and robins without -number swell their ruddy throats in a continuous roundelay of song. The -pert cat-bird in his Quaker garb is here, and with flippant jerk of tail -and impertinent mew bustles about among the arbor-vits, where even now -are remnants of his last year's nest. The puffy wrens, too, what saucy, -sputtering little bursts of glee are theirs as they strut upon the -rustic boxes in the maples! The fields are vocal with their sweet spring -medley, in which the happy carols of the linnets and the song sparrows -form a continuous pastoral. Now we hear the mellow bell of the wood -thrush echoing from some neighboring tree, and all intermingled with the -chatter and the gossip of the martens on their lofty house. Birds in the -sky, birds in the trees and on the ground, birds everywhere, and not a -silent throat among them; but from far and near, from mountain-side and -meadow, from earth and sky, uniting in a happy choral of perpetual -jubilee. - -[Illustration: A HANDFUL FROM THE WOODS.] - -Down in the moist green swamp lot the yellow cowslips bloom along the -shallow ditch, and the eager farmer's wife fills her basket with the -succulent leaves she has been watching for so long; for they'll tell you -in New England that "they ain't noth'n' like caowslips for a mess o' -greens." Near by we see the frog pond, with lush growth of arrow leaves -and pickerel weed, and flat blades of blue-flag just starting from the -boggy earth. Half submerged upon a lily pad, close by the water's edge, -an ugly toad sits watching for some winged morsel for that ample mouth -of his. - -Who could believe that so much poetic inspiration could emerge from such -a mouth as that; for verily it is this miserable-looking toad that lifts -his little voice in the dreamy, drowsy chorus of the twilight. All sorts -of odium have been heaped upon the innocent toad; but he only returns -good for evil. He is the farmer's faithful friend. He guards his garden -by day, and lulls him to sleep by night. Yonder, near those withered -cat-tails, we see the village boys among the calamus-beds, pulling up -the long white roots tipped with pink and fringed with trickling -rootlets. What visions of candied flag-root stimulate them in their -zeal! I can almost see the tender, juicy leaf-bud screened beneath that -smooth pink sheath, and its aromatic pungency is as fresh and real to me -as this appetizing fragrance that comes to us from the green tufts of -spearmint we crush beneath our feet at every step. Bevies of swallows -all around us skim through the air, like feathered darts, in their -twittering flight; and the restless starling, like a field-marshal, with -his scarlet epaulets, keeps sharp lookout for the enemy, and "flutes his -O-ka-lee" from the high alder-bush at the slightest approach upon his -chosen ground. Yonder on the wooded slope the feathery shad-tree blooms, -like a suspended cloud of drifting snow lingering among the gray twigs -and branches; and chasing across the matted leaves beneath, a lively -troop of youngsters, girls and boys, make the woods resound with their -boisterous jubilee. A jolly band of fugitives fresh from the stormy -week's captivity--spring buds bursting with life, with a pent-up store -of spirits that finds escape in an effervescence of ringing laughs and -in a din of incessant jabber. Well I know the buoyant exhilaration that -impels them on in their reckless frolic, as they skip from stone to -stone across the rippling stream, or "stump" each other on the -treacherous crossing-pole which spans the deep still current! Now I see -them huddle around the trickling grotto among the mossy bowlders in the -steep gully yonder, where the mountain spring bubbles into a crystal -pool. Alas! how quickly its faint blue border of hepaticas is rifled by -the ruthless mob! Now they clamber up the great gray rocks beneath the -drooping hemlocks, stopping in their headlong zeal to snatch some -trembling cluster of anemone, nodding from its velvety bed of moss; now -plunging down on hands and knees, shedding innocent blood among an -unsuspecting colony of fragile bloom--those glowing blossoms so welcome -in the early spring! Who does not know the bloodroot--that shy recluse -hiding away among the mountain nooks, that emblem of chaste purity with -its bridal ring of purest gold? Who has not seen its tender leaf-wrapped -buds lifting the matted leaves, and spreading their galaxy of snowy -stars along the woodland path? - -Then there was the shy arbutus, too. Where in all the world's bouquet is -there another such a darling of a flower? And where in all New England -does that darling show so full and sweet a face as in its home upon that -sunny slope I have in mind, and know so well? Was ever such a fragrant -tufted carpet spread beneath a hesitating foot? Even now, along the -lichen-dappled wall upon the summit, I see the lingering strip of snow, -gritty and speckled, and at its very edge, hiding beneath the covering -leaves, those modest little faces looking out at me--faces which seemed -to blush a deeper pink at their rude discovery. No other flower can -breathe the perfume of the arbutus, that earthy, spicy fragrance, which -seems as though distilled from the very leaf-mould at its roots. Often -on this sunny slope, so sheltered by dense pines and hemlocks, have -these charming clusters, pink and white, burst into bloom beneath the -snow in March; and even on a certain late February day, we discovered a -little, solitary clump, fully spread, and fairly ruddy with the cold. -Here, too, we found the earliest sprays of the slender maidenhair; that -fairy frond and loveliest among ferns, with black and lustrous stems, -and graceful spread of tender gauzy green. - -[Illustration: AFTER ARBUTUS.] - -Where was the nook in all that hill-side woods that we left unsearched -in our April ramblings? I recall the "tat," "tat" upon the dry carpet of -beech leaves, as the delicate anemone in my hand is dashed by a falling -drop! Lost in eager occupation, we had not observed the shadow that had -stolen through the forest; and now, as we look out through the trees, we -see the steel-blue warning of the coming shower, and feel the first gust -of the tell-tale breeze--how the willows wave and gleam against the deep -gray clouds, so weirdly reflected in the gliding stream beneath, like an -open seam to another sky! See the silvery flashes of that flock of -pigeons circling against the lurid background. No, we cannot stop to -see them, for the rain-drops begin to patter thick and fast. Away we -scamper to the shelter of the overhanging rocks. The lowering sky rolls -above us through the branches. The glassy surface of the brook takes on -a leaden hue as the rain-cloud drags its misty veil across the distant -meadows. The brown leaves jump and spatter at my feet, and the blue -liverwort flowers on right and left duck their heads like little living -things dodging the pelting rain-drops. - -[Illustration: THE FAIRY FROND.] - -Oh, the lovely fickleness an April day! Even now the distant hill is lit -up by the bursting sun. Nearer and nearer the gleam creeps across the -landscape, chasing the shower away, and in a moment more the meadows -glow with a freshened green, and the trees stand transfigured in -glistening beads flashing in the sunbeams. The quickened earth gives -forth its grateful incense, and even an enthusiastic frog down in the -lily-pond sends up his little vote of thanks. - -[Illustration: AN APRIL DAY.] - -April's woods are teeming with all forms of life, if one will only look -for them. On every side the ferns, curled up all winter in their dormant -sleep, unroll their spiral sprays, and reach out for the welcome sun. -The spicy colt's-foot, or wild ginger, lifts its downy leaves among the -mossy rocks and crevices, and its homely flower just peeps above the -ground, and, with a lingering glance at the blushing _Rue anemone_ close -by, hangs its humble head, never to look up again. High above us the -eccentric cottonwood-tree dangles its long speckled plumes, so silvery -white. Now we hear a mellow drumming sound, as some unsuspecting grouse, -concealed among the undergrowth near by, beats his resonant breast. -Could we but get a glimpse of him, we would see him simulate the -barn-yard gobbler, as with proud strut and spreading tail he disports -himself upon some fallen log or mossy rock. Perhaps, too, that coy mate -is near, admiring his show of gallantry, and holding a sly flirtation. - -[Illustration: AMONG THE WILD FLOWERS.] - -Look at this craggy precipice of rock, lost above among the -green-tasselled evergreens, and trickling with crystal drops from every -drooping sprig of moss. How its rugged surface is painted with the -mottled lichens of every hue, here like a faint tinge of cool -sage-green, and there in large brown blotches of rich color! See the -fringe of ferns that bursts from the fissure across its surface. There -the trillium hangs its three-cleft flower of rich maroon; and later we -shall see the fern-like spray of Solomon's-seal swinging its little row -of straw-colored bells from the ledge above. Airy columbines, too, shall -float their scarlet pendants on fragile stems, and with their graceful -nod tell of the slightest breeze, when all else is still. What is that -cinnamon-brown bird that hops along the stone wall yonder? Now he -alights upon the tulip-tree, and swells his speckled breast in a series -of short experiments--a broken song, in which every note or call has -its twin echo. A "mocking-thrush" he is, indeed, for he mimics his own -song from morn till night in all the thickets and pasture-lands. Take -care there! why, you almost trod upon that feathery tuft of "Dutchman's -breeches." Oh, who is he that dared to clothe this sweet blossom in such -an ignominious title? Where is the Dutchman that ever wore -unmentionables of such exquisite pink satin as that pale _dicentra_ -wears? No wonder their little broken hearts droop at the insult! - -[Illustration: THE COLUMBINE.] - -The grotesque Jack-in-the-pulpit, rising above that crumbling log, is -named more to my mind. There he stands beneath his striped canopy, and -preaches to me a sermon on the well-remembered rashness of my youth in -trifling with that subterranean bulb from which he grows. But I ignored -his warning in those early days. I only knew that a real nice boy across -the way seemed very fond of those little Indian turnips, called them -"sugar-roots," and said that they were full of honey. And as he bit off -his eager mouthful, and refused to let me taste, I sought one for -myself, and, generous boy that he was, he showed me where to find the -buried treasure. It was like a small turnip, an innocent-looking affair -(and so was the nice boy's modelled piece of apple, by-the-way). But oh! -the sudden revelation of the red-hot reservoir of chain-lightning that -crammed that innocent bulb! Even as I think of it, how I long once more -to interview that real nice boy who opened up the mysteries of the -"sugar-root" to my tempted curiosity. Let boys beware of this wild, -red-hot coal; and should they be impelled by a desire to test the -unknown flavor, let them solace themselves with a less dangerous mixture -of four papers of cambric needles and a spoonful of pounded glass. This -will give a faint suggestion of the racy pungency of the Indian turnip. -Were some kind friend at the present day to seek to kill me off with -poisoned food, I should forthwith have him arrested on a charge of -attempted murder, and incarcerated in the county jail. But what would be -wilful homicide in the man is only a guileless proof of friendship in -the boy, and his affections and their symptoms present a living paradox; -and those boisterous days, with all their fond caresses in the way of -fights and bruises and black eyes, and even Indian turnips, we all agree -were full of fun the like of which we never shall see again. - -[Illustration: MEADOW BROOK.] - -How well we remember those tramps along the meadow brook: the dark, -still holes beneath the overhanging rocks, where, with golden slipping -loop and pole and cautious creep, we wired those lazy, unsuspecting -"suckers" on the gravelly bed below! Ah! what scientific angling with -the rod and reel in later years has ever brought back the keen tingle of -that primitive sport? The great green bull-frogs, too, in the lily-pond, -disclosing their cavernous resources as they jumped and splashed and -sprawled after the tantalizing bit of red flannel on that dangling hook! -We recall that rickety bridge among the willows, and the mossy nest of -mud so firmly fixed upon the beam beneath. How could we be so deaf to -the pleading of those little phoebe-birds that fluttered so beseechingly -about us? Then there was that deep hole in the sand-bank near the -brook, where the burrowing kingfisher hid away his nest, where we -watched in the twilight to see him enter, and, with big round stone in -readiness, "plugged" him in his den! What fun it was to dig him out, and -ventilate his musty nest of fish-bones! The starling in the thicket of -the swamp circled through the air with angry "Quit! quit!" as we picked -our way through the bristling bogs so close upon her nest. We'll not -forget that false step that sent us sprawling in the green slimy mud, at -the first electrifying glimpse of those brown spotted eggs. The -high-holer, too, whose golden gleam of wing upon the bare dead tree -betrayed his nesting-place in the hollow limb--was ever such a stimulus -offered to the eagerness of youth? Who would give a second thought to -his tender shins at the prospect of such a prize as a nest of -high-hole's eggs? How round and white they were! how the pale golden -yolk floated beneath the pearly shell! Those were jolly days for us; but -the poor birds had to suffer, and few, indeed, were the nests that -escaped our prying search. There was the cat-bird in the evergreens, -with lovely eggs of peacock blue; the pure white treasures of the -swallows in the mud nests under the barn-yard eaves; the sky-blue -beauties of the robin; the brown speckled eggs in the sheltered nest of -song-sparrows on the grassy slope; the dear little eggs of chippies in -their horse-hair bed, and in their midst the insinuated specimen of the -cheeky cow-blackbird: there were eggs of every shape and hue, and we -knew too well where to put our hand on them. - -[Illustration: THE PHOEBE'S NEST.] - -[Illustration: BUILDING THE NEST.] - -In a flowering hawthorn outside our window we watched a loving pair -building their pensile nest among the thorns and blossoms. How incessant -was their solicitude for that fragile framework until its strength was -fully assured against the tossing breeze! Tenderly and eagerly they -helped each other in the disposition of those ravellings of string and -strips of bark! he stopping every now and then to whisper sweetly to his -mate, as she, with drooping, trembling wings, put up her little open -bill to kiss. Yes, we often saw this little tender episode, as we -watched them through the shutters of the half-closed blinds! Now he -flies away; and the little spouse, thus left alone, jumps into the nest, -and we see its mossy meshes swell as she fits the deep hollow to her -feathery breast. Presently her consort returns, trailing along a -gossamer of cobweb, which he throws around the supporting thorn, and -leaves for her to spread and tuck among the crevices. Again he appears, -with his tiny bill concealed in a silvery puff of cotton from the willow -catkins in the swamp; next he brings a wisp of long gray moss; now a -curly flake of rich brown lichen, or a jagged square of birch bark, all -of which are laid against the nest, and half covered with films of -cobweb. Once more we see his tiny form among the hawthorn blossoms as he -tugs a papery piece of hornets' nest through the pink barricade. This is -arranged to hang beneath as a pendant to their floating fabric, and the -happy little couple sit together upon a neighboring twig in twittering -admiration. And well they may, for a prettier nest than theirs never -hung upon a thorn. Not perfect yet, it seems, however, for that little -feminine eye has seen the need of one more touch. Away she flies, and in -a minute more a downy feather, tipped with iridescent green, is adjusted -in the cobwebs. - -[Illustration: IN THE APPLE ORCHARD.] - -This dainty little work of art is only one of the thousands that -everywhere are building in the blooming trees and thickets. These are -the supreme moments of the spring, consecrated to the loves of bird and -blossom. Every little winged form that scarcely bends the twig has its -all-consuming passion, and every tree its wedding of the flower. Out in -the orchard the apple-trees are laden in veritable domes of pink-white -bloom, as if by the rare spectacle of a rosy fall of snow, and from -among the dewy petals the army of bees give forth their low, continuous -drone--that sympathetic chord in the universal harmony of spring. How -they revel in that rich harvest! Who knows what sweet messages are borne -from flower to flower upon those filmy wings? - -On the green slope beneath, the scattered dandelions gleam like drops of -molten gold upon the velvety sward, and a lounging family group, intent -upon that savory noonday relish, gather the basketfuls of the dainty -plants for that appetizing "mess of greens." Often, while thus engaged, -have I stopped to watch the antics of the festive bumblebee, tumbling -around in the tufted blossom--always an amusing sight. See how he rolls -and wallows in the golden fringe, even standing on his head and kicking -in his glee! Presently, with his long black nose thrust deep into the -yellow puff, he stops to enjoy a quiet snooze in the luxurious bed--an -endless sleep, for I generally took this chance to put him out of his -misery, preferring, perhaps, to watch the robin hopping across the lawn. -Now he stops, and seems to listen; runs a yard or so, and listens again, -and without a sign of warning dips his head, and pulls upon an unlucky -angle-worm that much prefers to go the other way. It is a well-known -fact that angle-worms approach the surface of their burrows at the sound -of rain-drops on the earth above. I sometimes wonder if the robin in its -quick running stroke of foot intends to simulate that sound, and thus -decoy its prey. - -I remember the wild tumult of a troop of boys upon the hill-side, -tracking the swarming bees as they whirled along in a living tangle -against the sky, now loosening in their dizzy meshes, now contracting in -a murmuring hum around their queen, and finally settling on a branch in -a pendent bunch about her. So tame and docile, too! seeming utterly to -forget their fiery javelins as they hung in that brown filmy mass upon -the bending bough! "A swarm of bees in May iz wuth a load o' hay." So -said our neighbor, as with fresh clean hive he secured that prized -equivalent. Here they are soon at home again, and we see their steady -winged stream pouring out through the little door of their -treasure-house, and the continual arrival of the little dusty -plunderers, laden with their smuggled store of honey, and their -saddle-bags replete with stolen gold. Down near the brook they find a -land of plenty, literally flowing with honey, as the luxuriant drooping -clusters of the locust-trees yield their brimful nectaries to the -impetuous, murmuring swarm. But there is no lack now of flowery sweets -for this buzzing colony. On every hand the meadow-sweets and milkweeds, -the brambles, and the fragrant creeping-clover show their alluring -colors in the universal burst of bloom, and not one escapes its tender -pillaging. - -[Illustration] - -Up in the woods the gray has turned to tender green. The flowering -dog-wood has spread its layers of creamy blossoms, giving the signal for -the planting of the corn, and in the furrowed field we see that -dislocated "man of straw," with old plug hat jammed down upon his face, -with wooden backbone sticking through his neck-band, and dirty thatch -for a shirt bosom--a mocking outrage on any crow's sagacity. Those -glittering strips of tin, too! Could you but interpret the low croaking -of the leader of that sable gang in yonder tree, you might hear of the -appalling effect of these precautions. I heard him once as I sat quietly -beneath a forest tree, and in the light of later events I readily -recalled his remarks upon the occasion: "Say, fellers! look at that old -fool down there hanging out those tins to show us where his corn is -planted. Haw! haw! I swaw! cawn! cawn! we'll go down thaw and take a -chaw!" And they did; and they perched upon that old plug hat, and looked -around for something to get scared about. A single look at a crow shows -that he has a long head, and it is not all mouth either. - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration: BLUE-FLAGS.] - -Every day now makes a transformation in the landscape. The golden stars -upon the lawn are nearly all burnt out: we see their downy ashes in the -grass. Their virgin flame is quenched, and naught remains but those -ethereal globes of smoke that rise up and float away with every breeze. -Where is there in all nature's marvels a more exquisite creation than -this evanescent phoenix of the dandelion? Beautiful in life, it is -even more beautiful in death. And now the high-grown grass is cloudy -with its puffs, whose little fairy parachutes are sailing everywhere, -over mountain-top and field. Here the corn has appeared in little waving -plumes, and the horse and cultivator are seen breaking up the soil -between the rows. Great snowy piles of cloud throw their gliding shadows -across the patchwork of ploughed fields and meadows, fresh and green -with winter wheat, or tinged with newly sprouting grain. The sunbeams -glow with a summer warmth, and the evaporation of the morning dews lifts -the glistening diamonds from the gossamer films among the grass, and -sends a quivering haze all through the air, in which the distant trees -tremble in a softened glimmer. The woods are screened in dense foliage, -and through the leafy canopy the merry birds dart and sing. - -The chickadees are here, and scarlet tanagers gleam like living bits of -fire among the tantalizing leaves. Pert little vireos hop inquisitively -about you, and the bell note of the wood-thrush echoes from the hidden -tree-top overhead. Perhaps, too, you may chance upon a downy brood of -quail cuddling among the dry leaves; but, even though you should, you -might pass them by unnoticed, except as a mildewed spot of fungus at the -edge of a fallen log or tree-stump, perhaps. The loamy ground is shaded -knee-deep with rank growth of wood plants. The mossy, speckled rock is -set in a fringe of ferns. Palmate sprays of ginseng spread in mid-air a -luxurious carpet of intermingled leaves, interspersed with yellow spikes -of loosestrife and pale lilac blooms of crane's-bill; and the -poison-ivy, creeping like a snake around that marbled beech, has -screened its hairy trunk beneath its three-cleft shiny leaves. The -mountain-laurel, with its deep green foliage and showy clusters, peers -above that rocky crag; and in the bog near by a thicket of wild azalea -is crowned with a profusion of pink blossoms. - -Out in the swamp meadow the tall clumps of boneset show their dull white -crests, and the blue flowers of the flag, the mint, and pickerel weed -deck the borders of the lily pond. The waddling geese let off their -shrieking calliopes as they sail out into the stream, or browse with -nodding twitch along the grassy bank. Swarms of yellow butterflies -disgrace their kind as they huddle around the greenish mud-holes, and we -hear on every side the "z-zip, z-zip," amidst the din of a thousand -crickets and singing locusts among the reeds and rushes. The meadows -roll and swell in billowy waves, bearing like a white-speckled foam upon -their crests a sea of daisies, with here and there a floating patch of -crimson clover, or a golden haze of butter-cups. Rising suddenly from -the tall grass near by, the gushing brimful bobolink crowds a -half-hour's song into a brief pell-mell rapture, beating time in mid-air -with his trembling wings, and alighting on the tall fence-rail to regain -his breath. A coy meadow-lark shows his yellow-breast and crescent above -the windrow yonder, and we hear the ringing beats of whetted scythes, -and see the mowers cut their circling swath. - -Mowing! Why, how is this? This surely is not Spring. But even thus the -Springtime leads us into Summer. No eye can mark the soft transition, -and ere we are aware the sweet fragrance of the new-mown hay breathes -its perfumed whisper, "Behold, the Spring has fled!" - - - - -SUMMER. - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration: THE CONSUMMATION] - -[Illustration] - - -"All out for Hometown." There is an epidemic of eagerness, a general -bustle for satchels and bundles, and the car is soon almost without a -passenger; and, indeed, it would really seem as though the whole train -had landed its entire human burden upon this platform; for Hometown is a -popular place, and every Saturday evening brings just such an exodus as -this: Husbands and fathers who fly from the hot and crowded city for a -Sunday of quiet and content with their families, who year after year -have found a refuge of peace and comfort in this charming New England -town. Where is it? Talk with almost any one familiar with the -picturesque boroughs of the Housatonic, and your curiosity will be -gratified, for this village will be among the first to be described. - -From the platform of the car we step into the midst of a motley -assemblage, rustic peasantry and fashionable aristocracy intermingled. -Anxious and eager faces meet you at every turn. For a few minutes the -air fairly rings with kisses, as children welcome fathers, and fathers -children. Strange vehicles crowd the depot--vehicles of all sizes and -descriptions, from the veritable "one-hoss shay" to the dainty -basket-phaeton of fashion. One by one the merry loads depart, while I, a -pilgrim to my old home, stand almost unrecognized by the familiar faces -around me. Leaning up against the porch near by, stands a character -which, once seen, could never be forgotten. His face is turned from me, -but the old straw hat I recognize as the hat of ten years ago, with brim -pulled down to a slope in front, and pushed up vertically behind, and -the identical hole in the side with the long hair sticking through. Yes, -there he stands--Amos Shoopegg. I step up to him and lay my hand upon -his shoulder. With creditable skill he unwinds the twist of his -intricate legs, and with an inquiring gaze turns his good-natured face -toward me. - -"Is it possible that you don't remember me, Shoop?" - -With an expression of surprise he raises both his arms. "Wa'al, thar! I -swaiou! I didn't cal'late on runnin' agin yeu. I was jes drivin' hum -from taown-meetin', an' thought as haow I'd take a turn in, jest out o' -cur'osity. Wa'al, naow, it's pesky good to see yeu agin arter sech a -long spell. I didn't re_cog_nize ye at fust, but I swan when ye began -a-talkin', that was enuf fer me. Hello! fetched yer woman 'long tew, -hey? Haow air yeu, ma'am? hope ye'er perty tol'ble. Don't see but what -yeu look's nateral's ever; but yer man here, I declar for't, he got the -best on me at fust;" and after having thus delivered himself, he -swallowed up our hands in his ample fists. - -"Yes, Shoop, I thought I'd just run up to the old home for a few days." - -"Wa'al, I swar! I'm tarnal glad to see ye, and that's a fact. Anybody -cum up arter ye? No? Well, then, s'posin' ye jest highst into my team." -So saying, he unhitched a corrugated shackle-jointed steed, and backed -around his indescribable impromptu covered wagon--a sort of a hybrid -between a "one-hoss shay" and a truck. - -"'Tain't much of a kerridge fer city folks to ride in, that's a fact," -he continued, "but I cal'late it's a little better'n shinnin' it." After -some little manoeuvring in the way of climbing over the front seat, we -were soon wedged in the narrow compass, and, with an old horse-blanket -over our knees, we went rattling down the hill toward the village and -home of my boyhood. - -Years have passed since those days when, as a united family, we dwelt -under that old roof; but those who once were children are now men and -women, with divided interests and individual homes. The old New England -mansion is now a homestead only in name, known so only in recollections -of the past and the possibilities of the future. - -"Wa'al, thar's the old house," presently exclaimed Amos, as we neared -the brow of a declivity looking down into the valley below. "Don't look -quite so spruce as't did in the old times, but Warner's a good keerful -tenant, 'tain't no use talkin'. I cal'late yeu might dig a pleggy long -spell afore yeu could git another feller like him in this 'ere patch." - -In the vale below, in its nest of old maples and elms, almost screened -from view by the foliage, we look upon the familiar outlines of the old -mansion, its diamond window in the gable peering through the branches at -us. "Skedup!" cried Amos, as he urged his pet nag into a jog-trot down -the hill, through the main street of the town. The long fence in front -of the homestead is soon reached, a sharp turn into the drive, a "Whoa, -January!" and we are extricated from the wagon. - -"Wa'al, I'll leave ye naow. I guess ye kin find yer way around," said -Shoop, as with one outlandish geometrical stride he lifted himself into -the wagon. Cordially greeted by our hostess, with repeated urgings to -"make ourselves at home," we were shown to our room. The house, though -clad in a new dress, still retained the same hospitable and cosy look as -of old. - -[Illustration: OLD HOMESTEAD AND GARRET.] - -Hometown, owing to some early local faction, is divided into two -sections, forming two distinct towns. One, Newborough, a hill-top -hamlet, with its picturesque long street, a hundred feet in width, and -shaded with great weeping elms that almost meet overhead; and the other, -Hometown proper, a picturesque little village in the valley, cuddling -close around the foot of a precipitous bluff, known as Mount Pisgah. A -mile's distance separates the two centres. The old homestead is -situated in the heart of Hometown, fronting on the main street. The -house itself is a series of after-thoughts, wing after wing and gable -after gable having clustered around the old nucleus, as the growth of -new generations necessitated increased accommodation. Its outward aspect -is rather modern, but the interior, with its broad open fireplaces, and -accessaries in the shape of cranes and fire-dogs, is rich with all the -features of typical New England; and the two gables of the main roof -enclose the dearest old garret imaginable--at present an asylum for the -quaint possessions of antique furniture and bric--brac, removed from -their accustomed quarters on the advent of the new host. It is to this -sanctuary that my footsteps first lead me, and, with a longing that will -not be withstood, I find myself in front of the great white door. I lift -the latch; a cool pungent odor of oak wood greets me as I ascend the -steep stairs--an odor that awakens, like magic, a hundred fancies, and -recalls a host of memories long forgotten. Every stair seems to creak a -welcome, as when, on the rainy days of long ago, we sought the cosy -refuge to hear the patter on the roof, or to nestle in the dark, obscure -corners in our childish games. At the head of the stairs rises the -ancient chimney, cleft in twain at the foot, with the quaint little -cuddy between. Above me stretch the great beams of oak, like iron in -their hardness. Yonder is the queer old diamond window looking out upon -the village church, its panes half obscured by the dusty maze of webs. -To the left, in a shadowy corner, stands the antiquated wheel--a relic -of past generations. Long gray cobwebs festoon the rafters overhead, and -the low buzzing of a wasp betrays its mud nest in the gable above. A -sense of sadness steals over me as I sit gazing into this still chamber. -On every side are mementos of a happy past, and all, though mute, -speaking to me in a language whose power stirs the depths of my soul. -Wherever the eye may turn, it meets with a silent greeting from an old -friend, and the whole shrouded in a weird gloom that lends to the most -common object an air of melancholy mystery. And yet it is only a garret. -There are some, no doubt, for whom this word finds its fitting synonyme -in the dictionary, but there are others to whom it sings a poem of -infinite sweetness. - -Looking through the dingy window between the maple boughs, my eye -extends over lawn and shrubberies, three acres in extent--a little park, -overrun with paths in every direction, through ancient orchard and -embowered dells, while far beyond are glimpses of the wooded knolls, the -winding brook, and meadows dotted with waving willows, and farther still -the ample undulating farm. - -[Illustration: AMONG THE GRASSES.] - -It is in such a place as this that I have sought recreation and change -of scene. My wife and I have run away from the city for a month or so. A -vacation we call it; but to an artist such a thing is rarely known in -its ordinary sense, and often, indeed, it means an increase of labor -rather than a respite. My first week, however, I had consecrated to -luxurious idleness. Together we wandered through the old familiar -rambles where as boy and girl in earlier days we had been so oft -together. Day after day found us in some new retreat. There were dark -cool nooks by sheltered streams, spicy groves of pine and spruce, -wooded slopes and rocky dells, and meadows rich with summer bloom, where -idle butterflies flitted lazily on the wing; where meadow lilies nodded -in billowing fields, and the daisies and red clover waved about our -knees half screened in feathery purple grasses that spread their cloudy -mist all through the blossoming maze. We heard the music of the scythe, -and, sitting in the deep cool grass beneath the maple shade, we watched -the circling motion of the mowers in the field--saw the forkfuls of the -hay tossed in the drying sun, and breathed the perfumed air that floated -from the windrows. We sauntered by the meadow brook where willows -gleamed along the bank, and overhanging alders threw their sombre -shadows in the quiet pools: where the ground-nut, and the meadow-rue, -and the creeping madder fringed the tangled brink, and every footstep -started up some agile frog that plunged into the unseen water. We stood -where rippling shallows gurgled under festooned canopies of fox-grape, -and the leaning linden-trees shut out the sky o'erhead and intertwined -their drooping branches above the gliding current. Here, too, the -weather-beaten crossing-pole makes its tottering span across the stream, -and deep down beneath the bank the rainbow-tinted sunfish floats on -filmy fins above his yellow bed of gravel, and we catch a flashing gleam -of a silvery dace or shiner turning in the water. - -Now we confront a rude slab fence, an ancient landmark, that terminates -its length at the edge of the stream, where its gray and crumbling -boards are secured with rusty nails against the trunk of a tall -buttonwood-tree. A loosened slab is easily found, and we are soon upon -the other side; and after picking our way through a forest of -bush-elders, we emerge upon an open lot of low flat pasture-land, known -always as the "old swamp meadow." No other five acres on the face of the -earth are so dear to me as this neglected field. I know its every rise -and fall of ground, its every bog, and its lush greenness is refreshing -even to the thought. - -It is a luxuriant garden of all manner of succulent and juicy -vegetation; an outbursting extravagance of plant life of almost tropical -exuberance. All New England's most majestic and ornamental flora seem -congregated in its congenial soil; and even when a boy I learned to know -and love them all, and even call them by their names. - -Here are towering stems of iron-weed lifting high their scattered purple -crowns, and in their midst the woolly clumps of boneset, its white -flowered cushions intermingling with the dense pink tufts of -thorough-wort. - -On every side we overlook whole patches of these splendid blossoms, with -their crests closely crowded in a mosaic of pink and white. And here's a -bed of peppermint and spearmint, interspersed with flaming spikes of -cardinal lobelia; and here a lusty plant of Indian mallow, entangled in -a maze of gold-thread and smart-weed. Here are massive burdocks six feet -high, and great trees of jimson-weed, with their large spiral flowers -and thorny pods. - -High fronds of chain-fern rise up on every side from a jungle of -bur-marigolds and clotburs, and tear-thumbs, with their saw-toothed -stems and tiny bunches of pink blossoms. - -No inch of ground in the old swamp lot but which does its tenfold duty; -and what it lacks in quality of produce it amply makes up in quantity. -Even a neighboring bed of clean-washed gravel is overrun with creeping -mallow, with its rounded leaves and little "cheeses" down among their -shadows. - -[Illustration: EVEN-TIDE.] - -Farther on we see the lily-pond, with its surrounding swamp and its -legion of crowded water-plants. Here are rank, massive beds of -swamp-cabbage, and lofty cat-tails by the thousand among the bristling -bogs of tussock-sedge and bulrush. Here are calamus patches, and alder -thickets, and sedges without number; and the prickly carex and blue-flag -abound on every side. There are galingales and reeds, and tall and -graceful rushes, turtle-head and jointed scouring grass, and horse-tail, -besides a host of other old acquaintances, whose faces are familiar, but -whose names I never knew. But they were all my friends in boyhood. I -knew them in the bud and in the blossom, and even in their winter -skeletons, brown and broken in the snow. Near by there is a ditch: you -never would know it, for it is completely hidden from view beneath an -interlacing growth of jewel-weed. But see that gorgeous mass of deep -scarlet that floods the farther bank! Nowhere within a circuit of miles -around is there such a regal display of cardinal flowers as this: -skirting the borders of the ditch for rods and rods, clustering about a -ruined, tumbling fence, whose moss-grown pickets are almost hidden in -the dense profusion of bloom. - -Then there is its airy companion, the "touch-me-not," with its -translucent, juicy stem, and its queer little golden flowers with -spotted throats--the "jewel-weed" we used to call it. I know not why, -unless from the magic of its leaf, which, when held beneath the water, -was transformed to iridescent frosted silver. We all remember its -sensitive, jumping seed-pods, that burst even at our approach for fear -that we should touch them; but no one can fully appreciate the beauty of -the plant who has not seen its silvery leaf beneath the water. Here it -justifies its name, for it is indeed a jewel. - -How often in those olden times have I lain down among these bulrushes -and sedges near the lily pond, and listened to the buzzing songs of the -crickets and the tiny katydids that swarmed the growth about me, and -filled the air with their incessant din. I remember the little colony of -ants that picked their way among the rushes; that gauzy dragon-fly too, -that circled and dodged about the water's edge, now skimming close upon -the surface, now darting out of sight, or perhaps alighting on an -overhanging sedge, as motionless as a mounted specimen, with wings -aslant and fully spread. "Devil's darning-needles" they were called. The -devil may well be proud of them; for darning-needles of such precious -metals and such exquisite design are rare indeed. They were of several -sizes too. Some were large, and flashed the azure of the sapphire; -others fluttered by with smoky, pearly wings, and slender bodies -glittering in the light like animated emeralds: and another I well -remember, a little airy thing, with a glistening sunbeam for a body, and -wings of tiny rainbows. - -[Illustration] - -I remember how I watched the disturbed motion of the arrow-heads out in -the water, as the cautious turtles worked their way among them, and -crawled out upon the stump close by. - -Here they huddled together, a dozen or more, with heads erect, and -turning from side to side as they surveyed the surrounding carpet of -lily-pads, or listened to the bass-drum chorus of the great green -bull-frogs among the pickerel-weed; and when I jumped and yelled at -them, what a rolling, sprawling, splashing in the mud! It fairly makes -me laugh to think of it. But there is hardly a leaf or wisp of grass in -this old swamp lot but what brings back some old association or pleasant -reminiscence. - -[Illustration] - -For a week thus we idled, now on the mountain, now in the meadow, while -I, with my sketch-book and collecting-box, either whiled away the hours -with my pencil, or left the unfinished work to pursue the tantalizing -butterfly, or search for unsuspecting caterpillars among the weeds and -bushes. - -[Illustration: SOME ART CONNOISSEURS.] - -[Illustration: PROFESSOR WIGGLER.] - -On a sprig of black alder I found one--the same little fellow as of old, -afflicted with the peculiarities of all his progenitors. We used to call -him "Professor Wiggler," owing to an hereditary nervous habit of -wiggling his head from side to side when not otherwise employed. To -this little humpbacked creature I am indebted for a great deal of past -amusement. Distinctly I remember the whack-whack-whack on the inside of -the old pasteboard box as the captive pets threatened to dash out their -brains in their demonstrations at my approach. Professor Wiggler is -really a most remarkable insect, as one might readily imagine from his -scientific name, for in learned circles this individual is known as Mr. -Gramatophora Trisignata. He has many strange eccentricities. At each -moult of the skin he retains the shell of his former head on a long -vertical filament. Two or three thus accumulate, and, as a consequence, -in his maturer years he looks up to the head he wore when he was a -youngster, and ponders on the flight of time and the hollowness of -earthly things, or perhaps congratulates himself on the increased -contents of his present shell. When fully grown, he stops eating, and -goes into a new business. Selecting a suitable twig, he gnaws a -cylindrical hole to its centre and follows the pith, now and then -backing out of the tunnel, and dropping the excavated material in the -form of little balls of sawdust. At length he emerges from the hollow, -and again drawing himself in backward, spins a silken disk across the -opening, and tints it with the color of the surrounding bark. Here he -spends the winter, and comes out in a new spring suit in the following -May. Only recently I had in my possession several of these twigs with -their enclosed caterpillars, and in every one the color of the silken -lid so closely matched the tint of the adjacent bark, although -different in each, that several of my friends, even with the most -careful scrutiny, failed to detect the deceptive spot. Whether the -result of chance or of the instincts of the insect, I do not know; but -certain it is that he paints with different colors under varying -circumstances. - -Insect-hunting had always been a passion with me. Large collections of -moths and butterflies had many times accumulated under my hands, only to -meet destruction through boyish inexperience; and even in childhood the -love for the insect and the passion for the pencil strove hard for the -ascendency, and were only reconciled by a combination which filled my -sketch-book with studies of insect life. - -There was one inhabitant of our fields which had always been to me a -never-failing source of entertainment. There he is, the gilded tyrant. I -see him now swinging to and fro on his glistening nest of silken -threads, his golden yellow form glowing in bold relief against the dark -recess in the brambles. My sketch is left in the grass, and I am soon -seated in front of the gossamer maze. A festive grasshopper jumps up -into my face, and makes a carom on the web. With a spasmodic snap of one -hind leg he extricates it from its entanglement, and in another instant -would fall from the meshes; but the agile spider is too quick for him. -With a movement so swift as almost to elude the eye, he draws from his -body a silver cloud of floss, and with his long hind legs throws it over -his captive. The head and tail of the grasshopper are now further -secured, after which the spider carefully straddles around the -struggling insect, and bites off the other radiating webs in close -proximity. The unlucky prey now hangs suspended across the opening. With -business-like coolness his tormentor dangles himself from the edge of -the torn web, and another cataract of glistening floss is thrown up and -attached to the under side of the prisoner, after which he is turned -round and round, as if on a spit. The stream of floss is carried from -head to foot, and in less time than it takes to describe it the victim -is wrapped in a silken winding-sheet, and soon meets his death from the -poisoned fangs of his captor. Here is but one of the thousands of -tragedies that are taking place every hour of the day in our fields. -While deeply interested in the closing scenes of this one, I suddenly -become aware of a shadow passing over the bushes. I turn my head, and -meet the puzzled and pleasant gaze of Amos Shoopegg, as he stands there, -hands in pockets, and milk-pail swinging from his wrist. - -[Illustration: THE TYRANT OF THE FIELDS.] - -"Wa'al, thar," he exclaims, banging down one brawny fist on his uplifted -knee. "Buggin' agin, I swaow! Hain't yeu got over thet yit? What yeu kin -find so mighty fine in them 'ere bugs beats me." - -"Amos," I replied, "there's a great deal more in these bugs than you -imagine." - -"A pleggy sight, I suppose," he resumed. "What specie o' critter ye got -hold on naow?" and he stretched forward his fringed and weather-beaten -neck, and peered over the brambles. "What is't ye got -thar--straddle-bug?" He came still nearer, and looked at the spider. -"Wa'al, darn my pictur ef 'tain't an old yeller-belly! P'r'aps you don't -know that them critters is pizen. Why, Eben Sanford's gal got all chawed -up by one on 'em. Great Sneezer!" he exclaimed, taking three or four -strides backward, with both hands uplifted. I had merely raised my hand -and gently smoothed the spider. - -"Wa'al," he continued, "yen kin rub 'em daown ef yeu pleze; but fer _my_ -part, I'd ruther keep off abaout a good spittin' distance"--which was -the Shoopegg way of expressing a length of about fifteen feet. Amos was -crossing lots for his "caow," he said; but in spite of his plea that the -"old heiffer" was "bellerin'" like "Sam Hill," and was "gittin' 'tarnal -on-easy," I made him tarry sufficiently long to enable me to send him -off a wiser man. - -Amos Shoopegg is a type of a large class of the native element of -Hometown. Of course, "Shoopegg" is not his actual name. In the long line -of his prided Puritan ancestry no one ever bore it before him. This is -only an affectionate epithet given him by the village boys full twenty -years ago, and it has stuck to him closer than a brother ever since, as -those festive surnames always do. Nominally, Amos was a farmer. In -summer he was one in fact, and could swing off as pretty a swath in -haying as any man in town. But in the winter he changed his vocation, -and became a disciple of the "waxed-end." All day long he could be seen, -closeted with a little red-hot stove, plying his trade in his small, -square shop, up near the old red school-house. Here he pounded on the -big lapstone on his knees, or, with strap and foot-stick in position, -punched and tugged around the edge of those marvellous brogans. He made -slings and leather "suckers" for the boys, and furnished them with all -the black-wax they could chew--or stow-away, to stick between the lining -of their pockets. And the huge wooden shoe-pegs that he drove beneath -his hammer were a sight to behold. The man who used his "cheap line of -goods" might verily say he walked upon a wood-pile. - -So they dubbed him "Shoe-peg," or "Shoop" for brevity. There are others -among his neighbors who would furnish an inexhaustible source of study -to the student of character. There's old Rufus Fairchild, known as -"Roof," a rotund specimen of rural jollity, his round face set in -dishevelled locks of gray, with a twinkle in his eye and a good word for -everybody. And there's Father Tomlinson, who keeps the post-office down -by the dam, as genial an old fellow as ever wrapped up his throat in a -white stock. And I might almost continue the list indefinitely. But -there is one I must especially mention; and, now that I think of it, he -really should have headed the list, for he stands alone--or at least he -does _sometimes_. If you are in search of the embodiment of typical -Erin, you need go no farther; here he is. This individual represents -another nationality which swells the population of Hometown--the -hard-working laborers who toil in the great factory down in the glen, -called "Satan's Misery." The above personage is one of the best-hearted -creatures in the town; but it is the old story, and the world to him is -enclosed in the compass of a barrel-hoop. When last I saw him he was in -an evident decline, but as I put my finger on his wrist I could still -feel the pulsations of the whiskey coursing through his veins. - -"Look here, my good fellow," I said to him one day, "why don't you taper -off a little? If you keep on in this way, you'll be in your grave in -less than a month. How would you like that?" - -"Arrah, begorra," he replied, with a look of hopeful resignation, "if I -cud awnly be shure o' me gude skvare dthrink in the other wurrld, oi -wudn't moind." - -The record of a single evening spent in the village store, with its -rural jargon and homespun yarns, its odd vernacular and rustic gossip, -would make a volume as rare and unique as the characters it would -depict. - -The store itself is a matchless picture in its way, and for variety in -accessory is as rich as could be wished for. The low, murky ceiling, -hung with all manner of earthly goods--scythes and rakes, boots and -pails, in pendulous array; bottles and boxes, brooms and breast-pins, -are here--in short, everything that heart could wish or thought suggest, -from speckled calicoes to seven-cent sugar, or from a three-tined fork -to a goose-yoke. Evening after evening, for an hour or so, I was tempted -thither, until I found the week had gone. Sunday came again--Sunday in -New England. The old bell swung on its wheel in the belfry, ringing out -its call to devotion, and ere the echo had died in the recesses of the -mountain beyond the still atmosphere reverberated with an answering peal -from the little sister church in the valley below, as the scattered -groups with strolling steps wend their way to "meeting," and the gay -loads from Newborough go flitting by on the accustomed Sunday drive. - -Monday dawned on Hometown. It found me up and doing. I had enjoyed one -week of glorious loafing, but work was the programme for the next. I -went to Draper's Inn and engaged a horse and buggy "until further -notice." "A spang-up team" he called it, and it would be up "in half a -jiffy." We were waiting for it when it came, and what with our variety -of luggage in the shape of canvases, color-boxes, hammocks, camp-seats, -and easels, every bit of available space in that buggy was well -utilized. Before the clock has struck nine, we are spinning along down -through the village, now past the store, now over the bridge, and -turning to the right, we glide by the little post-office, as the kind -face of Father Tomlinson nods a "good-bye" from the door-way. - -A little farther, and we have left the little slope-roofed school-house -in our path, and are soon ascending the long hill of Zoar, from which we -look back four miles to the cliff and nestling town. In ten minutes more -we approach the brow of a steep declivity, and the broad Housatonic -opens up to view, winding off into the misty mountains in the distance. -There is now a drive of half a mile along the side of a wild -mountain-slope, where mountain-laurels grow in wild profusion, and the -rooty, overhanging banks are tufted with rich green moss, overgrown with -checker-berries and arbutus. The river roars far down below us, and for -a few minutes our eyes feast on as lovely an extent of varied New -England landscape as is easily found. And yet this is only a short -section of one of the many matchless drives that follow the course of -this beautiful river around the borders of Hometown. - -[Illustration: FAMILIAR FACES AT THE VILLAGE STORE.] - -Suddenly we leave the stream as it glides away on an abrupt turn beneath -the crescent of a rocky precipice, and before we have fairly lost the -sound of the ripples we have arrived at our journey's end. A pair of -bars under an old butternut-tree mark the place. The carriage is backed -to the side of the road, and the horse turned loose in the rocky meadow. -This is Joab Nichols's "pasture lot," with fodder consisting principally -of huge boulders, hardhack, and spleenwort; to be sure, with a stray -relish of "butter-and-eggs" here and there, and a thousand white saucers -of wild carrot handy to go with them. One or two trips across the field -bring all our luggage, and we are soon enjoying cool comfort in the -hemlock shade of a fairy grotto. Above us the babbling brook bounds and -splashes over mossy rocks, disappearing in a mass of creamy foam, from -under which it eddies toward us only to plunge twenty feet into a -miniature caon below. Again, yonder it bubbles into a whirling pool, -where the bordering ferns bend and nod above its buoyant surface; and -now gliding from view beneath the tangle of drooping boughs, it -disappears only to burst forth once more in its merry song as it rushes -over the rapids. - - "I chatter, chatter as I go, - To join the brimming river; - For men may come and men may go, - But I go on forever." - -Here in this wild retreat I have found my sylvan studio--shut in by -fringed and fragrant evergreens, enlivened by the undergrowth of -feathery fronds, and the shimmer of the beech, as the tracery of -overhanging boughs trembles in the gentle breeze. Day after day finds us -in this little paradise, and as one in luxurious hammock swings away the -hours, now lost in fiction, now in short repose, or perhaps with busy -needle fashions graceful figures in Kensington design, the canvas on the -easel shows a fortnight's constant care, and the palette changes to a -keepsake of a sunny memory--a tinted souvenir. - -For two weeks the gurgling brook sang to us in this wild retreat. As -evening after evening closed in upon us, the unfinished pictures were -stowed away in horizontal crevices between the rocks, and, with hammock -still swinging in the trees, we left the gloom to the hooting owl, that -evening after evening, with tremulous cry, proclaimed the twilight hour -from the tall hemlock overhead. Ere long the murmuring Housatonic -shimmers below us in the moonlight as we hurry on our homeward way, and -the distant lights of Hometown are soon seen glimmering; through the -evening mist. The old bridge now rumbles through the darkness its signal -of our return, and the host of Draper's Inn is seen awaiting us at the -illumined door-way. A quiet, cosy supper, and in the rays of a gleaming -lantern, held aloft to light our path, we follow our lengthening shadows -to the old front gate. Repeat this day's record fourteen times, and you -have the sum of a happy experience, with but one drawback: it had an -end--an end that would have left its reaction, were it not for the store -of increased pleasure that awaited us for the few closing days of our -pilgrimage--for me, at least, although in other scenes, its climax. - -[Illustration: A SOUVENIR.] - -Many like me are happy in the possession of a dear old homestead; but -there are few, I ween, who enjoy the blessing of a double inheritance -such as has been my lot--two homes which share my equal devotion, two -homes without a choice; the one this beloved heirloom in Hometown, and -the other--But you shall see. We shall be there soon, for the little -satchel is packed, and the carriage awaits us at the gate. A drive of -eighteen miles is before us--a beautiful series of pictures. Down -through the village, past the old red mill and smithy, with its ringing -anvil, and we are soon winding our way through a sombre glen. Presently -we catch glimpses of the great rumbling factory, with its clouds of -smoke and steam melting into the wooded mountain above. The old yellow -bridge now creaks under our approach, and ere we are aware a sudden turn -leads us out of a wilderness on to the shore of the beautiful -Housatonic. For a few minutes the rushing water trickles through the -wheels as over jolting stones our pony leads us through the ford, and, -refreshed by the cool bath, makes a lively sally up the eastern bank. -For ten miles the Housatonic guides us around its winding curves through -a path of ever-changing beauty, now shut in by the dense, dark -evergreens, and again emerging into a bower of silvery beeches, where -the roadway is carpeted with mottled shadows, and the dappled trunks -flicker with the softened glints of sunlight. Here we come upon a sandy -stretch where the road is sunken between two sloping banks thick-set -with mulleins and sweet-fern, and overrun with creeping brambles. The -stone-wall above is wreathed in trailing woodbine, and along its crest -we see the swaying tips of wheat from the edge of the field just beyond; -and here we pass a border of whortleberry bushes, laden with their -fruit. Now it is a hazel thicket crowding close upon our wheels, and -among the leaves we see the brown, tanned husks of the ripening nuts, -almost ready for that troop of boys and girls that you may be sure are -watching and waiting for them. - -The old gray toll-bridge soon nears to view, with its two long spans and -fantastic beams. Farther on, peering from its willows, stands the ruined -cider-mill, with its long moss-grown lever jutting through the trees--an -old-time haunt, now crumbling in decay. But we only catch a glimpse of -it, for in a moment more we are shut in beneath another bower of beeches -and white birches, where the road takes a steep ascent, and the rippling -river sends up its sunny reflections among the leaves and tree-trunks. -When once more upon a level, it is to look ahead through a long avenue -of shade--a leafy canopy two miles in length--with only an occasional -break to open up some charming bit of landscape across the water. In -these two miles of umbrage you may see types of almost every tree that -grows within the boundaries of New England. Old veteran beeches are -here, their trunks disfigured with scars that once were names cut in the -bark. Here are spots that look like half obliterated figures; and here -are spreading hieroglyphs that tell, perhaps, of old-time vows plighted -at the trysting-tree; and here's a semblance of a heart, a broken heart -indeed, if its present form be taken as a prophetic symbol. - -[Illustration: ALONG THE HOUSATONIC.] - -There are magnificent rock-maples too, and silver-maples that shake down -their little swarms of winged seeds. Tulip-trees and spotted buttonwoods -grow side by side, and quivering aspens and white poplars are seen at -every clearing. There are yellow birch-trunks frayed out with the wind, -and great snake-like stems of grape-vine, that twist and writhe among -the branches of the trees. There are hop hornbeams, and chestnuts, -and--But there is no need to enumerate them all. Just think of every New -England tree you ever knew, and add a score besides, and you will form a -slight idea of the varied verdure that hems in this charming Housatonic -drive, with its rocky roadside embroidered in trickling moss and -fumitory; and rose-flowered mountain-raspberry growing so close upon the -road that your pony takes a wayward nip, and plucks its blossomed tip as -he passes. - -Now comes an open level, with wide, expansive views, where every turn -upon the road brings its fresh surprise, as some new combination of hazy -mountain landscape towers above the distant river bend; and the flitting -cloud shadows lead their capricious, undulating chase across the wooded -slopes. The roadsides here are full of everchanging beauties too, with -their trimmings of ornamental sunflowers, their picturesque old fences, -and their clumps of purple-berried poke-weed, with here and there a -yellow patch of toad-flax, and aromatic tufts of tansy hugging close -against the fence. Even that clambering screen of clematis that trails -over the shrubbery yonder cannot hide the scattered tips of crimson that -already have appeared among the sumach leaves. - -There are a thousand things one meets upon a country ride or ramble -which at the time are allowed to pass with but a glance. The eye is -surfeited and the mind confused with the continual pageantry. But months -afterward, in the reveries about our winter fires, they all come back to -us, with the added charm of reminiscence; and whether it be a crystal -spring among a bank of ferns, or a thistle-top with its fluttering -butterfly and inevitable bumblebee rolling in the tufted blossom, or a -squirrel running along a rail, or perhaps a rattling grasshopper -hovering in mid-air above the dusty road--no matter what, they all are -welcome memories at our fireside, and draw our hearts still closer to -the loveliness of nature. - -This Housatonic road is rich in just such pastoral pictures. Two hours -on such a course soon pass, when our pony whinnies at the welcome sight -of the old log water-trough beyond--a landmark old and green when I was -yet a boy, still nestling in its rocky bed, shadowed by the drooping -hemlocks, still lavish with its overflowing bounty. - -This benefactor by the way-side marks a turning-point in our journey, as -we leave the grandeur of the Housatonic to pursue our way by the nooks -and dingles of the wild Shepaug--a bubbling tributary whose happy waters -sing of a varied experience. Now placid through the blossoming fields, -now plunging down the precipice to ripple through a verdant valley, -where, hemmed in at every turn, it seeks its only liberty beneath the -rumbling of the old mill-wheels; and at last, ere it loses its identity -in the swelling tide, leaving a mischievous and tumultuous record as it -pours through the rocky caon, and with surging, whirling volume carves -huge caverns and fantastic statues in its massive bed of stone. Even now -through the dark forest beyond we can hear the muffled roar, and for -nearly a league farther as we ascend the long hill it comes to us in -fitful whispers wafted on the changing breeze. Reaching the summit of -this incline, we find ourselves on a hill-top wide and far-reaching, on -right and left losing itself in wooded wold, while in front the level -road diminishes to a point, surmounted by blue hills in the distance. -Two miles on a pastoral hill-top, where golden-rod and tall spiras -cluster along the lichen-covered walls, where orange-lilies gleam among -the alders, with now and then a blazing group of butterfly-plant or a -dusty clump of milk-weed. The air is laden with the nut-like odor of the -everlasting flowers all around us. The buzzing drum of the harvest-fly -vibrates from every tree, and we hear the tinkling bell and lowing of -the cattle in some neighboring field. Farther on, we look down from the -edge of the plateau through the length of Happy Valley, with its winding -stream, its barns and busy mills, its sunny homes glinting through the -summer haze. On the left the lofty shadowed cliff known as "Steep-rock" -towers against the evening sky, and again we catch the murmuring whiffs -of the rushing stream in its sweeping bend beneath the overhanging -precipice. A sharp turn round a jutting hill-side, and I meet a prospect -that quickens the heart and makes the eye grow dim. There beyond, three -miles "as flies the laden bee," I linger on the welcome sight, as on its -hill-top fair two steeples side by side betray the hidden town, my -second home. - -How lightly did I appreciate the fortunate journey when, twenty summers -ago, I followed this road for the first time, when a boy of ten years, -on my way to an unknown village, I looked across the landscape to the -little spires on that distant hill! Little did I dream of the six years -of unmixed happiness and precious experience that awaited me in that -little Judea! I only knew that I was sadly quitting a happy home on my -way to "boarding-school"--a school called the Snuggery, taught by a Mr. -Snug, in a little village named Snug Hamlet, about twenty miles from -Hometown. - -There are some experiences in the life of every one which, however -truthful, cannot be told but to elicit the doubtful nod or the warning -finger of incredulity. They were such experiences as these, however, -that made up the sum of my early life in that happy refuge called in -modern parlance a "boarding-school"--a name as empty, a word as weak and -tame in its significance, as poverty itself; no doubt abundantly -expressive in its ordinary application, but here it is a mockery and a -satire. This is not a "boarding-school;" it is a _household_, whose -memories moisten the eye and stir the soul; to which its scattered -members through the fleeting years look back as to a neglected home, -with father and mother dear, whom they long once more to meet as in the -tenderness of boyhood days; a cherished remembrance which, like the -"house upon a hill, cannot be hid," but sends abroad its light unto many -hearts who in those early days sought the loving shelter; a bright star -in the horizon of the past, a glow that ne'er grows dim, but only -kindles and brightens with the flood of years. Yes, yes; I know it -sounds like a dash of sentiment, but words of mine are feeble and -impotent indeed when sought for the expression of an attachment so fond, -of a love so deep. - -Fifteen years ago, with a parting full of sorrow, I rode away from Snug -Hamlet yonder in the village stage--a day that brought a depression that -lingered long, and lingers still. Glowing, sunset-tinted fields glide by -unnoticed now, as, with eyes intent on the distant hill, I look back -through the lapse of time. A mile has gone without my knowing it, when a -joyous laugh awakens me from my day-dreams. Two boys approach us on the -road ahead, and, what might seem very strange to you, one wears a wooden -boot-jack strung around his neck and dangling on his breast; but he -carries his burden lightly and cheerfully. As they near the carriage I -draw the rein, and they both pause by the roadside. - -"Well, boys," I ask, "where do _you_ hail from?" - -"We're from the Snuggery, sir." - -"I thought so," said I, with a laugh, in which they both joined. "But -what are you doing with that boot-jack?" - -"Oh, you see," said one, with a roguish smile, "Charlie and I were -having a little tussle in the sitting-room, and he picked up Mr. Snug's -boot-jack in the corner and began to pummel me with it; and jest as we -were having it the worst, and were rollin' on the floor, Mr. Snug came -in and caught us in the job, and now we're _payin'_ for it." - -"How so?" I inquired, well knowing what would be the response. - -"Oh, you see, Mr. Snug held a diagnosis over our remains, and said he -thought we were suffering, for the want of a little exercise, and -ordered us on a trip to Judd's Bridge." - -"And the boot-jack?" - -"Oh, he said that Charlie might want to play with that some more on the -way, and that he'd better fetch it along;" and with a mischievous -snicker at his encumbered companion, he led him along the road in an -hilarious race, while we enjoyed a hearty laugh at their expense. - -And this a _punishment_! Yes, here is an introduction to one phase of a -system of correction as unique as the matchless institution in which it -had its birth--a system without a parallel in the annals of chastisement -or school government, and which for thirty years has proved its wisdom -in the household management of the Snuggery. - -"To Judd's Bridge!" How natural the sound of those words! How many -times have I myself been on that same pilgrimage of penance! The -destination of these boys is a rickety but picturesque structure which -spans the Shepaug five miles below Snug Hamlet. Through three decades it -looks back to its host of acquaintances of those romping lads who, in -the superfluity of exuberant spirits, made havoc and din in the -household. The dose is administered with wise discrimination both as to -the symptoms and the needs and strength of the patient. It always proves -a sterling remedy, and sometimes, indeed, a sugar-coated one, as in the -case of these two ruddy, rollicking examples. - -[Illustration] - -Judd's Bridge is but one of a score of places which serve in the -administration of Snuggery discipline. It is, however, the one most -remote, and its ten-mile journey is reserved as an heroic dose for -extraordinary cases, after other prescriptions have been tried without -avail. Next on the list comes Moody Barn, with "open doors" every day in -the week to its frequent callers. This old settler, gray and -weather-beaten, marks a point one mile from the Snuggery, where the -still waters of the Shepaug run slow and deep--the favorite -"swimming-hole" of the Snuggery. - -[Illustration: THE HAUNTED MILL.] - -And then there's Kirby Corners, a mere stroll of a few minutes round the -square of a rock-bound pasture--just enough to give yourself time to -think a bit and congratulate yourself on what you have escaped. All -these, and several more, are vivid in my memory; friends, old and -intimate. And here's another, right before us by the roadside. For -several minutes through the tantalizing trees we have heard its rumbling -wheel, its reiterating clank, and busy saw; and now, as its familiar -outline looms up against the evening sky, the vision seems to darken, as -on that night of long ago, when through the shadowy mystery of the -moonlit gloom I stole my way among the sheltering golden-rod; when the -lofty flume, like a huge horned creature, seemed to stride athwart me in -the darkness, and the fitful boyish fancy saw strange phantoms in the -floating, melting mist. This ancient structure reposes in a verdant dell -at the foot of Snug Hamlet Hill. A choice of two roads lies before -us--one short and direct, the other a roundabout approach. A sudden -impulse leads me into the latter. On right and left I see the same old -rocks and trees. There stands the aged beech to whose gnarled and hollow -trunk I traced the agile flying-squirrel, and with suffocating flame and -smoke drove him from his hiding-place. Here between large rocks and -stones the trout-stream runs its course, now pouring in small cataracts, -now eddying into still, dark nooks, where in those by-gone times I -dropped the line of expectancy, but showed the clumsiness of adversity. -A few minutes later, and we are gliding again by the dark Shepaug, now -flowing calm and silent beneath a rugged bank, wild and umbrageous, -where the swarm of katydids, with grating discord, maintain their old -dispute, that never-ending feud. The wheels turn noiselessly in the -shifting sand as we pursue our way. The low gray fog steals lightly over -the lily-pads, floating into seclusion beneath the sheltering boughs, -or, like an evanescent spirit, borne upon the evening breath, is lifted -from the gloom, and slowly melts into the twilight sky. The solitary -whippoorwill from his mysterious haunt, perhaps in yonder tree, perhaps -in the mountain loneliness beyond, proclaims with dismal cry his -oft-repeated wail. And as we ascend the darkening path, through the -still night air, in measured cadence long and sad, we hear the toll of -the distant knell. Threescore-and-ten its numbers tell of the earthly -years--a curfew requiem for the dead. Even as we pass the little chapel -at the summit of the hill, and the bell has scarcely ceased its -melancholy tidings, we hear the shouts and merry laughs of the boys on -the village green. Presently its broad expanse, shut in by twinkling -windows and massive trees, spreads out before us, as a clear and ringing -voice, like that of old, echoes through the growing darkness, "One -hundred! Nothing said, coming ahead!" and a dim figure steals cautiously -from the steps of the old white church to seek in the sequestered -hiding-places. With a heart that fairly thumps, I urge my pony onward -across the green, and ere he slackens his pace I am at my journey's end. -The dear old Snuggery, with its gables manifold and quaint, its -fantastic wings and towers, stands there before me, the glowing windows -beaming through the maples. Leaving our pony in willing hands, we enter -the gate, and are soon upon the wide porch. - -[Illustration: PURSUERS AND PURSUED.] - -It is eight o'clock, and the Snuggery is hushed in the quiet of the -study hour, and as we look through the windows we see the little groups -of studious lads bending over their books. Turning a corner on the -piazza, we are confronted with a tall hexagonal structure at its farther -end. This is the Tower, the lower room of which is consecrated to the -cosy retirement of Mr. and Mrs. Snug. The door leading to the porch is -open, and, as if awakening from a nap in which the past fifteen years -have been a dream, I listen to the same dear voice. I approach nearer. -Under the glow of a student's lamp I look upon the beloved face, the -flowing hair and beard now silvered with the lapse of years--a face of -unusual firmness, but whose every line marks the expression of a tender, -loving nature, and of a large and noble heart. Near him another sits--a -helpmeet kind and true, cherished companion in a happy, useful life. -Into her lap a nestling lad has climbed; and as she strokes the curly -head and looks into the chubby face, I see the same expression as of -old, the same motherly tenderness and love beaming from the large gray -eyes. - -Mr. Snug is leaning back in his easy-chair, and two boys are standing up -before him; one of them is speaking, evidently in answer to a question. - -"I called him a galoot, sir." - -"You called George a galoot, and then he threw the base-ball club at -you--is that it?" - -"Yes, sir," interrupted George; "but I was only playing, sir." - -"Yes," resumed the voice of Mr. Snug, "but that club went with -considerable force, and landed over the fence, and made havoc in Deacon -Farish's onion-bed; and that reminds me that the deacon's onion-bed is -overrun with weeds. Now, Willie," continued Mr. Snug, after a moment's -hesitation, with eyes closed, and head thrown back against the chair, -"Saturday morning--to-morrow, that is--directly after breakfast, you go -out into the grove and call names to the big rock for half an hour. -Don't stop to take breath; and don't call the same name twice. Your -vocabulary will easily stand the drain. You understand?" - -"Yes, sir." - -"And, George," continued Mr. Snug, with deliberate, easy intonation, -"to-morrow morning, at the same time, you present yourself politely to -Deacon Farish, tell him that I sent you, and ask him to escort you to -his onion-bed. After which you will go carefully to work and pull out -all the weeds. You understand, sir?" - -"Yes, sir." - -"And then you will both report to me as usual." And with a pleasant -smile, which was reflected in both their faces, the erring youngsters -were dismissed. Before the door has closed behind them we are standing -in the door-way. Here I draw the curtain; for who but one of its own -household could understand a welcome at the Snuggery? - -Those of my old school-mates who read this meagre sketch will know the -happiness of such a meeting; but others less fortunate in the -recollections of school-life can only look for its counterpart in an -affectionate welcome in their own homes, for the Snuggery _is_ a home to -all who ever dwelt within its gates. Seated in the familiar cosiness, -and surrounded by the friends of my school-days, the hours fly fast and -pleasantly. There is plenty to talk about. Here is a village full of -good people of whom I wish to learn, and there are many far-off chums of -whom I carry tidings. A bell rings in the cupola as one by one, from the -buzz in the outer rooms, boys large and small seek our seclusion for the -accustomed good-night adieu; and ere another hour has passed forty -sleepy urchins are packed away in their snug quarters. The evening runs -on into midnight, as with stories of the past, its pains and penalties, -its remembrances, now humorous now sad by turns, we recall the good old -times; and the "wee sma' hours" are already upon us as we reluctantly -retire from the goodly company to our rooms across the way. - -[Illustration: TOLLING FOR THE DEAD.] - -The next morning finds us in the midst of a merry load, with Mr. Snug as -a driver; and many and varied were the beauties that opened up before us -on that charming ride! Snug Hamlet, once called Judea, in the qualities -of its landscape as well as in everything else, is unique. Stripped of -all its old associations, it presents to the artistic eye a combination -of attractions scarcely to be equalled in the boundaries of New England. -Situated itself on the brow of an abrupt hill, where its picturesque -homes cluster about a broad open green, a few minutes' drive in any -direction reveals a surrounding panorama of the rarest loveliness. Five -hundred feet below us, winding in and out, now beneath leafy tangles, -now under quaint little bridges, and again reposing placidly in broad -mill-ponds, the happy Shepaug lends to a lovely valley its usefulness -and beauty. Turning in another direction, we pass the Snuggery -ball-ground, animated with the shouts of victory; and descending into a -vale of almost primeval wildness, we continue our way up the ascent of -"Artist's Hill," from whose summit on every side, as far as the eye can -reach, the landscape softens into the hazy horizon. Returning, we pass -through a ruined waste, where, three months before, the fierce tornado -swooped down in its fiendish fury. On every side we see its awful -evidences. Huge oaks, like brittle pipe-stems, snapped from their -moorings; sturdy hickories, mere play-things in the gale, twisted into -shreds. - -[Illustration: WRECKS OF THE TORNADO.] - -Every morning saw me on some new drive, either with a wagon full of -merry company, or as alone with Mr. Snug we held our quiet _tte--tte_ -on wheels, living over the olden times. In the afternoon I strolled by -myself through the old and eloquent scenes. A volume could not hold the -memories they revived--no, not even those of yonder barn alone. Even as -I sit making my pencil-sketch, its reminiscences seem to float across -the vision. Distinctly it recalls the events of one evening years ago. -It was at about the sunset hour one Friday. I was quietly sitting on a -lounge in the parlor talking to Cuthbert Harding, who was standing in -front of me. Presently the door opens, and the tall figure of Dick Shin -enters. Dick and I were antipodes in every sense of the word. Physically -we were as a match and a billiard ball, he being the lucifer. He was -also my _bte noire_, and he never missed an opportunity to vent his -spite. Accordingly he stalked toward us, and with a violent push sent -Cuthbert pell-mell on to me. In falling, he stepped heavily on my foot, -and hurt me severely, which accounted for my excited expression as I -threw him from me. - -Of course Mr. Snug had to come in just at this time, and seeing us in -what looked to him very like a fight, he took us firmly by the ears and -stood us side by side, while I ventured to explain. - -"Not a word!" exclaimed he, in a tone there was no mistaking. "You two -boys may cool off on a trip to Moody Barn, after which you will report -to me in the Tower. Now go." - -Whatever may have been the state of my mind a few moments before, I was -now mad in earnest, and with every bit of my latent obstinacy aroused, I -sauntered out on to the porch. - -"Cool off, old boy," whispered a grating voice at my side, as I turned -and met the gaze of Dick Shin, motioning with his thumb in the direction -of Moody Barn--"cool off; you need it;" and his ample mouth stretched -into a sneering grin. - -I had already formed an intention, but now it was a resolve. - -"Cuthbert," said I to my quiet and less choleric companion, when some -distance down the road, "I am not going on that trip." - -"Not going!" replied he, with surprise; "why, you'll _have_ to go." - -"But I _won't_ go, and that settles it. It's confounded unjust that -we're sent, anyhow, and I don't propose to stand it." - -"I think so too," answered Cuthbert, with hesitating emphasis; "but -what'll we do? We'll have to report to Mr. Snug, you know; that's the -_worst_ of it." - -"Well, I'll be spokesman, and I'll _lie_ before I'll go on that trip." - -I was boiling over with righteous wrath, but Cuthbert never was known to -boil; he only simmered a little, but readily seconded my plan. We -stopped at Kirby Corners, and there, secluded from view in the bushes, -we spent the interval. Cuthbert had a watch, and by the light of the -rising moon we were enabled to fix the full period for the trip. One -hour and a half we allowed--an abundant limit. During this time I had -completely "cooled off," and had schooled myself to that point where I -could tell a lie with a smooth face and a clear conscience. -Accordingly, when the time came, we appeared at the door of the Tower. -Mr. Snug was sitting in his accustomed place, and we entered and stood -before him. - -[Illustration: PASSING THOUGHTS.] - -"Well, sir," said he, with a polite bow of the head, dropping his paper -and looking up at us. - -"Mr. Snug, we have come to report," said I, fearlessly. "We have been to -Moody Barn." - -Instantly Mr. Snug straightened himself up in his chair, pushed back -the gray locks from his high forehead, and, with an expression that I -never shall forget, glared at me from under the frowning eyebrows. - -"_You lie, sir!_" he exclaimed, in thundering tones that fairly made my -hair stand on end, while Cuthbert trembled from head to foot; then -followed a brief moment of consternation that seemed an age. "Now go!" -continued he, as with an emphatic nod of the head he motioned toward the -door. Sheepish and crest-fallen, we slunk away from the room. It is -needless to say that we went this time. Through the darkness, by the aid -of a lantern, we picked our way, as with theories numerous and ingenious -we strove to account for that vociferous reception. - -Late that night we held an experience meeting with Mr. and Mrs. Snug in -the Tower, and if I remember right there were a few tears that fell, and -many apologies and good resolves, and as the true state of the case -dawned on Mr. Snug there was an evident twinge of regret on his kind -face. - -On the following morning (Saturday) there was a jolly party of youths -leaving the Snuggery for a day's boating at the lake. Dick Shin was -among them; and just as he was passing out the gate, a youngster -approaches him and taps him on the shoulder. "You are hereby arrested, -sir, on the orders of Mr. Snug." - -With an anxious and innocent expression Dick follows his juvenile -constable into the Tower, and his companions stroll along after to -ascertain the cause of the detention. We pass over the brief but amusing -trial, in which the prisoner, with the innocence of a little lamb, -pleaded his cause. - -"You _stumbled_, did you?" said Mr. Snug. "Well, you ought to know, sir, -by this time that I don't allow young men to stumble in that way in my -house. These two boys have suffered through your admitted clumsiness." -Here Mr. Snug paused in a moment's thought. "Dick Shin," he continued, -"I sent these innocent young gentlemen on two trips to Moody Barn--that -makes four miles for Bigson and four miles for Harding, together making -eight that they walked on your account. Now you may put down your -fishing-pole, and 'stumble' along on the road to Judd's Bridge, which -will give you two extra miles in which to think over your sins. And to -make sure"--here Mr. Snug arose and went to the closet--"you may take -this hatchet along with you, and bring me back a good big chip from the -end of the long bridge beam. I shall ride over that way to-morrow and -see whether it fits. You understand?" - -"Yes, sir," replied the injured voice of Dick Shin. "But, Mr. Snug, -can't I put off that penance until Monday?" - -"No, sir," replied Mr. Snug, with a beaming smile and a bow of the head. -"This is a lovely morning for contrite meditation. Go--_instantly_." - -Two hours later saw a demonstrative individual threatening to chop down -the whole side of a bridge, while ten miles to the northward the placid -surface of Waramaug rippled to the oars, and the lofty mountain-sides -echoed with the shouts of a merry holiday. - - * * * * * - -But all things must have an end. The school-days ended, and so did this -memorable vacation. A letter breaks the charm: insatiate publisher! Once -more through the winding paths of the Housatonic, and I leave the -loveliness of Hometown for the metropolis of brick and stone, there to -resume the old routine. - - - - -AUTUMN. - -[Illustration: THE WANING] - -[Illustration] - - -I am sitting alone upon a wooded knoll at our old farm at Hometown. -Above me a venerable oak holds aloft its dome of bronze-green verdure, -and on either side the gnarled and knotty branches bend low, and trail -their rustling leaves among the tufts of waving grass that fringe the -slope around me. - -It is a spot endeared to me from earliest memory, a loved retreat whose -every glimpse beneath the overhanging boughs has left its impress, whose -every feature of undulating field, of wooded mountain, and winding -meadow-brook I have long been able to summon up at will before my closed -eyes, as though a mirror of the living picture now before me. And what -is this picture? - -It is an enchanted vision of nature's autumn loveliness--a vision of -peace and tranquil resignation that lingers like a poem in the memory. -It is a glorious October day, one of those rarest and loveliest of days -when all nature seems transfigured, when a golden, misty veil swings -from the heavens in a charmed haze, through which the commonest and most -prosaic thing seems spiritualized and glorified. The summer's full -fruition is past and gone, the dross has been consumed; and in the -lingering life, whose yielding flush now lends its sweet expression to -the declining year, we see the type of perfect trust and hope that finds -a fitting emblem in the dim horizon, where heaven and earth are wedded -in a golden haze, where purple hills melt softly in the sky. It is a day -when one may dream with open eyes, and whose day-dreams haunt the memory -as sweet realities. The sky is filled with rolling, fleecy clouds, whose -flat receding bases seem to float upon a transparent amber sea, from -whose depths I look through into the blue air beyond. - -Below me an ancient orchard skirts the borders of the knoll. Its boughs -are crimson studded, and the ground beneath is strewn with the bright -red fruit. They mark the minutes as they fall, running the gauntlet of -the craggy twigs and bounding upon the slope beneath. Beyond the orchard -stretch the low, flat meadow lands, set with alders and swamp-maples, -with swaying willows, now enclosing, now revealing the graceful curves -of the quiet stream as it winds in and out among the overhanging -foliage. Soon it is lost beneath a wooded hill, where an old square -tower and factory-bell betray the hiding-place of the glassy pond that -sends its splashing water-fall across the rocks beneath the old town -bridge. Looking down upon this bridge, Mount Pisgah, with its rugged -cliff, is seen rising bold and stern against the sky, above a broad and -bright mosaic of elms and maples, spreading from the grove of oaks near -by in an unbroken expanse, to the very foot of the precipice, with here -and there a sunny cupola or gable peering out among the branches, or a -snowy steeple lifting high its golden cross or weather-vane glittering -in the sun. The mountain-side is lit up with its autumn glow of -intermingled maples, oaks, and beeches, with its changeless ledges of -jutting rock, and dense, defiant pines standing like veteran bearded -sentinels in perpetual vigilance. - -All this comes to me in a single glimpse beneath the branches. But there -are others, where undulating meadows, with their flowing lines of walls -and fences, lead the eye through soft gradations to distant purple -hills, through thrifty farms, with barns and barracks and rowen fields -with browsing cattle, and ruddy buckwheat patches, where the flocks of -village pigeons congregate among the cradle marks, in quest of scattered -kernels shaken from the sheaves. - -There is a tiny lake near by that nestles among the hill-side farms, -where sloping pastures and fields of yellow, rustling corn glide almost -to the water's edge. So sensitive and sympathetic is this little sheet -of water that I christened it one day Chameleon Lake, for it wears a -different expression for every phase of season or freak of weather, and -always dwells in harmony with the landscape which encloses it. In cloudy -days it frowns as cold as steel. In days of sunshine it is as bright and -blue as the sky itself, or shimmers like a shield of burnished silver. -And now it is a flood of autumn gold, carrying from shore to shore a -maze of ripples laden with opaline reflections of intermingled glints -from cloud and sky, and of the gold and ruby colored foliage along its -banks. - -But this knoll and all these farms are not mine alone. They are such as -I should hope might lurk in the memory of almost any one who looks back -to early days among New England hills. - -[Illustration: AN OCTOBER DAY.] - -This old oak-tree, whose furrowed bark I lean upon, was a hardy -patriarch when first I sought its shade. Its added years have scarcely -changed a feature or modified a line in its old-time noble expression. -As I look up, its great open arms spread out against the sky exactly as -they did when I lolled beneath their shelter and watched the drifting -clouds of twenty years ago sail through them in the blue above. Even the -jagged furrows in the bark I seem to recognize. Here, too, is that same -spreading scale of greenish lichen that fain will grow upon the trunk, -as if I had not often picked it all to pieces in my early idling. The -same round oak-gall rests on the bed of leaves in the hollow between the -rocks near by, as though it had forgotten how a dozen years ago I -cracked its polished shell and sent its spongy contents to the winds. - -And here comes that veritable ant creeping through the grass at my -elbow--now on the root, now on the bark, exploring every crack and -crevice in his hurried search. I wonder if the little fellow will ever -find what he has been looking for so long. And here's a friend of his -coming down. They stop and wag their antenn in a moment's conversation. -I wonder what they said. I always _did_ wonder when I watched them do -the same thing on this very spot a score of years ago. The soft waving -grass whispers about my ears as it did then, and I hear the low trumpet -of the nuthatch as he creeps about in the tree o'erhead. Easily may one -forget the lapse of time in such a place as this, where every leaf, and -twig, and blade of grass conspire to breed forgetfulness of later years. -Hark! that shrill tattoo again! The tree-toad. Yes, that same recluse in -his mysterious hiding-place, seeking by his tantalizing trill to renew -that game of hide-and-seek we left off so long ago--in those eager days -when every stick and stone upon the knoll was overturned in my zeal to -find his whereabouts. There he goes again! louder and more shrill. But -now I realize the effect of time, for I only sit and listen to his -oft-repeated call. Formerly that sound was like a galvanic thrill that -electrified every nerve and muscle in my physiology. No, I'll not hunt -for you again, my musical young friend; besides, the odds would be -against you now, for I know more about tree-toads than I once did, and -you wouldn't see me hunting on the ground as in the olden days. Besides, -you're getting bold; there is no need of hunting, for in that last toot -you gave yourself away. Even now my eyes are fixed upon the hole in -yonder hollow limb, and I see your tiny form clinging to the rotten wood -within the opening. What _would_ I not have given _once_ to have thought -of that soggy hole! - -[Illustration: A WAY-SIDE PASTORAL.] - -Near by a spreading yew monopolizes a rocky bit of ground, its foliage -creeping above a silvery gray bed of branching moss, whose pillowy tufts -spread almost to my feet. This was my fairy forest of tiny trees. Here I -found the fairies' cups and torches, and even now I can see their -scarlet tips scattered here and there among the gray; and fragile little -parasols, too--it were an insult, indeed, to designate such dainty -things as these by the name of toadstools. Beyond this bed of moss a -scrubby growth of whortleberry takes possession of the ground. The -bushes are now bare of fruit, but ruddy with their autumn blushes, -tingeing the surface of the knoll with a delicate coral pink. This -thicket extends far down upon the slope, even encroaching upon the -wheel-ruts of the lane, and across again, until cut short by an ancient -tumbling line of lichen-covered stones, a landmark which has long since -yielded up its claim as a barrier of protection to the old orchard it -encloses, now only a moss-grown pile, with every chink and crevice a -nestling-place of some searching tendril, fern, or clambering vine. For -rods and rods it creeps along beneath the laden apple-trees, skirting -the borders of this old farm lane, and finally hides away among a clump -of cedars a few hundred feet away. - -Of all the picturesque in nature, what is there, after all, that so wins -one's deeper sympathies as the ever-changing pictures of a rustic lane -or roadside, with its weather-beaten walls and fences, and their -rambling growth of weeds and creeping vines? How sweet the sense of near -companionship awakened by these charming way-side pastorals that -accompany you in your saunterings, and reach out to touch you as you -pass--a sense of friendly fellowship that breathes a silent greeting in -the most deserted paths or loneliest of by-ways! - -Show me a ruined wall or a rutted zigzag fence, and I will show you a -string of pearls, or rather, if in these later months, a fringe of gems, -for the autumn fence is set in wreaths of rubies and glowing sapphires. -Follow its rambling course, now through the field, now skirting swampy -fallows, now by rustic lanes and cornfields and over rocky pastures, and -you will follow a lead that will take you through the rarest bits of -nature's autumn landscape. - -Even in this lane, at the foot of the knoll below us, see the brilliant -luxuriance of clustered bitter-sweet draping the side of that clump of -cedars! It is only an indication of the beauty that envelops this lane -for a full half mile beyond. Every angle of its rude rail fence encloses -a lovely pastoral, each a surprise and a contrast to its neighbor. - -Right here before us, what a beginning! Hold up your hands on either -side, and shut out the surroundings. Such is the glimpse I always long -to paint from nature, and yet how almost maddening is the result! Rather -would I drink it all in and fix its every feature in my mind, and paint -it from its memory, when the presence of the living thing before me -shall not mock my efforts and put to shame the crude creations of oil -and pigment. - -See how the cool gray rails are relieved against that rich dark -background of dense olive juniper, how they hide among the prickly -foliage! Look at that low-hanging branch which so exquisitely conceals -the lowest rail as it emerges from its other side, and spreads out among -the creeping briers that wreathe the ground with their shining leaves -of crimson and deep bronze! Could any art more daringly concentrate a -rhapsody of color than nature has here done in bringing up that gorgeous -spray of scarlet sumach, whose fern-like pinnate leaves are so richly -massed against that background of dark evergreens? And even in that -single branch see the wondrous gradation of color, from purest green to -purplish olive, and olive melting into crimson, and then to scarlet, and -through orange into yellow, and all sustaining in its midst the -clustered cone of berries of rich maroon! Verily, it were almost an -affront to sit down before such a shrine and attempt to match it in -material pigment. A passing sketch, perhaps, that shall serve to aid the -memory in the retirement of the studio, but a careful copy, _never!_ -until we can have a tenfold lease of life, and paint with sunbeams. But -there is more still in this tantalizing ideal, for a luxuriant wild -grape-vine, that shuts in the fence near by, sends toward us an -adventurous branch that climbs the upright rail, and festoons itself -from fence to tree, and hangs its luminous canopy over the crest of the -yielding juniper. Even from where we stand we can see the pendant -clusters of tiny grapes clearly shadowed against the translucent golden -screen. Add to all this the charm of life and motion, with trembling -leaves and branches bending in the breeze, with here and there a -flitting shadow playing across the half hidden rails, and where can you -find another such picture, its counterpart in beauty--where? perhaps its -very neighbor, for all roadside pictures are "hung upon the line," they -are all by the same great Master, and it is often difficult to choose. - -Here we have a contrast. A dappled rock has taken possession of this -little corner, or the corner has been built around it, if you choose--a -"gray" rock we would call it in common parlance, but it is a gray -composed of a checkered multitude of tints, colors which upon a rock, it -would seem, were hardly worth an appreciative glance; but only let them -be exhibited upon a fold of Lyons silk or Jouvin kid glove, and dignify -them by the compliments of "ashes of roses," or "London smoke," and how -eagerly they are sought, how exquisite they become. I speak in -moderation when I say that I have often sat and counted as many as -thirty just such tints upon the surface of a small "gray" rock, each -_distinct_, and all so _refined_ and exquisite in shade. This rounded -bowlder is no exception; and with its tufted spots of jetty moss, and -outcroppings of glistening quartz, its rounded, spreading blots of -greenish lichens, and mottled groundwork, it may well defy the craft of -the most skilled palette. And when these grays are contrasted with -tender yellow greens and browns of fading ferns, such as fringe the -borders of the one before me, with a background of scarlet whortleberry -bushes and deep-green sprays of blackberry clustering about the -loosening bark of a crumbling stump, with its shelving growth of fungus -hiding among its brown debris, one may well pause and wonder which to -choose, or where a single touch is wanting in the perfect unity and -harmony of either. - -[Illustration: WAIFS.] - -Another jutting corner, and we confront a swaying mass of gold and -purple--that magnificent regal combination of graceful golden-rod and -asters that glorifies our autumn from September to the falling leaf. -There are a number of species of golden-rod, varying as much in their -intensity of color as in their time of bloom. The earliest appear in the -heart of summer, in wood and meadow; while others, larger and more -stately, lift up in their midst their plumy, undeveloped tips, and wait -until their predecessors are old and gray ere they roll out their -wreaths of gold. For weeks the roads and by-ways have been lit up with -their brilliant glow, that parting sunset gleam that lingers with the -closing year. This splendid cluster is full six feet in height, and -towers above the highest rail, or rather where the rail ought to be, for -it is lost from sight beneath a dense fret-work of prickly smilax--and -such brilliant, polished leaves! how they glitter in the sun! almost as -though wet with dew. - -And to think how those prickly canes, denuded of their leaves, are sold -upon our city thoroughfares as "Spanish rose-trees" to the unsuspecting -passer-by! Those guileless venders, too! I remember one that sought to -enrich my store of botanical knowledge by telling me they "bloomed in -winter!" and had a flower as "big as a saucer," and "kinder like a holy -hawk!!!?" I looked him straight in the eye, but he was the picture of -innocence. "Can you tell me the botanical name," I asked. "Oh yes," he -glibly replied, "I think they call it the _Rubus epistaxis_." Eheu! but -this was _too much_, and he saw it, and with a wink of his foxy eye and -a shrewd grin, he whispered along the palm of his hand, "Got to git a -livin' _somehow_, boss; now _don't_ give me away." "Here you are, lady, -Spanish roses, lady, fresh from the steamer." I never see a thicket of -green-brier without thinking of its "winter blossom;" and, by-the-way, -did you ever notice a thicket of this shrub, what a defiant, arbitrary -tyrant it is--shutting out the very life-breath and light of day from -its encumbered victims, monopolizing everything within its power, and -even reaching out for more with searching tips in mid-air, and a couple -of greedy tendrils at every leaf? And did you ever notice along the road -that delicious whiff that comes to you every now and then, that pungent -breath of the sweet-fern? We get it now; the air is laden with it from -the dark-green beds across the road. The sweet-fern, as I remember it, -was the simpler's panacea and the small boy's joy--an aromatic shrub, -whose inhaled fumes, together with its corn-silk rival, seem destined by -an all-wise Providence as a preparatory tonic to the more ambitious -fumigation of after-years. Many a time have I sat upon this bank and -tried to imagine in my domestic product the racy flavor of the famed -Havana! - -Between old Aunt Huldy, with her mania for the simples, and the demand -of the village boys, I wonder there is any of it left. But Aunt Huldy -has long since died; all her "yarbs," and "yarrer tea," and "paowerful -gud stimmilants" could not give her the lease of eternal earthly life -which she said lurked in the "everlastin' flaowers;" and after she had -reached the age of one hundred and three, her tansy decoctions and -boneset potions ceased in their efficacy--the feeble pulse grew feebler, -and one winter's eve, sitting in her rocker by her kettle and andirons, -she fell into a deep sleep, from which she never awoke. Aunt Huldy was -as strange and eccentric a character as one rarely meets in the walks of -life. Some said she was crazy; others said she was a witch; but -whatever she may have been, this aged dame was picturesque with her bent -figure, her long white hair and scarlet hood. And who shall describe the -ancient withered face that looked out from the shadow of that hood, the -small gray eyes and heavy white eyebrows, the toothless jaws and -receding lips, and massive chin that made its appalling ascent across -the face? But I cannot describe that face: think of how a witch should -look, and old Huldy's features will rise up before you. She knew every -herb that grew, but her great stand-by was "sweet-fern:" she smoked it, -she chewed it, she drank it, and even wore a little bag of it around her -neck, "to charm away the rheumatiz." - -[Illustration: IN THE CORNFIELD.] - -Since her time, however, the sweet-fern has had a chance to recuperate, -and, as far as we can see along the road, the banks are covered with it; -and there's a clump of teazles in its midst! I wonder if that old -carding-mill still stands. You also, perhaps, will wonder what relation -can exist between the two, that should make my thoughts jump half a -mile at the sight of a roadside weed. But that old woollen-mill offered -a premium on the extermination of one weed at least, for all the teasels -of the neighborhood were required to keep its cloth brushes in thorough -repair; but I fear its buzzing wheels are silent, for in olden times no -such splendid clump as this could have remained to go to seed upon the -highway. This old mill lies right upon our path, only a short walk down -the road beyond. It nestles among a bower of willows in a picturesque -ravine known as the "Devil's Hollow"--an umbrageous, rocky glen, by far -too cool and comfortable a place to justify the name it bears. - -Following the road, we now descend into a long, low stretch, hedged in -between two tall banks of alder, overtopped with interwoven tangles of -clematis, with its cloudy autumn clusters--that graceful vine which, -like the dandelion, is even more beautiful in death than in the fulness -of its bloom. And so, indeed, are nearly all those plants whose final -state is thus endowed by nature with feathery wings to lift them from -the earth. - -When has this swamp milk-weed by the roadside looked so fair as now, -with its bursting pods and silky seeds--those little waifs thrown out -upon the world with every passing breeze. How tenderly they seem to -cling to the little cosy home where they have been so snugly cradled and -protected; and see how they sail away, two or three together, loth to -part, until some rude gust shall separate them forever. - -And here's the great spiny thistle, too, that armed highwayman with -florid face and pompon in his cap. But he has had his day, and now we -see him old and seedy; his spears are broken, and his silvery gray hairs -are floating everywhere and glistening in the sun. - -Now we leave the alders, and another roadside mosaic of rich color opens -up before us, where the old half-wall fence, with its overtopping rails, -is luminous with a crimson glow of ampelopsis. It covers all the stones -for yards and yards; it swings from every jutting rail; it clambers up -the tree trunks and envelops them in fire, and hangs its waving fringe -from all the branches. - -Above the wall, like an encampment of thatched wigwams, the corn-shocks -lift their heads; a prospecting colony encamped among a field rich with -outcroppings of gold--a wealth of great round nuggets all in sight. And -were we to tear away that thatch, we might see where they have stowed -away their accumulated grains of wealth. We hear their rustling -whispers: "Hush! hush!" they seem to say to each other as we approach; -but their wariness is gratuitous, for a tell-tale vine is creeping away -upon the fence near-by, and has stopped to rest its golden burden on the -summit of the wall, half hiding among the scarlet creepers. - -Here yellow brakes abound, spreading their broad, triangular fronds on -every side amid the brilliant berries of wild-rose, and pink leaves of -blueberry. And here are thickets of black-alder, where every twig is -studded with scarlet beads, that cling so close that even winter's -bluster cannot shake them off. No matter where we look in these October -days, nature is burning itself away in a blaze of color that dazzles the -eyes; and now we approach its very crowning touch. - -I wish every one might see this gorgeous combination of oak and maples; -see it and go no farther, for a further search were fruitless in finding -its equal. It is the pride of the entire community; towns-people and -visitors ride from miles around to see its final flush--a magnificent -climax in the way of concentration of vivid color, in which nature seems -to have grouped with distinct purpose and design, producing a piece of -natural landscape-gardening such as no art could have approached. The -background is a massive precipice of rock towering to the height of -eighty feet, itself a perfect medley of tone. - -The group is composed of eight maples, each a distinct contrast of pure -color. In their midst a superb large oak presents one massive breadth of -deep purple green; and spreading up one side like a flood of yellow -light, a rock-maple lifts its splendid array of foliage. These two trees -concentrate the effect, and the others are arranged around them like -colors on a palette: one is a flaming scarlet, another beside it is -always a rich green, even to the falling leaf--with only a single -branch, that every year, even as early as August, persists in turning to -a peculiar salmon pink; another, a red-maple, is so deep a red as to -appear almost maroon, and its branches intermingle with the pale-pink -verdure of another growing by its side. There is one that combines every -intermediate color, from deep crimson to the palest saffron; while its -neighbor flutters in the wind with every leaf a brilliant butterfly of -pure green, with spots and splashes of deep carmine. - -This whole assemblage of color fairly blazes in the landscape, and even -from the top of Mount Pisgah, a half a mile away, it looks like a -glowing coal dropped down upon a bed of smouldering ashes in the valley; -for the surrounding meadow is thick-set with great gray rocks and -crimson viburnum, as though it had caught fire from the flaming trees. -What other country can boast the glory of a tree which, taken all in -all, can hold its own beside our lovely maple? From the time when first -it hangs its silken tassels to the awakening spring breeze until its -autumn fire has burned away its leaves, it presents an everchanging -phase that lends a distinct expression to American landscape. It affords -us grateful shade in summer; and with its trickling bounty in the spring -we can all unite in a hearty toast, "A health to the glorious maple." - -[Illustration: THE ROAD TO THE MILL.] - -But there is another tree which should not be forgotten, and if once -seen in a New England autumn landscape there is little danger of its -escaping from the memory. Of course, I refer to the pepperidge, or -tupelo, that nondescript among trees; for who ever saw two -pepperidge-trees alike? They seem to scorn a reputation for symmetry, or -even the idea of establishing among themselves the recognition of a type -of character. Novelty or grotesqueness is their only aim, and they hit -the bull's-eye every time. There is one I have in mind that has always -been a perfect curiosity. Its height is fully seventy feet, and its -crown is as flat as though cut off with a mammoth pair of -pruning-shears. The central trunk runs straight up to the summit, from -which it squirms off into six or seven snake-like branches, that dip -downward and writhe among the other limbs, all falling in the same -direction. One gets the impression, on looking at it, that originally -it might have been a respectable-looking tree, but that in some rude -storm in its early days it had been struck by lightning, torn up by the -roots, and afterward had taken root at the top. The tupelo, whenever -seen, is always one of our most picturesque trees, and a never-failing -source of surprise, twisting and turning into some unheard-of shape, and -seeming always to say, "There! beat that if you can!" Near the coast it -assumes the form of a crazy Italian pine, with spindling trunk and -massive head of foliage. Sometimes it divides in the middle, like an -hour-glass, and again mimics a fir-tree in caricature; but he who would -keep track of the acrobatic capers of the tupelo would have his hands -full. Whatever its shape, however, its brilliant, glossy crimson foliage -forms one of the most striking features of our October landscape. - -But I believe we were on the road to that carding-mill. We had almost -forgotten it; and now, as we look ahead, we see the old lumber-shed that -marks the upper ledge of Devil's Hollow. From this old shed a -trout-brook plunges through a series of rocky terraces, now winding -among prostrate moss-grown trunks, now gurgling through the bare roots -of great white birches, or spreading in a swift, glassy sheet as it -pours across some broad shelving rock, and plunges from its edge in a -filmy water-fall. It roars pent up in narrow caons, and out again it -swirls in a smooth basin worn in the solid rock. At almost every rod or -two along its precipitous course there is a mill somewhere hid among the -trees--queer, quaint little mills, some built up on high stone walls, -others fed with trickling flumes which span from rock to rock, -supporting on every beam a rounded cushion of velvety green moss, and -hanging a fringe of ferns from almost every crevice. And one there is in -ruins, fallen from its lofty perch, and piled in chaos in the stream. -There are saw-mills, and shook-mills, and carding-mills, seven -altogether in this one descent of about three hundred feet. The water -enters the ravine as pure as crystal; but in its wild booming through -race-ways, dams, and water-wheels, it gradually assumes a rich sienna -hue from the _dbris_ of sawdust everywhere along its course. The -interior of the ravine is musical with the trebles of the falling water -and the accompaniment of the rumbling mills. Tiny rainbows gleam beneath -the water-falls, and swarms of glistening bubbles and little islands of -saffron-colored foam float away upon the dark-brown eddies. - -At last we reach the carding-mill, which is the lowest of them all--in -every sense, it seems, for it is as I had feared: the flume is but a -pile of brown and mouldy timbers in the bed of the stream, and the old -box-wheel has rotted and fallen from its spokes, almost obscured beneath -a rank growth of weeds. No sound of buzzing teasels, no rumbling of the -water-wheel, no happy carder singing at his work: _nothing_--but a -couple of boys, kneeling in a corner, sucking cider through a straw. -Yes, the old mill has fallen from grace; but what else might one expect -from a mill in "Devil's Hollow," where all its neighbors are engaged in -making hogshead staves, and the very water has turned to ruddy wine? - -[Illustration: THE CIDER MILL.] - -The carding-machine is gone, and has given place to a rustic -cider-press. A temporary undershot-wheel has been rigged beneath the -floor, and a rude trough, patched up with sods, conducts the water from -the stream. - -It is the same old cider-press we all remember, and with the same -accessories. Here are casks of all sizes waiting to be filled, and the -piles of party-colored apples spilled upon the floor from the farmers' -wagons that every now and then back up to the open door. There is the -same rustic harangue on leading agricultural topics, among which we hear -a variety of opinions about that imaginary "line storm." - -"Seems to gi'n the slip this year," remarks one old long-limbed settler -with a slope-roofed straw hat, "'n' I don't know zactly what to _make_ -on't; but I ain't so sartin nuther"--he now takes a wise observation of -a small patch of blue sky through the trees overhead. "I cal'late we'll -git a leetle tetch on't yit." - -"Likenuff, likenuff," responds another, with a squeaky voice; "the ar's -gittin' ruther dampish, 'n' my woman hez got the rheumatiz ag'in. She -kin alluz tell when we're goin' to git a spell o' weather; it's sure to -fetch her all along her spine. But I lay _most_ store on them ar pesky -tree-tuds. I heern um singin' like all possessed ez I wuz comin' through -the woods yender; 'n' it's a sartin sign o' rain when them ar critters -gits agoin', you kin depend on't." - -And now we hear all about the pumpkin and the corn crop, the potato -yield, and the regular list of other subjects so dear to the rural -heart. - -In a corner by themselves we see the pile of "vinegar nubbins"--a tanned -and soft variety of apple--in all stages of variegation. The "hopper" -receives the shovelfuls of fruit for the crushing "smasher," which again -supplies the straw-laid press. We hear the creaking turn of the lever -screw, the yielding of the timbers, and a fresh burst of the trickling -beverage flowing from the surrounding trough into the great wooden tub -below. Here, too, is the swarm of eager urchins, with heads together, -like a troop of flies around a grain of sugar. Ah! what unalloyed bliss -is reflected from their countenances as they absorb the amber nectar -through the intermediate straw--that golden link that I have missed for -many a year! - -Outside upon the logs the refuse "pumice-cheese" has brought together -all the yellow-jackets and late butterflies of the neighborhood--butterflies -so tipsy that you can pick them up between your fingers. I never went so -far with the yellow-jackets, for they have a hotter temper, and don't -like to be fooled with. Black hornets, too, are here, and they find a -feast spread at their very door; for overhead, upon the beech, they -have hung their paper house, like a gray balloon caught among the -branches. - -[Illustration: "THE LINE STORM."] - -Now we hear a chatter and a scratching on the roof, where a pair of -lively squirrels hold a game of tag; and ascending the rickety stairs -into the loft above, we find the floor strewn with hickory-nuts, with -neat round holes cut through on either side, and numberless shaggy -butternuts, too, with daylight let into their recesses also. The boards -and beams are covered with cobweb trimmings, laden with wool-dust; and -as we approach a pile of rusty iron near the murky window, we hear a -scraping of sharp claws, the dropping of a nut between the rafters, and -now a wild scampering on the roof overhead. Before we have fairly -recovered from our surprise, we notice a sudden darkening of a hole in -the shingles close by, where, still and motionless, two inquisitive -black eyes look down at us. We have intruded upon private property, for -this is the home of the squirrels. No one can dispute their title, for -these little squatters have occupied the premises and held the fort for -nearly twenty years. - -They, too, have found forage close at hand, from the nut-grove upon the -hill-side yonder--a yellow bank of foliage of clustered hickories and -beeches, and rounded domes of chestnuts--a grove whose every rock and -bush is my old-time friend; where there are "sermons in stones," and -every tree speaks volumes. - -Here is the low thicket of weeds and hazel-bushes where we always -flushed that flock of quail, or started up some lively white-tailed hare -that jumped away among the quivering brakes and golden-rod. Here are -soft beds of rich green moss, studded with scarlet berries of -winter-green and partridge-vine. Now we come upon a creeping mat of -princess-pine, and here among the leaves we had almost stepped upon a -spreading chestnut-burr--that same burr I have so often seen before, -that same fuzzy, open palm holding out its tempting bait to lure the -eagerness of youth; an eagerness which always invested a neighbor's -chestnuts with a peculiar charm too tempting to resist; "take one," it -seems to say, as it did in years ago; and its hedge of thorny prickles -truly typifies the dangers which surrounded such an undertaking, for -these trees belong to Deacon Turney, and he prizes them as though their -yellow autumn leaves were so much gold. He guards them with an eagle's -eye, and he gathers all their harvest; no single nut is ever known to -sprout in Turney's woods if _he_ knows it. - -This pointed reminder among the leaves fairly pricks my conscience as I -recall the many October escapades in which it formed the chief -attraction. I remember one occasion in particular, for it is indelibly -impressed on my memory, and it was on this very spot. A party of -adventurous lads, myself among the number, were out for a glorious -holiday. Each had his canvas bag across his shoulder, and we stole along -the stone wall yonder, and entered the woods beneath that group of -chestnuts. Two of us acted as outposts on picket guard; and another, -young Teddy Shoopegg by name, the best climber in the village, did the -shaking. He prided himself on being able to "shin up any tree in the -caounty," and after he had once got up among those chestnut-trees we -stood from under, and in a very short space of time no single burr was -left among their branches. There were five busy pairs of hands beneath -those trees, I can tell you, for each one of us fully realized the -necessity of making the most of his time, not knowing how soon the -warning cry from our outposts might put us all to headlong flight; for -the alarm, "Turney's coming!" was enough to lift the hair of any boy in -town. - -[Illustration: A POINTED REMINDER.] - -But luck seemed to favor us on that day; we "cleaned out" six big -chestnut-trees, and then turned our attention to the hickories. There -was a splendid tall shagbark close by, with branches fairly loaded with -the white nuts in their open shucks. They were all ready to drop, and -when the shaking once commenced, the nuts came down like a shower of -hail, bounding from the rocks, rattling among the dry leaves, and -keeping up a clatter all around. We scrambled on all fours, and gathered -them by quarts and quarts. There was no need of poking over the leaves -for them, the ground was covered with them in plain sight. While busily -engaged, we noticed an ominous lull among the branches overhead. - -"'Sst! 'sst!" whispered Shoopegg up above; "I see old Turney on his -white horse daown the road yender." - -"Coming this way?" also in a whisper, from below. - -"I dunno yit, but I jest guess you'd better be gittin' reddy to leg it, -fer he's hitchin' his old nag 't the side o' the road. _Yis_, sir, I -bleeve he's a-cummin'. Shoopegg, you'd better be gittin' aout o' this," -and he commenced to drop hap-hazard from his lofty perch. In a moment, -however, he seemed to change his mind, and paused, once more upon the -watch. "Say, fellers," he again broke in, as we were preparing for a -retreat, "he's gone off to'rd the cedars; he ain't cummin' this way at -_all_." So he again ascended into the tree-top, and finished his shaking -in peace, and we our picking also. There was still another tree, with -elegant large nuts, that we had all concluded to "finish up on." It -would not do to leave it. They were the largest and thinnest-shelled -nuts in town, and there were over a bushel in sight on the branch tips. -Shoopegg was up among them in two minutes, and they were showered down -in torrents as before. And what splendid, perfect nuts they were! We -bagged them with eager hands, picked the ground all clean, and, with -jolly chuckles at our luck, were just about thinking of starting for -home with our well-rounded sacks, when a change came over the spirit of -our dreams. There was a suspicious noise in the shrubbery near by, and -in a moment more we heard our doom. - -"Jest yeu look _ee_ah, yeu boys!" exclaimed a high-pitched voice from -the neighboring shrubbery, accompanied by the form of Deacon Turney, -approaching at a brisk pace, hardly thirty feet away. "Don't yeu think -yeu've got jest abaout _enuff_ o' them nuts?" - -Of course a wild panic ensued, in which we made for the bags and dear -life; but Turney was prepared and ready for the emergency, and, raising -a huge old shot-gun, he levelled it, and yelled, "Don't any on ye stir -ner move, or by Christopher I'll blow the heels clean off'n the hull -_pile_ on ye. I'd _shoot_ ye quicker'n _lightni'_." - -And we believed him, for his aim was true, and his whole expression was -not that of a man who was trifling. I never shall forget the -uncomfortable sensation that I experienced as I looked into the muzzle -of that double-barrelled shot-gun, and saw both hammers fully raised -too. And I can clearly see now the squint and the glaring eye that -glanced along those barrels. There was a wonderfully persuasive power -lurking in those horizontal tubes; so I at once hastened to inform the -deacon that we were "not going to run." - -"Wa'al," he drawled, "it looked a leetle thet _way_, I thort, a spell -_ago_;" and he still kept us in the field of his weapon, till at length -I exclaimed, in desperation. - -"For gracious sake! point that gun in some other _way_, will you?" - -"Wa'al, _no_! I'm not fer pintin' it ennywhar else jest _yit_--not until -you've sot them ar _bags_ daown agin, jist whar ye _got_ 'em, every -_one_ on ye." The bags were speedily replaced, and he slowly lowered his -gun. - -[Illustration: AFTER THE SHELL-BARKS] - -"Wa'al, naow," he continued, as he came up in our midst, "this is putty -bizniss, _ain't_ it? Bin havin' a putty likely sort o' time teu, I sh'd -jedge from the looks o' these 'ere _bags_. One--two--_six_ on 'em; an' I -vaow they must be nigh on teu a half bushel in every pleggy _one_ on -'em. Wa'al, naow"--with his peculiar drawl--"look eeah: you're a putty -ondustrious lot o' _thieves_, I'm _blest_ if ye ain't." But the deacon -did all the talking, for his manoeuvres were such as to render us -speechless. "Putty likely place teu cum a-nuttin', ain't it?" Pause. -"Putty nice mess o' shell-barks ye got thar, I tell ye naow.--Quite a -sight o' _chestnuts_ in _yourn_, ain't they?" - -There was only one spoken side to this dialogue, but the pauses were -eloquent on both sides, and we boys kept up a deal of tall thinking as -we watched the deacon alternate his glib remarks by the gradual removal -of the bags to the foot of a neighboring tree. This done, he seated -himself upon a rock beside them. - -"_Thar!_" he exclaimed, removing his tall hat and wiping his -white-fringed forehead with a red bandanna handkerchief. "I'm much -_obleeged_. I've been a-watchin' on ye gittin' these 'ere nuts the hull -arternoon. I thort ez haow yeu might like to know on't." And then, as -though a happy thought had struck him, what should he do but -deliberately spit on his hands and grasp his gun. "Look _ee_ah"--a -pause, in which he cocked both barrels--"yeu boys wuz paowerful anxyis -teu git _away_ from _ee_ah a spell ago. Naow yeu kin _git_ ez lively ez -yeu pleze; your chores is done fer to-day." And bang! went one of the -gun-barrels directly over our heads. - -We _got_, and when once out of gun-range we paid the deacon a wealth of -those rare compliments for both eye and ear that always swell the boys' -vocabulary. - -"All right," he yelled back in answer, as he transported the bags across -the field. "Cum agin next year--cum agin. Alluz welcome! alluz welcome!" - -As I have already said, the deacon gathered all his nut -harvest--sometimes by a very novel method. - -Who does not remember some such episode of the old jolly days? If it was -not a Deacon Turney, it was some one else. I am sure his counterpart -exists in every country town, and in the memory of every boyhood -experience. - -We remember, perhaps, the sweet hazel-nuts which we gathered in their -brown husks and spread to dry upon the garret floor, and how those -mischievous mice avenged the deacon's wrongs as they invaded our -treasured store, and transported it to the nooks and kinks among the -rafters and beneath the floor. Then there were those rambles after -"fox-grapes," and the "gunning" tramps, when we stole with cautious step -upon the unseen "Bob White" whistling for us among the brush near by, -when the startling _whirr_ of the ruffed grouse from almost under our -feet sent an electric thrill up our backs and along our arms, even -touching off the powder in our barrels unawares. There were box-traps in -the woods, and snares among the copses, and lots of other mischief of -which we would not care to tell. - -[Illustration: A CORNER OF THE FARM.] - -There was another little three-cornered nut that fell among the -beech-trees where we held our October picnics, and the autumn beech -forest I remember as a lovely woodland parlor. We sit upon a painted -rock, in the shadow of a drooping hemlock, perhaps. Beyond, we look -across among the smooth gray tree-trunks, where sidelong shadows softly -stripe the matted leaves, with here and there a shining shaft of sunbeam -lighting up the carpet, or a glinting spray of sun-tipped leaves that -flicker above their shadows. The woods are filled with a luminous glow -such as no summer forest ever knew--an all-pervading light which seems -almost independent of the sunshine, as though living in the leaf itself. -It floods the mottled bark, and transforms its ashy tints to softened -autumn grays. It searches out the shadows of the evergreens, and throws -its mellow glow upon the rocks among their recesses. It permeates the -whole interior as though it were transfigured through a golden-colored -glass. - -A quick, sharp whistle surprises you from the herbage near by, and a -striped chickaree skips across the leaves and dives into his burrow at -the foot of an old stump not far away. There are various other sounds -that come to you if you sit quietly in a beech wood. Now it is a tiny -footfall, a pat-pat upon the leaves, and a little brown bird is seen, -hopping in and out among the undergrowth, scratching and pecking like a -little hen among the leaf mould. Then comes a galloping sound, and you -know there is a scampering hare somewhere about. And at last a peeping -frog gains confidence, and starts up a trill somewhere behind you. He is -soon joined by another, and still others, until a chorus of the shrill -voices echoes among the trees, some from the around, some from the limbs -overhead; and if you only sit perfectly still, you may hear a -venturesome voice, perhaps, at your very elbow; for these little peepers -are capricious songsters, and only sing before a quiet, attentive -audience. Now a silly green katydid flits by, like an animated gauzy -leaf; and quick as thought a kingbird darts out from the leaves -overhead, hovers in mid-air for a second, and is away again; and -luckless katydid wishes she _hadn't_. - -See the variety of beeches, too! Here are slender, dappled stems, clean -and trim; and others, great giants with fluted trunks and gnarled roots, -and with eccentric limbs reaching out in most fantastic angles; but all -spreading above in a graceful, airy screen of intermingled tracery and -sunlight, where slender branches bend and sway beneath the agile -squirrel as he leaps from tree to tree, and the leaves clatter with the -falling nuts. Behind us a soft fluttering of many wings betrays a -slender mountain-ash, with its drooping clusters of berries, growing in -an open, rocky space near by--where a flock of cedar birds assemble -among the fruit, or scatter away amid the evergreens at your slightest -movement. Turning your head in another direction, you can follow the -course of an old farm-road that leads out upon a bright clearing, -thick-set with light-green, feathery ferns. A few rods beyond, it makes -a sudden downward turn through a dense grove of lofty pines and -hemlocks. Here are "dim aisles" where dwell perpetual twilight--where no -ray of sun has entered for well-nigh a century--only, perhaps, as it is -brought down in a glistening sunbeam within the crystal bead of balsam -upon some dropping cone. There is a solemn stillness in these stately -halls, in which your very footfall is proscribed and hushed in the -depths of the brown and silent carpet. There are old, venerable -gray-beards here, and fallen monarchs lying prostrate among the rugged -rocks; and here and there among the brown debris a fungus lifts its -head, to tell of other generations that lie crumbling beneath the mould. -Now among the lofty columns, like a magnificent illuminated window in -some vast cathedral, comes a glimpse of the outer world with its autumn -colors; and here the vaulted aisle soon leads us. We find a dazzling -contrast; for in the sombre shadows of the pine-forest one readily -forgets the month, or even the season. Here we approach a rippling -trout-stream, and as we stop to rest upon its tottering bridge we look -across a long brook meadow, where the asters screen the ground in -mid-air in a purple sea--one of the rarest spectacles of autumn. But in -this swamp lot there are presented a continual series of just such rich -displays from spring-time till the winter. - -I know of no other place in which the progress of the year is so readily -traced as in these swampy fallow lands. They are a living calendar, not -merely of the seasons alone, but of every month successively; and its -record is almost unmistakably disclosed. It is whispered in the fragrant -breath of flowers, and of the aromatic herbage you crush beneath your -feet. It floats about on filmy wings of dragon-fly and butterfly, or -glistens in the air on silky seeds. It skips upon the surface of the -water, or swims among the weeds beneath; and is noised about in myriads -of tell-tale songs among the reeds and sedges. The swallows and the -starlings proclaim it in their flight, and the very absence of these -living features is as eloquent as life itself. Even in the simple story -of the leaf, the bud, the blossom, and the downy seed, it is told as -plainly as though written in prosaic words and strewn among the herbage. - -In the early, blustering days of March, there is a stir beneath the -thawing ground, and the swamp cabbage-root sends up a well protected -scout to explore among the bogs; but so dismal are the tidings which he -brings, that for weeks no other venturing sprout dares lift its head. He -braves alone the stormy month--the solitary sign of spring, save, -perhaps, the lengthening of the alder catkins that loosen in the wind. -April woos the yellow cowslips into bloom along the water's edge, and -the golden willow twigs shake out their perfumed tassels. In May the -prickly carex blossoms among the tussocks, and the calamus buds burst -forth among their flat, green blades. June is heralded on right and left -by the unfurling of blue-flags, and the eyebright blue winks and blinks -as it awakens in the dazzling July sun. - -[Illustration: BEECH-NUTTING.] - -Then follows brimful August, with the summer's consummation of -luxuriance and bloom; with flowers in dense profusion in bouquets of -iron-weed and thoroughworts, of cardinal flowers and fragrant clethra, -with their host of blossoming companions. The milk-weed pods fray out -their early floss upon September breezes, and the blue petals of the -gentian first unfold their fringes. October overwhelms us with the -friendly tokens of burr marigolds and bidens; while its thickets of -black-alder lose their autumn verdure, and leave November with a -"burning bush" of scarlet berries hitherto half-hidden in the leafage. -Now, too, the copses of witch-hazel bedeck themselves, and are yellow -with their tiny ribbons. December's name is written in wreaths of snow -upon the withered stalks of slender weeds and rushes, which soon lie -bent and broken in the lap of January, crushed beneath their winter -weight. And in fulfilment of the cycle, February sees the swelling buds -of willow, with their restless pussies eager for the spring, half -creeping from their winter cells. - -The October day is a dream, bright and beautiful as the rainbow, and as -brief and fugitive. The same clouds and the same sun may be with us on -the morrow, but the rainbow will have gone. There is a destroyer that -goes abroad by night; he fastens upon every leaf, and freezes out its -last drop of life, and leaves it on the parent stem, pale, withered, and -dying. - -Then come those closing days of dissolution, the saddest of the year, -when all nature is filled with phantoms, and the gaunt and naked trees -moan in the wind--every leaf a mockery, every breeze a sigh. The air -seems weighed with a premonition of the dreariness to come. The -landscape is darkened in a melancholy monotone, and death is written -everywhere. You may walk the woods and fields for hours without a gleam -of comfort or a cheering sound. We hear, perhaps, the hollow roll of the -woodpecker upon some neighboring tree; but even he is clad in mourning: -it is a muffled drum, and the resounding limb is dead. You sit beneath -the old oak-tree, but it is a lifeless rustle that grates upon your ear, -while you listen half beseechingly for some cheering note from the -robins in the thicket near; but they are coy and silent now, and their -flight is toward the southern hills. A villanous shrike must needs come -upon the scene: he alights upon a limb near by, with blood upon his -beak. Murder is in his eye, and his mission here is death. And now we -hear a noisy crow o'erhead: he perches upon a neighboring tree in hungry -scrutiny. And what is he but carrion's bird, that revels in decay and -death, with raiment black as a funeral pall? In the cold gray sky we see -their scattered flocks blowing in the wind with sidelong flight, and in -the field below that mocking cadaver, the man of straw, shaking his -flimsy arms at them in wild contortions. - -[Illustration: THE NORTH WIND.] - -There is a hopeless despondency abroad in all the air, in which the -summer medleys of the birds taunt us with their memories. We yearn for -one such joyful sound to break the gloomy reverie. But what bird could -swell his throat in song amidst such cheerlessness? No, Nature does not -thus defeat her purpose. The hopefulness of Spring, the joyful -consummation of Summer, have fled; their mission is fulfilled, and these -are days for meditation on the past and future. All nature speaks of -death; and there are voices of despair, and others eloquent with hope -and trust. There are dead leaves that crumble into dust beneath our -feet; but, if we look higher, there are others that conceal the promise -of eternal life, where the undeveloped being, that perfect symbol, -weaves his silken shroud, and awaits the coming of his day of full -perfection. In the ground beneath he seeks his sepulchre, and he knows -that at the appointed time he will burst his cerements and fly away. -These are inobtrusive, silent testimonies; but they are here, and need -only to be sought to unfold their prophecies. - -But there comes a respite even in these late gloomy days. There is a -lull in the work of devastation, in which the sunny skies and magic haze -of October come back to us in the charming dreaminess of the Indian -summer. A brief farewell--perhaps a day, perhaps a week; but however -long, it is a parting smile that we love to recall in the dreariness -that follows. The sky is luminous with soft sun-lit clouds, and the hazy -air is laden with spring-like breezes, with now and then a welcome -cricket-song or light-hearted bird-note, for, although long upon their -way, the birds have not yet all departed. They twitter cheerily among -the trees and thickets, and should you listen quietly you perhaps might -hear an echo of spring again in the warble of the robin upon the -dog-wood-tree. Here they have loitered by the way among the scarlet -berries. Not only robins, but cedar-birds and thrushes are here, in -successive flocks, from morn till night. - -The fields are dull with faded golden-rods and asters, among whose downy -seeds the frolicking chickadees and snow-birds hold a jubilee. The maze -of twigs and branches in the distant hills has enveloped them in a smoky -gray, and the sound of rustling leaves follows your footsteps in your -woodland rambles. The fringe of yellow petals is unfolding on the -witch-hazel boughs, and if you only knew the place, you might discover -in some forsaken nook a solitary pale-blue lamp of fringed gentian still -flickering among the withered leaves. Now a lively twittering and a hum -of wings surprises you, and before you can turn your head a happy little -troop of birds sweep across your path, and are away among the -evergreens. They are white buntings, and their presence here is like a -chill, for they come from the icy regions of the North, and they bring -the snow upon their wings. The Indian summer is soon a thing of the -past. Perhaps before another daybreak it will have flown. There is no -dawn upon that morning. The night runs into a day of dismal, cheerless -twilight, and the sky is overcast with ominous darkness. That angry -cloud that left us, driven away before the conquering Spring, now lowers -above the northward mountain; we see its livid face and feel its -blighting breath--"a hard, dull bitterness of cold," that sweeps along -the moor in noisy triumph, that howls and tears among the trembling -trees, and smothers out the last smouldering flame of faded Autumn. - -The final leaf is torn from the tree. The lingering birds depart the -desolation for scenes more tranquil, and I too with them, for nothing -here invites my tarrying. The Autumn days are gone, grim Winter is at -our door, and the covering snow will soon enshroud the earth, subdued -and silent in its winter sleep. - -[Illustration] - - - - -WINTER. - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration: THE SLEEP] - -[Illustration: A WINTER IDYL - -Prologue - - A chill sad ending of a dreary day. - The waning light in stillness dies away. - Bequeaths no ray of hope the void to fill - But lends to gloomy thoughts more sadness still. - All nature hushed beneath a snowy shroud - Darkness and death their sovereign rule decree - O, reign of dread, of cruel blasts that kill - Thy cycle brings a heavy heart to me. - How many thus their Winter's advent view - Whose darkened faith no daylight ever knew. - Alas for him who thinks the grave his doom - Or sees the sun go down behind the tomb. - "Seek and ye shall find". On every hand - Mute prophecies their mission tell. - Yield but a listening ear and they shall say - 'The dead but sleep, they do not pass away' - Else why mid earth and heaven on yonder tree - That type of life in death, the living tomb? - Why the imago from dark cerements free - Winging its upward flight from earthly gloom? - Why this device supreme unless a prophecy - Of resurrected life and immortality. - Oh thou whose downcast eyes refuse to seek - See! even at the grave the sign is given. - The snow-clad evergreen, eternal life - Clothed in celestial purity from heaven. - Even thus life's Winter should be blest - Not dark and dead but full of peace and rest. -] - - -Silently, like thoughts that come and go, the snow-flakes fall, each one -a gem. The whitened air conceals all earthly trace, and leaves to -memory the space to fill. I look upon a blank, whereon my fancy paints, -as could no hand of mine, the pictures and the poems of a boyhood life; -and even as the undertone of a painting, be it warm or cool, shall -modify or change the color laid upon it, so this cold and frosty -background through the window transfigures all my thoughts, and forms -them into winter memories legion like the snow. Oh that I could -translate for other eyes the winter idyl painted there! I see a living -past whose counterpart I well could wish might be a common fortune. I -see in all its joyous phases the gladsome winter in New England, the -snow-clad hills with bare and shivering trees, the homestead dear, the -old gray barn hemmed in with peaked drifts. I see the skating-pond, and -hear the ringing, intermingled shouts of the noisy, shuffling game, the -black ice written full with testimony of the winter's brisk hilarity. -Down the hard-packed road with glancing sled I speed, past frightened -team and startled way-side groups; o'er "thank you, marms," I fly in -clear mid-air, and crouching low, with sidelong spurts of snowy spray, I -sweep the sliding curve. Now past the village church and cosy parsonage. -Now scudding close beneath the hemlocks, hanging low with their piled -and tufted weight of snow. The way-side bits like dizzy streaks whiz by, -the old rail fence becomes a quivering tint of gray. The road-side weeds -bow after me, and in the swirling eddy chasing close upon my feet, sway -to and fro. Soon, like an arrow from the bow, I shoot across the "Town -Brook" bridge, and, jumping out beyond, skip the sinking ground, and -with an anxious eye and careful poise I "trim the ship," and, hoping, -leave the rest to fate. - -Perhaps I land on both runners, perhaps I don't; that depends. I've -tried both ways I know, and if I remember rightly, I always found it -royal jolly fun; for what cared I at a bruise, or a pint of snow down my -back, when I got it there myself? - -The average New England boy is hard to kill, and I was one of that kind. -Any boy who could brave the hidden mysteries and capricious favoritism -of those fifteen dislocating "thank you, marms," and _hang together_ -through it all, and, having so done, finish that experience with a -plunging double somersault into a crusted snow-bank, or, perchance, into -a stone wall--if he can do this, I say, and survive the fun, then there -is no reason why he should not live to tell of it in old age, for never -in the flesh will he go through a rougher ordeal. I've known a boy who -"_hated_ the old district school because the hard benches hurt him so," -and who would rest his aching limbs for hours together in this gentle -sort of exercise. "The fine print made his eyes ache, and he couldn't -study;" and yet when one day he comes home with one eye all colors of -the rainbow, "it's _nothing_." "Consistency is a jewel." Boys don't -generally wear jewels. But they are all alike. Boys will be boys, and if -they only live through it, they will some day look back and wonder at -their good fortune. - -At the foot of that long hill the "Town Brook" gurgles on its winding -way, and passing beneath the weather-beaten bridge, it makes a sudden -turn, and spreads into a glassy pond behind the bulwarks of the saw-mill -dam. In summer, were we as near as this, we would hear the intermittent -ring of the whizzing saw, the clanking cogs, and the tuneful sounds of -the falling bark-bound slabs; but now, like its bare willows that were -wont to wave their leafy boughs with caressing touch upon the mossy -roof, the old mill shows no sign of life. Its pulse is frozen, and the -silent wheel is resting from its labors beneath a coverlet of snow. Who -is there who has not in some recess of the memory a dear old haunt like -this, some such sleeping pond radiant with reflections of the scenes of -early life? Thither in those winter days we came, our numbers swelled -from right and left with eager volunteers for the game, till at last, -almost a hundred strong, we rally on the smooth black ice. - -[Illustration: SNOW-FLAKES OF MEMORY.] - -The opposing leaders choose their sides, and with loud hurrahs we -penetrate the thickets at the water's edge, each to cut his special -choice of stick--that festive cudgel, with curved and club-shaped end, -known to the boy as a "shinney-stick," but to the calm recollection of -after-life principally as an instrument of torture, indiscriminately -promiscuous in its playful moments. Were I to swing one of those dainty -little clubs again, I would rather that the end were tied up in -something soft, and that this should be the universal rule; otherwise I -don't think I would play. I would prefer to sit on the bank and watch -the sport, or make myself useful in looking after the dead and wounded. -But to the "average New England boy" it makes a great deal of difference -who swings the club, and what it is swung for. If it is whirled in -_play_, and takes him with a blow that _ought_ to kill him, and _would_ -if he were not a boy, why then he laughs, and thinks it's good fun, and -goes in and gets another. But if the parental guardian has any reason to -swing a stick even one-tenth the size, the whole neighborhood thinks -there is a boy being murdered. So much depends upon a name sometimes. - -[Illustration: THE OLD MILL-POND.] - -How clearly and distinctly I recall those toughening, rollicking sports -on the old mill-pond! I see the two opposing forces on the field of ice, -the wooden ball placed ready for the fray. The starter lifts his stick. -I hear a whizzing sweep. Then comes that liquid, twittering ditty of the -hard-wood ball skimming over the ice, that quick succession of bird-like -notes, first distinct and clear, now fainter and more blended, now -fainter still, until at last it melts into a whispered, quivering -whistle, and dies away amidst the scraping sound of the close-pursuing -skates. With a sharp crack I see the ball returned singing over the -polished surface, and met half-way by the advance-guard of the leading -side. The holder of the ball with rapid onward flight hugs close upon -his charge, keeping it at the end of his stick. Past one and another of -his adversaries he flies on winged skates, followed by a score of his -companions, until, seeing his golden opportunity, with one tremendous -effort he gives a powerful blow. To be sure, one of his own men -interposes the back of his head and takes half the force of his stroke; -but what does that matter, it was all in fun? besides, he had no -business to be in the way. The ball thus retarded in such a trivial -manner instantly meets a barricade of the excited opponents, who have -hurried thither to save their game; but before any one can gain the time -to strike the ball, the starters rush pell-mell upon them. Now comes the -tug of war. Strange fun! What a spectacle! The would-be striker, with -stick uplifted, jammed in the centre of a boisterous throng; the -hill-sides echo with ringing shouts, and an anxious circle with ready -sticks forms about the swaying, gesticulating mob. Meanwhile the ball -is beating round beneath their feet, their skates are clashing steel on -steel. I hear the shuffling kicks, the battling strokes of clubs, the -husky mutterings of passion half suppressed; I hear the panting breath -and the impetuous whisperings between the teeth, as they push and -wrestle and jam. A lucky hit now sends the ball a few feet from the -fray. A ready hand improves the chance; but as he lifts his stick a -youngster's nose gets in the way and spoils his stroke; he slips, and -falls upon the ball; another and another plunge headlong over him. The -crowd surround the prostrate pile, and punch among them for the ball. -When found, the same riotous scene ensues; another falls, and all are -trampled under foot by the enthusiastic crowd. Ye gods! will any one -come out alive? I hear the old familiar sounds vibrating on the air: -whack! whack! "Ouch!" "Get out of the way, then!" "Now I've got it!" -"Shinney on yer own side!" and now a heavy thud! which means a sudden -damper on some one's wild enthusiasm. And so it goes until the game is -won. The mob disperses, and the riotous spectacle gives place to -uproarious jollity. - -There are other more tranquil reflections from that old mill-pond. Do -you not remember the little pair of dainty skates whose straps you -clasped on daintier feet; the quiet, gliding strolls through the -secluded nooks; the small, refractory buckle which you so often stooped -to conquer; and the sidelong grimaces of less fortunate swains--sneers -that brought the color tingling to your cheeks with mingled pride and -anger? Ah! things so near the heart as these can never freeze. - -Yonder, just below that clustered group of pines, where the water-weeds -and lily-pads are frozen in the ice, we chopped our fishing holes, and -with baited lines and tip-ups set, we waited, wondering what our luck -would be. With eager eyes we watched the line play out, or saw the -tip-up give the warning sign. And as with anxious pull we neared the end -of the tightening cord, who shall describe that tingling sense of joy at -the first glimpse of the gaping pickerel? - -Near by I see the yellow-fringed witch-hazel bending in graceful spray -over the flaky, bordering ice, that mystic shrub whose feathery winter -blooms we gathered as a token for the little one with dainty skates. - -Still farther up the pond the marbled button-wood-tree, with spreading -limbs and knotty brooms of branchlets, rises clear against the sky, its -little pendulums swinging away the winter moments. At its very roots the -dam spreads into a tufted swamp, thick-set with alders. How often have I -picked my way through that wheezing, soggy marsh in quest of the rare -Cecropia cocoons; treading among glazed air-chambers, whose roof of ice, -like a pane of brittle glass, falls in at my approach--a crystal fairy -grotto, set with diamonds and frost ferns, annihilated at a step. - -Here, too, the sagacious musk-rat built his cemented dome, and along the -neighboring shore we set the chained steel-traps, or made the ponderous -dead-fall from nature's rude materials. Yonder, in the side-hill woods, -I set the big box rabbit-traps; with keen-edged jack-knife trimmed the -slender hickory poles, and on the ground near by, with sharpened, -branching sticks, I built the little pens for my twitch-up snares. Can -I ever forget the fascinating excitement which sped me on from snare to -snare in those tramps through the snowy woods, the exhilarating buoyancy -of that delicious suspense, every nerve and every muscle on the _qui -vive_ in my eagerness for the captured game! Even the memory of it acts -like a tonic, and almost creates an appetite like that of old. - -And then the lovely woods. How few there are who ever seek their winter -solitude: and of these how fewer still are they who find anything but -drear and cold monotony! - -We read the literature of our time, and find it rich in story of the -home aspects of winter; of Christmas joys and festivals, of holiday -festivities, and all the various phases of cosy domestic life; but not -often are we tempted from the glowing hearth into the wilds of the bare -and leafless forest. We read of the "drear and lonely waste, the -cheerless desolation of the howling wilderness," and we look out upon -the naked, shivering trees and draw our cushioned rockers closer to the -grateful fire. - -[Illustration: THE FIRST SNOW.] - -Not I; bitter were the winds and high the piled-up drifts that shut me -in from out-of-doors in those glorious days; and whether on my animated -trapping tours, or hunting on the crusted snow, with powder-horn and -game-bag swinging at my side, or perhaps pressing through the tangled -thickets in my impetuous search for those pendulous cocoons, now -stopping to tear away the loosening bark on moss-grown stump, now -looking beneath some prostrate board for the little "woolly bears" -curled up in their dormant sleep: no matter what my purpose, always I -was sure to find the winter full of interest and beauty. How distinctly -I recall the thrilling spectacle of that glad morning when, awakening -early, and jumping from the little cot so snug and warm, I tripped -across the chilly floor and scratched a peep-hole on the frosted -window-pane; looked out upon a world so changed, so strangely beautiful, -that at first it seemed like a lingering vision in half-awakened -eyes--still looking into dream-land. All the world is dressed in purest -white, as soft and light as down from seraphs' wings. The orchard trees, -the elms, and all the leafless shrubs, as if by magic spell, transformed -to shadowy plumes of spotless purity, and the interlacing boughs -o'erhead vanishing in a canopy of glistening, feathery spray. I look -upon a realm celestial in its beauty, unprofaned by earthly sign or -sound. A strange, supernal stillness fills the air; and save where some -unseen spirit-wing tips the slender twig and lets fall the scintillating -shower, no slightest movement mars the enchanted vision. Above, in the -far-off blue, I see the circling flock of doves, their snowy wings -glittering in their upward flight--apt emblems in a scene so like a -glimpse of spirit-land. A single vision such as this should wed the -heart to winter's loveliness, a loveliness inspiring and immaculate, for -never in the cycle of the year does nature wear a face so void of -earthly impress, so spirit-like, so near the heavenly ideal. - -One of the most striking features of the winter ramble in the woods is -their impressive stillness. But stop awhile and listen. That very -silence will give emphasis to every sound that soon shall vibrate on the -clear atmosphere, for "little pitchers have big ears," and wide-open -eyes too. They will first be sure that the stick you hold is only a -cane, and not the small boy's gun which they have so learned to dread. -Hark! even from the hollow maple at your side there comes a scraping -sound, and in an instant more two black and shining eyes are peering -down at us from the bulging hole above. Tut! don't strike the little -fellow. Had you only waited a moment longer, we would have seen him -emerge from his concealment, and with frisky, bushy tail laid flat upon -the bark, he would have hung head downward on the trunk, and watched our -every movement; but now you've startled him, he thinks you mean -mischief, and you'll see his sparkling eyes no more at that knot-hole. -Listen! Now we hear a rustling in the sere and snow-tipped weeds -somewhere near by, and presently a little feathery form flits past, and -settles yonder on the swaying rush. With feathers ruffled into a little -fuzzy ball, he bustles around among the downy seeds, now prying in their -midst, now hanging underneath, head up, head down, no matter which, -it's all the same to him. Now he stops short in his busy search, turns -his little head jauntily from side to side, lifts his tufted crest, and -sets free his pent-up glee--"See! see! see me sing! Chickadee-dee-dee!" -Who has not heard that wee small voice ringing in the frosty air? and -who, having heard it, has not longed to catch and cuddle that little -feathery puff, the winter's own darling, whose little warm heart and -sprightly song temper the chill and enliven the cheerless days? - -[Illustration: MUTE PROPHECIES.] - -The bending rush but lightly feels the dainty form, and, if at all, it -must delight to bear so sweet a burden. How dearly have I learned to -love this little fellow, perhaps my special favorite among the birds; -for while the others one by one desert us with the dying year for scenes -more bright and sunny, the chickadee is content to share our lot; he is -constant, always with us, ever full of sprightliness and cheer. No -winter is known in his warm heart, no piercing blast can freeze the -fountain of his song. - -How often in the woods and by-ways have I stopped and chatted with this -diminutive friend as he nestled in some oscillating spray of golden-rod, -or perhaps with jaunty strut shook down the new-fallen snow from some -drooping branch of hemlock. I say "chatted," for he is a talkative and -entertaining little fellow, always ready to tell people "all about it," -if they will only ask him. He is generally too busy searching amid the -dead and crumpled leaves for the indispensable _bug_ to intrude himself -on any one; but once draw him into conversation and he will do his share -of the talking--only, mind you, remove those big fur gloves and tippet, -or he will put you to shame by crying, "See! see!" and showing you his -little, bare feet. This pert atom can be saucy and cross if things don't -exactly suit his fancy; and, for whatever reason, he always seems out of -patience at the sight of a _man_ all bundled up and mittened. I have -noticed this repeatedly. "Take off some of those things," he seems to -say, "and let me see who you are, and then I'll talk with you," and with -feathers puffed up like an indignant hen in miniature, he scolds and -scolds. - -Then there are the little snow-birds, too. When the sad autumn days are -upon us, when the dying leaves with ominous flush yield up their hold on -life, and are borne to earth on wailing winds, and all nature seems -filled with mocking phantoms of the summer's life and loveliness; when -we listen for the robin's song and hear it not, or the thrush's -bell-like trill, and listen in vain; when we look into the southern sky -and see the winged flocks departing behind the faded hills--it is at -such a time, while the very air seems weighed with melancholy, that the -snow-birds come with their welcome, twittering voices. All winter long -these sprightly little fellows swarm the thickets and sheltering -evergreens, frolicking in the new-fallen snow like sparrows in a summer -pool. Sometimes they unite in flocks with the chickadees and invade the -orchard, and even the kitchen door-yard, with their ceaseless chatter. -If you open the window and scatter a few crumbs upon the porch, they -are soon hopping among the grateful morsels with twittering -thankfulness. And on a very cold day, should you leave the kitchen -window standing open, they will perch upon the sill and preen their -ruffled feathers. Always trusting and confiding when appreciated, but -often coy and distant for want of just such kindness. - -[Illustration: THE TWITCH-UP.] - -Although loving the cold, and choosing the winter season to be with us, -the snow-birds cannot hold their own against the little hardy chickadee. -Indeed, I sometimes think that this little frost-proof puff is happier -and more sprightly in proportion as the cold increases, and that even -the sight of a frozen thermometer would be, perhaps, an especial -inspiration for his song. Not so the little snow-birds. When those raw -and bitter winds sweep like a blight over the face of nature, their -little song is frozen, and their familiar forms are seen no more. You -hunt amid the evergreens and hedge-rows, but they are not there. But -when the shingle-vane on the old barn-gable veers and points toward the -south or west, should you chance to be in the neighborhood of the -barrack mow, you would hear the muffled twittering of the little thawing -voices underneath the conical roof. Here they have assembled among the -wheat-sheaves still unthreshed, finding a warm and cosy shelter--"a -pavilion till the storm is overpast." - -The winter woods are full of life and beauty, if we will only look for -them. We do as much for the summer woods, why not for the winter? Were -we to seclude ourselves in-doors in June, and shut our eyes to all its -loveliness, it would be only what so many do from November till the -budding spring. In one respect, at least, the woods are even more -beautiful in winter than in summer; for in their height of leafy -splendor--sometimes to me almost oppressive in its universal -greenness--the true and living tree is hidden from sight, its exquisite -anatomy is concealed, and, to a certain degree, all the different trees -melt into a mass of "nothing but leaves." - -No one ever sees the full charm of the forest who turns his back upon it -in the winter, for its clear-cut tree-forms are an unceasing delight and -wonder. Look at the exquisite lines of that drooping birch, the -intricate interlacing tracery of the minute branching twigs! Could -anything be more graceful or more chaste? could any covering of leaves -enhance its beauty? And so the apple-tree by the old stone wall--how -different its various angles! how individual in its character! how -beautiful its silhouette against the sky! Thus every separate tree -affords a perfect study, of infinite design. See that mottled beech -trunk yonder. What! never noticed it before? That was because its -drooping leaf-clad branches concealed its beauty; but now not only does -it emerge from its wonted obscurity, but the whiteness of the snowy -ground beyond gives added value to every subtle tint upon its dappled -surface. Step nearer. With what variety of exquisite tender grays has -nature painted the clean smooth bark! See those marbled variegations, -each spot with a distinct tint of its own, and each tint composed of a -multitude of microscopic points of color. Here we see a fimbriated -blotch of dark olive moss, spreading its intertwining rootlets in all -directions, and further up a spongy tuft of rich brown lichen tipped -with snow. Who could pass by unnoticed such a refined and exquisite bit -of painting as this? And yet they abound on every side. See the shingly -shagbark, with its mottlings of pale green lichen and orange spots, its -jagged outline so perfectly relieved against the snow, and, beyond, that -group of rock-maples, with its bold contrasts of deep green moss, and -striped tints of most varied shades, from lightest drab to deepest -brown. And there is the yellow birch with its tight-wound bark, fringed -with ravellings of buff-colored satin. Here we come upon a clump of -chestnuts, their cool trunks set off in bold relief against a background -of dark hemlocks, whose outer branches, clothed in snow, like tufted -mittens, hang low upon the ground. - -[Illustration: THE WINTER'S DARLING.] - -Passing from the wood, we now pick our way through a neglected by-path -shut in on either side with birches, whose brown and slender branches -spring from a trunk so white as to be almost lost in the background tint -of snow. At every step we dislodge the glistening wreaths of snowy -flakes from the bluish raspberry canes. The little withered nests on the -tips of the wild-carrot stems hurl their fleecy burden to the ground; -and each in turn the phantom shapes give place to homely yarrows, -golden-rods, or thistles. Further on we see a wild-rose branch with -scarlet berries, and further st--What's that? A fleet-footed little -creature darts out almost from under our very feet, and bounds away into -the dark recess. That little cotton tail! what a tempting target it -always was for me! Lucky for you, my dear little fellow, that I am not a -boy again, or I'd set a snare for you in about ten minutes. This always -was a favorite haunt for hares, and if we had only kept our eyes open we -might have known it, for, see! all around us the snow is dotted with -hollows from their four little jumping foot-pads. - -[Illustration: "WHO'S THAT?"] - -Now we enter the old swamp lot, thick-set with bristling bulrushes and -bare and spindling brooms of iron-weed. Here is the little turtle pond, -from whose animated mud we fished the bugs and polly-wogs for our -aquarium. Now it is shrunken and cold with crackling ice. Around its -borders a thicket of black alder grows, its close-clinging scarlet -berries, half hid in summer by the overhanging foliage, now seen in all -their brilliancy and profusion, the brightest touches of color in -nature's winter landscape. - -Soon we are walking over the soft and silent carpet in the pine grove's -sombre shelter, stopping for one brief moment to listen to the sighing -wind overhead, and to inhale one long and lasting whiff of the delicious -invigorating aroma of the trees. - -Once more out in the open, our attention is arrested by a little stain -of blood upon the snow. Leading to the spot we see a row of tiny -imprints of some little field-mouse, and the white surface in close -vicinity is ruffled and disturbed. A cruel tragedy has been committed -here, and its evidence is plain, for there is but one line of wee -footprints from the little hole beneath the stump near by--no return. -Poor little fellow! I wish I had beneath my foot the sharp-eyed owl that -surprised you in your little antics on the snow. - -[Illustration: SUNSHINE AND SHADOW IN THE WOODS.] - -A deserted nest now hangs across our pathway, and as I look upon the -cold heap within its hollow, I wonder where are the little birds that -nestled beneath the mother's wings in the cosy warmth of that cradled -home only a few short months ago. And now I am reminded that nearly all -this land through which we have been strolling belongs to Nathan Beers; -for there's his house right across the road, only a few rods in front of -us. I cannot help but laugh as I look over into that old door-yard at -the incident it recalls. - -I remember how, about fifteen years ago, I came up through these very -woods into the clearing where we stand, and saw old Nathan, with -slouched straw hat and stoga boots, entering his front gate. He was -muttering and gesticulating to himself; and on the gravel behind him he -trailed along a huge steel trap and clinking chain. He evidently had a -strong opinion on _some_ subject, and I knew pretty well what that -subject _was_. - -"Hello, Nathan!" I ask, "what's up?" - -He turns quickly, and I observe that his usually good-natured Yankee -face now wears a troubled expression. - -"My dander's up--that's what's up," he replies, a little sullenly. - -"They tell me you've been after a fox, Nathan; did you catch him?" - -"No, 'n I don't cal'late to try agin nuther, he's _airnt his livi'_ fer -all _me_;" and with an impetuous fling he sent the old trap into a -corner of the wood-shed. - -I am soon by his side, anxious to hear all about it. "What's the fox -done?" I ask, eagerly. - -"What _hain't_ he done, yeu better say. I never see nuthin' t' beat it -since uz born, 'n I've ketched tew er three on 'em afore naow, teu. I've -heern tell o' them critters' cunnin', but I swaiou I alliz thort ez haow -folks wuz _coddi'_; but _thar_, yeu can't tell me nuthin' 'baout -_foxes_. It's nigh cum a fortnit thet I've been arter thet feller, 'n I -swar teu gosh all hemlock! I hain't got so much's one on his pesky red -hairs teu _show_ for't, 'n I'm _sick_ on't. I tell ye that ar feller is -_mischievouser than pizen_, 'n his hed's as long as a horse's." - -"Why, what's he been doing, Nathan?" - -[Illustration: A SUNNY CORNER.] - -"_Doin'?_ why fer considerable of a spell back he's bin hangin' raoun' -my hen-roost an' pickin' off my brammys; thet's what he's bin doin', 'n -the _fust_ time I sot the trap I stuck it under some chaff in the hole -yender in the hen-haouse jest arter the hens hed gone ter -roost--cal'latin' as haow I'd wait a spell, 'n then go 'n take it away. -I thort that 'ud fetch him sure; but _thar_, deu yeu b'leeve, I heern -thet feller cum' sneakin' along putty soon, 'n he cum' raoun' to t'other -side 'n scairt all the hens aout the hole. I heern a great squawkin', 'n -I put fer the place ez tight ez I cud, 'n thar I see my best dorkin' hen -in the trap. Ef I'd only gyn the feller time, like's not he'd a chawed -off her leg, 'n lugged her off to his hole in the rocks yender. I tell -ye, everybody araoun' what's got hens hez hed to take thet feller's -sass, 'n they'd orter be an end on't. There's old Reuben Scales, so poor -he hain't got a pa'r o' pants teu his back, 'n dependin' on his faowls -fer his meat vittles; why, they tell me daown t' the store thet he's bin -jest _cleaned right aout_, 'n hain't got even a ha'r-backed pullet left. -They ain't no _gunni'_ nuther. Thet red-haired thief hez knabbed every -tarnal pattridge 'n Bob White they iz." - -And so he went on for half an hour, telling me all the various -stratagems by which Reynard had outwitted him. - -"I set it thar in the pine woods in a bed of pine needles, with the ded -rabbit hangin' over it, 'n the next day I see by the scratched up dirt -haow the feller hed jumped clean over the trap at a _lick_, 'n taken his -rabbit on a fly. Yeu kin laff; but what I'm tellin' ye is az true az -preachin'. So yest'd'y I lit aout on a new idee, 'n set the trap on top -a stump cluss teu a tree 'n covered it with leaves. I hung the bait on -the tree higher up, 'n sez I, old feller, I've got ye naow, sez I. I -left it thar. I went daown thar agin this mornin', 'n I've _jest cum_ -from thar. _No more fox fer me_; s'elp me gosh!" - -"Why," I ask, "what was the matter down there, Nathan?" - -"Why, _blame my stogys_, ef the feller hadn't gone 'n highsted the -clog-stick on the end o' the chain, 'n shoved it agin the pan, 'n sprung -the trap on't, 'n then stepped up and knabbed the bait. An' I say thet -enny feller what's got brains enuff fer thet, I swaiou he'd oughter -_live_ off'n um; 'n he _kin_ fer all _me_!" - -[Illustration: WINTER BROWSING.] - -It was too bad to have fooled old Nathan so; but then, you see, he had a -big farm, and was awfully stingy with us boys, and never would let us -set a rabbit snare on his place. He said it was "pesky _cruel_," and -seemed to prefer the more humane way of wounding them with shot, and -breaking their necks afterward to end their sufferings. Nathan had kept -very quiet about his little game. There really was a very sly fox in the -neighborhood; but boys make good foxes too, sometimes. - -[Illustration: A JANUARY THAW.] - -Nathan's house was a typical New England home, with slanting roof on one -side, and embowered in maples, and it had the most picturesque barn in -the neighborhood. Oh you good people far off in the country everywhere, -how I envy you these dear old barns! How much you ought to appreciate -their homely rustic beauty! But you never will, until, like me, you are -forced to live away from them, and to see them only through the golden -haze of memory. Then you will learn how great a part they took in -influencing your daily life and happiness. - -Was ever perfume sweeter than that all-pervading fragrance of the -sweet-scented hay? and was ever an interior so truly picturesque, so -full of quiet harmony? - -The lofty hay-mows piled nearly to the roof, the jagged axe-notched -beams overhung with cobwebs flecked with dust of hay-seed, with perhaps -a downy feather here and there. The rude, quaint hen boxes, with the -lone nest-egg in little nooks and corners. How vividly, how lovingly, I -recall each one! - -In those snow-bound days, when the white flakes shut in the earth down -deep beneath, and the drifts obstructed the highways, and we heard the -noisy teamsters, with snap of whip and exciting shouts, urge their -straining oxen through the solid barricade; when all the fences and -stone walls were almost lost to sight in the universal avalanche; and, -best of all, when the little district school-house upon the hill stood -in an impassable sea of snow--then we assembled in the old barn to play, -sought out every hidden corner in our game of hide-and-seek, or jumped -and frolicked in the hay, now stopping quietly to listen to the tiny -squeak of some rustling mouse near by, or, it may be, creeping -cautiously to the little hole up near the eaves in search of the -big-eyed owl we once caught napping there. In a hundred ways we passed -the fleeting hours. The general features of New England barns are all -alike; and the barn of memory is a garner full of treasure sweet as -new-mown hay. You remember the great broad double doors, which made -their sweeping circuit in the snow; the ruddy pumpkins, piled up in the -corner near the bins, and the wistful whinny of the old farm-horse, as -with pricked-up ears and eager pull of chain he urged your prompt -attention to your chores; the cows, too, in the manger stalls--how -pleasant their low breathing--how sweet their perfumed breath! Outside -the corn-crib stands, its golden stores gleaming through the open laths, -and the oxen, reaching with lapping upturned tongues, yearn for the -tempting feast, "so near and yet so far." The party-colored hens group -themselves in rich contrast against the sunny boards of the -weather-beaten shed, and the ducks and geese, with rattling croak and -husky hiss, and quick vibrating tails (that strange contagion), waddle -across the slushy snow, and sail out upon the barn-yard pond. - -Here is the pile of husks from whose bleached and rustling sheaths you -picked the little ravellings of brown for your corn-silk cigarettes. Did -ever "pure Havana" taste as sweet? - -[Illustration: THE MOONLIGHT RIDE.] - -Near by we see the barracks stored with yellow sheaves of wheat. Soon we -shall hear the intermittent music of the beating flail on the old barn -floor, now chinking soft on the broken sheaf, now loud and clear on the -sounding boards. Upon the roof above we see the cooing doves, with -nodding heads and necks gleaming with iridescent sheen. Turning, in -another corner we look upon a miscellaneous group of ploughs and rakes -and all the farm utensils, and harness hanging on the wooden pegs. -There, too, is the little sleigh we love so well. Could it but speak, -how sweet a story it could tell of lovely drives through romantic glens -and moonlit woods, of tender squeezes of the little hand beneath the -covering robe, of whispered vows, and of the encircling arm--a shelter -from the cold and cruel wind! But no--I'll say no more: these are -memories too sacred for the common ear. And there's the carry-all sleigh -just by its side. How well you'll remember the merry loads it carried, -its three wide seats and space between packed full of jolly company! How -the hard-pressed snow squeaked beneath the gliding runners, as with -prancing span and jingling bells you sped down through the village -street, with waving handkerchiefs and cheerful greetings right and left! -How with "ducking" heads and muffled screams you ran the gauntlet past -the school-house mob; saw them scrambling for "a hitch," and with -tantalizing beckonings tipped your horses with the whip. Away you go -through the deep ravine, with a _jing, jing, jing_ on the frosty air, -with voices high in merry laughs, amid loud hurrahs from the -"boysterous" crowd now far behind. Now you speed through a mist of -drifting snow, and the rosy cheeks tingle with the stinging icy flakes -flying before the wind. Now comes another chorus of piercing screams, as -the laden hemlock bough, tapped with mischievous whip, hurls down its -fleecy avalanche on coat and robe, on jaunty little hat--yes, and on a -small pink ear, and even down a pretty neck. Ah me! How is it possible -that a shriek like that could come from a throat so fair? But so you go, -with a _jing, jing, jing_, now past the mill-pond with its game, now up -the hill, now through the woods and far away, now farther still, the -silvery bells now scarcely heard, now fainter yet, till lost to sight -and sound--but not to memory dear; for all through life we shall hear -those happy jingling bells. - -And when, with ruddy faces and stamping feet, we all rush in and crowd -the old fireplace, how welcome the glowing warmth, how keen the relish -for the appetizing spread upon the snow-white table-cloth: the smoking -dish of beans, with crisp accompaniment of luscious pork; the hot brown -bread so sweet; and, last of all, the far-famed Indian pudding, fresh -and steaming from the old brick oven! - -How distinctly I recall those long and happy evenings around that -radiant hearth, the games, the stories read from welcome magazines! -Little we cared for the howling storm without. I hear the tick of the -ancient clock in the corner shadowed by the old arm-chair; I see the -glimmer on the whitewashed wall, the festooned strings of apples, sliced -and hung above the fire to dry; I hear the patient, expectant stroke of -hammer on the upturned log, and now the crackling burst of the -rough-shelled butternut, yielding up its long and filmy kernel; I hear -the apples sizzling on the hearth, the puffy snap of pop-corn jumping in -its fiery cage, the kettle singing on the pendent hook--a thousand -things; and what a precious living picture of sweet home-life they all -bring back to me! - -But look! there is another hidden picture in the book of life--a -shadowed page, which we had well-nigh forgotten. See that crouching -figure in the dark, deserted street--that spurned and wretched outcast, -without a home, without a friend! Perhaps if that broken heart has not -already ceased to yearn, if the last spark has not yet been smothered by -the driving, covering snow, we might still hear the faint and stifled -sobs: - -[Illustration: THE SHADOWED PAGE.] - - "Once I was loved for my innocent grace, - Flattered and sought for the charm of my face. - Father, mother, sisters, all, - God, and myself, I have lost in my fall. - The veriest wretch that goes shivering by - Will take a wide sweep lest I wander too nigh, - For of all that is on or about me, I know, - There is nothing that's pure but the beautiful snow. - How strange it should be that this beautiful snow - Should fall on a sinner with nowhere to go! - How strange it would be, when the night comes again, - If the snow and the ice struck my desperate brain, - Fainting, freezing, dying alone!" - -Life's book is full of shadowed pages such as this; and it were well if -in the midst of our contented homes, around our cheerful fires, we -stopped to think and give a silent, heart-felt prayer for those who, by -some strange, inexplicable fatality, seem doomed to walk with cruel -burdens and with bleeding feet the path of life: no helping hand, no -friend, no hope, no God. - -What a terrible night! Hark how the wind moans, like a long wail from -some despairing soul shut out in the awful storm! The air is filled with -dense clouds of flying snow and sleet chased along by the gale. The -trees bend and writhe, and, as if in fear, scratch their boughs upon the -roof; the driving flakes beat with an angry, hissing sound upon the -window-panes, and for a moment there is a muffled, ominous silence. Now -comes a wild and furious gust, and a great white whirlwind sweeps with -serpentine contortions past the window and disappears in the thick -darkness of the night. Our very walls sway and tremble to their -foundation. The clap-boards snap, and some loosened blind is torn from -its hinges and hurled as a feather before the raging wind. We hear a -crash of breaking glass, the shaking of the old barn doors, and now a -frightened neigh, half smothered in the storm. - -Who would venture out in such a night as this? We shudder at the -thought, and yet there is one whose holy sense of duty will see no -barrier even in this fierce tempest. Even now he is urging his faithful -horse onward through the lonely road, cold and benumbed, but thinking -only of the suffering he hopes to relieve. - -How well I remember the welcome stamping at the front door, the chinking -rattle of the tin box sounding nearer and nearer up the stairs, the tall -and stately figure entering the room, clad in great-coat reaching nearly -to the floor, the genial smile bringing both hope and comfort with its -very presence! And what a noble face! the shapely forehead, the snowy -tufts of close-cut hair, the magnetic, penetrating eyes, so deep and -dark, looking out from beneath the heavy jet-black brows, and the -clean-shaven cheeks and chin, of almost child-like bloom, relieved -against the whiteness of the stock about the throat! Never before were -winter and summer so strangely and beautifully blended in a human face. -But we shall see that face no more. Physician, friend, companion, all -were laid away with him, and sad indeed was the day that bore him from -us. And now, as I look down upon that humble grave, I would that others, -with the reverence I feel, might read the sacred epitaph inscribed upon -my memory, of one whose only aim through life was the relief of -suffering and sorrow. In storm or calm, by day or night, he fulfilled -his holy mission. And when the fearful scourge swept o'er the town, and -filled its homes with woe; when friends deserted friends, and brothers -left their kin, this noble soul sought out the sick and dying, cared -tenderly for their sufferings until the end, and even laid the dead away -alone. A life of sacrifice, for rich or poor alike, without a thought of -self. Professing no religious faith--yea, _doubting_ even; but finding -in the precept of the "golden rule" an inspiration worthy the devotion -and the effort of his life: "By their _fruits_ ye shall know them." - -[Illustration: THE GOOD PHYSICIAN.] - -And so the winter goes. It has its joys and its sorrows, its strong -contrasts of light and shadow. The bitter winds will freeze and rule the -earth, but the sun will shine again, and the very gloom transform to -glittering splendor. Soon we greet the lengthening days. The farmer -heeds the warning sign. The woods resound with the stroke of the axe and -crashing of falling trees; and the prostrate trunks are rolled upon the -sledge and hauled away "to mill;" the fields are strewn with compost, -and meadows sown with clover on the snow, fences are fixed, and hot-bed -started on the sunny slope; the cackling hens have felt the prophecy, -and steal away into snug little places among the hay-mows and the -mangers, and lay the foundation of their future brood; the climbing -bitter-sweet lets fall its scarlet seeds, and the little pussies on the -willows grow day by day. How eagerly I always watched these welcome -signs! for even though I loved the winter, I never sorrowed at its -departure in the face of coming spring, with its promises of the medleys -of the birds, of unfolding buds, and those sweet shy faces soon to peep -along the wood-path, and breathe their fragrance from among the withered -leaves. - -I remember, too, the faded butterfly, flitting about the wood-shed roof. -His wings were torn and jagged at their edges, and their feathery beauty -had nearly all been left among last summer's flowers. Warned by November -frosts, he had sought his winter shelter in some chink or crevice among -the loosened boards, where, benumbed and dormant, he had spent the -winter, awaiting the warmth of the returning sun to thaw him out, and -once more coax him into the outer world. As early as February, should -the day be mild, he would come out of his mysterious concealment and -bask in the warm sunshine. Presently he alights upon the end of a -birch-log in the wood-pile, and sips the sweet exuding sap. He is soon -joined by another, and another, until a swarm has gathered at the feast. -As the day declines, they retire again to the wood-shed, and there, -huddled together on the rafters, await their next opportunity of mild -and sunny weather. Even in a January thaw I have seen one of these faded -butterflies that had left his hiding-place to tantalize a troop of hens -around the barn-yard door. - -I remember the torrent of rain and the freshet; the broken dams and -bridges washed away. The softened ground yielded up its subterranean -frosts; in all the trees the winter wounds bled with the quickened -pulse; the elder spigots in the sugar-maples trickled all the day; and -the neighboring farms echoed with the snap of whip and voice of eager -teamsters, as the busy plough turned the dark-brown furrows, or the -crushing harrow combed the crumbling mould. How welcome were the -evidences of returning life among the low meadow-lands, where -velvety-green tufts of sprouting grass circled the borders of the marshy -pools, and the golden willow twigs bathed the brook-side in a luminous -glow! Here, too, the alders hung their swinging tassels or trailed them -o'er the surface of the swollen stream. - -One by one the feathered flocks returned, and the little snow-birds and -the buntings, seeing their place usurped, left for the northward -region, to lend their cheerful voices to another winter. Then came a -beautiful day, with mild, earth-scented breezes, like very spring. But -at night the north wind came again to reassert its power, and the earth -was once more subdued beneath the snow. And so for weeks the north wind -battled with the sun, - -[Illustration: - - Till at last the sweet Arbutus - Nestling close on Nature's breast - Felt a throb a warm pulsation - Rouse it from its dreamy rest - - Throwing wide its little portals - From its coverlet of snow - It peeped forth from the leafy shelter - Into a valley white below - - "Am I dreaming? Shall the Winter - Stifle and freeze my early breath - Nay hark! I hear the Bluebird singing - 'Spring has come' he answereth - - "Ah! Frost-flower in thy grotto yonder - Crystal sun-gem white and clear - Thy reign must cease when I awaken - Farewell! pale bloom thy fate draws near - - Bleak Winter is thine - Love's Spring-time is mine -] - - - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Pastoral Days, by William Hamilton Gibson - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PASTORAL DAYS *** - -***** This file should be named 41278-8.txt or 41278-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/1/2/7/41278/ - -Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images available at The Internet Archive) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Thus, we do not necessarily -keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. - - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: - - http://www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/41278-8.zip b/41278-8.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index eee34be..0000000 --- a/41278-8.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/41278-h.zip b/41278-h.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index e770384..0000000 --- a/41278-h.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/41278.txt b/41278.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 45cce83..0000000 --- a/41278.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,4122 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Pastoral Days, by William Hamilton Gibson - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: Pastoral Days - or Memories of a New England Year - -Author: William Hamilton Gibson - -Release Date: November 3, 2012 [EBook #41278] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PASTORAL DAYS *** - - - - -Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images available at The Internet Archive) - - - - - - - - -PASTORAL DAYS - - - - -PASTORAL DAYS -OR -MEMORIES OF A NEW ENGLAND YEAR - -BY - -W. HAMILTON GIBSON - -Illustrated - -NEW YORK - -HARPER & BROTHERS, FRANKLIN SQUARE - -1881 - -Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1880, by - -HARPER & BROTHERS, - -In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. - -_All rights reserved._ - - -TO - -ONE WHOSE CLOSE COMPANIONSHIP - -HAS WROUGHT THAT HARMONY AND PEACE OF MIND FROM WHICH THIS -BOOK HAS SPRUNG, AND TO WHOM ITS EVERY PAGE RECALLS -A REMINISCENCE OF THE PAST IDENTIFIED -WITH MEMORIES OF MY OWN - -This Memoir is Lovingly Inscribed - -OUR SOUVENIR - -[Illustration] - - - - -THE CYCLE. - - -SPRING: PAGE - -_The Awakening_.....19 - -SUMMER: - -_The Consummation_.....51 - -AUTUMN: - -_The Waning_.....91 - -WINTER: - -_The Sleep_.....125 - - - - -ILLUSTRATIONS. - -DESIGNED BY W. HAMILTON GIBSON. - - -TITLE. ENGRAVER.....PAGE - -THE KINDLED FLAME W. H. CLARK.....18 - -THE AWAKENING H. GRAY.....19 - -A SPRING MORNING F. S. KING.....21 - -CATKINS JOHN FILMER.....23 - -PUSSIES " ".....23 - -EARLY PLOUGHING H. WOLF.....25 - -THE RETURN FROM THE FIELDS GEORGE SMITH.....26 - -VOICES OF THE NIGHT JOHN FILMER.....27 - -A RAINY DAY J. HELLAWELL.....29 - -A HANDFUL FROM THE WOODS H. GRAY.....32 - -AFTER ARBUTUS J. TINKEY.....34 - -THE FAIRY FROND J. P. DAVIS.....35 - -AN APRIL DAY GEORGE SMITH.....36 - -AMONG THE WILD FLOWERS SMITHWICK and FRENCH.....37 - -THE COLUMBINE R. HOSKIN.....38 - -THE MEADOW BROOK " ".....40 - -THE PHOEBE'S NEST W. H. MORSE.....41 - -BUILDING THE NEST HENRY MARSH.....42 - -IN THE APPLE ORCHARD R. HOSKIN.....43 - -LITTLE PLUNDERERS A. HAYMAN.....45 - -ONE OF NATURE'S MARVELS H. MARSH.....46 - -BLUE-FLAGS R. HOSKIN.....47 - -THE CONSUMING FLAME W. H. CLARK.....50 - -THE CONSUMMATION N. ORR.....51 - -DOLCE FAR NIENTE F. S. KING.....55 - -THE OLD GARRET F. JUENGLING.....56 - -AMID THE GRASSES F. S. KING.....58 - -EVEN-TIDE G. KRUELL.....60 - -THROUGH THE SEDGES R. HOSKIN.....62 - -AMONG THE BOGS J. TINKEY.....63 - -SOME ART CONNOISSEURS R. HOSKIN.....64 - -PROFESSOR WIGGLER J. FILMER.....65 - -THE TYRANT OF THE FIELDS H. E. SCHULTZ.....67 - -FAMILIAR FACES AT THE -VILLAGE STORE R. A. MULLER.....70 - -A SOUVENIR SMITHWICK and FRENCH.....72 - -ALONG THE HOUSATONIC GEORGE SMITH.....74 - -JUDD'S BRIDGE P. ANNIN.....78 - -THE HAUNTED MILL J. HELLAWELL.....79 - -PURSUERS AND PURSUED GEORGE ANDREW.....81 - -TOLLING FOR THE DEAD R. SCHELLING.....83 - -WRECKS OF THE TORNADO J. FILMER.....84 - -PASSING THOUGHTS H. GRAY.....86 - -THE SMOULDERING FLAME " ".....90 - -THE WANING A. HAYMAN.....91 - -"EVERY BREEZE A SIGH" F. S. KING.....93 - -AN OCTOBER DAY SMITHWICK and FRENCH.....96 - -A WAY-SIDE PASTORAL J. HELLAWELL.....97 - -WAIFS HENRY MARSH.....100 - -IN THE CORNFIELD W. MILLER.....102 - -THE ROAD TO THE MILL E. HELD.....105 - -THE CIDER-MILL J. P. DAVIS.....107 - -THE "LINE STORM" R. HOSKIN.....109 - -A POINTED REMINDER J. FILMER.....111 - -AFTER THE SHELL-BARKS GEORGE SMITH.....113 - -A CORNER OF THE FARM J. TINKEY.....115 - -BEECH-NUTTING W. H. MORSE.....118 - -THE NORTH WIND MORSE and HOSKIN.....120 - -DESERTED HENRY DEIS.....121 - -THE FLAME EXTINGUISHED H. GRAY.....124 - -THE SLEEP J. TINKEY.....125 - -THE TOMB J. P. DAVIS.....127 - -SNOW-FLAKES OF MEMORY GEORGE SMITH.....129 - -THE OLD MILL-POND H. GRAY.....131 - -THE FIRST SNOW GEORGE SMITH.....133 - -MUTE PROPHECIES H. E. SCHULTZ.....135 - -THE TWITCH-UP F. S. KING.....137 - -THE WINTER'S DARLING HENRY MARSH.....139 - -WHO'S THAT? H. WOLF.....140 - -SUNSHINE AND SHADOW IN THE -WOODS R. HOSKIN.....141 - -A SUNNY CORNER W. H. MORSE.....143 - -WINTER BROWSING SMITHWICK and FRENCH.....144 - -A JANUARY THAW J. FILMER.....145 - -THE MOONLIGHT RIDE J. HELLAWELL.....147 - -THE SHADOWED PAGE J. TINKEY.....149 - -THE GOOD PHYSICIAN R. SCHELLING.....151 - -THE FULFILMENT SMITHWICK and FRENCH.....153 - - - - -SPRING. - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration: THE AWAKENING] - -[Illustration] - - -As far as the eye can reach, the snow lies in a deep mantle over the -cheerless landscape. I look out upon a dreary moor, where the horizon -melts into the cold gray of a heavy sky. The restless wind sweeps with -pitiless blast through shivering trees and over bleak hills, from whose -crests, like a great white veil, the clouds of hoary flakes are lifted -and drawn along by the gale. Down the upland slope, across the -undulating field, the blinding drift, like a thing of life, speeds in -its wild caprice, now swirling in fantastic eddies around some isolated -stack, half hidden in its chill embrace, now winding away over -bare-blown wall and scraggy fence, and through the sighing willows near -the frozen stream; now with a wild whirl it flies aloft, and the dark -pines and hemlocks on the mountain-side fade away in its icy mist. -Again, yonder it appears trailing along the meadow, until, flying like -some fugitive spirit chased from earth by the howling wind, it vanishes -in the sky. On every side these winged phantoms lead their flying chase -across the dreary landscape, and fence and barn and house upon the hill -in turn are dimmed or lost to sight. - -Who has not watched the strange antics of the drifting snow whirling -past the window on a blustering winter's day? But this is not a winter's -day. This is the advent of a New England spring. - -Fortunate are we that its promises are not fulfilled, for the ides of -March might as oft betoken the approach of a tempestuous winter as of a -balmy spring. Consecrated to Mars and Tantalus, it is a month of -contradictions and disappointments, of broken promises and incessant -warfare. It is the struggle of tender awakening life against the -buffetings of rude and blighting elements. No man can tell what a day -may bring forth. Now we look out verily upon bleak December; -to-morrow--who knows?--we may be transported into May, and, with -aspirations high, feel our ardor cooled by a blast of ice and a blinding -fall of snow. But this cannot always last, for soon the southern breezes -come and hold their sway for days, and the north wind, angry in its -defeat, is driven back in lowering clouds to the region of eternal ice -and snow. Then comes a lovely day, without even a cloud--all blue above, -all dazzling white below. The sun shines with a glowing warmth, and we -say unto ourselves, "This is, indeed, a harbinger of spring." The -sugar-maples throb and trickle with the flowing sap, and the lumbering -ox-team and sled wind through the woods from tree to tree to relieve the -overflowing buckets. The boiling caldron in the sugar-house near by -receives the continual supply, and gives forth that sweet-scented steam -that issues from the open door, and comes to us in occasional welcome -whiffs across the snow. Long "wedges" of wild-geese are seen cleaving -the sky in their northward flight. The little pussies on the willows -are coaxed from their winter nest, and creep out upon the stem. The -solitary bluebird makes his appearance, flitting along the thickets and -stone walls with little hesitating warble, as if it were not yet the -appointed time to sing; and down among the bogs, that cautious little -pioneer, the swamp-cabbage flower, peers above the ground beneath his -purple-spotted hood. He knows the fickle month which gives him birth, -and keeps well under cover. - -[Illustration: CATKINS.] - -[Illustration: PUSSIES.] - -Such days in March are too perfect to endure, and at night the sky is -overcast and dark. Then follows a long warm rain that unlocks the ice in -all the streams. The whiteness of the hills and meadows melts into broad -contracting strips and patches. One by one, as mere specks upon the -landscape, these vanish in turn, until the last vestige of winter is -washed from the face of the earth to swell the tide of the rushing -stream. Even now, from the distant valley, we hear a continuous muffled -roar, as the mighty freshet, impelled by an irresistible force, ploughs -its tortuous channel through the lowlands and ravines. The quiet town is -filled with an unusual commotion. Excited groups of towns-people crowd -the village store, and eager voices tell of the havoc wrought by the -fearful flood. We hear how the old toll-bridge, with tollman's house and -all, was lifted from its piers like a pile of straw, and whirled away -upon the current. How its floating timbers, in a great blockade, crushed -into the old mill-pond; how the dam had burst, and the rickety red -saw-mill gone to pieces down the stream. Farmer Nathan's barn had gone, -and his flat meadows were like a whirling sea, strewn with floating -rails and driftwood. Every hour records its new disaster as some eager -messenger returns from the excited crowds which line the river-bank. How -well I remember the fascinating excitement of the spring freshet as I -watched the rising water in the big swamp lot, anxious lest it might -creep up and undermine the wall foundations of the barn! And what a -royal raft I made from the drifting logs and beams, and with the spirit -of an adventurous explorer sailed out on the deep gliding current, -floating high among the branches of the half submerged willow-trees, and -scraping over the tips of the tallest alder-bushes, whose highest twigs -now hardly reached the surface! How deep and dark the water looked as I -lay upon the raft and peered into the depths below! But this jolly fun -was of but short duration. The flood soon subsided, and on the following -morning nothing was seen excepting the settlings of _debris_ strewn -helter-skelter over the meadow, and hanging on all the bushes. - -The tepid rain has penetrated deep into the yielding ground, and with -the winter's frost now coming to the surface, the roads are well-nigh -impassable with their plethora of mud. For a full appreciation of _mud_ -in all its glory, and in its superlative degree, one should see a New -England highway "when the frost comes out of the ground." The roads are -furrowed with deep grimy ruts, in which the bedabbled wheels sink to -their hubs as in a quicksand, and the hoofs of the floundering horse are -held in the swampy depths as if in a vise. For a week or more this state -of things continues, until at length, after warm winds and sunny days, -the ground once more packs firm beneath the tread. This marks the close -of idle days. The junk pile in the barn is invaded, and the rusty plough -abstracted from the midst of rakes and scythes and other farming tools. -The old white horse thrusts his long head from the stall near by, and -whinnies at the memories it revives, and with pricked-up ears and -whisking tail tells plainly of the eagerness he feels. - -[Illustration: EARLY PLOUGHING.] - -Back and forth through the sloping lot the ploughman slowly turns the -dingy sward, and in the rich brown furrow, following in his track, we -see the cackling troop of hens, and the lordly rooster, with great ado, -searches out the dainty tidbits for his motley crowd of favorites. The -whole landscape has become infused with human life and motion. Wherever -the eye may turn it sees the evidences of varied and hopeful industry. -Yonder we notice an oft-recurring little puff of mist, like a burlesque -snow-drift, ever and anon bursting into view, and softly vanishing -against the sward; another glance detects the slow progress of horse and -cart, as the farmer sows his load of plaster across the whitening field. -Farther up, where the brow of the hill stands clear against the sky, a -pacing figure, with measured sweep of arm, scatters the handfuls of -wheat, and team and harrow soon are in his path, combing and crumbling -the dark-brown mould. High curling wreaths of smoke wind upward from the -flat swamp lot beyond, where hilarious boys enjoy both work and play in -burning off the brush. Here we shall see the first welcome nibble of -fresh grass for the poor bereaved cow, whose lamenting bleat now echoes -through the barn near by; and for those oxen, too, that with swaying, -clumsy gait lug the huge roller across the neighboring field. And what -strange yells and exclamations guide them in their labored progress! "Ho -back! Gee up, ahoy! Ho haw!" From every direction, in voices near, and -others faint with distance, we hear this same queer jargon. Who could -believe that so much good work hung upon the incessant reiteration of -that brief and monotonous vocabulary? Rather would we listen to the -musical ring of the laughing children riding on the big "brush harrow" -down through that barn-yard lane beyond. Now they are out upon the -broken ground where John has strewn the "compost" to be "brushed in." A -broad flat wake follows them around the field, and that same troop of -hens and turkeys revel in the lively feast spread out before them in the -loose upturning. - -[Illustration: RETURN FROM THE FIELDS.] - -[Illustration: VOICES OF THE NIGHT.] - -So runs the record of a busy day in the early New England springtime, -and with its all-absorbing industry it is a day that passes quickly. The -afternoon runs into evening. Cool shadows creep across the landscape as -the glowing sun sinks through the still bare and leafless trees and -disappears behind the wooded hills. The fields are now deserted, and -through the uncertain twilight we see the little knots of workmen with -their swinging pails, and hear their tramp along the homeward road. In -the dim shadows of the evergreens beyond, a faint gray object steals -into view. Now it stops at the old watering-trough, and I hear the sip -of the eager horse and the splash of overflowing water. Some belated -ploughman, fresh, perhaps, from a half-hour's gossip at the village -store. I hear the sound of hoofs upon the stones as they renew their -way, the dragging of the chain upon the gravelly bed, and the receding -form is lost in the darkening road. One by one the scattered barns and -houses have disappeared in the gathering dusk, marked only by the faint -columns of blue smoke that rise above the trees, and melt away against -the twilight sky. I look out upon a wilderness of gloom, where all above -is still and clear, and all below is wrapped in impenetrable mystery. A -plaintive piping trill now breaks the impressive stillness. Again and -again I hear the little lonely voice vibrating through the low-lying -mist. It is only a little frog in some far-off marsh; but what a sweet -sense of sadness is awakened by that lowly melody! How its weird minor -key, with its magic touch, unlocks the treasures of the heart. Only the -peeping of a frog; but where in all the varied voices of the night, -where, even among the great chorus of nature's sweetest music, is there -another song so lulling in its dreamy melody, so full of that emotive -charm which quickens the human heart? How often in the vague spring -twilight have I yielded to the strange, fascinating melancholy awakened -by the frog's low murmur at the water's edge! How many times have I -lingered near some swampy roadside bog, and let these little wizards -weave their mystic spell about my willing senses, while the very air -seemed to quiver in the fulness of their song! I remember the tangle of -tall and withered rushes, through whose mysterious depths the eye in -vain would strive to penetrate at the sound of some faint splash or -ripple, or perhaps at the quaint, high-keyed note of some little -isolated hermit, piping in his sombre solitude. I recall the first -glimpse of the rising moon, as its great golden face peered out at me -from over the distant hill, enclosing half the summit against its broad -and luminous surface. Slowly and steadily it seemed to steal into view, -until, risen in all its fulness, I caught its image in the trembling -ripples at the edge of the soggy pool, where the palpitating water -responded to the frog's low, tremulous monotone. Higher and higher it -sails across the inky sky, its glow now changed to a silvery pallor, -across whose white halo, in a floating film, the ghostly clouds glide in -their silent flight. A dull tinkling of some distant cow-bell breaks -the spell, and recalls my wandering thoughts, and as I again take up my -way along the moonlit road, the glimmering windows on right and left -betray the hiding-places of a score of humble homes. Not far beyond I -see the swinging motion of a flickering lantern, as some tardy farmer's -boy, whistling about his work, clears up his nightly chores. Now he -enters the old barn-door. I see the light glinting through the open -cracks, and hear the lowing of the cows, the bleating of the baby-calf, -and rattling chains of oxen in the stanchion rows. Now again I catch the -gleam at the open door; the swinging light flits across the yard, and -the old corn-crib starts from its obscurity. I see the boyish figure -relieved against the glow within as a basketful of yellow ears are -gathered for the impatient mouths in the noisy manger stalls. Sing on, -my boy, enjoy it while you may! That venerable barn will yield a -fragrance to you in after-life that will conjure up in your heart a -throng of memories as countless as the shining grains that glimmer in -the light you hold, and as golden, too, as they. I wonder if those -soft-winged bats squeak among the clapboards, or make their fluttering -zigzag swoops about your lantern as they were wont to do in olden times. - -Then there was that big-eyed owl, too, that perched upon the maple-tree -outside my window, and cried as if its heart would break at the doleful -tidings it foretold. What a world of kind solicitude that dolorous bird -awakened in our superstitious neighbor across the road! How she -overwhelmed us with her sympathy, aroused by that sepulchral omen! But I -still live, and so does the owl, for aught I know; and I sometimes think -that this aged, stooping dame over the way has never fully recovered -from her disappointment, for she always greets me with a sigh and an -injured expression, as she says, in her high and tremulous voice, "Well! -well! back agin ez hale 'n hearty 's ever; an' arter the way thet ar -witch bird yewst teu call ye, too, night arter night. Jest teu _think_ -on't! an' we'd all a' gi'n ye up fer sartin. Well! well! I never see the -beat on't. Yen deu seem teu hang on _paowerful_;" and, after a moment's -hesitation, seemingly in which to swallow the bitter pill, she usually -adds, with sad solicitude, "Feelin' perty _tol'ble teu_, I spose?" But -the "witch bird" never roused my serious apprehensions. I remember its -plaintive cry only as a tender bit of pathos in the pages of my early -history. - -[Illustration: A RAINY DAY.] - -I recall, too, the pleasant sound upon the shingles overhead as the -dark-clouded sky let fall its tell-tale drops to warn us of the coming -rain. How many times have I glided into dream-land under the drowsy -influence of the patter on the roof, and the ever varying tattoo upon -the tin beneath the dripping eaves! Who can forget those rainy days, -with their games of hide-and-seek in the old dark garret! How we looked -out upon the muddy puddled road, and laughed at the great drifting -sheets of water that ever and anon poured down from some bursting cloud, -and roared upon the roof! And as the driving rain beat against the -blurred window-panes, what strange capers the squirming tree-trunks -outside seemed to play for our amusement: the dark door-way of the barn, -too--now swelling out to twice its size, now stretching long and thin, -or dividing in the middle in its queer contortions. Out in the dismal -barn-yard we saw the forlorn row of hens huddled together on the -hay-rick, under the drizzling straw-thatched shed; and the gabled coop -near by, in whose dry retreat the motherly old hen spread her tawny -wings, and yielded the warmth of her ruffled breast to the tender needs -of her little family, peeping so contentedly beneath her. The rain-proof -ducks dabble in the neighboring puddles, and chew the muddy water in -search of floating dainties, or gulp with nodding heads the unlucky -angle-worms which come struggling to the surface--drowned out of their -subterranean tunnels. - -Now we hear the snapping of the latch at the foot of the garret stairs, -and we are called to come and see a little outcast that John has brought -in from the wood-pile. Close beside the kitchen-stove a doubled piece of -blanket lies upon the floor, and within its folds we find what once was -a downy little chicken, now drenched and dying from exposure. He was a -naughty, wayward child, and would persist in thinking that he knew more -than his mother. At least so I was told--indeed, it was impressed upon -me. But the little fellow was rescued just in time. The warmth will soon -revive him, and by-and-by we shall hear his little chirp and see him -trot around the kitchen-floor, pecking at that everlasting fly, perhaps, -or at some tiny red-hot coal that snaps out from the stove. - -Little did we suspect the mission of those rainy days, so drear and -dismal without, or the sweet surprise preparing for us in the myriad -mysteries of life beneath the sod, where every root and thread-like -rootlet in the thirsty earth was drinking in that welcome moisture, and -numberless sleeping germs, dwelling in darkness, were awakening into -life to seek the light of day, waiting only for the glory of a sunny -dawn to burst forth from their hiding-places! That sunny morn does come -at last, and in its beams it sheds abroad a power that stirs the deepest -root. It is, indeed, a glorious day. The clustered buds upon the -silver-maples burst in their exuberance, and fringe the graceful -branches with their silken tassels. The restless crocus, for months an -unwilling captive in its winter prison, can contain itself no longer, -and with its little overflowing cup lifts up its face to the blue -heaven. Golden daffodils burst into bloom on drooping stems, and -exchange their little nods on right and left. The air is filled with a -faint perfume, in which the very earth mould yields its fragrance--that -wild aroma only known to spring. Our little feathered friends, so few -and far between as yet, are full of song. The bluebird wooes his mate -with a loving warble, full of tender sweetness, as they flit among the -swaying twigs, or pry with diligent search for some snug nesting-place -among the hollow crannies of the orchard trees. The noisy blackbirds -hold high carnival in the top of the old pine-tree, the woodpecker taps -upon the hollow limb his resonant tattoo, and the hungry crows, like a -posse of tramps, hang around the great oak-tree upon the knoll, and -watch to see what they can steal. Down through the meadow the gurgling -stream babbles as of old, and along its fretted banks the alder thickets -are hanging full with drooping catkins swinging at every breeze. The -glossy willow-buds throw off their coat of fur, and plume themselves in -their wealth of inflorescence, lighting up the brook-side with a yellow -glow, and exhaling a fresh, delicious perfume. Here, too, we hear the -rattling screech of the swooping kingfisher, as with quick beats of wing -he skims along the surface of the stream, and with an ascending glide -settles upon the overhanging branch above the ripples. All these and a -thousand more I vividly recall from the memory of that New England -spring; but sweetest of all its manifold surprises was that crowning -consummation, that miracle of a single night, bringing on countless -wings through the early morning mist the welcome chorus of the returning -flocks of birds. How they swarmed the orchard and the elms, where but -yesterday the bluebird held his sway! Now we see the fiery oriole in his -gold and jetty velvet flashing in the morning sun, and robins without -number swell their ruddy throats in a continuous roundelay of song. The -pert cat-bird in his Quaker garb is here, and with flippant jerk of tail -and impertinent mew bustles about among the arbor-vitaes, where even now -are remnants of his last year's nest. The puffy wrens, too, what saucy, -sputtering little bursts of glee are theirs as they strut upon the -rustic boxes in the maples! The fields are vocal with their sweet spring -medley, in which the happy carols of the linnets and the song sparrows -form a continuous pastoral. Now we hear the mellow bell of the wood -thrush echoing from some neighboring tree, and all intermingled with the -chatter and the gossip of the martens on their lofty house. Birds in the -sky, birds in the trees and on the ground, birds everywhere, and not a -silent throat among them; but from far and near, from mountain-side and -meadow, from earth and sky, uniting in a happy choral of perpetual -jubilee. - -[Illustration: A HANDFUL FROM THE WOODS.] - -Down in the moist green swamp lot the yellow cowslips bloom along the -shallow ditch, and the eager farmer's wife fills her basket with the -succulent leaves she has been watching for so long; for they'll tell you -in New England that "they ain't noth'n' like caowslips for a mess o' -greens." Near by we see the frog pond, with lush growth of arrow leaves -and pickerel weed, and flat blades of blue-flag just starting from the -boggy earth. Half submerged upon a lily pad, close by the water's edge, -an ugly toad sits watching for some winged morsel for that ample mouth -of his. - -Who could believe that so much poetic inspiration could emerge from such -a mouth as that; for verily it is this miserable-looking toad that lifts -his little voice in the dreamy, drowsy chorus of the twilight. All sorts -of odium have been heaped upon the innocent toad; but he only returns -good for evil. He is the farmer's faithful friend. He guards his garden -by day, and lulls him to sleep by night. Yonder, near those withered -cat-tails, we see the village boys among the calamus-beds, pulling up -the long white roots tipped with pink and fringed with trickling -rootlets. What visions of candied flag-root stimulate them in their -zeal! I can almost see the tender, juicy leaf-bud screened beneath that -smooth pink sheath, and its aromatic pungency is as fresh and real to me -as this appetizing fragrance that comes to us from the green tufts of -spearmint we crush beneath our feet at every step. Bevies of swallows -all around us skim through the air, like feathered darts, in their -twittering flight; and the restless starling, like a field-marshal, with -his scarlet epaulets, keeps sharp lookout for the enemy, and "flutes his -O-ka-lee" from the high alder-bush at the slightest approach upon his -chosen ground. Yonder on the wooded slope the feathery shad-tree blooms, -like a suspended cloud of drifting snow lingering among the gray twigs -and branches; and chasing across the matted leaves beneath, a lively -troop of youngsters, girls and boys, make the woods resound with their -boisterous jubilee. A jolly band of fugitives fresh from the stormy -week's captivity--spring buds bursting with life, with a pent-up store -of spirits that finds escape in an effervescence of ringing laughs and -in a din of incessant jabber. Well I know the buoyant exhilaration that -impels them on in their reckless frolic, as they skip from stone to -stone across the rippling stream, or "stump" each other on the -treacherous crossing-pole which spans the deep still current! Now I see -them huddle around the trickling grotto among the mossy bowlders in the -steep gully yonder, where the mountain spring bubbles into a crystal -pool. Alas! how quickly its faint blue border of hepaticas is rifled by -the ruthless mob! Now they clamber up the great gray rocks beneath the -drooping hemlocks, stopping in their headlong zeal to snatch some -trembling cluster of anemone, nodding from its velvety bed of moss; now -plunging down on hands and knees, shedding innocent blood among an -unsuspecting colony of fragile bloom--those glowing blossoms so welcome -in the early spring! Who does not know the bloodroot--that shy recluse -hiding away among the mountain nooks, that emblem of chaste purity with -its bridal ring of purest gold? Who has not seen its tender leaf-wrapped -buds lifting the matted leaves, and spreading their galaxy of snowy -stars along the woodland path? - -Then there was the shy arbutus, too. Where in all the world's bouquet is -there another such a darling of a flower? And where in all New England -does that darling show so full and sweet a face as in its home upon that -sunny slope I have in mind, and know so well? Was ever such a fragrant -tufted carpet spread beneath a hesitating foot? Even now, along the -lichen-dappled wall upon the summit, I see the lingering strip of snow, -gritty and speckled, and at its very edge, hiding beneath the covering -leaves, those modest little faces looking out at me--faces which seemed -to blush a deeper pink at their rude discovery. No other flower can -breathe the perfume of the arbutus, that earthy, spicy fragrance, which -seems as though distilled from the very leaf-mould at its roots. Often -on this sunny slope, so sheltered by dense pines and hemlocks, have -these charming clusters, pink and white, burst into bloom beneath the -snow in March; and even on a certain late February day, we discovered a -little, solitary clump, fully spread, and fairly ruddy with the cold. -Here, too, we found the earliest sprays of the slender maidenhair; that -fairy frond and loveliest among ferns, with black and lustrous stems, -and graceful spread of tender gauzy green. - -[Illustration: AFTER ARBUTUS.] - -Where was the nook in all that hill-side woods that we left unsearched -in our April ramblings? I recall the "tat," "tat" upon the dry carpet of -beech leaves, as the delicate anemone in my hand is dashed by a falling -drop! Lost in eager occupation, we had not observed the shadow that had -stolen through the forest; and now, as we look out through the trees, we -see the steel-blue warning of the coming shower, and feel the first gust -of the tell-tale breeze--how the willows wave and gleam against the deep -gray clouds, so weirdly reflected in the gliding stream beneath, like an -open seam to another sky! See the silvery flashes of that flock of -pigeons circling against the lurid background. No, we cannot stop to -see them, for the rain-drops begin to patter thick and fast. Away we -scamper to the shelter of the overhanging rocks. The lowering sky rolls -above us through the branches. The glassy surface of the brook takes on -a leaden hue as the rain-cloud drags its misty veil across the distant -meadows. The brown leaves jump and spatter at my feet, and the blue -liverwort flowers on right and left duck their heads like little living -things dodging the pelting rain-drops. - -[Illustration: THE FAIRY FROND.] - -Oh, the lovely fickleness an April day! Even now the distant hill is lit -up by the bursting sun. Nearer and nearer the gleam creeps across the -landscape, chasing the shower away, and in a moment more the meadows -glow with a freshened green, and the trees stand transfigured in -glistening beads flashing in the sunbeams. The quickened earth gives -forth its grateful incense, and even an enthusiastic frog down in the -lily-pond sends up his little vote of thanks. - -[Illustration: AN APRIL DAY.] - -April's woods are teeming with all forms of life, if one will only look -for them. On every side the ferns, curled up all winter in their dormant -sleep, unroll their spiral sprays, and reach out for the welcome sun. -The spicy colt's-foot, or wild ginger, lifts its downy leaves among the -mossy rocks and crevices, and its homely flower just peeps above the -ground, and, with a lingering glance at the blushing _Rue anemone_ close -by, hangs its humble head, never to look up again. High above us the -eccentric cottonwood-tree dangles its long speckled plumes, so silvery -white. Now we hear a mellow drumming sound, as some unsuspecting grouse, -concealed among the undergrowth near by, beats his resonant breast. -Could we but get a glimpse of him, we would see him simulate the -barn-yard gobbler, as with proud strut and spreading tail he disports -himself upon some fallen log or mossy rock. Perhaps, too, that coy mate -is near, admiring his show of gallantry, and holding a sly flirtation. - -[Illustration: AMONG THE WILD FLOWERS.] - -Look at this craggy precipice of rock, lost above among the -green-tasselled evergreens, and trickling with crystal drops from every -drooping sprig of moss. How its rugged surface is painted with the -mottled lichens of every hue, here like a faint tinge of cool -sage-green, and there in large brown blotches of rich color! See the -fringe of ferns that bursts from the fissure across its surface. There -the trillium hangs its three-cleft flower of rich maroon; and later we -shall see the fern-like spray of Solomon's-seal swinging its little row -of straw-colored bells from the ledge above. Airy columbines, too, shall -float their scarlet pendants on fragile stems, and with their graceful -nod tell of the slightest breeze, when all else is still. What is that -cinnamon-brown bird that hops along the stone wall yonder? Now he -alights upon the tulip-tree, and swells his speckled breast in a series -of short experiments--a broken song, in which every note or call has -its twin echo. A "mocking-thrush" he is, indeed, for he mimics his own -song from morn till night in all the thickets and pasture-lands. Take -care there! why, you almost trod upon that feathery tuft of "Dutchman's -breeches." Oh, who is he that dared to clothe this sweet blossom in such -an ignominious title? Where is the Dutchman that ever wore -unmentionables of such exquisite pink satin as that pale _dicentra_ -wears? No wonder their little broken hearts droop at the insult! - -[Illustration: THE COLUMBINE.] - -The grotesque Jack-in-the-pulpit, rising above that crumbling log, is -named more to my mind. There he stands beneath his striped canopy, and -preaches to me a sermon on the well-remembered rashness of my youth in -trifling with that subterranean bulb from which he grows. But I ignored -his warning in those early days. I only knew that a real nice boy across -the way seemed very fond of those little Indian turnips, called them -"sugar-roots," and said that they were full of honey. And as he bit off -his eager mouthful, and refused to let me taste, I sought one for -myself, and, generous boy that he was, he showed me where to find the -buried treasure. It was like a small turnip, an innocent-looking affair -(and so was the nice boy's modelled piece of apple, by-the-way). But oh! -the sudden revelation of the red-hot reservoir of chain-lightning that -crammed that innocent bulb! Even as I think of it, how I long once more -to interview that real nice boy who opened up the mysteries of the -"sugar-root" to my tempted curiosity. Let boys beware of this wild, -red-hot coal; and should they be impelled by a desire to test the -unknown flavor, let them solace themselves with a less dangerous mixture -of four papers of cambric needles and a spoonful of pounded glass. This -will give a faint suggestion of the racy pungency of the Indian turnip. -Were some kind friend at the present day to seek to kill me off with -poisoned food, I should forthwith have him arrested on a charge of -attempted murder, and incarcerated in the county jail. But what would be -wilful homicide in the man is only a guileless proof of friendship in -the boy, and his affections and their symptoms present a living paradox; -and those boisterous days, with all their fond caresses in the way of -fights and bruises and black eyes, and even Indian turnips, we all agree -were full of fun the like of which we never shall see again. - -[Illustration: MEADOW BROOK.] - -How well we remember those tramps along the meadow brook: the dark, -still holes beneath the overhanging rocks, where, with golden slipping -loop and pole and cautious creep, we wired those lazy, unsuspecting -"suckers" on the gravelly bed below! Ah! what scientific angling with -the rod and reel in later years has ever brought back the keen tingle of -that primitive sport? The great green bull-frogs, too, in the lily-pond, -disclosing their cavernous resources as they jumped and splashed and -sprawled after the tantalizing bit of red flannel on that dangling hook! -We recall that rickety bridge among the willows, and the mossy nest of -mud so firmly fixed upon the beam beneath. How could we be so deaf to -the pleading of those little phoebe-birds that fluttered so beseechingly -about us? Then there was that deep hole in the sand-bank near the -brook, where the burrowing kingfisher hid away his nest, where we -watched in the twilight to see him enter, and, with big round stone in -readiness, "plugged" him in his den! What fun it was to dig him out, and -ventilate his musty nest of fish-bones! The starling in the thicket of -the swamp circled through the air with angry "Quit! quit!" as we picked -our way through the bristling bogs so close upon her nest. We'll not -forget that false step that sent us sprawling in the green slimy mud, at -the first electrifying glimpse of those brown spotted eggs. The -high-holer, too, whose golden gleam of wing upon the bare dead tree -betrayed his nesting-place in the hollow limb--was ever such a stimulus -offered to the eagerness of youth? Who would give a second thought to -his tender shins at the prospect of such a prize as a nest of -high-hole's eggs? How round and white they were! how the pale golden -yolk floated beneath the pearly shell! Those were jolly days for us; but -the poor birds had to suffer, and few, indeed, were the nests that -escaped our prying search. There was the cat-bird in the evergreens, -with lovely eggs of peacock blue; the pure white treasures of the -swallows in the mud nests under the barn-yard eaves; the sky-blue -beauties of the robin; the brown speckled eggs in the sheltered nest of -song-sparrows on the grassy slope; the dear little eggs of chippies in -their horse-hair bed, and in their midst the insinuated specimen of the -cheeky cow-blackbird: there were eggs of every shape and hue, and we -knew too well where to put our hand on them. - -[Illustration: THE PHOEBE'S NEST.] - -[Illustration: BUILDING THE NEST.] - -In a flowering hawthorn outside our window we watched a loving pair -building their pensile nest among the thorns and blossoms. How incessant -was their solicitude for that fragile framework until its strength was -fully assured against the tossing breeze! Tenderly and eagerly they -helped each other in the disposition of those ravellings of string and -strips of bark! he stopping every now and then to whisper sweetly to his -mate, as she, with drooping, trembling wings, put up her little open -bill to kiss. Yes, we often saw this little tender episode, as we -watched them through the shutters of the half-closed blinds! Now he -flies away; and the little spouse, thus left alone, jumps into the nest, -and we see its mossy meshes swell as she fits the deep hollow to her -feathery breast. Presently her consort returns, trailing along a -gossamer of cobweb, which he throws around the supporting thorn, and -leaves for her to spread and tuck among the crevices. Again he appears, -with his tiny bill concealed in a silvery puff of cotton from the willow -catkins in the swamp; next he brings a wisp of long gray moss; now a -curly flake of rich brown lichen, or a jagged square of birch bark, all -of which are laid against the nest, and half covered with films of -cobweb. Once more we see his tiny form among the hawthorn blossoms as he -tugs a papery piece of hornets' nest through the pink barricade. This is -arranged to hang beneath as a pendant to their floating fabric, and the -happy little couple sit together upon a neighboring twig in twittering -admiration. And well they may, for a prettier nest than theirs never -hung upon a thorn. Not perfect yet, it seems, however, for that little -feminine eye has seen the need of one more touch. Away she flies, and in -a minute more a downy feather, tipped with iridescent green, is adjusted -in the cobwebs. - -[Illustration: IN THE APPLE ORCHARD.] - -This dainty little work of art is only one of the thousands that -everywhere are building in the blooming trees and thickets. These are -the supreme moments of the spring, consecrated to the loves of bird and -blossom. Every little winged form that scarcely bends the twig has its -all-consuming passion, and every tree its wedding of the flower. Out in -the orchard the apple-trees are laden in veritable domes of pink-white -bloom, as if by the rare spectacle of a rosy fall of snow, and from -among the dewy petals the army of bees give forth their low, continuous -drone--that sympathetic chord in the universal harmony of spring. How -they revel in that rich harvest! Who knows what sweet messages are borne -from flower to flower upon those filmy wings? - -On the green slope beneath, the scattered dandelions gleam like drops of -molten gold upon the velvety sward, and a lounging family group, intent -upon that savory noonday relish, gather the basketfuls of the dainty -plants for that appetizing "mess of greens." Often, while thus engaged, -have I stopped to watch the antics of the festive bumblebee, tumbling -around in the tufted blossom--always an amusing sight. See how he rolls -and wallows in the golden fringe, even standing on his head and kicking -in his glee! Presently, with his long black nose thrust deep into the -yellow puff, he stops to enjoy a quiet snooze in the luxurious bed--an -endless sleep, for I generally took this chance to put him out of his -misery, preferring, perhaps, to watch the robin hopping across the lawn. -Now he stops, and seems to listen; runs a yard or so, and listens again, -and without a sign of warning dips his head, and pulls upon an unlucky -angle-worm that much prefers to go the other way. It is a well-known -fact that angle-worms approach the surface of their burrows at the sound -of rain-drops on the earth above. I sometimes wonder if the robin in its -quick running stroke of foot intends to simulate that sound, and thus -decoy its prey. - -I remember the wild tumult of a troop of boys upon the hill-side, -tracking the swarming bees as they whirled along in a living tangle -against the sky, now loosening in their dizzy meshes, now contracting in -a murmuring hum around their queen, and finally settling on a branch in -a pendent bunch about her. So tame and docile, too! seeming utterly to -forget their fiery javelins as they hung in that brown filmy mass upon -the bending bough! "A swarm of bees in May iz wuth a load o' hay." So -said our neighbor, as with fresh clean hive he secured that prized -equivalent. Here they are soon at home again, and we see their steady -winged stream pouring out through the little door of their -treasure-house, and the continual arrival of the little dusty -plunderers, laden with their smuggled store of honey, and their -saddle-bags replete with stolen gold. Down near the brook they find a -land of plenty, literally flowing with honey, as the luxuriant drooping -clusters of the locust-trees yield their brimful nectaries to the -impetuous, murmuring swarm. But there is no lack now of flowery sweets -for this buzzing colony. On every hand the meadow-sweets and milkweeds, -the brambles, and the fragrant creeping-clover show their alluring -colors in the universal burst of bloom, and not one escapes its tender -pillaging. - -[Illustration] - -Up in the woods the gray has turned to tender green. The flowering -dog-wood has spread its layers of creamy blossoms, giving the signal for -the planting of the corn, and in the furrowed field we see that -dislocated "man of straw," with old plug hat jammed down upon his face, -with wooden backbone sticking through his neck-band, and dirty thatch -for a shirt bosom--a mocking outrage on any crow's sagacity. Those -glittering strips of tin, too! Could you but interpret the low croaking -of the leader of that sable gang in yonder tree, you might hear of the -appalling effect of these precautions. I heard him once as I sat quietly -beneath a forest tree, and in the light of later events I readily -recalled his remarks upon the occasion: "Say, fellers! look at that old -fool down there hanging out those tins to show us where his corn is -planted. Haw! haw! I swaw! cawn! cawn! we'll go down thaw and take a -chaw!" And they did; and they perched upon that old plug hat, and looked -around for something to get scared about. A single look at a crow shows -that he has a long head, and it is not all mouth either. - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration: BLUE-FLAGS.] - -Every day now makes a transformation in the landscape. The golden stars -upon the lawn are nearly all burnt out: we see their downy ashes in the -grass. Their virgin flame is quenched, and naught remains but those -ethereal globes of smoke that rise up and float away with every breeze. -Where is there in all nature's marvels a more exquisite creation than -this evanescent phoenix of the dandelion? Beautiful in life, it is -even more beautiful in death. And now the high-grown grass is cloudy -with its puffs, whose little fairy parachutes are sailing everywhere, -over mountain-top and field. Here the corn has appeared in little waving -plumes, and the horse and cultivator are seen breaking up the soil -between the rows. Great snowy piles of cloud throw their gliding shadows -across the patchwork of ploughed fields and meadows, fresh and green -with winter wheat, or tinged with newly sprouting grain. The sunbeams -glow with a summer warmth, and the evaporation of the morning dews lifts -the glistening diamonds from the gossamer films among the grass, and -sends a quivering haze all through the air, in which the distant trees -tremble in a softened glimmer. The woods are screened in dense foliage, -and through the leafy canopy the merry birds dart and sing. - -The chickadees are here, and scarlet tanagers gleam like living bits of -fire among the tantalizing leaves. Pert little vireos hop inquisitively -about you, and the bell note of the wood-thrush echoes from the hidden -tree-top overhead. Perhaps, too, you may chance upon a downy brood of -quail cuddling among the dry leaves; but, even though you should, you -might pass them by unnoticed, except as a mildewed spot of fungus at the -edge of a fallen log or tree-stump, perhaps. The loamy ground is shaded -knee-deep with rank growth of wood plants. The mossy, speckled rock is -set in a fringe of ferns. Palmate sprays of ginseng spread in mid-air a -luxurious carpet of intermingled leaves, interspersed with yellow spikes -of loosestrife and pale lilac blooms of crane's-bill; and the -poison-ivy, creeping like a snake around that marbled beech, has -screened its hairy trunk beneath its three-cleft shiny leaves. The -mountain-laurel, with its deep green foliage and showy clusters, peers -above that rocky crag; and in the bog near by a thicket of wild azalea -is crowned with a profusion of pink blossoms. - -Out in the swamp meadow the tall clumps of boneset show their dull white -crests, and the blue flowers of the flag, the mint, and pickerel weed -deck the borders of the lily pond. The waddling geese let off their -shrieking calliopes as they sail out into the stream, or browse with -nodding twitch along the grassy bank. Swarms of yellow butterflies -disgrace their kind as they huddle around the greenish mud-holes, and we -hear on every side the "z-zip, z-zip," amidst the din of a thousand -crickets and singing locusts among the reeds and rushes. The meadows -roll and swell in billowy waves, bearing like a white-speckled foam upon -their crests a sea of daisies, with here and there a floating patch of -crimson clover, or a golden haze of butter-cups. Rising suddenly from -the tall grass near by, the gushing brimful bobolink crowds a -half-hour's song into a brief pell-mell rapture, beating time in mid-air -with his trembling wings, and alighting on the tall fence-rail to regain -his breath. A coy meadow-lark shows his yellow-breast and crescent above -the windrow yonder, and we hear the ringing beats of whetted scythes, -and see the mowers cut their circling swath. - -Mowing! Why, how is this? This surely is not Spring. But even thus the -Springtime leads us into Summer. No eye can mark the soft transition, -and ere we are aware the sweet fragrance of the new-mown hay breathes -its perfumed whisper, "Behold, the Spring has fled!" - - - - -SUMMER. - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration: THE CONSUMMATION] - -[Illustration] - - -"All out for Hometown." There is an epidemic of eagerness, a general -bustle for satchels and bundles, and the car is soon almost without a -passenger; and, indeed, it would really seem as though the whole train -had landed its entire human burden upon this platform; for Hometown is a -popular place, and every Saturday evening brings just such an exodus as -this: Husbands and fathers who fly from the hot and crowded city for a -Sunday of quiet and content with their families, who year after year -have found a refuge of peace and comfort in this charming New England -town. Where is it? Talk with almost any one familiar with the -picturesque boroughs of the Housatonic, and your curiosity will be -gratified, for this village will be among the first to be described. - -From the platform of the car we step into the midst of a motley -assemblage, rustic peasantry and fashionable aristocracy intermingled. -Anxious and eager faces meet you at every turn. For a few minutes the -air fairly rings with kisses, as children welcome fathers, and fathers -children. Strange vehicles crowd the depot--vehicles of all sizes and -descriptions, from the veritable "one-hoss shay" to the dainty -basket-phaeton of fashion. One by one the merry loads depart, while I, a -pilgrim to my old home, stand almost unrecognized by the familiar faces -around me. Leaning up against the porch near by, stands a character -which, once seen, could never be forgotten. His face is turned from me, -but the old straw hat I recognize as the hat of ten years ago, with brim -pulled down to a slope in front, and pushed up vertically behind, and -the identical hole in the side with the long hair sticking through. Yes, -there he stands--Amos Shoopegg. I step up to him and lay my hand upon -his shoulder. With creditable skill he unwinds the twist of his -intricate legs, and with an inquiring gaze turns his good-natured face -toward me. - -"Is it possible that you don't remember me, Shoop?" - -With an expression of surprise he raises both his arms. "Wa'al, thar! I -swaiou! I didn't cal'late on runnin' agin yeu. I was jes drivin' hum -from taown-meetin', an' thought as haow I'd take a turn in, jest out o' -cur'osity. Wa'al, naow, it's pesky good to see yeu agin arter sech a -long spell. I didn't re_cog_nize ye at fust, but I swan when ye began -a-talkin', that was enuf fer me. Hello! fetched yer woman 'long tew, -hey? Haow air yeu, ma'am? hope ye'er perty tol'ble. Don't see but what -yeu look's nateral's ever; but yer man here, I declar for't, he got the -best on me at fust;" and after having thus delivered himself, he -swallowed up our hands in his ample fists. - -"Yes, Shoop, I thought I'd just run up to the old home for a few days." - -"Wa'al, I swar! I'm tarnal glad to see ye, and that's a fact. Anybody -cum up arter ye? No? Well, then, s'posin' ye jest highst into my team." -So saying, he unhitched a corrugated shackle-jointed steed, and backed -around his indescribable impromptu covered wagon--a sort of a hybrid -between a "one-hoss shay" and a truck. - -"'Tain't much of a kerridge fer city folks to ride in, that's a fact," -he continued, "but I cal'late it's a little better'n shinnin' it." After -some little manoeuvring in the way of climbing over the front seat, we -were soon wedged in the narrow compass, and, with an old horse-blanket -over our knees, we went rattling down the hill toward the village and -home of my boyhood. - -Years have passed since those days when, as a united family, we dwelt -under that old roof; but those who once were children are now men and -women, with divided interests and individual homes. The old New England -mansion is now a homestead only in name, known so only in recollections -of the past and the possibilities of the future. - -"Wa'al, thar's the old house," presently exclaimed Amos, as we neared -the brow of a declivity looking down into the valley below. "Don't look -quite so spruce as't did in the old times, but Warner's a good keerful -tenant, 'tain't no use talkin'. I cal'late yeu might dig a pleggy long -spell afore yeu could git another feller like him in this 'ere patch." - -In the vale below, in its nest of old maples and elms, almost screened -from view by the foliage, we look upon the familiar outlines of the old -mansion, its diamond window in the gable peering through the branches at -us. "Skedup!" cried Amos, as he urged his pet nag into a jog-trot down -the hill, through the main street of the town. The long fence in front -of the homestead is soon reached, a sharp turn into the drive, a "Whoa, -January!" and we are extricated from the wagon. - -"Wa'al, I'll leave ye naow. I guess ye kin find yer way around," said -Shoop, as with one outlandish geometrical stride he lifted himself into -the wagon. Cordially greeted by our hostess, with repeated urgings to -"make ourselves at home," we were shown to our room. The house, though -clad in a new dress, still retained the same hospitable and cosy look as -of old. - -[Illustration: OLD HOMESTEAD AND GARRET.] - -Hometown, owing to some early local faction, is divided into two -sections, forming two distinct towns. One, Newborough, a hill-top -hamlet, with its picturesque long street, a hundred feet in width, and -shaded with great weeping elms that almost meet overhead; and the other, -Hometown proper, a picturesque little village in the valley, cuddling -close around the foot of a precipitous bluff, known as Mount Pisgah. A -mile's distance separates the two centres. The old homestead is -situated in the heart of Hometown, fronting on the main street. The -house itself is a series of after-thoughts, wing after wing and gable -after gable having clustered around the old nucleus, as the growth of -new generations necessitated increased accommodation. Its outward aspect -is rather modern, but the interior, with its broad open fireplaces, and -accessaries in the shape of cranes and fire-dogs, is rich with all the -features of typical New England; and the two gables of the main roof -enclose the dearest old garret imaginable--at present an asylum for the -quaint possessions of antique furniture and bric-a-brac, removed from -their accustomed quarters on the advent of the new host. It is to this -sanctuary that my footsteps first lead me, and, with a longing that will -not be withstood, I find myself in front of the great white door. I lift -the latch; a cool pungent odor of oak wood greets me as I ascend the -steep stairs--an odor that awakens, like magic, a hundred fancies, and -recalls a host of memories long forgotten. Every stair seems to creak a -welcome, as when, on the rainy days of long ago, we sought the cosy -refuge to hear the patter on the roof, or to nestle in the dark, obscure -corners in our childish games. At the head of the stairs rises the -ancient chimney, cleft in twain at the foot, with the quaint little -cuddy between. Above me stretch the great beams of oak, like iron in -their hardness. Yonder is the queer old diamond window looking out upon -the village church, its panes half obscured by the dusty maze of webs. -To the left, in a shadowy corner, stands the antiquated wheel--a relic -of past generations. Long gray cobwebs festoon the rafters overhead, and -the low buzzing of a wasp betrays its mud nest in the gable above. A -sense of sadness steals over me as I sit gazing into this still chamber. -On every side are mementos of a happy past, and all, though mute, -speaking to me in a language whose power stirs the depths of my soul. -Wherever the eye may turn, it meets with a silent greeting from an old -friend, and the whole shrouded in a weird gloom that lends to the most -common object an air of melancholy mystery. And yet it is only a garret. -There are some, no doubt, for whom this word finds its fitting synonyme -in the dictionary, but there are others to whom it sings a poem of -infinite sweetness. - -Looking through the dingy window between the maple boughs, my eye -extends over lawn and shrubberies, three acres in extent--a little park, -overrun with paths in every direction, through ancient orchard and -embowered dells, while far beyond are glimpses of the wooded knolls, the -winding brook, and meadows dotted with waving willows, and farther still -the ample undulating farm. - -[Illustration: AMONG THE GRASSES.] - -It is in such a place as this that I have sought recreation and change -of scene. My wife and I have run away from the city for a month or so. A -vacation we call it; but to an artist such a thing is rarely known in -its ordinary sense, and often, indeed, it means an increase of labor -rather than a respite. My first week, however, I had consecrated to -luxurious idleness. Together we wandered through the old familiar -rambles where as boy and girl in earlier days we had been so oft -together. Day after day found us in some new retreat. There were dark -cool nooks by sheltered streams, spicy groves of pine and spruce, -wooded slopes and rocky dells, and meadows rich with summer bloom, where -idle butterflies flitted lazily on the wing; where meadow lilies nodded -in billowing fields, and the daisies and red clover waved about our -knees half screened in feathery purple grasses that spread their cloudy -mist all through the blossoming maze. We heard the music of the scythe, -and, sitting in the deep cool grass beneath the maple shade, we watched -the circling motion of the mowers in the field--saw the forkfuls of the -hay tossed in the drying sun, and breathed the perfumed air that floated -from the windrows. We sauntered by the meadow brook where willows -gleamed along the bank, and overhanging alders threw their sombre -shadows in the quiet pools: where the ground-nut, and the meadow-rue, -and the creeping madder fringed the tangled brink, and every footstep -started up some agile frog that plunged into the unseen water. We stood -where rippling shallows gurgled under festooned canopies of fox-grape, -and the leaning linden-trees shut out the sky o'erhead and intertwined -their drooping branches above the gliding current. Here, too, the -weather-beaten crossing-pole makes its tottering span across the stream, -and deep down beneath the bank the rainbow-tinted sunfish floats on -filmy fins above his yellow bed of gravel, and we catch a flashing gleam -of a silvery dace or shiner turning in the water. - -Now we confront a rude slab fence, an ancient landmark, that terminates -its length at the edge of the stream, where its gray and crumbling -boards are secured with rusty nails against the trunk of a tall -buttonwood-tree. A loosened slab is easily found, and we are soon upon -the other side; and after picking our way through a forest of -bush-elders, we emerge upon an open lot of low flat pasture-land, known -always as the "old swamp meadow." No other five acres on the face of the -earth are so dear to me as this neglected field. I know its every rise -and fall of ground, its every bog, and its lush greenness is refreshing -even to the thought. - -It is a luxuriant garden of all manner of succulent and juicy -vegetation; an outbursting extravagance of plant life of almost tropical -exuberance. All New England's most majestic and ornamental flora seem -congregated in its congenial soil; and even when a boy I learned to know -and love them all, and even call them by their names. - -Here are towering stems of iron-weed lifting high their scattered purple -crowns, and in their midst the woolly clumps of boneset, its white -flowered cushions intermingling with the dense pink tufts of -thorough-wort. - -On every side we overlook whole patches of these splendid blossoms, with -their crests closely crowded in a mosaic of pink and white. And here's a -bed of peppermint and spearmint, interspersed with flaming spikes of -cardinal lobelia; and here a lusty plant of Indian mallow, entangled in -a maze of gold-thread and smart-weed. Here are massive burdocks six feet -high, and great trees of jimson-weed, with their large spiral flowers -and thorny pods. - -High fronds of chain-fern rise up on every side from a jungle of -bur-marigolds and clotburs, and tear-thumbs, with their saw-toothed -stems and tiny bunches of pink blossoms. - -No inch of ground in the old swamp lot but which does its tenfold duty; -and what it lacks in quality of produce it amply makes up in quantity. -Even a neighboring bed of clean-washed gravel is overrun with creeping -mallow, with its rounded leaves and little "cheeses" down among their -shadows. - -[Illustration: EVEN-TIDE.] - -Farther on we see the lily-pond, with its surrounding swamp and its -legion of crowded water-plants. Here are rank, massive beds of -swamp-cabbage, and lofty cat-tails by the thousand among the bristling -bogs of tussock-sedge and bulrush. Here are calamus patches, and alder -thickets, and sedges without number; and the prickly carex and blue-flag -abound on every side. There are galingales and reeds, and tall and -graceful rushes, turtle-head and jointed scouring grass, and horse-tail, -besides a host of other old acquaintances, whose faces are familiar, but -whose names I never knew. But they were all my friends in boyhood. I -knew them in the bud and in the blossom, and even in their winter -skeletons, brown and broken in the snow. Near by there is a ditch: you -never would know it, for it is completely hidden from view beneath an -interlacing growth of jewel-weed. But see that gorgeous mass of deep -scarlet that floods the farther bank! Nowhere within a circuit of miles -around is there such a regal display of cardinal flowers as this: -skirting the borders of the ditch for rods and rods, clustering about a -ruined, tumbling fence, whose moss-grown pickets are almost hidden in -the dense profusion of bloom. - -Then there is its airy companion, the "touch-me-not," with its -translucent, juicy stem, and its queer little golden flowers with -spotted throats--the "jewel-weed" we used to call it. I know not why, -unless from the magic of its leaf, which, when held beneath the water, -was transformed to iridescent frosted silver. We all remember its -sensitive, jumping seed-pods, that burst even at our approach for fear -that we should touch them; but no one can fully appreciate the beauty of -the plant who has not seen its silvery leaf beneath the water. Here it -justifies its name, for it is indeed a jewel. - -How often in those olden times have I lain down among these bulrushes -and sedges near the lily pond, and listened to the buzzing songs of the -crickets and the tiny katydids that swarmed the growth about me, and -filled the air with their incessant din. I remember the little colony of -ants that picked their way among the rushes; that gauzy dragon-fly too, -that circled and dodged about the water's edge, now skimming close upon -the surface, now darting out of sight, or perhaps alighting on an -overhanging sedge, as motionless as a mounted specimen, with wings -aslant and fully spread. "Devil's darning-needles" they were called. The -devil may well be proud of them; for darning-needles of such precious -metals and such exquisite design are rare indeed. They were of several -sizes too. Some were large, and flashed the azure of the sapphire; -others fluttered by with smoky, pearly wings, and slender bodies -glittering in the light like animated emeralds: and another I well -remember, a little airy thing, with a glistening sunbeam for a body, and -wings of tiny rainbows. - -[Illustration] - -I remember how I watched the disturbed motion of the arrow-heads out in -the water, as the cautious turtles worked their way among them, and -crawled out upon the stump close by. - -Here they huddled together, a dozen or more, with heads erect, and -turning from side to side as they surveyed the surrounding carpet of -lily-pads, or listened to the bass-drum chorus of the great green -bull-frogs among the pickerel-weed; and when I jumped and yelled at -them, what a rolling, sprawling, splashing in the mud! It fairly makes -me laugh to think of it. But there is hardly a leaf or wisp of grass in -this old swamp lot but what brings back some old association or pleasant -reminiscence. - -[Illustration] - -For a week thus we idled, now on the mountain, now in the meadow, while -I, with my sketch-book and collecting-box, either whiled away the hours -with my pencil, or left the unfinished work to pursue the tantalizing -butterfly, or search for unsuspecting caterpillars among the weeds and -bushes. - -[Illustration: SOME ART CONNOISSEURS.] - -[Illustration: PROFESSOR WIGGLER.] - -On a sprig of black alder I found one--the same little fellow as of old, -afflicted with the peculiarities of all his progenitors. We used to call -him "Professor Wiggler," owing to an hereditary nervous habit of -wiggling his head from side to side when not otherwise employed. To -this little humpbacked creature I am indebted for a great deal of past -amusement. Distinctly I remember the whack-whack-whack on the inside of -the old pasteboard box as the captive pets threatened to dash out their -brains in their demonstrations at my approach. Professor Wiggler is -really a most remarkable insect, as one might readily imagine from his -scientific name, for in learned circles this individual is known as Mr. -Gramatophora Trisignata. He has many strange eccentricities. At each -moult of the skin he retains the shell of his former head on a long -vertical filament. Two or three thus accumulate, and, as a consequence, -in his maturer years he looks up to the head he wore when he was a -youngster, and ponders on the flight of time and the hollowness of -earthly things, or perhaps congratulates himself on the increased -contents of his present shell. When fully grown, he stops eating, and -goes into a new business. Selecting a suitable twig, he gnaws a -cylindrical hole to its centre and follows the pith, now and then -backing out of the tunnel, and dropping the excavated material in the -form of little balls of sawdust. At length he emerges from the hollow, -and again drawing himself in backward, spins a silken disk across the -opening, and tints it with the color of the surrounding bark. Here he -spends the winter, and comes out in a new spring suit in the following -May. Only recently I had in my possession several of these twigs with -their enclosed caterpillars, and in every one the color of the silken -lid so closely matched the tint of the adjacent bark, although -different in each, that several of my friends, even with the most -careful scrutiny, failed to detect the deceptive spot. Whether the -result of chance or of the instincts of the insect, I do not know; but -certain it is that he paints with different colors under varying -circumstances. - -Insect-hunting had always been a passion with me. Large collections of -moths and butterflies had many times accumulated under my hands, only to -meet destruction through boyish inexperience; and even in childhood the -love for the insect and the passion for the pencil strove hard for the -ascendency, and were only reconciled by a combination which filled my -sketch-book with studies of insect life. - -There was one inhabitant of our fields which had always been to me a -never-failing source of entertainment. There he is, the gilded tyrant. I -see him now swinging to and fro on his glistening nest of silken -threads, his golden yellow form glowing in bold relief against the dark -recess in the brambles. My sketch is left in the grass, and I am soon -seated in front of the gossamer maze. A festive grasshopper jumps up -into my face, and makes a carom on the web. With a spasmodic snap of one -hind leg he extricates it from its entanglement, and in another instant -would fall from the meshes; but the agile spider is too quick for him. -With a movement so swift as almost to elude the eye, he draws from his -body a silver cloud of floss, and with his long hind legs throws it over -his captive. The head and tail of the grasshopper are now further -secured, after which the spider carefully straddles around the -struggling insect, and bites off the other radiating webs in close -proximity. The unlucky prey now hangs suspended across the opening. With -business-like coolness his tormentor dangles himself from the edge of -the torn web, and another cataract of glistening floss is thrown up and -attached to the under side of the prisoner, after which he is turned -round and round, as if on a spit. The stream of floss is carried from -head to foot, and in less time than it takes to describe it the victim -is wrapped in a silken winding-sheet, and soon meets his death from the -poisoned fangs of his captor. Here is but one of the thousands of -tragedies that are taking place every hour of the day in our fields. -While deeply interested in the closing scenes of this one, I suddenly -become aware of a shadow passing over the bushes. I turn my head, and -meet the puzzled and pleasant gaze of Amos Shoopegg, as he stands there, -hands in pockets, and milk-pail swinging from his wrist. - -[Illustration: THE TYRANT OF THE FIELDS.] - -"Wa'al, thar," he exclaims, banging down one brawny fist on his uplifted -knee. "Buggin' agin, I swaow! Hain't yeu got over thet yit? What yeu kin -find so mighty fine in them 'ere bugs beats me." - -"Amos," I replied, "there's a great deal more in these bugs than you -imagine." - -"A pleggy sight, I suppose," he resumed. "What specie o' critter ye got -hold on naow?" and he stretched forward his fringed and weather-beaten -neck, and peered over the brambles. "What is't ye got -thar--straddle-bug?" He came still nearer, and looked at the spider. -"Wa'al, darn my pictur ef 'tain't an old yeller-belly! P'r'aps you don't -know that them critters is pizen. Why, Eben Sanford's gal got all chawed -up by one on 'em. Great Sneezer!" he exclaimed, taking three or four -strides backward, with both hands uplifted. I had merely raised my hand -and gently smoothed the spider. - -"Wa'al," he continued, "yen kin rub 'em daown ef yeu pleze; but fer _my_ -part, I'd ruther keep off abaout a good spittin' distance"--which was -the Shoopegg way of expressing a length of about fifteen feet. Amos was -crossing lots for his "caow," he said; but in spite of his plea that the -"old heiffer" was "bellerin'" like "Sam Hill," and was "gittin' 'tarnal -on-easy," I made him tarry sufficiently long to enable me to send him -off a wiser man. - -Amos Shoopegg is a type of a large class of the native element of -Hometown. Of course, "Shoopegg" is not his actual name. In the long line -of his prided Puritan ancestry no one ever bore it before him. This is -only an affectionate epithet given him by the village boys full twenty -years ago, and it has stuck to him closer than a brother ever since, as -those festive surnames always do. Nominally, Amos was a farmer. In -summer he was one in fact, and could swing off as pretty a swath in -haying as any man in town. But in the winter he changed his vocation, -and became a disciple of the "waxed-end." All day long he could be seen, -closeted with a little red-hot stove, plying his trade in his small, -square shop, up near the old red school-house. Here he pounded on the -big lapstone on his knees, or, with strap and foot-stick in position, -punched and tugged around the edge of those marvellous brogans. He made -slings and leather "suckers" for the boys, and furnished them with all -the black-wax they could chew--or stow-away, to stick between the lining -of their pockets. And the huge wooden shoe-pegs that he drove beneath -his hammer were a sight to behold. The man who used his "cheap line of -goods" might verily say he walked upon a wood-pile. - -So they dubbed him "Shoe-peg," or "Shoop" for brevity. There are others -among his neighbors who would furnish an inexhaustible source of study -to the student of character. There's old Rufus Fairchild, known as -"Roof," a rotund specimen of rural jollity, his round face set in -dishevelled locks of gray, with a twinkle in his eye and a good word for -everybody. And there's Father Tomlinson, who keeps the post-office down -by the dam, as genial an old fellow as ever wrapped up his throat in a -white stock. And I might almost continue the list indefinitely. But -there is one I must especially mention; and, now that I think of it, he -really should have headed the list, for he stands alone--or at least he -does _sometimes_. If you are in search of the embodiment of typical -Erin, you need go no farther; here he is. This individual represents -another nationality which swells the population of Hometown--the -hard-working laborers who toil in the great factory down in the glen, -called "Satan's Misery." The above personage is one of the best-hearted -creatures in the town; but it is the old story, and the world to him is -enclosed in the compass of a barrel-hoop. When last I saw him he was in -an evident decline, but as I put my finger on his wrist I could still -feel the pulsations of the whiskey coursing through his veins. - -"Look here, my good fellow," I said to him one day, "why don't you taper -off a little? If you keep on in this way, you'll be in your grave in -less than a month. How would you like that?" - -"Arrah, begorra," he replied, with a look of hopeful resignation, "if I -cud awnly be shure o' me gude skvare dthrink in the other wurrld, oi -wudn't moind." - -The record of a single evening spent in the village store, with its -rural jargon and homespun yarns, its odd vernacular and rustic gossip, -would make a volume as rare and unique as the characters it would -depict. - -The store itself is a matchless picture in its way, and for variety in -accessory is as rich as could be wished for. The low, murky ceiling, -hung with all manner of earthly goods--scythes and rakes, boots and -pails, in pendulous array; bottles and boxes, brooms and breast-pins, -are here--in short, everything that heart could wish or thought suggest, -from speckled calicoes to seven-cent sugar, or from a three-tined fork -to a goose-yoke. Evening after evening, for an hour or so, I was tempted -thither, until I found the week had gone. Sunday came again--Sunday in -New England. The old bell swung on its wheel in the belfry, ringing out -its call to devotion, and ere the echo had died in the recesses of the -mountain beyond the still atmosphere reverberated with an answering peal -from the little sister church in the valley below, as the scattered -groups with strolling steps wend their way to "meeting," and the gay -loads from Newborough go flitting by on the accustomed Sunday drive. - -Monday dawned on Hometown. It found me up and doing. I had enjoyed one -week of glorious loafing, but work was the programme for the next. I -went to Draper's Inn and engaged a horse and buggy "until further -notice." "A spang-up team" he called it, and it would be up "in half a -jiffy." We were waiting for it when it came, and what with our variety -of luggage in the shape of canvases, color-boxes, hammocks, camp-seats, -and easels, every bit of available space in that buggy was well -utilized. Before the clock has struck nine, we are spinning along down -through the village, now past the store, now over the bridge, and -turning to the right, we glide by the little post-office, as the kind -face of Father Tomlinson nods a "good-bye" from the door-way. - -A little farther, and we have left the little slope-roofed school-house -in our path, and are soon ascending the long hill of Zoar, from which we -look back four miles to the cliff and nestling town. In ten minutes more -we approach the brow of a steep declivity, and the broad Housatonic -opens up to view, winding off into the misty mountains in the distance. -There is now a drive of half a mile along the side of a wild -mountain-slope, where mountain-laurels grow in wild profusion, and the -rooty, overhanging banks are tufted with rich green moss, overgrown with -checker-berries and arbutus. The river roars far down below us, and for -a few minutes our eyes feast on as lovely an extent of varied New -England landscape as is easily found. And yet this is only a short -section of one of the many matchless drives that follow the course of -this beautiful river around the borders of Hometown. - -[Illustration: FAMILIAR FACES AT THE VILLAGE STORE.] - -Suddenly we leave the stream as it glides away on an abrupt turn beneath -the crescent of a rocky precipice, and before we have fairly lost the -sound of the ripples we have arrived at our journey's end. A pair of -bars under an old butternut-tree mark the place. The carriage is backed -to the side of the road, and the horse turned loose in the rocky meadow. -This is Joab Nichols's "pasture lot," with fodder consisting principally -of huge boulders, hardhack, and spleenwort; to be sure, with a stray -relish of "butter-and-eggs" here and there, and a thousand white saucers -of wild carrot handy to go with them. One or two trips across the field -bring all our luggage, and we are soon enjoying cool comfort in the -hemlock shade of a fairy grotto. Above us the babbling brook bounds and -splashes over mossy rocks, disappearing in a mass of creamy foam, from -under which it eddies toward us only to plunge twenty feet into a -miniature canyon below. Again, yonder it bubbles into a whirling pool, -where the bordering ferns bend and nod above its buoyant surface; and -now gliding from view beneath the tangle of drooping boughs, it -disappears only to burst forth once more in its merry song as it rushes -over the rapids. - - "I chatter, chatter as I go, - To join the brimming river; - For men may come and men may go, - But I go on forever." - -Here in this wild retreat I have found my sylvan studio--shut in by -fringed and fragrant evergreens, enlivened by the undergrowth of -feathery fronds, and the shimmer of the beech, as the tracery of -overhanging boughs trembles in the gentle breeze. Day after day finds us -in this little paradise, and as one in luxurious hammock swings away the -hours, now lost in fiction, now in short repose, or perhaps with busy -needle fashions graceful figures in Kensington design, the canvas on the -easel shows a fortnight's constant care, and the palette changes to a -keepsake of a sunny memory--a tinted souvenir. - -For two weeks the gurgling brook sang to us in this wild retreat. As -evening after evening closed in upon us, the unfinished pictures were -stowed away in horizontal crevices between the rocks, and, with hammock -still swinging in the trees, we left the gloom to the hooting owl, that -evening after evening, with tremulous cry, proclaimed the twilight hour -from the tall hemlock overhead. Ere long the murmuring Housatonic -shimmers below us in the moonlight as we hurry on our homeward way, and -the distant lights of Hometown are soon seen glimmering; through the -evening mist. The old bridge now rumbles through the darkness its signal -of our return, and the host of Draper's Inn is seen awaiting us at the -illumined door-way. A quiet, cosy supper, and in the rays of a gleaming -lantern, held aloft to light our path, we follow our lengthening shadows -to the old front gate. Repeat this day's record fourteen times, and you -have the sum of a happy experience, with but one drawback: it had an -end--an end that would have left its reaction, were it not for the store -of increased pleasure that awaited us for the few closing days of our -pilgrimage--for me, at least, although in other scenes, its climax. - -[Illustration: A SOUVENIR.] - -Many like me are happy in the possession of a dear old homestead; but -there are few, I ween, who enjoy the blessing of a double inheritance -such as has been my lot--two homes which share my equal devotion, two -homes without a choice; the one this beloved heirloom in Hometown, and -the other--But you shall see. We shall be there soon, for the little -satchel is packed, and the carriage awaits us at the gate. A drive of -eighteen miles is before us--a beautiful series of pictures. Down -through the village, past the old red mill and smithy, with its ringing -anvil, and we are soon winding our way through a sombre glen. Presently -we catch glimpses of the great rumbling factory, with its clouds of -smoke and steam melting into the wooded mountain above. The old yellow -bridge now creaks under our approach, and ere we are aware a sudden turn -leads us out of a wilderness on to the shore of the beautiful -Housatonic. For a few minutes the rushing water trickles through the -wheels as over jolting stones our pony leads us through the ford, and, -refreshed by the cool bath, makes a lively sally up the eastern bank. -For ten miles the Housatonic guides us around its winding curves through -a path of ever-changing beauty, now shut in by the dense, dark -evergreens, and again emerging into a bower of silvery beeches, where -the roadway is carpeted with mottled shadows, and the dappled trunks -flicker with the softened glints of sunlight. Here we come upon a sandy -stretch where the road is sunken between two sloping banks thick-set -with mulleins and sweet-fern, and overrun with creeping brambles. The -stone-wall above is wreathed in trailing woodbine, and along its crest -we see the swaying tips of wheat from the edge of the field just beyond; -and here we pass a border of whortleberry bushes, laden with their -fruit. Now it is a hazel thicket crowding close upon our wheels, and -among the leaves we see the brown, tanned husks of the ripening nuts, -almost ready for that troop of boys and girls that you may be sure are -watching and waiting for them. - -The old gray toll-bridge soon nears to view, with its two long spans and -fantastic beams. Farther on, peering from its willows, stands the ruined -cider-mill, with its long moss-grown lever jutting through the trees--an -old-time haunt, now crumbling in decay. But we only catch a glimpse of -it, for in a moment more we are shut in beneath another bower of beeches -and white birches, where the road takes a steep ascent, and the rippling -river sends up its sunny reflections among the leaves and tree-trunks. -When once more upon a level, it is to look ahead through a long avenue -of shade--a leafy canopy two miles in length--with only an occasional -break to open up some charming bit of landscape across the water. In -these two miles of umbrage you may see types of almost every tree that -grows within the boundaries of New England. Old veteran beeches are -here, their trunks disfigured with scars that once were names cut in the -bark. Here are spots that look like half obliterated figures; and here -are spreading hieroglyphs that tell, perhaps, of old-time vows plighted -at the trysting-tree; and here's a semblance of a heart, a broken heart -indeed, if its present form be taken as a prophetic symbol. - -[Illustration: ALONG THE HOUSATONIC.] - -There are magnificent rock-maples too, and silver-maples that shake down -their little swarms of winged seeds. Tulip-trees and spotted buttonwoods -grow side by side, and quivering aspens and white poplars are seen at -every clearing. There are yellow birch-trunks frayed out with the wind, -and great snake-like stems of grape-vine, that twist and writhe among -the branches of the trees. There are hop hornbeams, and chestnuts, -and--But there is no need to enumerate them all. Just think of every New -England tree you ever knew, and add a score besides, and you will form a -slight idea of the varied verdure that hems in this charming Housatonic -drive, with its rocky roadside embroidered in trickling moss and -fumitory; and rose-flowered mountain-raspberry growing so close upon the -road that your pony takes a wayward nip, and plucks its blossomed tip as -he passes. - -Now comes an open level, with wide, expansive views, where every turn -upon the road brings its fresh surprise, as some new combination of hazy -mountain landscape towers above the distant river bend; and the flitting -cloud shadows lead their capricious, undulating chase across the wooded -slopes. The roadsides here are full of everchanging beauties too, with -their trimmings of ornamental sunflowers, their picturesque old fences, -and their clumps of purple-berried poke-weed, with here and there a -yellow patch of toad-flax, and aromatic tufts of tansy hugging close -against the fence. Even that clambering screen of clematis that trails -over the shrubbery yonder cannot hide the scattered tips of crimson that -already have appeared among the sumach leaves. - -There are a thousand things one meets upon a country ride or ramble -which at the time are allowed to pass with but a glance. The eye is -surfeited and the mind confused with the continual pageantry. But months -afterward, in the reveries about our winter fires, they all come back to -us, with the added charm of reminiscence; and whether it be a crystal -spring among a bank of ferns, or a thistle-top with its fluttering -butterfly and inevitable bumblebee rolling in the tufted blossom, or a -squirrel running along a rail, or perhaps a rattling grasshopper -hovering in mid-air above the dusty road--no matter what, they all are -welcome memories at our fireside, and draw our hearts still closer to -the loveliness of nature. - -This Housatonic road is rich in just such pastoral pictures. Two hours -on such a course soon pass, when our pony whinnies at the welcome sight -of the old log water-trough beyond--a landmark old and green when I was -yet a boy, still nestling in its rocky bed, shadowed by the drooping -hemlocks, still lavish with its overflowing bounty. - -This benefactor by the way-side marks a turning-point in our journey, as -we leave the grandeur of the Housatonic to pursue our way by the nooks -and dingles of the wild Shepaug--a bubbling tributary whose happy waters -sing of a varied experience. Now placid through the blossoming fields, -now plunging down the precipice to ripple through a verdant valley, -where, hemmed in at every turn, it seeks its only liberty beneath the -rumbling of the old mill-wheels; and at last, ere it loses its identity -in the swelling tide, leaving a mischievous and tumultuous record as it -pours through the rocky canyon, and with surging, whirling volume carves -huge caverns and fantastic statues in its massive bed of stone. Even now -through the dark forest beyond we can hear the muffled roar, and for -nearly a league farther as we ascend the long hill it comes to us in -fitful whispers wafted on the changing breeze. Reaching the summit of -this incline, we find ourselves on a hill-top wide and far-reaching, on -right and left losing itself in wooded wold, while in front the level -road diminishes to a point, surmounted by blue hills in the distance. -Two miles on a pastoral hill-top, where golden-rod and tall spiraeas -cluster along the lichen-covered walls, where orange-lilies gleam among -the alders, with now and then a blazing group of butterfly-plant or a -dusty clump of milk-weed. The air is laden with the nut-like odor of the -everlasting flowers all around us. The buzzing drum of the harvest-fly -vibrates from every tree, and we hear the tinkling bell and lowing of -the cattle in some neighboring field. Farther on, we look down from the -edge of the plateau through the length of Happy Valley, with its winding -stream, its barns and busy mills, its sunny homes glinting through the -summer haze. On the left the lofty shadowed cliff known as "Steep-rock" -towers against the evening sky, and again we catch the murmuring whiffs -of the rushing stream in its sweeping bend beneath the overhanging -precipice. A sharp turn round a jutting hill-side, and I meet a prospect -that quickens the heart and makes the eye grow dim. There beyond, three -miles "as flies the laden bee," I linger on the welcome sight, as on its -hill-top fair two steeples side by side betray the hidden town, my -second home. - -How lightly did I appreciate the fortunate journey when, twenty summers -ago, I followed this road for the first time, when a boy of ten years, -on my way to an unknown village, I looked across the landscape to the -little spires on that distant hill! Little did I dream of the six years -of unmixed happiness and precious experience that awaited me in that -little Judea! I only knew that I was sadly quitting a happy home on my -way to "boarding-school"--a school called the Snuggery, taught by a Mr. -Snug, in a little village named Snug Hamlet, about twenty miles from -Hometown. - -There are some experiences in the life of every one which, however -truthful, cannot be told but to elicit the doubtful nod or the warning -finger of incredulity. They were such experiences as these, however, -that made up the sum of my early life in that happy refuge called in -modern parlance a "boarding-school"--a name as empty, a word as weak and -tame in its significance, as poverty itself; no doubt abundantly -expressive in its ordinary application, but here it is a mockery and a -satire. This is not a "boarding-school;" it is a _household_, whose -memories moisten the eye and stir the soul; to which its scattered -members through the fleeting years look back as to a neglected home, -with father and mother dear, whom they long once more to meet as in the -tenderness of boyhood days; a cherished remembrance which, like the -"house upon a hill, cannot be hid," but sends abroad its light unto many -hearts who in those early days sought the loving shelter; a bright star -in the horizon of the past, a glow that ne'er grows dim, but only -kindles and brightens with the flood of years. Yes, yes; I know it -sounds like a dash of sentiment, but words of mine are feeble and -impotent indeed when sought for the expression of an attachment so fond, -of a love so deep. - -Fifteen years ago, with a parting full of sorrow, I rode away from Snug -Hamlet yonder in the village stage--a day that brought a depression that -lingered long, and lingers still. Glowing, sunset-tinted fields glide by -unnoticed now, as, with eyes intent on the distant hill, I look back -through the lapse of time. A mile has gone without my knowing it, when a -joyous laugh awakens me from my day-dreams. Two boys approach us on the -road ahead, and, what might seem very strange to you, one wears a wooden -boot-jack strung around his neck and dangling on his breast; but he -carries his burden lightly and cheerfully. As they near the carriage I -draw the rein, and they both pause by the roadside. - -"Well, boys," I ask, "where do _you_ hail from?" - -"We're from the Snuggery, sir." - -"I thought so," said I, with a laugh, in which they both joined. "But -what are you doing with that boot-jack?" - -"Oh, you see," said one, with a roguish smile, "Charlie and I were -having a little tussle in the sitting-room, and he picked up Mr. Snug's -boot-jack in the corner and began to pummel me with it; and jest as we -were having it the worst, and were rollin' on the floor, Mr. Snug came -in and caught us in the job, and now we're _payin'_ for it." - -"How so?" I inquired, well knowing what would be the response. - -"Oh, you see, Mr. Snug held a diagnosis over our remains, and said he -thought we were suffering, for the want of a little exercise, and -ordered us on a trip to Judd's Bridge." - -"And the boot-jack?" - -"Oh, he said that Charlie might want to play with that some more on the -way, and that he'd better fetch it along;" and with a mischievous -snicker at his encumbered companion, he led him along the road in an -hilarious race, while we enjoyed a hearty laugh at their expense. - -And this a _punishment_! Yes, here is an introduction to one phase of a -system of correction as unique as the matchless institution in which it -had its birth--a system without a parallel in the annals of chastisement -or school government, and which for thirty years has proved its wisdom -in the household management of the Snuggery. - -"To Judd's Bridge!" How natural the sound of those words! How many -times have I myself been on that same pilgrimage of penance! The -destination of these boys is a rickety but picturesque structure which -spans the Shepaug five miles below Snug Hamlet. Through three decades it -looks back to its host of acquaintances of those romping lads who, in -the superfluity of exuberant spirits, made havoc and din in the -household. The dose is administered with wise discrimination both as to -the symptoms and the needs and strength of the patient. It always proves -a sterling remedy, and sometimes, indeed, a sugar-coated one, as in the -case of these two ruddy, rollicking examples. - -[Illustration] - -Judd's Bridge is but one of a score of places which serve in the -administration of Snuggery discipline. It is, however, the one most -remote, and its ten-mile journey is reserved as an heroic dose for -extraordinary cases, after other prescriptions have been tried without -avail. Next on the list comes Moody Barn, with "open doors" every day in -the week to its frequent callers. This old settler, gray and -weather-beaten, marks a point one mile from the Snuggery, where the -still waters of the Shepaug run slow and deep--the favorite -"swimming-hole" of the Snuggery. - -[Illustration: THE HAUNTED MILL.] - -And then there's Kirby Corners, a mere stroll of a few minutes round the -square of a rock-bound pasture--just enough to give yourself time to -think a bit and congratulate yourself on what you have escaped. All -these, and several more, are vivid in my memory; friends, old and -intimate. And here's another, right before us by the roadside. For -several minutes through the tantalizing trees we have heard its rumbling -wheel, its reiterating clank, and busy saw; and now, as its familiar -outline looms up against the evening sky, the vision seems to darken, as -on that night of long ago, when through the shadowy mystery of the -moonlit gloom I stole my way among the sheltering golden-rod; when the -lofty flume, like a huge horned creature, seemed to stride athwart me in -the darkness, and the fitful boyish fancy saw strange phantoms in the -floating, melting mist. This ancient structure reposes in a verdant dell -at the foot of Snug Hamlet Hill. A choice of two roads lies before -us--one short and direct, the other a roundabout approach. A sudden -impulse leads me into the latter. On right and left I see the same old -rocks and trees. There stands the aged beech to whose gnarled and hollow -trunk I traced the agile flying-squirrel, and with suffocating flame and -smoke drove him from his hiding-place. Here between large rocks and -stones the trout-stream runs its course, now pouring in small cataracts, -now eddying into still, dark nooks, where in those by-gone times I -dropped the line of expectancy, but showed the clumsiness of adversity. -A few minutes later, and we are gliding again by the dark Shepaug, now -flowing calm and silent beneath a rugged bank, wild and umbrageous, -where the swarm of katydids, with grating discord, maintain their old -dispute, that never-ending feud. The wheels turn noiselessly in the -shifting sand as we pursue our way. The low gray fog steals lightly over -the lily-pads, floating into seclusion beneath the sheltering boughs, -or, like an evanescent spirit, borne upon the evening breath, is lifted -from the gloom, and slowly melts into the twilight sky. The solitary -whippoorwill from his mysterious haunt, perhaps in yonder tree, perhaps -in the mountain loneliness beyond, proclaims with dismal cry his -oft-repeated wail. And as we ascend the darkening path, through the -still night air, in measured cadence long and sad, we hear the toll of -the distant knell. Threescore-and-ten its numbers tell of the earthly -years--a curfew requiem for the dead. Even as we pass the little chapel -at the summit of the hill, and the bell has scarcely ceased its -melancholy tidings, we hear the shouts and merry laughs of the boys on -the village green. Presently its broad expanse, shut in by twinkling -windows and massive trees, spreads out before us, as a clear and ringing -voice, like that of old, echoes through the growing darkness, "One -hundred! Nothing said, coming ahead!" and a dim figure steals cautiously -from the steps of the old white church to seek in the sequestered -hiding-places. With a heart that fairly thumps, I urge my pony onward -across the green, and ere he slackens his pace I am at my journey's end. -The dear old Snuggery, with its gables manifold and quaint, its -fantastic wings and towers, stands there before me, the glowing windows -beaming through the maples. Leaving our pony in willing hands, we enter -the gate, and are soon upon the wide porch. - -[Illustration: PURSUERS AND PURSUED.] - -It is eight o'clock, and the Snuggery is hushed in the quiet of the -study hour, and as we look through the windows we see the little groups -of studious lads bending over their books. Turning a corner on the -piazza, we are confronted with a tall hexagonal structure at its farther -end. This is the Tower, the lower room of which is consecrated to the -cosy retirement of Mr. and Mrs. Snug. The door leading to the porch is -open, and, as if awakening from a nap in which the past fifteen years -have been a dream, I listen to the same dear voice. I approach nearer. -Under the glow of a student's lamp I look upon the beloved face, the -flowing hair and beard now silvered with the lapse of years--a face of -unusual firmness, but whose every line marks the expression of a tender, -loving nature, and of a large and noble heart. Near him another sits--a -helpmeet kind and true, cherished companion in a happy, useful life. -Into her lap a nestling lad has climbed; and as she strokes the curly -head and looks into the chubby face, I see the same expression as of -old, the same motherly tenderness and love beaming from the large gray -eyes. - -Mr. Snug is leaning back in his easy-chair, and two boys are standing up -before him; one of them is speaking, evidently in answer to a question. - -"I called him a galoot, sir." - -"You called George a galoot, and then he threw the base-ball club at -you--is that it?" - -"Yes, sir," interrupted George; "but I was only playing, sir." - -"Yes," resumed the voice of Mr. Snug, "but that club went with -considerable force, and landed over the fence, and made havoc in Deacon -Farish's onion-bed; and that reminds me that the deacon's onion-bed is -overrun with weeds. Now, Willie," continued Mr. Snug, after a moment's -hesitation, with eyes closed, and head thrown back against the chair, -"Saturday morning--to-morrow, that is--directly after breakfast, you go -out into the grove and call names to the big rock for half an hour. -Don't stop to take breath; and don't call the same name twice. Your -vocabulary will easily stand the drain. You understand?" - -"Yes, sir." - -"And, George," continued Mr. Snug, with deliberate, easy intonation, -"to-morrow morning, at the same time, you present yourself politely to -Deacon Farish, tell him that I sent you, and ask him to escort you to -his onion-bed. After which you will go carefully to work and pull out -all the weeds. You understand, sir?" - -"Yes, sir." - -"And then you will both report to me as usual." And with a pleasant -smile, which was reflected in both their faces, the erring youngsters -were dismissed. Before the door has closed behind them we are standing -in the door-way. Here I draw the curtain; for who but one of its own -household could understand a welcome at the Snuggery? - -Those of my old school-mates who read this meagre sketch will know the -happiness of such a meeting; but others less fortunate in the -recollections of school-life can only look for its counterpart in an -affectionate welcome in their own homes, for the Snuggery _is_ a home to -all who ever dwelt within its gates. Seated in the familiar cosiness, -and surrounded by the friends of my school-days, the hours fly fast and -pleasantly. There is plenty to talk about. Here is a village full of -good people of whom I wish to learn, and there are many far-off chums of -whom I carry tidings. A bell rings in the cupola as one by one, from the -buzz in the outer rooms, boys large and small seek our seclusion for the -accustomed good-night adieu; and ere another hour has passed forty -sleepy urchins are packed away in their snug quarters. The evening runs -on into midnight, as with stories of the past, its pains and penalties, -its remembrances, now humorous now sad by turns, we recall the good old -times; and the "wee sma' hours" are already upon us as we reluctantly -retire from the goodly company to our rooms across the way. - -[Illustration: TOLLING FOR THE DEAD.] - -The next morning finds us in the midst of a merry load, with Mr. Snug as -a driver; and many and varied were the beauties that opened up before us -on that charming ride! Snug Hamlet, once called Judea, in the qualities -of its landscape as well as in everything else, is unique. Stripped of -all its old associations, it presents to the artistic eye a combination -of attractions scarcely to be equalled in the boundaries of New England. -Situated itself on the brow of an abrupt hill, where its picturesque -homes cluster about a broad open green, a few minutes' drive in any -direction reveals a surrounding panorama of the rarest loveliness. Five -hundred feet below us, winding in and out, now beneath leafy tangles, -now under quaint little bridges, and again reposing placidly in broad -mill-ponds, the happy Shepaug lends to a lovely valley its usefulness -and beauty. Turning in another direction, we pass the Snuggery -ball-ground, animated with the shouts of victory; and descending into a -vale of almost primeval wildness, we continue our way up the ascent of -"Artist's Hill," from whose summit on every side, as far as the eye can -reach, the landscape softens into the hazy horizon. Returning, we pass -through a ruined waste, where, three months before, the fierce tornado -swooped down in its fiendish fury. On every side we see its awful -evidences. Huge oaks, like brittle pipe-stems, snapped from their -moorings; sturdy hickories, mere play-things in the gale, twisted into -shreds. - -[Illustration: WRECKS OF THE TORNADO.] - -Every morning saw me on some new drive, either with a wagon full of -merry company, or as alone with Mr. Snug we held our quiet _tete-a-tete_ -on wheels, living over the olden times. In the afternoon I strolled by -myself through the old and eloquent scenes. A volume could not hold the -memories they revived--no, not even those of yonder barn alone. Even as -I sit making my pencil-sketch, its reminiscences seem to float across -the vision. Distinctly it recalls the events of one evening years ago. -It was at about the sunset hour one Friday. I was quietly sitting on a -lounge in the parlor talking to Cuthbert Harding, who was standing in -front of me. Presently the door opens, and the tall figure of Dick Shin -enters. Dick and I were antipodes in every sense of the word. Physically -we were as a match and a billiard ball, he being the lucifer. He was -also my _bete noire_, and he never missed an opportunity to vent his -spite. Accordingly he stalked toward us, and with a violent push sent -Cuthbert pell-mell on to me. In falling, he stepped heavily on my foot, -and hurt me severely, which accounted for my excited expression as I -threw him from me. - -Of course Mr. Snug had to come in just at this time, and seeing us in -what looked to him very like a fight, he took us firmly by the ears and -stood us side by side, while I ventured to explain. - -"Not a word!" exclaimed he, in a tone there was no mistaking. "You two -boys may cool off on a trip to Moody Barn, after which you will report -to me in the Tower. Now go." - -Whatever may have been the state of my mind a few moments before, I was -now mad in earnest, and with every bit of my latent obstinacy aroused, I -sauntered out on to the porch. - -"Cool off, old boy," whispered a grating voice at my side, as I turned -and met the gaze of Dick Shin, motioning with his thumb in the direction -of Moody Barn--"cool off; you need it;" and his ample mouth stretched -into a sneering grin. - -I had already formed an intention, but now it was a resolve. - -"Cuthbert," said I to my quiet and less choleric companion, when some -distance down the road, "I am not going on that trip." - -"Not going!" replied he, with surprise; "why, you'll _have_ to go." - -"But I _won't_ go, and that settles it. It's confounded unjust that -we're sent, anyhow, and I don't propose to stand it." - -"I think so too," answered Cuthbert, with hesitating emphasis; "but -what'll we do? We'll have to report to Mr. Snug, you know; that's the -_worst_ of it." - -"Well, I'll be spokesman, and I'll _lie_ before I'll go on that trip." - -I was boiling over with righteous wrath, but Cuthbert never was known to -boil; he only simmered a little, but readily seconded my plan. We -stopped at Kirby Corners, and there, secluded from view in the bushes, -we spent the interval. Cuthbert had a watch, and by the light of the -rising moon we were enabled to fix the full period for the trip. One -hour and a half we allowed--an abundant limit. During this time I had -completely "cooled off," and had schooled myself to that point where I -could tell a lie with a smooth face and a clear conscience. -Accordingly, when the time came, we appeared at the door of the Tower. -Mr. Snug was sitting in his accustomed place, and we entered and stood -before him. - -[Illustration: PASSING THOUGHTS.] - -"Well, sir," said he, with a polite bow of the head, dropping his paper -and looking up at us. - -"Mr. Snug, we have come to report," said I, fearlessly. "We have been to -Moody Barn." - -Instantly Mr. Snug straightened himself up in his chair, pushed back -the gray locks from his high forehead, and, with an expression that I -never shall forget, glared at me from under the frowning eyebrows. - -"_You lie, sir!_" he exclaimed, in thundering tones that fairly made my -hair stand on end, while Cuthbert trembled from head to foot; then -followed a brief moment of consternation that seemed an age. "Now go!" -continued he, as with an emphatic nod of the head he motioned toward the -door. Sheepish and crest-fallen, we slunk away from the room. It is -needless to say that we went this time. Through the darkness, by the aid -of a lantern, we picked our way, as with theories numerous and ingenious -we strove to account for that vociferous reception. - -Late that night we held an experience meeting with Mr. and Mrs. Snug in -the Tower, and if I remember right there were a few tears that fell, and -many apologies and good resolves, and as the true state of the case -dawned on Mr. Snug there was an evident twinge of regret on his kind -face. - -On the following morning (Saturday) there was a jolly party of youths -leaving the Snuggery for a day's boating at the lake. Dick Shin was -among them; and just as he was passing out the gate, a youngster -approaches him and taps him on the shoulder. "You are hereby arrested, -sir, on the orders of Mr. Snug." - -With an anxious and innocent expression Dick follows his juvenile -constable into the Tower, and his companions stroll along after to -ascertain the cause of the detention. We pass over the brief but amusing -trial, in which the prisoner, with the innocence of a little lamb, -pleaded his cause. - -"You _stumbled_, did you?" said Mr. Snug. "Well, you ought to know, sir, -by this time that I don't allow young men to stumble in that way in my -house. These two boys have suffered through your admitted clumsiness." -Here Mr. Snug paused in a moment's thought. "Dick Shin," he continued, -"I sent these innocent young gentlemen on two trips to Moody Barn--that -makes four miles for Bigson and four miles for Harding, together making -eight that they walked on your account. Now you may put down your -fishing-pole, and 'stumble' along on the road to Judd's Bridge, which -will give you two extra miles in which to think over your sins. And to -make sure"--here Mr. Snug arose and went to the closet--"you may take -this hatchet along with you, and bring me back a good big chip from the -end of the long bridge beam. I shall ride over that way to-morrow and -see whether it fits. You understand?" - -"Yes, sir," replied the injured voice of Dick Shin. "But, Mr. Snug, -can't I put off that penance until Monday?" - -"No, sir," replied Mr. Snug, with a beaming smile and a bow of the head. -"This is a lovely morning for contrite meditation. Go--_instantly_." - -Two hours later saw a demonstrative individual threatening to chop down -the whole side of a bridge, while ten miles to the northward the placid -surface of Waramaug rippled to the oars, and the lofty mountain-sides -echoed with the shouts of a merry holiday. - - * * * * * - -But all things must have an end. The school-days ended, and so did this -memorable vacation. A letter breaks the charm: insatiate publisher! Once -more through the winding paths of the Housatonic, and I leave the -loveliness of Hometown for the metropolis of brick and stone, there to -resume the old routine. - - - - -AUTUMN. - -[Illustration: THE WANING] - -[Illustration] - - -I am sitting alone upon a wooded knoll at our old farm at Hometown. -Above me a venerable oak holds aloft its dome of bronze-green verdure, -and on either side the gnarled and knotty branches bend low, and trail -their rustling leaves among the tufts of waving grass that fringe the -slope around me. - -It is a spot endeared to me from earliest memory, a loved retreat whose -every glimpse beneath the overhanging boughs has left its impress, whose -every feature of undulating field, of wooded mountain, and winding -meadow-brook I have long been able to summon up at will before my closed -eyes, as though a mirror of the living picture now before me. And what -is this picture? - -It is an enchanted vision of nature's autumn loveliness--a vision of -peace and tranquil resignation that lingers like a poem in the memory. -It is a glorious October day, one of those rarest and loveliest of days -when all nature seems transfigured, when a golden, misty veil swings -from the heavens in a charmed haze, through which the commonest and most -prosaic thing seems spiritualized and glorified. The summer's full -fruition is past and gone, the dross has been consumed; and in the -lingering life, whose yielding flush now lends its sweet expression to -the declining year, we see the type of perfect trust and hope that finds -a fitting emblem in the dim horizon, where heaven and earth are wedded -in a golden haze, where purple hills melt softly in the sky. It is a day -when one may dream with open eyes, and whose day-dreams haunt the memory -as sweet realities. The sky is filled with rolling, fleecy clouds, whose -flat receding bases seem to float upon a transparent amber sea, from -whose depths I look through into the blue air beyond. - -Below me an ancient orchard skirts the borders of the knoll. Its boughs -are crimson studded, and the ground beneath is strewn with the bright -red fruit. They mark the minutes as they fall, running the gauntlet of -the craggy twigs and bounding upon the slope beneath. Beyond the orchard -stretch the low, flat meadow lands, set with alders and swamp-maples, -with swaying willows, now enclosing, now revealing the graceful curves -of the quiet stream as it winds in and out among the overhanging -foliage. Soon it is lost beneath a wooded hill, where an old square -tower and factory-bell betray the hiding-place of the glassy pond that -sends its splashing water-fall across the rocks beneath the old town -bridge. Looking down upon this bridge, Mount Pisgah, with its rugged -cliff, is seen rising bold and stern against the sky, above a broad and -bright mosaic of elms and maples, spreading from the grove of oaks near -by in an unbroken expanse, to the very foot of the precipice, with here -and there a sunny cupola or gable peering out among the branches, or a -snowy steeple lifting high its golden cross or weather-vane glittering -in the sun. The mountain-side is lit up with its autumn glow of -intermingled maples, oaks, and beeches, with its changeless ledges of -jutting rock, and dense, defiant pines standing like veteran bearded -sentinels in perpetual vigilance. - -All this comes to me in a single glimpse beneath the branches. But there -are others, where undulating meadows, with their flowing lines of walls -and fences, lead the eye through soft gradations to distant purple -hills, through thrifty farms, with barns and barracks and rowen fields -with browsing cattle, and ruddy buckwheat patches, where the flocks of -village pigeons congregate among the cradle marks, in quest of scattered -kernels shaken from the sheaves. - -There is a tiny lake near by that nestles among the hill-side farms, -where sloping pastures and fields of yellow, rustling corn glide almost -to the water's edge. So sensitive and sympathetic is this little sheet -of water that I christened it one day Chameleon Lake, for it wears a -different expression for every phase of season or freak of weather, and -always dwells in harmony with the landscape which encloses it. In cloudy -days it frowns as cold as steel. In days of sunshine it is as bright and -blue as the sky itself, or shimmers like a shield of burnished silver. -And now it is a flood of autumn gold, carrying from shore to shore a -maze of ripples laden with opaline reflections of intermingled glints -from cloud and sky, and of the gold and ruby colored foliage along its -banks. - -But this knoll and all these farms are not mine alone. They are such as -I should hope might lurk in the memory of almost any one who looks back -to early days among New England hills. - -[Illustration: AN OCTOBER DAY.] - -This old oak-tree, whose furrowed bark I lean upon, was a hardy -patriarch when first I sought its shade. Its added years have scarcely -changed a feature or modified a line in its old-time noble expression. -As I look up, its great open arms spread out against the sky exactly as -they did when I lolled beneath their shelter and watched the drifting -clouds of twenty years ago sail through them in the blue above. Even the -jagged furrows in the bark I seem to recognize. Here, too, is that same -spreading scale of greenish lichen that fain will grow upon the trunk, -as if I had not often picked it all to pieces in my early idling. The -same round oak-gall rests on the bed of leaves in the hollow between the -rocks near by, as though it had forgotten how a dozen years ago I -cracked its polished shell and sent its spongy contents to the winds. - -And here comes that veritable ant creeping through the grass at my -elbow--now on the root, now on the bark, exploring every crack and -crevice in his hurried search. I wonder if the little fellow will ever -find what he has been looking for so long. And here's a friend of his -coming down. They stop and wag their antennae in a moment's conversation. -I wonder what they said. I always _did_ wonder when I watched them do -the same thing on this very spot a score of years ago. The soft waving -grass whispers about my ears as it did then, and I hear the low trumpet -of the nuthatch as he creeps about in the tree o'erhead. Easily may one -forget the lapse of time in such a place as this, where every leaf, and -twig, and blade of grass conspire to breed forgetfulness of later years. -Hark! that shrill tattoo again! The tree-toad. Yes, that same recluse in -his mysterious hiding-place, seeking by his tantalizing trill to renew -that game of hide-and-seek we left off so long ago--in those eager days -when every stick and stone upon the knoll was overturned in my zeal to -find his whereabouts. There he goes again! louder and more shrill. But -now I realize the effect of time, for I only sit and listen to his -oft-repeated call. Formerly that sound was like a galvanic thrill that -electrified every nerve and muscle in my physiology. No, I'll not hunt -for you again, my musical young friend; besides, the odds would be -against you now, for I know more about tree-toads than I once did, and -you wouldn't see me hunting on the ground as in the olden days. Besides, -you're getting bold; there is no need of hunting, for in that last toot -you gave yourself away. Even now my eyes are fixed upon the hole in -yonder hollow limb, and I see your tiny form clinging to the rotten wood -within the opening. What _would_ I not have given _once_ to have thought -of that soggy hole! - -[Illustration: A WAY-SIDE PASTORAL.] - -Near by a spreading yew monopolizes a rocky bit of ground, its foliage -creeping above a silvery gray bed of branching moss, whose pillowy tufts -spread almost to my feet. This was my fairy forest of tiny trees. Here I -found the fairies' cups and torches, and even now I can see their -scarlet tips scattered here and there among the gray; and fragile little -parasols, too--it were an insult, indeed, to designate such dainty -things as these by the name of toadstools. Beyond this bed of moss a -scrubby growth of whortleberry takes possession of the ground. The -bushes are now bare of fruit, but ruddy with their autumn blushes, -tingeing the surface of the knoll with a delicate coral pink. This -thicket extends far down upon the slope, even encroaching upon the -wheel-ruts of the lane, and across again, until cut short by an ancient -tumbling line of lichen-covered stones, a landmark which has long since -yielded up its claim as a barrier of protection to the old orchard it -encloses, now only a moss-grown pile, with every chink and crevice a -nestling-place of some searching tendril, fern, or clambering vine. For -rods and rods it creeps along beneath the laden apple-trees, skirting -the borders of this old farm lane, and finally hides away among a clump -of cedars a few hundred feet away. - -Of all the picturesque in nature, what is there, after all, that so wins -one's deeper sympathies as the ever-changing pictures of a rustic lane -or roadside, with its weather-beaten walls and fences, and their -rambling growth of weeds and creeping vines? How sweet the sense of near -companionship awakened by these charming way-side pastorals that -accompany you in your saunterings, and reach out to touch you as you -pass--a sense of friendly fellowship that breathes a silent greeting in -the most deserted paths or loneliest of by-ways! - -Show me a ruined wall or a rutted zigzag fence, and I will show you a -string of pearls, or rather, if in these later months, a fringe of gems, -for the autumn fence is set in wreaths of rubies and glowing sapphires. -Follow its rambling course, now through the field, now skirting swampy -fallows, now by rustic lanes and cornfields and over rocky pastures, and -you will follow a lead that will take you through the rarest bits of -nature's autumn landscape. - -Even in this lane, at the foot of the knoll below us, see the brilliant -luxuriance of clustered bitter-sweet draping the side of that clump of -cedars! It is only an indication of the beauty that envelops this lane -for a full half mile beyond. Every angle of its rude rail fence encloses -a lovely pastoral, each a surprise and a contrast to its neighbor. - -Right here before us, what a beginning! Hold up your hands on either -side, and shut out the surroundings. Such is the glimpse I always long -to paint from nature, and yet how almost maddening is the result! Rather -would I drink it all in and fix its every feature in my mind, and paint -it from its memory, when the presence of the living thing before me -shall not mock my efforts and put to shame the crude creations of oil -and pigment. - -See how the cool gray rails are relieved against that rich dark -background of dense olive juniper, how they hide among the prickly -foliage! Look at that low-hanging branch which so exquisitely conceals -the lowest rail as it emerges from its other side, and spreads out among -the creeping briers that wreathe the ground with their shining leaves -of crimson and deep bronze! Could any art more daringly concentrate a -rhapsody of color than nature has here done in bringing up that gorgeous -spray of scarlet sumach, whose fern-like pinnate leaves are so richly -massed against that background of dark evergreens? And even in that -single branch see the wondrous gradation of color, from purest green to -purplish olive, and olive melting into crimson, and then to scarlet, and -through orange into yellow, and all sustaining in its midst the -clustered cone of berries of rich maroon! Verily, it were almost an -affront to sit down before such a shrine and attempt to match it in -material pigment. A passing sketch, perhaps, that shall serve to aid the -memory in the retirement of the studio, but a careful copy, _never!_ -until we can have a tenfold lease of life, and paint with sunbeams. But -there is more still in this tantalizing ideal, for a luxuriant wild -grape-vine, that shuts in the fence near by, sends toward us an -adventurous branch that climbs the upright rail, and festoons itself -from fence to tree, and hangs its luminous canopy over the crest of the -yielding juniper. Even from where we stand we can see the pendant -clusters of tiny grapes clearly shadowed against the translucent golden -screen. Add to all this the charm of life and motion, with trembling -leaves and branches bending in the breeze, with here and there a -flitting shadow playing across the half hidden rails, and where can you -find another such picture, its counterpart in beauty--where? perhaps its -very neighbor, for all roadside pictures are "hung upon the line," they -are all by the same great Master, and it is often difficult to choose. - -Here we have a contrast. A dappled rock has taken possession of this -little corner, or the corner has been built around it, if you choose--a -"gray" rock we would call it in common parlance, but it is a gray -composed of a checkered multitude of tints, colors which upon a rock, it -would seem, were hardly worth an appreciative glance; but only let them -be exhibited upon a fold of Lyons silk or Jouvin kid glove, and dignify -them by the compliments of "ashes of roses," or "London smoke," and how -eagerly they are sought, how exquisite they become. I speak in -moderation when I say that I have often sat and counted as many as -thirty just such tints upon the surface of a small "gray" rock, each -_distinct_, and all so _refined_ and exquisite in shade. This rounded -bowlder is no exception; and with its tufted spots of jetty moss, and -outcroppings of glistening quartz, its rounded, spreading blots of -greenish lichens, and mottled groundwork, it may well defy the craft of -the most skilled palette. And when these grays are contrasted with -tender yellow greens and browns of fading ferns, such as fringe the -borders of the one before me, with a background of scarlet whortleberry -bushes and deep-green sprays of blackberry clustering about the -loosening bark of a crumbling stump, with its shelving growth of fungus -hiding among its brown debris, one may well pause and wonder which to -choose, or where a single touch is wanting in the perfect unity and -harmony of either. - -[Illustration: WAIFS.] - -Another jutting corner, and we confront a swaying mass of gold and -purple--that magnificent regal combination of graceful golden-rod and -asters that glorifies our autumn from September to the falling leaf. -There are a number of species of golden-rod, varying as much in their -intensity of color as in their time of bloom. The earliest appear in the -heart of summer, in wood and meadow; while others, larger and more -stately, lift up in their midst their plumy, undeveloped tips, and wait -until their predecessors are old and gray ere they roll out their -wreaths of gold. For weeks the roads and by-ways have been lit up with -their brilliant glow, that parting sunset gleam that lingers with the -closing year. This splendid cluster is full six feet in height, and -towers above the highest rail, or rather where the rail ought to be, for -it is lost from sight beneath a dense fret-work of prickly smilax--and -such brilliant, polished leaves! how they glitter in the sun! almost as -though wet with dew. - -And to think how those prickly canes, denuded of their leaves, are sold -upon our city thoroughfares as "Spanish rose-trees" to the unsuspecting -passer-by! Those guileless venders, too! I remember one that sought to -enrich my store of botanical knowledge by telling me they "bloomed in -winter!" and had a flower as "big as a saucer," and "kinder like a holy -hawk!!!?" I looked him straight in the eye, but he was the picture of -innocence. "Can you tell me the botanical name," I asked. "Oh yes," he -glibly replied, "I think they call it the _Rubus epistaxis_." Eheu! but -this was _too much_, and he saw it, and with a wink of his foxy eye and -a shrewd grin, he whispered along the palm of his hand, "Got to git a -livin' _somehow_, boss; now _don't_ give me away." "Here you are, lady, -Spanish roses, lady, fresh from the steamer." I never see a thicket of -green-brier without thinking of its "winter blossom;" and, by-the-way, -did you ever notice a thicket of this shrub, what a defiant, arbitrary -tyrant it is--shutting out the very life-breath and light of day from -its encumbered victims, monopolizing everything within its power, and -even reaching out for more with searching tips in mid-air, and a couple -of greedy tendrils at every leaf? And did you ever notice along the road -that delicious whiff that comes to you every now and then, that pungent -breath of the sweet-fern? We get it now; the air is laden with it from -the dark-green beds across the road. The sweet-fern, as I remember it, -was the simpler's panacea and the small boy's joy--an aromatic shrub, -whose inhaled fumes, together with its corn-silk rival, seem destined by -an all-wise Providence as a preparatory tonic to the more ambitious -fumigation of after-years. Many a time have I sat upon this bank and -tried to imagine in my domestic product the racy flavor of the famed -Havana! - -Between old Aunt Huldy, with her mania for the simples, and the demand -of the village boys, I wonder there is any of it left. But Aunt Huldy -has long since died; all her "yarbs," and "yarrer tea," and "paowerful -gud stimmilants" could not give her the lease of eternal earthly life -which she said lurked in the "everlastin' flaowers;" and after she had -reached the age of one hundred and three, her tansy decoctions and -boneset potions ceased in their efficacy--the feeble pulse grew feebler, -and one winter's eve, sitting in her rocker by her kettle and andirons, -she fell into a deep sleep, from which she never awoke. Aunt Huldy was -as strange and eccentric a character as one rarely meets in the walks of -life. Some said she was crazy; others said she was a witch; but -whatever she may have been, this aged dame was picturesque with her bent -figure, her long white hair and scarlet hood. And who shall describe the -ancient withered face that looked out from the shadow of that hood, the -small gray eyes and heavy white eyebrows, the toothless jaws and -receding lips, and massive chin that made its appalling ascent across -the face? But I cannot describe that face: think of how a witch should -look, and old Huldy's features will rise up before you. She knew every -herb that grew, but her great stand-by was "sweet-fern:" she smoked it, -she chewed it, she drank it, and even wore a little bag of it around her -neck, "to charm away the rheumatiz." - -[Illustration: IN THE CORNFIELD.] - -Since her time, however, the sweet-fern has had a chance to recuperate, -and, as far as we can see along the road, the banks are covered with it; -and there's a clump of teazles in its midst! I wonder if that old -carding-mill still stands. You also, perhaps, will wonder what relation -can exist between the two, that should make my thoughts jump half a -mile at the sight of a roadside weed. But that old woollen-mill offered -a premium on the extermination of one weed at least, for all the teasels -of the neighborhood were required to keep its cloth brushes in thorough -repair; but I fear its buzzing wheels are silent, for in olden times no -such splendid clump as this could have remained to go to seed upon the -highway. This old mill lies right upon our path, only a short walk down -the road beyond. It nestles among a bower of willows in a picturesque -ravine known as the "Devil's Hollow"--an umbrageous, rocky glen, by far -too cool and comfortable a place to justify the name it bears. - -Following the road, we now descend into a long, low stretch, hedged in -between two tall banks of alder, overtopped with interwoven tangles of -clematis, with its cloudy autumn clusters--that graceful vine which, -like the dandelion, is even more beautiful in death than in the fulness -of its bloom. And so, indeed, are nearly all those plants whose final -state is thus endowed by nature with feathery wings to lift them from -the earth. - -When has this swamp milk-weed by the roadside looked so fair as now, -with its bursting pods and silky seeds--those little waifs thrown out -upon the world with every passing breeze. How tenderly they seem to -cling to the little cosy home where they have been so snugly cradled and -protected; and see how they sail away, two or three together, loth to -part, until some rude gust shall separate them forever. - -And here's the great spiny thistle, too, that armed highwayman with -florid face and pompon in his cap. But he has had his day, and now we -see him old and seedy; his spears are broken, and his silvery gray hairs -are floating everywhere and glistening in the sun. - -Now we leave the alders, and another roadside mosaic of rich color opens -up before us, where the old half-wall fence, with its overtopping rails, -is luminous with a crimson glow of ampelopsis. It covers all the stones -for yards and yards; it swings from every jutting rail; it clambers up -the tree trunks and envelops them in fire, and hangs its waving fringe -from all the branches. - -Above the wall, like an encampment of thatched wigwams, the corn-shocks -lift their heads; a prospecting colony encamped among a field rich with -outcroppings of gold--a wealth of great round nuggets all in sight. And -were we to tear away that thatch, we might see where they have stowed -away their accumulated grains of wealth. We hear their rustling -whispers: "Hush! hush!" they seem to say to each other as we approach; -but their wariness is gratuitous, for a tell-tale vine is creeping away -upon the fence near-by, and has stopped to rest its golden burden on the -summit of the wall, half hiding among the scarlet creepers. - -Here yellow brakes abound, spreading their broad, triangular fronds on -every side amid the brilliant berries of wild-rose, and pink leaves of -blueberry. And here are thickets of black-alder, where every twig is -studded with scarlet beads, that cling so close that even winter's -bluster cannot shake them off. No matter where we look in these October -days, nature is burning itself away in a blaze of color that dazzles the -eyes; and now we approach its very crowning touch. - -I wish every one might see this gorgeous combination of oak and maples; -see it and go no farther, for a further search were fruitless in finding -its equal. It is the pride of the entire community; towns-people and -visitors ride from miles around to see its final flush--a magnificent -climax in the way of concentration of vivid color, in which nature seems -to have grouped with distinct purpose and design, producing a piece of -natural landscape-gardening such as no art could have approached. The -background is a massive precipice of rock towering to the height of -eighty feet, itself a perfect medley of tone. - -The group is composed of eight maples, each a distinct contrast of pure -color. In their midst a superb large oak presents one massive breadth of -deep purple green; and spreading up one side like a flood of yellow -light, a rock-maple lifts its splendid array of foliage. These two trees -concentrate the effect, and the others are arranged around them like -colors on a palette: one is a flaming scarlet, another beside it is -always a rich green, even to the falling leaf--with only a single -branch, that every year, even as early as August, persists in turning to -a peculiar salmon pink; another, a red-maple, is so deep a red as to -appear almost maroon, and its branches intermingle with the pale-pink -verdure of another growing by its side. There is one that combines every -intermediate color, from deep crimson to the palest saffron; while its -neighbor flutters in the wind with every leaf a brilliant butterfly of -pure green, with spots and splashes of deep carmine. - -This whole assemblage of color fairly blazes in the landscape, and even -from the top of Mount Pisgah, a half a mile away, it looks like a -glowing coal dropped down upon a bed of smouldering ashes in the valley; -for the surrounding meadow is thick-set with great gray rocks and -crimson viburnum, as though it had caught fire from the flaming trees. -What other country can boast the glory of a tree which, taken all in -all, can hold its own beside our lovely maple? From the time when first -it hangs its silken tassels to the awakening spring breeze until its -autumn fire has burned away its leaves, it presents an everchanging -phase that lends a distinct expression to American landscape. It affords -us grateful shade in summer; and with its trickling bounty in the spring -we can all unite in a hearty toast, "A health to the glorious maple." - -[Illustration: THE ROAD TO THE MILL.] - -But there is another tree which should not be forgotten, and if once -seen in a New England autumn landscape there is little danger of its -escaping from the memory. Of course, I refer to the pepperidge, or -tupelo, that nondescript among trees; for who ever saw two -pepperidge-trees alike? They seem to scorn a reputation for symmetry, or -even the idea of establishing among themselves the recognition of a type -of character. Novelty or grotesqueness is their only aim, and they hit -the bull's-eye every time. There is one I have in mind that has always -been a perfect curiosity. Its height is fully seventy feet, and its -crown is as flat as though cut off with a mammoth pair of -pruning-shears. The central trunk runs straight up to the summit, from -which it squirms off into six or seven snake-like branches, that dip -downward and writhe among the other limbs, all falling in the same -direction. One gets the impression, on looking at it, that originally -it might have been a respectable-looking tree, but that in some rude -storm in its early days it had been struck by lightning, torn up by the -roots, and afterward had taken root at the top. The tupelo, whenever -seen, is always one of our most picturesque trees, and a never-failing -source of surprise, twisting and turning into some unheard-of shape, and -seeming always to say, "There! beat that if you can!" Near the coast it -assumes the form of a crazy Italian pine, with spindling trunk and -massive head of foliage. Sometimes it divides in the middle, like an -hour-glass, and again mimics a fir-tree in caricature; but he who would -keep track of the acrobatic capers of the tupelo would have his hands -full. Whatever its shape, however, its brilliant, glossy crimson foliage -forms one of the most striking features of our October landscape. - -But I believe we were on the road to that carding-mill. We had almost -forgotten it; and now, as we look ahead, we see the old lumber-shed that -marks the upper ledge of Devil's Hollow. From this old shed a -trout-brook plunges through a series of rocky terraces, now winding -among prostrate moss-grown trunks, now gurgling through the bare roots -of great white birches, or spreading in a swift, glassy sheet as it -pours across some broad shelving rock, and plunges from its edge in a -filmy water-fall. It roars pent up in narrow canyons, and out again it -swirls in a smooth basin worn in the solid rock. At almost every rod or -two along its precipitous course there is a mill somewhere hid among the -trees--queer, quaint little mills, some built up on high stone walls, -others fed with trickling flumes which span from rock to rock, -supporting on every beam a rounded cushion of velvety green moss, and -hanging a fringe of ferns from almost every crevice. And one there is in -ruins, fallen from its lofty perch, and piled in chaos in the stream. -There are saw-mills, and shook-mills, and carding-mills, seven -altogether in this one descent of about three hundred feet. The water -enters the ravine as pure as crystal; but in its wild booming through -race-ways, dams, and water-wheels, it gradually assumes a rich sienna -hue from the _debris_ of sawdust everywhere along its course. The -interior of the ravine is musical with the trebles of the falling water -and the accompaniment of the rumbling mills. Tiny rainbows gleam beneath -the water-falls, and swarms of glistening bubbles and little islands of -saffron-colored foam float away upon the dark-brown eddies. - -At last we reach the carding-mill, which is the lowest of them all--in -every sense, it seems, for it is as I had feared: the flume is but a -pile of brown and mouldy timbers in the bed of the stream, and the old -box-wheel has rotted and fallen from its spokes, almost obscured beneath -a rank growth of weeds. No sound of buzzing teasels, no rumbling of the -water-wheel, no happy carder singing at his work: _nothing_--but a -couple of boys, kneeling in a corner, sucking cider through a straw. -Yes, the old mill has fallen from grace; but what else might one expect -from a mill in "Devil's Hollow," where all its neighbors are engaged in -making hogshead staves, and the very water has turned to ruddy wine? - -[Illustration: THE CIDER MILL.] - -The carding-machine is gone, and has given place to a rustic -cider-press. A temporary undershot-wheel has been rigged beneath the -floor, and a rude trough, patched up with sods, conducts the water from -the stream. - -It is the same old cider-press we all remember, and with the same -accessories. Here are casks of all sizes waiting to be filled, and the -piles of party-colored apples spilled upon the floor from the farmers' -wagons that every now and then back up to the open door. There is the -same rustic harangue on leading agricultural topics, among which we hear -a variety of opinions about that imaginary "line storm." - -"Seems to gi'n the slip this year," remarks one old long-limbed settler -with a slope-roofed straw hat, "'n' I don't know zactly what to _make_ -on't; but I ain't so sartin nuther"--he now takes a wise observation of -a small patch of blue sky through the trees overhead. "I cal'late we'll -git a leetle tetch on't yit." - -"Likenuff, likenuff," responds another, with a squeaky voice; "the ar's -gittin' ruther dampish, 'n' my woman hez got the rheumatiz ag'in. She -kin alluz tell when we're goin' to git a spell o' weather; it's sure to -fetch her all along her spine. But I lay _most_ store on them ar pesky -tree-tuds. I heern um singin' like all possessed ez I wuz comin' through -the woods yender; 'n' it's a sartin sign o' rain when them ar critters -gits agoin', you kin depend on't." - -And now we hear all about the pumpkin and the corn crop, the potato -yield, and the regular list of other subjects so dear to the rural -heart. - -In a corner by themselves we see the pile of "vinegar nubbins"--a tanned -and soft variety of apple--in all stages of variegation. The "hopper" -receives the shovelfuls of fruit for the crushing "smasher," which again -supplies the straw-laid press. We hear the creaking turn of the lever -screw, the yielding of the timbers, and a fresh burst of the trickling -beverage flowing from the surrounding trough into the great wooden tub -below. Here, too, is the swarm of eager urchins, with heads together, -like a troop of flies around a grain of sugar. Ah! what unalloyed bliss -is reflected from their countenances as they absorb the amber nectar -through the intermediate straw--that golden link that I have missed for -many a year! - -Outside upon the logs the refuse "pumice-cheese" has brought together -all the yellow-jackets and late butterflies of the neighborhood--butterflies -so tipsy that you can pick them up between your fingers. I never went so -far with the yellow-jackets, for they have a hotter temper, and don't -like to be fooled with. Black hornets, too, are here, and they find a -feast spread at their very door; for overhead, upon the beech, they -have hung their paper house, like a gray balloon caught among the -branches. - -[Illustration: "THE LINE STORM."] - -Now we hear a chatter and a scratching on the roof, where a pair of -lively squirrels hold a game of tag; and ascending the rickety stairs -into the loft above, we find the floor strewn with hickory-nuts, with -neat round holes cut through on either side, and numberless shaggy -butternuts, too, with daylight let into their recesses also. The boards -and beams are covered with cobweb trimmings, laden with wool-dust; and -as we approach a pile of rusty iron near the murky window, we hear a -scraping of sharp claws, the dropping of a nut between the rafters, and -now a wild scampering on the roof overhead. Before we have fairly -recovered from our surprise, we notice a sudden darkening of a hole in -the shingles close by, where, still and motionless, two inquisitive -black eyes look down at us. We have intruded upon private property, for -this is the home of the squirrels. No one can dispute their title, for -these little squatters have occupied the premises and held the fort for -nearly twenty years. - -They, too, have found forage close at hand, from the nut-grove upon the -hill-side yonder--a yellow bank of foliage of clustered hickories and -beeches, and rounded domes of chestnuts--a grove whose every rock and -bush is my old-time friend; where there are "sermons in stones," and -every tree speaks volumes. - -Here is the low thicket of weeds and hazel-bushes where we always -flushed that flock of quail, or started up some lively white-tailed hare -that jumped away among the quivering brakes and golden-rod. Here are -soft beds of rich green moss, studded with scarlet berries of -winter-green and partridge-vine. Now we come upon a creeping mat of -princess-pine, and here among the leaves we had almost stepped upon a -spreading chestnut-burr--that same burr I have so often seen before, -that same fuzzy, open palm holding out its tempting bait to lure the -eagerness of youth; an eagerness which always invested a neighbor's -chestnuts with a peculiar charm too tempting to resist; "take one," it -seems to say, as it did in years ago; and its hedge of thorny prickles -truly typifies the dangers which surrounded such an undertaking, for -these trees belong to Deacon Turney, and he prizes them as though their -yellow autumn leaves were so much gold. He guards them with an eagle's -eye, and he gathers all their harvest; no single nut is ever known to -sprout in Turney's woods if _he_ knows it. - -This pointed reminder among the leaves fairly pricks my conscience as I -recall the many October escapades in which it formed the chief -attraction. I remember one occasion in particular, for it is indelibly -impressed on my memory, and it was on this very spot. A party of -adventurous lads, myself among the number, were out for a glorious -holiday. Each had his canvas bag across his shoulder, and we stole along -the stone wall yonder, and entered the woods beneath that group of -chestnuts. Two of us acted as outposts on picket guard; and another, -young Teddy Shoopegg by name, the best climber in the village, did the -shaking. He prided himself on being able to "shin up any tree in the -caounty," and after he had once got up among those chestnut-trees we -stood from under, and in a very short space of time no single burr was -left among their branches. There were five busy pairs of hands beneath -those trees, I can tell you, for each one of us fully realized the -necessity of making the most of his time, not knowing how soon the -warning cry from our outposts might put us all to headlong flight; for -the alarm, "Turney's coming!" was enough to lift the hair of any boy in -town. - -[Illustration: A POINTED REMINDER.] - -But luck seemed to favor us on that day; we "cleaned out" six big -chestnut-trees, and then turned our attention to the hickories. There -was a splendid tall shagbark close by, with branches fairly loaded with -the white nuts in their open shucks. They were all ready to drop, and -when the shaking once commenced, the nuts came down like a shower of -hail, bounding from the rocks, rattling among the dry leaves, and -keeping up a clatter all around. We scrambled on all fours, and gathered -them by quarts and quarts. There was no need of poking over the leaves -for them, the ground was covered with them in plain sight. While busily -engaged, we noticed an ominous lull among the branches overhead. - -"'Sst! 'sst!" whispered Shoopegg up above; "I see old Turney on his -white horse daown the road yender." - -"Coming this way?" also in a whisper, from below. - -"I dunno yit, but I jest guess you'd better be gittin' reddy to leg it, -fer he's hitchin' his old nag 't the side o' the road. _Yis_, sir, I -bleeve he's a-cummin'. Shoopegg, you'd better be gittin' aout o' this," -and he commenced to drop hap-hazard from his lofty perch. In a moment, -however, he seemed to change his mind, and paused, once more upon the -watch. "Say, fellers," he again broke in, as we were preparing for a -retreat, "he's gone off to'rd the cedars; he ain't cummin' this way at -_all_." So he again ascended into the tree-top, and finished his shaking -in peace, and we our picking also. There was still another tree, with -elegant large nuts, that we had all concluded to "finish up on." It -would not do to leave it. They were the largest and thinnest-shelled -nuts in town, and there were over a bushel in sight on the branch tips. -Shoopegg was up among them in two minutes, and they were showered down -in torrents as before. And what splendid, perfect nuts they were! We -bagged them with eager hands, picked the ground all clean, and, with -jolly chuckles at our luck, were just about thinking of starting for -home with our well-rounded sacks, when a change came over the spirit of -our dreams. There was a suspicious noise in the shrubbery near by, and -in a moment more we heard our doom. - -"Jest yeu look _ee_ah, yeu boys!" exclaimed a high-pitched voice from -the neighboring shrubbery, accompanied by the form of Deacon Turney, -approaching at a brisk pace, hardly thirty feet away. "Don't yeu think -yeu've got jest abaout _enuff_ o' them nuts?" - -Of course a wild panic ensued, in which we made for the bags and dear -life; but Turney was prepared and ready for the emergency, and, raising -a huge old shot-gun, he levelled it, and yelled, "Don't any on ye stir -ner move, or by Christopher I'll blow the heels clean off'n the hull -_pile_ on ye. I'd _shoot_ ye quicker'n _lightni'_." - -And we believed him, for his aim was true, and his whole expression was -not that of a man who was trifling. I never shall forget the -uncomfortable sensation that I experienced as I looked into the muzzle -of that double-barrelled shot-gun, and saw both hammers fully raised -too. And I can clearly see now the squint and the glaring eye that -glanced along those barrels. There was a wonderfully persuasive power -lurking in those horizontal tubes; so I at once hastened to inform the -deacon that we were "not going to run." - -"Wa'al," he drawled, "it looked a leetle thet _way_, I thort, a spell -_ago_;" and he still kept us in the field of his weapon, till at length -I exclaimed, in desperation. - -"For gracious sake! point that gun in some other _way_, will you?" - -"Wa'al, _no_! I'm not fer pintin' it ennywhar else jest _yit_--not until -you've sot them ar _bags_ daown agin, jist whar ye _got_ 'em, every -_one_ on ye." The bags were speedily replaced, and he slowly lowered his -gun. - -[Illustration: AFTER THE SHELL-BARKS] - -"Wa'al, naow," he continued, as he came up in our midst, "this is putty -bizniss, _ain't_ it? Bin havin' a putty likely sort o' time teu, I sh'd -jedge from the looks o' these 'ere _bags_. One--two--_six_ on 'em; an' I -vaow they must be nigh on teu a half bushel in every pleggy _one_ on -'em. Wa'al, naow"--with his peculiar drawl--"look eeah: you're a putty -ondustrious lot o' _thieves_, I'm _blest_ if ye ain't." But the deacon -did all the talking, for his manoeuvres were such as to render us -speechless. "Putty likely place teu cum a-nuttin', ain't it?" Pause. -"Putty nice mess o' shell-barks ye got thar, I tell ye naow.--Quite a -sight o' _chestnuts_ in _yourn_, ain't they?" - -There was only one spoken side to this dialogue, but the pauses were -eloquent on both sides, and we boys kept up a deal of tall thinking as -we watched the deacon alternate his glib remarks by the gradual removal -of the bags to the foot of a neighboring tree. This done, he seated -himself upon a rock beside them. - -"_Thar!_" he exclaimed, removing his tall hat and wiping his -white-fringed forehead with a red bandanna handkerchief. "I'm much -_obleeged_. I've been a-watchin' on ye gittin' these 'ere nuts the hull -arternoon. I thort ez haow yeu might like to know on't." And then, as -though a happy thought had struck him, what should he do but -deliberately spit on his hands and grasp his gun. "Look _ee_ah"--a -pause, in which he cocked both barrels--"yeu boys wuz paowerful anxyis -teu git _away_ from _ee_ah a spell ago. Naow yeu kin _git_ ez lively ez -yeu pleze; your chores is done fer to-day." And bang! went one of the -gun-barrels directly over our heads. - -We _got_, and when once out of gun-range we paid the deacon a wealth of -those rare compliments for both eye and ear that always swell the boys' -vocabulary. - -"All right," he yelled back in answer, as he transported the bags across -the field. "Cum agin next year--cum agin. Alluz welcome! alluz welcome!" - -As I have already said, the deacon gathered all his nut -harvest--sometimes by a very novel method. - -Who does not remember some such episode of the old jolly days? If it was -not a Deacon Turney, it was some one else. I am sure his counterpart -exists in every country town, and in the memory of every boyhood -experience. - -We remember, perhaps, the sweet hazel-nuts which we gathered in their -brown husks and spread to dry upon the garret floor, and how those -mischievous mice avenged the deacon's wrongs as they invaded our -treasured store, and transported it to the nooks and kinks among the -rafters and beneath the floor. Then there were those rambles after -"fox-grapes," and the "gunning" tramps, when we stole with cautious step -upon the unseen "Bob White" whistling for us among the brush near by, -when the startling _whirr_ of the ruffed grouse from almost under our -feet sent an electric thrill up our backs and along our arms, even -touching off the powder in our barrels unawares. There were box-traps in -the woods, and snares among the copses, and lots of other mischief of -which we would not care to tell. - -[Illustration: A CORNER OF THE FARM.] - -There was another little three-cornered nut that fell among the -beech-trees where we held our October picnics, and the autumn beech -forest I remember as a lovely woodland parlor. We sit upon a painted -rock, in the shadow of a drooping hemlock, perhaps. Beyond, we look -across among the smooth gray tree-trunks, where sidelong shadows softly -stripe the matted leaves, with here and there a shining shaft of sunbeam -lighting up the carpet, or a glinting spray of sun-tipped leaves that -flicker above their shadows. The woods are filled with a luminous glow -such as no summer forest ever knew--an all-pervading light which seems -almost independent of the sunshine, as though living in the leaf itself. -It floods the mottled bark, and transforms its ashy tints to softened -autumn grays. It searches out the shadows of the evergreens, and throws -its mellow glow upon the rocks among their recesses. It permeates the -whole interior as though it were transfigured through a golden-colored -glass. - -A quick, sharp whistle surprises you from the herbage near by, and a -striped chickaree skips across the leaves and dives into his burrow at -the foot of an old stump not far away. There are various other sounds -that come to you if you sit quietly in a beech wood. Now it is a tiny -footfall, a pat-pat upon the leaves, and a little brown bird is seen, -hopping in and out among the undergrowth, scratching and pecking like a -little hen among the leaf mould. Then comes a galloping sound, and you -know there is a scampering hare somewhere about. And at last a peeping -frog gains confidence, and starts up a trill somewhere behind you. He is -soon joined by another, and still others, until a chorus of the shrill -voices echoes among the trees, some from the around, some from the limbs -overhead; and if you only sit perfectly still, you may hear a -venturesome voice, perhaps, at your very elbow; for these little peepers -are capricious songsters, and only sing before a quiet, attentive -audience. Now a silly green katydid flits by, like an animated gauzy -leaf; and quick as thought a kingbird darts out from the leaves -overhead, hovers in mid-air for a second, and is away again; and -luckless katydid wishes she _hadn't_. - -See the variety of beeches, too! Here are slender, dappled stems, clean -and trim; and others, great giants with fluted trunks and gnarled roots, -and with eccentric limbs reaching out in most fantastic angles; but all -spreading above in a graceful, airy screen of intermingled tracery and -sunlight, where slender branches bend and sway beneath the agile -squirrel as he leaps from tree to tree, and the leaves clatter with the -falling nuts. Behind us a soft fluttering of many wings betrays a -slender mountain-ash, with its drooping clusters of berries, growing in -an open, rocky space near by--where a flock of cedar birds assemble -among the fruit, or scatter away amid the evergreens at your slightest -movement. Turning your head in another direction, you can follow the -course of an old farm-road that leads out upon a bright clearing, -thick-set with light-green, feathery ferns. A few rods beyond, it makes -a sudden downward turn through a dense grove of lofty pines and -hemlocks. Here are "dim aisles" where dwell perpetual twilight--where no -ray of sun has entered for well-nigh a century--only, perhaps, as it is -brought down in a glistening sunbeam within the crystal bead of balsam -upon some dropping cone. There is a solemn stillness in these stately -halls, in which your very footfall is proscribed and hushed in the -depths of the brown and silent carpet. There are old, venerable -gray-beards here, and fallen monarchs lying prostrate among the rugged -rocks; and here and there among the brown debris a fungus lifts its -head, to tell of other generations that lie crumbling beneath the mould. -Now among the lofty columns, like a magnificent illuminated window in -some vast cathedral, comes a glimpse of the outer world with its autumn -colors; and here the vaulted aisle soon leads us. We find a dazzling -contrast; for in the sombre shadows of the pine-forest one readily -forgets the month, or even the season. Here we approach a rippling -trout-stream, and as we stop to rest upon its tottering bridge we look -across a long brook meadow, where the asters screen the ground in -mid-air in a purple sea--one of the rarest spectacles of autumn. But in -this swamp lot there are presented a continual series of just such rich -displays from spring-time till the winter. - -I know of no other place in which the progress of the year is so readily -traced as in these swampy fallow lands. They are a living calendar, not -merely of the seasons alone, but of every month successively; and its -record is almost unmistakably disclosed. It is whispered in the fragrant -breath of flowers, and of the aromatic herbage you crush beneath your -feet. It floats about on filmy wings of dragon-fly and butterfly, or -glistens in the air on silky seeds. It skips upon the surface of the -water, or swims among the weeds beneath; and is noised about in myriads -of tell-tale songs among the reeds and sedges. The swallows and the -starlings proclaim it in their flight, and the very absence of these -living features is as eloquent as life itself. Even in the simple story -of the leaf, the bud, the blossom, and the downy seed, it is told as -plainly as though written in prosaic words and strewn among the herbage. - -In the early, blustering days of March, there is a stir beneath the -thawing ground, and the swamp cabbage-root sends up a well protected -scout to explore among the bogs; but so dismal are the tidings which he -brings, that for weeks no other venturing sprout dares lift its head. He -braves alone the stormy month--the solitary sign of spring, save, -perhaps, the lengthening of the alder catkins that loosen in the wind. -April woos the yellow cowslips into bloom along the water's edge, and -the golden willow twigs shake out their perfumed tassels. In May the -prickly carex blossoms among the tussocks, and the calamus buds burst -forth among their flat, green blades. June is heralded on right and left -by the unfurling of blue-flags, and the eyebright blue winks and blinks -as it awakens in the dazzling July sun. - -[Illustration: BEECH-NUTTING.] - -Then follows brimful August, with the summer's consummation of -luxuriance and bloom; with flowers in dense profusion in bouquets of -iron-weed and thoroughworts, of cardinal flowers and fragrant clethra, -with their host of blossoming companions. The milk-weed pods fray out -their early floss upon September breezes, and the blue petals of the -gentian first unfold their fringes. October overwhelms us with the -friendly tokens of burr marigolds and bidens; while its thickets of -black-alder lose their autumn verdure, and leave November with a -"burning bush" of scarlet berries hitherto half-hidden in the leafage. -Now, too, the copses of witch-hazel bedeck themselves, and are yellow -with their tiny ribbons. December's name is written in wreaths of snow -upon the withered stalks of slender weeds and rushes, which soon lie -bent and broken in the lap of January, crushed beneath their winter -weight. And in fulfilment of the cycle, February sees the swelling buds -of willow, with their restless pussies eager for the spring, half -creeping from their winter cells. - -The October day is a dream, bright and beautiful as the rainbow, and as -brief and fugitive. The same clouds and the same sun may be with us on -the morrow, but the rainbow will have gone. There is a destroyer that -goes abroad by night; he fastens upon every leaf, and freezes out its -last drop of life, and leaves it on the parent stem, pale, withered, and -dying. - -Then come those closing days of dissolution, the saddest of the year, -when all nature is filled with phantoms, and the gaunt and naked trees -moan in the wind--every leaf a mockery, every breeze a sigh. The air -seems weighed with a premonition of the dreariness to come. The -landscape is darkened in a melancholy monotone, and death is written -everywhere. You may walk the woods and fields for hours without a gleam -of comfort or a cheering sound. We hear, perhaps, the hollow roll of the -woodpecker upon some neighboring tree; but even he is clad in mourning: -it is a muffled drum, and the resounding limb is dead. You sit beneath -the old oak-tree, but it is a lifeless rustle that grates upon your ear, -while you listen half beseechingly for some cheering note from the -robins in the thicket near; but they are coy and silent now, and their -flight is toward the southern hills. A villanous shrike must needs come -upon the scene: he alights upon a limb near by, with blood upon his -beak. Murder is in his eye, and his mission here is death. And now we -hear a noisy crow o'erhead: he perches upon a neighboring tree in hungry -scrutiny. And what is he but carrion's bird, that revels in decay and -death, with raiment black as a funeral pall? In the cold gray sky we see -their scattered flocks blowing in the wind with sidelong flight, and in -the field below that mocking cadaver, the man of straw, shaking his -flimsy arms at them in wild contortions. - -[Illustration: THE NORTH WIND.] - -There is a hopeless despondency abroad in all the air, in which the -summer medleys of the birds taunt us with their memories. We yearn for -one such joyful sound to break the gloomy reverie. But what bird could -swell his throat in song amidst such cheerlessness? No, Nature does not -thus defeat her purpose. The hopefulness of Spring, the joyful -consummation of Summer, have fled; their mission is fulfilled, and these -are days for meditation on the past and future. All nature speaks of -death; and there are voices of despair, and others eloquent with hope -and trust. There are dead leaves that crumble into dust beneath our -feet; but, if we look higher, there are others that conceal the promise -of eternal life, where the undeveloped being, that perfect symbol, -weaves his silken shroud, and awaits the coming of his day of full -perfection. In the ground beneath he seeks his sepulchre, and he knows -that at the appointed time he will burst his cerements and fly away. -These are inobtrusive, silent testimonies; but they are here, and need -only to be sought to unfold their prophecies. - -But there comes a respite even in these late gloomy days. There is a -lull in the work of devastation, in which the sunny skies and magic haze -of October come back to us in the charming dreaminess of the Indian -summer. A brief farewell--perhaps a day, perhaps a week; but however -long, it is a parting smile that we love to recall in the dreariness -that follows. The sky is luminous with soft sun-lit clouds, and the hazy -air is laden with spring-like breezes, with now and then a welcome -cricket-song or light-hearted bird-note, for, although long upon their -way, the birds have not yet all departed. They twitter cheerily among -the trees and thickets, and should you listen quietly you perhaps might -hear an echo of spring again in the warble of the robin upon the -dog-wood-tree. Here they have loitered by the way among the scarlet -berries. Not only robins, but cedar-birds and thrushes are here, in -successive flocks, from morn till night. - -The fields are dull with faded golden-rods and asters, among whose downy -seeds the frolicking chickadees and snow-birds hold a jubilee. The maze -of twigs and branches in the distant hills has enveloped them in a smoky -gray, and the sound of rustling leaves follows your footsteps in your -woodland rambles. The fringe of yellow petals is unfolding on the -witch-hazel boughs, and if you only knew the place, you might discover -in some forsaken nook a solitary pale-blue lamp of fringed gentian still -flickering among the withered leaves. Now a lively twittering and a hum -of wings surprises you, and before you can turn your head a happy little -troop of birds sweep across your path, and are away among the -evergreens. They are white buntings, and their presence here is like a -chill, for they come from the icy regions of the North, and they bring -the snow upon their wings. The Indian summer is soon a thing of the -past. Perhaps before another daybreak it will have flown. There is no -dawn upon that morning. The night runs into a day of dismal, cheerless -twilight, and the sky is overcast with ominous darkness. That angry -cloud that left us, driven away before the conquering Spring, now lowers -above the northward mountain; we see its livid face and feel its -blighting breath--"a hard, dull bitterness of cold," that sweeps along -the moor in noisy triumph, that howls and tears among the trembling -trees, and smothers out the last smouldering flame of faded Autumn. - -The final leaf is torn from the tree. The lingering birds depart the -desolation for scenes more tranquil, and I too with them, for nothing -here invites my tarrying. The Autumn days are gone, grim Winter is at -our door, and the covering snow will soon enshroud the earth, subdued -and silent in its winter sleep. - -[Illustration] - - - - -WINTER. - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration: THE SLEEP] - -[Illustration: A WINTER IDYL - -Prologue - - A chill sad ending of a dreary day. - The waning light in stillness dies away. - Bequeaths no ray of hope the void to fill - But lends to gloomy thoughts more sadness still. - All nature hushed beneath a snowy shroud - Darkness and death their sovereign rule decree - O, reign of dread, of cruel blasts that kill - Thy cycle brings a heavy heart to me. - How many thus their Winter's advent view - Whose darkened faith no daylight ever knew. - Alas for him who thinks the grave his doom - Or sees the sun go down behind the tomb. - "Seek and ye shall find". On every hand - Mute prophecies their mission tell. - Yield but a listening ear and they shall say - 'The dead but sleep, they do not pass away' - Else why mid earth and heaven on yonder tree - That type of life in death, the living tomb? - Why the imago from dark cerements free - Winging its upward flight from earthly gloom? - Why this device supreme unless a prophecy - Of resurrected life and immortality. - Oh thou whose downcast eyes refuse to seek - See! even at the grave the sign is given. - The snow-clad evergreen, eternal life - Clothed in celestial purity from heaven. - Even thus life's Winter should be blest - Not dark and dead but full of peace and rest. -] - - -Silently, like thoughts that come and go, the snow-flakes fall, each one -a gem. The whitened air conceals all earthly trace, and leaves to -memory the space to fill. I look upon a blank, whereon my fancy paints, -as could no hand of mine, the pictures and the poems of a boyhood life; -and even as the undertone of a painting, be it warm or cool, shall -modify or change the color laid upon it, so this cold and frosty -background through the window transfigures all my thoughts, and forms -them into winter memories legion like the snow. Oh that I could -translate for other eyes the winter idyl painted there! I see a living -past whose counterpart I well could wish might be a common fortune. I -see in all its joyous phases the gladsome winter in New England, the -snow-clad hills with bare and shivering trees, the homestead dear, the -old gray barn hemmed in with peaked drifts. I see the skating-pond, and -hear the ringing, intermingled shouts of the noisy, shuffling game, the -black ice written full with testimony of the winter's brisk hilarity. -Down the hard-packed road with glancing sled I speed, past frightened -team and startled way-side groups; o'er "thank you, marms," I fly in -clear mid-air, and crouching low, with sidelong spurts of snowy spray, I -sweep the sliding curve. Now past the village church and cosy parsonage. -Now scudding close beneath the hemlocks, hanging low with their piled -and tufted weight of snow. The way-side bits like dizzy streaks whiz by, -the old rail fence becomes a quivering tint of gray. The road-side weeds -bow after me, and in the swirling eddy chasing close upon my feet, sway -to and fro. Soon, like an arrow from the bow, I shoot across the "Town -Brook" bridge, and, jumping out beyond, skip the sinking ground, and -with an anxious eye and careful poise I "trim the ship," and, hoping, -leave the rest to fate. - -Perhaps I land on both runners, perhaps I don't; that depends. I've -tried both ways I know, and if I remember rightly, I always found it -royal jolly fun; for what cared I at a bruise, or a pint of snow down my -back, when I got it there myself? - -The average New England boy is hard to kill, and I was one of that kind. -Any boy who could brave the hidden mysteries and capricious favoritism -of those fifteen dislocating "thank you, marms," and _hang together_ -through it all, and, having so done, finish that experience with a -plunging double somersault into a crusted snow-bank, or, perchance, into -a stone wall--if he can do this, I say, and survive the fun, then there -is no reason why he should not live to tell of it in old age, for never -in the flesh will he go through a rougher ordeal. I've known a boy who -"_hated_ the old district school because the hard benches hurt him so," -and who would rest his aching limbs for hours together in this gentle -sort of exercise. "The fine print made his eyes ache, and he couldn't -study;" and yet when one day he comes home with one eye all colors of -the rainbow, "it's _nothing_." "Consistency is a jewel." Boys don't -generally wear jewels. But they are all alike. Boys will be boys, and if -they only live through it, they will some day look back and wonder at -their good fortune. - -At the foot of that long hill the "Town Brook" gurgles on its winding -way, and passing beneath the weather-beaten bridge, it makes a sudden -turn, and spreads into a glassy pond behind the bulwarks of the saw-mill -dam. In summer, were we as near as this, we would hear the intermittent -ring of the whizzing saw, the clanking cogs, and the tuneful sounds of -the falling bark-bound slabs; but now, like its bare willows that were -wont to wave their leafy boughs with caressing touch upon the mossy -roof, the old mill shows no sign of life. Its pulse is frozen, and the -silent wheel is resting from its labors beneath a coverlet of snow. Who -is there who has not in some recess of the memory a dear old haunt like -this, some such sleeping pond radiant with reflections of the scenes of -early life? Thither in those winter days we came, our numbers swelled -from right and left with eager volunteers for the game, till at last, -almost a hundred strong, we rally on the smooth black ice. - -[Illustration: SNOW-FLAKES OF MEMORY.] - -The opposing leaders choose their sides, and with loud hurrahs we -penetrate the thickets at the water's edge, each to cut his special -choice of stick--that festive cudgel, with curved and club-shaped end, -known to the boy as a "shinney-stick," but to the calm recollection of -after-life principally as an instrument of torture, indiscriminately -promiscuous in its playful moments. Were I to swing one of those dainty -little clubs again, I would rather that the end were tied up in -something soft, and that this should be the universal rule; otherwise I -don't think I would play. I would prefer to sit on the bank and watch -the sport, or make myself useful in looking after the dead and wounded. -But to the "average New England boy" it makes a great deal of difference -who swings the club, and what it is swung for. If it is whirled in -_play_, and takes him with a blow that _ought_ to kill him, and _would_ -if he were not a boy, why then he laughs, and thinks it's good fun, and -goes in and gets another. But if the parental guardian has any reason to -swing a stick even one-tenth the size, the whole neighborhood thinks -there is a boy being murdered. So much depends upon a name sometimes. - -[Illustration: THE OLD MILL-POND.] - -How clearly and distinctly I recall those toughening, rollicking sports -on the old mill-pond! I see the two opposing forces on the field of ice, -the wooden ball placed ready for the fray. The starter lifts his stick. -I hear a whizzing sweep. Then comes that liquid, twittering ditty of the -hard-wood ball skimming over the ice, that quick succession of bird-like -notes, first distinct and clear, now fainter and more blended, now -fainter still, until at last it melts into a whispered, quivering -whistle, and dies away amidst the scraping sound of the close-pursuing -skates. With a sharp crack I see the ball returned singing over the -polished surface, and met half-way by the advance-guard of the leading -side. The holder of the ball with rapid onward flight hugs close upon -his charge, keeping it at the end of his stick. Past one and another of -his adversaries he flies on winged skates, followed by a score of his -companions, until, seeing his golden opportunity, with one tremendous -effort he gives a powerful blow. To be sure, one of his own men -interposes the back of his head and takes half the force of his stroke; -but what does that matter, it was all in fun? besides, he had no -business to be in the way. The ball thus retarded in such a trivial -manner instantly meets a barricade of the excited opponents, who have -hurried thither to save their game; but before any one can gain the time -to strike the ball, the starters rush pell-mell upon them. Now comes the -tug of war. Strange fun! What a spectacle! The would-be striker, with -stick uplifted, jammed in the centre of a boisterous throng; the -hill-sides echo with ringing shouts, and an anxious circle with ready -sticks forms about the swaying, gesticulating mob. Meanwhile the ball -is beating round beneath their feet, their skates are clashing steel on -steel. I hear the shuffling kicks, the battling strokes of clubs, the -husky mutterings of passion half suppressed; I hear the panting breath -and the impetuous whisperings between the teeth, as they push and -wrestle and jam. A lucky hit now sends the ball a few feet from the -fray. A ready hand improves the chance; but as he lifts his stick a -youngster's nose gets in the way and spoils his stroke; he slips, and -falls upon the ball; another and another plunge headlong over him. The -crowd surround the prostrate pile, and punch among them for the ball. -When found, the same riotous scene ensues; another falls, and all are -trampled under foot by the enthusiastic crowd. Ye gods! will any one -come out alive? I hear the old familiar sounds vibrating on the air: -whack! whack! "Ouch!" "Get out of the way, then!" "Now I've got it!" -"Shinney on yer own side!" and now a heavy thud! which means a sudden -damper on some one's wild enthusiasm. And so it goes until the game is -won. The mob disperses, and the riotous spectacle gives place to -uproarious jollity. - -There are other more tranquil reflections from that old mill-pond. Do -you not remember the little pair of dainty skates whose straps you -clasped on daintier feet; the quiet, gliding strolls through the -secluded nooks; the small, refractory buckle which you so often stooped -to conquer; and the sidelong grimaces of less fortunate swains--sneers -that brought the color tingling to your cheeks with mingled pride and -anger? Ah! things so near the heart as these can never freeze. - -Yonder, just below that clustered group of pines, where the water-weeds -and lily-pads are frozen in the ice, we chopped our fishing holes, and -with baited lines and tip-ups set, we waited, wondering what our luck -would be. With eager eyes we watched the line play out, or saw the -tip-up give the warning sign. And as with anxious pull we neared the end -of the tightening cord, who shall describe that tingling sense of joy at -the first glimpse of the gaping pickerel? - -Near by I see the yellow-fringed witch-hazel bending in graceful spray -over the flaky, bordering ice, that mystic shrub whose feathery winter -blooms we gathered as a token for the little one with dainty skates. - -Still farther up the pond the marbled button-wood-tree, with spreading -limbs and knotty brooms of branchlets, rises clear against the sky, its -little pendulums swinging away the winter moments. At its very roots the -dam spreads into a tufted swamp, thick-set with alders. How often have I -picked my way through that wheezing, soggy marsh in quest of the rare -Cecropia cocoons; treading among glazed air-chambers, whose roof of ice, -like a pane of brittle glass, falls in at my approach--a crystal fairy -grotto, set with diamonds and frost ferns, annihilated at a step. - -Here, too, the sagacious musk-rat built his cemented dome, and along the -neighboring shore we set the chained steel-traps, or made the ponderous -dead-fall from nature's rude materials. Yonder, in the side-hill woods, -I set the big box rabbit-traps; with keen-edged jack-knife trimmed the -slender hickory poles, and on the ground near by, with sharpened, -branching sticks, I built the little pens for my twitch-up snares. Can -I ever forget the fascinating excitement which sped me on from snare to -snare in those tramps through the snowy woods, the exhilarating buoyancy -of that delicious suspense, every nerve and every muscle on the _qui -vive_ in my eagerness for the captured game! Even the memory of it acts -like a tonic, and almost creates an appetite like that of old. - -And then the lovely woods. How few there are who ever seek their winter -solitude: and of these how fewer still are they who find anything but -drear and cold monotony! - -We read the literature of our time, and find it rich in story of the -home aspects of winter; of Christmas joys and festivals, of holiday -festivities, and all the various phases of cosy domestic life; but not -often are we tempted from the glowing hearth into the wilds of the bare -and leafless forest. We read of the "drear and lonely waste, the -cheerless desolation of the howling wilderness," and we look out upon -the naked, shivering trees and draw our cushioned rockers closer to the -grateful fire. - -[Illustration: THE FIRST SNOW.] - -Not I; bitter were the winds and high the piled-up drifts that shut me -in from out-of-doors in those glorious days; and whether on my animated -trapping tours, or hunting on the crusted snow, with powder-horn and -game-bag swinging at my side, or perhaps pressing through the tangled -thickets in my impetuous search for those pendulous cocoons, now -stopping to tear away the loosening bark on moss-grown stump, now -looking beneath some prostrate board for the little "woolly bears" -curled up in their dormant sleep: no matter what my purpose, always I -was sure to find the winter full of interest and beauty. How distinctly -I recall the thrilling spectacle of that glad morning when, awakening -early, and jumping from the little cot so snug and warm, I tripped -across the chilly floor and scratched a peep-hole on the frosted -window-pane; looked out upon a world so changed, so strangely beautiful, -that at first it seemed like a lingering vision in half-awakened -eyes--still looking into dream-land. All the world is dressed in purest -white, as soft and light as down from seraphs' wings. The orchard trees, -the elms, and all the leafless shrubs, as if by magic spell, transformed -to shadowy plumes of spotless purity, and the interlacing boughs -o'erhead vanishing in a canopy of glistening, feathery spray. I look -upon a realm celestial in its beauty, unprofaned by earthly sign or -sound. A strange, supernal stillness fills the air; and save where some -unseen spirit-wing tips the slender twig and lets fall the scintillating -shower, no slightest movement mars the enchanted vision. Above, in the -far-off blue, I see the circling flock of doves, their snowy wings -glittering in their upward flight--apt emblems in a scene so like a -glimpse of spirit-land. A single vision such as this should wed the -heart to winter's loveliness, a loveliness inspiring and immaculate, for -never in the cycle of the year does nature wear a face so void of -earthly impress, so spirit-like, so near the heavenly ideal. - -One of the most striking features of the winter ramble in the woods is -their impressive stillness. But stop awhile and listen. That very -silence will give emphasis to every sound that soon shall vibrate on the -clear atmosphere, for "little pitchers have big ears," and wide-open -eyes too. They will first be sure that the stick you hold is only a -cane, and not the small boy's gun which they have so learned to dread. -Hark! even from the hollow maple at your side there comes a scraping -sound, and in an instant more two black and shining eyes are peering -down at us from the bulging hole above. Tut! don't strike the little -fellow. Had you only waited a moment longer, we would have seen him -emerge from his concealment, and with frisky, bushy tail laid flat upon -the bark, he would have hung head downward on the trunk, and watched our -every movement; but now you've startled him, he thinks you mean -mischief, and you'll see his sparkling eyes no more at that knot-hole. -Listen! Now we hear a rustling in the sere and snow-tipped weeds -somewhere near by, and presently a little feathery form flits past, and -settles yonder on the swaying rush. With feathers ruffled into a little -fuzzy ball, he bustles around among the downy seeds, now prying in their -midst, now hanging underneath, head up, head down, no matter which, -it's all the same to him. Now he stops short in his busy search, turns -his little head jauntily from side to side, lifts his tufted crest, and -sets free his pent-up glee--"See! see! see me sing! Chickadee-dee-dee!" -Who has not heard that wee small voice ringing in the frosty air? and -who, having heard it, has not longed to catch and cuddle that little -feathery puff, the winter's own darling, whose little warm heart and -sprightly song temper the chill and enliven the cheerless days? - -[Illustration: MUTE PROPHECIES.] - -The bending rush but lightly feels the dainty form, and, if at all, it -must delight to bear so sweet a burden. How dearly have I learned to -love this little fellow, perhaps my special favorite among the birds; -for while the others one by one desert us with the dying year for scenes -more bright and sunny, the chickadee is content to share our lot; he is -constant, always with us, ever full of sprightliness and cheer. No -winter is known in his warm heart, no piercing blast can freeze the -fountain of his song. - -How often in the woods and by-ways have I stopped and chatted with this -diminutive friend as he nestled in some oscillating spray of golden-rod, -or perhaps with jaunty strut shook down the new-fallen snow from some -drooping branch of hemlock. I say "chatted," for he is a talkative and -entertaining little fellow, always ready to tell people "all about it," -if they will only ask him. He is generally too busy searching amid the -dead and crumpled leaves for the indispensable _bug_ to intrude himself -on any one; but once draw him into conversation and he will do his share -of the talking--only, mind you, remove those big fur gloves and tippet, -or he will put you to shame by crying, "See! see!" and showing you his -little, bare feet. This pert atom can be saucy and cross if things don't -exactly suit his fancy; and, for whatever reason, he always seems out of -patience at the sight of a _man_ all bundled up and mittened. I have -noticed this repeatedly. "Take off some of those things," he seems to -say, "and let me see who you are, and then I'll talk with you," and with -feathers puffed up like an indignant hen in miniature, he scolds and -scolds. - -Then there are the little snow-birds, too. When the sad autumn days are -upon us, when the dying leaves with ominous flush yield up their hold on -life, and are borne to earth on wailing winds, and all nature seems -filled with mocking phantoms of the summer's life and loveliness; when -we listen for the robin's song and hear it not, or the thrush's -bell-like trill, and listen in vain; when we look into the southern sky -and see the winged flocks departing behind the faded hills--it is at -such a time, while the very air seems weighed with melancholy, that the -snow-birds come with their welcome, twittering voices. All winter long -these sprightly little fellows swarm the thickets and sheltering -evergreens, frolicking in the new-fallen snow like sparrows in a summer -pool. Sometimes they unite in flocks with the chickadees and invade the -orchard, and even the kitchen door-yard, with their ceaseless chatter. -If you open the window and scatter a few crumbs upon the porch, they -are soon hopping among the grateful morsels with twittering -thankfulness. And on a very cold day, should you leave the kitchen -window standing open, they will perch upon the sill and preen their -ruffled feathers. Always trusting and confiding when appreciated, but -often coy and distant for want of just such kindness. - -[Illustration: THE TWITCH-UP.] - -Although loving the cold, and choosing the winter season to be with us, -the snow-birds cannot hold their own against the little hardy chickadee. -Indeed, I sometimes think that this little frost-proof puff is happier -and more sprightly in proportion as the cold increases, and that even -the sight of a frozen thermometer would be, perhaps, an especial -inspiration for his song. Not so the little snow-birds. When those raw -and bitter winds sweep like a blight over the face of nature, their -little song is frozen, and their familiar forms are seen no more. You -hunt amid the evergreens and hedge-rows, but they are not there. But -when the shingle-vane on the old barn-gable veers and points toward the -south or west, should you chance to be in the neighborhood of the -barrack mow, you would hear the muffled twittering of the little thawing -voices underneath the conical roof. Here they have assembled among the -wheat-sheaves still unthreshed, finding a warm and cosy shelter--"a -pavilion till the storm is overpast." - -The winter woods are full of life and beauty, if we will only look for -them. We do as much for the summer woods, why not for the winter? Were -we to seclude ourselves in-doors in June, and shut our eyes to all its -loveliness, it would be only what so many do from November till the -budding spring. In one respect, at least, the woods are even more -beautiful in winter than in summer; for in their height of leafy -splendor--sometimes to me almost oppressive in its universal -greenness--the true and living tree is hidden from sight, its exquisite -anatomy is concealed, and, to a certain degree, all the different trees -melt into a mass of "nothing but leaves." - -No one ever sees the full charm of the forest who turns his back upon it -in the winter, for its clear-cut tree-forms are an unceasing delight and -wonder. Look at the exquisite lines of that drooping birch, the -intricate interlacing tracery of the minute branching twigs! Could -anything be more graceful or more chaste? could any covering of leaves -enhance its beauty? And so the apple-tree by the old stone wall--how -different its various angles! how individual in its character! how -beautiful its silhouette against the sky! Thus every separate tree -affords a perfect study, of infinite design. See that mottled beech -trunk yonder. What! never noticed it before? That was because its -drooping leaf-clad branches concealed its beauty; but now not only does -it emerge from its wonted obscurity, but the whiteness of the snowy -ground beyond gives added value to every subtle tint upon its dappled -surface. Step nearer. With what variety of exquisite tender grays has -nature painted the clean smooth bark! See those marbled variegations, -each spot with a distinct tint of its own, and each tint composed of a -multitude of microscopic points of color. Here we see a fimbriated -blotch of dark olive moss, spreading its intertwining rootlets in all -directions, and further up a spongy tuft of rich brown lichen tipped -with snow. Who could pass by unnoticed such a refined and exquisite bit -of painting as this? And yet they abound on every side. See the shingly -shagbark, with its mottlings of pale green lichen and orange spots, its -jagged outline so perfectly relieved against the snow, and, beyond, that -group of rock-maples, with its bold contrasts of deep green moss, and -striped tints of most varied shades, from lightest drab to deepest -brown. And there is the yellow birch with its tight-wound bark, fringed -with ravellings of buff-colored satin. Here we come upon a clump of -chestnuts, their cool trunks set off in bold relief against a background -of dark hemlocks, whose outer branches, clothed in snow, like tufted -mittens, hang low upon the ground. - -[Illustration: THE WINTER'S DARLING.] - -Passing from the wood, we now pick our way through a neglected by-path -shut in on either side with birches, whose brown and slender branches -spring from a trunk so white as to be almost lost in the background tint -of snow. At every step we dislodge the glistening wreaths of snowy -flakes from the bluish raspberry canes. The little withered nests on the -tips of the wild-carrot stems hurl their fleecy burden to the ground; -and each in turn the phantom shapes give place to homely yarrows, -golden-rods, or thistles. Further on we see a wild-rose branch with -scarlet berries, and further st--What's that? A fleet-footed little -creature darts out almost from under our very feet, and bounds away into -the dark recess. That little cotton tail! what a tempting target it -always was for me! Lucky for you, my dear little fellow, that I am not a -boy again, or I'd set a snare for you in about ten minutes. This always -was a favorite haunt for hares, and if we had only kept our eyes open we -might have known it, for, see! all around us the snow is dotted with -hollows from their four little jumping foot-pads. - -[Illustration: "WHO'S THAT?"] - -Now we enter the old swamp lot, thick-set with bristling bulrushes and -bare and spindling brooms of iron-weed. Here is the little turtle pond, -from whose animated mud we fished the bugs and polly-wogs for our -aquarium. Now it is shrunken and cold with crackling ice. Around its -borders a thicket of black alder grows, its close-clinging scarlet -berries, half hid in summer by the overhanging foliage, now seen in all -their brilliancy and profusion, the brightest touches of color in -nature's winter landscape. - -Soon we are walking over the soft and silent carpet in the pine grove's -sombre shelter, stopping for one brief moment to listen to the sighing -wind overhead, and to inhale one long and lasting whiff of the delicious -invigorating aroma of the trees. - -Once more out in the open, our attention is arrested by a little stain -of blood upon the snow. Leading to the spot we see a row of tiny -imprints of some little field-mouse, and the white surface in close -vicinity is ruffled and disturbed. A cruel tragedy has been committed -here, and its evidence is plain, for there is but one line of wee -footprints from the little hole beneath the stump near by--no return. -Poor little fellow! I wish I had beneath my foot the sharp-eyed owl that -surprised you in your little antics on the snow. - -[Illustration: SUNSHINE AND SHADOW IN THE WOODS.] - -A deserted nest now hangs across our pathway, and as I look upon the -cold heap within its hollow, I wonder where are the little birds that -nestled beneath the mother's wings in the cosy warmth of that cradled -home only a few short months ago. And now I am reminded that nearly all -this land through which we have been strolling belongs to Nathan Beers; -for there's his house right across the road, only a few rods in front of -us. I cannot help but laugh as I look over into that old door-yard at -the incident it recalls. - -I remember how, about fifteen years ago, I came up through these very -woods into the clearing where we stand, and saw old Nathan, with -slouched straw hat and stoga boots, entering his front gate. He was -muttering and gesticulating to himself; and on the gravel behind him he -trailed along a huge steel trap and clinking chain. He evidently had a -strong opinion on _some_ subject, and I knew pretty well what that -subject _was_. - -"Hello, Nathan!" I ask, "what's up?" - -He turns quickly, and I observe that his usually good-natured Yankee -face now wears a troubled expression. - -"My dander's up--that's what's up," he replies, a little sullenly. - -"They tell me you've been after a fox, Nathan; did you catch him?" - -"No, 'n I don't cal'late to try agin nuther, he's _airnt his livi'_ fer -all _me_;" and with an impetuous fling he sent the old trap into a -corner of the wood-shed. - -I am soon by his side, anxious to hear all about it. "What's the fox -done?" I ask, eagerly. - -"What _hain't_ he done, yeu better say. I never see nuthin' t' beat it -since uz born, 'n I've ketched tew er three on 'em afore naow, teu. I've -heern tell o' them critters' cunnin', but I swaiou I alliz thort ez haow -folks wuz _coddi'_; but _thar_, yeu can't tell me nuthin' 'baout -_foxes_. It's nigh cum a fortnit thet I've been arter thet feller, 'n I -swar teu gosh all hemlock! I hain't got so much's one on his pesky red -hairs teu _show_ for't, 'n I'm _sick_ on't. I tell ye that ar feller is -_mischievouser than pizen_, 'n his hed's as long as a horse's." - -"Why, what's he been doing, Nathan?" - -[Illustration: A SUNNY CORNER.] - -"_Doin'?_ why fer considerable of a spell back he's bin hangin' raoun' -my hen-roost an' pickin' off my brammys; thet's what he's bin doin', 'n -the _fust_ time I sot the trap I stuck it under some chaff in the hole -yender in the hen-haouse jest arter the hens hed gone ter -roost--cal'latin' as haow I'd wait a spell, 'n then go 'n take it away. -I thort that 'ud fetch him sure; but _thar_, deu yeu b'leeve, I heern -thet feller cum' sneakin' along putty soon, 'n he cum' raoun' to t'other -side 'n scairt all the hens aout the hole. I heern a great squawkin', 'n -I put fer the place ez tight ez I cud, 'n thar I see my best dorkin' hen -in the trap. Ef I'd only gyn the feller time, like's not he'd a chawed -off her leg, 'n lugged her off to his hole in the rocks yender. I tell -ye, everybody araoun' what's got hens hez hed to take thet feller's -sass, 'n they'd orter be an end on't. There's old Reuben Scales, so poor -he hain't got a pa'r o' pants teu his back, 'n dependin' on his faowls -fer his meat vittles; why, they tell me daown t' the store thet he's bin -jest _cleaned right aout_, 'n hain't got even a ha'r-backed pullet left. -They ain't no _gunni'_ nuther. Thet red-haired thief hez knabbed every -tarnal pattridge 'n Bob White they iz." - -And so he went on for half an hour, telling me all the various -stratagems by which Reynard had outwitted him. - -"I set it thar in the pine woods in a bed of pine needles, with the ded -rabbit hangin' over it, 'n the next day I see by the scratched up dirt -haow the feller hed jumped clean over the trap at a _lick_, 'n taken his -rabbit on a fly. Yeu kin laff; but what I'm tellin' ye is az true az -preachin'. So yest'd'y I lit aout on a new idee, 'n set the trap on top -a stump cluss teu a tree 'n covered it with leaves. I hung the bait on -the tree higher up, 'n sez I, old feller, I've got ye naow, sez I. I -left it thar. I went daown thar agin this mornin', 'n I've _jest cum_ -from thar. _No more fox fer me_; s'elp me gosh!" - -"Why," I ask, "what was the matter down there, Nathan?" - -"Why, _blame my stogys_, ef the feller hadn't gone 'n highsted the -clog-stick on the end o' the chain, 'n shoved it agin the pan, 'n sprung -the trap on't, 'n then stepped up and knabbed the bait. An' I say thet -enny feller what's got brains enuff fer thet, I swaiou he'd oughter -_live_ off'n um; 'n he _kin_ fer all _me_!" - -[Illustration: WINTER BROWSING.] - -It was too bad to have fooled old Nathan so; but then, you see, he had a -big farm, and was awfully stingy with us boys, and never would let us -set a rabbit snare on his place. He said it was "pesky _cruel_," and -seemed to prefer the more humane way of wounding them with shot, and -breaking their necks afterward to end their sufferings. Nathan had kept -very quiet about his little game. There really was a very sly fox in the -neighborhood; but boys make good foxes too, sometimes. - -[Illustration: A JANUARY THAW.] - -Nathan's house was a typical New England home, with slanting roof on one -side, and embowered in maples, and it had the most picturesque barn in -the neighborhood. Oh you good people far off in the country everywhere, -how I envy you these dear old barns! How much you ought to appreciate -their homely rustic beauty! But you never will, until, like me, you are -forced to live away from them, and to see them only through the golden -haze of memory. Then you will learn how great a part they took in -influencing your daily life and happiness. - -Was ever perfume sweeter than that all-pervading fragrance of the -sweet-scented hay? and was ever an interior so truly picturesque, so -full of quiet harmony? - -The lofty hay-mows piled nearly to the roof, the jagged axe-notched -beams overhung with cobwebs flecked with dust of hay-seed, with perhaps -a downy feather here and there. The rude, quaint hen boxes, with the -lone nest-egg in little nooks and corners. How vividly, how lovingly, I -recall each one! - -In those snow-bound days, when the white flakes shut in the earth down -deep beneath, and the drifts obstructed the highways, and we heard the -noisy teamsters, with snap of whip and exciting shouts, urge their -straining oxen through the solid barricade; when all the fences and -stone walls were almost lost to sight in the universal avalanche; and, -best of all, when the little district school-house upon the hill stood -in an impassable sea of snow--then we assembled in the old barn to play, -sought out every hidden corner in our game of hide-and-seek, or jumped -and frolicked in the hay, now stopping quietly to listen to the tiny -squeak of some rustling mouse near by, or, it may be, creeping -cautiously to the little hole up near the eaves in search of the -big-eyed owl we once caught napping there. In a hundred ways we passed -the fleeting hours. The general features of New England barns are all -alike; and the barn of memory is a garner full of treasure sweet as -new-mown hay. You remember the great broad double doors, which made -their sweeping circuit in the snow; the ruddy pumpkins, piled up in the -corner near the bins, and the wistful whinny of the old farm-horse, as -with pricked-up ears and eager pull of chain he urged your prompt -attention to your chores; the cows, too, in the manger stalls--how -pleasant their low breathing--how sweet their perfumed breath! Outside -the corn-crib stands, its golden stores gleaming through the open laths, -and the oxen, reaching with lapping upturned tongues, yearn for the -tempting feast, "so near and yet so far." The party-colored hens group -themselves in rich contrast against the sunny boards of the -weather-beaten shed, and the ducks and geese, with rattling croak and -husky hiss, and quick vibrating tails (that strange contagion), waddle -across the slushy snow, and sail out upon the barn-yard pond. - -Here is the pile of husks from whose bleached and rustling sheaths you -picked the little ravellings of brown for your corn-silk cigarettes. Did -ever "pure Havana" taste as sweet? - -[Illustration: THE MOONLIGHT RIDE.] - -Near by we see the barracks stored with yellow sheaves of wheat. Soon we -shall hear the intermittent music of the beating flail on the old barn -floor, now chinking soft on the broken sheaf, now loud and clear on the -sounding boards. Upon the roof above we see the cooing doves, with -nodding heads and necks gleaming with iridescent sheen. Turning, in -another corner we look upon a miscellaneous group of ploughs and rakes -and all the farm utensils, and harness hanging on the wooden pegs. -There, too, is the little sleigh we love so well. Could it but speak, -how sweet a story it could tell of lovely drives through romantic glens -and moonlit woods, of tender squeezes of the little hand beneath the -covering robe, of whispered vows, and of the encircling arm--a shelter -from the cold and cruel wind! But no--I'll say no more: these are -memories too sacred for the common ear. And there's the carry-all sleigh -just by its side. How well you'll remember the merry loads it carried, -its three wide seats and space between packed full of jolly company! How -the hard-pressed snow squeaked beneath the gliding runners, as with -prancing span and jingling bells you sped down through the village -street, with waving handkerchiefs and cheerful greetings right and left! -How with "ducking" heads and muffled screams you ran the gauntlet past -the school-house mob; saw them scrambling for "a hitch," and with -tantalizing beckonings tipped your horses with the whip. Away you go -through the deep ravine, with a _jing, jing, jing_ on the frosty air, -with voices high in merry laughs, amid loud hurrahs from the -"boysterous" crowd now far behind. Now you speed through a mist of -drifting snow, and the rosy cheeks tingle with the stinging icy flakes -flying before the wind. Now comes another chorus of piercing screams, as -the laden hemlock bough, tapped with mischievous whip, hurls down its -fleecy avalanche on coat and robe, on jaunty little hat--yes, and on a -small pink ear, and even down a pretty neck. Ah me! How is it possible -that a shriek like that could come from a throat so fair? But so you go, -with a _jing, jing, jing_, now past the mill-pond with its game, now up -the hill, now through the woods and far away, now farther still, the -silvery bells now scarcely heard, now fainter yet, till lost to sight -and sound--but not to memory dear; for all through life we shall hear -those happy jingling bells. - -And when, with ruddy faces and stamping feet, we all rush in and crowd -the old fireplace, how welcome the glowing warmth, how keen the relish -for the appetizing spread upon the snow-white table-cloth: the smoking -dish of beans, with crisp accompaniment of luscious pork; the hot brown -bread so sweet; and, last of all, the far-famed Indian pudding, fresh -and steaming from the old brick oven! - -How distinctly I recall those long and happy evenings around that -radiant hearth, the games, the stories read from welcome magazines! -Little we cared for the howling storm without. I hear the tick of the -ancient clock in the corner shadowed by the old arm-chair; I see the -glimmer on the whitewashed wall, the festooned strings of apples, sliced -and hung above the fire to dry; I hear the patient, expectant stroke of -hammer on the upturned log, and now the crackling burst of the -rough-shelled butternut, yielding up its long and filmy kernel; I hear -the apples sizzling on the hearth, the puffy snap of pop-corn jumping in -its fiery cage, the kettle singing on the pendent hook--a thousand -things; and what a precious living picture of sweet home-life they all -bring back to me! - -But look! there is another hidden picture in the book of life--a -shadowed page, which we had well-nigh forgotten. See that crouching -figure in the dark, deserted street--that spurned and wretched outcast, -without a home, without a friend! Perhaps if that broken heart has not -already ceased to yearn, if the last spark has not yet been smothered by -the driving, covering snow, we might still hear the faint and stifled -sobs: - -[Illustration: THE SHADOWED PAGE.] - - "Once I was loved for my innocent grace, - Flattered and sought for the charm of my face. - Father, mother, sisters, all, - God, and myself, I have lost in my fall. - The veriest wretch that goes shivering by - Will take a wide sweep lest I wander too nigh, - For of all that is on or about me, I know, - There is nothing that's pure but the beautiful snow. - How strange it should be that this beautiful snow - Should fall on a sinner with nowhere to go! - How strange it would be, when the night comes again, - If the snow and the ice struck my desperate brain, - Fainting, freezing, dying alone!" - -Life's book is full of shadowed pages such as this; and it were well if -in the midst of our contented homes, around our cheerful fires, we -stopped to think and give a silent, heart-felt prayer for those who, by -some strange, inexplicable fatality, seem doomed to walk with cruel -burdens and with bleeding feet the path of life: no helping hand, no -friend, no hope, no God. - -What a terrible night! Hark how the wind moans, like a long wail from -some despairing soul shut out in the awful storm! The air is filled with -dense clouds of flying snow and sleet chased along by the gale. The -trees bend and writhe, and, as if in fear, scratch their boughs upon the -roof; the driving flakes beat with an angry, hissing sound upon the -window-panes, and for a moment there is a muffled, ominous silence. Now -comes a wild and furious gust, and a great white whirlwind sweeps with -serpentine contortions past the window and disappears in the thick -darkness of the night. Our very walls sway and tremble to their -foundation. The clap-boards snap, and some loosened blind is torn from -its hinges and hurled as a feather before the raging wind. We hear a -crash of breaking glass, the shaking of the old barn doors, and now a -frightened neigh, half smothered in the storm. - -Who would venture out in such a night as this? We shudder at the -thought, and yet there is one whose holy sense of duty will see no -barrier even in this fierce tempest. Even now he is urging his faithful -horse onward through the lonely road, cold and benumbed, but thinking -only of the suffering he hopes to relieve. - -How well I remember the welcome stamping at the front door, the chinking -rattle of the tin box sounding nearer and nearer up the stairs, the tall -and stately figure entering the room, clad in great-coat reaching nearly -to the floor, the genial smile bringing both hope and comfort with its -very presence! And what a noble face! the shapely forehead, the snowy -tufts of close-cut hair, the magnetic, penetrating eyes, so deep and -dark, looking out from beneath the heavy jet-black brows, and the -clean-shaven cheeks and chin, of almost child-like bloom, relieved -against the whiteness of the stock about the throat! Never before were -winter and summer so strangely and beautifully blended in a human face. -But we shall see that face no more. Physician, friend, companion, all -were laid away with him, and sad indeed was the day that bore him from -us. And now, as I look down upon that humble grave, I would that others, -with the reverence I feel, might read the sacred epitaph inscribed upon -my memory, of one whose only aim through life was the relief of -suffering and sorrow. In storm or calm, by day or night, he fulfilled -his holy mission. And when the fearful scourge swept o'er the town, and -filled its homes with woe; when friends deserted friends, and brothers -left their kin, this noble soul sought out the sick and dying, cared -tenderly for their sufferings until the end, and even laid the dead away -alone. A life of sacrifice, for rich or poor alike, without a thought of -self. Professing no religious faith--yea, _doubting_ even; but finding -in the precept of the "golden rule" an inspiration worthy the devotion -and the effort of his life: "By their _fruits_ ye shall know them." - -[Illustration: THE GOOD PHYSICIAN.] - -And so the winter goes. It has its joys and its sorrows, its strong -contrasts of light and shadow. The bitter winds will freeze and rule the -earth, but the sun will shine again, and the very gloom transform to -glittering splendor. Soon we greet the lengthening days. The farmer -heeds the warning sign. The woods resound with the stroke of the axe and -crashing of falling trees; and the prostrate trunks are rolled upon the -sledge and hauled away "to mill;" the fields are strewn with compost, -and meadows sown with clover on the snow, fences are fixed, and hot-bed -started on the sunny slope; the cackling hens have felt the prophecy, -and steal away into snug little places among the hay-mows and the -mangers, and lay the foundation of their future brood; the climbing -bitter-sweet lets fall its scarlet seeds, and the little pussies on the -willows grow day by day. How eagerly I always watched these welcome -signs! for even though I loved the winter, I never sorrowed at its -departure in the face of coming spring, with its promises of the medleys -of the birds, of unfolding buds, and those sweet shy faces soon to peep -along the wood-path, and breathe their fragrance from among the withered -leaves. - -I remember, too, the faded butterfly, flitting about the wood-shed roof. -His wings were torn and jagged at their edges, and their feathery beauty -had nearly all been left among last summer's flowers. Warned by November -frosts, he had sought his winter shelter in some chink or crevice among -the loosened boards, where, benumbed and dormant, he had spent the -winter, awaiting the warmth of the returning sun to thaw him out, and -once more coax him into the outer world. As early as February, should -the day be mild, he would come out of his mysterious concealment and -bask in the warm sunshine. Presently he alights upon the end of a -birch-log in the wood-pile, and sips the sweet exuding sap. He is soon -joined by another, and another, until a swarm has gathered at the feast. -As the day declines, they retire again to the wood-shed, and there, -huddled together on the rafters, await their next opportunity of mild -and sunny weather. Even in a January thaw I have seen one of these faded -butterflies that had left his hiding-place to tantalize a troop of hens -around the barn-yard door. - -I remember the torrent of rain and the freshet; the broken dams and -bridges washed away. The softened ground yielded up its subterranean -frosts; in all the trees the winter wounds bled with the quickened -pulse; the elder spigots in the sugar-maples trickled all the day; and -the neighboring farms echoed with the snap of whip and voice of eager -teamsters, as the busy plough turned the dark-brown furrows, or the -crushing harrow combed the crumbling mould. How welcome were the -evidences of returning life among the low meadow-lands, where -velvety-green tufts of sprouting grass circled the borders of the marshy -pools, and the golden willow twigs bathed the brook-side in a luminous -glow! Here, too, the alders hung their swinging tassels or trailed them -o'er the surface of the swollen stream. - -One by one the feathered flocks returned, and the little snow-birds and -the buntings, seeing their place usurped, left for the northward -region, to lend their cheerful voices to another winter. Then came a -beautiful day, with mild, earth-scented breezes, like very spring. But -at night the north wind came again to reassert its power, and the earth -was once more subdued beneath the snow. And so for weeks the north wind -battled with the sun, - -[Illustration: - - Till at last the sweet Arbutus - Nestling close on Nature's breast - Felt a throb . a warm pulsation - Rouse it from its dreamy rest. - - Throwing wide its little portals - From its coverlet of snow - It peeped forth from the leafy shelter - Into a valley white below. - - "Am I dreaming? . Shall the Winter - Stifle and freeze my early breath - Nay . hark! . I hear the Bluebird singing - 'Spring has come' he answereth. - - "Ah! Frost-flower in thy grotto yonder - Crystal sun-gem white and clear - Thy reign must cease when I awaken - Farewell! pale bloom . thy fate draws near. - - Bleak Winter is thine - Love's Spring-time is mine. -] - - - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Pastoral Days, by William Hamilton Gibson - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PASTORAL DAYS *** - -***** This file should be named 41278.txt or 41278.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/1/2/7/41278/ - -Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images available at The Internet Archive) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Thus, we do not necessarily -keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. - - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: - - http://www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/41278.zip b/41278.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 42888c9..0000000 --- a/41278.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/41278-0.txt b/old/41278-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 70b3675..0000000 --- a/old/41278-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,4122 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Pastoral Days, by William Hamilton Gibson - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: Pastoral Days - or Memories of a New England Year - -Author: William Hamilton Gibson - -Release Date: November 3, 2012 [EBook #41278] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PASTORAL DAYS *** - - - - -Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images available at The Internet Archive) - - - - - - - - -PASTORAL DAYS - - - - -PASTORAL DAYS -OR -MEMORIES OF A NEW ENGLAND YEAR - -BY - -W. HAMILTON GIBSON - -Illustrated - -NEW YORK - -HARPER & BROTHERS, FRANKLIN SQUARE - -1881 - -Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1880, by - -HARPER & BROTHERS, - -In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. - -_All rights reserved._ - - -TO - -ONE WHOSE CLOSE COMPANIONSHIP - -HAS WROUGHT THAT HARMONY AND PEACE OF MIND FROM WHICH THIS -BOOK HAS SPRUNG, AND TO WHOM ITS EVERY PAGE RECALLS -A REMINISCENCE OF THE PAST IDENTIFIED -WITH MEMORIES OF MY OWN - -This Memoir is Lovingly Inscribed - -OUR SOUVENIR - -[Illustration] - - - - -THE CYCLE. - - -SPRING: PAGE - -_The Awakening_.....19 - -SUMMER: - -_The Consummation_.....51 - -AUTUMN: - -_The Waning_.....91 - -WINTER: - -_The Sleep_.....125 - - - - -ILLUSTRATIONS. - -DESIGNED BY W. HAMILTON GIBSON. - - -TITLE. ENGRAVER.....PAGE - -THE KINDLED FLAME W. H. CLARK.....18 - -THE AWAKENING H. GRAY.....19 - -A SPRING MORNING F. S. KING.....21 - -CATKINS JOHN FILMER.....23 - -PUSSIES ” ”.....23 - -EARLY PLOUGHING H. WOLF.....25 - -THE RETURN FROM THE FIELDS GEORGE SMITH.....26 - -VOICES OF THE NIGHT JOHN FILMER.....27 - -A RAINY DAY J. HELLAWELL.....29 - -A HANDFUL FROM THE WOODS H. GRAY.....32 - -AFTER ARBUTUS J. TINKEY.....34 - -THE FAIRY FROND J. P. DAVIS.....35 - -AN APRIL DAY GEORGE SMITH.....36 - -AMONG THE WILD FLOWERS SMITHWICK and FRENCH.....37 - -THE COLUMBINE R. HOSKIN.....38 - -THE MEADOW BROOK ” ”.....40 - -THE PHŒBE’S NEST W. H. MORSE.....41 - -BUILDING THE NEST HENRY MARSH.....42 - -IN THE APPLE ORCHARD R. HOSKIN.....43 - -LITTLE PLUNDERERS A. HAYMAN.....45 - -ONE OF NATURE’S MARVELS H. MARSH.....46 - -BLUE-FLAGS R. HOSKIN.....47 - -THE CONSUMING FLAME W. H. CLARK.....50 - -THE CONSUMMATION N. ORR.....51 - -DOLCE FAR NIENTE F. S. KING.....55 - -THE OLD GARRET F. JUENGLING.....56 - -AMID THE GRASSES F. S. KING.....58 - -EVEN-TIDE G. KRUELL.....60 - -THROUGH THE SEDGES R. HOSKIN.....62 - -AMONG THE BOGS J. TINKEY.....63 - -SOME ART CONNOISSEURS R. HOSKIN.....64 - -PROFESSOR WIGGLER J. FILMER.....65 - -THE TYRANT OF THE FIELDS H. E. SCHULTZ.....67 - -FAMILIAR FACES AT THE -VILLAGE STORE R. A. MULLER.....70 - -A SOUVENIR SMITHWICK and FRENCH.....72 - -ALONG THE HOUSATONIC GEORGE SMITH.....74 - -JUDD’S BRIDGE P. ANNIN.....78 - -THE HAUNTED MILL J. HELLAWELL.....79 - -PURSUERS AND PURSUED GEORGE ANDREW.....81 - -TOLLING FOR THE DEAD R. SCHELLING.....83 - -WRECKS OF THE TORNADO J. FILMER.....84 - -PASSING THOUGHTS H. GRAY.....86 - -THE SMOULDERING FLAME ” ”.....90 - -THE WANING A. HAYMAN.....91 - -“EVERY BREEZE A SIGH” F. S. KING.....93 - -AN OCTOBER DAY SMITHWICK and FRENCH.....96 - -A WAY-SIDE PASTORAL J. HELLAWELL.....97 - -WAIFS HENRY MARSH.....100 - -IN THE CORNFIELD W. MILLER.....102 - -THE ROAD TO THE MILL E. HELD.....105 - -THE CIDER-MILL J. P. DAVIS.....107 - -THE “LINE STORM” R. HOSKIN.....109 - -A POINTED REMINDER J. FILMER.....111 - -AFTER THE SHELL-BARKS GEORGE SMITH.....113 - -A CORNER OF THE FARM J. TINKEY.....115 - -BEECH-NUTTING W. H. MORSE.....118 - -THE NORTH WIND MORSE and HOSKIN.....120 - -DESERTED HENRY DEIS.....121 - -THE FLAME EXTINGUISHED H. GRAY.....124 - -THE SLEEP J. TINKEY.....125 - -THE TOMB J. P. DAVIS.....127 - -SNOW-FLAKES OF MEMORY GEORGE SMITH.....129 - -THE OLD MILL-POND H. GRAY.....131 - -THE FIRST SNOW GEORGE SMITH.....133 - -MUTE PROPHECIES H. E. SCHULTZ.....135 - -THE TWITCH-UP F. S. KING.....137 - -THE WINTER’S DARLING HENRY MARSH.....139 - -WHO’S THAT? H. WOLF.....140 - -SUNSHINE AND SHADOW IN THE -WOODS R. HOSKIN.....141 - -A SUNNY CORNER W. H. MORSE.....143 - -WINTER BROWSING SMITHWICK and FRENCH.....144 - -A JANUARY THAW J. FILMER.....145 - -THE MOONLIGHT RIDE J. HELLAWELL.....147 - -THE SHADOWED PAGE J. TINKEY.....149 - -THE GOOD PHYSICIAN R. SCHELLING.....151 - -THE FULFILMENT SMITHWICK and FRENCH.....153 - - - - -SPRING. - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration: THE AWAKENING] - -[Illustration] - - -As far as the eye can reach, the snow lies in a deep mantle over the -cheerless landscape. I look out upon a dreary moor, where the horizon -melts into the cold gray of a heavy sky. The restless wind sweeps with -pitiless blast through shivering trees and over bleak hills, from whose -crests, like a great white veil, the clouds of hoary flakes are lifted -and drawn along by the gale. Down the upland slope, across the -undulating field, the blinding drift, like a thing of life, speeds in -its wild caprice, now swirling in fantastic eddies around some isolated -stack, half hidden in its chill embrace, now winding away over -bare-blown wall and scraggy fence, and through the sighing willows near -the frozen stream; now with a wild whirl it flies aloft, and the dark -pines and hemlocks on the mountain-side fade away in its icy mist. -Again, yonder it appears trailing along the meadow, until, flying like -some fugitive spirit chased from earth by the howling wind, it vanishes -in the sky. On every side these winged phantoms lead their flying chase -across the dreary landscape, and fence and barn and house upon the hill -in turn are dimmed or lost to sight. - -Who has not watched the strange antics of the drifting snow whirling -past the window on a blustering winter’s day? But this is not a winter’s -day. This is the advent of a New England spring. - -Fortunate are we that its promises are not fulfilled, for the ides of -March might as oft betoken the approach of a tempestuous winter as of a -balmy spring. Consecrated to Mars and Tantalus, it is a month of -contradictions and disappointments, of broken promises and incessant -warfare. It is the struggle of tender awakening life against the -buffetings of rude and blighting elements. No man can tell what a day -may bring forth. Now we look out verily upon bleak December; -to-morrow--who knows?--we may be transported into May, and, with -aspirations high, feel our ardor cooled by a blast of ice and a blinding -fall of snow. But this cannot always last, for soon the southern breezes -come and hold their sway for days, and the north wind, angry in its -defeat, is driven back in lowering clouds to the region of eternal ice -and snow. Then comes a lovely day, without even a cloud--all blue above, -all dazzling white below. The sun shines with a glowing warmth, and we -say unto ourselves, “This is, indeed, a harbinger of spring.” The -sugar-maples throb and trickle with the flowing sap, and the lumbering -ox-team and sled wind through the woods from tree to tree to relieve the -overflowing buckets. The boiling caldron in the sugar-house near by -receives the continual supply, and gives forth that sweet-scented steam -that issues from the open door, and comes to us in occasional welcome -whiffs across the snow. Long “wedges” of wild-geese are seen cleaving -the sky in their northward flight. The little pussies on the willows -are coaxed from their winter nest, and creep out upon the stem. The -solitary bluebird makes his appearance, flitting along the thickets and -stone walls with little hesitating warble, as if it were not yet the -appointed time to sing; and down among the bogs, that cautious little -pioneer, the swamp-cabbage flower, peers above the ground beneath his -purple-spotted hood. He knows the fickle month which gives him birth, -and keeps well under cover. - -[Illustration: CATKINS.] - -[Illustration: PUSSIES.] - -Such days in March are too perfect to endure, and at night the sky is -overcast and dark. Then follows a long warm rain that unlocks the ice in -all the streams. The whiteness of the hills and meadows melts into broad -contracting strips and patches. One by one, as mere specks upon the -landscape, these vanish in turn, until the last vestige of winter is -washed from the face of the earth to swell the tide of the rushing -stream. Even now, from the distant valley, we hear a continuous muffled -roar, as the mighty freshet, impelled by an irresistible force, ploughs -its tortuous channel through the lowlands and ravines. The quiet town is -filled with an unusual commotion. Excited groups of towns-people crowd -the village store, and eager voices tell of the havoc wrought by the -fearful flood. We hear how the old toll-bridge, with tollman’s house and -all, was lifted from its piers like a pile of straw, and whirled away -upon the current. How its floating timbers, in a great blockade, crushed -into the old mill-pond; how the dam had burst, and the rickety red -saw-mill gone to pieces down the stream. Farmer Nathan’s barn had gone, -and his flat meadows were like a whirling sea, strewn with floating -rails and driftwood. Every hour records its new disaster as some eager -messenger returns from the excited crowds which line the river-bank. How -well I remember the fascinating excitement of the spring freshet as I -watched the rising water in the big swamp lot, anxious lest it might -creep up and undermine the wall foundations of the barn! And what a -royal raft I made from the drifting logs and beams, and with the spirit -of an adventurous explorer sailed out on the deep gliding current, -floating high among the branches of the half submerged willow-trees, and -scraping over the tips of the tallest alder-bushes, whose highest twigs -now hardly reached the surface! How deep and dark the water looked as I -lay upon the raft and peered into the depths below! But this jolly fun -was of but short duration. The flood soon subsided, and on the following -morning nothing was seen excepting the settlings of _débris_ strewn -helter-skelter over the meadow, and hanging on all the bushes. - -The tepid rain has penetrated deep into the yielding ground, and with -the winter’s frost now coming to the surface, the roads are well-nigh -impassable with their plethora of mud. For a full appreciation of _mud_ -in all its glory, and in its superlative degree, one should see a New -England highway “when the frost comes out of the ground.” The roads are -furrowed with deep grimy ruts, in which the bedabbled wheels sink to -their hubs as in a quicksand, and the hoofs of the floundering horse are -held in the swampy depths as if in a vise. For a week or more this state -of things continues, until at length, after warm winds and sunny days, -the ground once more packs firm beneath the tread. This marks the close -of idle days. The junk pile in the barn is invaded, and the rusty plough -abstracted from the midst of rakes and scythes and other farming tools. -The old white horse thrusts his long head from the stall near by, and -whinnies at the memories it revives, and with pricked-up ears and -whisking tail tells plainly of the eagerness he feels. - -[Illustration: EARLY PLOUGHING.] - -Back and forth through the sloping lot the ploughman slowly turns the -dingy sward, and in the rich brown furrow, following in his track, we -see the cackling troop of hens, and the lordly rooster, with great ado, -searches out the dainty tidbits for his motley crowd of favorites. The -whole landscape has become infused with human life and motion. Wherever -the eye may turn it sees the evidences of varied and hopeful industry. -Yonder we notice an oft-recurring little puff of mist, like a burlesque -snow-drift, ever and anon bursting into view, and softly vanishing -against the sward; another glance detects the slow progress of horse and -cart, as the farmer sows his load of plaster across the whitening field. -Farther up, where the brow of the hill stands clear against the sky, a -pacing figure, with measured sweep of arm, scatters the handfuls of -wheat, and team and harrow soon are in his path, combing and crumbling -the dark-brown mould. High curling wreaths of smoke wind upward from the -flat swamp lot beyond, where hilarious boys enjoy both work and play in -burning off the brush. Here we shall see the first welcome nibble of -fresh grass for the poor bereaved cow, whose lamenting bleat now echoes -through the barn near by; and for those oxen, too, that with swaying, -clumsy gait lug the huge roller across the neighboring field. And what -strange yells and exclamations guide them in their labored progress! “Ho -back! Gee up, ahoy! Ho haw!” From every direction, in voices near, and -others faint with distance, we hear this same queer jargon. Who could -believe that so much good work hung upon the incessant reiteration of -that brief and monotonous vocabulary? Rather would we listen to the -musical ring of the laughing children riding on the big “brush harrow” -down through that barn-yard lane beyond. Now they are out upon the -broken ground where John has strewn the “compost” to be “brushed in.” A -broad flat wake follows them around the field, and that same troop of -hens and turkeys revel in the lively feast spread out before them in the -loose upturning. - -[Illustration: RETURN FROM THE FIELDS.] - -[Illustration: VOICES OF THE NIGHT.] - -So runs the record of a busy day in the early New England springtime, -and with its all-absorbing industry it is a day that passes quickly. The -afternoon runs into evening. Cool shadows creep across the landscape as -the glowing sun sinks through the still bare and leafless trees and -disappears behind the wooded hills. The fields are now deserted, and -through the uncertain twilight we see the little knots of workmen with -their swinging pails, and hear their tramp along the homeward road. In -the dim shadows of the evergreens beyond, a faint gray object steals -into view. Now it stops at the old watering-trough, and I hear the sip -of the eager horse and the splash of overflowing water. Some belated -ploughman, fresh, perhaps, from a half-hour’s gossip at the village -store. I hear the sound of hoofs upon the stones as they renew their -way, the dragging of the chain upon the gravelly bed, and the receding -form is lost in the darkening road. One by one the scattered barns and -houses have disappeared in the gathering dusk, marked only by the faint -columns of blue smoke that rise above the trees, and melt away against -the twilight sky. I look out upon a wilderness of gloom, where all above -is still and clear, and all below is wrapped in impenetrable mystery. A -plaintive piping trill now breaks the impressive stillness. Again and -again I hear the little lonely voice vibrating through the low-lying -mist. It is only a little frog in some far-off marsh; but what a sweet -sense of sadness is awakened by that lowly melody! How its weird minor -key, with its magic touch, unlocks the treasures of the heart. Only the -peeping of a frog; but where in all the varied voices of the night, -where, even among the great chorus of nature’s sweetest music, is there -another song so lulling in its dreamy melody, so full of that emotive -charm which quickens the human heart? How often in the vague spring -twilight have I yielded to the strange, fascinating melancholy awakened -by the frog’s low murmur at the water’s edge! How many times have I -lingered near some swampy roadside bog, and let these little wizards -weave their mystic spell about my willing senses, while the very air -seemed to quiver in the fulness of their song! I remember the tangle of -tall and withered rushes, through whose mysterious depths the eye in -vain would strive to penetrate at the sound of some faint splash or -ripple, or perhaps at the quaint, high-keyed note of some little -isolated hermit, piping in his sombre solitude. I recall the first -glimpse of the rising moon, as its great golden face peered out at me -from over the distant hill, enclosing half the summit against its broad -and luminous surface. Slowly and steadily it seemed to steal into view, -until, risen in all its fulness, I caught its image in the trembling -ripples at the edge of the soggy pool, where the palpitating water -responded to the frog’s low, tremulous monotone. Higher and higher it -sails across the inky sky, its glow now changed to a silvery pallor, -across whose white halo, in a floating film, the ghostly clouds glide in -their silent flight. A dull tinkling of some distant cow-bell breaks -the spell, and recalls my wandering thoughts, and as I again take up my -way along the moonlit road, the glimmering windows on right and left -betray the hiding-places of a score of humble homes. Not far beyond I -see the swinging motion of a flickering lantern, as some tardy farmer’s -boy, whistling about his work, clears up his nightly chores. Now he -enters the old barn-door. I see the light glinting through the open -cracks, and hear the lowing of the cows, the bleating of the baby-calf, -and rattling chains of oxen in the stanchion rows. Now again I catch the -gleam at the open door; the swinging light flits across the yard, and -the old corn-crib starts from its obscurity. I see the boyish figure -relieved against the glow within as a basketful of yellow ears are -gathered for the impatient mouths in the noisy manger stalls. Sing on, -my boy, enjoy it while you may! That venerable barn will yield a -fragrance to you in after-life that will conjure up in your heart a -throng of memories as countless as the shining grains that glimmer in -the light you hold, and as golden, too, as they. I wonder if those -soft-winged bats squeak among the clapboards, or make their fluttering -zigzag swoops about your lantern as they were wont to do in olden times. - -Then there was that big-eyed owl, too, that perched upon the maple-tree -outside my window, and cried as if its heart would break at the doleful -tidings it foretold. What a world of kind solicitude that dolorous bird -awakened in our superstitious neighbor across the road! How she -overwhelmed us with her sympathy, aroused by that sepulchral omen! But I -still live, and so does the owl, for aught I know; and I sometimes think -that this aged, stooping dame over the way has never fully recovered -from her disappointment, for she always greets me with a sigh and an -injured expression, as she says, in her high and tremulous voice, “Well! -well! back agin ez hale ’n hearty ’s ever; an’ arter the way thet ar -witch bird yewst teu call ye, too, night arter night. Jest teu _think_ -on’t! an’ we’d all a’ gi’n ye up fer sartin. Well! well! I never see the -beat on’t. Yen deu seem teu hang on _paowerful_;” and, after a moment’s -hesitation, seemingly in which to swallow the bitter pill, she usually -adds, with sad solicitude, “Feelin’ perty _tol’ble teu_, I spose?” But -the “witch bird” never roused my serious apprehensions. I remember its -plaintive cry only as a tender bit of pathos in the pages of my early -history. - -[Illustration: A RAINY DAY.] - -I recall, too, the pleasant sound upon the shingles overhead as the -dark-clouded sky let fall its tell-tale drops to warn us of the coming -rain. How many times have I glided into dream-land under the drowsy -influence of the patter on the roof, and the ever varying tattoo upon -the tin beneath the dripping eaves! Who can forget those rainy days, -with their games of hide-and-seek in the old dark garret! How we looked -out upon the muddy puddled road, and laughed at the great drifting -sheets of water that ever and anon poured down from some bursting cloud, -and roared upon the roof! And as the driving rain beat against the -blurred window-panes, what strange capers the squirming tree-trunks -outside seemed to play for our amusement: the dark door-way of the barn, -too--now swelling out to twice its size, now stretching long and thin, -or dividing in the middle in its queer contortions. Out in the dismal -barn-yard we saw the forlorn row of hens huddled together on the -hay-rick, under the drizzling straw-thatched shed; and the gabled coop -near by, in whose dry retreat the motherly old hen spread her tawny -wings, and yielded the warmth of her ruffled breast to the tender needs -of her little family, peeping so contentedly beneath her. The rain-proof -ducks dabble in the neighboring puddles, and chew the muddy water in -search of floating dainties, or gulp with nodding heads the unlucky -angle-worms which come struggling to the surface--drowned out of their -subterranean tunnels. - -Now we hear the snapping of the latch at the foot of the garret stairs, -and we are called to come and see a little outcast that John has brought -in from the wood-pile. Close beside the kitchen-stove a doubled piece of -blanket lies upon the floor, and within its folds we find what once was -a downy little chicken, now drenched and dying from exposure. He was a -naughty, wayward child, and would persist in thinking that he knew more -than his mother. At least so I was told--indeed, it was impressed upon -me. But the little fellow was rescued just in time. The warmth will soon -revive him, and by-and-by we shall hear his little chirp and see him -trot around the kitchen-floor, pecking at that everlasting fly, perhaps, -or at some tiny red-hot coal that snaps out from the stove. - -Little did we suspect the mission of those rainy days, so drear and -dismal without, or the sweet surprise preparing for us in the myriad -mysteries of life beneath the sod, where every root and thread-like -rootlet in the thirsty earth was drinking in that welcome moisture, and -numberless sleeping germs, dwelling in darkness, were awakening into -life to seek the light of day, waiting only for the glory of a sunny -dawn to burst forth from their hiding-places! That sunny morn does come -at last, and in its beams it sheds abroad a power that stirs the deepest -root. It is, indeed, a glorious day. The clustered buds upon the -silver-maples burst in their exuberance, and fringe the graceful -branches with their silken tassels. The restless crocus, for months an -unwilling captive in its winter prison, can contain itself no longer, -and with its little overflowing cup lifts up its face to the blue -heaven. Golden daffodils burst into bloom on drooping stems, and -exchange their little nods on right and left. The air is filled with a -faint perfume, in which the very earth mould yields its fragrance--that -wild aroma only known to spring. Our little feathered friends, so few -and far between as yet, are full of song. The bluebird wooes his mate -with a loving warble, full of tender sweetness, as they flit among the -swaying twigs, or pry with diligent search for some snug nesting-place -among the hollow crannies of the orchard trees. The noisy blackbirds -hold high carnival in the top of the old pine-tree, the woodpecker taps -upon the hollow limb his resonant tattoo, and the hungry crows, like a -posse of tramps, hang around the great oak-tree upon the knoll, and -watch to see what they can steal. Down through the meadow the gurgling -stream babbles as of old, and along its fretted banks the alder thickets -are hanging full with drooping catkins swinging at every breeze. The -glossy willow-buds throw off their coat of fur, and plume themselves in -their wealth of inflorescence, lighting up the brook-side with a yellow -glow, and exhaling a fresh, delicious perfume. Here, too, we hear the -rattling screech of the swooping kingfisher, as with quick beats of wing -he skims along the surface of the stream, and with an ascending glide -settles upon the overhanging branch above the ripples. All these and a -thousand more I vividly recall from the memory of that New England -spring; but sweetest of all its manifold surprises was that crowning -consummation, that miracle of a single night, bringing on countless -wings through the early morning mist the welcome chorus of the returning -flocks of birds. How they swarmed the orchard and the elms, where but -yesterday the bluebird held his sway! Now we see the fiery oriole in his -gold and jetty velvet flashing in the morning sun, and robins without -number swell their ruddy throats in a continuous roundelay of song. The -pert cat-bird in his Quaker garb is here, and with flippant jerk of tail -and impertinent mew bustles about among the arbor-vitæs, where even now -are remnants of his last year’s nest. The puffy wrens, too, what saucy, -sputtering little bursts of glee are theirs as they strut upon the -rustic boxes in the maples! The fields are vocal with their sweet spring -medley, in which the happy carols of the linnets and the song sparrows -form a continuous pastoral. Now we hear the mellow bell of the wood -thrush echoing from some neighboring tree, and all intermingled with the -chatter and the gossip of the martens on their lofty house. Birds in the -sky, birds in the trees and on the ground, birds everywhere, and not a -silent throat among them; but from far and near, from mountain-side and -meadow, from earth and sky, uniting in a happy choral of perpetual -jubilee. - -[Illustration: A HANDFUL FROM THE WOODS.] - -Down in the moist green swamp lot the yellow cowslips bloom along the -shallow ditch, and the eager farmer’s wife fills her basket with the -succulent leaves she has been watching for so long; for they’ll tell you -in New England that “they ain’t noth’n’ like caowslips for a mess o’ -greens.” Near by we see the frog pond, with lush growth of arrow leaves -and pickerel weed, and flat blades of blue-flag just starting from the -boggy earth. Half submerged upon a lily pad, close by the water’s edge, -an ugly toad sits watching for some winged morsel for that ample mouth -of his. - -Who could believe that so much poetic inspiration could emerge from such -a mouth as that; for verily it is this miserable-looking toad that lifts -his little voice in the dreamy, drowsy chorus of the twilight. All sorts -of odium have been heaped upon the innocent toad; but he only returns -good for evil. He is the farmer’s faithful friend. He guards his garden -by day, and lulls him to sleep by night. Yonder, near those withered -cat-tails, we see the village boys among the calamus-beds, pulling up -the long white roots tipped with pink and fringed with trickling -rootlets. What visions of candied flag-root stimulate them in their -zeal! I can almost see the tender, juicy leaf-bud screened beneath that -smooth pink sheath, and its aromatic pungency is as fresh and real to me -as this appetizing fragrance that comes to us from the green tufts of -spearmint we crush beneath our feet at every step. Bevies of swallows -all around us skim through the air, like feathered darts, in their -twittering flight; and the restless starling, like a field-marshal, with -his scarlet epaulets, keeps sharp lookout for the enemy, and “flutes his -O-ka-lee” from the high alder-bush at the slightest approach upon his -chosen ground. Yonder on the wooded slope the feathery shad-tree blooms, -like a suspended cloud of drifting snow lingering among the gray twigs -and branches; and chasing across the matted leaves beneath, a lively -troop of youngsters, girls and boys, make the woods resound with their -boisterous jubilee. A jolly band of fugitives fresh from the stormy -week’s captivity--spring buds bursting with life, with a pent-up store -of spirits that finds escape in an effervescence of ringing laughs and -in a din of incessant jabber. Well I know the buoyant exhilaration that -impels them on in their reckless frolic, as they skip from stone to -stone across the rippling stream, or “stump” each other on the -treacherous crossing-pole which spans the deep still current! Now I see -them huddle around the trickling grotto among the mossy bowlders in the -steep gully yonder, where the mountain spring bubbles into a crystal -pool. Alas! how quickly its faint blue border of hepaticas is rifled by -the ruthless mob! Now they clamber up the great gray rocks beneath the -drooping hemlocks, stopping in their headlong zeal to snatch some -trembling cluster of anemone, nodding from its velvety bed of moss; now -plunging down on hands and knees, shedding innocent blood among an -unsuspecting colony of fragile bloom--those glowing blossoms so welcome -in the early spring! Who does not know the bloodroot--that shy recluse -hiding away among the mountain nooks, that emblem of chaste purity with -its bridal ring of purest gold? Who has not seen its tender leaf-wrapped -buds lifting the matted leaves, and spreading their galaxy of snowy -stars along the woodland path? - -Then there was the shy arbutus, too. Where in all the world’s bouquet is -there another such a darling of a flower? And where in all New England -does that darling show so full and sweet a face as in its home upon that -sunny slope I have in mind, and know so well? Was ever such a fragrant -tufted carpet spread beneath a hesitating foot? Even now, along the -lichen-dappled wall upon the summit, I see the lingering strip of snow, -gritty and speckled, and at its very edge, hiding beneath the covering -leaves, those modest little faces looking out at me--faces which seemed -to blush a deeper pink at their rude discovery. No other flower can -breathe the perfume of the arbutus, that earthy, spicy fragrance, which -seems as though distilled from the very leaf-mould at its roots. Often -on this sunny slope, so sheltered by dense pines and hemlocks, have -these charming clusters, pink and white, burst into bloom beneath the -snow in March; and even on a certain late February day, we discovered a -little, solitary clump, fully spread, and fairly ruddy with the cold. -Here, too, we found the earliest sprays of the slender maidenhair; that -fairy frond and loveliest among ferns, with black and lustrous stems, -and graceful spread of tender gauzy green. - -[Illustration: AFTER ARBUTUS.] - -Where was the nook in all that hill-side woods that we left unsearched -in our April ramblings? I recall the “tat,” “tat” upon the dry carpet of -beech leaves, as the delicate anemone in my hand is dashed by a falling -drop! Lost in eager occupation, we had not observed the shadow that had -stolen through the forest; and now, as we look out through the trees, we -see the steel-blue warning of the coming shower, and feel the first gust -of the tell-tale breeze--how the willows wave and gleam against the deep -gray clouds, so weirdly reflected in the gliding stream beneath, like an -open seam to another sky! See the silvery flashes of that flock of -pigeons circling against the lurid background. No, we cannot stop to -see them, for the rain-drops begin to patter thick and fast. Away we -scamper to the shelter of the overhanging rocks. The lowering sky rolls -above us through the branches. The glassy surface of the brook takes on -a leaden hue as the rain-cloud drags its misty veil across the distant -meadows. The brown leaves jump and spatter at my feet, and the blue -liverwort flowers on right and left duck their heads like little living -things dodging the pelting rain-drops. - -[Illustration: THE FAIRY FROND.] - -Oh, the lovely fickleness an April day! Even now the distant hill is lit -up by the bursting sun. Nearer and nearer the gleam creeps across the -landscape, chasing the shower away, and in a moment more the meadows -glow with a freshened green, and the trees stand transfigured in -glistening beads flashing in the sunbeams. The quickened earth gives -forth its grateful incense, and even an enthusiastic frog down in the -lily-pond sends up his little vote of thanks. - -[Illustration: AN APRIL DAY.] - -April’s woods are teeming with all forms of life, if one will only look -for them. On every side the ferns, curled up all winter in their dormant -sleep, unroll their spiral sprays, and reach out for the welcome sun. -The spicy colt’s-foot, or wild ginger, lifts its downy leaves among the -mossy rocks and crevices, and its homely flower just peeps above the -ground, and, with a lingering glance at the blushing _Rue anemone_ close -by, hangs its humble head, never to look up again. High above us the -eccentric cottonwood-tree dangles its long speckled plumes, so silvery -white. Now we hear a mellow drumming sound, as some unsuspecting grouse, -concealed among the undergrowth near by, beats his resonant breast. -Could we but get a glimpse of him, we would see him simulate the -barn-yard gobbler, as with proud strut and spreading tail he disports -himself upon some fallen log or mossy rock. Perhaps, too, that coy mate -is near, admiring his show of gallantry, and holding a sly flirtation. - -[Illustration: AMONG THE WILD FLOWERS.] - -Look at this craggy precipice of rock, lost above among the -green-tasselled evergreens, and trickling with crystal drops from every -drooping sprig of moss. How its rugged surface is painted with the -mottled lichens of every hue, here like a faint tinge of cool -sage-green, and there in large brown blotches of rich color! See the -fringe of ferns that bursts from the fissure across its surface. There -the trillium hangs its three-cleft flower of rich maroon; and later we -shall see the fern-like spray of Solomon’s-seal swinging its little row -of straw-colored bells from the ledge above. Airy columbines, too, shall -float their scarlet pendants on fragile stems, and with their graceful -nod tell of the slightest breeze, when all else is still. What is that -cinnamon-brown bird that hops along the stone wall yonder? Now he -alights upon the tulip-tree, and swells his speckled breast in a series -of short experiments--a broken song, in which every note or call has -its twin echo. A “mocking-thrush” he is, indeed, for he mimics his own -song from morn till night in all the thickets and pasture-lands. Take -care there! why, you almost trod upon that feathery tuft of “Dutchman’s -breeches.” Oh, who is he that dared to clothe this sweet blossom in such -an ignominious title? Where is the Dutchman that ever wore -unmentionables of such exquisite pink satin as that pale _dicentra_ -wears? No wonder their little broken hearts droop at the insult! - -[Illustration: THE COLUMBINE.] - -The grotesque Jack-in-the-pulpit, rising above that crumbling log, is -named more to my mind. There he stands beneath his striped canopy, and -preaches to me a sermon on the well-remembered rashness of my youth in -trifling with that subterranean bulb from which he grows. But I ignored -his warning in those early days. I only knew that a real nice boy across -the way seemed very fond of those little Indian turnips, called them -“sugar-roots,” and said that they were full of honey. And as he bit off -his eager mouthful, and refused to let me taste, I sought one for -myself, and, generous boy that he was, he showed me where to find the -buried treasure. It was like a small turnip, an innocent-looking affair -(and so was the nice boy’s modelled piece of apple, by-the-way). But oh! -the sudden revelation of the red-hot reservoir of chain-lightning that -crammed that innocent bulb! Even as I think of it, how I long once more -to interview that real nice boy who opened up the mysteries of the -“sugar-root” to my tempted curiosity. Let boys beware of this wild, -red-hot coal; and should they be impelled by a desire to test the -unknown flavor, let them solace themselves with a less dangerous mixture -of four papers of cambric needles and a spoonful of pounded glass. This -will give a faint suggestion of the racy pungency of the Indian turnip. -Were some kind friend at the present day to seek to kill me off with -poisoned food, I should forthwith have him arrested on a charge of -attempted murder, and incarcerated in the county jail. But what would be -wilful homicide in the man is only a guileless proof of friendship in -the boy, and his affections and their symptoms present a living paradox; -and those boisterous days, with all their fond caresses in the way of -fights and bruises and black eyes, and even Indian turnips, we all agree -were full of fun the like of which we never shall see again. - -[Illustration: MEADOW BROOK.] - -How well we remember those tramps along the meadow brook: the dark, -still holes beneath the overhanging rocks, where, with golden slipping -loop and pole and cautious creep, we wired those lazy, unsuspecting -“suckers” on the gravelly bed below! Ah! what scientific angling with -the rod and reel in later years has ever brought back the keen tingle of -that primitive sport? The great green bull-frogs, too, in the lily-pond, -disclosing their cavernous resources as they jumped and splashed and -sprawled after the tantalizing bit of red flannel on that dangling hook! -We recall that rickety bridge among the willows, and the mossy nest of -mud so firmly fixed upon the beam beneath. How could we be so deaf to -the pleading of those little phoebe-birds that fluttered so beseechingly -about us? Then there was that deep hole in the sand-bank near the -brook, where the burrowing kingfisher hid away his nest, where we -watched in the twilight to see him enter, and, with big round stone in -readiness, “plugged” him in his den! What fun it was to dig him out, and -ventilate his musty nest of fish-bones! The starling in the thicket of -the swamp circled through the air with angry “Quit! quit!” as we picked -our way through the bristling bogs so close upon her nest. We’ll not -forget that false step that sent us sprawling in the green slimy mud, at -the first electrifying glimpse of those brown spotted eggs. The -high-holer, too, whose golden gleam of wing upon the bare dead tree -betrayed his nesting-place in the hollow limb--was ever such a stimulus -offered to the eagerness of youth? Who would give a second thought to -his tender shins at the prospect of such a prize as a nest of -high-hole’s eggs? How round and white they were! how the pale golden -yolk floated beneath the pearly shell! Those were jolly days for us; but -the poor birds had to suffer, and few, indeed, were the nests that -escaped our prying search. There was the cat-bird in the evergreens, -with lovely eggs of peacock blue; the pure white treasures of the -swallows in the mud nests under the barn-yard eaves; the sky-blue -beauties of the robin; the brown speckled eggs in the sheltered nest of -song-sparrows on the grassy slope; the dear little eggs of chippies in -their horse-hair bed, and in their midst the insinuated specimen of the -cheeky cow-blackbird: there were eggs of every shape and hue, and we -knew too well where to put our hand on them. - -[Illustration: THE PHŒBE’S NEST.] - -[Illustration: BUILDING THE NEST.] - -In a flowering hawthorn outside our window we watched a loving pair -building their pensile nest among the thorns and blossoms. How incessant -was their solicitude for that fragile framework until its strength was -fully assured against the tossing breeze! Tenderly and eagerly they -helped each other in the disposition of those ravellings of string and -strips of bark! he stopping every now and then to whisper sweetly to his -mate, as she, with drooping, trembling wings, put up her little open -bill to kiss. Yes, we often saw this little tender episode, as we -watched them through the shutters of the half-closed blinds! Now he -flies away; and the little spouse, thus left alone, jumps into the nest, -and we see its mossy meshes swell as she fits the deep hollow to her -feathery breast. Presently her consort returns, trailing along a -gossamer of cobweb, which he throws around the supporting thorn, and -leaves for her to spread and tuck among the crevices. Again he appears, -with his tiny bill concealed in a silvery puff of cotton from the willow -catkins in the swamp; next he brings a wisp of long gray moss; now a -curly flake of rich brown lichen, or a jagged square of birch bark, all -of which are laid against the nest, and half covered with films of -cobweb. Once more we see his tiny form among the hawthorn blossoms as he -tugs a papery piece of hornets’ nest through the pink barricade. This is -arranged to hang beneath as a pendant to their floating fabric, and the -happy little couple sit together upon a neighboring twig in twittering -admiration. And well they may, for a prettier nest than theirs never -hung upon a thorn. Not perfect yet, it seems, however, for that little -feminine eye has seen the need of one more touch. Away she flies, and in -a minute more a downy feather, tipped with iridescent green, is adjusted -in the cobwebs. - -[Illustration: IN THE APPLE ORCHARD.] - -This dainty little work of art is only one of the thousands that -everywhere are building in the blooming trees and thickets. These are -the supreme moments of the spring, consecrated to the loves of bird and -blossom. Every little winged form that scarcely bends the twig has its -all-consuming passion, and every tree its wedding of the flower. Out in -the orchard the apple-trees are laden in veritable domes of pink-white -bloom, as if by the rare spectacle of a rosy fall of snow, and from -among the dewy petals the army of bees give forth their low, continuous -drone--that sympathetic chord in the universal harmony of spring. How -they revel in that rich harvest! Who knows what sweet messages are borne -from flower to flower upon those filmy wings? - -On the green slope beneath, the scattered dandelions gleam like drops of -molten gold upon the velvety sward, and a lounging family group, intent -upon that savory noonday relish, gather the basketfuls of the dainty -plants for that appetizing “mess of greens.” Often, while thus engaged, -have I stopped to watch the antics of the festive bumblebee, tumbling -around in the tufted blossom--always an amusing sight. See how he rolls -and wallows in the golden fringe, even standing on his head and kicking -in his glee! Presently, with his long black nose thrust deep into the -yellow puff, he stops to enjoy a quiet snooze in the luxurious bed--an -endless sleep, for I generally took this chance to put him out of his -misery, preferring, perhaps, to watch the robin hopping across the lawn. -Now he stops, and seems to listen; runs a yard or so, and listens again, -and without a sign of warning dips his head, and pulls upon an unlucky -angle-worm that much prefers to go the other way. It is a well-known -fact that angle-worms approach the surface of their burrows at the sound -of rain-drops on the earth above. I sometimes wonder if the robin in its -quick running stroke of foot intends to simulate that sound, and thus -decoy its prey. - -I remember the wild tumult of a troop of boys upon the hill-side, -tracking the swarming bees as they whirled along in a living tangle -against the sky, now loosening in their dizzy meshes, now contracting in -a murmuring hum around their queen, and finally settling on a branch in -a pendent bunch about her. So tame and docile, too! seeming utterly to -forget their fiery javelins as they hung in that brown filmy mass upon -the bending bough! “A swarm of bees in May iz wuth a load o’ hay.” So -said our neighbor, as with fresh clean hive he secured that prized -equivalent. Here they are soon at home again, and we see their steady -winged stream pouring out through the little door of their -treasure-house, and the continual arrival of the little dusty -plunderers, laden with their smuggled store of honey, and their -saddle-bags replete with stolen gold. Down near the brook they find a -land of plenty, literally flowing with honey, as the luxuriant drooping -clusters of the locust-trees yield their brimful nectaries to the -impetuous, murmuring swarm. But there is no lack now of flowery sweets -for this buzzing colony. On every hand the meadow-sweets and milkweeds, -the brambles, and the fragrant creeping-clover show their alluring -colors in the universal burst of bloom, and not one escapes its tender -pillaging. - -[Illustration] - -Up in the woods the gray has turned to tender green. The flowering -dog-wood has spread its layers of creamy blossoms, giving the signal for -the planting of the corn, and in the furrowed field we see that -dislocated “man of straw,” with old plug hat jammed down upon his face, -with wooden backbone sticking through his neck-band, and dirty thatch -for a shirt bosom--a mocking outrage on any crow’s sagacity. Those -glittering strips of tin, too! Could you but interpret the low croaking -of the leader of that sable gang in yonder tree, you might hear of the -appalling effect of these precautions. I heard him once as I sat quietly -beneath a forest tree, and in the light of later events I readily -recalled his remarks upon the occasion: “Say, fellers! look at that old -fool down there hanging out those tins to show us where his corn is -planted. Haw! haw! I swaw! cawn! cawn! we’ll go down thaw and take a -chaw!” And they did; and they perched upon that old plug hat, and looked -around for something to get scared about. A single look at a crow shows -that he has a long head, and it is not all mouth either. - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration: BLUE-FLAGS.] - -Every day now makes a transformation in the landscape. The golden stars -upon the lawn are nearly all burnt out: we see their downy ashes in the -grass. Their virgin flame is quenched, and naught remains but those -ethereal globes of smoke that rise up and float away with every breeze. -Where is there in all nature’s marvels a more exquisite creation than -this evanescent phœnix of the dandelion? Beautiful in life, it is -even more beautiful in death. And now the high-grown grass is cloudy -with its puffs, whose little fairy parachutes are sailing everywhere, -over mountain-top and field. Here the corn has appeared in little waving -plumes, and the horse and cultivator are seen breaking up the soil -between the rows. Great snowy piles of cloud throw their gliding shadows -across the patchwork of ploughed fields and meadows, fresh and green -with winter wheat, or tinged with newly sprouting grain. The sunbeams -glow with a summer warmth, and the evaporation of the morning dews lifts -the glistening diamonds from the gossamer films among the grass, and -sends a quivering haze all through the air, in which the distant trees -tremble in a softened glimmer. The woods are screened in dense foliage, -and through the leafy canopy the merry birds dart and sing. - -The chickadees are here, and scarlet tanagers gleam like living bits of -fire among the tantalizing leaves. Pert little vireos hop inquisitively -about you, and the bell note of the wood-thrush echoes from the hidden -tree-top overhead. Perhaps, too, you may chance upon a downy brood of -quail cuddling among the dry leaves; but, even though you should, you -might pass them by unnoticed, except as a mildewed spot of fungus at the -edge of a fallen log or tree-stump, perhaps. The loamy ground is shaded -knee-deep with rank growth of wood plants. The mossy, speckled rock is -set in a fringe of ferns. Palmate sprays of ginseng spread in mid-air a -luxurious carpet of intermingled leaves, interspersed with yellow spikes -of loosestrife and pale lilac blooms of crane’s-bill; and the -poison-ivy, creeping like a snake around that marbled beech, has -screened its hairy trunk beneath its three-cleft shiny leaves. The -mountain-laurel, with its deep green foliage and showy clusters, peers -above that rocky crag; and in the bog near by a thicket of wild azalea -is crowned with a profusion of pink blossoms. - -Out in the swamp meadow the tall clumps of boneset show their dull white -crests, and the blue flowers of the flag, the mint, and pickerel weed -deck the borders of the lily pond. The waddling geese let off their -shrieking calliopes as they sail out into the stream, or browse with -nodding twitch along the grassy bank. Swarms of yellow butterflies -disgrace their kind as they huddle around the greenish mud-holes, and we -hear on every side the “z-zip, z-zip,” amidst the din of a thousand -crickets and singing locusts among the reeds and rushes. The meadows -roll and swell in billowy waves, bearing like a white-speckled foam upon -their crests a sea of daisies, with here and there a floating patch of -crimson clover, or a golden haze of butter-cups. Rising suddenly from -the tall grass near by, the gushing brimful bobolink crowds a -half-hour’s song into a brief pell-mell rapture, beating time in mid-air -with his trembling wings, and alighting on the tall fence-rail to regain -his breath. A coy meadow-lark shows his yellow-breast and crescent above -the windrow yonder, and we hear the ringing beats of whetted scythes, -and see the mowers cut their circling swath. - -Mowing! Why, how is this? This surely is not Spring. But even thus the -Springtime leads us into Summer. No eye can mark the soft transition, -and ere we are aware the sweet fragrance of the new-mown hay breathes -its perfumed whisper, “Behold, the Spring has fled!” - - - - -SUMMER. - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration: THE CONSUMMATION] - -[Illustration] - - -“All out for Hometown.” There is an epidemic of eagerness, a general -bustle for satchels and bundles, and the car is soon almost without a -passenger; and, indeed, it would really seem as though the whole train -had landed its entire human burden upon this platform; for Hometown is a -popular place, and every Saturday evening brings just such an exodus as -this: Husbands and fathers who fly from the hot and crowded city for a -Sunday of quiet and content with their families, who year after year -have found a refuge of peace and comfort in this charming New England -town. Where is it? Talk with almost any one familiar with the -picturesque boroughs of the Housatonic, and your curiosity will be -gratified, for this village will be among the first to be described. - -From the platform of the car we step into the midst of a motley -assemblage, rustic peasantry and fashionable aristocracy intermingled. -Anxious and eager faces meet you at every turn. For a few minutes the -air fairly rings with kisses, as children welcome fathers, and fathers -children. Strange vehicles crowd the depot--vehicles of all sizes and -descriptions, from the veritable “one-hoss shay” to the dainty -basket-phaeton of fashion. One by one the merry loads depart, while I, a -pilgrim to my old home, stand almost unrecognized by the familiar faces -around me. Leaning up against the porch near by, stands a character -which, once seen, could never be forgotten. His face is turned from me, -but the old straw hat I recognize as the hat of ten years ago, with brim -pulled down to a slope in front, and pushed up vertically behind, and -the identical hole in the side with the long hair sticking through. Yes, -there he stands--Amos Shoopegg. I step up to him and lay my hand upon -his shoulder. With creditable skill he unwinds the twist of his -intricate legs, and with an inquiring gaze turns his good-natured face -toward me. - -“Is it possible that you don’t remember me, Shoop?” - -With an expression of surprise he raises both his arms. “Wa’al, thar! I -swaiou! I didn’t cal’late on runnin’ agin yeu. I was jes drivin’ hum -from taown-meetin’, an’ thought as haow I’d take a turn in, jest out o’ -cur’osity. Wa’al, naow, it’s pesky good to see yeu agin arter sech a -long spell. I didn’t re_cog_nize ye at fust, but I swan when ye began -a-talkin’, that was enuf fer me. Hello! fetched yer woman ’long tew, -hey? Haow air yeu, ma’am? hope ye’er perty tol’ble. Don’t see but what -yeu look’s nateral’s ever; but yer man here, I declar for’t, he got the -best on me at fust;” and after having thus delivered himself, he -swallowed up our hands in his ample fists. - -“Yes, Shoop, I thought I’d just run up to the old home for a few days.” - -“Wa’al, I swar! I’m tarnal glad to see ye, and that’s a fact. Anybody -cum up arter ye? No? Well, then, s’posin’ ye jest highst into my team.” -So saying, he unhitched a corrugated shackle-jointed steed, and backed -around his indescribable impromptu covered wagon--a sort of a hybrid -between a “one-hoss shay” and a truck. - -“’Tain’t much of a kerridge fer city folks to ride in, that’s a fact,” -he continued, “but I cal’late it’s a little better’n shinnin’ it.” After -some little manœuvring in the way of climbing over the front seat, we -were soon wedged in the narrow compass, and, with an old horse-blanket -over our knees, we went rattling down the hill toward the village and -home of my boyhood. - -Years have passed since those days when, as a united family, we dwelt -under that old roof; but those who once were children are now men and -women, with divided interests and individual homes. The old New England -mansion is now a homestead only in name, known so only in recollections -of the past and the possibilities of the future. - -“Wa’al, thar’s the old house,” presently exclaimed Amos, as we neared -the brow of a declivity looking down into the valley below. “Don’t look -quite so spruce as’t did in the old times, but Warner’s a good keerful -tenant, ’tain’t no use talkin’. I cal’late yeu might dig a pleggy long -spell afore yeu could git another feller like him in this ’ere patch.” - -In the vale below, in its nest of old maples and elms, almost screened -from view by the foliage, we look upon the familiar outlines of the old -mansion, its diamond window in the gable peering through the branches at -us. “Skedup!” cried Amos, as he urged his pet nag into a jog-trot down -the hill, through the main street of the town. The long fence in front -of the homestead is soon reached, a sharp turn into the drive, a “Whoa, -January!” and we are extricated from the wagon. - -“Wa’al, I’ll leave ye naow. I guess ye kin find yer way around,” said -Shoop, as with one outlandish geometrical stride he lifted himself into -the wagon. Cordially greeted by our hostess, with repeated urgings to -“make ourselves at home,” we were shown to our room. The house, though -clad in a new dress, still retained the same hospitable and cosy look as -of old. - -[Illustration: OLD HOMESTEAD AND GARRET.] - -Hometown, owing to some early local faction, is divided into two -sections, forming two distinct towns. One, Newborough, a hill-top -hamlet, with its picturesque long street, a hundred feet in width, and -shaded with great weeping elms that almost meet overhead; and the other, -Hometown proper, a picturesque little village in the valley, cuddling -close around the foot of a precipitous bluff, known as Mount Pisgah. A -mile’s distance separates the two centres. The old homestead is -situated in the heart of Hometown, fronting on the main street. The -house itself is a series of after-thoughts, wing after wing and gable -after gable having clustered around the old nucleus, as the growth of -new generations necessitated increased accommodation. Its outward aspect -is rather modern, but the interior, with its broad open fireplaces, and -accessaries in the shape of cranes and fire-dogs, is rich with all the -features of typical New England; and the two gables of the main roof -enclose the dearest old garret imaginable--at present an asylum for the -quaint possessions of antique furniture and bric-à-brac, removed from -their accustomed quarters on the advent of the new host. It is to this -sanctuary that my footsteps first lead me, and, with a longing that will -not be withstood, I find myself in front of the great white door. I lift -the latch; a cool pungent odor of oak wood greets me as I ascend the -steep stairs--an odor that awakens, like magic, a hundred fancies, and -recalls a host of memories long forgotten. Every stair seems to creak a -welcome, as when, on the rainy days of long ago, we sought the cosy -refuge to hear the patter on the roof, or to nestle in the dark, obscure -corners in our childish games. At the head of the stairs rises the -ancient chimney, cleft in twain at the foot, with the quaint little -cuddy between. Above me stretch the great beams of oak, like iron in -their hardness. Yonder is the queer old diamond window looking out upon -the village church, its panes half obscured by the dusty maze of webs. -To the left, in a shadowy corner, stands the antiquated wheel--a relic -of past generations. Long gray cobwebs festoon the rafters overhead, and -the low buzzing of a wasp betrays its mud nest in the gable above. A -sense of sadness steals over me as I sit gazing into this still chamber. -On every side are mementos of a happy past, and all, though mute, -speaking to me in a language whose power stirs the depths of my soul. -Wherever the eye may turn, it meets with a silent greeting from an old -friend, and the whole shrouded in a weird gloom that lends to the most -common object an air of melancholy mystery. And yet it is only a garret. -There are some, no doubt, for whom this word finds its fitting synonyme -in the dictionary, but there are others to whom it sings a poem of -infinite sweetness. - -Looking through the dingy window between the maple boughs, my eye -extends over lawn and shrubberies, three acres in extent--a little park, -overrun with paths in every direction, through ancient orchard and -embowered dells, while far beyond are glimpses of the wooded knolls, the -winding brook, and meadows dotted with waving willows, and farther still -the ample undulating farm. - -[Illustration: AMONG THE GRASSES.] - -It is in such a place as this that I have sought recreation and change -of scene. My wife and I have run away from the city for a month or so. A -vacation we call it; but to an artist such a thing is rarely known in -its ordinary sense, and often, indeed, it means an increase of labor -rather than a respite. My first week, however, I had consecrated to -luxurious idleness. Together we wandered through the old familiar -rambles where as boy and girl in earlier days we had been so oft -together. Day after day found us in some new retreat. There were dark -cool nooks by sheltered streams, spicy groves of pine and spruce, -wooded slopes and rocky dells, and meadows rich with summer bloom, where -idle butterflies flitted lazily on the wing; where meadow lilies nodded -in billowing fields, and the daisies and red clover waved about our -knees half screened in feathery purple grasses that spread their cloudy -mist all through the blossoming maze. We heard the music of the scythe, -and, sitting in the deep cool grass beneath the maple shade, we watched -the circling motion of the mowers in the field--saw the forkfuls of the -hay tossed in the drying sun, and breathed the perfumed air that floated -from the windrows. We sauntered by the meadow brook where willows -gleamed along the bank, and overhanging alders threw their sombre -shadows in the quiet pools: where the ground-nut, and the meadow-rue, -and the creeping madder fringed the tangled brink, and every footstep -started up some agile frog that plunged into the unseen water. We stood -where rippling shallows gurgled under festooned canopies of fox-grape, -and the leaning linden-trees shut out the sky o’erhead and intertwined -their drooping branches above the gliding current. Here, too, the -weather-beaten crossing-pole makes its tottering span across the stream, -and deep down beneath the bank the rainbow-tinted sunfish floats on -filmy fins above his yellow bed of gravel, and we catch a flashing gleam -of a silvery dace or shiner turning in the water. - -Now we confront a rude slab fence, an ancient landmark, that terminates -its length at the edge of the stream, where its gray and crumbling -boards are secured with rusty nails against the trunk of a tall -buttonwood-tree. A loosened slab is easily found, and we are soon upon -the other side; and after picking our way through a forest of -bush-elders, we emerge upon an open lot of low flat pasture-land, known -always as the “old swamp meadow.” No other five acres on the face of the -earth are so dear to me as this neglected field. I know its every rise -and fall of ground, its every bog, and its lush greenness is refreshing -even to the thought. - -It is a luxuriant garden of all manner of succulent and juicy -vegetation; an outbursting extravagance of plant life of almost tropical -exuberance. All New England’s most majestic and ornamental flora seem -congregated in its congenial soil; and even when a boy I learned to know -and love them all, and even call them by their names. - -Here are towering stems of iron-weed lifting high their scattered purple -crowns, and in their midst the woolly clumps of boneset, its white -flowered cushions intermingling with the dense pink tufts of -thorough-wort. - -On every side we overlook whole patches of these splendid blossoms, with -their crests closely crowded in a mosaic of pink and white. And here’s a -bed of peppermint and spearmint, interspersed with flaming spikes of -cardinal lobelia; and here a lusty plant of Indian mallow, entangled in -a maze of gold-thread and smart-weed. Here are massive burdocks six feet -high, and great trees of jimson-weed, with their large spiral flowers -and thorny pods. - -High fronds of chain-fern rise up on every side from a jungle of -bur-marigolds and clotburs, and tear-thumbs, with their saw-toothed -stems and tiny bunches of pink blossoms. - -No inch of ground in the old swamp lot but which does its tenfold duty; -and what it lacks in quality of produce it amply makes up in quantity. -Even a neighboring bed of clean-washed gravel is overrun with creeping -mallow, with its rounded leaves and little “cheeses” down among their -shadows. - -[Illustration: EVEN-TIDE.] - -Farther on we see the lily-pond, with its surrounding swamp and its -legion of crowded water-plants. Here are rank, massive beds of -swamp-cabbage, and lofty cat-tails by the thousand among the bristling -bogs of tussock-sedge and bulrush. Here are calamus patches, and alder -thickets, and sedges without number; and the prickly carex and blue-flag -abound on every side. There are galingales and reeds, and tall and -graceful rushes, turtle-head and jointed scouring grass, and horse-tail, -besides a host of other old acquaintances, whose faces are familiar, but -whose names I never knew. But they were all my friends in boyhood. I -knew them in the bud and in the blossom, and even in their winter -skeletons, brown and broken in the snow. Near by there is a ditch: you -never would know it, for it is completely hidden from view beneath an -interlacing growth of jewel-weed. But see that gorgeous mass of deep -scarlet that floods the farther bank! Nowhere within a circuit of miles -around is there such a regal display of cardinal flowers as this: -skirting the borders of the ditch for rods and rods, clustering about a -ruined, tumbling fence, whose moss-grown pickets are almost hidden in -the dense profusion of bloom. - -Then there is its airy companion, the “touch-me-not,” with its -translucent, juicy stem, and its queer little golden flowers with -spotted throats--the “jewel-weed” we used to call it. I know not why, -unless from the magic of its leaf, which, when held beneath the water, -was transformed to iridescent frosted silver. We all remember its -sensitive, jumping seed-pods, that burst even at our approach for fear -that we should touch them; but no one can fully appreciate the beauty of -the plant who has not seen its silvery leaf beneath the water. Here it -justifies its name, for it is indeed a jewel. - -How often in those olden times have I lain down among these bulrushes -and sedges near the lily pond, and listened to the buzzing songs of the -crickets and the tiny katydids that swarmed the growth about me, and -filled the air with their incessant din. I remember the little colony of -ants that picked their way among the rushes; that gauzy dragon-fly too, -that circled and dodged about the water’s edge, now skimming close upon -the surface, now darting out of sight, or perhaps alighting on an -overhanging sedge, as motionless as a mounted specimen, with wings -aslant and fully spread. “Devil’s darning-needles” they were called. The -devil may well be proud of them; for darning-needles of such precious -metals and such exquisite design are rare indeed. They were of several -sizes too. Some were large, and flashed the azure of the sapphire; -others fluttered by with smoky, pearly wings, and slender bodies -glittering in the light like animated emeralds: and another I well -remember, a little airy thing, with a glistening sunbeam for a body, and -wings of tiny rainbows. - -[Illustration] - -I remember how I watched the disturbed motion of the arrow-heads out in -the water, as the cautious turtles worked their way among them, and -crawled out upon the stump close by. - -Here they huddled together, a dozen or more, with heads erect, and -turning from side to side as they surveyed the surrounding carpet of -lily-pads, or listened to the bass-drum chorus of the great green -bull-frogs among the pickerel-weed; and when I jumped and yelled at -them, what a rolling, sprawling, splashing in the mud! It fairly makes -me laugh to think of it. But there is hardly a leaf or wisp of grass in -this old swamp lot but what brings back some old association or pleasant -reminiscence. - -[Illustration] - -For a week thus we idled, now on the mountain, now in the meadow, while -I, with my sketch-book and collecting-box, either whiled away the hours -with my pencil, or left the unfinished work to pursue the tantalizing -butterfly, or search for unsuspecting caterpillars among the weeds and -bushes. - -[Illustration: SOME ART CONNOISSEURS.] - -[Illustration: PROFESSOR WIGGLER.] - -On a sprig of black alder I found one--the same little fellow as of old, -afflicted with the peculiarities of all his progenitors. We used to call -him “Professor Wiggler,” owing to an hereditary nervous habit of -wiggling his head from side to side when not otherwise employed. To -this little humpbacked creature I am indebted for a great deal of past -amusement. Distinctly I remember the whack-whack-whack on the inside of -the old pasteboard box as the captive pets threatened to dash out their -brains in their demonstrations at my approach. Professor Wiggler is -really a most remarkable insect, as one might readily imagine from his -scientific name, for in learned circles this individual is known as Mr. -Gramatophora Trisignata. He has many strange eccentricities. At each -moult of the skin he retains the shell of his former head on a long -vertical filament. Two or three thus accumulate, and, as a consequence, -in his maturer years he looks up to the head he wore when he was a -youngster, and ponders on the flight of time and the hollowness of -earthly things, or perhaps congratulates himself on the increased -contents of his present shell. When fully grown, he stops eating, and -goes into a new business. Selecting a suitable twig, he gnaws a -cylindrical hole to its centre and follows the pith, now and then -backing out of the tunnel, and dropping the excavated material in the -form of little balls of sawdust. At length he emerges from the hollow, -and again drawing himself in backward, spins a silken disk across the -opening, and tints it with the color of the surrounding bark. Here he -spends the winter, and comes out in a new spring suit in the following -May. Only recently I had in my possession several of these twigs with -their enclosed caterpillars, and in every one the color of the silken -lid so closely matched the tint of the adjacent bark, although -different in each, that several of my friends, even with the most -careful scrutiny, failed to detect the deceptive spot. Whether the -result of chance or of the instincts of the insect, I do not know; but -certain it is that he paints with different colors under varying -circumstances. - -Insect-hunting had always been a passion with me. Large collections of -moths and butterflies had many times accumulated under my hands, only to -meet destruction through boyish inexperience; and even in childhood the -love for the insect and the passion for the pencil strove hard for the -ascendency, and were only reconciled by a combination which filled my -sketch-book with studies of insect life. - -There was one inhabitant of our fields which had always been to me a -never-failing source of entertainment. There he is, the gilded tyrant. I -see him now swinging to and fro on his glistening nest of silken -threads, his golden yellow form glowing in bold relief against the dark -recess in the brambles. My sketch is left in the grass, and I am soon -seated in front of the gossamer maze. A festive grasshopper jumps up -into my face, and makes a carom on the web. With a spasmodic snap of one -hind leg he extricates it from its entanglement, and in another instant -would fall from the meshes; but the agile spider is too quick for him. -With a movement so swift as almost to elude the eye, he draws from his -body a silver cloud of floss, and with his long hind legs throws it over -his captive. The head and tail of the grasshopper are now further -secured, after which the spider carefully straddles around the -struggling insect, and bites off the other radiating webs in close -proximity. The unlucky prey now hangs suspended across the opening. With -business-like coolness his tormentor dangles himself from the edge of -the torn web, and another cataract of glistening floss is thrown up and -attached to the under side of the prisoner, after which he is turned -round and round, as if on a spit. The stream of floss is carried from -head to foot, and in less time than it takes to describe it the victim -is wrapped in a silken winding-sheet, and soon meets his death from the -poisoned fangs of his captor. Here is but one of the thousands of -tragedies that are taking place every hour of the day in our fields. -While deeply interested in the closing scenes of this one, I suddenly -become aware of a shadow passing over the bushes. I turn my head, and -meet the puzzled and pleasant gaze of Amos Shoopegg, as he stands there, -hands in pockets, and milk-pail swinging from his wrist. - -[Illustration: THE TYRANT OF THE FIELDS.] - -“Wa’al, thar,” he exclaims, banging down one brawny fist on his uplifted -knee. “Buggin’ agin, I swaow! Hain’t yeu got over thet yit? What yeu kin -find so mighty fine in them ’ere bugs beats me.” - -“Amos,” I replied, “there’s a great deal more in these bugs than you -imagine.” - -“A pleggy sight, I suppose,” he resumed. “What specie o’ critter ye got -hold on naow?” and he stretched forward his fringed and weather-beaten -neck, and peered over the brambles. “What is’t ye got -thar--straddle-bug?” He came still nearer, and looked at the spider. -“Wa’al, darn my pictur ef ’tain’t an old yeller-belly! P’r’aps you don’t -know that them critters is pizen. Why, Eben Sanford’s gal got all chawed -up by one on ’em. Great Sneezer!” he exclaimed, taking three or four -strides backward, with both hands uplifted. I had merely raised my hand -and gently smoothed the spider. - -“Wa’al,” he continued, “yen kin rub ’em daown ef yeu pleze; but fer _my_ -part, I’d ruther keep off abaout a good spittin’ distance”--which was -the Shoopegg way of expressing a length of about fifteen feet. Amos was -crossing lots for his “caow,” he said; but in spite of his plea that the -“old heiffer” was “bellerin’” like “Sam Hill,” and was “gittin’ ’tarnal -on-easy,” I made him tarry sufficiently long to enable me to send him -off a wiser man. - -Amos Shoopegg is a type of a large class of the native element of -Hometown. Of course, “Shoopegg” is not his actual name. In the long line -of his prided Puritan ancestry no one ever bore it before him. This is -only an affectionate epithet given him by the village boys full twenty -years ago, and it has stuck to him closer than a brother ever since, as -those festive surnames always do. Nominally, Amos was a farmer. In -summer he was one in fact, and could swing off as pretty a swath in -haying as any man in town. But in the winter he changed his vocation, -and became a disciple of the “waxed-end.” All day long he could be seen, -closeted with a little red-hot stove, plying his trade in his small, -square shop, up near the old red school-house. Here he pounded on the -big lapstone on his knees, or, with strap and foot-stick in position, -punched and tugged around the edge of those marvellous brogans. He made -slings and leather “suckers” for the boys, and furnished them with all -the black-wax they could chew--or stow-away, to stick between the lining -of their pockets. And the huge wooden shoe-pegs that he drove beneath -his hammer were a sight to behold. The man who used his “cheap line of -goods” might verily say he walked upon a wood-pile. - -So they dubbed him “Shoe-peg,” or “Shoop” for brevity. There are others -among his neighbors who would furnish an inexhaustible source of study -to the student of character. There’s old Rufus Fairchild, known as -“Roof,” a rotund specimen of rural jollity, his round face set in -dishevelled locks of gray, with a twinkle in his eye and a good word for -everybody. And there’s Father Tomlinson, who keeps the post-office down -by the dam, as genial an old fellow as ever wrapped up his throat in a -white stock. And I might almost continue the list indefinitely. But -there is one I must especially mention; and, now that I think of it, he -really should have headed the list, for he stands alone--or at least he -does _sometimes_. If you are in search of the embodiment of typical -Erin, you need go no farther; here he is. This individual represents -another nationality which swells the population of Hometown--the -hard-working laborers who toil in the great factory down in the glen, -called “Satan’s Misery.” The above personage is one of the best-hearted -creatures in the town; but it is the old story, and the world to him is -enclosed in the compass of a barrel-hoop. When last I saw him he was in -an evident decline, but as I put my finger on his wrist I could still -feel the pulsations of the whiskey coursing through his veins. - -“Look here, my good fellow,” I said to him one day, “why don’t you taper -off a little? If you keep on in this way, you’ll be in your grave in -less than a month. How would you like that?” - -“Arrah, begorra,” he replied, with a look of hopeful resignation, “if I -cud awnly be shure o’ me gude skvare dthrink in the other wurrld, oi -wudn’t moind.” - -The record of a single evening spent in the village store, with its -rural jargon and homespun yarns, its odd vernacular and rustic gossip, -would make a volume as rare and unique as the characters it would -depict. - -The store itself is a matchless picture in its way, and for variety in -accessory is as rich as could be wished for. The low, murky ceiling, -hung with all manner of earthly goods--scythes and rakes, boots and -pails, in pendulous array; bottles and boxes, brooms and breast-pins, -are here--in short, everything that heart could wish or thought suggest, -from speckled calicoes to seven-cent sugar, or from a three-tined fork -to a goose-yoke. Evening after evening, for an hour or so, I was tempted -thither, until I found the week had gone. Sunday came again--Sunday in -New England. The old bell swung on its wheel in the belfry, ringing out -its call to devotion, and ere the echo had died in the recesses of the -mountain beyond the still atmosphere reverberated with an answering peal -from the little sister church in the valley below, as the scattered -groups with strolling steps wend their way to “meeting,” and the gay -loads from Newborough go flitting by on the accustomed Sunday drive. - -Monday dawned on Hometown. It found me up and doing. I had enjoyed one -week of glorious loafing, but work was the programme for the next. I -went to Draper’s Inn and engaged a horse and buggy “until further -notice.” “A spang-up team” he called it, and it would be up “in half a -jiffy.” We were waiting for it when it came, and what with our variety -of luggage in the shape of canvases, color-boxes, hammocks, camp-seats, -and easels, every bit of available space in that buggy was well -utilized. Before the clock has struck nine, we are spinning along down -through the village, now past the store, now over the bridge, and -turning to the right, we glide by the little post-office, as the kind -face of Father Tomlinson nods a “good-bye” from the door-way. - -A little farther, and we have left the little slope-roofed school-house -in our path, and are soon ascending the long hill of Zoar, from which we -look back four miles to the cliff and nestling town. In ten minutes more -we approach the brow of a steep declivity, and the broad Housatonic -opens up to view, winding off into the misty mountains in the distance. -There is now a drive of half a mile along the side of a wild -mountain-slope, where mountain-laurels grow in wild profusion, and the -rooty, overhanging banks are tufted with rich green moss, overgrown with -checker-berries and arbutus. The river roars far down below us, and for -a few minutes our eyes feast on as lovely an extent of varied New -England landscape as is easily found. And yet this is only a short -section of one of the many matchless drives that follow the course of -this beautiful river around the borders of Hometown. - -[Illustration: FAMILIAR FACES AT THE VILLAGE STORE.] - -Suddenly we leave the stream as it glides away on an abrupt turn beneath -the crescent of a rocky precipice, and before we have fairly lost the -sound of the ripples we have arrived at our journey’s end. A pair of -bars under an old butternut-tree mark the place. The carriage is backed -to the side of the road, and the horse turned loose in the rocky meadow. -This is Joab Nichols’s “pasture lot,” with fodder consisting principally -of huge boulders, hardhack, and spleenwort; to be sure, with a stray -relish of “butter-and-eggs” here and there, and a thousand white saucers -of wild carrot handy to go with them. One or two trips across the field -bring all our luggage, and we are soon enjoying cool comfort in the -hemlock shade of a fairy grotto. Above us the babbling brook bounds and -splashes over mossy rocks, disappearing in a mass of creamy foam, from -under which it eddies toward us only to plunge twenty feet into a -miniature cañon below. Again, yonder it bubbles into a whirling pool, -where the bordering ferns bend and nod above its buoyant surface; and -now gliding from view beneath the tangle of drooping boughs, it -disappears only to burst forth once more in its merry song as it rushes -over the rapids. - - “I chatter, chatter as I go, - To join the brimming river; - For men may come and men may go, - But I go on forever.” - -Here in this wild retreat I have found my sylvan studio--shut in by -fringed and fragrant evergreens, enlivened by the undergrowth of -feathery fronds, and the shimmer of the beech, as the tracery of -overhanging boughs trembles in the gentle breeze. Day after day finds us -in this little paradise, and as one in luxurious hammock swings away the -hours, now lost in fiction, now in short repose, or perhaps with busy -needle fashions graceful figures in Kensington design, the canvas on the -easel shows a fortnight’s constant care, and the palette changes to a -keepsake of a sunny memory--a tinted souvenir. - -For two weeks the gurgling brook sang to us in this wild retreat. As -evening after evening closed in upon us, the unfinished pictures were -stowed away in horizontal crevices between the rocks, and, with hammock -still swinging in the trees, we left the gloom to the hooting owl, that -evening after evening, with tremulous cry, proclaimed the twilight hour -from the tall hemlock overhead. Ere long the murmuring Housatonic -shimmers below us in the moonlight as we hurry on our homeward way, and -the distant lights of Hometown are soon seen glimmering; through the -evening mist. The old bridge now rumbles through the darkness its signal -of our return, and the host of Draper’s Inn is seen awaiting us at the -illumined door-way. A quiet, cosy supper, and in the rays of a gleaming -lantern, held aloft to light our path, we follow our lengthening shadows -to the old front gate. Repeat this day’s record fourteen times, and you -have the sum of a happy experience, with but one drawback: it had an -end--an end that would have left its reaction, were it not for the store -of increased pleasure that awaited us for the few closing days of our -pilgrimage--for me, at least, although in other scenes, its climax. - -[Illustration: A SOUVENIR.] - -Many like me are happy in the possession of a dear old homestead; but -there are few, I ween, who enjoy the blessing of a double inheritance -such as has been my lot--two homes which share my equal devotion, two -homes without a choice; the one this beloved heirloom in Hometown, and -the other--But you shall see. We shall be there soon, for the little -satchel is packed, and the carriage awaits us at the gate. A drive of -eighteen miles is before us--a beautiful series of pictures. Down -through the village, past the old red mill and smithy, with its ringing -anvil, and we are soon winding our way through a sombre glen. Presently -we catch glimpses of the great rumbling factory, with its clouds of -smoke and steam melting into the wooded mountain above. The old yellow -bridge now creaks under our approach, and ere we are aware a sudden turn -leads us out of a wilderness on to the shore of the beautiful -Housatonic. For a few minutes the rushing water trickles through the -wheels as over jolting stones our pony leads us through the ford, and, -refreshed by the cool bath, makes a lively sally up the eastern bank. -For ten miles the Housatonic guides us around its winding curves through -a path of ever-changing beauty, now shut in by the dense, dark -evergreens, and again emerging into a bower of silvery beeches, where -the roadway is carpeted with mottled shadows, and the dappled trunks -flicker with the softened glints of sunlight. Here we come upon a sandy -stretch where the road is sunken between two sloping banks thick-set -with mulleins and sweet-fern, and overrun with creeping brambles. The -stone-wall above is wreathed in trailing woodbine, and along its crest -we see the swaying tips of wheat from the edge of the field just beyond; -and here we pass a border of whortleberry bushes, laden with their -fruit. Now it is a hazel thicket crowding close upon our wheels, and -among the leaves we see the brown, tanned husks of the ripening nuts, -almost ready for that troop of boys and girls that you may be sure are -watching and waiting for them. - -The old gray toll-bridge soon nears to view, with its two long spans and -fantastic beams. Farther on, peering from its willows, stands the ruined -cider-mill, with its long moss-grown lever jutting through the trees--an -old-time haunt, now crumbling in decay. But we only catch a glimpse of -it, for in a moment more we are shut in beneath another bower of beeches -and white birches, where the road takes a steep ascent, and the rippling -river sends up its sunny reflections among the leaves and tree-trunks. -When once more upon a level, it is to look ahead through a long avenue -of shade--a leafy canopy two miles in length--with only an occasional -break to open up some charming bit of landscape across the water. In -these two miles of umbrage you may see types of almost every tree that -grows within the boundaries of New England. Old veteran beeches are -here, their trunks disfigured with scars that once were names cut in the -bark. Here are spots that look like half obliterated figures; and here -are spreading hieroglyphs that tell, perhaps, of old-time vows plighted -at the trysting-tree; and here’s a semblance of a heart, a broken heart -indeed, if its present form be taken as a prophetic symbol. - -[Illustration: ALONG THE HOUSATONIC.] - -There are magnificent rock-maples too, and silver-maples that shake down -their little swarms of winged seeds. Tulip-trees and spotted buttonwoods -grow side by side, and quivering aspens and white poplars are seen at -every clearing. There are yellow birch-trunks frayed out with the wind, -and great snake-like stems of grape-vine, that twist and writhe among -the branches of the trees. There are hop hornbeams, and chestnuts, -and--But there is no need to enumerate them all. Just think of every New -England tree you ever knew, and add a score besides, and you will form a -slight idea of the varied verdure that hems in this charming Housatonic -drive, with its rocky roadside embroidered in trickling moss and -fumitory; and rose-flowered mountain-raspberry growing so close upon the -road that your pony takes a wayward nip, and plucks its blossomed tip as -he passes. - -Now comes an open level, with wide, expansive views, where every turn -upon the road brings its fresh surprise, as some new combination of hazy -mountain landscape towers above the distant river bend; and the flitting -cloud shadows lead their capricious, undulating chase across the wooded -slopes. The roadsides here are full of everchanging beauties too, with -their trimmings of ornamental sunflowers, their picturesque old fences, -and their clumps of purple-berried poke-weed, with here and there a -yellow patch of toad-flax, and aromatic tufts of tansy hugging close -against the fence. Even that clambering screen of clematis that trails -over the shrubbery yonder cannot hide the scattered tips of crimson that -already have appeared among the sumach leaves. - -There are a thousand things one meets upon a country ride or ramble -which at the time are allowed to pass with but a glance. The eye is -surfeited and the mind confused with the continual pageantry. But months -afterward, in the reveries about our winter fires, they all come back to -us, with the added charm of reminiscence; and whether it be a crystal -spring among a bank of ferns, or a thistle-top with its fluttering -butterfly and inevitable bumblebee rolling in the tufted blossom, or a -squirrel running along a rail, or perhaps a rattling grasshopper -hovering in mid-air above the dusty road--no matter what, they all are -welcome memories at our fireside, and draw our hearts still closer to -the loveliness of nature. - -This Housatonic road is rich in just such pastoral pictures. Two hours -on such a course soon pass, when our pony whinnies at the welcome sight -of the old log water-trough beyond--a landmark old and green when I was -yet a boy, still nestling in its rocky bed, shadowed by the drooping -hemlocks, still lavish with its overflowing bounty. - -This benefactor by the way-side marks a turning-point in our journey, as -we leave the grandeur of the Housatonic to pursue our way by the nooks -and dingles of the wild Shepaug--a bubbling tributary whose happy waters -sing of a varied experience. Now placid through the blossoming fields, -now plunging down the precipice to ripple through a verdant valley, -where, hemmed in at every turn, it seeks its only liberty beneath the -rumbling of the old mill-wheels; and at last, ere it loses its identity -in the swelling tide, leaving a mischievous and tumultuous record as it -pours through the rocky cañon, and with surging, whirling volume carves -huge caverns and fantastic statues in its massive bed of stone. Even now -through the dark forest beyond we can hear the muffled roar, and for -nearly a league farther as we ascend the long hill it comes to us in -fitful whispers wafted on the changing breeze. Reaching the summit of -this incline, we find ourselves on a hill-top wide and far-reaching, on -right and left losing itself in wooded wold, while in front the level -road diminishes to a point, surmounted by blue hills in the distance. -Two miles on a pastoral hill-top, where golden-rod and tall spiræas -cluster along the lichen-covered walls, where orange-lilies gleam among -the alders, with now and then a blazing group of butterfly-plant or a -dusty clump of milk-weed. The air is laden with the nut-like odor of the -everlasting flowers all around us. The buzzing drum of the harvest-fly -vibrates from every tree, and we hear the tinkling bell and lowing of -the cattle in some neighboring field. Farther on, we look down from the -edge of the plateau through the length of Happy Valley, with its winding -stream, its barns and busy mills, its sunny homes glinting through the -summer haze. On the left the lofty shadowed cliff known as “Steep-rock” -towers against the evening sky, and again we catch the murmuring whiffs -of the rushing stream in its sweeping bend beneath the overhanging -precipice. A sharp turn round a jutting hill-side, and I meet a prospect -that quickens the heart and makes the eye grow dim. There beyond, three -miles “as flies the laden bee,” I linger on the welcome sight, as on its -hill-top fair two steeples side by side betray the hidden town, my -second home. - -How lightly did I appreciate the fortunate journey when, twenty summers -ago, I followed this road for the first time, when a boy of ten years, -on my way to an unknown village, I looked across the landscape to the -little spires on that distant hill! Little did I dream of the six years -of unmixed happiness and precious experience that awaited me in that -little Judea! I only knew that I was sadly quitting a happy home on my -way to “boarding-school”--a school called the Snuggery, taught by a Mr. -Snug, in a little village named Snug Hamlet, about twenty miles from -Hometown. - -There are some experiences in the life of every one which, however -truthful, cannot be told but to elicit the doubtful nod or the warning -finger of incredulity. They were such experiences as these, however, -that made up the sum of my early life in that happy refuge called in -modern parlance a “boarding-school”--a name as empty, a word as weak and -tame in its significance, as poverty itself; no doubt abundantly -expressive in its ordinary application, but here it is a mockery and a -satire. This is not a “boarding-school;” it is a _household_, whose -memories moisten the eye and stir the soul; to which its scattered -members through the fleeting years look back as to a neglected home, -with father and mother dear, whom they long once more to meet as in the -tenderness of boyhood days; a cherished remembrance which, like the -“house upon a hill, cannot be hid,” but sends abroad its light unto many -hearts who in those early days sought the loving shelter; a bright star -in the horizon of the past, a glow that ne’er grows dim, but only -kindles and brightens with the flood of years. Yes, yes; I know it -sounds like a dash of sentiment, but words of mine are feeble and -impotent indeed when sought for the expression of an attachment so fond, -of a love so deep. - -Fifteen years ago, with a parting full of sorrow, I rode away from Snug -Hamlet yonder in the village stage--a day that brought a depression that -lingered long, and lingers still. Glowing, sunset-tinted fields glide by -unnoticed now, as, with eyes intent on the distant hill, I look back -through the lapse of time. A mile has gone without my knowing it, when a -joyous laugh awakens me from my day-dreams. Two boys approach us on the -road ahead, and, what might seem very strange to you, one wears a wooden -boot-jack strung around his neck and dangling on his breast; but he -carries his burden lightly and cheerfully. As they near the carriage I -draw the rein, and they both pause by the roadside. - -“Well, boys,” I ask, “where do _you_ hail from?” - -“We’re from the Snuggery, sir.” - -“I thought so,” said I, with a laugh, in which they both joined. “But -what are you doing with that boot-jack?” - -“Oh, you see,” said one, with a roguish smile, “Charlie and I were -having a little tussle in the sitting-room, and he picked up Mr. Snug’s -boot-jack in the corner and began to pummel me with it; and jest as we -were having it the worst, and were rollin’ on the floor, Mr. Snug came -in and caught us in the job, and now we’re _payin’_ for it.” - -“How so?” I inquired, well knowing what would be the response. - -“Oh, you see, Mr. Snug held a diagnosis over our remains, and said he -thought we were suffering, for the want of a little exercise, and -ordered us on a trip to Judd’s Bridge.” - -“And the boot-jack?” - -“Oh, he said that Charlie might want to play with that some more on the -way, and that he’d better fetch it along;” and with a mischievous -snicker at his encumbered companion, he led him along the road in an -hilarious race, while we enjoyed a hearty laugh at their expense. - -And this a _punishment_! Yes, here is an introduction to one phase of a -system of correction as unique as the matchless institution in which it -had its birth--a system without a parallel in the annals of chastisement -or school government, and which for thirty years has proved its wisdom -in the household management of the Snuggery. - -“To Judd’s Bridge!” How natural the sound of those words! How many -times have I myself been on that same pilgrimage of penance! The -destination of these boys is a rickety but picturesque structure which -spans the Shepaug five miles below Snug Hamlet. Through three decades it -looks back to its host of acquaintances of those romping lads who, in -the superfluity of exuberant spirits, made havoc and din in the -household. The dose is administered with wise discrimination both as to -the symptoms and the needs and strength of the patient. It always proves -a sterling remedy, and sometimes, indeed, a sugar-coated one, as in the -case of these two ruddy, rollicking examples. - -[Illustration] - -Judd’s Bridge is but one of a score of places which serve in the -administration of Snuggery discipline. It is, however, the one most -remote, and its ten-mile journey is reserved as an heroic dose for -extraordinary cases, after other prescriptions have been tried without -avail. Next on the list comes Moody Barn, with “open doors” every day in -the week to its frequent callers. This old settler, gray and -weather-beaten, marks a point one mile from the Snuggery, where the -still waters of the Shepaug run slow and deep--the favorite -“swimming-hole” of the Snuggery. - -[Illustration: THE HAUNTED MILL.] - -And then there’s Kirby Corners, a mere stroll of a few minutes round the -square of a rock-bound pasture--just enough to give yourself time to -think a bit and congratulate yourself on what you have escaped. All -these, and several more, are vivid in my memory; friends, old and -intimate. And here’s another, right before us by the roadside. For -several minutes through the tantalizing trees we have heard its rumbling -wheel, its reiterating clank, and busy saw; and now, as its familiar -outline looms up against the evening sky, the vision seems to darken, as -on that night of long ago, when through the shadowy mystery of the -moonlit gloom I stole my way among the sheltering golden-rod; when the -lofty flume, like a huge horned creature, seemed to stride athwart me in -the darkness, and the fitful boyish fancy saw strange phantoms in the -floating, melting mist. This ancient structure reposes in a verdant dell -at the foot of Snug Hamlet Hill. A choice of two roads lies before -us--one short and direct, the other a roundabout approach. A sudden -impulse leads me into the latter. On right and left I see the same old -rocks and trees. There stands the aged beech to whose gnarled and hollow -trunk I traced the agile flying-squirrel, and with suffocating flame and -smoke drove him from his hiding-place. Here between large rocks and -stones the trout-stream runs its course, now pouring in small cataracts, -now eddying into still, dark nooks, where in those by-gone times I -dropped the line of expectancy, but showed the clumsiness of adversity. -A few minutes later, and we are gliding again by the dark Shepaug, now -flowing calm and silent beneath a rugged bank, wild and umbrageous, -where the swarm of katydids, with grating discord, maintain their old -dispute, that never-ending feud. The wheels turn noiselessly in the -shifting sand as we pursue our way. The low gray fog steals lightly over -the lily-pads, floating into seclusion beneath the sheltering boughs, -or, like an evanescent spirit, borne upon the evening breath, is lifted -from the gloom, and slowly melts into the twilight sky. The solitary -whippoorwill from his mysterious haunt, perhaps in yonder tree, perhaps -in the mountain loneliness beyond, proclaims with dismal cry his -oft-repeated wail. And as we ascend the darkening path, through the -still night air, in measured cadence long and sad, we hear the toll of -the distant knell. Threescore-and-ten its numbers tell of the earthly -years--a curfew requiem for the dead. Even as we pass the little chapel -at the summit of the hill, and the bell has scarcely ceased its -melancholy tidings, we hear the shouts and merry laughs of the boys on -the village green. Presently its broad expanse, shut in by twinkling -windows and massive trees, spreads out before us, as a clear and ringing -voice, like that of old, echoes through the growing darkness, “One -hundred! Nothing said, coming ahead!” and a dim figure steals cautiously -from the steps of the old white church to seek in the sequestered -hiding-places. With a heart that fairly thumps, I urge my pony onward -across the green, and ere he slackens his pace I am at my journey’s end. -The dear old Snuggery, with its gables manifold and quaint, its -fantastic wings and towers, stands there before me, the glowing windows -beaming through the maples. Leaving our pony in willing hands, we enter -the gate, and are soon upon the wide porch. - -[Illustration: PURSUERS AND PURSUED.] - -It is eight o’clock, and the Snuggery is hushed in the quiet of the -study hour, and as we look through the windows we see the little groups -of studious lads bending over their books. Turning a corner on the -piazza, we are confronted with a tall hexagonal structure at its farther -end. This is the Tower, the lower room of which is consecrated to the -cosy retirement of Mr. and Mrs. Snug. The door leading to the porch is -open, and, as if awakening from a nap in which the past fifteen years -have been a dream, I listen to the same dear voice. I approach nearer. -Under the glow of a student’s lamp I look upon the beloved face, the -flowing hair and beard now silvered with the lapse of years--a face of -unusual firmness, but whose every line marks the expression of a tender, -loving nature, and of a large and noble heart. Near him another sits--a -helpmeet kind and true, cherished companion in a happy, useful life. -Into her lap a nestling lad has climbed; and as she strokes the curly -head and looks into the chubby face, I see the same expression as of -old, the same motherly tenderness and love beaming from the large gray -eyes. - -Mr. Snug is leaning back in his easy-chair, and two boys are standing up -before him; one of them is speaking, evidently in answer to a question. - -“I called him a galoot, sir.” - -“You called George a galoot, and then he threw the base-ball club at -you--is that it?” - -“Yes, sir,” interrupted George; “but I was only playing, sir.” - -“Yes,” resumed the voice of Mr. Snug, “but that club went with -considerable force, and landed over the fence, and made havoc in Deacon -Farish’s onion-bed; and that reminds me that the deacon’s onion-bed is -overrun with weeds. Now, Willie,” continued Mr. Snug, after a moment’s -hesitation, with eyes closed, and head thrown back against the chair, -“Saturday morning--to-morrow, that is--directly after breakfast, you go -out into the grove and call names to the big rock for half an hour. -Don’t stop to take breath; and don’t call the same name twice. Your -vocabulary will easily stand the drain. You understand?” - -“Yes, sir.” - -“And, George,” continued Mr. Snug, with deliberate, easy intonation, -“to-morrow morning, at the same time, you present yourself politely to -Deacon Farish, tell him that I sent you, and ask him to escort you to -his onion-bed. After which you will go carefully to work and pull out -all the weeds. You understand, sir?” - -“Yes, sir.” - -“And then you will both report to me as usual.” And with a pleasant -smile, which was reflected in both their faces, the erring youngsters -were dismissed. Before the door has closed behind them we are standing -in the door-way. Here I draw the curtain; for who but one of its own -household could understand a welcome at the Snuggery? - -Those of my old school-mates who read this meagre sketch will know the -happiness of such a meeting; but others less fortunate in the -recollections of school-life can only look for its counterpart in an -affectionate welcome in their own homes, for the Snuggery _is_ a home to -all who ever dwelt within its gates. Seated in the familiar cosiness, -and surrounded by the friends of my school-days, the hours fly fast and -pleasantly. There is plenty to talk about. Here is a village full of -good people of whom I wish to learn, and there are many far-off chums of -whom I carry tidings. A bell rings in the cupola as one by one, from the -buzz in the outer rooms, boys large and small seek our seclusion for the -accustomed good-night adieu; and ere another hour has passed forty -sleepy urchins are packed away in their snug quarters. The evening runs -on into midnight, as with stories of the past, its pains and penalties, -its remembrances, now humorous now sad by turns, we recall the good old -times; and the “wee sma’ hours” are already upon us as we reluctantly -retire from the goodly company to our rooms across the way. - -[Illustration: TOLLING FOR THE DEAD.] - -The next morning finds us in the midst of a merry load, with Mr. Snug as -a driver; and many and varied were the beauties that opened up before us -on that charming ride! Snug Hamlet, once called Judea, in the qualities -of its landscape as well as in everything else, is unique. Stripped of -all its old associations, it presents to the artistic eye a combination -of attractions scarcely to be equalled in the boundaries of New England. -Situated itself on the brow of an abrupt hill, where its picturesque -homes cluster about a broad open green, a few minutes’ drive in any -direction reveals a surrounding panorama of the rarest loveliness. Five -hundred feet below us, winding in and out, now beneath leafy tangles, -now under quaint little bridges, and again reposing placidly in broad -mill-ponds, the happy Shepaug lends to a lovely valley its usefulness -and beauty. Turning in another direction, we pass the Snuggery -ball-ground, animated with the shouts of victory; and descending into a -vale of almost primeval wildness, we continue our way up the ascent of -“Artist’s Hill,” from whose summit on every side, as far as the eye can -reach, the landscape softens into the hazy horizon. Returning, we pass -through a ruined waste, where, three months before, the fierce tornado -swooped down in its fiendish fury. On every side we see its awful -evidences. Huge oaks, like brittle pipe-stems, snapped from their -moorings; sturdy hickories, mere play-things in the gale, twisted into -shreds. - -[Illustration: WRECKS OF THE TORNADO.] - -Every morning saw me on some new drive, either with a wagon full of -merry company, or as alone with Mr. Snug we held our quiet _tête-à-tête_ -on wheels, living over the olden times. In the afternoon I strolled by -myself through the old and eloquent scenes. A volume could not hold the -memories they revived--no, not even those of yonder barn alone. Even as -I sit making my pencil-sketch, its reminiscences seem to float across -the vision. Distinctly it recalls the events of one evening years ago. -It was at about the sunset hour one Friday. I was quietly sitting on a -lounge in the parlor talking to Cuthbert Harding, who was standing in -front of me. Presently the door opens, and the tall figure of Dick Shin -enters. Dick and I were antipodes in every sense of the word. Physically -we were as a match and a billiard ball, he being the lucifer. He was -also my _bête noire_, and he never missed an opportunity to vent his -spite. Accordingly he stalked toward us, and with a violent push sent -Cuthbert pell-mell on to me. In falling, he stepped heavily on my foot, -and hurt me severely, which accounted for my excited expression as I -threw him from me. - -Of course Mr. Snug had to come in just at this time, and seeing us in -what looked to him very like a fight, he took us firmly by the ears and -stood us side by side, while I ventured to explain. - -“Not a word!” exclaimed he, in a tone there was no mistaking. “You two -boys may cool off on a trip to Moody Barn, after which you will report -to me in the Tower. Now go.” - -Whatever may have been the state of my mind a few moments before, I was -now mad in earnest, and with every bit of my latent obstinacy aroused, I -sauntered out on to the porch. - -“Cool off, old boy,” whispered a grating voice at my side, as I turned -and met the gaze of Dick Shin, motioning with his thumb in the direction -of Moody Barn--“cool off; you need it;” and his ample mouth stretched -into a sneering grin. - -I had already formed an intention, but now it was a resolve. - -“Cuthbert,” said I to my quiet and less choleric companion, when some -distance down the road, “I am not going on that trip.” - -“Not going!” replied he, with surprise; “why, you’ll _have_ to go.” - -“But I _won’t_ go, and that settles it. It’s confounded unjust that -we’re sent, anyhow, and I don’t propose to stand it.” - -“I think so too,” answered Cuthbert, with hesitating emphasis; “but -what’ll we do? We’ll have to report to Mr. Snug, you know; that’s the -_worst_ of it.” - -“Well, I’ll be spokesman, and I’ll _lie_ before I’ll go on that trip.” - -I was boiling over with righteous wrath, but Cuthbert never was known to -boil; he only simmered a little, but readily seconded my plan. We -stopped at Kirby Corners, and there, secluded from view in the bushes, -we spent the interval. Cuthbert had a watch, and by the light of the -rising moon we were enabled to fix the full period for the trip. One -hour and a half we allowed--an abundant limit. During this time I had -completely “cooled off,” and had schooled myself to that point where I -could tell a lie with a smooth face and a clear conscience. -Accordingly, when the time came, we appeared at the door of the Tower. -Mr. Snug was sitting in his accustomed place, and we entered and stood -before him. - -[Illustration: PASSING THOUGHTS.] - -“Well, sir,” said he, with a polite bow of the head, dropping his paper -and looking up at us. - -“Mr. Snug, we have come to report,” said I, fearlessly. “We have been to -Moody Barn.” - -Instantly Mr. Snug straightened himself up in his chair, pushed back -the gray locks from his high forehead, and, with an expression that I -never shall forget, glared at me from under the frowning eyebrows. - -“_You lie, sir!_” he exclaimed, in thundering tones that fairly made my -hair stand on end, while Cuthbert trembled from head to foot; then -followed a brief moment of consternation that seemed an age. “Now go!” -continued he, as with an emphatic nod of the head he motioned toward the -door. Sheepish and crest-fallen, we slunk away from the room. It is -needless to say that we went this time. Through the darkness, by the aid -of a lantern, we picked our way, as with theories numerous and ingenious -we strove to account for that vociferous reception. - -Late that night we held an experience meeting with Mr. and Mrs. Snug in -the Tower, and if I remember right there were a few tears that fell, and -many apologies and good resolves, and as the true state of the case -dawned on Mr. Snug there was an evident twinge of regret on his kind -face. - -On the following morning (Saturday) there was a jolly party of youths -leaving the Snuggery for a day’s boating at the lake. Dick Shin was -among them; and just as he was passing out the gate, a youngster -approaches him and taps him on the shoulder. “You are hereby arrested, -sir, on the orders of Mr. Snug.” - -With an anxious and innocent expression Dick follows his juvenile -constable into the Tower, and his companions stroll along after to -ascertain the cause of the detention. We pass over the brief but amusing -trial, in which the prisoner, with the innocence of a little lamb, -pleaded his cause. - -“You _stumbled_, did you?” said Mr. Snug. “Well, you ought to know, sir, -by this time that I don’t allow young men to stumble in that way in my -house. These two boys have suffered through your admitted clumsiness.” -Here Mr. Snug paused in a moment’s thought. “Dick Shin,” he continued, -“I sent these innocent young gentlemen on two trips to Moody Barn--that -makes four miles for Bigson and four miles for Harding, together making -eight that they walked on your account. Now you may put down your -fishing-pole, and ‘stumble’ along on the road to Judd’s Bridge, which -will give you two extra miles in which to think over your sins. And to -make sure”--here Mr. Snug arose and went to the closet--“you may take -this hatchet along with you, and bring me back a good big chip from the -end of the long bridge beam. I shall ride over that way to-morrow and -see whether it fits. You understand?” - -“Yes, sir,” replied the injured voice of Dick Shin. “But, Mr. Snug, -can’t I put off that penance until Monday?” - -“No, sir,” replied Mr. Snug, with a beaming smile and a bow of the head. -“This is a lovely morning for contrite meditation. Go--_instantly_.” - -Two hours later saw a demonstrative individual threatening to chop down -the whole side of a bridge, while ten miles to the northward the placid -surface of Waramaug rippled to the oars, and the lofty mountain-sides -echoed with the shouts of a merry holiday. - - * * * * * - -But all things must have an end. The school-days ended, and so did this -memorable vacation. A letter breaks the charm: insatiate publisher! Once -more through the winding paths of the Housatonic, and I leave the -loveliness of Hometown for the metropolis of brick and stone, there to -resume the old routine. - - - - -AUTUMN. - -[Illustration: THE WANING] - -[Illustration] - - -I am sitting alone upon a wooded knoll at our old farm at Hometown. -Above me a venerable oak holds aloft its dome of bronze-green verdure, -and on either side the gnarled and knotty branches bend low, and trail -their rustling leaves among the tufts of waving grass that fringe the -slope around me. - -It is a spot endeared to me from earliest memory, a loved retreat whose -every glimpse beneath the overhanging boughs has left its impress, whose -every feature of undulating field, of wooded mountain, and winding -meadow-brook I have long been able to summon up at will before my closed -eyes, as though a mirror of the living picture now before me. And what -is this picture? - -It is an enchanted vision of nature’s autumn loveliness--a vision of -peace and tranquil resignation that lingers like a poem in the memory. -It is a glorious October day, one of those rarest and loveliest of days -when all nature seems transfigured, when a golden, misty veil swings -from the heavens in a charmed haze, through which the commonest and most -prosaic thing seems spiritualized and glorified. The summer’s full -fruition is past and gone, the dross has been consumed; and in the -lingering life, whose yielding flush now lends its sweet expression to -the declining year, we see the type of perfect trust and hope that finds -a fitting emblem in the dim horizon, where heaven and earth are wedded -in a golden haze, where purple hills melt softly in the sky. It is a day -when one may dream with open eyes, and whose day-dreams haunt the memory -as sweet realities. The sky is filled with rolling, fleecy clouds, whose -flat receding bases seem to float upon a transparent amber sea, from -whose depths I look through into the blue air beyond. - -Below me an ancient orchard skirts the borders of the knoll. Its boughs -are crimson studded, and the ground beneath is strewn with the bright -red fruit. They mark the minutes as they fall, running the gauntlet of -the craggy twigs and bounding upon the slope beneath. Beyond the orchard -stretch the low, flat meadow lands, set with alders and swamp-maples, -with swaying willows, now enclosing, now revealing the graceful curves -of the quiet stream as it winds in and out among the overhanging -foliage. Soon it is lost beneath a wooded hill, where an old square -tower and factory-bell betray the hiding-place of the glassy pond that -sends its splashing water-fall across the rocks beneath the old town -bridge. Looking down upon this bridge, Mount Pisgah, with its rugged -cliff, is seen rising bold and stern against the sky, above a broad and -bright mosaic of elms and maples, spreading from the grove of oaks near -by in an unbroken expanse, to the very foot of the precipice, with here -and there a sunny cupola or gable peering out among the branches, or a -snowy steeple lifting high its golden cross or weather-vane glittering -in the sun. The mountain-side is lit up with its autumn glow of -intermingled maples, oaks, and beeches, with its changeless ledges of -jutting rock, and dense, defiant pines standing like veteran bearded -sentinels in perpetual vigilance. - -All this comes to me in a single glimpse beneath the branches. But there -are others, where undulating meadows, with their flowing lines of walls -and fences, lead the eye through soft gradations to distant purple -hills, through thrifty farms, with barns and barracks and rowen fields -with browsing cattle, and ruddy buckwheat patches, where the flocks of -village pigeons congregate among the cradle marks, in quest of scattered -kernels shaken from the sheaves. - -There is a tiny lake near by that nestles among the hill-side farms, -where sloping pastures and fields of yellow, rustling corn glide almost -to the water’s edge. So sensitive and sympathetic is this little sheet -of water that I christened it one day Chameleon Lake, for it wears a -different expression for every phase of season or freak of weather, and -always dwells in harmony with the landscape which encloses it. In cloudy -days it frowns as cold as steel. In days of sunshine it is as bright and -blue as the sky itself, or shimmers like a shield of burnished silver. -And now it is a flood of autumn gold, carrying from shore to shore a -maze of ripples laden with opaline reflections of intermingled glints -from cloud and sky, and of the gold and ruby colored foliage along its -banks. - -But this knoll and all these farms are not mine alone. They are such as -I should hope might lurk in the memory of almost any one who looks back -to early days among New England hills. - -[Illustration: AN OCTOBER DAY.] - -This old oak-tree, whose furrowed bark I lean upon, was a hardy -patriarch when first I sought its shade. Its added years have scarcely -changed a feature or modified a line in its old-time noble expression. -As I look up, its great open arms spread out against the sky exactly as -they did when I lolled beneath their shelter and watched the drifting -clouds of twenty years ago sail through them in the blue above. Even the -jagged furrows in the bark I seem to recognize. Here, too, is that same -spreading scale of greenish lichen that fain will grow upon the trunk, -as if I had not often picked it all to pieces in my early idling. The -same round oak-gall rests on the bed of leaves in the hollow between the -rocks near by, as though it had forgotten how a dozen years ago I -cracked its polished shell and sent its spongy contents to the winds. - -And here comes that veritable ant creeping through the grass at my -elbow--now on the root, now on the bark, exploring every crack and -crevice in his hurried search. I wonder if the little fellow will ever -find what he has been looking for so long. And here’s a friend of his -coming down. They stop and wag their antennæ in a moment’s conversation. -I wonder what they said. I always _did_ wonder when I watched them do -the same thing on this very spot a score of years ago. The soft waving -grass whispers about my ears as it did then, and I hear the low trumpet -of the nuthatch as he creeps about in the tree o’erhead. Easily may one -forget the lapse of time in such a place as this, where every leaf, and -twig, and blade of grass conspire to breed forgetfulness of later years. -Hark! that shrill tattoo again! The tree-toad. Yes, that same recluse in -his mysterious hiding-place, seeking by his tantalizing trill to renew -that game of hide-and-seek we left off so long ago--in those eager days -when every stick and stone upon the knoll was overturned in my zeal to -find his whereabouts. There he goes again! louder and more shrill. But -now I realize the effect of time, for I only sit and listen to his -oft-repeated call. Formerly that sound was like a galvanic thrill that -electrified every nerve and muscle in my physiology. No, I’ll not hunt -for you again, my musical young friend; besides, the odds would be -against you now, for I know more about tree-toads than I once did, and -you wouldn’t see me hunting on the ground as in the olden days. Besides, -you’re getting bold; there is no need of hunting, for in that last toot -you gave yourself away. Even now my eyes are fixed upon the hole in -yonder hollow limb, and I see your tiny form clinging to the rotten wood -within the opening. What _would_ I not have given _once_ to have thought -of that soggy hole! - -[Illustration: A WAY-SIDE PASTORAL.] - -Near by a spreading yew monopolizes a rocky bit of ground, its foliage -creeping above a silvery gray bed of branching moss, whose pillowy tufts -spread almost to my feet. This was my fairy forest of tiny trees. Here I -found the fairies’ cups and torches, and even now I can see their -scarlet tips scattered here and there among the gray; and fragile little -parasols, too--it were an insult, indeed, to designate such dainty -things as these by the name of toadstools. Beyond this bed of moss a -scrubby growth of whortleberry takes possession of the ground. The -bushes are now bare of fruit, but ruddy with their autumn blushes, -tingeing the surface of the knoll with a delicate coral pink. This -thicket extends far down upon the slope, even encroaching upon the -wheel-ruts of the lane, and across again, until cut short by an ancient -tumbling line of lichen-covered stones, a landmark which has long since -yielded up its claim as a barrier of protection to the old orchard it -encloses, now only a moss-grown pile, with every chink and crevice a -nestling-place of some searching tendril, fern, or clambering vine. For -rods and rods it creeps along beneath the laden apple-trees, skirting -the borders of this old farm lane, and finally hides away among a clump -of cedars a few hundred feet away. - -Of all the picturesque in nature, what is there, after all, that so wins -one’s deeper sympathies as the ever-changing pictures of a rustic lane -or roadside, with its weather-beaten walls and fences, and their -rambling growth of weeds and creeping vines? How sweet the sense of near -companionship awakened by these charming way-side pastorals that -accompany you in your saunterings, and reach out to touch you as you -pass--a sense of friendly fellowship that breathes a silent greeting in -the most deserted paths or loneliest of by-ways! - -Show me a ruined wall or a rutted zigzag fence, and I will show you a -string of pearls, or rather, if in these later months, a fringe of gems, -for the autumn fence is set in wreaths of rubies and glowing sapphires. -Follow its rambling course, now through the field, now skirting swampy -fallows, now by rustic lanes and cornfields and over rocky pastures, and -you will follow a lead that will take you through the rarest bits of -nature’s autumn landscape. - -Even in this lane, at the foot of the knoll below us, see the brilliant -luxuriance of clustered bitter-sweet draping the side of that clump of -cedars! It is only an indication of the beauty that envelops this lane -for a full half mile beyond. Every angle of its rude rail fence encloses -a lovely pastoral, each a surprise and a contrast to its neighbor. - -Right here before us, what a beginning! Hold up your hands on either -side, and shut out the surroundings. Such is the glimpse I always long -to paint from nature, and yet how almost maddening is the result! Rather -would I drink it all in and fix its every feature in my mind, and paint -it from its memory, when the presence of the living thing before me -shall not mock my efforts and put to shame the crude creations of oil -and pigment. - -See how the cool gray rails are relieved against that rich dark -background of dense olive juniper, how they hide among the prickly -foliage! Look at that low-hanging branch which so exquisitely conceals -the lowest rail as it emerges from its other side, and spreads out among -the creeping briers that wreathe the ground with their shining leaves -of crimson and deep bronze! Could any art more daringly concentrate a -rhapsody of color than nature has here done in bringing up that gorgeous -spray of scarlet sumach, whose fern-like pinnate leaves are so richly -massed against that background of dark evergreens? And even in that -single branch see the wondrous gradation of color, from purest green to -purplish olive, and olive melting into crimson, and then to scarlet, and -through orange into yellow, and all sustaining in its midst the -clustered cone of berries of rich maroon! Verily, it were almost an -affront to sit down before such a shrine and attempt to match it in -material pigment. A passing sketch, perhaps, that shall serve to aid the -memory in the retirement of the studio, but a careful copy, _never!_ -until we can have a tenfold lease of life, and paint with sunbeams. But -there is more still in this tantalizing ideal, for a luxuriant wild -grape-vine, that shuts in the fence near by, sends toward us an -adventurous branch that climbs the upright rail, and festoons itself -from fence to tree, and hangs its luminous canopy over the crest of the -yielding juniper. Even from where we stand we can see the pendant -clusters of tiny grapes clearly shadowed against the translucent golden -screen. Add to all this the charm of life and motion, with trembling -leaves and branches bending in the breeze, with here and there a -flitting shadow playing across the half hidden rails, and where can you -find another such picture, its counterpart in beauty--where? perhaps its -very neighbor, for all roadside pictures are “hung upon the line,” they -are all by the same great Master, and it is often difficult to choose. - -Here we have a contrast. A dappled rock has taken possession of this -little corner, or the corner has been built around it, if you choose--a -“gray” rock we would call it in common parlance, but it is a gray -composed of a checkered multitude of tints, colors which upon a rock, it -would seem, were hardly worth an appreciative glance; but only let them -be exhibited upon a fold of Lyons silk or Jouvin kid glove, and dignify -them by the compliments of “ashes of roses,” or “London smoke,” and how -eagerly they are sought, how exquisite they become. I speak in -moderation when I say that I have often sat and counted as many as -thirty just such tints upon the surface of a small “gray” rock, each -_distinct_, and all so _refined_ and exquisite in shade. This rounded -bowlder is no exception; and with its tufted spots of jetty moss, and -outcroppings of glistening quartz, its rounded, spreading blots of -greenish lichens, and mottled groundwork, it may well defy the craft of -the most skilled palette. And when these grays are contrasted with -tender yellow greens and browns of fading ferns, such as fringe the -borders of the one before me, with a background of scarlet whortleberry -bushes and deep-green sprays of blackberry clustering about the -loosening bark of a crumbling stump, with its shelving growth of fungus -hiding among its brown debris, one may well pause and wonder which to -choose, or where a single touch is wanting in the perfect unity and -harmony of either. - -[Illustration: WAIFS.] - -Another jutting corner, and we confront a swaying mass of gold and -purple--that magnificent regal combination of graceful golden-rod and -asters that glorifies our autumn from September to the falling leaf. -There are a number of species of golden-rod, varying as much in their -intensity of color as in their time of bloom. The earliest appear in the -heart of summer, in wood and meadow; while others, larger and more -stately, lift up in their midst their plumy, undeveloped tips, and wait -until their predecessors are old and gray ere they roll out their -wreaths of gold. For weeks the roads and by-ways have been lit up with -their brilliant glow, that parting sunset gleam that lingers with the -closing year. This splendid cluster is full six feet in height, and -towers above the highest rail, or rather where the rail ought to be, for -it is lost from sight beneath a dense fret-work of prickly smilax--and -such brilliant, polished leaves! how they glitter in the sun! almost as -though wet with dew. - -And to think how those prickly canes, denuded of their leaves, are sold -upon our city thoroughfares as “Spanish rose-trees” to the unsuspecting -passer-by! Those guileless venders, too! I remember one that sought to -enrich my store of botanical knowledge by telling me they “bloomed in -winter!” and had a flower as “big as a saucer,” and “kinder like a holy -hawk!!!?” I looked him straight in the eye, but he was the picture of -innocence. “Can you tell me the botanical name,” I asked. “Oh yes,” he -glibly replied, “I think they call it the _Rubus epistaxis_.” Eheu! but -this was _too much_, and he saw it, and with a wink of his foxy eye and -a shrewd grin, he whispered along the palm of his hand, “Got to git a -livin’ _somehow_, boss; now _don’t_ give me away.” “Here you are, lady, -Spanish roses, lady, fresh from the steamer.” I never see a thicket of -green-brier without thinking of its “winter blossom;” and, by-the-way, -did you ever notice a thicket of this shrub, what a defiant, arbitrary -tyrant it is--shutting out the very life-breath and light of day from -its encumbered victims, monopolizing everything within its power, and -even reaching out for more with searching tips in mid-air, and a couple -of greedy tendrils at every leaf? And did you ever notice along the road -that delicious whiff that comes to you every now and then, that pungent -breath of the sweet-fern? We get it now; the air is laden with it from -the dark-green beds across the road. The sweet-fern, as I remember it, -was the simpler’s panacea and the small boy’s joy--an aromatic shrub, -whose inhaled fumes, together with its corn-silk rival, seem destined by -an all-wise Providence as a preparatory tonic to the more ambitious -fumigation of after-years. Many a time have I sat upon this bank and -tried to imagine in my domestic product the racy flavor of the famed -Havana! - -Between old Aunt Huldy, with her mania for the simples, and the demand -of the village boys, I wonder there is any of it left. But Aunt Huldy -has long since died; all her “yarbs,” and “yarrer tea,” and “paowerful -gud stimmilants” could not give her the lease of eternal earthly life -which she said lurked in the “everlastin’ flaowers;” and after she had -reached the age of one hundred and three, her tansy decoctions and -boneset potions ceased in their efficacy--the feeble pulse grew feebler, -and one winter’s eve, sitting in her rocker by her kettle and andirons, -she fell into a deep sleep, from which she never awoke. Aunt Huldy was -as strange and eccentric a character as one rarely meets in the walks of -life. Some said she was crazy; others said she was a witch; but -whatever she may have been, this aged dame was picturesque with her bent -figure, her long white hair and scarlet hood. And who shall describe the -ancient withered face that looked out from the shadow of that hood, the -small gray eyes and heavy white eyebrows, the toothless jaws and -receding lips, and massive chin that made its appalling ascent across -the face? But I cannot describe that face: think of how a witch should -look, and old Huldy’s features will rise up before you. She knew every -herb that grew, but her great stand-by was “sweet-fern:” she smoked it, -she chewed it, she drank it, and even wore a little bag of it around her -neck, “to charm away the rheumatiz.” - -[Illustration: IN THE CORNFIELD.] - -Since her time, however, the sweet-fern has had a chance to recuperate, -and, as far as we can see along the road, the banks are covered with it; -and there’s a clump of teazles in its midst! I wonder if that old -carding-mill still stands. You also, perhaps, will wonder what relation -can exist between the two, that should make my thoughts jump half a -mile at the sight of a roadside weed. But that old woollen-mill offered -a premium on the extermination of one weed at least, for all the teasels -of the neighborhood were required to keep its cloth brushes in thorough -repair; but I fear its buzzing wheels are silent, for in olden times no -such splendid clump as this could have remained to go to seed upon the -highway. This old mill lies right upon our path, only a short walk down -the road beyond. It nestles among a bower of willows in a picturesque -ravine known as the “Devil’s Hollow”--an umbrageous, rocky glen, by far -too cool and comfortable a place to justify the name it bears. - -Following the road, we now descend into a long, low stretch, hedged in -between two tall banks of alder, overtopped with interwoven tangles of -clematis, with its cloudy autumn clusters--that graceful vine which, -like the dandelion, is even more beautiful in death than in the fulness -of its bloom. And so, indeed, are nearly all those plants whose final -state is thus endowed by nature with feathery wings to lift them from -the earth. - -When has this swamp milk-weed by the roadside looked so fair as now, -with its bursting pods and silky seeds--those little waifs thrown out -upon the world with every passing breeze. How tenderly they seem to -cling to the little cosy home where they have been so snugly cradled and -protected; and see how they sail away, two or three together, loth to -part, until some rude gust shall separate them forever. - -And here’s the great spiny thistle, too, that armed highwayman with -florid face and pompon in his cap. But he has had his day, and now we -see him old and seedy; his spears are broken, and his silvery gray hairs -are floating everywhere and glistening in the sun. - -Now we leave the alders, and another roadside mosaic of rich color opens -up before us, where the old half-wall fence, with its overtopping rails, -is luminous with a crimson glow of ampelopsis. It covers all the stones -for yards and yards; it swings from every jutting rail; it clambers up -the tree trunks and envelops them in fire, and hangs its waving fringe -from all the branches. - -Above the wall, like an encampment of thatched wigwams, the corn-shocks -lift their heads; a prospecting colony encamped among a field rich with -outcroppings of gold--a wealth of great round nuggets all in sight. And -were we to tear away that thatch, we might see where they have stowed -away their accumulated grains of wealth. We hear their rustling -whispers: “Hush! hush!” they seem to say to each other as we approach; -but their wariness is gratuitous, for a tell-tale vine is creeping away -upon the fence near-by, and has stopped to rest its golden burden on the -summit of the wall, half hiding among the scarlet creepers. - -Here yellow brakes abound, spreading their broad, triangular fronds on -every side amid the brilliant berries of wild-rose, and pink leaves of -blueberry. And here are thickets of black-alder, where every twig is -studded with scarlet beads, that cling so close that even winter’s -bluster cannot shake them off. No matter where we look in these October -days, nature is burning itself away in a blaze of color that dazzles the -eyes; and now we approach its very crowning touch. - -I wish every one might see this gorgeous combination of oak and maples; -see it and go no farther, for a further search were fruitless in finding -its equal. It is the pride of the entire community; towns-people and -visitors ride from miles around to see its final flush--a magnificent -climax in the way of concentration of vivid color, in which nature seems -to have grouped with distinct purpose and design, producing a piece of -natural landscape-gardening such as no art could have approached. The -background is a massive precipice of rock towering to the height of -eighty feet, itself a perfect medley of tone. - -The group is composed of eight maples, each a distinct contrast of pure -color. In their midst a superb large oak presents one massive breadth of -deep purple green; and spreading up one side like a flood of yellow -light, a rock-maple lifts its splendid array of foliage. These two trees -concentrate the effect, and the others are arranged around them like -colors on a palette: one is a flaming scarlet, another beside it is -always a rich green, even to the falling leaf--with only a single -branch, that every year, even as early as August, persists in turning to -a peculiar salmon pink; another, a red-maple, is so deep a red as to -appear almost maroon, and its branches intermingle with the pale-pink -verdure of another growing by its side. There is one that combines every -intermediate color, from deep crimson to the palest saffron; while its -neighbor flutters in the wind with every leaf a brilliant butterfly of -pure green, with spots and splashes of deep carmine. - -This whole assemblage of color fairly blazes in the landscape, and even -from the top of Mount Pisgah, a half a mile away, it looks like a -glowing coal dropped down upon a bed of smouldering ashes in the valley; -for the surrounding meadow is thick-set with great gray rocks and -crimson viburnum, as though it had caught fire from the flaming trees. -What other country can boast the glory of a tree which, taken all in -all, can hold its own beside our lovely maple? From the time when first -it hangs its silken tassels to the awakening spring breeze until its -autumn fire has burned away its leaves, it presents an everchanging -phase that lends a distinct expression to American landscape. It affords -us grateful shade in summer; and with its trickling bounty in the spring -we can all unite in a hearty toast, “A health to the glorious maple.” - -[Illustration: THE ROAD TO THE MILL.] - -But there is another tree which should not be forgotten, and if once -seen in a New England autumn landscape there is little danger of its -escaping from the memory. Of course, I refer to the pepperidge, or -tupelo, that nondescript among trees; for who ever saw two -pepperidge-trees alike? They seem to scorn a reputation for symmetry, or -even the idea of establishing among themselves the recognition of a type -of character. Novelty or grotesqueness is their only aim, and they hit -the bull’s-eye every time. There is one I have in mind that has always -been a perfect curiosity. Its height is fully seventy feet, and its -crown is as flat as though cut off with a mammoth pair of -pruning-shears. The central trunk runs straight up to the summit, from -which it squirms off into six or seven snake-like branches, that dip -downward and writhe among the other limbs, all falling in the same -direction. One gets the impression, on looking at it, that originally -it might have been a respectable-looking tree, but that in some rude -storm in its early days it had been struck by lightning, torn up by the -roots, and afterward had taken root at the top. The tupelo, whenever -seen, is always one of our most picturesque trees, and a never-failing -source of surprise, twisting and turning into some unheard-of shape, and -seeming always to say, “There! beat that if you can!” Near the coast it -assumes the form of a crazy Italian pine, with spindling trunk and -massive head of foliage. Sometimes it divides in the middle, like an -hour-glass, and again mimics a fir-tree in caricature; but he who would -keep track of the acrobatic capers of the tupelo would have his hands -full. Whatever its shape, however, its brilliant, glossy crimson foliage -forms one of the most striking features of our October landscape. - -But I believe we were on the road to that carding-mill. We had almost -forgotten it; and now, as we look ahead, we see the old lumber-shed that -marks the upper ledge of Devil’s Hollow. From this old shed a -trout-brook plunges through a series of rocky terraces, now winding -among prostrate moss-grown trunks, now gurgling through the bare roots -of great white birches, or spreading in a swift, glassy sheet as it -pours across some broad shelving rock, and plunges from its edge in a -filmy water-fall. It roars pent up in narrow cañons, and out again it -swirls in a smooth basin worn in the solid rock. At almost every rod or -two along its precipitous course there is a mill somewhere hid among the -trees--queer, quaint little mills, some built up on high stone walls, -others fed with trickling flumes which span from rock to rock, -supporting on every beam a rounded cushion of velvety green moss, and -hanging a fringe of ferns from almost every crevice. And one there is in -ruins, fallen from its lofty perch, and piled in chaos in the stream. -There are saw-mills, and shook-mills, and carding-mills, seven -altogether in this one descent of about three hundred feet. The water -enters the ravine as pure as crystal; but in its wild booming through -race-ways, dams, and water-wheels, it gradually assumes a rich sienna -hue from the _débris_ of sawdust everywhere along its course. The -interior of the ravine is musical with the trebles of the falling water -and the accompaniment of the rumbling mills. Tiny rainbows gleam beneath -the water-falls, and swarms of glistening bubbles and little islands of -saffron-colored foam float away upon the dark-brown eddies. - -At last we reach the carding-mill, which is the lowest of them all--in -every sense, it seems, for it is as I had feared: the flume is but a -pile of brown and mouldy timbers in the bed of the stream, and the old -box-wheel has rotted and fallen from its spokes, almost obscured beneath -a rank growth of weeds. No sound of buzzing teasels, no rumbling of the -water-wheel, no happy carder singing at his work: _nothing_--but a -couple of boys, kneeling in a corner, sucking cider through a straw. -Yes, the old mill has fallen from grace; but what else might one expect -from a mill in “Devil’s Hollow,” where all its neighbors are engaged in -making hogshead staves, and the very water has turned to ruddy wine? - -[Illustration: THE CIDER MILL.] - -The carding-machine is gone, and has given place to a rustic -cider-press. A temporary undershot-wheel has been rigged beneath the -floor, and a rude trough, patched up with sods, conducts the water from -the stream. - -It is the same old cider-press we all remember, and with the same -accessories. Here are casks of all sizes waiting to be filled, and the -piles of party-colored apples spilled upon the floor from the farmers’ -wagons that every now and then back up to the open door. There is the -same rustic harangue on leading agricultural topics, among which we hear -a variety of opinions about that imaginary “line storm.” - -“Seems to gi’n the slip this year,” remarks one old long-limbed settler -with a slope-roofed straw hat, “’n’ I don’t know zactly what to _make_ -on’t; but I ain’t so sartin nuther”--he now takes a wise observation of -a small patch of blue sky through the trees overhead. “I cal’late we’ll -git a leetle tetch on’t yit.” - -“Likenuff, likenuff,” responds another, with a squeaky voice; “the ar’s -gittin’ ruther dampish, ’n’ my woman hez got the rheumatiz ag’in. She -kin alluz tell when we’re goin’ to git a spell o’ weather; it’s sure to -fetch her all along her spine. But I lay _most_ store on them ar pesky -tree-tuds. I heern um singin’ like all possessed ez I wuz comin’ through -the woods yender; ’n’ it’s a sartin sign o’ rain when them ar critters -gits agoin’, you kin depend on’t.” - -And now we hear all about the pumpkin and the corn crop, the potato -yield, and the regular list of other subjects so dear to the rural -heart. - -In a corner by themselves we see the pile of “vinegar nubbins”--a tanned -and soft variety of apple--in all stages of variegation. The “hopper” -receives the shovelfuls of fruit for the crushing “smasher,” which again -supplies the straw-laid press. We hear the creaking turn of the lever -screw, the yielding of the timbers, and a fresh burst of the trickling -beverage flowing from the surrounding trough into the great wooden tub -below. Here, too, is the swarm of eager urchins, with heads together, -like a troop of flies around a grain of sugar. Ah! what unalloyed bliss -is reflected from their countenances as they absorb the amber nectar -through the intermediate straw--that golden link that I have missed for -many a year! - -Outside upon the logs the refuse “pumice-cheese” has brought together -all the yellow-jackets and late butterflies of the neighborhood--butterflies -so tipsy that you can pick them up between your fingers. I never went so -far with the yellow-jackets, for they have a hotter temper, and don’t -like to be fooled with. Black hornets, too, are here, and they find a -feast spread at their very door; for overhead, upon the beech, they -have hung their paper house, like a gray balloon caught among the -branches. - -[Illustration: “THE LINE STORM.”] - -Now we hear a chatter and a scratching on the roof, where a pair of -lively squirrels hold a game of tag; and ascending the rickety stairs -into the loft above, we find the floor strewn with hickory-nuts, with -neat round holes cut through on either side, and numberless shaggy -butternuts, too, with daylight let into their recesses also. The boards -and beams are covered with cobweb trimmings, laden with wool-dust; and -as we approach a pile of rusty iron near the murky window, we hear a -scraping of sharp claws, the dropping of a nut between the rafters, and -now a wild scampering on the roof overhead. Before we have fairly -recovered from our surprise, we notice a sudden darkening of a hole in -the shingles close by, where, still and motionless, two inquisitive -black eyes look down at us. We have intruded upon private property, for -this is the home of the squirrels. No one can dispute their title, for -these little squatters have occupied the premises and held the fort for -nearly twenty years. - -They, too, have found forage close at hand, from the nut-grove upon the -hill-side yonder--a yellow bank of foliage of clustered hickories and -beeches, and rounded domes of chestnuts--a grove whose every rock and -bush is my old-time friend; where there are “sermons in stones,” and -every tree speaks volumes. - -Here is the low thicket of weeds and hazel-bushes where we always -flushed that flock of quail, or started up some lively white-tailed hare -that jumped away among the quivering brakes and golden-rod. Here are -soft beds of rich green moss, studded with scarlet berries of -winter-green and partridge-vine. Now we come upon a creeping mat of -princess-pine, and here among the leaves we had almost stepped upon a -spreading chestnut-burr--that same burr I have so often seen before, -that same fuzzy, open palm holding out its tempting bait to lure the -eagerness of youth; an eagerness which always invested a neighbor’s -chestnuts with a peculiar charm too tempting to resist; “take one,” it -seems to say, as it did in years ago; and its hedge of thorny prickles -truly typifies the dangers which surrounded such an undertaking, for -these trees belong to Deacon Turney, and he prizes them as though their -yellow autumn leaves were so much gold. He guards them with an eagle’s -eye, and he gathers all their harvest; no single nut is ever known to -sprout in Turney’s woods if _he_ knows it. - -This pointed reminder among the leaves fairly pricks my conscience as I -recall the many October escapades in which it formed the chief -attraction. I remember one occasion in particular, for it is indelibly -impressed on my memory, and it was on this very spot. A party of -adventurous lads, myself among the number, were out for a glorious -holiday. Each had his canvas bag across his shoulder, and we stole along -the stone wall yonder, and entered the woods beneath that group of -chestnuts. Two of us acted as outposts on picket guard; and another, -young Teddy Shoopegg by name, the best climber in the village, did the -shaking. He prided himself on being able to “shin up any tree in the -caounty,” and after he had once got up among those chestnut-trees we -stood from under, and in a very short space of time no single burr was -left among their branches. There were five busy pairs of hands beneath -those trees, I can tell you, for each one of us fully realized the -necessity of making the most of his time, not knowing how soon the -warning cry from our outposts might put us all to headlong flight; for -the alarm, “Turney’s coming!” was enough to lift the hair of any boy in -town. - -[Illustration: A POINTED REMINDER.] - -But luck seemed to favor us on that day; we “cleaned out” six big -chestnut-trees, and then turned our attention to the hickories. There -was a splendid tall shagbark close by, with branches fairly loaded with -the white nuts in their open shucks. They were all ready to drop, and -when the shaking once commenced, the nuts came down like a shower of -hail, bounding from the rocks, rattling among the dry leaves, and -keeping up a clatter all around. We scrambled on all fours, and gathered -them by quarts and quarts. There was no need of poking over the leaves -for them, the ground was covered with them in plain sight. While busily -engaged, we noticed an ominous lull among the branches overhead. - -“’Sst! ’sst!” whispered Shoopegg up above; “I see old Turney on his -white horse daown the road yender.” - -“Coming this way?” also in a whisper, from below. - -“I dunno yit, but I jest guess you’d better be gittin’ reddy to leg it, -fer he’s hitchin’ his old nag ’t the side o’ the road. _Yis_, sir, I -bleeve he’s a-cummin’. Shoopegg, you’d better be gittin’ aout o’ this,” -and he commenced to drop hap-hazard from his lofty perch. In a moment, -however, he seemed to change his mind, and paused, once more upon the -watch. “Say, fellers,” he again broke in, as we were preparing for a -retreat, “he’s gone off to’rd the cedars; he ain’t cummin’ this way at -_all_.” So he again ascended into the tree-top, and finished his shaking -in peace, and we our picking also. There was still another tree, with -elegant large nuts, that we had all concluded to “finish up on.” It -would not do to leave it. They were the largest and thinnest-shelled -nuts in town, and there were over a bushel in sight on the branch tips. -Shoopegg was up among them in two minutes, and they were showered down -in torrents as before. And what splendid, perfect nuts they were! We -bagged them with eager hands, picked the ground all clean, and, with -jolly chuckles at our luck, were just about thinking of starting for -home with our well-rounded sacks, when a change came over the spirit of -our dreams. There was a suspicious noise in the shrubbery near by, and -in a moment more we heard our doom. - -“Jest yeu look _ee_ah, yeu boys!” exclaimed a high-pitched voice from -the neighboring shrubbery, accompanied by the form of Deacon Turney, -approaching at a brisk pace, hardly thirty feet away. “Don’t yeu think -yeu’ve got jest abaout _enuff_ o’ them nuts?” - -Of course a wild panic ensued, in which we made for the bags and dear -life; but Turney was prepared and ready for the emergency, and, raising -a huge old shot-gun, he levelled it, and yelled, “Don’t any on ye stir -ner move, or by Christopher I’ll blow the heels clean off’n the hull -_pile_ on ye. I’d _shoot_ ye quicker’n _lightni’_.” - -And we believed him, for his aim was true, and his whole expression was -not that of a man who was trifling. I never shall forget the -uncomfortable sensation that I experienced as I looked into the muzzle -of that double-barrelled shot-gun, and saw both hammers fully raised -too. And I can clearly see now the squint and the glaring eye that -glanced along those barrels. There was a wonderfully persuasive power -lurking in those horizontal tubes; so I at once hastened to inform the -deacon that we were “not going to run.” - -“Wa’al,” he drawled, “it looked a leetle thet _way_, I thort, a spell -_ago_;” and he still kept us in the field of his weapon, till at length -I exclaimed, in desperation. - -“For gracious sake! point that gun in some other _way_, will you?” - -“Wa’al, _no_! I’m not fer pintin’ it ennywhar else jest _yit_--not until -you’ve sot them ar _bags_ daown agin, jist whar ye _got_ ’em, every -_one_ on ye.” The bags were speedily replaced, and he slowly lowered his -gun. - -[Illustration: AFTER THE SHELL-BARKS] - -“Wa’al, naow,” he continued, as he came up in our midst, “this is putty -bizniss, _ain’t_ it? Bin havin’ a putty likely sort o’ time teu, I sh’d -jedge from the looks o’ these ’ere _bags_. One--two--_six_ on ’em; an’ I -vaow they must be nigh on teu a half bushel in every pleggy _one_ on -’em. Wa’al, naow”--with his peculiar drawl--“look eeah: you’re a putty -ondustrious lot o’ _thieves_, I’m _blest_ if ye ain’t.” But the deacon -did all the talking, for his manœuvres were such as to render us -speechless. “Putty likely place teu cum a-nuttin’, ain’t it?” Pause. -“Putty nice mess o’ shell-barks ye got thar, I tell ye naow.--Quite a -sight o’ _chestnuts_ in _yourn_, ain’t they?” - -There was only one spoken side to this dialogue, but the pauses were -eloquent on both sides, and we boys kept up a deal of tall thinking as -we watched the deacon alternate his glib remarks by the gradual removal -of the bags to the foot of a neighboring tree. This done, he seated -himself upon a rock beside them. - -“_Thar!_” he exclaimed, removing his tall hat and wiping his -white-fringed forehead with a red bandanna handkerchief. “I’m much -_obleeged_. I’ve been a-watchin’ on ye gittin’ these ’ere nuts the hull -arternoon. I thort ez haow yeu might like to know on’t.” And then, as -though a happy thought had struck him, what should he do but -deliberately spit on his hands and grasp his gun. “Look _ee_ah”--a -pause, in which he cocked both barrels--“yeu boys wuz paowerful anxyis -teu git _away_ from _ee_ah a spell ago. Naow yeu kin _git_ ez lively ez -yeu pleze; your chores is done fer to-day.” And bang! went one of the -gun-barrels directly over our heads. - -We _got_, and when once out of gun-range we paid the deacon a wealth of -those rare compliments for both eye and ear that always swell the boys’ -vocabulary. - -“All right,” he yelled back in answer, as he transported the bags across -the field. “Cum agin next year--cum agin. Alluz welcome! alluz welcome!” - -As I have already said, the deacon gathered all his nut -harvest--sometimes by a very novel method. - -Who does not remember some such episode of the old jolly days? If it was -not a Deacon Turney, it was some one else. I am sure his counterpart -exists in every country town, and in the memory of every boyhood -experience. - -We remember, perhaps, the sweet hazel-nuts which we gathered in their -brown husks and spread to dry upon the garret floor, and how those -mischievous mice avenged the deacon’s wrongs as they invaded our -treasured store, and transported it to the nooks and kinks among the -rafters and beneath the floor. Then there were those rambles after -“fox-grapes,” and the “gunning” tramps, when we stole with cautious step -upon the unseen “Bob White” whistling for us among the brush near by, -when the startling _whirr_ of the ruffed grouse from almost under our -feet sent an electric thrill up our backs and along our arms, even -touching off the powder in our barrels unawares. There were box-traps in -the woods, and snares among the copses, and lots of other mischief of -which we would not care to tell. - -[Illustration: A CORNER OF THE FARM.] - -There was another little three-cornered nut that fell among the -beech-trees where we held our October picnics, and the autumn beech -forest I remember as a lovely woodland parlor. We sit upon a painted -rock, in the shadow of a drooping hemlock, perhaps. Beyond, we look -across among the smooth gray tree-trunks, where sidelong shadows softly -stripe the matted leaves, with here and there a shining shaft of sunbeam -lighting up the carpet, or a glinting spray of sun-tipped leaves that -flicker above their shadows. The woods are filled with a luminous glow -such as no summer forest ever knew--an all-pervading light which seems -almost independent of the sunshine, as though living in the leaf itself. -It floods the mottled bark, and transforms its ashy tints to softened -autumn grays. It searches out the shadows of the evergreens, and throws -its mellow glow upon the rocks among their recesses. It permeates the -whole interior as though it were transfigured through a golden-colored -glass. - -A quick, sharp whistle surprises you from the herbage near by, and a -striped chickaree skips across the leaves and dives into his burrow at -the foot of an old stump not far away. There are various other sounds -that come to you if you sit quietly in a beech wood. Now it is a tiny -footfall, a pat-pat upon the leaves, and a little brown bird is seen, -hopping in and out among the undergrowth, scratching and pecking like a -little hen among the leaf mould. Then comes a galloping sound, and you -know there is a scampering hare somewhere about. And at last a peeping -frog gains confidence, and starts up a trill somewhere behind you. He is -soon joined by another, and still others, until a chorus of the shrill -voices echoes among the trees, some from the around, some from the limbs -overhead; and if you only sit perfectly still, you may hear a -venturesome voice, perhaps, at your very elbow; for these little peepers -are capricious songsters, and only sing before a quiet, attentive -audience. Now a silly green katydid flits by, like an animated gauzy -leaf; and quick as thought a kingbird darts out from the leaves -overhead, hovers in mid-air for a second, and is away again; and -luckless katydid wishes she _hadn’t_. - -See the variety of beeches, too! Here are slender, dappled stems, clean -and trim; and others, great giants with fluted trunks and gnarled roots, -and with eccentric limbs reaching out in most fantastic angles; but all -spreading above in a graceful, airy screen of intermingled tracery and -sunlight, where slender branches bend and sway beneath the agile -squirrel as he leaps from tree to tree, and the leaves clatter with the -falling nuts. Behind us a soft fluttering of many wings betrays a -slender mountain-ash, with its drooping clusters of berries, growing in -an open, rocky space near by--where a flock of cedar birds assemble -among the fruit, or scatter away amid the evergreens at your slightest -movement. Turning your head in another direction, you can follow the -course of an old farm-road that leads out upon a bright clearing, -thick-set with light-green, feathery ferns. A few rods beyond, it makes -a sudden downward turn through a dense grove of lofty pines and -hemlocks. Here are “dim aisles” where dwell perpetual twilight--where no -ray of sun has entered for well-nigh a century--only, perhaps, as it is -brought down in a glistening sunbeam within the crystal bead of balsam -upon some dropping cone. There is a solemn stillness in these stately -halls, in which your very footfall is proscribed and hushed in the -depths of the brown and silent carpet. There are old, venerable -gray-beards here, and fallen monarchs lying prostrate among the rugged -rocks; and here and there among the brown debris a fungus lifts its -head, to tell of other generations that lie crumbling beneath the mould. -Now among the lofty columns, like a magnificent illuminated window in -some vast cathedral, comes a glimpse of the outer world with its autumn -colors; and here the vaulted aisle soon leads us. We find a dazzling -contrast; for in the sombre shadows of the pine-forest one readily -forgets the month, or even the season. Here we approach a rippling -trout-stream, and as we stop to rest upon its tottering bridge we look -across a long brook meadow, where the asters screen the ground in -mid-air in a purple sea--one of the rarest spectacles of autumn. But in -this swamp lot there are presented a continual series of just such rich -displays from spring-time till the winter. - -I know of no other place in which the progress of the year is so readily -traced as in these swampy fallow lands. They are a living calendar, not -merely of the seasons alone, but of every month successively; and its -record is almost unmistakably disclosed. It is whispered in the fragrant -breath of flowers, and of the aromatic herbage you crush beneath your -feet. It floats about on filmy wings of dragon-fly and butterfly, or -glistens in the air on silky seeds. It skips upon the surface of the -water, or swims among the weeds beneath; and is noised about in myriads -of tell-tale songs among the reeds and sedges. The swallows and the -starlings proclaim it in their flight, and the very absence of these -living features is as eloquent as life itself. Even in the simple story -of the leaf, the bud, the blossom, and the downy seed, it is told as -plainly as though written in prosaic words and strewn among the herbage. - -In the early, blustering days of March, there is a stir beneath the -thawing ground, and the swamp cabbage-root sends up a well protected -scout to explore among the bogs; but so dismal are the tidings which he -brings, that for weeks no other venturing sprout dares lift its head. He -braves alone the stormy month--the solitary sign of spring, save, -perhaps, the lengthening of the alder catkins that loosen in the wind. -April woos the yellow cowslips into bloom along the water’s edge, and -the golden willow twigs shake out their perfumed tassels. In May the -prickly carex blossoms among the tussocks, and the calamus buds burst -forth among their flat, green blades. June is heralded on right and left -by the unfurling of blue-flags, and the eyebright blue winks and blinks -as it awakens in the dazzling July sun. - -[Illustration: BEECH-NUTTING.] - -Then follows brimful August, with the summer’s consummation of -luxuriance and bloom; with flowers in dense profusion in bouquets of -iron-weed and thoroughworts, of cardinal flowers and fragrant clethra, -with their host of blossoming companions. The milk-weed pods fray out -their early floss upon September breezes, and the blue petals of the -gentian first unfold their fringes. October overwhelms us with the -friendly tokens of burr marigolds and bidens; while its thickets of -black-alder lose their autumn verdure, and leave November with a -“burning bush” of scarlet berries hitherto half-hidden in the leafage. -Now, too, the copses of witch-hazel bedeck themselves, and are yellow -with their tiny ribbons. December’s name is written in wreaths of snow -upon the withered stalks of slender weeds and rushes, which soon lie -bent and broken in the lap of January, crushed beneath their winter -weight. And in fulfilment of the cycle, February sees the swelling buds -of willow, with their restless pussies eager for the spring, half -creeping from their winter cells. - -The October day is a dream, bright and beautiful as the rainbow, and as -brief and fugitive. The same clouds and the same sun may be with us on -the morrow, but the rainbow will have gone. There is a destroyer that -goes abroad by night; he fastens upon every leaf, and freezes out its -last drop of life, and leaves it on the parent stem, pale, withered, and -dying. - -Then come those closing days of dissolution, the saddest of the year, -when all nature is filled with phantoms, and the gaunt and naked trees -moan in the wind--every leaf a mockery, every breeze a sigh. The air -seems weighed with a premonition of the dreariness to come. The -landscape is darkened in a melancholy monotone, and death is written -everywhere. You may walk the woods and fields for hours without a gleam -of comfort or a cheering sound. We hear, perhaps, the hollow roll of the -woodpecker upon some neighboring tree; but even he is clad in mourning: -it is a muffled drum, and the resounding limb is dead. You sit beneath -the old oak-tree, but it is a lifeless rustle that grates upon your ear, -while you listen half beseechingly for some cheering note from the -robins in the thicket near; but they are coy and silent now, and their -flight is toward the southern hills. A villanous shrike must needs come -upon the scene: he alights upon a limb near by, with blood upon his -beak. Murder is in his eye, and his mission here is death. And now we -hear a noisy crow o’erhead: he perches upon a neighboring tree in hungry -scrutiny. And what is he but carrion’s bird, that revels in decay and -death, with raiment black as a funeral pall? In the cold gray sky we see -their scattered flocks blowing in the wind with sidelong flight, and in -the field below that mocking cadaver, the man of straw, shaking his -flimsy arms at them in wild contortions. - -[Illustration: THE NORTH WIND.] - -There is a hopeless despondency abroad in all the air, in which the -summer medleys of the birds taunt us with their memories. We yearn for -one such joyful sound to break the gloomy reverie. But what bird could -swell his throat in song amidst such cheerlessness? No, Nature does not -thus defeat her purpose. The hopefulness of Spring, the joyful -consummation of Summer, have fled; their mission is fulfilled, and these -are days for meditation on the past and future. All nature speaks of -death; and there are voices of despair, and others eloquent with hope -and trust. There are dead leaves that crumble into dust beneath our -feet; but, if we look higher, there are others that conceal the promise -of eternal life, where the undeveloped being, that perfect symbol, -weaves his silken shroud, and awaits the coming of his day of full -perfection. In the ground beneath he seeks his sepulchre, and he knows -that at the appointed time he will burst his cerements and fly away. -These are inobtrusive, silent testimonies; but they are here, and need -only to be sought to unfold their prophecies. - -But there comes a respite even in these late gloomy days. There is a -lull in the work of devastation, in which the sunny skies and magic haze -of October come back to us in the charming dreaminess of the Indian -summer. A brief farewell--perhaps a day, perhaps a week; but however -long, it is a parting smile that we love to recall in the dreariness -that follows. The sky is luminous with soft sun-lit clouds, and the hazy -air is laden with spring-like breezes, with now and then a welcome -cricket-song or light-hearted bird-note, for, although long upon their -way, the birds have not yet all departed. They twitter cheerily among -the trees and thickets, and should you listen quietly you perhaps might -hear an echo of spring again in the warble of the robin upon the -dog-wood-tree. Here they have loitered by the way among the scarlet -berries. Not only robins, but cedar-birds and thrushes are here, in -successive flocks, from morn till night. - -The fields are dull with faded golden-rods and asters, among whose downy -seeds the frolicking chickadees and snow-birds hold a jubilee. The maze -of twigs and branches in the distant hills has enveloped them in a smoky -gray, and the sound of rustling leaves follows your footsteps in your -woodland rambles. The fringe of yellow petals is unfolding on the -witch-hazel boughs, and if you only knew the place, you might discover -in some forsaken nook a solitary pale-blue lamp of fringed gentian still -flickering among the withered leaves. Now a lively twittering and a hum -of wings surprises you, and before you can turn your head a happy little -troop of birds sweep across your path, and are away among the -evergreens. They are white buntings, and their presence here is like a -chill, for they come from the icy regions of the North, and they bring -the snow upon their wings. The Indian summer is soon a thing of the -past. Perhaps before another daybreak it will have flown. There is no -dawn upon that morning. The night runs into a day of dismal, cheerless -twilight, and the sky is overcast with ominous darkness. That angry -cloud that left us, driven away before the conquering Spring, now lowers -above the northward mountain; we see its livid face and feel its -blighting breath--“a hard, dull bitterness of cold,” that sweeps along -the moor in noisy triumph, that howls and tears among the trembling -trees, and smothers out the last smouldering flame of faded Autumn. - -The final leaf is torn from the tree. The lingering birds depart the -desolation for scenes more tranquil, and I too with them, for nothing -here invites my tarrying. The Autumn days are gone, grim Winter is at -our door, and the covering snow will soon enshroud the earth, subdued -and silent in its winter sleep. - -[Illustration] - - - - -WINTER. - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration: THE SLEEP] - -[Illustration: A WINTER IDYL - -Prologue - - A chill sad ending of a dreary day. - The waning light in stillness dies away. - Bequeaths no ray of hope the void to fill - But lends to gloomy thoughts more sadness still. - All nature hushed beneath a snowy shroud - Darkness and death their sovereign rule decree - O, reign of dread, of cruel blasts that kill - Thy cycle brings a heavy heart to me. - How many thus their Winter’s advent view - Whose darkened faith no daylight ever knew. - Alas for him who thinks the grave his doom - Or sees the sun go down behind the tomb. - “Seek and ye shall find”. On every hand - Mute prophecies their mission tell. - Yield but a listening ear and they shall say - ‘The dead but sleep, they do not pass away’ - Else why mid earth and heaven on yonder tree - That type of life in death, the living tomb? - Why the imago from dark cerements free - Winging its upward flight from earthly gloom? - Why this device supreme unless a prophecy - Of resurrected life and immortality. - Oh thou whose downcast eyes refuse to seek - See! even at the grave the sign is given. - The snow-clad evergreen, eternal life - Clothed in celestial purity from heaven. - Even thus life’s Winter should be blest - Not dark and dead but full of peace and rest. -] - - -Silently, like thoughts that come and go, the snow-flakes fall, each one -a gem. The whitened air conceals all earthly trace, and leaves to -memory the space to fill. I look upon a blank, whereon my fancy paints, -as could no hand of mine, the pictures and the poems of a boyhood life; -and even as the undertone of a painting, be it warm or cool, shall -modify or change the color laid upon it, so this cold and frosty -background through the window transfigures all my thoughts, and forms -them into winter memories legion like the snow. Oh that I could -translate for other eyes the winter idyl painted there! I see a living -past whose counterpart I well could wish might be a common fortune. I -see in all its joyous phases the gladsome winter in New England, the -snow-clad hills with bare and shivering trees, the homestead dear, the -old gray barn hemmed in with peaked drifts. I see the skating-pond, and -hear the ringing, intermingled shouts of the noisy, shuffling game, the -black ice written full with testimony of the winter’s brisk hilarity. -Down the hard-packed road with glancing sled I speed, past frightened -team and startled way-side groups; o’er “thank you, marms,” I fly in -clear mid-air, and crouching low, with sidelong spurts of snowy spray, I -sweep the sliding curve. Now past the village church and cosy parsonage. -Now scudding close beneath the hemlocks, hanging low with their piled -and tufted weight of snow. The way-side bits like dizzy streaks whiz by, -the old rail fence becomes a quivering tint of gray. The road-side weeds -bow after me, and in the swirling eddy chasing close upon my feet, sway -to and fro. Soon, like an arrow from the bow, I shoot across the “Town -Brook” bridge, and, jumping out beyond, skip the sinking ground, and -with an anxious eye and careful poise I “trim the ship,” and, hoping, -leave the rest to fate. - -Perhaps I land on both runners, perhaps I don’t; that depends. I’ve -tried both ways I know, and if I remember rightly, I always found it -royal jolly fun; for what cared I at a bruise, or a pint of snow down my -back, when I got it there myself? - -The average New England boy is hard to kill, and I was one of that kind. -Any boy who could brave the hidden mysteries and capricious favoritism -of those fifteen dislocating “thank you, marms,” and _hang together_ -through it all, and, having so done, finish that experience with a -plunging double somersault into a crusted snow-bank, or, perchance, into -a stone wall--if he can do this, I say, and survive the fun, then there -is no reason why he should not live to tell of it in old age, for never -in the flesh will he go through a rougher ordeal. I’ve known a boy who -“_hated_ the old district school because the hard benches hurt him so,” -and who would rest his aching limbs for hours together in this gentle -sort of exercise. “The fine print made his eyes ache, and he couldn’t -study;” and yet when one day he comes home with one eye all colors of -the rainbow, “it’s _nothing_.” “Consistency is a jewel.” Boys don’t -generally wear jewels. But they are all alike. Boys will be boys, and if -they only live through it, they will some day look back and wonder at -their good fortune. - -At the foot of that long hill the “Town Brook” gurgles on its winding -way, and passing beneath the weather-beaten bridge, it makes a sudden -turn, and spreads into a glassy pond behind the bulwarks of the saw-mill -dam. In summer, were we as near as this, we would hear the intermittent -ring of the whizzing saw, the clanking cogs, and the tuneful sounds of -the falling bark-bound slabs; but now, like its bare willows that were -wont to wave their leafy boughs with caressing touch upon the mossy -roof, the old mill shows no sign of life. Its pulse is frozen, and the -silent wheel is resting from its labors beneath a coverlet of snow. Who -is there who has not in some recess of the memory a dear old haunt like -this, some such sleeping pond radiant with reflections of the scenes of -early life? Thither in those winter days we came, our numbers swelled -from right and left with eager volunteers for the game, till at last, -almost a hundred strong, we rally on the smooth black ice. - -[Illustration: SNOW-FLAKES OF MEMORY.] - -The opposing leaders choose their sides, and with loud hurrahs we -penetrate the thickets at the water’s edge, each to cut his special -choice of stick--that festive cudgel, with curved and club-shaped end, -known to the boy as a “shinney-stick,” but to the calm recollection of -after-life principally as an instrument of torture, indiscriminately -promiscuous in its playful moments. Were I to swing one of those dainty -little clubs again, I would rather that the end were tied up in -something soft, and that this should be the universal rule; otherwise I -don’t think I would play. I would prefer to sit on the bank and watch -the sport, or make myself useful in looking after the dead and wounded. -But to the “average New England boy” it makes a great deal of difference -who swings the club, and what it is swung for. If it is whirled in -_play_, and takes him with a blow that _ought_ to kill him, and _would_ -if he were not a boy, why then he laughs, and thinks it’s good fun, and -goes in and gets another. But if the parental guardian has any reason to -swing a stick even one-tenth the size, the whole neighborhood thinks -there is a boy being murdered. So much depends upon a name sometimes. - -[Illustration: THE OLD MILL-POND.] - -How clearly and distinctly I recall those toughening, rollicking sports -on the old mill-pond! I see the two opposing forces on the field of ice, -the wooden ball placed ready for the fray. The starter lifts his stick. -I hear a whizzing sweep. Then comes that liquid, twittering ditty of the -hard-wood ball skimming over the ice, that quick succession of bird-like -notes, first distinct and clear, now fainter and more blended, now -fainter still, until at last it melts into a whispered, quivering -whistle, and dies away amidst the scraping sound of the close-pursuing -skates. With a sharp crack I see the ball returned singing over the -polished surface, and met half-way by the advance-guard of the leading -side. The holder of the ball with rapid onward flight hugs close upon -his charge, keeping it at the end of his stick. Past one and another of -his adversaries he flies on winged skates, followed by a score of his -companions, until, seeing his golden opportunity, with one tremendous -effort he gives a powerful blow. To be sure, one of his own men -interposes the back of his head and takes half the force of his stroke; -but what does that matter, it was all in fun? besides, he had no -business to be in the way. The ball thus retarded in such a trivial -manner instantly meets a barricade of the excited opponents, who have -hurried thither to save their game; but before any one can gain the time -to strike the ball, the starters rush pell-mell upon them. Now comes the -tug of war. Strange fun! What a spectacle! The would-be striker, with -stick uplifted, jammed in the centre of a boisterous throng; the -hill-sides echo with ringing shouts, and an anxious circle with ready -sticks forms about the swaying, gesticulating mob. Meanwhile the ball -is beating round beneath their feet, their skates are clashing steel on -steel. I hear the shuffling kicks, the battling strokes of clubs, the -husky mutterings of passion half suppressed; I hear the panting breath -and the impetuous whisperings between the teeth, as they push and -wrestle and jam. A lucky hit now sends the ball a few feet from the -fray. A ready hand improves the chance; but as he lifts his stick a -youngster’s nose gets in the way and spoils his stroke; he slips, and -falls upon the ball; another and another plunge headlong over him. The -crowd surround the prostrate pile, and punch among them for the ball. -When found, the same riotous scene ensues; another falls, and all are -trampled under foot by the enthusiastic crowd. Ye gods! will any one -come out alive? I hear the old familiar sounds vibrating on the air: -whack! whack! “Ouch!” “Get out of the way, then!” “Now I’ve got it!” -“Shinney on yer own side!” and now a heavy thud! which means a sudden -damper on some one’s wild enthusiasm. And so it goes until the game is -won. The mob disperses, and the riotous spectacle gives place to -uproarious jollity. - -There are other more tranquil reflections from that old mill-pond. Do -you not remember the little pair of dainty skates whose straps you -clasped on daintier feet; the quiet, gliding strolls through the -secluded nooks; the small, refractory buckle which you so often stooped -to conquer; and the sidelong grimaces of less fortunate swains--sneers -that brought the color tingling to your cheeks with mingled pride and -anger? Ah! things so near the heart as these can never freeze. - -Yonder, just below that clustered group of pines, where the water-weeds -and lily-pads are frozen in the ice, we chopped our fishing holes, and -with baited lines and tip-ups set, we waited, wondering what our luck -would be. With eager eyes we watched the line play out, or saw the -tip-up give the warning sign. And as with anxious pull we neared the end -of the tightening cord, who shall describe that tingling sense of joy at -the first glimpse of the gaping pickerel? - -Near by I see the yellow-fringed witch-hazel bending in graceful spray -over the flaky, bordering ice, that mystic shrub whose feathery winter -blooms we gathered as a token for the little one with dainty skates. - -Still farther up the pond the marbled button-wood-tree, with spreading -limbs and knotty brooms of branchlets, rises clear against the sky, its -little pendulums swinging away the winter moments. At its very roots the -dam spreads into a tufted swamp, thick-set with alders. How often have I -picked my way through that wheezing, soggy marsh in quest of the rare -Cecropia cocoons; treading among glazed air-chambers, whose roof of ice, -like a pane of brittle glass, falls in at my approach--a crystal fairy -grotto, set with diamonds and frost ferns, annihilated at a step. - -Here, too, the sagacious musk-rat built his cemented dome, and along the -neighboring shore we set the chained steel-traps, or made the ponderous -dead-fall from nature’s rude materials. Yonder, in the side-hill woods, -I set the big box rabbit-traps; with keen-edged jack-knife trimmed the -slender hickory poles, and on the ground near by, with sharpened, -branching sticks, I built the little pens for my twitch-up snares. Can -I ever forget the fascinating excitement which sped me on from snare to -snare in those tramps through the snowy woods, the exhilarating buoyancy -of that delicious suspense, every nerve and every muscle on the _qui -vive_ in my eagerness for the captured game! Even the memory of it acts -like a tonic, and almost creates an appetite like that of old. - -And then the lovely woods. How few there are who ever seek their winter -solitude: and of these how fewer still are they who find anything but -drear and cold monotony! - -We read the literature of our time, and find it rich in story of the -home aspects of winter; of Christmas joys and festivals, of holiday -festivities, and all the various phases of cosy domestic life; but not -often are we tempted from the glowing hearth into the wilds of the bare -and leafless forest. We read of the “drear and lonely waste, the -cheerless desolation of the howling wilderness,” and we look out upon -the naked, shivering trees and draw our cushioned rockers closer to the -grateful fire. - -[Illustration: THE FIRST SNOW.] - -Not I; bitter were the winds and high the piled-up drifts that shut me -in from out-of-doors in those glorious days; and whether on my animated -trapping tours, or hunting on the crusted snow, with powder-horn and -game-bag swinging at my side, or perhaps pressing through the tangled -thickets in my impetuous search for those pendulous cocoons, now -stopping to tear away the loosening bark on moss-grown stump, now -looking beneath some prostrate board for the little “woolly bears” -curled up in their dormant sleep: no matter what my purpose, always I -was sure to find the winter full of interest and beauty. How distinctly -I recall the thrilling spectacle of that glad morning when, awakening -early, and jumping from the little cot so snug and warm, I tripped -across the chilly floor and scratched a peep-hole on the frosted -window-pane; looked out upon a world so changed, so strangely beautiful, -that at first it seemed like a lingering vision in half-awakened -eyes--still looking into dream-land. All the world is dressed in purest -white, as soft and light as down from seraphs’ wings. The orchard trees, -the elms, and all the leafless shrubs, as if by magic spell, transformed -to shadowy plumes of spotless purity, and the interlacing boughs -o’erhead vanishing in a canopy of glistening, feathery spray. I look -upon a realm celestial in its beauty, unprofaned by earthly sign or -sound. A strange, supernal stillness fills the air; and save where some -unseen spirit-wing tips the slender twig and lets fall the scintillating -shower, no slightest movement mars the enchanted vision. Above, in the -far-off blue, I see the circling flock of doves, their snowy wings -glittering in their upward flight--apt emblems in a scene so like a -glimpse of spirit-land. A single vision such as this should wed the -heart to winter’s loveliness, a loveliness inspiring and immaculate, for -never in the cycle of the year does nature wear a face so void of -earthly impress, so spirit-like, so near the heavenly ideal. - -One of the most striking features of the winter ramble in the woods is -their impressive stillness. But stop awhile and listen. That very -silence will give emphasis to every sound that soon shall vibrate on the -clear atmosphere, for “little pitchers have big ears,” and wide-open -eyes too. They will first be sure that the stick you hold is only a -cane, and not the small boy’s gun which they have so learned to dread. -Hark! even from the hollow maple at your side there comes a scraping -sound, and in an instant more two black and shining eyes are peering -down at us from the bulging hole above. Tut! don’t strike the little -fellow. Had you only waited a moment longer, we would have seen him -emerge from his concealment, and with frisky, bushy tail laid flat upon -the bark, he would have hung head downward on the trunk, and watched our -every movement; but now you’ve startled him, he thinks you mean -mischief, and you’ll see his sparkling eyes no more at that knot-hole. -Listen! Now we hear a rustling in the sere and snow-tipped weeds -somewhere near by, and presently a little feathery form flits past, and -settles yonder on the swaying rush. With feathers ruffled into a little -fuzzy ball, he bustles around among the downy seeds, now prying in their -midst, now hanging underneath, head up, head down, no matter which, -it’s all the same to him. Now he stops short in his busy search, turns -his little head jauntily from side to side, lifts his tufted crest, and -sets free his pent-up glee--“See! see! see me sing! Chickadee-dee-dee!” -Who has not heard that wee small voice ringing in the frosty air? and -who, having heard it, has not longed to catch and cuddle that little -feathery puff, the winter’s own darling, whose little warm heart and -sprightly song temper the chill and enliven the cheerless days? - -[Illustration: MUTE PROPHECIES.] - -The bending rush but lightly feels the dainty form, and, if at all, it -must delight to bear so sweet a burden. How dearly have I learned to -love this little fellow, perhaps my special favorite among the birds; -for while the others one by one desert us with the dying year for scenes -more bright and sunny, the chickadee is content to share our lot; he is -constant, always with us, ever full of sprightliness and cheer. No -winter is known in his warm heart, no piercing blast can freeze the -fountain of his song. - -How often in the woods and by-ways have I stopped and chatted with this -diminutive friend as he nestled in some oscillating spray of golden-rod, -or perhaps with jaunty strut shook down the new-fallen snow from some -drooping branch of hemlock. I say “chatted,” for he is a talkative and -entertaining little fellow, always ready to tell people “all about it,” -if they will only ask him. He is generally too busy searching amid the -dead and crumpled leaves for the indispensable _bug_ to intrude himself -on any one; but once draw him into conversation and he will do his share -of the talking--only, mind you, remove those big fur gloves and tippet, -or he will put you to shame by crying, “See! see!” and showing you his -little, bare feet. This pert atom can be saucy and cross if things don’t -exactly suit his fancy; and, for whatever reason, he always seems out of -patience at the sight of a _man_ all bundled up and mittened. I have -noticed this repeatedly. “Take off some of those things,” he seems to -say, “and let me see who you are, and then I’ll talk with you,” and with -feathers puffed up like an indignant hen in miniature, he scolds and -scolds. - -Then there are the little snow-birds, too. When the sad autumn days are -upon us, when the dying leaves with ominous flush yield up their hold on -life, and are borne to earth on wailing winds, and all nature seems -filled with mocking phantoms of the summer’s life and loveliness; when -we listen for the robin’s song and hear it not, or the thrush’s -bell-like trill, and listen in vain; when we look into the southern sky -and see the winged flocks departing behind the faded hills--it is at -such a time, while the very air seems weighed with melancholy, that the -snow-birds come with their welcome, twittering voices. All winter long -these sprightly little fellows swarm the thickets and sheltering -evergreens, frolicking in the new-fallen snow like sparrows in a summer -pool. Sometimes they unite in flocks with the chickadees and invade the -orchard, and even the kitchen door-yard, with their ceaseless chatter. -If you open the window and scatter a few crumbs upon the porch, they -are soon hopping among the grateful morsels with twittering -thankfulness. And on a very cold day, should you leave the kitchen -window standing open, they will perch upon the sill and preen their -ruffled feathers. Always trusting and confiding when appreciated, but -often coy and distant for want of just such kindness. - -[Illustration: THE TWITCH-UP.] - -Although loving the cold, and choosing the winter season to be with us, -the snow-birds cannot hold their own against the little hardy chickadee. -Indeed, I sometimes think that this little frost-proof puff is happier -and more sprightly in proportion as the cold increases, and that even -the sight of a frozen thermometer would be, perhaps, an especial -inspiration for his song. Not so the little snow-birds. When those raw -and bitter winds sweep like a blight over the face of nature, their -little song is frozen, and their familiar forms are seen no more. You -hunt amid the evergreens and hedge-rows, but they are not there. But -when the shingle-vane on the old barn-gable veers and points toward the -south or west, should you chance to be in the neighborhood of the -barrack mow, you would hear the muffled twittering of the little thawing -voices underneath the conical roof. Here they have assembled among the -wheat-sheaves still unthreshed, finding a warm and cosy shelter--“a -pavilion till the storm is overpast.” - -The winter woods are full of life and beauty, if we will only look for -them. We do as much for the summer woods, why not for the winter? Were -we to seclude ourselves in-doors in June, and shut our eyes to all its -loveliness, it would be only what so many do from November till the -budding spring. In one respect, at least, the woods are even more -beautiful in winter than in summer; for in their height of leafy -splendor--sometimes to me almost oppressive in its universal -greenness--the true and living tree is hidden from sight, its exquisite -anatomy is concealed, and, to a certain degree, all the different trees -melt into a mass of “nothing but leaves.” - -No one ever sees the full charm of the forest who turns his back upon it -in the winter, for its clear-cut tree-forms are an unceasing delight and -wonder. Look at the exquisite lines of that drooping birch, the -intricate interlacing tracery of the minute branching twigs! Could -anything be more graceful or more chaste? could any covering of leaves -enhance its beauty? And so the apple-tree by the old stone wall--how -different its various angles! how individual in its character! how -beautiful its silhouette against the sky! Thus every separate tree -affords a perfect study, of infinite design. See that mottled beech -trunk yonder. What! never noticed it before? That was because its -drooping leaf-clad branches concealed its beauty; but now not only does -it emerge from its wonted obscurity, but the whiteness of the snowy -ground beyond gives added value to every subtle tint upon its dappled -surface. Step nearer. With what variety of exquisite tender grays has -nature painted the clean smooth bark! See those marbled variegations, -each spot with a distinct tint of its own, and each tint composed of a -multitude of microscopic points of color. Here we see a fimbriated -blotch of dark olive moss, spreading its intertwining rootlets in all -directions, and further up a spongy tuft of rich brown lichen tipped -with snow. Who could pass by unnoticed such a refined and exquisite bit -of painting as this? And yet they abound on every side. See the shingly -shagbark, with its mottlings of pale green lichen and orange spots, its -jagged outline so perfectly relieved against the snow, and, beyond, that -group of rock-maples, with its bold contrasts of deep green moss, and -striped tints of most varied shades, from lightest drab to deepest -brown. And there is the yellow birch with its tight-wound bark, fringed -with ravellings of buff-colored satin. Here we come upon a clump of -chestnuts, their cool trunks set off in bold relief against a background -of dark hemlocks, whose outer branches, clothed in snow, like tufted -mittens, hang low upon the ground. - -[Illustration: THE WINTER’S DARLING.] - -Passing from the wood, we now pick our way through a neglected by-path -shut in on either side with birches, whose brown and slender branches -spring from a trunk so white as to be almost lost in the background tint -of snow. At every step we dislodge the glistening wreaths of snowy -flakes from the bluish raspberry canes. The little withered nests on the -tips of the wild-carrot stems hurl their fleecy burden to the ground; -and each in turn the phantom shapes give place to homely yarrows, -golden-rods, or thistles. Further on we see a wild-rose branch with -scarlet berries, and further st--What’s that? A fleet-footed little -creature darts out almost from under our very feet, and bounds away into -the dark recess. That little cotton tail! what a tempting target it -always was for me! Lucky for you, my dear little fellow, that I am not a -boy again, or I’d set a snare for you in about ten minutes. This always -was a favorite haunt for hares, and if we had only kept our eyes open we -might have known it, for, see! all around us the snow is dotted with -hollows from their four little jumping foot-pads. - -[Illustration: “WHO’S THAT?”] - -Now we enter the old swamp lot, thick-set with bristling bulrushes and -bare and spindling brooms of iron-weed. Here is the little turtle pond, -from whose animated mud we fished the bugs and polly-wogs for our -aquarium. Now it is shrunken and cold with crackling ice. Around its -borders a thicket of black alder grows, its close-clinging scarlet -berries, half hid in summer by the overhanging foliage, now seen in all -their brilliancy and profusion, the brightest touches of color in -nature’s winter landscape. - -Soon we are walking over the soft and silent carpet in the pine grove’s -sombre shelter, stopping for one brief moment to listen to the sighing -wind overhead, and to inhale one long and lasting whiff of the delicious -invigorating aroma of the trees. - -Once more out in the open, our attention is arrested by a little stain -of blood upon the snow. Leading to the spot we see a row of tiny -imprints of some little field-mouse, and the white surface in close -vicinity is ruffled and disturbed. A cruel tragedy has been committed -here, and its evidence is plain, for there is but one line of wee -footprints from the little hole beneath the stump near by--no return. -Poor little fellow! I wish I had beneath my foot the sharp-eyed owl that -surprised you in your little antics on the snow. - -[Illustration: SUNSHINE AND SHADOW IN THE WOODS.] - -A deserted nest now hangs across our pathway, and as I look upon the -cold heap within its hollow, I wonder where are the little birds that -nestled beneath the mother’s wings in the cosy warmth of that cradled -home only a few short months ago. And now I am reminded that nearly all -this land through which we have been strolling belongs to Nathan Beers; -for there’s his house right across the road, only a few rods in front of -us. I cannot help but laugh as I look over into that old door-yard at -the incident it recalls. - -I remember how, about fifteen years ago, I came up through these very -woods into the clearing where we stand, and saw old Nathan, with -slouched straw hat and stoga boots, entering his front gate. He was -muttering and gesticulating to himself; and on the gravel behind him he -trailed along a huge steel trap and clinking chain. He evidently had a -strong opinion on _some_ subject, and I knew pretty well what that -subject _was_. - -“Hello, Nathan!” I ask, “what’s up?” - -He turns quickly, and I observe that his usually good-natured Yankee -face now wears a troubled expression. - -“My dander’s up--that’s what’s up,” he replies, a little sullenly. - -“They tell me you’ve been after a fox, Nathan; did you catch him?” - -“No, ’n I don’t cal’late to try agin nuther, he’s _airnt his livi’_ fer -all _me_;” and with an impetuous fling he sent the old trap into a -corner of the wood-shed. - -I am soon by his side, anxious to hear all about it. “What’s the fox -done?” I ask, eagerly. - -“What _hain’t_ he done, yeu better say. I never see nuthin’ t’ beat it -since uz born, ’n I’ve ketched tew er three on ’em afore naow, teu. I’ve -heern tell o’ them critters’ cunnin’, but I swaiou I alliz thort ez haow -folks wuz _coddi’_; but _thar_, yeu can’t tell me nuthin’ ’baout -_foxes_. It’s nigh cum a fortnit thet I’ve been arter thet feller, ’n I -swar teu gosh all hemlock! I hain’t got so much’s one on his pesky red -hairs teu _show_ for’t, ’n I’m _sick_ on’t. I tell ye that ar feller is -_mischievouser than pizen_, ’n his hed’s as long as a horse’s.” - -“Why, what’s he been doing, Nathan?” - -[Illustration: A SUNNY CORNER.] - -“_Doin’?_ why fer considerable of a spell back he’s bin hangin’ raoun’ -my hen-roost an’ pickin’ off my brammys; thet’s what he’s bin doin’, ’n -the _fust_ time I sot the trap I stuck it under some chaff in the hole -yender in the hen-haouse jest arter the hens hed gone ter -roost--cal’latin’ as haow I’d wait a spell, ’n then go ’n take it away. -I thort that ’ud fetch him sure; but _thar_, deu yeu b’leeve, I heern -thet feller cum’ sneakin’ along putty soon, ’n he cum’ raoun’ to t’other -side ’n scairt all the hens aout the hole. I heern a great squawkin’, ’n -I put fer the place ez tight ez I cud, ’n thar I see my best dorkin’ hen -in the trap. Ef I’d only gyn the feller time, like’s not he’d a chawed -off her leg, ’n lugged her off to his hole in the rocks yender. I tell -ye, everybody araoun’ what’s got hens hez hed to take thet feller’s -sass, ’n they’d orter be an end on’t. There’s old Reuben Scales, so poor -he hain’t got a pa’r o’ pants teu his back, ’n dependin’ on his faowls -fer his meat vittles; why, they tell me daown t’ the store thet he’s bin -jest _cleaned right aout_, ’n hain’t got even a ha’r-backed pullet left. -They ain’t no _gunni’_ nuther. Thet red-haired thief hez knabbed every -tarnal pattridge ’n Bob White they iz.” - -And so he went on for half an hour, telling me all the various -stratagems by which Reynard had outwitted him. - -“I set it thar in the pine woods in a bed of pine needles, with the ded -rabbit hangin’ over it, ’n the next day I see by the scratched up dirt -haow the feller hed jumped clean over the trap at a _lick_, ’n taken his -rabbit on a fly. Yeu kin laff; but what I’m tellin’ ye is az true az -preachin’. So yest’d’y I lit aout on a new idee, ’n set the trap on top -a stump cluss teu a tree ’n covered it with leaves. I hung the bait on -the tree higher up, ’n sez I, old feller, I’ve got ye naow, sez I. I -left it thar. I went daown thar agin this mornin’, ’n I’ve _jest cum_ -from thar. _No more fox fer me_; s’elp me gosh!” - -“Why,” I ask, “what was the matter down there, Nathan?” - -“Why, _blame my stogys_, ef the feller hadn’t gone ’n highsted the -clog-stick on the end o’ the chain, ’n shoved it agin the pan, ’n sprung -the trap on’t, ’n then stepped up and knabbed the bait. An’ I say thet -enny feller what’s got brains enuff fer thet, I swaiou he’d oughter -_live_ off’n um; ’n he _kin_ fer all _me_!” - -[Illustration: WINTER BROWSING.] - -It was too bad to have fooled old Nathan so; but then, you see, he had a -big farm, and was awfully stingy with us boys, and never would let us -set a rabbit snare on his place. He said it was “pesky _cruel_,” and -seemed to prefer the more humane way of wounding them with shot, and -breaking their necks afterward to end their sufferings. Nathan had kept -very quiet about his little game. There really was a very sly fox in the -neighborhood; but boys make good foxes too, sometimes. - -[Illustration: A JANUARY THAW.] - -Nathan’s house was a typical New England home, with slanting roof on one -side, and embowered in maples, and it had the most picturesque barn in -the neighborhood. Oh you good people far off in the country everywhere, -how I envy you these dear old barns! How much you ought to appreciate -their homely rustic beauty! But you never will, until, like me, you are -forced to live away from them, and to see them only through the golden -haze of memory. Then you will learn how great a part they took in -influencing your daily life and happiness. - -Was ever perfume sweeter than that all-pervading fragrance of the -sweet-scented hay? and was ever an interior so truly picturesque, so -full of quiet harmony? - -The lofty hay-mows piled nearly to the roof, the jagged axe-notched -beams overhung with cobwebs flecked with dust of hay-seed, with perhaps -a downy feather here and there. The rude, quaint hen boxes, with the -lone nest-egg in little nooks and corners. How vividly, how lovingly, I -recall each one! - -In those snow-bound days, when the white flakes shut in the earth down -deep beneath, and the drifts obstructed the highways, and we heard the -noisy teamsters, with snap of whip and exciting shouts, urge their -straining oxen through the solid barricade; when all the fences and -stone walls were almost lost to sight in the universal avalanche; and, -best of all, when the little district school-house upon the hill stood -in an impassable sea of snow--then we assembled in the old barn to play, -sought out every hidden corner in our game of hide-and-seek, or jumped -and frolicked in the hay, now stopping quietly to listen to the tiny -squeak of some rustling mouse near by, or, it may be, creeping -cautiously to the little hole up near the eaves in search of the -big-eyed owl we once caught napping there. In a hundred ways we passed -the fleeting hours. The general features of New England barns are all -alike; and the barn of memory is a garner full of treasure sweet as -new-mown hay. You remember the great broad double doors, which made -their sweeping circuit in the snow; the ruddy pumpkins, piled up in the -corner near the bins, and the wistful whinny of the old farm-horse, as -with pricked-up ears and eager pull of chain he urged your prompt -attention to your chores; the cows, too, in the manger stalls--how -pleasant their low breathing--how sweet their perfumed breath! Outside -the corn-crib stands, its golden stores gleaming through the open laths, -and the oxen, reaching with lapping upturned tongues, yearn for the -tempting feast, “so near and yet so far.” The party-colored hens group -themselves in rich contrast against the sunny boards of the -weather-beaten shed, and the ducks and geese, with rattling croak and -husky hiss, and quick vibrating tails (that strange contagion), waddle -across the slushy snow, and sail out upon the barn-yard pond. - -Here is the pile of husks from whose bleached and rustling sheaths you -picked the little ravellings of brown for your corn-silk cigarettes. Did -ever “pure Havana” taste as sweet? - -[Illustration: THE MOONLIGHT RIDE.] - -Near by we see the barracks stored with yellow sheaves of wheat. Soon we -shall hear the intermittent music of the beating flail on the old barn -floor, now chinking soft on the broken sheaf, now loud and clear on the -sounding boards. Upon the roof above we see the cooing doves, with -nodding heads and necks gleaming with iridescent sheen. Turning, in -another corner we look upon a miscellaneous group of ploughs and rakes -and all the farm utensils, and harness hanging on the wooden pegs. -There, too, is the little sleigh we love so well. Could it but speak, -how sweet a story it could tell of lovely drives through romantic glens -and moonlit woods, of tender squeezes of the little hand beneath the -covering robe, of whispered vows, and of the encircling arm--a shelter -from the cold and cruel wind! But no--I’ll say no more: these are -memories too sacred for the common ear. And there’s the carry-all sleigh -just by its side. How well you’ll remember the merry loads it carried, -its three wide seats and space between packed full of jolly company! How -the hard-pressed snow squeaked beneath the gliding runners, as with -prancing span and jingling bells you sped down through the village -street, with waving handkerchiefs and cheerful greetings right and left! -How with “ducking” heads and muffled screams you ran the gauntlet past -the school-house mob; saw them scrambling for “a hitch,” and with -tantalizing beckonings tipped your horses with the whip. Away you go -through the deep ravine, with a _jing, jing, jing_ on the frosty air, -with voices high in merry laughs, amid loud hurrahs from the -“boysterous” crowd now far behind. Now you speed through a mist of -drifting snow, and the rosy cheeks tingle with the stinging icy flakes -flying before the wind. Now comes another chorus of piercing screams, as -the laden hemlock bough, tapped with mischievous whip, hurls down its -fleecy avalanche on coat and robe, on jaunty little hat--yes, and on a -small pink ear, and even down a pretty neck. Ah me! How is it possible -that a shriek like that could come from a throat so fair? But so you go, -with a _jing, jing, jing_, now past the mill-pond with its game, now up -the hill, now through the woods and far away, now farther still, the -silvery bells now scarcely heard, now fainter yet, till lost to sight -and sound--but not to memory dear; for all through life we shall hear -those happy jingling bells. - -And when, with ruddy faces and stamping feet, we all rush in and crowd -the old fireplace, how welcome the glowing warmth, how keen the relish -for the appetizing spread upon the snow-white table-cloth: the smoking -dish of beans, with crisp accompaniment of luscious pork; the hot brown -bread so sweet; and, last of all, the far-famed Indian pudding, fresh -and steaming from the old brick oven! - -How distinctly I recall those long and happy evenings around that -radiant hearth, the games, the stories read from welcome magazines! -Little we cared for the howling storm without. I hear the tick of the -ancient clock in the corner shadowed by the old arm-chair; I see the -glimmer on the whitewashed wall, the festooned strings of apples, sliced -and hung above the fire to dry; I hear the patient, expectant stroke of -hammer on the upturned log, and now the crackling burst of the -rough-shelled butternut, yielding up its long and filmy kernel; I hear -the apples sizzling on the hearth, the puffy snap of pop-corn jumping in -its fiery cage, the kettle singing on the pendent hook--a thousand -things; and what a precious living picture of sweet home-life they all -bring back to me! - -But look! there is another hidden picture in the book of life--a -shadowed page, which we had well-nigh forgotten. See that crouching -figure in the dark, deserted street--that spurned and wretched outcast, -without a home, without a friend! Perhaps if that broken heart has not -already ceased to yearn, if the last spark has not yet been smothered by -the driving, covering snow, we might still hear the faint and stifled -sobs: - -[Illustration: THE SHADOWED PAGE.] - - “Once I was loved for my innocent grace, - Flattered and sought for the charm of my face. - Father, mother, sisters, all, - God, and myself, I have lost in my fall. - The veriest wretch that goes shivering by - Will take a wide sweep lest I wander too nigh, - For of all that is on or about me, I know, - There is nothing that’s pure but the beautiful snow. - How strange it should be that this beautiful snow - Should fall on a sinner with nowhere to go! - How strange it would be, when the night comes again, - If the snow and the ice struck my desperate brain, - Fainting, freezing, dying alone!” - -Life’s book is full of shadowed pages such as this; and it were well if -in the midst of our contented homes, around our cheerful fires, we -stopped to think and give a silent, heart-felt prayer for those who, by -some strange, inexplicable fatality, seem doomed to walk with cruel -burdens and with bleeding feet the path of life: no helping hand, no -friend, no hope, no God. - -What a terrible night! Hark how the wind moans, like a long wail from -some despairing soul shut out in the awful storm! The air is filled with -dense clouds of flying snow and sleet chased along by the gale. The -trees bend and writhe, and, as if in fear, scratch their boughs upon the -roof; the driving flakes beat with an angry, hissing sound upon the -window-panes, and for a moment there is a muffled, ominous silence. Now -comes a wild and furious gust, and a great white whirlwind sweeps with -serpentine contortions past the window and disappears in the thick -darkness of the night. Our very walls sway and tremble to their -foundation. The clap-boards snap, and some loosened blind is torn from -its hinges and hurled as a feather before the raging wind. We hear a -crash of breaking glass, the shaking of the old barn doors, and now a -frightened neigh, half smothered in the storm. - -Who would venture out in such a night as this? We shudder at the -thought, and yet there is one whose holy sense of duty will see no -barrier even in this fierce tempest. Even now he is urging his faithful -horse onward through the lonely road, cold and benumbed, but thinking -only of the suffering he hopes to relieve. - -How well I remember the welcome stamping at the front door, the chinking -rattle of the tin box sounding nearer and nearer up the stairs, the tall -and stately figure entering the room, clad in great-coat reaching nearly -to the floor, the genial smile bringing both hope and comfort with its -very presence! And what a noble face! the shapely forehead, the snowy -tufts of close-cut hair, the magnetic, penetrating eyes, so deep and -dark, looking out from beneath the heavy jet-black brows, and the -clean-shaven cheeks and chin, of almost child-like bloom, relieved -against the whiteness of the stock about the throat! Never before were -winter and summer so strangely and beautifully blended in a human face. -But we shall see that face no more. Physician, friend, companion, all -were laid away with him, and sad indeed was the day that bore him from -us. And now, as I look down upon that humble grave, I would that others, -with the reverence I feel, might read the sacred epitaph inscribed upon -my memory, of one whose only aim through life was the relief of -suffering and sorrow. In storm or calm, by day or night, he fulfilled -his holy mission. And when the fearful scourge swept o’er the town, and -filled its homes with woe; when friends deserted friends, and brothers -left their kin, this noble soul sought out the sick and dying, cared -tenderly for their sufferings until the end, and even laid the dead away -alone. A life of sacrifice, for rich or poor alike, without a thought of -self. Professing no religious faith--yea, _doubting_ even; but finding -in the precept of the “golden rule” an inspiration worthy the devotion -and the effort of his life: “By their _fruits_ ye shall know them.” - -[Illustration: THE GOOD PHYSICIAN.] - -And so the winter goes. It has its joys and its sorrows, its strong -contrasts of light and shadow. The bitter winds will freeze and rule the -earth, but the sun will shine again, and the very gloom transform to -glittering splendor. Soon we greet the lengthening days. The farmer -heeds the warning sign. The woods resound with the stroke of the axe and -crashing of falling trees; and the prostrate trunks are rolled upon the -sledge and hauled away “to mill;” the fields are strewn with compost, -and meadows sown with clover on the snow, fences are fixed, and hot-bed -started on the sunny slope; the cackling hens have felt the prophecy, -and steal away into snug little places among the hay-mows and the -mangers, and lay the foundation of their future brood; the climbing -bitter-sweet lets fall its scarlet seeds, and the little pussies on the -willows grow day by day. How eagerly I always watched these welcome -signs! for even though I loved the winter, I never sorrowed at its -departure in the face of coming spring, with its promises of the medleys -of the birds, of unfolding buds, and those sweet shy faces soon to peep -along the wood-path, and breathe their fragrance from among the withered -leaves. - -I remember, too, the faded butterfly, flitting about the wood-shed roof. -His wings were torn and jagged at their edges, and their feathery beauty -had nearly all been left among last summer’s flowers. Warned by November -frosts, he had sought his winter shelter in some chink or crevice among -the loosened boards, where, benumbed and dormant, he had spent the -winter, awaiting the warmth of the returning sun to thaw him out, and -once more coax him into the outer world. As early as February, should -the day be mild, he would come out of his mysterious concealment and -bask in the warm sunshine. Presently he alights upon the end of a -birch-log in the wood-pile, and sips the sweet exuding sap. He is soon -joined by another, and another, until a swarm has gathered at the feast. -As the day declines, they retire again to the wood-shed, and there, -huddled together on the rafters, await their next opportunity of mild -and sunny weather. Even in a January thaw I have seen one of these faded -butterflies that had left his hiding-place to tantalize a troop of hens -around the barn-yard door. - -I remember the torrent of rain and the freshet; the broken dams and -bridges washed away. The softened ground yielded up its subterranean -frosts; in all the trees the winter wounds bled with the quickened -pulse; the elder spigots in the sugar-maples trickled all the day; and -the neighboring farms echoed with the snap of whip and voice of eager -teamsters, as the busy plough turned the dark-brown furrows, or the -crushing harrow combed the crumbling mould. How welcome were the -evidences of returning life among the low meadow-lands, where -velvety-green tufts of sprouting grass circled the borders of the marshy -pools, and the golden willow twigs bathed the brook-side in a luminous -glow! Here, too, the alders hung their swinging tassels or trailed them -o’er the surface of the swollen stream. - -One by one the feathered flocks returned, and the little snow-birds and -the buntings, seeing their place usurped, left for the northward -region, to lend their cheerful voices to another winter. Then came a -beautiful day, with mild, earth-scented breezes, like very spring. But -at night the north wind came again to reassert its power, and the earth -was once more subdued beneath the snow. And so for weeks the north wind -battled with the sun, - -[Illustration: - - Till at last the sweet Arbutus - Nestling close on Nature’s breast - Felt a throb · a warm pulsation - Rouse it from its dreamy rest· - - Throwing wide its little portals - From its coverlet of snow - It peeped forth from the leafy shelter - Into a valley white below· - - “Am I dreaming? · Shall the Winter - Stifle and freeze my early breath - Nay · hark! · I hear the Bluebird singing - ’Spring has come’ he answereth· - - “Ah! Frost-flower in thy grotto yonder - Crystal sun-gem white and clear - Thy reign must cease when I awaken - Farewell! pale bloom · thy fate draws near· - - Bleak Winter is thine - Love’s Spring-time is mine· -] - - - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Pastoral Days, by William Hamilton Gibson - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PASTORAL DAYS *** - -***** This file should be named 41278-0.txt or 41278-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/1/2/7/41278/ - -Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images available at The Internet Archive) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Thus, we do not necessarily -keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. - - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: - - http://www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/old/41278-0.zip b/old/41278-0.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index a41129c..0000000 --- a/old/41278-0.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/41278-8.txt b/old/41278-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 2797ca4..0000000 --- a/old/41278-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,4122 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Pastoral Days, by William Hamilton Gibson - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: Pastoral Days - or Memories of a New England Year - -Author: William Hamilton Gibson - -Release Date: November 3, 2012 [EBook #41278] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PASTORAL DAYS *** - - - - -Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images available at The Internet Archive) - - - - - - - - -PASTORAL DAYS - - - - -PASTORAL DAYS -OR -MEMORIES OF A NEW ENGLAND YEAR - -BY - -W. HAMILTON GIBSON - -Illustrated - -NEW YORK - -HARPER & BROTHERS, FRANKLIN SQUARE - -1881 - -Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1880, by - -HARPER & BROTHERS, - -In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. - -_All rights reserved._ - - -TO - -ONE WHOSE CLOSE COMPANIONSHIP - -HAS WROUGHT THAT HARMONY AND PEACE OF MIND FROM WHICH THIS -BOOK HAS SPRUNG, AND TO WHOM ITS EVERY PAGE RECALLS -A REMINISCENCE OF THE PAST IDENTIFIED -WITH MEMORIES OF MY OWN - -This Memoir is Lovingly Inscribed - -OUR SOUVENIR - -[Illustration] - - - - -THE CYCLE. - - -SPRING: PAGE - -_The Awakening_.....19 - -SUMMER: - -_The Consummation_.....51 - -AUTUMN: - -_The Waning_.....91 - -WINTER: - -_The Sleep_.....125 - - - - -ILLUSTRATIONS. - -DESIGNED BY W. HAMILTON GIBSON. - - -TITLE. ENGRAVER.....PAGE - -THE KINDLED FLAME W. H. CLARK.....18 - -THE AWAKENING H. GRAY.....19 - -A SPRING MORNING F. S. KING.....21 - -CATKINS JOHN FILMER.....23 - -PUSSIES " ".....23 - -EARLY PLOUGHING H. WOLF.....25 - -THE RETURN FROM THE FIELDS GEORGE SMITH.....26 - -VOICES OF THE NIGHT JOHN FILMER.....27 - -A RAINY DAY J. HELLAWELL.....29 - -A HANDFUL FROM THE WOODS H. GRAY.....32 - -AFTER ARBUTUS J. TINKEY.....34 - -THE FAIRY FROND J. P. DAVIS.....35 - -AN APRIL DAY GEORGE SMITH.....36 - -AMONG THE WILD FLOWERS SMITHWICK and FRENCH.....37 - -THE COLUMBINE R. HOSKIN.....38 - -THE MEADOW BROOK " ".....40 - -THE PHOEBE'S NEST W. H. MORSE.....41 - -BUILDING THE NEST HENRY MARSH.....42 - -IN THE APPLE ORCHARD R. HOSKIN.....43 - -LITTLE PLUNDERERS A. HAYMAN.....45 - -ONE OF NATURE'S MARVELS H. MARSH.....46 - -BLUE-FLAGS R. HOSKIN.....47 - -THE CONSUMING FLAME W. H. CLARK.....50 - -THE CONSUMMATION N. ORR.....51 - -DOLCE FAR NIENTE F. S. KING.....55 - -THE OLD GARRET F. JUENGLING.....56 - -AMID THE GRASSES F. S. KING.....58 - -EVEN-TIDE G. KRUELL.....60 - -THROUGH THE SEDGES R. HOSKIN.....62 - -AMONG THE BOGS J. TINKEY.....63 - -SOME ART CONNOISSEURS R. HOSKIN.....64 - -PROFESSOR WIGGLER J. FILMER.....65 - -THE TYRANT OF THE FIELDS H. E. SCHULTZ.....67 - -FAMILIAR FACES AT THE -VILLAGE STORE R. A. MULLER.....70 - -A SOUVENIR SMITHWICK and FRENCH.....72 - -ALONG THE HOUSATONIC GEORGE SMITH.....74 - -JUDD'S BRIDGE P. ANNIN.....78 - -THE HAUNTED MILL J. HELLAWELL.....79 - -PURSUERS AND PURSUED GEORGE ANDREW.....81 - -TOLLING FOR THE DEAD R. SCHELLING.....83 - -WRECKS OF THE TORNADO J. FILMER.....84 - -PASSING THOUGHTS H. GRAY.....86 - -THE SMOULDERING FLAME " ".....90 - -THE WANING A. HAYMAN.....91 - -"EVERY BREEZE A SIGH" F. S. KING.....93 - -AN OCTOBER DAY SMITHWICK and FRENCH.....96 - -A WAY-SIDE PASTORAL J. HELLAWELL.....97 - -WAIFS HENRY MARSH.....100 - -IN THE CORNFIELD W. MILLER.....102 - -THE ROAD TO THE MILL E. HELD.....105 - -THE CIDER-MILL J. P. DAVIS.....107 - -THE "LINE STORM" R. HOSKIN.....109 - -A POINTED REMINDER J. FILMER.....111 - -AFTER THE SHELL-BARKS GEORGE SMITH.....113 - -A CORNER OF THE FARM J. TINKEY.....115 - -BEECH-NUTTING W. H. MORSE.....118 - -THE NORTH WIND MORSE and HOSKIN.....120 - -DESERTED HENRY DEIS.....121 - -THE FLAME EXTINGUISHED H. GRAY.....124 - -THE SLEEP J. TINKEY.....125 - -THE TOMB J. P. DAVIS.....127 - -SNOW-FLAKES OF MEMORY GEORGE SMITH.....129 - -THE OLD MILL-POND H. GRAY.....131 - -THE FIRST SNOW GEORGE SMITH.....133 - -MUTE PROPHECIES H. E. SCHULTZ.....135 - -THE TWITCH-UP F. S. KING.....137 - -THE WINTER'S DARLING HENRY MARSH.....139 - -WHO'S THAT? H. WOLF.....140 - -SUNSHINE AND SHADOW IN THE -WOODS R. HOSKIN.....141 - -A SUNNY CORNER W. H. MORSE.....143 - -WINTER BROWSING SMITHWICK and FRENCH.....144 - -A JANUARY THAW J. FILMER.....145 - -THE MOONLIGHT RIDE J. HELLAWELL.....147 - -THE SHADOWED PAGE J. TINKEY.....149 - -THE GOOD PHYSICIAN R. SCHELLING.....151 - -THE FULFILMENT SMITHWICK and FRENCH.....153 - - - - -SPRING. - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration: THE AWAKENING] - -[Illustration] - - -As far as the eye can reach, the snow lies in a deep mantle over the -cheerless landscape. I look out upon a dreary moor, where the horizon -melts into the cold gray of a heavy sky. The restless wind sweeps with -pitiless blast through shivering trees and over bleak hills, from whose -crests, like a great white veil, the clouds of hoary flakes are lifted -and drawn along by the gale. Down the upland slope, across the -undulating field, the blinding drift, like a thing of life, speeds in -its wild caprice, now swirling in fantastic eddies around some isolated -stack, half hidden in its chill embrace, now winding away over -bare-blown wall and scraggy fence, and through the sighing willows near -the frozen stream; now with a wild whirl it flies aloft, and the dark -pines and hemlocks on the mountain-side fade away in its icy mist. -Again, yonder it appears trailing along the meadow, until, flying like -some fugitive spirit chased from earth by the howling wind, it vanishes -in the sky. On every side these winged phantoms lead their flying chase -across the dreary landscape, and fence and barn and house upon the hill -in turn are dimmed or lost to sight. - -Who has not watched the strange antics of the drifting snow whirling -past the window on a blustering winter's day? But this is not a winter's -day. This is the advent of a New England spring. - -Fortunate are we that its promises are not fulfilled, for the ides of -March might as oft betoken the approach of a tempestuous winter as of a -balmy spring. Consecrated to Mars and Tantalus, it is a month of -contradictions and disappointments, of broken promises and incessant -warfare. It is the struggle of tender awakening life against the -buffetings of rude and blighting elements. No man can tell what a day -may bring forth. Now we look out verily upon bleak December; -to-morrow--who knows?--we may be transported into May, and, with -aspirations high, feel our ardor cooled by a blast of ice and a blinding -fall of snow. But this cannot always last, for soon the southern breezes -come and hold their sway for days, and the north wind, angry in its -defeat, is driven back in lowering clouds to the region of eternal ice -and snow. Then comes a lovely day, without even a cloud--all blue above, -all dazzling white below. The sun shines with a glowing warmth, and we -say unto ourselves, "This is, indeed, a harbinger of spring." The -sugar-maples throb and trickle with the flowing sap, and the lumbering -ox-team and sled wind through the woods from tree to tree to relieve the -overflowing buckets. The boiling caldron in the sugar-house near by -receives the continual supply, and gives forth that sweet-scented steam -that issues from the open door, and comes to us in occasional welcome -whiffs across the snow. Long "wedges" of wild-geese are seen cleaving -the sky in their northward flight. The little pussies on the willows -are coaxed from their winter nest, and creep out upon the stem. The -solitary bluebird makes his appearance, flitting along the thickets and -stone walls with little hesitating warble, as if it were not yet the -appointed time to sing; and down among the bogs, that cautious little -pioneer, the swamp-cabbage flower, peers above the ground beneath his -purple-spotted hood. He knows the fickle month which gives him birth, -and keeps well under cover. - -[Illustration: CATKINS.] - -[Illustration: PUSSIES.] - -Such days in March are too perfect to endure, and at night the sky is -overcast and dark. Then follows a long warm rain that unlocks the ice in -all the streams. The whiteness of the hills and meadows melts into broad -contracting strips and patches. One by one, as mere specks upon the -landscape, these vanish in turn, until the last vestige of winter is -washed from the face of the earth to swell the tide of the rushing -stream. Even now, from the distant valley, we hear a continuous muffled -roar, as the mighty freshet, impelled by an irresistible force, ploughs -its tortuous channel through the lowlands and ravines. The quiet town is -filled with an unusual commotion. Excited groups of towns-people crowd -the village store, and eager voices tell of the havoc wrought by the -fearful flood. We hear how the old toll-bridge, with tollman's house and -all, was lifted from its piers like a pile of straw, and whirled away -upon the current. How its floating timbers, in a great blockade, crushed -into the old mill-pond; how the dam had burst, and the rickety red -saw-mill gone to pieces down the stream. Farmer Nathan's barn had gone, -and his flat meadows were like a whirling sea, strewn with floating -rails and driftwood. Every hour records its new disaster as some eager -messenger returns from the excited crowds which line the river-bank. How -well I remember the fascinating excitement of the spring freshet as I -watched the rising water in the big swamp lot, anxious lest it might -creep up and undermine the wall foundations of the barn! And what a -royal raft I made from the drifting logs and beams, and with the spirit -of an adventurous explorer sailed out on the deep gliding current, -floating high among the branches of the half submerged willow-trees, and -scraping over the tips of the tallest alder-bushes, whose highest twigs -now hardly reached the surface! How deep and dark the water looked as I -lay upon the raft and peered into the depths below! But this jolly fun -was of but short duration. The flood soon subsided, and on the following -morning nothing was seen excepting the settlings of _dbris_ strewn -helter-skelter over the meadow, and hanging on all the bushes. - -The tepid rain has penetrated deep into the yielding ground, and with -the winter's frost now coming to the surface, the roads are well-nigh -impassable with their plethora of mud. For a full appreciation of _mud_ -in all its glory, and in its superlative degree, one should see a New -England highway "when the frost comes out of the ground." The roads are -furrowed with deep grimy ruts, in which the bedabbled wheels sink to -their hubs as in a quicksand, and the hoofs of the floundering horse are -held in the swampy depths as if in a vise. For a week or more this state -of things continues, until at length, after warm winds and sunny days, -the ground once more packs firm beneath the tread. This marks the close -of idle days. The junk pile in the barn is invaded, and the rusty plough -abstracted from the midst of rakes and scythes and other farming tools. -The old white horse thrusts his long head from the stall near by, and -whinnies at the memories it revives, and with pricked-up ears and -whisking tail tells plainly of the eagerness he feels. - -[Illustration: EARLY PLOUGHING.] - -Back and forth through the sloping lot the ploughman slowly turns the -dingy sward, and in the rich brown furrow, following in his track, we -see the cackling troop of hens, and the lordly rooster, with great ado, -searches out the dainty tidbits for his motley crowd of favorites. The -whole landscape has become infused with human life and motion. Wherever -the eye may turn it sees the evidences of varied and hopeful industry. -Yonder we notice an oft-recurring little puff of mist, like a burlesque -snow-drift, ever and anon bursting into view, and softly vanishing -against the sward; another glance detects the slow progress of horse and -cart, as the farmer sows his load of plaster across the whitening field. -Farther up, where the brow of the hill stands clear against the sky, a -pacing figure, with measured sweep of arm, scatters the handfuls of -wheat, and team and harrow soon are in his path, combing and crumbling -the dark-brown mould. High curling wreaths of smoke wind upward from the -flat swamp lot beyond, where hilarious boys enjoy both work and play in -burning off the brush. Here we shall see the first welcome nibble of -fresh grass for the poor bereaved cow, whose lamenting bleat now echoes -through the barn near by; and for those oxen, too, that with swaying, -clumsy gait lug the huge roller across the neighboring field. And what -strange yells and exclamations guide them in their labored progress! "Ho -back! Gee up, ahoy! Ho haw!" From every direction, in voices near, and -others faint with distance, we hear this same queer jargon. Who could -believe that so much good work hung upon the incessant reiteration of -that brief and monotonous vocabulary? Rather would we listen to the -musical ring of the laughing children riding on the big "brush harrow" -down through that barn-yard lane beyond. Now they are out upon the -broken ground where John has strewn the "compost" to be "brushed in." A -broad flat wake follows them around the field, and that same troop of -hens and turkeys revel in the lively feast spread out before them in the -loose upturning. - -[Illustration: RETURN FROM THE FIELDS.] - -[Illustration: VOICES OF THE NIGHT.] - -So runs the record of a busy day in the early New England springtime, -and with its all-absorbing industry it is a day that passes quickly. The -afternoon runs into evening. Cool shadows creep across the landscape as -the glowing sun sinks through the still bare and leafless trees and -disappears behind the wooded hills. The fields are now deserted, and -through the uncertain twilight we see the little knots of workmen with -their swinging pails, and hear their tramp along the homeward road. In -the dim shadows of the evergreens beyond, a faint gray object steals -into view. Now it stops at the old watering-trough, and I hear the sip -of the eager horse and the splash of overflowing water. Some belated -ploughman, fresh, perhaps, from a half-hour's gossip at the village -store. I hear the sound of hoofs upon the stones as they renew their -way, the dragging of the chain upon the gravelly bed, and the receding -form is lost in the darkening road. One by one the scattered barns and -houses have disappeared in the gathering dusk, marked only by the faint -columns of blue smoke that rise above the trees, and melt away against -the twilight sky. I look out upon a wilderness of gloom, where all above -is still and clear, and all below is wrapped in impenetrable mystery. A -plaintive piping trill now breaks the impressive stillness. Again and -again I hear the little lonely voice vibrating through the low-lying -mist. It is only a little frog in some far-off marsh; but what a sweet -sense of sadness is awakened by that lowly melody! How its weird minor -key, with its magic touch, unlocks the treasures of the heart. Only the -peeping of a frog; but where in all the varied voices of the night, -where, even among the great chorus of nature's sweetest music, is there -another song so lulling in its dreamy melody, so full of that emotive -charm which quickens the human heart? How often in the vague spring -twilight have I yielded to the strange, fascinating melancholy awakened -by the frog's low murmur at the water's edge! How many times have I -lingered near some swampy roadside bog, and let these little wizards -weave their mystic spell about my willing senses, while the very air -seemed to quiver in the fulness of their song! I remember the tangle of -tall and withered rushes, through whose mysterious depths the eye in -vain would strive to penetrate at the sound of some faint splash or -ripple, or perhaps at the quaint, high-keyed note of some little -isolated hermit, piping in his sombre solitude. I recall the first -glimpse of the rising moon, as its great golden face peered out at me -from over the distant hill, enclosing half the summit against its broad -and luminous surface. Slowly and steadily it seemed to steal into view, -until, risen in all its fulness, I caught its image in the trembling -ripples at the edge of the soggy pool, where the palpitating water -responded to the frog's low, tremulous monotone. Higher and higher it -sails across the inky sky, its glow now changed to a silvery pallor, -across whose white halo, in a floating film, the ghostly clouds glide in -their silent flight. A dull tinkling of some distant cow-bell breaks -the spell, and recalls my wandering thoughts, and as I again take up my -way along the moonlit road, the glimmering windows on right and left -betray the hiding-places of a score of humble homes. Not far beyond I -see the swinging motion of a flickering lantern, as some tardy farmer's -boy, whistling about his work, clears up his nightly chores. Now he -enters the old barn-door. I see the light glinting through the open -cracks, and hear the lowing of the cows, the bleating of the baby-calf, -and rattling chains of oxen in the stanchion rows. Now again I catch the -gleam at the open door; the swinging light flits across the yard, and -the old corn-crib starts from its obscurity. I see the boyish figure -relieved against the glow within as a basketful of yellow ears are -gathered for the impatient mouths in the noisy manger stalls. Sing on, -my boy, enjoy it while you may! That venerable barn will yield a -fragrance to you in after-life that will conjure up in your heart a -throng of memories as countless as the shining grains that glimmer in -the light you hold, and as golden, too, as they. I wonder if those -soft-winged bats squeak among the clapboards, or make their fluttering -zigzag swoops about your lantern as they were wont to do in olden times. - -Then there was that big-eyed owl, too, that perched upon the maple-tree -outside my window, and cried as if its heart would break at the doleful -tidings it foretold. What a world of kind solicitude that dolorous bird -awakened in our superstitious neighbor across the road! How she -overwhelmed us with her sympathy, aroused by that sepulchral omen! But I -still live, and so does the owl, for aught I know; and I sometimes think -that this aged, stooping dame over the way has never fully recovered -from her disappointment, for she always greets me with a sigh and an -injured expression, as she says, in her high and tremulous voice, "Well! -well! back agin ez hale 'n hearty 's ever; an' arter the way thet ar -witch bird yewst teu call ye, too, night arter night. Jest teu _think_ -on't! an' we'd all a' gi'n ye up fer sartin. Well! well! I never see the -beat on't. Yen deu seem teu hang on _paowerful_;" and, after a moment's -hesitation, seemingly in which to swallow the bitter pill, she usually -adds, with sad solicitude, "Feelin' perty _tol'ble teu_, I spose?" But -the "witch bird" never roused my serious apprehensions. I remember its -plaintive cry only as a tender bit of pathos in the pages of my early -history. - -[Illustration: A RAINY DAY.] - -I recall, too, the pleasant sound upon the shingles overhead as the -dark-clouded sky let fall its tell-tale drops to warn us of the coming -rain. How many times have I glided into dream-land under the drowsy -influence of the patter on the roof, and the ever varying tattoo upon -the tin beneath the dripping eaves! Who can forget those rainy days, -with their games of hide-and-seek in the old dark garret! How we looked -out upon the muddy puddled road, and laughed at the great drifting -sheets of water that ever and anon poured down from some bursting cloud, -and roared upon the roof! And as the driving rain beat against the -blurred window-panes, what strange capers the squirming tree-trunks -outside seemed to play for our amusement: the dark door-way of the barn, -too--now swelling out to twice its size, now stretching long and thin, -or dividing in the middle in its queer contortions. Out in the dismal -barn-yard we saw the forlorn row of hens huddled together on the -hay-rick, under the drizzling straw-thatched shed; and the gabled coop -near by, in whose dry retreat the motherly old hen spread her tawny -wings, and yielded the warmth of her ruffled breast to the tender needs -of her little family, peeping so contentedly beneath her. The rain-proof -ducks dabble in the neighboring puddles, and chew the muddy water in -search of floating dainties, or gulp with nodding heads the unlucky -angle-worms which come struggling to the surface--drowned out of their -subterranean tunnels. - -Now we hear the snapping of the latch at the foot of the garret stairs, -and we are called to come and see a little outcast that John has brought -in from the wood-pile. Close beside the kitchen-stove a doubled piece of -blanket lies upon the floor, and within its folds we find what once was -a downy little chicken, now drenched and dying from exposure. He was a -naughty, wayward child, and would persist in thinking that he knew more -than his mother. At least so I was told--indeed, it was impressed upon -me. But the little fellow was rescued just in time. The warmth will soon -revive him, and by-and-by we shall hear his little chirp and see him -trot around the kitchen-floor, pecking at that everlasting fly, perhaps, -or at some tiny red-hot coal that snaps out from the stove. - -Little did we suspect the mission of those rainy days, so drear and -dismal without, or the sweet surprise preparing for us in the myriad -mysteries of life beneath the sod, where every root and thread-like -rootlet in the thirsty earth was drinking in that welcome moisture, and -numberless sleeping germs, dwelling in darkness, were awakening into -life to seek the light of day, waiting only for the glory of a sunny -dawn to burst forth from their hiding-places! That sunny morn does come -at last, and in its beams it sheds abroad a power that stirs the deepest -root. It is, indeed, a glorious day. The clustered buds upon the -silver-maples burst in their exuberance, and fringe the graceful -branches with their silken tassels. The restless crocus, for months an -unwilling captive in its winter prison, can contain itself no longer, -and with its little overflowing cup lifts up its face to the blue -heaven. Golden daffodils burst into bloom on drooping stems, and -exchange their little nods on right and left. The air is filled with a -faint perfume, in which the very earth mould yields its fragrance--that -wild aroma only known to spring. Our little feathered friends, so few -and far between as yet, are full of song. The bluebird wooes his mate -with a loving warble, full of tender sweetness, as they flit among the -swaying twigs, or pry with diligent search for some snug nesting-place -among the hollow crannies of the orchard trees. The noisy blackbirds -hold high carnival in the top of the old pine-tree, the woodpecker taps -upon the hollow limb his resonant tattoo, and the hungry crows, like a -posse of tramps, hang around the great oak-tree upon the knoll, and -watch to see what they can steal. Down through the meadow the gurgling -stream babbles as of old, and along its fretted banks the alder thickets -are hanging full with drooping catkins swinging at every breeze. The -glossy willow-buds throw off their coat of fur, and plume themselves in -their wealth of inflorescence, lighting up the brook-side with a yellow -glow, and exhaling a fresh, delicious perfume. Here, too, we hear the -rattling screech of the swooping kingfisher, as with quick beats of wing -he skims along the surface of the stream, and with an ascending glide -settles upon the overhanging branch above the ripples. All these and a -thousand more I vividly recall from the memory of that New England -spring; but sweetest of all its manifold surprises was that crowning -consummation, that miracle of a single night, bringing on countless -wings through the early morning mist the welcome chorus of the returning -flocks of birds. How they swarmed the orchard and the elms, where but -yesterday the bluebird held his sway! Now we see the fiery oriole in his -gold and jetty velvet flashing in the morning sun, and robins without -number swell their ruddy throats in a continuous roundelay of song. The -pert cat-bird in his Quaker garb is here, and with flippant jerk of tail -and impertinent mew bustles about among the arbor-vits, where even now -are remnants of his last year's nest. The puffy wrens, too, what saucy, -sputtering little bursts of glee are theirs as they strut upon the -rustic boxes in the maples! The fields are vocal with their sweet spring -medley, in which the happy carols of the linnets and the song sparrows -form a continuous pastoral. Now we hear the mellow bell of the wood -thrush echoing from some neighboring tree, and all intermingled with the -chatter and the gossip of the martens on their lofty house. Birds in the -sky, birds in the trees and on the ground, birds everywhere, and not a -silent throat among them; but from far and near, from mountain-side and -meadow, from earth and sky, uniting in a happy choral of perpetual -jubilee. - -[Illustration: A HANDFUL FROM THE WOODS.] - -Down in the moist green swamp lot the yellow cowslips bloom along the -shallow ditch, and the eager farmer's wife fills her basket with the -succulent leaves she has been watching for so long; for they'll tell you -in New England that "they ain't noth'n' like caowslips for a mess o' -greens." Near by we see the frog pond, with lush growth of arrow leaves -and pickerel weed, and flat blades of blue-flag just starting from the -boggy earth. Half submerged upon a lily pad, close by the water's edge, -an ugly toad sits watching for some winged morsel for that ample mouth -of his. - -Who could believe that so much poetic inspiration could emerge from such -a mouth as that; for verily it is this miserable-looking toad that lifts -his little voice in the dreamy, drowsy chorus of the twilight. All sorts -of odium have been heaped upon the innocent toad; but he only returns -good for evil. He is the farmer's faithful friend. He guards his garden -by day, and lulls him to sleep by night. Yonder, near those withered -cat-tails, we see the village boys among the calamus-beds, pulling up -the long white roots tipped with pink and fringed with trickling -rootlets. What visions of candied flag-root stimulate them in their -zeal! I can almost see the tender, juicy leaf-bud screened beneath that -smooth pink sheath, and its aromatic pungency is as fresh and real to me -as this appetizing fragrance that comes to us from the green tufts of -spearmint we crush beneath our feet at every step. Bevies of swallows -all around us skim through the air, like feathered darts, in their -twittering flight; and the restless starling, like a field-marshal, with -his scarlet epaulets, keeps sharp lookout for the enemy, and "flutes his -O-ka-lee" from the high alder-bush at the slightest approach upon his -chosen ground. Yonder on the wooded slope the feathery shad-tree blooms, -like a suspended cloud of drifting snow lingering among the gray twigs -and branches; and chasing across the matted leaves beneath, a lively -troop of youngsters, girls and boys, make the woods resound with their -boisterous jubilee. A jolly band of fugitives fresh from the stormy -week's captivity--spring buds bursting with life, with a pent-up store -of spirits that finds escape in an effervescence of ringing laughs and -in a din of incessant jabber. Well I know the buoyant exhilaration that -impels them on in their reckless frolic, as they skip from stone to -stone across the rippling stream, or "stump" each other on the -treacherous crossing-pole which spans the deep still current! Now I see -them huddle around the trickling grotto among the mossy bowlders in the -steep gully yonder, where the mountain spring bubbles into a crystal -pool. Alas! how quickly its faint blue border of hepaticas is rifled by -the ruthless mob! Now they clamber up the great gray rocks beneath the -drooping hemlocks, stopping in their headlong zeal to snatch some -trembling cluster of anemone, nodding from its velvety bed of moss; now -plunging down on hands and knees, shedding innocent blood among an -unsuspecting colony of fragile bloom--those glowing blossoms so welcome -in the early spring! Who does not know the bloodroot--that shy recluse -hiding away among the mountain nooks, that emblem of chaste purity with -its bridal ring of purest gold? Who has not seen its tender leaf-wrapped -buds lifting the matted leaves, and spreading their galaxy of snowy -stars along the woodland path? - -Then there was the shy arbutus, too. Where in all the world's bouquet is -there another such a darling of a flower? And where in all New England -does that darling show so full and sweet a face as in its home upon that -sunny slope I have in mind, and know so well? Was ever such a fragrant -tufted carpet spread beneath a hesitating foot? Even now, along the -lichen-dappled wall upon the summit, I see the lingering strip of snow, -gritty and speckled, and at its very edge, hiding beneath the covering -leaves, those modest little faces looking out at me--faces which seemed -to blush a deeper pink at their rude discovery. No other flower can -breathe the perfume of the arbutus, that earthy, spicy fragrance, which -seems as though distilled from the very leaf-mould at its roots. Often -on this sunny slope, so sheltered by dense pines and hemlocks, have -these charming clusters, pink and white, burst into bloom beneath the -snow in March; and even on a certain late February day, we discovered a -little, solitary clump, fully spread, and fairly ruddy with the cold. -Here, too, we found the earliest sprays of the slender maidenhair; that -fairy frond and loveliest among ferns, with black and lustrous stems, -and graceful spread of tender gauzy green. - -[Illustration: AFTER ARBUTUS.] - -Where was the nook in all that hill-side woods that we left unsearched -in our April ramblings? I recall the "tat," "tat" upon the dry carpet of -beech leaves, as the delicate anemone in my hand is dashed by a falling -drop! Lost in eager occupation, we had not observed the shadow that had -stolen through the forest; and now, as we look out through the trees, we -see the steel-blue warning of the coming shower, and feel the first gust -of the tell-tale breeze--how the willows wave and gleam against the deep -gray clouds, so weirdly reflected in the gliding stream beneath, like an -open seam to another sky! See the silvery flashes of that flock of -pigeons circling against the lurid background. No, we cannot stop to -see them, for the rain-drops begin to patter thick and fast. Away we -scamper to the shelter of the overhanging rocks. The lowering sky rolls -above us through the branches. The glassy surface of the brook takes on -a leaden hue as the rain-cloud drags its misty veil across the distant -meadows. The brown leaves jump and spatter at my feet, and the blue -liverwort flowers on right and left duck their heads like little living -things dodging the pelting rain-drops. - -[Illustration: THE FAIRY FROND.] - -Oh, the lovely fickleness an April day! Even now the distant hill is lit -up by the bursting sun. Nearer and nearer the gleam creeps across the -landscape, chasing the shower away, and in a moment more the meadows -glow with a freshened green, and the trees stand transfigured in -glistening beads flashing in the sunbeams. The quickened earth gives -forth its grateful incense, and even an enthusiastic frog down in the -lily-pond sends up his little vote of thanks. - -[Illustration: AN APRIL DAY.] - -April's woods are teeming with all forms of life, if one will only look -for them. On every side the ferns, curled up all winter in their dormant -sleep, unroll their spiral sprays, and reach out for the welcome sun. -The spicy colt's-foot, or wild ginger, lifts its downy leaves among the -mossy rocks and crevices, and its homely flower just peeps above the -ground, and, with a lingering glance at the blushing _Rue anemone_ close -by, hangs its humble head, never to look up again. High above us the -eccentric cottonwood-tree dangles its long speckled plumes, so silvery -white. Now we hear a mellow drumming sound, as some unsuspecting grouse, -concealed among the undergrowth near by, beats his resonant breast. -Could we but get a glimpse of him, we would see him simulate the -barn-yard gobbler, as with proud strut and spreading tail he disports -himself upon some fallen log or mossy rock. Perhaps, too, that coy mate -is near, admiring his show of gallantry, and holding a sly flirtation. - -[Illustration: AMONG THE WILD FLOWERS.] - -Look at this craggy precipice of rock, lost above among the -green-tasselled evergreens, and trickling with crystal drops from every -drooping sprig of moss. How its rugged surface is painted with the -mottled lichens of every hue, here like a faint tinge of cool -sage-green, and there in large brown blotches of rich color! See the -fringe of ferns that bursts from the fissure across its surface. There -the trillium hangs its three-cleft flower of rich maroon; and later we -shall see the fern-like spray of Solomon's-seal swinging its little row -of straw-colored bells from the ledge above. Airy columbines, too, shall -float their scarlet pendants on fragile stems, and with their graceful -nod tell of the slightest breeze, when all else is still. What is that -cinnamon-brown bird that hops along the stone wall yonder? Now he -alights upon the tulip-tree, and swells his speckled breast in a series -of short experiments--a broken song, in which every note or call has -its twin echo. A "mocking-thrush" he is, indeed, for he mimics his own -song from morn till night in all the thickets and pasture-lands. Take -care there! why, you almost trod upon that feathery tuft of "Dutchman's -breeches." Oh, who is he that dared to clothe this sweet blossom in such -an ignominious title? Where is the Dutchman that ever wore -unmentionables of such exquisite pink satin as that pale _dicentra_ -wears? No wonder their little broken hearts droop at the insult! - -[Illustration: THE COLUMBINE.] - -The grotesque Jack-in-the-pulpit, rising above that crumbling log, is -named more to my mind. There he stands beneath his striped canopy, and -preaches to me a sermon on the well-remembered rashness of my youth in -trifling with that subterranean bulb from which he grows. But I ignored -his warning in those early days. I only knew that a real nice boy across -the way seemed very fond of those little Indian turnips, called them -"sugar-roots," and said that they were full of honey. And as he bit off -his eager mouthful, and refused to let me taste, I sought one for -myself, and, generous boy that he was, he showed me where to find the -buried treasure. It was like a small turnip, an innocent-looking affair -(and so was the nice boy's modelled piece of apple, by-the-way). But oh! -the sudden revelation of the red-hot reservoir of chain-lightning that -crammed that innocent bulb! Even as I think of it, how I long once more -to interview that real nice boy who opened up the mysteries of the -"sugar-root" to my tempted curiosity. Let boys beware of this wild, -red-hot coal; and should they be impelled by a desire to test the -unknown flavor, let them solace themselves with a less dangerous mixture -of four papers of cambric needles and a spoonful of pounded glass. This -will give a faint suggestion of the racy pungency of the Indian turnip. -Were some kind friend at the present day to seek to kill me off with -poisoned food, I should forthwith have him arrested on a charge of -attempted murder, and incarcerated in the county jail. But what would be -wilful homicide in the man is only a guileless proof of friendship in -the boy, and his affections and their symptoms present a living paradox; -and those boisterous days, with all their fond caresses in the way of -fights and bruises and black eyes, and even Indian turnips, we all agree -were full of fun the like of which we never shall see again. - -[Illustration: MEADOW BROOK.] - -How well we remember those tramps along the meadow brook: the dark, -still holes beneath the overhanging rocks, where, with golden slipping -loop and pole and cautious creep, we wired those lazy, unsuspecting -"suckers" on the gravelly bed below! Ah! what scientific angling with -the rod and reel in later years has ever brought back the keen tingle of -that primitive sport? The great green bull-frogs, too, in the lily-pond, -disclosing their cavernous resources as they jumped and splashed and -sprawled after the tantalizing bit of red flannel on that dangling hook! -We recall that rickety bridge among the willows, and the mossy nest of -mud so firmly fixed upon the beam beneath. How could we be so deaf to -the pleading of those little phoebe-birds that fluttered so beseechingly -about us? Then there was that deep hole in the sand-bank near the -brook, where the burrowing kingfisher hid away his nest, where we -watched in the twilight to see him enter, and, with big round stone in -readiness, "plugged" him in his den! What fun it was to dig him out, and -ventilate his musty nest of fish-bones! The starling in the thicket of -the swamp circled through the air with angry "Quit! quit!" as we picked -our way through the bristling bogs so close upon her nest. We'll not -forget that false step that sent us sprawling in the green slimy mud, at -the first electrifying glimpse of those brown spotted eggs. The -high-holer, too, whose golden gleam of wing upon the bare dead tree -betrayed his nesting-place in the hollow limb--was ever such a stimulus -offered to the eagerness of youth? Who would give a second thought to -his tender shins at the prospect of such a prize as a nest of -high-hole's eggs? How round and white they were! how the pale golden -yolk floated beneath the pearly shell! Those were jolly days for us; but -the poor birds had to suffer, and few, indeed, were the nests that -escaped our prying search. There was the cat-bird in the evergreens, -with lovely eggs of peacock blue; the pure white treasures of the -swallows in the mud nests under the barn-yard eaves; the sky-blue -beauties of the robin; the brown speckled eggs in the sheltered nest of -song-sparrows on the grassy slope; the dear little eggs of chippies in -their horse-hair bed, and in their midst the insinuated specimen of the -cheeky cow-blackbird: there were eggs of every shape and hue, and we -knew too well where to put our hand on them. - -[Illustration: THE PHOEBE'S NEST.] - -[Illustration: BUILDING THE NEST.] - -In a flowering hawthorn outside our window we watched a loving pair -building their pensile nest among the thorns and blossoms. How incessant -was their solicitude for that fragile framework until its strength was -fully assured against the tossing breeze! Tenderly and eagerly they -helped each other in the disposition of those ravellings of string and -strips of bark! he stopping every now and then to whisper sweetly to his -mate, as she, with drooping, trembling wings, put up her little open -bill to kiss. Yes, we often saw this little tender episode, as we -watched them through the shutters of the half-closed blinds! Now he -flies away; and the little spouse, thus left alone, jumps into the nest, -and we see its mossy meshes swell as she fits the deep hollow to her -feathery breast. Presently her consort returns, trailing along a -gossamer of cobweb, which he throws around the supporting thorn, and -leaves for her to spread and tuck among the crevices. Again he appears, -with his tiny bill concealed in a silvery puff of cotton from the willow -catkins in the swamp; next he brings a wisp of long gray moss; now a -curly flake of rich brown lichen, or a jagged square of birch bark, all -of which are laid against the nest, and half covered with films of -cobweb. Once more we see his tiny form among the hawthorn blossoms as he -tugs a papery piece of hornets' nest through the pink barricade. This is -arranged to hang beneath as a pendant to their floating fabric, and the -happy little couple sit together upon a neighboring twig in twittering -admiration. And well they may, for a prettier nest than theirs never -hung upon a thorn. Not perfect yet, it seems, however, for that little -feminine eye has seen the need of one more touch. Away she flies, and in -a minute more a downy feather, tipped with iridescent green, is adjusted -in the cobwebs. - -[Illustration: IN THE APPLE ORCHARD.] - -This dainty little work of art is only one of the thousands that -everywhere are building in the blooming trees and thickets. These are -the supreme moments of the spring, consecrated to the loves of bird and -blossom. Every little winged form that scarcely bends the twig has its -all-consuming passion, and every tree its wedding of the flower. Out in -the orchard the apple-trees are laden in veritable domes of pink-white -bloom, as if by the rare spectacle of a rosy fall of snow, and from -among the dewy petals the army of bees give forth their low, continuous -drone--that sympathetic chord in the universal harmony of spring. How -they revel in that rich harvest! Who knows what sweet messages are borne -from flower to flower upon those filmy wings? - -On the green slope beneath, the scattered dandelions gleam like drops of -molten gold upon the velvety sward, and a lounging family group, intent -upon that savory noonday relish, gather the basketfuls of the dainty -plants for that appetizing "mess of greens." Often, while thus engaged, -have I stopped to watch the antics of the festive bumblebee, tumbling -around in the tufted blossom--always an amusing sight. See how he rolls -and wallows in the golden fringe, even standing on his head and kicking -in his glee! Presently, with his long black nose thrust deep into the -yellow puff, he stops to enjoy a quiet snooze in the luxurious bed--an -endless sleep, for I generally took this chance to put him out of his -misery, preferring, perhaps, to watch the robin hopping across the lawn. -Now he stops, and seems to listen; runs a yard or so, and listens again, -and without a sign of warning dips his head, and pulls upon an unlucky -angle-worm that much prefers to go the other way. It is a well-known -fact that angle-worms approach the surface of their burrows at the sound -of rain-drops on the earth above. I sometimes wonder if the robin in its -quick running stroke of foot intends to simulate that sound, and thus -decoy its prey. - -I remember the wild tumult of a troop of boys upon the hill-side, -tracking the swarming bees as they whirled along in a living tangle -against the sky, now loosening in their dizzy meshes, now contracting in -a murmuring hum around their queen, and finally settling on a branch in -a pendent bunch about her. So tame and docile, too! seeming utterly to -forget their fiery javelins as they hung in that brown filmy mass upon -the bending bough! "A swarm of bees in May iz wuth a load o' hay." So -said our neighbor, as with fresh clean hive he secured that prized -equivalent. Here they are soon at home again, and we see their steady -winged stream pouring out through the little door of their -treasure-house, and the continual arrival of the little dusty -plunderers, laden with their smuggled store of honey, and their -saddle-bags replete with stolen gold. Down near the brook they find a -land of plenty, literally flowing with honey, as the luxuriant drooping -clusters of the locust-trees yield their brimful nectaries to the -impetuous, murmuring swarm. But there is no lack now of flowery sweets -for this buzzing colony. On every hand the meadow-sweets and milkweeds, -the brambles, and the fragrant creeping-clover show their alluring -colors in the universal burst of bloom, and not one escapes its tender -pillaging. - -[Illustration] - -Up in the woods the gray has turned to tender green. The flowering -dog-wood has spread its layers of creamy blossoms, giving the signal for -the planting of the corn, and in the furrowed field we see that -dislocated "man of straw," with old plug hat jammed down upon his face, -with wooden backbone sticking through his neck-band, and dirty thatch -for a shirt bosom--a mocking outrage on any crow's sagacity. Those -glittering strips of tin, too! Could you but interpret the low croaking -of the leader of that sable gang in yonder tree, you might hear of the -appalling effect of these precautions. I heard him once as I sat quietly -beneath a forest tree, and in the light of later events I readily -recalled his remarks upon the occasion: "Say, fellers! look at that old -fool down there hanging out those tins to show us where his corn is -planted. Haw! haw! I swaw! cawn! cawn! we'll go down thaw and take a -chaw!" And they did; and they perched upon that old plug hat, and looked -around for something to get scared about. A single look at a crow shows -that he has a long head, and it is not all mouth either. - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration: BLUE-FLAGS.] - -Every day now makes a transformation in the landscape. The golden stars -upon the lawn are nearly all burnt out: we see their downy ashes in the -grass. Their virgin flame is quenched, and naught remains but those -ethereal globes of smoke that rise up and float away with every breeze. -Where is there in all nature's marvels a more exquisite creation than -this evanescent phoenix of the dandelion? Beautiful in life, it is -even more beautiful in death. And now the high-grown grass is cloudy -with its puffs, whose little fairy parachutes are sailing everywhere, -over mountain-top and field. Here the corn has appeared in little waving -plumes, and the horse and cultivator are seen breaking up the soil -between the rows. Great snowy piles of cloud throw their gliding shadows -across the patchwork of ploughed fields and meadows, fresh and green -with winter wheat, or tinged with newly sprouting grain. The sunbeams -glow with a summer warmth, and the evaporation of the morning dews lifts -the glistening diamonds from the gossamer films among the grass, and -sends a quivering haze all through the air, in which the distant trees -tremble in a softened glimmer. The woods are screened in dense foliage, -and through the leafy canopy the merry birds dart and sing. - -The chickadees are here, and scarlet tanagers gleam like living bits of -fire among the tantalizing leaves. Pert little vireos hop inquisitively -about you, and the bell note of the wood-thrush echoes from the hidden -tree-top overhead. Perhaps, too, you may chance upon a downy brood of -quail cuddling among the dry leaves; but, even though you should, you -might pass them by unnoticed, except as a mildewed spot of fungus at the -edge of a fallen log or tree-stump, perhaps. The loamy ground is shaded -knee-deep with rank growth of wood plants. The mossy, speckled rock is -set in a fringe of ferns. Palmate sprays of ginseng spread in mid-air a -luxurious carpet of intermingled leaves, interspersed with yellow spikes -of loosestrife and pale lilac blooms of crane's-bill; and the -poison-ivy, creeping like a snake around that marbled beech, has -screened its hairy trunk beneath its three-cleft shiny leaves. The -mountain-laurel, with its deep green foliage and showy clusters, peers -above that rocky crag; and in the bog near by a thicket of wild azalea -is crowned with a profusion of pink blossoms. - -Out in the swamp meadow the tall clumps of boneset show their dull white -crests, and the blue flowers of the flag, the mint, and pickerel weed -deck the borders of the lily pond. The waddling geese let off their -shrieking calliopes as they sail out into the stream, or browse with -nodding twitch along the grassy bank. Swarms of yellow butterflies -disgrace their kind as they huddle around the greenish mud-holes, and we -hear on every side the "z-zip, z-zip," amidst the din of a thousand -crickets and singing locusts among the reeds and rushes. The meadows -roll and swell in billowy waves, bearing like a white-speckled foam upon -their crests a sea of daisies, with here and there a floating patch of -crimson clover, or a golden haze of butter-cups. Rising suddenly from -the tall grass near by, the gushing brimful bobolink crowds a -half-hour's song into a brief pell-mell rapture, beating time in mid-air -with his trembling wings, and alighting on the tall fence-rail to regain -his breath. A coy meadow-lark shows his yellow-breast and crescent above -the windrow yonder, and we hear the ringing beats of whetted scythes, -and see the mowers cut their circling swath. - -Mowing! Why, how is this? This surely is not Spring. But even thus the -Springtime leads us into Summer. No eye can mark the soft transition, -and ere we are aware the sweet fragrance of the new-mown hay breathes -its perfumed whisper, "Behold, the Spring has fled!" - - - - -SUMMER. - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration: THE CONSUMMATION] - -[Illustration] - - -"All out for Hometown." There is an epidemic of eagerness, a general -bustle for satchels and bundles, and the car is soon almost without a -passenger; and, indeed, it would really seem as though the whole train -had landed its entire human burden upon this platform; for Hometown is a -popular place, and every Saturday evening brings just such an exodus as -this: Husbands and fathers who fly from the hot and crowded city for a -Sunday of quiet and content with their families, who year after year -have found a refuge of peace and comfort in this charming New England -town. Where is it? Talk with almost any one familiar with the -picturesque boroughs of the Housatonic, and your curiosity will be -gratified, for this village will be among the first to be described. - -From the platform of the car we step into the midst of a motley -assemblage, rustic peasantry and fashionable aristocracy intermingled. -Anxious and eager faces meet you at every turn. For a few minutes the -air fairly rings with kisses, as children welcome fathers, and fathers -children. Strange vehicles crowd the depot--vehicles of all sizes and -descriptions, from the veritable "one-hoss shay" to the dainty -basket-phaeton of fashion. One by one the merry loads depart, while I, a -pilgrim to my old home, stand almost unrecognized by the familiar faces -around me. Leaning up against the porch near by, stands a character -which, once seen, could never be forgotten. His face is turned from me, -but the old straw hat I recognize as the hat of ten years ago, with brim -pulled down to a slope in front, and pushed up vertically behind, and -the identical hole in the side with the long hair sticking through. Yes, -there he stands--Amos Shoopegg. I step up to him and lay my hand upon -his shoulder. With creditable skill he unwinds the twist of his -intricate legs, and with an inquiring gaze turns his good-natured face -toward me. - -"Is it possible that you don't remember me, Shoop?" - -With an expression of surprise he raises both his arms. "Wa'al, thar! I -swaiou! I didn't cal'late on runnin' agin yeu. I was jes drivin' hum -from taown-meetin', an' thought as haow I'd take a turn in, jest out o' -cur'osity. Wa'al, naow, it's pesky good to see yeu agin arter sech a -long spell. I didn't re_cog_nize ye at fust, but I swan when ye began -a-talkin', that was enuf fer me. Hello! fetched yer woman 'long tew, -hey? Haow air yeu, ma'am? hope ye'er perty tol'ble. Don't see but what -yeu look's nateral's ever; but yer man here, I declar for't, he got the -best on me at fust;" and after having thus delivered himself, he -swallowed up our hands in his ample fists. - -"Yes, Shoop, I thought I'd just run up to the old home for a few days." - -"Wa'al, I swar! I'm tarnal glad to see ye, and that's a fact. Anybody -cum up arter ye? No? Well, then, s'posin' ye jest highst into my team." -So saying, he unhitched a corrugated shackle-jointed steed, and backed -around his indescribable impromptu covered wagon--a sort of a hybrid -between a "one-hoss shay" and a truck. - -"'Tain't much of a kerridge fer city folks to ride in, that's a fact," -he continued, "but I cal'late it's a little better'n shinnin' it." After -some little manoeuvring in the way of climbing over the front seat, we -were soon wedged in the narrow compass, and, with an old horse-blanket -over our knees, we went rattling down the hill toward the village and -home of my boyhood. - -Years have passed since those days when, as a united family, we dwelt -under that old roof; but those who once were children are now men and -women, with divided interests and individual homes. The old New England -mansion is now a homestead only in name, known so only in recollections -of the past and the possibilities of the future. - -"Wa'al, thar's the old house," presently exclaimed Amos, as we neared -the brow of a declivity looking down into the valley below. "Don't look -quite so spruce as't did in the old times, but Warner's a good keerful -tenant, 'tain't no use talkin'. I cal'late yeu might dig a pleggy long -spell afore yeu could git another feller like him in this 'ere patch." - -In the vale below, in its nest of old maples and elms, almost screened -from view by the foliage, we look upon the familiar outlines of the old -mansion, its diamond window in the gable peering through the branches at -us. "Skedup!" cried Amos, as he urged his pet nag into a jog-trot down -the hill, through the main street of the town. The long fence in front -of the homestead is soon reached, a sharp turn into the drive, a "Whoa, -January!" and we are extricated from the wagon. - -"Wa'al, I'll leave ye naow. I guess ye kin find yer way around," said -Shoop, as with one outlandish geometrical stride he lifted himself into -the wagon. Cordially greeted by our hostess, with repeated urgings to -"make ourselves at home," we were shown to our room. The house, though -clad in a new dress, still retained the same hospitable and cosy look as -of old. - -[Illustration: OLD HOMESTEAD AND GARRET.] - -Hometown, owing to some early local faction, is divided into two -sections, forming two distinct towns. One, Newborough, a hill-top -hamlet, with its picturesque long street, a hundred feet in width, and -shaded with great weeping elms that almost meet overhead; and the other, -Hometown proper, a picturesque little village in the valley, cuddling -close around the foot of a precipitous bluff, known as Mount Pisgah. A -mile's distance separates the two centres. The old homestead is -situated in the heart of Hometown, fronting on the main street. The -house itself is a series of after-thoughts, wing after wing and gable -after gable having clustered around the old nucleus, as the growth of -new generations necessitated increased accommodation. Its outward aspect -is rather modern, but the interior, with its broad open fireplaces, and -accessaries in the shape of cranes and fire-dogs, is rich with all the -features of typical New England; and the two gables of the main roof -enclose the dearest old garret imaginable--at present an asylum for the -quaint possessions of antique furniture and bric--brac, removed from -their accustomed quarters on the advent of the new host. It is to this -sanctuary that my footsteps first lead me, and, with a longing that will -not be withstood, I find myself in front of the great white door. I lift -the latch; a cool pungent odor of oak wood greets me as I ascend the -steep stairs--an odor that awakens, like magic, a hundred fancies, and -recalls a host of memories long forgotten. Every stair seems to creak a -welcome, as when, on the rainy days of long ago, we sought the cosy -refuge to hear the patter on the roof, or to nestle in the dark, obscure -corners in our childish games. At the head of the stairs rises the -ancient chimney, cleft in twain at the foot, with the quaint little -cuddy between. Above me stretch the great beams of oak, like iron in -their hardness. Yonder is the queer old diamond window looking out upon -the village church, its panes half obscured by the dusty maze of webs. -To the left, in a shadowy corner, stands the antiquated wheel--a relic -of past generations. Long gray cobwebs festoon the rafters overhead, and -the low buzzing of a wasp betrays its mud nest in the gable above. A -sense of sadness steals over me as I sit gazing into this still chamber. -On every side are mementos of a happy past, and all, though mute, -speaking to me in a language whose power stirs the depths of my soul. -Wherever the eye may turn, it meets with a silent greeting from an old -friend, and the whole shrouded in a weird gloom that lends to the most -common object an air of melancholy mystery. And yet it is only a garret. -There are some, no doubt, for whom this word finds its fitting synonyme -in the dictionary, but there are others to whom it sings a poem of -infinite sweetness. - -Looking through the dingy window between the maple boughs, my eye -extends over lawn and shrubberies, three acres in extent--a little park, -overrun with paths in every direction, through ancient orchard and -embowered dells, while far beyond are glimpses of the wooded knolls, the -winding brook, and meadows dotted with waving willows, and farther still -the ample undulating farm. - -[Illustration: AMONG THE GRASSES.] - -It is in such a place as this that I have sought recreation and change -of scene. My wife and I have run away from the city for a month or so. A -vacation we call it; but to an artist such a thing is rarely known in -its ordinary sense, and often, indeed, it means an increase of labor -rather than a respite. My first week, however, I had consecrated to -luxurious idleness. Together we wandered through the old familiar -rambles where as boy and girl in earlier days we had been so oft -together. Day after day found us in some new retreat. There were dark -cool nooks by sheltered streams, spicy groves of pine and spruce, -wooded slopes and rocky dells, and meadows rich with summer bloom, where -idle butterflies flitted lazily on the wing; where meadow lilies nodded -in billowing fields, and the daisies and red clover waved about our -knees half screened in feathery purple grasses that spread their cloudy -mist all through the blossoming maze. We heard the music of the scythe, -and, sitting in the deep cool grass beneath the maple shade, we watched -the circling motion of the mowers in the field--saw the forkfuls of the -hay tossed in the drying sun, and breathed the perfumed air that floated -from the windrows. We sauntered by the meadow brook where willows -gleamed along the bank, and overhanging alders threw their sombre -shadows in the quiet pools: where the ground-nut, and the meadow-rue, -and the creeping madder fringed the tangled brink, and every footstep -started up some agile frog that plunged into the unseen water. We stood -where rippling shallows gurgled under festooned canopies of fox-grape, -and the leaning linden-trees shut out the sky o'erhead and intertwined -their drooping branches above the gliding current. Here, too, the -weather-beaten crossing-pole makes its tottering span across the stream, -and deep down beneath the bank the rainbow-tinted sunfish floats on -filmy fins above his yellow bed of gravel, and we catch a flashing gleam -of a silvery dace or shiner turning in the water. - -Now we confront a rude slab fence, an ancient landmark, that terminates -its length at the edge of the stream, where its gray and crumbling -boards are secured with rusty nails against the trunk of a tall -buttonwood-tree. A loosened slab is easily found, and we are soon upon -the other side; and after picking our way through a forest of -bush-elders, we emerge upon an open lot of low flat pasture-land, known -always as the "old swamp meadow." No other five acres on the face of the -earth are so dear to me as this neglected field. I know its every rise -and fall of ground, its every bog, and its lush greenness is refreshing -even to the thought. - -It is a luxuriant garden of all manner of succulent and juicy -vegetation; an outbursting extravagance of plant life of almost tropical -exuberance. All New England's most majestic and ornamental flora seem -congregated in its congenial soil; and even when a boy I learned to know -and love them all, and even call them by their names. - -Here are towering stems of iron-weed lifting high their scattered purple -crowns, and in their midst the woolly clumps of boneset, its white -flowered cushions intermingling with the dense pink tufts of -thorough-wort. - -On every side we overlook whole patches of these splendid blossoms, with -their crests closely crowded in a mosaic of pink and white. And here's a -bed of peppermint and spearmint, interspersed with flaming spikes of -cardinal lobelia; and here a lusty plant of Indian mallow, entangled in -a maze of gold-thread and smart-weed. Here are massive burdocks six feet -high, and great trees of jimson-weed, with their large spiral flowers -and thorny pods. - -High fronds of chain-fern rise up on every side from a jungle of -bur-marigolds and clotburs, and tear-thumbs, with their saw-toothed -stems and tiny bunches of pink blossoms. - -No inch of ground in the old swamp lot but which does its tenfold duty; -and what it lacks in quality of produce it amply makes up in quantity. -Even a neighboring bed of clean-washed gravel is overrun with creeping -mallow, with its rounded leaves and little "cheeses" down among their -shadows. - -[Illustration: EVEN-TIDE.] - -Farther on we see the lily-pond, with its surrounding swamp and its -legion of crowded water-plants. Here are rank, massive beds of -swamp-cabbage, and lofty cat-tails by the thousand among the bristling -bogs of tussock-sedge and bulrush. Here are calamus patches, and alder -thickets, and sedges without number; and the prickly carex and blue-flag -abound on every side. There are galingales and reeds, and tall and -graceful rushes, turtle-head and jointed scouring grass, and horse-tail, -besides a host of other old acquaintances, whose faces are familiar, but -whose names I never knew. But they were all my friends in boyhood. I -knew them in the bud and in the blossom, and even in their winter -skeletons, brown and broken in the snow. Near by there is a ditch: you -never would know it, for it is completely hidden from view beneath an -interlacing growth of jewel-weed. But see that gorgeous mass of deep -scarlet that floods the farther bank! Nowhere within a circuit of miles -around is there such a regal display of cardinal flowers as this: -skirting the borders of the ditch for rods and rods, clustering about a -ruined, tumbling fence, whose moss-grown pickets are almost hidden in -the dense profusion of bloom. - -Then there is its airy companion, the "touch-me-not," with its -translucent, juicy stem, and its queer little golden flowers with -spotted throats--the "jewel-weed" we used to call it. I know not why, -unless from the magic of its leaf, which, when held beneath the water, -was transformed to iridescent frosted silver. We all remember its -sensitive, jumping seed-pods, that burst even at our approach for fear -that we should touch them; but no one can fully appreciate the beauty of -the plant who has not seen its silvery leaf beneath the water. Here it -justifies its name, for it is indeed a jewel. - -How often in those olden times have I lain down among these bulrushes -and sedges near the lily pond, and listened to the buzzing songs of the -crickets and the tiny katydids that swarmed the growth about me, and -filled the air with their incessant din. I remember the little colony of -ants that picked their way among the rushes; that gauzy dragon-fly too, -that circled and dodged about the water's edge, now skimming close upon -the surface, now darting out of sight, or perhaps alighting on an -overhanging sedge, as motionless as a mounted specimen, with wings -aslant and fully spread. "Devil's darning-needles" they were called. The -devil may well be proud of them; for darning-needles of such precious -metals and such exquisite design are rare indeed. They were of several -sizes too. Some were large, and flashed the azure of the sapphire; -others fluttered by with smoky, pearly wings, and slender bodies -glittering in the light like animated emeralds: and another I well -remember, a little airy thing, with a glistening sunbeam for a body, and -wings of tiny rainbows. - -[Illustration] - -I remember how I watched the disturbed motion of the arrow-heads out in -the water, as the cautious turtles worked their way among them, and -crawled out upon the stump close by. - -Here they huddled together, a dozen or more, with heads erect, and -turning from side to side as they surveyed the surrounding carpet of -lily-pads, or listened to the bass-drum chorus of the great green -bull-frogs among the pickerel-weed; and when I jumped and yelled at -them, what a rolling, sprawling, splashing in the mud! It fairly makes -me laugh to think of it. But there is hardly a leaf or wisp of grass in -this old swamp lot but what brings back some old association or pleasant -reminiscence. - -[Illustration] - -For a week thus we idled, now on the mountain, now in the meadow, while -I, with my sketch-book and collecting-box, either whiled away the hours -with my pencil, or left the unfinished work to pursue the tantalizing -butterfly, or search for unsuspecting caterpillars among the weeds and -bushes. - -[Illustration: SOME ART CONNOISSEURS.] - -[Illustration: PROFESSOR WIGGLER.] - -On a sprig of black alder I found one--the same little fellow as of old, -afflicted with the peculiarities of all his progenitors. We used to call -him "Professor Wiggler," owing to an hereditary nervous habit of -wiggling his head from side to side when not otherwise employed. To -this little humpbacked creature I am indebted for a great deal of past -amusement. Distinctly I remember the whack-whack-whack on the inside of -the old pasteboard box as the captive pets threatened to dash out their -brains in their demonstrations at my approach. Professor Wiggler is -really a most remarkable insect, as one might readily imagine from his -scientific name, for in learned circles this individual is known as Mr. -Gramatophora Trisignata. He has many strange eccentricities. At each -moult of the skin he retains the shell of his former head on a long -vertical filament. Two or three thus accumulate, and, as a consequence, -in his maturer years he looks up to the head he wore when he was a -youngster, and ponders on the flight of time and the hollowness of -earthly things, or perhaps congratulates himself on the increased -contents of his present shell. When fully grown, he stops eating, and -goes into a new business. Selecting a suitable twig, he gnaws a -cylindrical hole to its centre and follows the pith, now and then -backing out of the tunnel, and dropping the excavated material in the -form of little balls of sawdust. At length he emerges from the hollow, -and again drawing himself in backward, spins a silken disk across the -opening, and tints it with the color of the surrounding bark. Here he -spends the winter, and comes out in a new spring suit in the following -May. Only recently I had in my possession several of these twigs with -their enclosed caterpillars, and in every one the color of the silken -lid so closely matched the tint of the adjacent bark, although -different in each, that several of my friends, even with the most -careful scrutiny, failed to detect the deceptive spot. Whether the -result of chance or of the instincts of the insect, I do not know; but -certain it is that he paints with different colors under varying -circumstances. - -Insect-hunting had always been a passion with me. Large collections of -moths and butterflies had many times accumulated under my hands, only to -meet destruction through boyish inexperience; and even in childhood the -love for the insect and the passion for the pencil strove hard for the -ascendency, and were only reconciled by a combination which filled my -sketch-book with studies of insect life. - -There was one inhabitant of our fields which had always been to me a -never-failing source of entertainment. There he is, the gilded tyrant. I -see him now swinging to and fro on his glistening nest of silken -threads, his golden yellow form glowing in bold relief against the dark -recess in the brambles. My sketch is left in the grass, and I am soon -seated in front of the gossamer maze. A festive grasshopper jumps up -into my face, and makes a carom on the web. With a spasmodic snap of one -hind leg he extricates it from its entanglement, and in another instant -would fall from the meshes; but the agile spider is too quick for him. -With a movement so swift as almost to elude the eye, he draws from his -body a silver cloud of floss, and with his long hind legs throws it over -his captive. The head and tail of the grasshopper are now further -secured, after which the spider carefully straddles around the -struggling insect, and bites off the other radiating webs in close -proximity. The unlucky prey now hangs suspended across the opening. With -business-like coolness his tormentor dangles himself from the edge of -the torn web, and another cataract of glistening floss is thrown up and -attached to the under side of the prisoner, after which he is turned -round and round, as if on a spit. The stream of floss is carried from -head to foot, and in less time than it takes to describe it the victim -is wrapped in a silken winding-sheet, and soon meets his death from the -poisoned fangs of his captor. Here is but one of the thousands of -tragedies that are taking place every hour of the day in our fields. -While deeply interested in the closing scenes of this one, I suddenly -become aware of a shadow passing over the bushes. I turn my head, and -meet the puzzled and pleasant gaze of Amos Shoopegg, as he stands there, -hands in pockets, and milk-pail swinging from his wrist. - -[Illustration: THE TYRANT OF THE FIELDS.] - -"Wa'al, thar," he exclaims, banging down one brawny fist on his uplifted -knee. "Buggin' agin, I swaow! Hain't yeu got over thet yit? What yeu kin -find so mighty fine in them 'ere bugs beats me." - -"Amos," I replied, "there's a great deal more in these bugs than you -imagine." - -"A pleggy sight, I suppose," he resumed. "What specie o' critter ye got -hold on naow?" and he stretched forward his fringed and weather-beaten -neck, and peered over the brambles. "What is't ye got -thar--straddle-bug?" He came still nearer, and looked at the spider. -"Wa'al, darn my pictur ef 'tain't an old yeller-belly! P'r'aps you don't -know that them critters is pizen. Why, Eben Sanford's gal got all chawed -up by one on 'em. Great Sneezer!" he exclaimed, taking three or four -strides backward, with both hands uplifted. I had merely raised my hand -and gently smoothed the spider. - -"Wa'al," he continued, "yen kin rub 'em daown ef yeu pleze; but fer _my_ -part, I'd ruther keep off abaout a good spittin' distance"--which was -the Shoopegg way of expressing a length of about fifteen feet. Amos was -crossing lots for his "caow," he said; but in spite of his plea that the -"old heiffer" was "bellerin'" like "Sam Hill," and was "gittin' 'tarnal -on-easy," I made him tarry sufficiently long to enable me to send him -off a wiser man. - -Amos Shoopegg is a type of a large class of the native element of -Hometown. Of course, "Shoopegg" is not his actual name. In the long line -of his prided Puritan ancestry no one ever bore it before him. This is -only an affectionate epithet given him by the village boys full twenty -years ago, and it has stuck to him closer than a brother ever since, as -those festive surnames always do. Nominally, Amos was a farmer. In -summer he was one in fact, and could swing off as pretty a swath in -haying as any man in town. But in the winter he changed his vocation, -and became a disciple of the "waxed-end." All day long he could be seen, -closeted with a little red-hot stove, plying his trade in his small, -square shop, up near the old red school-house. Here he pounded on the -big lapstone on his knees, or, with strap and foot-stick in position, -punched and tugged around the edge of those marvellous brogans. He made -slings and leather "suckers" for the boys, and furnished them with all -the black-wax they could chew--or stow-away, to stick between the lining -of their pockets. And the huge wooden shoe-pegs that he drove beneath -his hammer were a sight to behold. The man who used his "cheap line of -goods" might verily say he walked upon a wood-pile. - -So they dubbed him "Shoe-peg," or "Shoop" for brevity. There are others -among his neighbors who would furnish an inexhaustible source of study -to the student of character. There's old Rufus Fairchild, known as -"Roof," a rotund specimen of rural jollity, his round face set in -dishevelled locks of gray, with a twinkle in his eye and a good word for -everybody. And there's Father Tomlinson, who keeps the post-office down -by the dam, as genial an old fellow as ever wrapped up his throat in a -white stock. And I might almost continue the list indefinitely. But -there is one I must especially mention; and, now that I think of it, he -really should have headed the list, for he stands alone--or at least he -does _sometimes_. If you are in search of the embodiment of typical -Erin, you need go no farther; here he is. This individual represents -another nationality which swells the population of Hometown--the -hard-working laborers who toil in the great factory down in the glen, -called "Satan's Misery." The above personage is one of the best-hearted -creatures in the town; but it is the old story, and the world to him is -enclosed in the compass of a barrel-hoop. When last I saw him he was in -an evident decline, but as I put my finger on his wrist I could still -feel the pulsations of the whiskey coursing through his veins. - -"Look here, my good fellow," I said to him one day, "why don't you taper -off a little? If you keep on in this way, you'll be in your grave in -less than a month. How would you like that?" - -"Arrah, begorra," he replied, with a look of hopeful resignation, "if I -cud awnly be shure o' me gude skvare dthrink in the other wurrld, oi -wudn't moind." - -The record of a single evening spent in the village store, with its -rural jargon and homespun yarns, its odd vernacular and rustic gossip, -would make a volume as rare and unique as the characters it would -depict. - -The store itself is a matchless picture in its way, and for variety in -accessory is as rich as could be wished for. The low, murky ceiling, -hung with all manner of earthly goods--scythes and rakes, boots and -pails, in pendulous array; bottles and boxes, brooms and breast-pins, -are here--in short, everything that heart could wish or thought suggest, -from speckled calicoes to seven-cent sugar, or from a three-tined fork -to a goose-yoke. Evening after evening, for an hour or so, I was tempted -thither, until I found the week had gone. Sunday came again--Sunday in -New England. The old bell swung on its wheel in the belfry, ringing out -its call to devotion, and ere the echo had died in the recesses of the -mountain beyond the still atmosphere reverberated with an answering peal -from the little sister church in the valley below, as the scattered -groups with strolling steps wend their way to "meeting," and the gay -loads from Newborough go flitting by on the accustomed Sunday drive. - -Monday dawned on Hometown. It found me up and doing. I had enjoyed one -week of glorious loafing, but work was the programme for the next. I -went to Draper's Inn and engaged a horse and buggy "until further -notice." "A spang-up team" he called it, and it would be up "in half a -jiffy." We were waiting for it when it came, and what with our variety -of luggage in the shape of canvases, color-boxes, hammocks, camp-seats, -and easels, every bit of available space in that buggy was well -utilized. Before the clock has struck nine, we are spinning along down -through the village, now past the store, now over the bridge, and -turning to the right, we glide by the little post-office, as the kind -face of Father Tomlinson nods a "good-bye" from the door-way. - -A little farther, and we have left the little slope-roofed school-house -in our path, and are soon ascending the long hill of Zoar, from which we -look back four miles to the cliff and nestling town. In ten minutes more -we approach the brow of a steep declivity, and the broad Housatonic -opens up to view, winding off into the misty mountains in the distance. -There is now a drive of half a mile along the side of a wild -mountain-slope, where mountain-laurels grow in wild profusion, and the -rooty, overhanging banks are tufted with rich green moss, overgrown with -checker-berries and arbutus. The river roars far down below us, and for -a few minutes our eyes feast on as lovely an extent of varied New -England landscape as is easily found. And yet this is only a short -section of one of the many matchless drives that follow the course of -this beautiful river around the borders of Hometown. - -[Illustration: FAMILIAR FACES AT THE VILLAGE STORE.] - -Suddenly we leave the stream as it glides away on an abrupt turn beneath -the crescent of a rocky precipice, and before we have fairly lost the -sound of the ripples we have arrived at our journey's end. A pair of -bars under an old butternut-tree mark the place. The carriage is backed -to the side of the road, and the horse turned loose in the rocky meadow. -This is Joab Nichols's "pasture lot," with fodder consisting principally -of huge boulders, hardhack, and spleenwort; to be sure, with a stray -relish of "butter-and-eggs" here and there, and a thousand white saucers -of wild carrot handy to go with them. One or two trips across the field -bring all our luggage, and we are soon enjoying cool comfort in the -hemlock shade of a fairy grotto. Above us the babbling brook bounds and -splashes over mossy rocks, disappearing in a mass of creamy foam, from -under which it eddies toward us only to plunge twenty feet into a -miniature caon below. Again, yonder it bubbles into a whirling pool, -where the bordering ferns bend and nod above its buoyant surface; and -now gliding from view beneath the tangle of drooping boughs, it -disappears only to burst forth once more in its merry song as it rushes -over the rapids. - - "I chatter, chatter as I go, - To join the brimming river; - For men may come and men may go, - But I go on forever." - -Here in this wild retreat I have found my sylvan studio--shut in by -fringed and fragrant evergreens, enlivened by the undergrowth of -feathery fronds, and the shimmer of the beech, as the tracery of -overhanging boughs trembles in the gentle breeze. Day after day finds us -in this little paradise, and as one in luxurious hammock swings away the -hours, now lost in fiction, now in short repose, or perhaps with busy -needle fashions graceful figures in Kensington design, the canvas on the -easel shows a fortnight's constant care, and the palette changes to a -keepsake of a sunny memory--a tinted souvenir. - -For two weeks the gurgling brook sang to us in this wild retreat. As -evening after evening closed in upon us, the unfinished pictures were -stowed away in horizontal crevices between the rocks, and, with hammock -still swinging in the trees, we left the gloom to the hooting owl, that -evening after evening, with tremulous cry, proclaimed the twilight hour -from the tall hemlock overhead. Ere long the murmuring Housatonic -shimmers below us in the moonlight as we hurry on our homeward way, and -the distant lights of Hometown are soon seen glimmering; through the -evening mist. The old bridge now rumbles through the darkness its signal -of our return, and the host of Draper's Inn is seen awaiting us at the -illumined door-way. A quiet, cosy supper, and in the rays of a gleaming -lantern, held aloft to light our path, we follow our lengthening shadows -to the old front gate. Repeat this day's record fourteen times, and you -have the sum of a happy experience, with but one drawback: it had an -end--an end that would have left its reaction, were it not for the store -of increased pleasure that awaited us for the few closing days of our -pilgrimage--for me, at least, although in other scenes, its climax. - -[Illustration: A SOUVENIR.] - -Many like me are happy in the possession of a dear old homestead; but -there are few, I ween, who enjoy the blessing of a double inheritance -such as has been my lot--two homes which share my equal devotion, two -homes without a choice; the one this beloved heirloom in Hometown, and -the other--But you shall see. We shall be there soon, for the little -satchel is packed, and the carriage awaits us at the gate. A drive of -eighteen miles is before us--a beautiful series of pictures. Down -through the village, past the old red mill and smithy, with its ringing -anvil, and we are soon winding our way through a sombre glen. Presently -we catch glimpses of the great rumbling factory, with its clouds of -smoke and steam melting into the wooded mountain above. The old yellow -bridge now creaks under our approach, and ere we are aware a sudden turn -leads us out of a wilderness on to the shore of the beautiful -Housatonic. For a few minutes the rushing water trickles through the -wheels as over jolting stones our pony leads us through the ford, and, -refreshed by the cool bath, makes a lively sally up the eastern bank. -For ten miles the Housatonic guides us around its winding curves through -a path of ever-changing beauty, now shut in by the dense, dark -evergreens, and again emerging into a bower of silvery beeches, where -the roadway is carpeted with mottled shadows, and the dappled trunks -flicker with the softened glints of sunlight. Here we come upon a sandy -stretch where the road is sunken between two sloping banks thick-set -with mulleins and sweet-fern, and overrun with creeping brambles. The -stone-wall above is wreathed in trailing woodbine, and along its crest -we see the swaying tips of wheat from the edge of the field just beyond; -and here we pass a border of whortleberry bushes, laden with their -fruit. Now it is a hazel thicket crowding close upon our wheels, and -among the leaves we see the brown, tanned husks of the ripening nuts, -almost ready for that troop of boys and girls that you may be sure are -watching and waiting for them. - -The old gray toll-bridge soon nears to view, with its two long spans and -fantastic beams. Farther on, peering from its willows, stands the ruined -cider-mill, with its long moss-grown lever jutting through the trees--an -old-time haunt, now crumbling in decay. But we only catch a glimpse of -it, for in a moment more we are shut in beneath another bower of beeches -and white birches, where the road takes a steep ascent, and the rippling -river sends up its sunny reflections among the leaves and tree-trunks. -When once more upon a level, it is to look ahead through a long avenue -of shade--a leafy canopy two miles in length--with only an occasional -break to open up some charming bit of landscape across the water. In -these two miles of umbrage you may see types of almost every tree that -grows within the boundaries of New England. Old veteran beeches are -here, their trunks disfigured with scars that once were names cut in the -bark. Here are spots that look like half obliterated figures; and here -are spreading hieroglyphs that tell, perhaps, of old-time vows plighted -at the trysting-tree; and here's a semblance of a heart, a broken heart -indeed, if its present form be taken as a prophetic symbol. - -[Illustration: ALONG THE HOUSATONIC.] - -There are magnificent rock-maples too, and silver-maples that shake down -their little swarms of winged seeds. Tulip-trees and spotted buttonwoods -grow side by side, and quivering aspens and white poplars are seen at -every clearing. There are yellow birch-trunks frayed out with the wind, -and great snake-like stems of grape-vine, that twist and writhe among -the branches of the trees. There are hop hornbeams, and chestnuts, -and--But there is no need to enumerate them all. Just think of every New -England tree you ever knew, and add a score besides, and you will form a -slight idea of the varied verdure that hems in this charming Housatonic -drive, with its rocky roadside embroidered in trickling moss and -fumitory; and rose-flowered mountain-raspberry growing so close upon the -road that your pony takes a wayward nip, and plucks its blossomed tip as -he passes. - -Now comes an open level, with wide, expansive views, where every turn -upon the road brings its fresh surprise, as some new combination of hazy -mountain landscape towers above the distant river bend; and the flitting -cloud shadows lead their capricious, undulating chase across the wooded -slopes. The roadsides here are full of everchanging beauties too, with -their trimmings of ornamental sunflowers, their picturesque old fences, -and their clumps of purple-berried poke-weed, with here and there a -yellow patch of toad-flax, and aromatic tufts of tansy hugging close -against the fence. Even that clambering screen of clematis that trails -over the shrubbery yonder cannot hide the scattered tips of crimson that -already have appeared among the sumach leaves. - -There are a thousand things one meets upon a country ride or ramble -which at the time are allowed to pass with but a glance. The eye is -surfeited and the mind confused with the continual pageantry. But months -afterward, in the reveries about our winter fires, they all come back to -us, with the added charm of reminiscence; and whether it be a crystal -spring among a bank of ferns, or a thistle-top with its fluttering -butterfly and inevitable bumblebee rolling in the tufted blossom, or a -squirrel running along a rail, or perhaps a rattling grasshopper -hovering in mid-air above the dusty road--no matter what, they all are -welcome memories at our fireside, and draw our hearts still closer to -the loveliness of nature. - -This Housatonic road is rich in just such pastoral pictures. Two hours -on such a course soon pass, when our pony whinnies at the welcome sight -of the old log water-trough beyond--a landmark old and green when I was -yet a boy, still nestling in its rocky bed, shadowed by the drooping -hemlocks, still lavish with its overflowing bounty. - -This benefactor by the way-side marks a turning-point in our journey, as -we leave the grandeur of the Housatonic to pursue our way by the nooks -and dingles of the wild Shepaug--a bubbling tributary whose happy waters -sing of a varied experience. Now placid through the blossoming fields, -now plunging down the precipice to ripple through a verdant valley, -where, hemmed in at every turn, it seeks its only liberty beneath the -rumbling of the old mill-wheels; and at last, ere it loses its identity -in the swelling tide, leaving a mischievous and tumultuous record as it -pours through the rocky caon, and with surging, whirling volume carves -huge caverns and fantastic statues in its massive bed of stone. Even now -through the dark forest beyond we can hear the muffled roar, and for -nearly a league farther as we ascend the long hill it comes to us in -fitful whispers wafted on the changing breeze. Reaching the summit of -this incline, we find ourselves on a hill-top wide and far-reaching, on -right and left losing itself in wooded wold, while in front the level -road diminishes to a point, surmounted by blue hills in the distance. -Two miles on a pastoral hill-top, where golden-rod and tall spiras -cluster along the lichen-covered walls, where orange-lilies gleam among -the alders, with now and then a blazing group of butterfly-plant or a -dusty clump of milk-weed. The air is laden with the nut-like odor of the -everlasting flowers all around us. The buzzing drum of the harvest-fly -vibrates from every tree, and we hear the tinkling bell and lowing of -the cattle in some neighboring field. Farther on, we look down from the -edge of the plateau through the length of Happy Valley, with its winding -stream, its barns and busy mills, its sunny homes glinting through the -summer haze. On the left the lofty shadowed cliff known as "Steep-rock" -towers against the evening sky, and again we catch the murmuring whiffs -of the rushing stream in its sweeping bend beneath the overhanging -precipice. A sharp turn round a jutting hill-side, and I meet a prospect -that quickens the heart and makes the eye grow dim. There beyond, three -miles "as flies the laden bee," I linger on the welcome sight, as on its -hill-top fair two steeples side by side betray the hidden town, my -second home. - -How lightly did I appreciate the fortunate journey when, twenty summers -ago, I followed this road for the first time, when a boy of ten years, -on my way to an unknown village, I looked across the landscape to the -little spires on that distant hill! Little did I dream of the six years -of unmixed happiness and precious experience that awaited me in that -little Judea! I only knew that I was sadly quitting a happy home on my -way to "boarding-school"--a school called the Snuggery, taught by a Mr. -Snug, in a little village named Snug Hamlet, about twenty miles from -Hometown. - -There are some experiences in the life of every one which, however -truthful, cannot be told but to elicit the doubtful nod or the warning -finger of incredulity. They were such experiences as these, however, -that made up the sum of my early life in that happy refuge called in -modern parlance a "boarding-school"--a name as empty, a word as weak and -tame in its significance, as poverty itself; no doubt abundantly -expressive in its ordinary application, but here it is a mockery and a -satire. This is not a "boarding-school;" it is a _household_, whose -memories moisten the eye and stir the soul; to which its scattered -members through the fleeting years look back as to a neglected home, -with father and mother dear, whom they long once more to meet as in the -tenderness of boyhood days; a cherished remembrance which, like the -"house upon a hill, cannot be hid," but sends abroad its light unto many -hearts who in those early days sought the loving shelter; a bright star -in the horizon of the past, a glow that ne'er grows dim, but only -kindles and brightens with the flood of years. Yes, yes; I know it -sounds like a dash of sentiment, but words of mine are feeble and -impotent indeed when sought for the expression of an attachment so fond, -of a love so deep. - -Fifteen years ago, with a parting full of sorrow, I rode away from Snug -Hamlet yonder in the village stage--a day that brought a depression that -lingered long, and lingers still. Glowing, sunset-tinted fields glide by -unnoticed now, as, with eyes intent on the distant hill, I look back -through the lapse of time. A mile has gone without my knowing it, when a -joyous laugh awakens me from my day-dreams. Two boys approach us on the -road ahead, and, what might seem very strange to you, one wears a wooden -boot-jack strung around his neck and dangling on his breast; but he -carries his burden lightly and cheerfully. As they near the carriage I -draw the rein, and they both pause by the roadside. - -"Well, boys," I ask, "where do _you_ hail from?" - -"We're from the Snuggery, sir." - -"I thought so," said I, with a laugh, in which they both joined. "But -what are you doing with that boot-jack?" - -"Oh, you see," said one, with a roguish smile, "Charlie and I were -having a little tussle in the sitting-room, and he picked up Mr. Snug's -boot-jack in the corner and began to pummel me with it; and jest as we -were having it the worst, and were rollin' on the floor, Mr. Snug came -in and caught us in the job, and now we're _payin'_ for it." - -"How so?" I inquired, well knowing what would be the response. - -"Oh, you see, Mr. Snug held a diagnosis over our remains, and said he -thought we were suffering, for the want of a little exercise, and -ordered us on a trip to Judd's Bridge." - -"And the boot-jack?" - -"Oh, he said that Charlie might want to play with that some more on the -way, and that he'd better fetch it along;" and with a mischievous -snicker at his encumbered companion, he led him along the road in an -hilarious race, while we enjoyed a hearty laugh at their expense. - -And this a _punishment_! Yes, here is an introduction to one phase of a -system of correction as unique as the matchless institution in which it -had its birth--a system without a parallel in the annals of chastisement -or school government, and which for thirty years has proved its wisdom -in the household management of the Snuggery. - -"To Judd's Bridge!" How natural the sound of those words! How many -times have I myself been on that same pilgrimage of penance! The -destination of these boys is a rickety but picturesque structure which -spans the Shepaug five miles below Snug Hamlet. Through three decades it -looks back to its host of acquaintances of those romping lads who, in -the superfluity of exuberant spirits, made havoc and din in the -household. The dose is administered with wise discrimination both as to -the symptoms and the needs and strength of the patient. It always proves -a sterling remedy, and sometimes, indeed, a sugar-coated one, as in the -case of these two ruddy, rollicking examples. - -[Illustration] - -Judd's Bridge is but one of a score of places which serve in the -administration of Snuggery discipline. It is, however, the one most -remote, and its ten-mile journey is reserved as an heroic dose for -extraordinary cases, after other prescriptions have been tried without -avail. Next on the list comes Moody Barn, with "open doors" every day in -the week to its frequent callers. This old settler, gray and -weather-beaten, marks a point one mile from the Snuggery, where the -still waters of the Shepaug run slow and deep--the favorite -"swimming-hole" of the Snuggery. - -[Illustration: THE HAUNTED MILL.] - -And then there's Kirby Corners, a mere stroll of a few minutes round the -square of a rock-bound pasture--just enough to give yourself time to -think a bit and congratulate yourself on what you have escaped. All -these, and several more, are vivid in my memory; friends, old and -intimate. And here's another, right before us by the roadside. For -several minutes through the tantalizing trees we have heard its rumbling -wheel, its reiterating clank, and busy saw; and now, as its familiar -outline looms up against the evening sky, the vision seems to darken, as -on that night of long ago, when through the shadowy mystery of the -moonlit gloom I stole my way among the sheltering golden-rod; when the -lofty flume, like a huge horned creature, seemed to stride athwart me in -the darkness, and the fitful boyish fancy saw strange phantoms in the -floating, melting mist. This ancient structure reposes in a verdant dell -at the foot of Snug Hamlet Hill. A choice of two roads lies before -us--one short and direct, the other a roundabout approach. A sudden -impulse leads me into the latter. On right and left I see the same old -rocks and trees. There stands the aged beech to whose gnarled and hollow -trunk I traced the agile flying-squirrel, and with suffocating flame and -smoke drove him from his hiding-place. Here between large rocks and -stones the trout-stream runs its course, now pouring in small cataracts, -now eddying into still, dark nooks, where in those by-gone times I -dropped the line of expectancy, but showed the clumsiness of adversity. -A few minutes later, and we are gliding again by the dark Shepaug, now -flowing calm and silent beneath a rugged bank, wild and umbrageous, -where the swarm of katydids, with grating discord, maintain their old -dispute, that never-ending feud. The wheels turn noiselessly in the -shifting sand as we pursue our way. The low gray fog steals lightly over -the lily-pads, floating into seclusion beneath the sheltering boughs, -or, like an evanescent spirit, borne upon the evening breath, is lifted -from the gloom, and slowly melts into the twilight sky. The solitary -whippoorwill from his mysterious haunt, perhaps in yonder tree, perhaps -in the mountain loneliness beyond, proclaims with dismal cry his -oft-repeated wail. And as we ascend the darkening path, through the -still night air, in measured cadence long and sad, we hear the toll of -the distant knell. Threescore-and-ten its numbers tell of the earthly -years--a curfew requiem for the dead. Even as we pass the little chapel -at the summit of the hill, and the bell has scarcely ceased its -melancholy tidings, we hear the shouts and merry laughs of the boys on -the village green. Presently its broad expanse, shut in by twinkling -windows and massive trees, spreads out before us, as a clear and ringing -voice, like that of old, echoes through the growing darkness, "One -hundred! Nothing said, coming ahead!" and a dim figure steals cautiously -from the steps of the old white church to seek in the sequestered -hiding-places. With a heart that fairly thumps, I urge my pony onward -across the green, and ere he slackens his pace I am at my journey's end. -The dear old Snuggery, with its gables manifold and quaint, its -fantastic wings and towers, stands there before me, the glowing windows -beaming through the maples. Leaving our pony in willing hands, we enter -the gate, and are soon upon the wide porch. - -[Illustration: PURSUERS AND PURSUED.] - -It is eight o'clock, and the Snuggery is hushed in the quiet of the -study hour, and as we look through the windows we see the little groups -of studious lads bending over their books. Turning a corner on the -piazza, we are confronted with a tall hexagonal structure at its farther -end. This is the Tower, the lower room of which is consecrated to the -cosy retirement of Mr. and Mrs. Snug. The door leading to the porch is -open, and, as if awakening from a nap in which the past fifteen years -have been a dream, I listen to the same dear voice. I approach nearer. -Under the glow of a student's lamp I look upon the beloved face, the -flowing hair and beard now silvered with the lapse of years--a face of -unusual firmness, but whose every line marks the expression of a tender, -loving nature, and of a large and noble heart. Near him another sits--a -helpmeet kind and true, cherished companion in a happy, useful life. -Into her lap a nestling lad has climbed; and as she strokes the curly -head and looks into the chubby face, I see the same expression as of -old, the same motherly tenderness and love beaming from the large gray -eyes. - -Mr. Snug is leaning back in his easy-chair, and two boys are standing up -before him; one of them is speaking, evidently in answer to a question. - -"I called him a galoot, sir." - -"You called George a galoot, and then he threw the base-ball club at -you--is that it?" - -"Yes, sir," interrupted George; "but I was only playing, sir." - -"Yes," resumed the voice of Mr. Snug, "but that club went with -considerable force, and landed over the fence, and made havoc in Deacon -Farish's onion-bed; and that reminds me that the deacon's onion-bed is -overrun with weeds. Now, Willie," continued Mr. Snug, after a moment's -hesitation, with eyes closed, and head thrown back against the chair, -"Saturday morning--to-morrow, that is--directly after breakfast, you go -out into the grove and call names to the big rock for half an hour. -Don't stop to take breath; and don't call the same name twice. Your -vocabulary will easily stand the drain. You understand?" - -"Yes, sir." - -"And, George," continued Mr. Snug, with deliberate, easy intonation, -"to-morrow morning, at the same time, you present yourself politely to -Deacon Farish, tell him that I sent you, and ask him to escort you to -his onion-bed. After which you will go carefully to work and pull out -all the weeds. You understand, sir?" - -"Yes, sir." - -"And then you will both report to me as usual." And with a pleasant -smile, which was reflected in both their faces, the erring youngsters -were dismissed. Before the door has closed behind them we are standing -in the door-way. Here I draw the curtain; for who but one of its own -household could understand a welcome at the Snuggery? - -Those of my old school-mates who read this meagre sketch will know the -happiness of such a meeting; but others less fortunate in the -recollections of school-life can only look for its counterpart in an -affectionate welcome in their own homes, for the Snuggery _is_ a home to -all who ever dwelt within its gates. Seated in the familiar cosiness, -and surrounded by the friends of my school-days, the hours fly fast and -pleasantly. There is plenty to talk about. Here is a village full of -good people of whom I wish to learn, and there are many far-off chums of -whom I carry tidings. A bell rings in the cupola as one by one, from the -buzz in the outer rooms, boys large and small seek our seclusion for the -accustomed good-night adieu; and ere another hour has passed forty -sleepy urchins are packed away in their snug quarters. The evening runs -on into midnight, as with stories of the past, its pains and penalties, -its remembrances, now humorous now sad by turns, we recall the good old -times; and the "wee sma' hours" are already upon us as we reluctantly -retire from the goodly company to our rooms across the way. - -[Illustration: TOLLING FOR THE DEAD.] - -The next morning finds us in the midst of a merry load, with Mr. Snug as -a driver; and many and varied were the beauties that opened up before us -on that charming ride! Snug Hamlet, once called Judea, in the qualities -of its landscape as well as in everything else, is unique. Stripped of -all its old associations, it presents to the artistic eye a combination -of attractions scarcely to be equalled in the boundaries of New England. -Situated itself on the brow of an abrupt hill, where its picturesque -homes cluster about a broad open green, a few minutes' drive in any -direction reveals a surrounding panorama of the rarest loveliness. Five -hundred feet below us, winding in and out, now beneath leafy tangles, -now under quaint little bridges, and again reposing placidly in broad -mill-ponds, the happy Shepaug lends to a lovely valley its usefulness -and beauty. Turning in another direction, we pass the Snuggery -ball-ground, animated with the shouts of victory; and descending into a -vale of almost primeval wildness, we continue our way up the ascent of -"Artist's Hill," from whose summit on every side, as far as the eye can -reach, the landscape softens into the hazy horizon. Returning, we pass -through a ruined waste, where, three months before, the fierce tornado -swooped down in its fiendish fury. On every side we see its awful -evidences. Huge oaks, like brittle pipe-stems, snapped from their -moorings; sturdy hickories, mere play-things in the gale, twisted into -shreds. - -[Illustration: WRECKS OF THE TORNADO.] - -Every morning saw me on some new drive, either with a wagon full of -merry company, or as alone with Mr. Snug we held our quiet _tte--tte_ -on wheels, living over the olden times. In the afternoon I strolled by -myself through the old and eloquent scenes. A volume could not hold the -memories they revived--no, not even those of yonder barn alone. Even as -I sit making my pencil-sketch, its reminiscences seem to float across -the vision. Distinctly it recalls the events of one evening years ago. -It was at about the sunset hour one Friday. I was quietly sitting on a -lounge in the parlor talking to Cuthbert Harding, who was standing in -front of me. Presently the door opens, and the tall figure of Dick Shin -enters. Dick and I were antipodes in every sense of the word. Physically -we were as a match and a billiard ball, he being the lucifer. He was -also my _bte noire_, and he never missed an opportunity to vent his -spite. Accordingly he stalked toward us, and with a violent push sent -Cuthbert pell-mell on to me. In falling, he stepped heavily on my foot, -and hurt me severely, which accounted for my excited expression as I -threw him from me. - -Of course Mr. Snug had to come in just at this time, and seeing us in -what looked to him very like a fight, he took us firmly by the ears and -stood us side by side, while I ventured to explain. - -"Not a word!" exclaimed he, in a tone there was no mistaking. "You two -boys may cool off on a trip to Moody Barn, after which you will report -to me in the Tower. Now go." - -Whatever may have been the state of my mind a few moments before, I was -now mad in earnest, and with every bit of my latent obstinacy aroused, I -sauntered out on to the porch. - -"Cool off, old boy," whispered a grating voice at my side, as I turned -and met the gaze of Dick Shin, motioning with his thumb in the direction -of Moody Barn--"cool off; you need it;" and his ample mouth stretched -into a sneering grin. - -I had already formed an intention, but now it was a resolve. - -"Cuthbert," said I to my quiet and less choleric companion, when some -distance down the road, "I am not going on that trip." - -"Not going!" replied he, with surprise; "why, you'll _have_ to go." - -"But I _won't_ go, and that settles it. It's confounded unjust that -we're sent, anyhow, and I don't propose to stand it." - -"I think so too," answered Cuthbert, with hesitating emphasis; "but -what'll we do? We'll have to report to Mr. Snug, you know; that's the -_worst_ of it." - -"Well, I'll be spokesman, and I'll _lie_ before I'll go on that trip." - -I was boiling over with righteous wrath, but Cuthbert never was known to -boil; he only simmered a little, but readily seconded my plan. We -stopped at Kirby Corners, and there, secluded from view in the bushes, -we spent the interval. Cuthbert had a watch, and by the light of the -rising moon we were enabled to fix the full period for the trip. One -hour and a half we allowed--an abundant limit. During this time I had -completely "cooled off," and had schooled myself to that point where I -could tell a lie with a smooth face and a clear conscience. -Accordingly, when the time came, we appeared at the door of the Tower. -Mr. Snug was sitting in his accustomed place, and we entered and stood -before him. - -[Illustration: PASSING THOUGHTS.] - -"Well, sir," said he, with a polite bow of the head, dropping his paper -and looking up at us. - -"Mr. Snug, we have come to report," said I, fearlessly. "We have been to -Moody Barn." - -Instantly Mr. Snug straightened himself up in his chair, pushed back -the gray locks from his high forehead, and, with an expression that I -never shall forget, glared at me from under the frowning eyebrows. - -"_You lie, sir!_" he exclaimed, in thundering tones that fairly made my -hair stand on end, while Cuthbert trembled from head to foot; then -followed a brief moment of consternation that seemed an age. "Now go!" -continued he, as with an emphatic nod of the head he motioned toward the -door. Sheepish and crest-fallen, we slunk away from the room. It is -needless to say that we went this time. Through the darkness, by the aid -of a lantern, we picked our way, as with theories numerous and ingenious -we strove to account for that vociferous reception. - -Late that night we held an experience meeting with Mr. and Mrs. Snug in -the Tower, and if I remember right there were a few tears that fell, and -many apologies and good resolves, and as the true state of the case -dawned on Mr. Snug there was an evident twinge of regret on his kind -face. - -On the following morning (Saturday) there was a jolly party of youths -leaving the Snuggery for a day's boating at the lake. Dick Shin was -among them; and just as he was passing out the gate, a youngster -approaches him and taps him on the shoulder. "You are hereby arrested, -sir, on the orders of Mr. Snug." - -With an anxious and innocent expression Dick follows his juvenile -constable into the Tower, and his companions stroll along after to -ascertain the cause of the detention. We pass over the brief but amusing -trial, in which the prisoner, with the innocence of a little lamb, -pleaded his cause. - -"You _stumbled_, did you?" said Mr. Snug. "Well, you ought to know, sir, -by this time that I don't allow young men to stumble in that way in my -house. These two boys have suffered through your admitted clumsiness." -Here Mr. Snug paused in a moment's thought. "Dick Shin," he continued, -"I sent these innocent young gentlemen on two trips to Moody Barn--that -makes four miles for Bigson and four miles for Harding, together making -eight that they walked on your account. Now you may put down your -fishing-pole, and 'stumble' along on the road to Judd's Bridge, which -will give you two extra miles in which to think over your sins. And to -make sure"--here Mr. Snug arose and went to the closet--"you may take -this hatchet along with you, and bring me back a good big chip from the -end of the long bridge beam. I shall ride over that way to-morrow and -see whether it fits. You understand?" - -"Yes, sir," replied the injured voice of Dick Shin. "But, Mr. Snug, -can't I put off that penance until Monday?" - -"No, sir," replied Mr. Snug, with a beaming smile and a bow of the head. -"This is a lovely morning for contrite meditation. Go--_instantly_." - -Two hours later saw a demonstrative individual threatening to chop down -the whole side of a bridge, while ten miles to the northward the placid -surface of Waramaug rippled to the oars, and the lofty mountain-sides -echoed with the shouts of a merry holiday. - - * * * * * - -But all things must have an end. The school-days ended, and so did this -memorable vacation. A letter breaks the charm: insatiate publisher! Once -more through the winding paths of the Housatonic, and I leave the -loveliness of Hometown for the metropolis of brick and stone, there to -resume the old routine. - - - - -AUTUMN. - -[Illustration: THE WANING] - -[Illustration] - - -I am sitting alone upon a wooded knoll at our old farm at Hometown. -Above me a venerable oak holds aloft its dome of bronze-green verdure, -and on either side the gnarled and knotty branches bend low, and trail -their rustling leaves among the tufts of waving grass that fringe the -slope around me. - -It is a spot endeared to me from earliest memory, a loved retreat whose -every glimpse beneath the overhanging boughs has left its impress, whose -every feature of undulating field, of wooded mountain, and winding -meadow-brook I have long been able to summon up at will before my closed -eyes, as though a mirror of the living picture now before me. And what -is this picture? - -It is an enchanted vision of nature's autumn loveliness--a vision of -peace and tranquil resignation that lingers like a poem in the memory. -It is a glorious October day, one of those rarest and loveliest of days -when all nature seems transfigured, when a golden, misty veil swings -from the heavens in a charmed haze, through which the commonest and most -prosaic thing seems spiritualized and glorified. The summer's full -fruition is past and gone, the dross has been consumed; and in the -lingering life, whose yielding flush now lends its sweet expression to -the declining year, we see the type of perfect trust and hope that finds -a fitting emblem in the dim horizon, where heaven and earth are wedded -in a golden haze, where purple hills melt softly in the sky. It is a day -when one may dream with open eyes, and whose day-dreams haunt the memory -as sweet realities. The sky is filled with rolling, fleecy clouds, whose -flat receding bases seem to float upon a transparent amber sea, from -whose depths I look through into the blue air beyond. - -Below me an ancient orchard skirts the borders of the knoll. Its boughs -are crimson studded, and the ground beneath is strewn with the bright -red fruit. They mark the minutes as they fall, running the gauntlet of -the craggy twigs and bounding upon the slope beneath. Beyond the orchard -stretch the low, flat meadow lands, set with alders and swamp-maples, -with swaying willows, now enclosing, now revealing the graceful curves -of the quiet stream as it winds in and out among the overhanging -foliage. Soon it is lost beneath a wooded hill, where an old square -tower and factory-bell betray the hiding-place of the glassy pond that -sends its splashing water-fall across the rocks beneath the old town -bridge. Looking down upon this bridge, Mount Pisgah, with its rugged -cliff, is seen rising bold and stern against the sky, above a broad and -bright mosaic of elms and maples, spreading from the grove of oaks near -by in an unbroken expanse, to the very foot of the precipice, with here -and there a sunny cupola or gable peering out among the branches, or a -snowy steeple lifting high its golden cross or weather-vane glittering -in the sun. The mountain-side is lit up with its autumn glow of -intermingled maples, oaks, and beeches, with its changeless ledges of -jutting rock, and dense, defiant pines standing like veteran bearded -sentinels in perpetual vigilance. - -All this comes to me in a single glimpse beneath the branches. But there -are others, where undulating meadows, with their flowing lines of walls -and fences, lead the eye through soft gradations to distant purple -hills, through thrifty farms, with barns and barracks and rowen fields -with browsing cattle, and ruddy buckwheat patches, where the flocks of -village pigeons congregate among the cradle marks, in quest of scattered -kernels shaken from the sheaves. - -There is a tiny lake near by that nestles among the hill-side farms, -where sloping pastures and fields of yellow, rustling corn glide almost -to the water's edge. So sensitive and sympathetic is this little sheet -of water that I christened it one day Chameleon Lake, for it wears a -different expression for every phase of season or freak of weather, and -always dwells in harmony with the landscape which encloses it. In cloudy -days it frowns as cold as steel. In days of sunshine it is as bright and -blue as the sky itself, or shimmers like a shield of burnished silver. -And now it is a flood of autumn gold, carrying from shore to shore a -maze of ripples laden with opaline reflections of intermingled glints -from cloud and sky, and of the gold and ruby colored foliage along its -banks. - -But this knoll and all these farms are not mine alone. They are such as -I should hope might lurk in the memory of almost any one who looks back -to early days among New England hills. - -[Illustration: AN OCTOBER DAY.] - -This old oak-tree, whose furrowed bark I lean upon, was a hardy -patriarch when first I sought its shade. Its added years have scarcely -changed a feature or modified a line in its old-time noble expression. -As I look up, its great open arms spread out against the sky exactly as -they did when I lolled beneath their shelter and watched the drifting -clouds of twenty years ago sail through them in the blue above. Even the -jagged furrows in the bark I seem to recognize. Here, too, is that same -spreading scale of greenish lichen that fain will grow upon the trunk, -as if I had not often picked it all to pieces in my early idling. The -same round oak-gall rests on the bed of leaves in the hollow between the -rocks near by, as though it had forgotten how a dozen years ago I -cracked its polished shell and sent its spongy contents to the winds. - -And here comes that veritable ant creeping through the grass at my -elbow--now on the root, now on the bark, exploring every crack and -crevice in his hurried search. I wonder if the little fellow will ever -find what he has been looking for so long. And here's a friend of his -coming down. They stop and wag their antenn in a moment's conversation. -I wonder what they said. I always _did_ wonder when I watched them do -the same thing on this very spot a score of years ago. The soft waving -grass whispers about my ears as it did then, and I hear the low trumpet -of the nuthatch as he creeps about in the tree o'erhead. Easily may one -forget the lapse of time in such a place as this, where every leaf, and -twig, and blade of grass conspire to breed forgetfulness of later years. -Hark! that shrill tattoo again! The tree-toad. Yes, that same recluse in -his mysterious hiding-place, seeking by his tantalizing trill to renew -that game of hide-and-seek we left off so long ago--in those eager days -when every stick and stone upon the knoll was overturned in my zeal to -find his whereabouts. There he goes again! louder and more shrill. But -now I realize the effect of time, for I only sit and listen to his -oft-repeated call. Formerly that sound was like a galvanic thrill that -electrified every nerve and muscle in my physiology. No, I'll not hunt -for you again, my musical young friend; besides, the odds would be -against you now, for I know more about tree-toads than I once did, and -you wouldn't see me hunting on the ground as in the olden days. Besides, -you're getting bold; there is no need of hunting, for in that last toot -you gave yourself away. Even now my eyes are fixed upon the hole in -yonder hollow limb, and I see your tiny form clinging to the rotten wood -within the opening. What _would_ I not have given _once_ to have thought -of that soggy hole! - -[Illustration: A WAY-SIDE PASTORAL.] - -Near by a spreading yew monopolizes a rocky bit of ground, its foliage -creeping above a silvery gray bed of branching moss, whose pillowy tufts -spread almost to my feet. This was my fairy forest of tiny trees. Here I -found the fairies' cups and torches, and even now I can see their -scarlet tips scattered here and there among the gray; and fragile little -parasols, too--it were an insult, indeed, to designate such dainty -things as these by the name of toadstools. Beyond this bed of moss a -scrubby growth of whortleberry takes possession of the ground. The -bushes are now bare of fruit, but ruddy with their autumn blushes, -tingeing the surface of the knoll with a delicate coral pink. This -thicket extends far down upon the slope, even encroaching upon the -wheel-ruts of the lane, and across again, until cut short by an ancient -tumbling line of lichen-covered stones, a landmark which has long since -yielded up its claim as a barrier of protection to the old orchard it -encloses, now only a moss-grown pile, with every chink and crevice a -nestling-place of some searching tendril, fern, or clambering vine. For -rods and rods it creeps along beneath the laden apple-trees, skirting -the borders of this old farm lane, and finally hides away among a clump -of cedars a few hundred feet away. - -Of all the picturesque in nature, what is there, after all, that so wins -one's deeper sympathies as the ever-changing pictures of a rustic lane -or roadside, with its weather-beaten walls and fences, and their -rambling growth of weeds and creeping vines? How sweet the sense of near -companionship awakened by these charming way-side pastorals that -accompany you in your saunterings, and reach out to touch you as you -pass--a sense of friendly fellowship that breathes a silent greeting in -the most deserted paths or loneliest of by-ways! - -Show me a ruined wall or a rutted zigzag fence, and I will show you a -string of pearls, or rather, if in these later months, a fringe of gems, -for the autumn fence is set in wreaths of rubies and glowing sapphires. -Follow its rambling course, now through the field, now skirting swampy -fallows, now by rustic lanes and cornfields and over rocky pastures, and -you will follow a lead that will take you through the rarest bits of -nature's autumn landscape. - -Even in this lane, at the foot of the knoll below us, see the brilliant -luxuriance of clustered bitter-sweet draping the side of that clump of -cedars! It is only an indication of the beauty that envelops this lane -for a full half mile beyond. Every angle of its rude rail fence encloses -a lovely pastoral, each a surprise and a contrast to its neighbor. - -Right here before us, what a beginning! Hold up your hands on either -side, and shut out the surroundings. Such is the glimpse I always long -to paint from nature, and yet how almost maddening is the result! Rather -would I drink it all in and fix its every feature in my mind, and paint -it from its memory, when the presence of the living thing before me -shall not mock my efforts and put to shame the crude creations of oil -and pigment. - -See how the cool gray rails are relieved against that rich dark -background of dense olive juniper, how they hide among the prickly -foliage! Look at that low-hanging branch which so exquisitely conceals -the lowest rail as it emerges from its other side, and spreads out among -the creeping briers that wreathe the ground with their shining leaves -of crimson and deep bronze! Could any art more daringly concentrate a -rhapsody of color than nature has here done in bringing up that gorgeous -spray of scarlet sumach, whose fern-like pinnate leaves are so richly -massed against that background of dark evergreens? And even in that -single branch see the wondrous gradation of color, from purest green to -purplish olive, and olive melting into crimson, and then to scarlet, and -through orange into yellow, and all sustaining in its midst the -clustered cone of berries of rich maroon! Verily, it were almost an -affront to sit down before such a shrine and attempt to match it in -material pigment. A passing sketch, perhaps, that shall serve to aid the -memory in the retirement of the studio, but a careful copy, _never!_ -until we can have a tenfold lease of life, and paint with sunbeams. But -there is more still in this tantalizing ideal, for a luxuriant wild -grape-vine, that shuts in the fence near by, sends toward us an -adventurous branch that climbs the upright rail, and festoons itself -from fence to tree, and hangs its luminous canopy over the crest of the -yielding juniper. Even from where we stand we can see the pendant -clusters of tiny grapes clearly shadowed against the translucent golden -screen. Add to all this the charm of life and motion, with trembling -leaves and branches bending in the breeze, with here and there a -flitting shadow playing across the half hidden rails, and where can you -find another such picture, its counterpart in beauty--where? perhaps its -very neighbor, for all roadside pictures are "hung upon the line," they -are all by the same great Master, and it is often difficult to choose. - -Here we have a contrast. A dappled rock has taken possession of this -little corner, or the corner has been built around it, if you choose--a -"gray" rock we would call it in common parlance, but it is a gray -composed of a checkered multitude of tints, colors which upon a rock, it -would seem, were hardly worth an appreciative glance; but only let them -be exhibited upon a fold of Lyons silk or Jouvin kid glove, and dignify -them by the compliments of "ashes of roses," or "London smoke," and how -eagerly they are sought, how exquisite they become. I speak in -moderation when I say that I have often sat and counted as many as -thirty just such tints upon the surface of a small "gray" rock, each -_distinct_, and all so _refined_ and exquisite in shade. This rounded -bowlder is no exception; and with its tufted spots of jetty moss, and -outcroppings of glistening quartz, its rounded, spreading blots of -greenish lichens, and mottled groundwork, it may well defy the craft of -the most skilled palette. And when these grays are contrasted with -tender yellow greens and browns of fading ferns, such as fringe the -borders of the one before me, with a background of scarlet whortleberry -bushes and deep-green sprays of blackberry clustering about the -loosening bark of a crumbling stump, with its shelving growth of fungus -hiding among its brown debris, one may well pause and wonder which to -choose, or where a single touch is wanting in the perfect unity and -harmony of either. - -[Illustration: WAIFS.] - -Another jutting corner, and we confront a swaying mass of gold and -purple--that magnificent regal combination of graceful golden-rod and -asters that glorifies our autumn from September to the falling leaf. -There are a number of species of golden-rod, varying as much in their -intensity of color as in their time of bloom. The earliest appear in the -heart of summer, in wood and meadow; while others, larger and more -stately, lift up in their midst their plumy, undeveloped tips, and wait -until their predecessors are old and gray ere they roll out their -wreaths of gold. For weeks the roads and by-ways have been lit up with -their brilliant glow, that parting sunset gleam that lingers with the -closing year. This splendid cluster is full six feet in height, and -towers above the highest rail, or rather where the rail ought to be, for -it is lost from sight beneath a dense fret-work of prickly smilax--and -such brilliant, polished leaves! how they glitter in the sun! almost as -though wet with dew. - -And to think how those prickly canes, denuded of their leaves, are sold -upon our city thoroughfares as "Spanish rose-trees" to the unsuspecting -passer-by! Those guileless venders, too! I remember one that sought to -enrich my store of botanical knowledge by telling me they "bloomed in -winter!" and had a flower as "big as a saucer," and "kinder like a holy -hawk!!!?" I looked him straight in the eye, but he was the picture of -innocence. "Can you tell me the botanical name," I asked. "Oh yes," he -glibly replied, "I think they call it the _Rubus epistaxis_." Eheu! but -this was _too much_, and he saw it, and with a wink of his foxy eye and -a shrewd grin, he whispered along the palm of his hand, "Got to git a -livin' _somehow_, boss; now _don't_ give me away." "Here you are, lady, -Spanish roses, lady, fresh from the steamer." I never see a thicket of -green-brier without thinking of its "winter blossom;" and, by-the-way, -did you ever notice a thicket of this shrub, what a defiant, arbitrary -tyrant it is--shutting out the very life-breath and light of day from -its encumbered victims, monopolizing everything within its power, and -even reaching out for more with searching tips in mid-air, and a couple -of greedy tendrils at every leaf? And did you ever notice along the road -that delicious whiff that comes to you every now and then, that pungent -breath of the sweet-fern? We get it now; the air is laden with it from -the dark-green beds across the road. The sweet-fern, as I remember it, -was the simpler's panacea and the small boy's joy--an aromatic shrub, -whose inhaled fumes, together with its corn-silk rival, seem destined by -an all-wise Providence as a preparatory tonic to the more ambitious -fumigation of after-years. Many a time have I sat upon this bank and -tried to imagine in my domestic product the racy flavor of the famed -Havana! - -Between old Aunt Huldy, with her mania for the simples, and the demand -of the village boys, I wonder there is any of it left. But Aunt Huldy -has long since died; all her "yarbs," and "yarrer tea," and "paowerful -gud stimmilants" could not give her the lease of eternal earthly life -which she said lurked in the "everlastin' flaowers;" and after she had -reached the age of one hundred and three, her tansy decoctions and -boneset potions ceased in their efficacy--the feeble pulse grew feebler, -and one winter's eve, sitting in her rocker by her kettle and andirons, -she fell into a deep sleep, from which she never awoke. Aunt Huldy was -as strange and eccentric a character as one rarely meets in the walks of -life. Some said she was crazy; others said she was a witch; but -whatever she may have been, this aged dame was picturesque with her bent -figure, her long white hair and scarlet hood. And who shall describe the -ancient withered face that looked out from the shadow of that hood, the -small gray eyes and heavy white eyebrows, the toothless jaws and -receding lips, and massive chin that made its appalling ascent across -the face? But I cannot describe that face: think of how a witch should -look, and old Huldy's features will rise up before you. She knew every -herb that grew, but her great stand-by was "sweet-fern:" she smoked it, -she chewed it, she drank it, and even wore a little bag of it around her -neck, "to charm away the rheumatiz." - -[Illustration: IN THE CORNFIELD.] - -Since her time, however, the sweet-fern has had a chance to recuperate, -and, as far as we can see along the road, the banks are covered with it; -and there's a clump of teazles in its midst! I wonder if that old -carding-mill still stands. You also, perhaps, will wonder what relation -can exist between the two, that should make my thoughts jump half a -mile at the sight of a roadside weed. But that old woollen-mill offered -a premium on the extermination of one weed at least, for all the teasels -of the neighborhood were required to keep its cloth brushes in thorough -repair; but I fear its buzzing wheels are silent, for in olden times no -such splendid clump as this could have remained to go to seed upon the -highway. This old mill lies right upon our path, only a short walk down -the road beyond. It nestles among a bower of willows in a picturesque -ravine known as the "Devil's Hollow"--an umbrageous, rocky glen, by far -too cool and comfortable a place to justify the name it bears. - -Following the road, we now descend into a long, low stretch, hedged in -between two tall banks of alder, overtopped with interwoven tangles of -clematis, with its cloudy autumn clusters--that graceful vine which, -like the dandelion, is even more beautiful in death than in the fulness -of its bloom. And so, indeed, are nearly all those plants whose final -state is thus endowed by nature with feathery wings to lift them from -the earth. - -When has this swamp milk-weed by the roadside looked so fair as now, -with its bursting pods and silky seeds--those little waifs thrown out -upon the world with every passing breeze. How tenderly they seem to -cling to the little cosy home where they have been so snugly cradled and -protected; and see how they sail away, two or three together, loth to -part, until some rude gust shall separate them forever. - -And here's the great spiny thistle, too, that armed highwayman with -florid face and pompon in his cap. But he has had his day, and now we -see him old and seedy; his spears are broken, and his silvery gray hairs -are floating everywhere and glistening in the sun. - -Now we leave the alders, and another roadside mosaic of rich color opens -up before us, where the old half-wall fence, with its overtopping rails, -is luminous with a crimson glow of ampelopsis. It covers all the stones -for yards and yards; it swings from every jutting rail; it clambers up -the tree trunks and envelops them in fire, and hangs its waving fringe -from all the branches. - -Above the wall, like an encampment of thatched wigwams, the corn-shocks -lift their heads; a prospecting colony encamped among a field rich with -outcroppings of gold--a wealth of great round nuggets all in sight. And -were we to tear away that thatch, we might see where they have stowed -away their accumulated grains of wealth. We hear their rustling -whispers: "Hush! hush!" they seem to say to each other as we approach; -but their wariness is gratuitous, for a tell-tale vine is creeping away -upon the fence near-by, and has stopped to rest its golden burden on the -summit of the wall, half hiding among the scarlet creepers. - -Here yellow brakes abound, spreading their broad, triangular fronds on -every side amid the brilliant berries of wild-rose, and pink leaves of -blueberry. And here are thickets of black-alder, where every twig is -studded with scarlet beads, that cling so close that even winter's -bluster cannot shake them off. No matter where we look in these October -days, nature is burning itself away in a blaze of color that dazzles the -eyes; and now we approach its very crowning touch. - -I wish every one might see this gorgeous combination of oak and maples; -see it and go no farther, for a further search were fruitless in finding -its equal. It is the pride of the entire community; towns-people and -visitors ride from miles around to see its final flush--a magnificent -climax in the way of concentration of vivid color, in which nature seems -to have grouped with distinct purpose and design, producing a piece of -natural landscape-gardening such as no art could have approached. The -background is a massive precipice of rock towering to the height of -eighty feet, itself a perfect medley of tone. - -The group is composed of eight maples, each a distinct contrast of pure -color. In their midst a superb large oak presents one massive breadth of -deep purple green; and spreading up one side like a flood of yellow -light, a rock-maple lifts its splendid array of foliage. These two trees -concentrate the effect, and the others are arranged around them like -colors on a palette: one is a flaming scarlet, another beside it is -always a rich green, even to the falling leaf--with only a single -branch, that every year, even as early as August, persists in turning to -a peculiar salmon pink; another, a red-maple, is so deep a red as to -appear almost maroon, and its branches intermingle with the pale-pink -verdure of another growing by its side. There is one that combines every -intermediate color, from deep crimson to the palest saffron; while its -neighbor flutters in the wind with every leaf a brilliant butterfly of -pure green, with spots and splashes of deep carmine. - -This whole assemblage of color fairly blazes in the landscape, and even -from the top of Mount Pisgah, a half a mile away, it looks like a -glowing coal dropped down upon a bed of smouldering ashes in the valley; -for the surrounding meadow is thick-set with great gray rocks and -crimson viburnum, as though it had caught fire from the flaming trees. -What other country can boast the glory of a tree which, taken all in -all, can hold its own beside our lovely maple? From the time when first -it hangs its silken tassels to the awakening spring breeze until its -autumn fire has burned away its leaves, it presents an everchanging -phase that lends a distinct expression to American landscape. It affords -us grateful shade in summer; and with its trickling bounty in the spring -we can all unite in a hearty toast, "A health to the glorious maple." - -[Illustration: THE ROAD TO THE MILL.] - -But there is another tree which should not be forgotten, and if once -seen in a New England autumn landscape there is little danger of its -escaping from the memory. Of course, I refer to the pepperidge, or -tupelo, that nondescript among trees; for who ever saw two -pepperidge-trees alike? They seem to scorn a reputation for symmetry, or -even the idea of establishing among themselves the recognition of a type -of character. Novelty or grotesqueness is their only aim, and they hit -the bull's-eye every time. There is one I have in mind that has always -been a perfect curiosity. Its height is fully seventy feet, and its -crown is as flat as though cut off with a mammoth pair of -pruning-shears. The central trunk runs straight up to the summit, from -which it squirms off into six or seven snake-like branches, that dip -downward and writhe among the other limbs, all falling in the same -direction. One gets the impression, on looking at it, that originally -it might have been a respectable-looking tree, but that in some rude -storm in its early days it had been struck by lightning, torn up by the -roots, and afterward had taken root at the top. The tupelo, whenever -seen, is always one of our most picturesque trees, and a never-failing -source of surprise, twisting and turning into some unheard-of shape, and -seeming always to say, "There! beat that if you can!" Near the coast it -assumes the form of a crazy Italian pine, with spindling trunk and -massive head of foliage. Sometimes it divides in the middle, like an -hour-glass, and again mimics a fir-tree in caricature; but he who would -keep track of the acrobatic capers of the tupelo would have his hands -full. Whatever its shape, however, its brilliant, glossy crimson foliage -forms one of the most striking features of our October landscape. - -But I believe we were on the road to that carding-mill. We had almost -forgotten it; and now, as we look ahead, we see the old lumber-shed that -marks the upper ledge of Devil's Hollow. From this old shed a -trout-brook plunges through a series of rocky terraces, now winding -among prostrate moss-grown trunks, now gurgling through the bare roots -of great white birches, or spreading in a swift, glassy sheet as it -pours across some broad shelving rock, and plunges from its edge in a -filmy water-fall. It roars pent up in narrow caons, and out again it -swirls in a smooth basin worn in the solid rock. At almost every rod or -two along its precipitous course there is a mill somewhere hid among the -trees--queer, quaint little mills, some built up on high stone walls, -others fed with trickling flumes which span from rock to rock, -supporting on every beam a rounded cushion of velvety green moss, and -hanging a fringe of ferns from almost every crevice. And one there is in -ruins, fallen from its lofty perch, and piled in chaos in the stream. -There are saw-mills, and shook-mills, and carding-mills, seven -altogether in this one descent of about three hundred feet. The water -enters the ravine as pure as crystal; but in its wild booming through -race-ways, dams, and water-wheels, it gradually assumes a rich sienna -hue from the _dbris_ of sawdust everywhere along its course. The -interior of the ravine is musical with the trebles of the falling water -and the accompaniment of the rumbling mills. Tiny rainbows gleam beneath -the water-falls, and swarms of glistening bubbles and little islands of -saffron-colored foam float away upon the dark-brown eddies. - -At last we reach the carding-mill, which is the lowest of them all--in -every sense, it seems, for it is as I had feared: the flume is but a -pile of brown and mouldy timbers in the bed of the stream, and the old -box-wheel has rotted and fallen from its spokes, almost obscured beneath -a rank growth of weeds. No sound of buzzing teasels, no rumbling of the -water-wheel, no happy carder singing at his work: _nothing_--but a -couple of boys, kneeling in a corner, sucking cider through a straw. -Yes, the old mill has fallen from grace; but what else might one expect -from a mill in "Devil's Hollow," where all its neighbors are engaged in -making hogshead staves, and the very water has turned to ruddy wine? - -[Illustration: THE CIDER MILL.] - -The carding-machine is gone, and has given place to a rustic -cider-press. A temporary undershot-wheel has been rigged beneath the -floor, and a rude trough, patched up with sods, conducts the water from -the stream. - -It is the same old cider-press we all remember, and with the same -accessories. Here are casks of all sizes waiting to be filled, and the -piles of party-colored apples spilled upon the floor from the farmers' -wagons that every now and then back up to the open door. There is the -same rustic harangue on leading agricultural topics, among which we hear -a variety of opinions about that imaginary "line storm." - -"Seems to gi'n the slip this year," remarks one old long-limbed settler -with a slope-roofed straw hat, "'n' I don't know zactly what to _make_ -on't; but I ain't so sartin nuther"--he now takes a wise observation of -a small patch of blue sky through the trees overhead. "I cal'late we'll -git a leetle tetch on't yit." - -"Likenuff, likenuff," responds another, with a squeaky voice; "the ar's -gittin' ruther dampish, 'n' my woman hez got the rheumatiz ag'in. She -kin alluz tell when we're goin' to git a spell o' weather; it's sure to -fetch her all along her spine. But I lay _most_ store on them ar pesky -tree-tuds. I heern um singin' like all possessed ez I wuz comin' through -the woods yender; 'n' it's a sartin sign o' rain when them ar critters -gits agoin', you kin depend on't." - -And now we hear all about the pumpkin and the corn crop, the potato -yield, and the regular list of other subjects so dear to the rural -heart. - -In a corner by themselves we see the pile of "vinegar nubbins"--a tanned -and soft variety of apple--in all stages of variegation. The "hopper" -receives the shovelfuls of fruit for the crushing "smasher," which again -supplies the straw-laid press. We hear the creaking turn of the lever -screw, the yielding of the timbers, and a fresh burst of the trickling -beverage flowing from the surrounding trough into the great wooden tub -below. Here, too, is the swarm of eager urchins, with heads together, -like a troop of flies around a grain of sugar. Ah! what unalloyed bliss -is reflected from their countenances as they absorb the amber nectar -through the intermediate straw--that golden link that I have missed for -many a year! - -Outside upon the logs the refuse "pumice-cheese" has brought together -all the yellow-jackets and late butterflies of the neighborhood--butterflies -so tipsy that you can pick them up between your fingers. I never went so -far with the yellow-jackets, for they have a hotter temper, and don't -like to be fooled with. Black hornets, too, are here, and they find a -feast spread at their very door; for overhead, upon the beech, they -have hung their paper house, like a gray balloon caught among the -branches. - -[Illustration: "THE LINE STORM."] - -Now we hear a chatter and a scratching on the roof, where a pair of -lively squirrels hold a game of tag; and ascending the rickety stairs -into the loft above, we find the floor strewn with hickory-nuts, with -neat round holes cut through on either side, and numberless shaggy -butternuts, too, with daylight let into their recesses also. The boards -and beams are covered with cobweb trimmings, laden with wool-dust; and -as we approach a pile of rusty iron near the murky window, we hear a -scraping of sharp claws, the dropping of a nut between the rafters, and -now a wild scampering on the roof overhead. Before we have fairly -recovered from our surprise, we notice a sudden darkening of a hole in -the shingles close by, where, still and motionless, two inquisitive -black eyes look down at us. We have intruded upon private property, for -this is the home of the squirrels. No one can dispute their title, for -these little squatters have occupied the premises and held the fort for -nearly twenty years. - -They, too, have found forage close at hand, from the nut-grove upon the -hill-side yonder--a yellow bank of foliage of clustered hickories and -beeches, and rounded domes of chestnuts--a grove whose every rock and -bush is my old-time friend; where there are "sermons in stones," and -every tree speaks volumes. - -Here is the low thicket of weeds and hazel-bushes where we always -flushed that flock of quail, or started up some lively white-tailed hare -that jumped away among the quivering brakes and golden-rod. Here are -soft beds of rich green moss, studded with scarlet berries of -winter-green and partridge-vine. Now we come upon a creeping mat of -princess-pine, and here among the leaves we had almost stepped upon a -spreading chestnut-burr--that same burr I have so often seen before, -that same fuzzy, open palm holding out its tempting bait to lure the -eagerness of youth; an eagerness which always invested a neighbor's -chestnuts with a peculiar charm too tempting to resist; "take one," it -seems to say, as it did in years ago; and its hedge of thorny prickles -truly typifies the dangers which surrounded such an undertaking, for -these trees belong to Deacon Turney, and he prizes them as though their -yellow autumn leaves were so much gold. He guards them with an eagle's -eye, and he gathers all their harvest; no single nut is ever known to -sprout in Turney's woods if _he_ knows it. - -This pointed reminder among the leaves fairly pricks my conscience as I -recall the many October escapades in which it formed the chief -attraction. I remember one occasion in particular, for it is indelibly -impressed on my memory, and it was on this very spot. A party of -adventurous lads, myself among the number, were out for a glorious -holiday. Each had his canvas bag across his shoulder, and we stole along -the stone wall yonder, and entered the woods beneath that group of -chestnuts. Two of us acted as outposts on picket guard; and another, -young Teddy Shoopegg by name, the best climber in the village, did the -shaking. He prided himself on being able to "shin up any tree in the -caounty," and after he had once got up among those chestnut-trees we -stood from under, and in a very short space of time no single burr was -left among their branches. There were five busy pairs of hands beneath -those trees, I can tell you, for each one of us fully realized the -necessity of making the most of his time, not knowing how soon the -warning cry from our outposts might put us all to headlong flight; for -the alarm, "Turney's coming!" was enough to lift the hair of any boy in -town. - -[Illustration: A POINTED REMINDER.] - -But luck seemed to favor us on that day; we "cleaned out" six big -chestnut-trees, and then turned our attention to the hickories. There -was a splendid tall shagbark close by, with branches fairly loaded with -the white nuts in their open shucks. They were all ready to drop, and -when the shaking once commenced, the nuts came down like a shower of -hail, bounding from the rocks, rattling among the dry leaves, and -keeping up a clatter all around. We scrambled on all fours, and gathered -them by quarts and quarts. There was no need of poking over the leaves -for them, the ground was covered with them in plain sight. While busily -engaged, we noticed an ominous lull among the branches overhead. - -"'Sst! 'sst!" whispered Shoopegg up above; "I see old Turney on his -white horse daown the road yender." - -"Coming this way?" also in a whisper, from below. - -"I dunno yit, but I jest guess you'd better be gittin' reddy to leg it, -fer he's hitchin' his old nag 't the side o' the road. _Yis_, sir, I -bleeve he's a-cummin'. Shoopegg, you'd better be gittin' aout o' this," -and he commenced to drop hap-hazard from his lofty perch. In a moment, -however, he seemed to change his mind, and paused, once more upon the -watch. "Say, fellers," he again broke in, as we were preparing for a -retreat, "he's gone off to'rd the cedars; he ain't cummin' this way at -_all_." So he again ascended into the tree-top, and finished his shaking -in peace, and we our picking also. There was still another tree, with -elegant large nuts, that we had all concluded to "finish up on." It -would not do to leave it. They were the largest and thinnest-shelled -nuts in town, and there were over a bushel in sight on the branch tips. -Shoopegg was up among them in two minutes, and they were showered down -in torrents as before. And what splendid, perfect nuts they were! We -bagged them with eager hands, picked the ground all clean, and, with -jolly chuckles at our luck, were just about thinking of starting for -home with our well-rounded sacks, when a change came over the spirit of -our dreams. There was a suspicious noise in the shrubbery near by, and -in a moment more we heard our doom. - -"Jest yeu look _ee_ah, yeu boys!" exclaimed a high-pitched voice from -the neighboring shrubbery, accompanied by the form of Deacon Turney, -approaching at a brisk pace, hardly thirty feet away. "Don't yeu think -yeu've got jest abaout _enuff_ o' them nuts?" - -Of course a wild panic ensued, in which we made for the bags and dear -life; but Turney was prepared and ready for the emergency, and, raising -a huge old shot-gun, he levelled it, and yelled, "Don't any on ye stir -ner move, or by Christopher I'll blow the heels clean off'n the hull -_pile_ on ye. I'd _shoot_ ye quicker'n _lightni'_." - -And we believed him, for his aim was true, and his whole expression was -not that of a man who was trifling. I never shall forget the -uncomfortable sensation that I experienced as I looked into the muzzle -of that double-barrelled shot-gun, and saw both hammers fully raised -too. And I can clearly see now the squint and the glaring eye that -glanced along those barrels. There was a wonderfully persuasive power -lurking in those horizontal tubes; so I at once hastened to inform the -deacon that we were "not going to run." - -"Wa'al," he drawled, "it looked a leetle thet _way_, I thort, a spell -_ago_;" and he still kept us in the field of his weapon, till at length -I exclaimed, in desperation. - -"For gracious sake! point that gun in some other _way_, will you?" - -"Wa'al, _no_! I'm not fer pintin' it ennywhar else jest _yit_--not until -you've sot them ar _bags_ daown agin, jist whar ye _got_ 'em, every -_one_ on ye." The bags were speedily replaced, and he slowly lowered his -gun. - -[Illustration: AFTER THE SHELL-BARKS] - -"Wa'al, naow," he continued, as he came up in our midst, "this is putty -bizniss, _ain't_ it? Bin havin' a putty likely sort o' time teu, I sh'd -jedge from the looks o' these 'ere _bags_. One--two--_six_ on 'em; an' I -vaow they must be nigh on teu a half bushel in every pleggy _one_ on -'em. Wa'al, naow"--with his peculiar drawl--"look eeah: you're a putty -ondustrious lot o' _thieves_, I'm _blest_ if ye ain't." But the deacon -did all the talking, for his manoeuvres were such as to render us -speechless. "Putty likely place teu cum a-nuttin', ain't it?" Pause. -"Putty nice mess o' shell-barks ye got thar, I tell ye naow.--Quite a -sight o' _chestnuts_ in _yourn_, ain't they?" - -There was only one spoken side to this dialogue, but the pauses were -eloquent on both sides, and we boys kept up a deal of tall thinking as -we watched the deacon alternate his glib remarks by the gradual removal -of the bags to the foot of a neighboring tree. This done, he seated -himself upon a rock beside them. - -"_Thar!_" he exclaimed, removing his tall hat and wiping his -white-fringed forehead with a red bandanna handkerchief. "I'm much -_obleeged_. I've been a-watchin' on ye gittin' these 'ere nuts the hull -arternoon. I thort ez haow yeu might like to know on't." And then, as -though a happy thought had struck him, what should he do but -deliberately spit on his hands and grasp his gun. "Look _ee_ah"--a -pause, in which he cocked both barrels--"yeu boys wuz paowerful anxyis -teu git _away_ from _ee_ah a spell ago. Naow yeu kin _git_ ez lively ez -yeu pleze; your chores is done fer to-day." And bang! went one of the -gun-barrels directly over our heads. - -We _got_, and when once out of gun-range we paid the deacon a wealth of -those rare compliments for both eye and ear that always swell the boys' -vocabulary. - -"All right," he yelled back in answer, as he transported the bags across -the field. "Cum agin next year--cum agin. Alluz welcome! alluz welcome!" - -As I have already said, the deacon gathered all his nut -harvest--sometimes by a very novel method. - -Who does not remember some such episode of the old jolly days? If it was -not a Deacon Turney, it was some one else. I am sure his counterpart -exists in every country town, and in the memory of every boyhood -experience. - -We remember, perhaps, the sweet hazel-nuts which we gathered in their -brown husks and spread to dry upon the garret floor, and how those -mischievous mice avenged the deacon's wrongs as they invaded our -treasured store, and transported it to the nooks and kinks among the -rafters and beneath the floor. Then there were those rambles after -"fox-grapes," and the "gunning" tramps, when we stole with cautious step -upon the unseen "Bob White" whistling for us among the brush near by, -when the startling _whirr_ of the ruffed grouse from almost under our -feet sent an electric thrill up our backs and along our arms, even -touching off the powder in our barrels unawares. There were box-traps in -the woods, and snares among the copses, and lots of other mischief of -which we would not care to tell. - -[Illustration: A CORNER OF THE FARM.] - -There was another little three-cornered nut that fell among the -beech-trees where we held our October picnics, and the autumn beech -forest I remember as a lovely woodland parlor. We sit upon a painted -rock, in the shadow of a drooping hemlock, perhaps. Beyond, we look -across among the smooth gray tree-trunks, where sidelong shadows softly -stripe the matted leaves, with here and there a shining shaft of sunbeam -lighting up the carpet, or a glinting spray of sun-tipped leaves that -flicker above their shadows. The woods are filled with a luminous glow -such as no summer forest ever knew--an all-pervading light which seems -almost independent of the sunshine, as though living in the leaf itself. -It floods the mottled bark, and transforms its ashy tints to softened -autumn grays. It searches out the shadows of the evergreens, and throws -its mellow glow upon the rocks among their recesses. It permeates the -whole interior as though it were transfigured through a golden-colored -glass. - -A quick, sharp whistle surprises you from the herbage near by, and a -striped chickaree skips across the leaves and dives into his burrow at -the foot of an old stump not far away. There are various other sounds -that come to you if you sit quietly in a beech wood. Now it is a tiny -footfall, a pat-pat upon the leaves, and a little brown bird is seen, -hopping in and out among the undergrowth, scratching and pecking like a -little hen among the leaf mould. Then comes a galloping sound, and you -know there is a scampering hare somewhere about. And at last a peeping -frog gains confidence, and starts up a trill somewhere behind you. He is -soon joined by another, and still others, until a chorus of the shrill -voices echoes among the trees, some from the around, some from the limbs -overhead; and if you only sit perfectly still, you may hear a -venturesome voice, perhaps, at your very elbow; for these little peepers -are capricious songsters, and only sing before a quiet, attentive -audience. Now a silly green katydid flits by, like an animated gauzy -leaf; and quick as thought a kingbird darts out from the leaves -overhead, hovers in mid-air for a second, and is away again; and -luckless katydid wishes she _hadn't_. - -See the variety of beeches, too! Here are slender, dappled stems, clean -and trim; and others, great giants with fluted trunks and gnarled roots, -and with eccentric limbs reaching out in most fantastic angles; but all -spreading above in a graceful, airy screen of intermingled tracery and -sunlight, where slender branches bend and sway beneath the agile -squirrel as he leaps from tree to tree, and the leaves clatter with the -falling nuts. Behind us a soft fluttering of many wings betrays a -slender mountain-ash, with its drooping clusters of berries, growing in -an open, rocky space near by--where a flock of cedar birds assemble -among the fruit, or scatter away amid the evergreens at your slightest -movement. Turning your head in another direction, you can follow the -course of an old farm-road that leads out upon a bright clearing, -thick-set with light-green, feathery ferns. A few rods beyond, it makes -a sudden downward turn through a dense grove of lofty pines and -hemlocks. Here are "dim aisles" where dwell perpetual twilight--where no -ray of sun has entered for well-nigh a century--only, perhaps, as it is -brought down in a glistening sunbeam within the crystal bead of balsam -upon some dropping cone. There is a solemn stillness in these stately -halls, in which your very footfall is proscribed and hushed in the -depths of the brown and silent carpet. There are old, venerable -gray-beards here, and fallen monarchs lying prostrate among the rugged -rocks; and here and there among the brown debris a fungus lifts its -head, to tell of other generations that lie crumbling beneath the mould. -Now among the lofty columns, like a magnificent illuminated window in -some vast cathedral, comes a glimpse of the outer world with its autumn -colors; and here the vaulted aisle soon leads us. We find a dazzling -contrast; for in the sombre shadows of the pine-forest one readily -forgets the month, or even the season. Here we approach a rippling -trout-stream, and as we stop to rest upon its tottering bridge we look -across a long brook meadow, where the asters screen the ground in -mid-air in a purple sea--one of the rarest spectacles of autumn. But in -this swamp lot there are presented a continual series of just such rich -displays from spring-time till the winter. - -I know of no other place in which the progress of the year is so readily -traced as in these swampy fallow lands. They are a living calendar, not -merely of the seasons alone, but of every month successively; and its -record is almost unmistakably disclosed. It is whispered in the fragrant -breath of flowers, and of the aromatic herbage you crush beneath your -feet. It floats about on filmy wings of dragon-fly and butterfly, or -glistens in the air on silky seeds. It skips upon the surface of the -water, or swims among the weeds beneath; and is noised about in myriads -of tell-tale songs among the reeds and sedges. The swallows and the -starlings proclaim it in their flight, and the very absence of these -living features is as eloquent as life itself. Even in the simple story -of the leaf, the bud, the blossom, and the downy seed, it is told as -plainly as though written in prosaic words and strewn among the herbage. - -In the early, blustering days of March, there is a stir beneath the -thawing ground, and the swamp cabbage-root sends up a well protected -scout to explore among the bogs; but so dismal are the tidings which he -brings, that for weeks no other venturing sprout dares lift its head. He -braves alone the stormy month--the solitary sign of spring, save, -perhaps, the lengthening of the alder catkins that loosen in the wind. -April woos the yellow cowslips into bloom along the water's edge, and -the golden willow twigs shake out their perfumed tassels. In May the -prickly carex blossoms among the tussocks, and the calamus buds burst -forth among their flat, green blades. June is heralded on right and left -by the unfurling of blue-flags, and the eyebright blue winks and blinks -as it awakens in the dazzling July sun. - -[Illustration: BEECH-NUTTING.] - -Then follows brimful August, with the summer's consummation of -luxuriance and bloom; with flowers in dense profusion in bouquets of -iron-weed and thoroughworts, of cardinal flowers and fragrant clethra, -with their host of blossoming companions. The milk-weed pods fray out -their early floss upon September breezes, and the blue petals of the -gentian first unfold their fringes. October overwhelms us with the -friendly tokens of burr marigolds and bidens; while its thickets of -black-alder lose their autumn verdure, and leave November with a -"burning bush" of scarlet berries hitherto half-hidden in the leafage. -Now, too, the copses of witch-hazel bedeck themselves, and are yellow -with their tiny ribbons. December's name is written in wreaths of snow -upon the withered stalks of slender weeds and rushes, which soon lie -bent and broken in the lap of January, crushed beneath their winter -weight. And in fulfilment of the cycle, February sees the swelling buds -of willow, with their restless pussies eager for the spring, half -creeping from their winter cells. - -The October day is a dream, bright and beautiful as the rainbow, and as -brief and fugitive. The same clouds and the same sun may be with us on -the morrow, but the rainbow will have gone. There is a destroyer that -goes abroad by night; he fastens upon every leaf, and freezes out its -last drop of life, and leaves it on the parent stem, pale, withered, and -dying. - -Then come those closing days of dissolution, the saddest of the year, -when all nature is filled with phantoms, and the gaunt and naked trees -moan in the wind--every leaf a mockery, every breeze a sigh. The air -seems weighed with a premonition of the dreariness to come. The -landscape is darkened in a melancholy monotone, and death is written -everywhere. You may walk the woods and fields for hours without a gleam -of comfort or a cheering sound. We hear, perhaps, the hollow roll of the -woodpecker upon some neighboring tree; but even he is clad in mourning: -it is a muffled drum, and the resounding limb is dead. You sit beneath -the old oak-tree, but it is a lifeless rustle that grates upon your ear, -while you listen half beseechingly for some cheering note from the -robins in the thicket near; but they are coy and silent now, and their -flight is toward the southern hills. A villanous shrike must needs come -upon the scene: he alights upon a limb near by, with blood upon his -beak. Murder is in his eye, and his mission here is death. And now we -hear a noisy crow o'erhead: he perches upon a neighboring tree in hungry -scrutiny. And what is he but carrion's bird, that revels in decay and -death, with raiment black as a funeral pall? In the cold gray sky we see -their scattered flocks blowing in the wind with sidelong flight, and in -the field below that mocking cadaver, the man of straw, shaking his -flimsy arms at them in wild contortions. - -[Illustration: THE NORTH WIND.] - -There is a hopeless despondency abroad in all the air, in which the -summer medleys of the birds taunt us with their memories. We yearn for -one such joyful sound to break the gloomy reverie. But what bird could -swell his throat in song amidst such cheerlessness? No, Nature does not -thus defeat her purpose. The hopefulness of Spring, the joyful -consummation of Summer, have fled; their mission is fulfilled, and these -are days for meditation on the past and future. All nature speaks of -death; and there are voices of despair, and others eloquent with hope -and trust. There are dead leaves that crumble into dust beneath our -feet; but, if we look higher, there are others that conceal the promise -of eternal life, where the undeveloped being, that perfect symbol, -weaves his silken shroud, and awaits the coming of his day of full -perfection. In the ground beneath he seeks his sepulchre, and he knows -that at the appointed time he will burst his cerements and fly away. -These are inobtrusive, silent testimonies; but they are here, and need -only to be sought to unfold their prophecies. - -But there comes a respite even in these late gloomy days. There is a -lull in the work of devastation, in which the sunny skies and magic haze -of October come back to us in the charming dreaminess of the Indian -summer. A brief farewell--perhaps a day, perhaps a week; but however -long, it is a parting smile that we love to recall in the dreariness -that follows. The sky is luminous with soft sun-lit clouds, and the hazy -air is laden with spring-like breezes, with now and then a welcome -cricket-song or light-hearted bird-note, for, although long upon their -way, the birds have not yet all departed. They twitter cheerily among -the trees and thickets, and should you listen quietly you perhaps might -hear an echo of spring again in the warble of the robin upon the -dog-wood-tree. Here they have loitered by the way among the scarlet -berries. Not only robins, but cedar-birds and thrushes are here, in -successive flocks, from morn till night. - -The fields are dull with faded golden-rods and asters, among whose downy -seeds the frolicking chickadees and snow-birds hold a jubilee. The maze -of twigs and branches in the distant hills has enveloped them in a smoky -gray, and the sound of rustling leaves follows your footsteps in your -woodland rambles. The fringe of yellow petals is unfolding on the -witch-hazel boughs, and if you only knew the place, you might discover -in some forsaken nook a solitary pale-blue lamp of fringed gentian still -flickering among the withered leaves. Now a lively twittering and a hum -of wings surprises you, and before you can turn your head a happy little -troop of birds sweep across your path, and are away among the -evergreens. They are white buntings, and their presence here is like a -chill, for they come from the icy regions of the North, and they bring -the snow upon their wings. The Indian summer is soon a thing of the -past. Perhaps before another daybreak it will have flown. There is no -dawn upon that morning. The night runs into a day of dismal, cheerless -twilight, and the sky is overcast with ominous darkness. That angry -cloud that left us, driven away before the conquering Spring, now lowers -above the northward mountain; we see its livid face and feel its -blighting breath--"a hard, dull bitterness of cold," that sweeps along -the moor in noisy triumph, that howls and tears among the trembling -trees, and smothers out the last smouldering flame of faded Autumn. - -The final leaf is torn from the tree. The lingering birds depart the -desolation for scenes more tranquil, and I too with them, for nothing -here invites my tarrying. The Autumn days are gone, grim Winter is at -our door, and the covering snow will soon enshroud the earth, subdued -and silent in its winter sleep. - -[Illustration] - - - - -WINTER. - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration: THE SLEEP] - -[Illustration: A WINTER IDYL - -Prologue - - A chill sad ending of a dreary day. - The waning light in stillness dies away. - Bequeaths no ray of hope the void to fill - But lends to gloomy thoughts more sadness still. - All nature hushed beneath a snowy shroud - Darkness and death their sovereign rule decree - O, reign of dread, of cruel blasts that kill - Thy cycle brings a heavy heart to me. - How many thus their Winter's advent view - Whose darkened faith no daylight ever knew. - Alas for him who thinks the grave his doom - Or sees the sun go down behind the tomb. - "Seek and ye shall find". On every hand - Mute prophecies their mission tell. - Yield but a listening ear and they shall say - 'The dead but sleep, they do not pass away' - Else why mid earth and heaven on yonder tree - That type of life in death, the living tomb? - Why the imago from dark cerements free - Winging its upward flight from earthly gloom? - Why this device supreme unless a prophecy - Of resurrected life and immortality. - Oh thou whose downcast eyes refuse to seek - See! even at the grave the sign is given. - The snow-clad evergreen, eternal life - Clothed in celestial purity from heaven. - Even thus life's Winter should be blest - Not dark and dead but full of peace and rest. -] - - -Silently, like thoughts that come and go, the snow-flakes fall, each one -a gem. The whitened air conceals all earthly trace, and leaves to -memory the space to fill. I look upon a blank, whereon my fancy paints, -as could no hand of mine, the pictures and the poems of a boyhood life; -and even as the undertone of a painting, be it warm or cool, shall -modify or change the color laid upon it, so this cold and frosty -background through the window transfigures all my thoughts, and forms -them into winter memories legion like the snow. Oh that I could -translate for other eyes the winter idyl painted there! I see a living -past whose counterpart I well could wish might be a common fortune. I -see in all its joyous phases the gladsome winter in New England, the -snow-clad hills with bare and shivering trees, the homestead dear, the -old gray barn hemmed in with peaked drifts. I see the skating-pond, and -hear the ringing, intermingled shouts of the noisy, shuffling game, the -black ice written full with testimony of the winter's brisk hilarity. -Down the hard-packed road with glancing sled I speed, past frightened -team and startled way-side groups; o'er "thank you, marms," I fly in -clear mid-air, and crouching low, with sidelong spurts of snowy spray, I -sweep the sliding curve. Now past the village church and cosy parsonage. -Now scudding close beneath the hemlocks, hanging low with their piled -and tufted weight of snow. The way-side bits like dizzy streaks whiz by, -the old rail fence becomes a quivering tint of gray. The road-side weeds -bow after me, and in the swirling eddy chasing close upon my feet, sway -to and fro. Soon, like an arrow from the bow, I shoot across the "Town -Brook" bridge, and, jumping out beyond, skip the sinking ground, and -with an anxious eye and careful poise I "trim the ship," and, hoping, -leave the rest to fate. - -Perhaps I land on both runners, perhaps I don't; that depends. I've -tried both ways I know, and if I remember rightly, I always found it -royal jolly fun; for what cared I at a bruise, or a pint of snow down my -back, when I got it there myself? - -The average New England boy is hard to kill, and I was one of that kind. -Any boy who could brave the hidden mysteries and capricious favoritism -of those fifteen dislocating "thank you, marms," and _hang together_ -through it all, and, having so done, finish that experience with a -plunging double somersault into a crusted snow-bank, or, perchance, into -a stone wall--if he can do this, I say, and survive the fun, then there -is no reason why he should not live to tell of it in old age, for never -in the flesh will he go through a rougher ordeal. I've known a boy who -"_hated_ the old district school because the hard benches hurt him so," -and who would rest his aching limbs for hours together in this gentle -sort of exercise. "The fine print made his eyes ache, and he couldn't -study;" and yet when one day he comes home with one eye all colors of -the rainbow, "it's _nothing_." "Consistency is a jewel." Boys don't -generally wear jewels. But they are all alike. Boys will be boys, and if -they only live through it, they will some day look back and wonder at -their good fortune. - -At the foot of that long hill the "Town Brook" gurgles on its winding -way, and passing beneath the weather-beaten bridge, it makes a sudden -turn, and spreads into a glassy pond behind the bulwarks of the saw-mill -dam. In summer, were we as near as this, we would hear the intermittent -ring of the whizzing saw, the clanking cogs, and the tuneful sounds of -the falling bark-bound slabs; but now, like its bare willows that were -wont to wave their leafy boughs with caressing touch upon the mossy -roof, the old mill shows no sign of life. Its pulse is frozen, and the -silent wheel is resting from its labors beneath a coverlet of snow. Who -is there who has not in some recess of the memory a dear old haunt like -this, some such sleeping pond radiant with reflections of the scenes of -early life? Thither in those winter days we came, our numbers swelled -from right and left with eager volunteers for the game, till at last, -almost a hundred strong, we rally on the smooth black ice. - -[Illustration: SNOW-FLAKES OF MEMORY.] - -The opposing leaders choose their sides, and with loud hurrahs we -penetrate the thickets at the water's edge, each to cut his special -choice of stick--that festive cudgel, with curved and club-shaped end, -known to the boy as a "shinney-stick," but to the calm recollection of -after-life principally as an instrument of torture, indiscriminately -promiscuous in its playful moments. Were I to swing one of those dainty -little clubs again, I would rather that the end were tied up in -something soft, and that this should be the universal rule; otherwise I -don't think I would play. I would prefer to sit on the bank and watch -the sport, or make myself useful in looking after the dead and wounded. -But to the "average New England boy" it makes a great deal of difference -who swings the club, and what it is swung for. If it is whirled in -_play_, and takes him with a blow that _ought_ to kill him, and _would_ -if he were not a boy, why then he laughs, and thinks it's good fun, and -goes in and gets another. But if the parental guardian has any reason to -swing a stick even one-tenth the size, the whole neighborhood thinks -there is a boy being murdered. So much depends upon a name sometimes. - -[Illustration: THE OLD MILL-POND.] - -How clearly and distinctly I recall those toughening, rollicking sports -on the old mill-pond! I see the two opposing forces on the field of ice, -the wooden ball placed ready for the fray. The starter lifts his stick. -I hear a whizzing sweep. Then comes that liquid, twittering ditty of the -hard-wood ball skimming over the ice, that quick succession of bird-like -notes, first distinct and clear, now fainter and more blended, now -fainter still, until at last it melts into a whispered, quivering -whistle, and dies away amidst the scraping sound of the close-pursuing -skates. With a sharp crack I see the ball returned singing over the -polished surface, and met half-way by the advance-guard of the leading -side. The holder of the ball with rapid onward flight hugs close upon -his charge, keeping it at the end of his stick. Past one and another of -his adversaries he flies on winged skates, followed by a score of his -companions, until, seeing his golden opportunity, with one tremendous -effort he gives a powerful blow. To be sure, one of his own men -interposes the back of his head and takes half the force of his stroke; -but what does that matter, it was all in fun? besides, he had no -business to be in the way. The ball thus retarded in such a trivial -manner instantly meets a barricade of the excited opponents, who have -hurried thither to save their game; but before any one can gain the time -to strike the ball, the starters rush pell-mell upon them. Now comes the -tug of war. Strange fun! What a spectacle! The would-be striker, with -stick uplifted, jammed in the centre of a boisterous throng; the -hill-sides echo with ringing shouts, and an anxious circle with ready -sticks forms about the swaying, gesticulating mob. Meanwhile the ball -is beating round beneath their feet, their skates are clashing steel on -steel. I hear the shuffling kicks, the battling strokes of clubs, the -husky mutterings of passion half suppressed; I hear the panting breath -and the impetuous whisperings between the teeth, as they push and -wrestle and jam. A lucky hit now sends the ball a few feet from the -fray. A ready hand improves the chance; but as he lifts his stick a -youngster's nose gets in the way and spoils his stroke; he slips, and -falls upon the ball; another and another plunge headlong over him. The -crowd surround the prostrate pile, and punch among them for the ball. -When found, the same riotous scene ensues; another falls, and all are -trampled under foot by the enthusiastic crowd. Ye gods! will any one -come out alive? I hear the old familiar sounds vibrating on the air: -whack! whack! "Ouch!" "Get out of the way, then!" "Now I've got it!" -"Shinney on yer own side!" and now a heavy thud! which means a sudden -damper on some one's wild enthusiasm. And so it goes until the game is -won. The mob disperses, and the riotous spectacle gives place to -uproarious jollity. - -There are other more tranquil reflections from that old mill-pond. Do -you not remember the little pair of dainty skates whose straps you -clasped on daintier feet; the quiet, gliding strolls through the -secluded nooks; the small, refractory buckle which you so often stooped -to conquer; and the sidelong grimaces of less fortunate swains--sneers -that brought the color tingling to your cheeks with mingled pride and -anger? Ah! things so near the heart as these can never freeze. - -Yonder, just below that clustered group of pines, where the water-weeds -and lily-pads are frozen in the ice, we chopped our fishing holes, and -with baited lines and tip-ups set, we waited, wondering what our luck -would be. With eager eyes we watched the line play out, or saw the -tip-up give the warning sign. And as with anxious pull we neared the end -of the tightening cord, who shall describe that tingling sense of joy at -the first glimpse of the gaping pickerel? - -Near by I see the yellow-fringed witch-hazel bending in graceful spray -over the flaky, bordering ice, that mystic shrub whose feathery winter -blooms we gathered as a token for the little one with dainty skates. - -Still farther up the pond the marbled button-wood-tree, with spreading -limbs and knotty brooms of branchlets, rises clear against the sky, its -little pendulums swinging away the winter moments. At its very roots the -dam spreads into a tufted swamp, thick-set with alders. How often have I -picked my way through that wheezing, soggy marsh in quest of the rare -Cecropia cocoons; treading among glazed air-chambers, whose roof of ice, -like a pane of brittle glass, falls in at my approach--a crystal fairy -grotto, set with diamonds and frost ferns, annihilated at a step. - -Here, too, the sagacious musk-rat built his cemented dome, and along the -neighboring shore we set the chained steel-traps, or made the ponderous -dead-fall from nature's rude materials. Yonder, in the side-hill woods, -I set the big box rabbit-traps; with keen-edged jack-knife trimmed the -slender hickory poles, and on the ground near by, with sharpened, -branching sticks, I built the little pens for my twitch-up snares. Can -I ever forget the fascinating excitement which sped me on from snare to -snare in those tramps through the snowy woods, the exhilarating buoyancy -of that delicious suspense, every nerve and every muscle on the _qui -vive_ in my eagerness for the captured game! Even the memory of it acts -like a tonic, and almost creates an appetite like that of old. - -And then the lovely woods. How few there are who ever seek their winter -solitude: and of these how fewer still are they who find anything but -drear and cold monotony! - -We read the literature of our time, and find it rich in story of the -home aspects of winter; of Christmas joys and festivals, of holiday -festivities, and all the various phases of cosy domestic life; but not -often are we tempted from the glowing hearth into the wilds of the bare -and leafless forest. We read of the "drear and lonely waste, the -cheerless desolation of the howling wilderness," and we look out upon -the naked, shivering trees and draw our cushioned rockers closer to the -grateful fire. - -[Illustration: THE FIRST SNOW.] - -Not I; bitter were the winds and high the piled-up drifts that shut me -in from out-of-doors in those glorious days; and whether on my animated -trapping tours, or hunting on the crusted snow, with powder-horn and -game-bag swinging at my side, or perhaps pressing through the tangled -thickets in my impetuous search for those pendulous cocoons, now -stopping to tear away the loosening bark on moss-grown stump, now -looking beneath some prostrate board for the little "woolly bears" -curled up in their dormant sleep: no matter what my purpose, always I -was sure to find the winter full of interest and beauty. How distinctly -I recall the thrilling spectacle of that glad morning when, awakening -early, and jumping from the little cot so snug and warm, I tripped -across the chilly floor and scratched a peep-hole on the frosted -window-pane; looked out upon a world so changed, so strangely beautiful, -that at first it seemed like a lingering vision in half-awakened -eyes--still looking into dream-land. All the world is dressed in purest -white, as soft and light as down from seraphs' wings. The orchard trees, -the elms, and all the leafless shrubs, as if by magic spell, transformed -to shadowy plumes of spotless purity, and the interlacing boughs -o'erhead vanishing in a canopy of glistening, feathery spray. I look -upon a realm celestial in its beauty, unprofaned by earthly sign or -sound. A strange, supernal stillness fills the air; and save where some -unseen spirit-wing tips the slender twig and lets fall the scintillating -shower, no slightest movement mars the enchanted vision. Above, in the -far-off blue, I see the circling flock of doves, their snowy wings -glittering in their upward flight--apt emblems in a scene so like a -glimpse of spirit-land. A single vision such as this should wed the -heart to winter's loveliness, a loveliness inspiring and immaculate, for -never in the cycle of the year does nature wear a face so void of -earthly impress, so spirit-like, so near the heavenly ideal. - -One of the most striking features of the winter ramble in the woods is -their impressive stillness. But stop awhile and listen. That very -silence will give emphasis to every sound that soon shall vibrate on the -clear atmosphere, for "little pitchers have big ears," and wide-open -eyes too. They will first be sure that the stick you hold is only a -cane, and not the small boy's gun which they have so learned to dread. -Hark! even from the hollow maple at your side there comes a scraping -sound, and in an instant more two black and shining eyes are peering -down at us from the bulging hole above. Tut! don't strike the little -fellow. Had you only waited a moment longer, we would have seen him -emerge from his concealment, and with frisky, bushy tail laid flat upon -the bark, he would have hung head downward on the trunk, and watched our -every movement; but now you've startled him, he thinks you mean -mischief, and you'll see his sparkling eyes no more at that knot-hole. -Listen! Now we hear a rustling in the sere and snow-tipped weeds -somewhere near by, and presently a little feathery form flits past, and -settles yonder on the swaying rush. With feathers ruffled into a little -fuzzy ball, he bustles around among the downy seeds, now prying in their -midst, now hanging underneath, head up, head down, no matter which, -it's all the same to him. Now he stops short in his busy search, turns -his little head jauntily from side to side, lifts his tufted crest, and -sets free his pent-up glee--"See! see! see me sing! Chickadee-dee-dee!" -Who has not heard that wee small voice ringing in the frosty air? and -who, having heard it, has not longed to catch and cuddle that little -feathery puff, the winter's own darling, whose little warm heart and -sprightly song temper the chill and enliven the cheerless days? - -[Illustration: MUTE PROPHECIES.] - -The bending rush but lightly feels the dainty form, and, if at all, it -must delight to bear so sweet a burden. How dearly have I learned to -love this little fellow, perhaps my special favorite among the birds; -for while the others one by one desert us with the dying year for scenes -more bright and sunny, the chickadee is content to share our lot; he is -constant, always with us, ever full of sprightliness and cheer. No -winter is known in his warm heart, no piercing blast can freeze the -fountain of his song. - -How often in the woods and by-ways have I stopped and chatted with this -diminutive friend as he nestled in some oscillating spray of golden-rod, -or perhaps with jaunty strut shook down the new-fallen snow from some -drooping branch of hemlock. I say "chatted," for he is a talkative and -entertaining little fellow, always ready to tell people "all about it," -if they will only ask him. He is generally too busy searching amid the -dead and crumpled leaves for the indispensable _bug_ to intrude himself -on any one; but once draw him into conversation and he will do his share -of the talking--only, mind you, remove those big fur gloves and tippet, -or he will put you to shame by crying, "See! see!" and showing you his -little, bare feet. This pert atom can be saucy and cross if things don't -exactly suit his fancy; and, for whatever reason, he always seems out of -patience at the sight of a _man_ all bundled up and mittened. I have -noticed this repeatedly. "Take off some of those things," he seems to -say, "and let me see who you are, and then I'll talk with you," and with -feathers puffed up like an indignant hen in miniature, he scolds and -scolds. - -Then there are the little snow-birds, too. When the sad autumn days are -upon us, when the dying leaves with ominous flush yield up their hold on -life, and are borne to earth on wailing winds, and all nature seems -filled with mocking phantoms of the summer's life and loveliness; when -we listen for the robin's song and hear it not, or the thrush's -bell-like trill, and listen in vain; when we look into the southern sky -and see the winged flocks departing behind the faded hills--it is at -such a time, while the very air seems weighed with melancholy, that the -snow-birds come with their welcome, twittering voices. All winter long -these sprightly little fellows swarm the thickets and sheltering -evergreens, frolicking in the new-fallen snow like sparrows in a summer -pool. Sometimes they unite in flocks with the chickadees and invade the -orchard, and even the kitchen door-yard, with their ceaseless chatter. -If you open the window and scatter a few crumbs upon the porch, they -are soon hopping among the grateful morsels with twittering -thankfulness. And on a very cold day, should you leave the kitchen -window standing open, they will perch upon the sill and preen their -ruffled feathers. Always trusting and confiding when appreciated, but -often coy and distant for want of just such kindness. - -[Illustration: THE TWITCH-UP.] - -Although loving the cold, and choosing the winter season to be with us, -the snow-birds cannot hold their own against the little hardy chickadee. -Indeed, I sometimes think that this little frost-proof puff is happier -and more sprightly in proportion as the cold increases, and that even -the sight of a frozen thermometer would be, perhaps, an especial -inspiration for his song. Not so the little snow-birds. When those raw -and bitter winds sweep like a blight over the face of nature, their -little song is frozen, and their familiar forms are seen no more. You -hunt amid the evergreens and hedge-rows, but they are not there. But -when the shingle-vane on the old barn-gable veers and points toward the -south or west, should you chance to be in the neighborhood of the -barrack mow, you would hear the muffled twittering of the little thawing -voices underneath the conical roof. Here they have assembled among the -wheat-sheaves still unthreshed, finding a warm and cosy shelter--"a -pavilion till the storm is overpast." - -The winter woods are full of life and beauty, if we will only look for -them. We do as much for the summer woods, why not for the winter? Were -we to seclude ourselves in-doors in June, and shut our eyes to all its -loveliness, it would be only what so many do from November till the -budding spring. In one respect, at least, the woods are even more -beautiful in winter than in summer; for in their height of leafy -splendor--sometimes to me almost oppressive in its universal -greenness--the true and living tree is hidden from sight, its exquisite -anatomy is concealed, and, to a certain degree, all the different trees -melt into a mass of "nothing but leaves." - -No one ever sees the full charm of the forest who turns his back upon it -in the winter, for its clear-cut tree-forms are an unceasing delight and -wonder. Look at the exquisite lines of that drooping birch, the -intricate interlacing tracery of the minute branching twigs! Could -anything be more graceful or more chaste? could any covering of leaves -enhance its beauty? And so the apple-tree by the old stone wall--how -different its various angles! how individual in its character! how -beautiful its silhouette against the sky! Thus every separate tree -affords a perfect study, of infinite design. See that mottled beech -trunk yonder. What! never noticed it before? That was because its -drooping leaf-clad branches concealed its beauty; but now not only does -it emerge from its wonted obscurity, but the whiteness of the snowy -ground beyond gives added value to every subtle tint upon its dappled -surface. Step nearer. With what variety of exquisite tender grays has -nature painted the clean smooth bark! See those marbled variegations, -each spot with a distinct tint of its own, and each tint composed of a -multitude of microscopic points of color. Here we see a fimbriated -blotch of dark olive moss, spreading its intertwining rootlets in all -directions, and further up a spongy tuft of rich brown lichen tipped -with snow. Who could pass by unnoticed such a refined and exquisite bit -of painting as this? And yet they abound on every side. See the shingly -shagbark, with its mottlings of pale green lichen and orange spots, its -jagged outline so perfectly relieved against the snow, and, beyond, that -group of rock-maples, with its bold contrasts of deep green moss, and -striped tints of most varied shades, from lightest drab to deepest -brown. And there is the yellow birch with its tight-wound bark, fringed -with ravellings of buff-colored satin. Here we come upon a clump of -chestnuts, their cool trunks set off in bold relief against a background -of dark hemlocks, whose outer branches, clothed in snow, like tufted -mittens, hang low upon the ground. - -[Illustration: THE WINTER'S DARLING.] - -Passing from the wood, we now pick our way through a neglected by-path -shut in on either side with birches, whose brown and slender branches -spring from a trunk so white as to be almost lost in the background tint -of snow. At every step we dislodge the glistening wreaths of snowy -flakes from the bluish raspberry canes. The little withered nests on the -tips of the wild-carrot stems hurl their fleecy burden to the ground; -and each in turn the phantom shapes give place to homely yarrows, -golden-rods, or thistles. Further on we see a wild-rose branch with -scarlet berries, and further st--What's that? A fleet-footed little -creature darts out almost from under our very feet, and bounds away into -the dark recess. That little cotton tail! what a tempting target it -always was for me! Lucky for you, my dear little fellow, that I am not a -boy again, or I'd set a snare for you in about ten minutes. This always -was a favorite haunt for hares, and if we had only kept our eyes open we -might have known it, for, see! all around us the snow is dotted with -hollows from their four little jumping foot-pads. - -[Illustration: "WHO'S THAT?"] - -Now we enter the old swamp lot, thick-set with bristling bulrushes and -bare and spindling brooms of iron-weed. Here is the little turtle pond, -from whose animated mud we fished the bugs and polly-wogs for our -aquarium. Now it is shrunken and cold with crackling ice. Around its -borders a thicket of black alder grows, its close-clinging scarlet -berries, half hid in summer by the overhanging foliage, now seen in all -their brilliancy and profusion, the brightest touches of color in -nature's winter landscape. - -Soon we are walking over the soft and silent carpet in the pine grove's -sombre shelter, stopping for one brief moment to listen to the sighing -wind overhead, and to inhale one long and lasting whiff of the delicious -invigorating aroma of the trees. - -Once more out in the open, our attention is arrested by a little stain -of blood upon the snow. Leading to the spot we see a row of tiny -imprints of some little field-mouse, and the white surface in close -vicinity is ruffled and disturbed. A cruel tragedy has been committed -here, and its evidence is plain, for there is but one line of wee -footprints from the little hole beneath the stump near by--no return. -Poor little fellow! I wish I had beneath my foot the sharp-eyed owl that -surprised you in your little antics on the snow. - -[Illustration: SUNSHINE AND SHADOW IN THE WOODS.] - -A deserted nest now hangs across our pathway, and as I look upon the -cold heap within its hollow, I wonder where are the little birds that -nestled beneath the mother's wings in the cosy warmth of that cradled -home only a few short months ago. And now I am reminded that nearly all -this land through which we have been strolling belongs to Nathan Beers; -for there's his house right across the road, only a few rods in front of -us. I cannot help but laugh as I look over into that old door-yard at -the incident it recalls. - -I remember how, about fifteen years ago, I came up through these very -woods into the clearing where we stand, and saw old Nathan, with -slouched straw hat and stoga boots, entering his front gate. He was -muttering and gesticulating to himself; and on the gravel behind him he -trailed along a huge steel trap and clinking chain. He evidently had a -strong opinion on _some_ subject, and I knew pretty well what that -subject _was_. - -"Hello, Nathan!" I ask, "what's up?" - -He turns quickly, and I observe that his usually good-natured Yankee -face now wears a troubled expression. - -"My dander's up--that's what's up," he replies, a little sullenly. - -"They tell me you've been after a fox, Nathan; did you catch him?" - -"No, 'n I don't cal'late to try agin nuther, he's _airnt his livi'_ fer -all _me_;" and with an impetuous fling he sent the old trap into a -corner of the wood-shed. - -I am soon by his side, anxious to hear all about it. "What's the fox -done?" I ask, eagerly. - -"What _hain't_ he done, yeu better say. I never see nuthin' t' beat it -since uz born, 'n I've ketched tew er three on 'em afore naow, teu. I've -heern tell o' them critters' cunnin', but I swaiou I alliz thort ez haow -folks wuz _coddi'_; but _thar_, yeu can't tell me nuthin' 'baout -_foxes_. It's nigh cum a fortnit thet I've been arter thet feller, 'n I -swar teu gosh all hemlock! I hain't got so much's one on his pesky red -hairs teu _show_ for't, 'n I'm _sick_ on't. I tell ye that ar feller is -_mischievouser than pizen_, 'n his hed's as long as a horse's." - -"Why, what's he been doing, Nathan?" - -[Illustration: A SUNNY CORNER.] - -"_Doin'?_ why fer considerable of a spell back he's bin hangin' raoun' -my hen-roost an' pickin' off my brammys; thet's what he's bin doin', 'n -the _fust_ time I sot the trap I stuck it under some chaff in the hole -yender in the hen-haouse jest arter the hens hed gone ter -roost--cal'latin' as haow I'd wait a spell, 'n then go 'n take it away. -I thort that 'ud fetch him sure; but _thar_, deu yeu b'leeve, I heern -thet feller cum' sneakin' along putty soon, 'n he cum' raoun' to t'other -side 'n scairt all the hens aout the hole. I heern a great squawkin', 'n -I put fer the place ez tight ez I cud, 'n thar I see my best dorkin' hen -in the trap. Ef I'd only gyn the feller time, like's not he'd a chawed -off her leg, 'n lugged her off to his hole in the rocks yender. I tell -ye, everybody araoun' what's got hens hez hed to take thet feller's -sass, 'n they'd orter be an end on't. There's old Reuben Scales, so poor -he hain't got a pa'r o' pants teu his back, 'n dependin' on his faowls -fer his meat vittles; why, they tell me daown t' the store thet he's bin -jest _cleaned right aout_, 'n hain't got even a ha'r-backed pullet left. -They ain't no _gunni'_ nuther. Thet red-haired thief hez knabbed every -tarnal pattridge 'n Bob White they iz." - -And so he went on for half an hour, telling me all the various -stratagems by which Reynard had outwitted him. - -"I set it thar in the pine woods in a bed of pine needles, with the ded -rabbit hangin' over it, 'n the next day I see by the scratched up dirt -haow the feller hed jumped clean over the trap at a _lick_, 'n taken his -rabbit on a fly. Yeu kin laff; but what I'm tellin' ye is az true az -preachin'. So yest'd'y I lit aout on a new idee, 'n set the trap on top -a stump cluss teu a tree 'n covered it with leaves. I hung the bait on -the tree higher up, 'n sez I, old feller, I've got ye naow, sez I. I -left it thar. I went daown thar agin this mornin', 'n I've _jest cum_ -from thar. _No more fox fer me_; s'elp me gosh!" - -"Why," I ask, "what was the matter down there, Nathan?" - -"Why, _blame my stogys_, ef the feller hadn't gone 'n highsted the -clog-stick on the end o' the chain, 'n shoved it agin the pan, 'n sprung -the trap on't, 'n then stepped up and knabbed the bait. An' I say thet -enny feller what's got brains enuff fer thet, I swaiou he'd oughter -_live_ off'n um; 'n he _kin_ fer all _me_!" - -[Illustration: WINTER BROWSING.] - -It was too bad to have fooled old Nathan so; but then, you see, he had a -big farm, and was awfully stingy with us boys, and never would let us -set a rabbit snare on his place. He said it was "pesky _cruel_," and -seemed to prefer the more humane way of wounding them with shot, and -breaking their necks afterward to end their sufferings. Nathan had kept -very quiet about his little game. There really was a very sly fox in the -neighborhood; but boys make good foxes too, sometimes. - -[Illustration: A JANUARY THAW.] - -Nathan's house was a typical New England home, with slanting roof on one -side, and embowered in maples, and it had the most picturesque barn in -the neighborhood. Oh you good people far off in the country everywhere, -how I envy you these dear old barns! How much you ought to appreciate -their homely rustic beauty! But you never will, until, like me, you are -forced to live away from them, and to see them only through the golden -haze of memory. Then you will learn how great a part they took in -influencing your daily life and happiness. - -Was ever perfume sweeter than that all-pervading fragrance of the -sweet-scented hay? and was ever an interior so truly picturesque, so -full of quiet harmony? - -The lofty hay-mows piled nearly to the roof, the jagged axe-notched -beams overhung with cobwebs flecked with dust of hay-seed, with perhaps -a downy feather here and there. The rude, quaint hen boxes, with the -lone nest-egg in little nooks and corners. How vividly, how lovingly, I -recall each one! - -In those snow-bound days, when the white flakes shut in the earth down -deep beneath, and the drifts obstructed the highways, and we heard the -noisy teamsters, with snap of whip and exciting shouts, urge their -straining oxen through the solid barricade; when all the fences and -stone walls were almost lost to sight in the universal avalanche; and, -best of all, when the little district school-house upon the hill stood -in an impassable sea of snow--then we assembled in the old barn to play, -sought out every hidden corner in our game of hide-and-seek, or jumped -and frolicked in the hay, now stopping quietly to listen to the tiny -squeak of some rustling mouse near by, or, it may be, creeping -cautiously to the little hole up near the eaves in search of the -big-eyed owl we once caught napping there. In a hundred ways we passed -the fleeting hours. The general features of New England barns are all -alike; and the barn of memory is a garner full of treasure sweet as -new-mown hay. You remember the great broad double doors, which made -their sweeping circuit in the snow; the ruddy pumpkins, piled up in the -corner near the bins, and the wistful whinny of the old farm-horse, as -with pricked-up ears and eager pull of chain he urged your prompt -attention to your chores; the cows, too, in the manger stalls--how -pleasant their low breathing--how sweet their perfumed breath! Outside -the corn-crib stands, its golden stores gleaming through the open laths, -and the oxen, reaching with lapping upturned tongues, yearn for the -tempting feast, "so near and yet so far." The party-colored hens group -themselves in rich contrast against the sunny boards of the -weather-beaten shed, and the ducks and geese, with rattling croak and -husky hiss, and quick vibrating tails (that strange contagion), waddle -across the slushy snow, and sail out upon the barn-yard pond. - -Here is the pile of husks from whose bleached and rustling sheaths you -picked the little ravellings of brown for your corn-silk cigarettes. Did -ever "pure Havana" taste as sweet? - -[Illustration: THE MOONLIGHT RIDE.] - -Near by we see the barracks stored with yellow sheaves of wheat. Soon we -shall hear the intermittent music of the beating flail on the old barn -floor, now chinking soft on the broken sheaf, now loud and clear on the -sounding boards. Upon the roof above we see the cooing doves, with -nodding heads and necks gleaming with iridescent sheen. Turning, in -another corner we look upon a miscellaneous group of ploughs and rakes -and all the farm utensils, and harness hanging on the wooden pegs. -There, too, is the little sleigh we love so well. Could it but speak, -how sweet a story it could tell of lovely drives through romantic glens -and moonlit woods, of tender squeezes of the little hand beneath the -covering robe, of whispered vows, and of the encircling arm--a shelter -from the cold and cruel wind! But no--I'll say no more: these are -memories too sacred for the common ear. And there's the carry-all sleigh -just by its side. How well you'll remember the merry loads it carried, -its three wide seats and space between packed full of jolly company! How -the hard-pressed snow squeaked beneath the gliding runners, as with -prancing span and jingling bells you sped down through the village -street, with waving handkerchiefs and cheerful greetings right and left! -How with "ducking" heads and muffled screams you ran the gauntlet past -the school-house mob; saw them scrambling for "a hitch," and with -tantalizing beckonings tipped your horses with the whip. Away you go -through the deep ravine, with a _jing, jing, jing_ on the frosty air, -with voices high in merry laughs, amid loud hurrahs from the -"boysterous" crowd now far behind. Now you speed through a mist of -drifting snow, and the rosy cheeks tingle with the stinging icy flakes -flying before the wind. Now comes another chorus of piercing screams, as -the laden hemlock bough, tapped with mischievous whip, hurls down its -fleecy avalanche on coat and robe, on jaunty little hat--yes, and on a -small pink ear, and even down a pretty neck. Ah me! How is it possible -that a shriek like that could come from a throat so fair? But so you go, -with a _jing, jing, jing_, now past the mill-pond with its game, now up -the hill, now through the woods and far away, now farther still, the -silvery bells now scarcely heard, now fainter yet, till lost to sight -and sound--but not to memory dear; for all through life we shall hear -those happy jingling bells. - -And when, with ruddy faces and stamping feet, we all rush in and crowd -the old fireplace, how welcome the glowing warmth, how keen the relish -for the appetizing spread upon the snow-white table-cloth: the smoking -dish of beans, with crisp accompaniment of luscious pork; the hot brown -bread so sweet; and, last of all, the far-famed Indian pudding, fresh -and steaming from the old brick oven! - -How distinctly I recall those long and happy evenings around that -radiant hearth, the games, the stories read from welcome magazines! -Little we cared for the howling storm without. I hear the tick of the -ancient clock in the corner shadowed by the old arm-chair; I see the -glimmer on the whitewashed wall, the festooned strings of apples, sliced -and hung above the fire to dry; I hear the patient, expectant stroke of -hammer on the upturned log, and now the crackling burst of the -rough-shelled butternut, yielding up its long and filmy kernel; I hear -the apples sizzling on the hearth, the puffy snap of pop-corn jumping in -its fiery cage, the kettle singing on the pendent hook--a thousand -things; and what a precious living picture of sweet home-life they all -bring back to me! - -But look! there is another hidden picture in the book of life--a -shadowed page, which we had well-nigh forgotten. See that crouching -figure in the dark, deserted street--that spurned and wretched outcast, -without a home, without a friend! Perhaps if that broken heart has not -already ceased to yearn, if the last spark has not yet been smothered by -the driving, covering snow, we might still hear the faint and stifled -sobs: - -[Illustration: THE SHADOWED PAGE.] - - "Once I was loved for my innocent grace, - Flattered and sought for the charm of my face. - Father, mother, sisters, all, - God, and myself, I have lost in my fall. - The veriest wretch that goes shivering by - Will take a wide sweep lest I wander too nigh, - For of all that is on or about me, I know, - There is nothing that's pure but the beautiful snow. - How strange it should be that this beautiful snow - Should fall on a sinner with nowhere to go! - How strange it would be, when the night comes again, - If the snow and the ice struck my desperate brain, - Fainting, freezing, dying alone!" - -Life's book is full of shadowed pages such as this; and it were well if -in the midst of our contented homes, around our cheerful fires, we -stopped to think and give a silent, heart-felt prayer for those who, by -some strange, inexplicable fatality, seem doomed to walk with cruel -burdens and with bleeding feet the path of life: no helping hand, no -friend, no hope, no God. - -What a terrible night! Hark how the wind moans, like a long wail from -some despairing soul shut out in the awful storm! The air is filled with -dense clouds of flying snow and sleet chased along by the gale. The -trees bend and writhe, and, as if in fear, scratch their boughs upon the -roof; the driving flakes beat with an angry, hissing sound upon the -window-panes, and for a moment there is a muffled, ominous silence. Now -comes a wild and furious gust, and a great white whirlwind sweeps with -serpentine contortions past the window and disappears in the thick -darkness of the night. Our very walls sway and tremble to their -foundation. The clap-boards snap, and some loosened blind is torn from -its hinges and hurled as a feather before the raging wind. We hear a -crash of breaking glass, the shaking of the old barn doors, and now a -frightened neigh, half smothered in the storm. - -Who would venture out in such a night as this? We shudder at the -thought, and yet there is one whose holy sense of duty will see no -barrier even in this fierce tempest. Even now he is urging his faithful -horse onward through the lonely road, cold and benumbed, but thinking -only of the suffering he hopes to relieve. - -How well I remember the welcome stamping at the front door, the chinking -rattle of the tin box sounding nearer and nearer up the stairs, the tall -and stately figure entering the room, clad in great-coat reaching nearly -to the floor, the genial smile bringing both hope and comfort with its -very presence! And what a noble face! the shapely forehead, the snowy -tufts of close-cut hair, the magnetic, penetrating eyes, so deep and -dark, looking out from beneath the heavy jet-black brows, and the -clean-shaven cheeks and chin, of almost child-like bloom, relieved -against the whiteness of the stock about the throat! Never before were -winter and summer so strangely and beautifully blended in a human face. -But we shall see that face no more. Physician, friend, companion, all -were laid away with him, and sad indeed was the day that bore him from -us. And now, as I look down upon that humble grave, I would that others, -with the reverence I feel, might read the sacred epitaph inscribed upon -my memory, of one whose only aim through life was the relief of -suffering and sorrow. In storm or calm, by day or night, he fulfilled -his holy mission. And when the fearful scourge swept o'er the town, and -filled its homes with woe; when friends deserted friends, and brothers -left their kin, this noble soul sought out the sick and dying, cared -tenderly for their sufferings until the end, and even laid the dead away -alone. A life of sacrifice, for rich or poor alike, without a thought of -self. Professing no religious faith--yea, _doubting_ even; but finding -in the precept of the "golden rule" an inspiration worthy the devotion -and the effort of his life: "By their _fruits_ ye shall know them." - -[Illustration: THE GOOD PHYSICIAN.] - -And so the winter goes. It has its joys and its sorrows, its strong -contrasts of light and shadow. The bitter winds will freeze and rule the -earth, but the sun will shine again, and the very gloom transform to -glittering splendor. Soon we greet the lengthening days. The farmer -heeds the warning sign. The woods resound with the stroke of the axe and -crashing of falling trees; and the prostrate trunks are rolled upon the -sledge and hauled away "to mill;" the fields are strewn with compost, -and meadows sown with clover on the snow, fences are fixed, and hot-bed -started on the sunny slope; the cackling hens have felt the prophecy, -and steal away into snug little places among the hay-mows and the -mangers, and lay the foundation of their future brood; the climbing -bitter-sweet lets fall its scarlet seeds, and the little pussies on the -willows grow day by day. How eagerly I always watched these welcome -signs! for even though I loved the winter, I never sorrowed at its -departure in the face of coming spring, with its promises of the medleys -of the birds, of unfolding buds, and those sweet shy faces soon to peep -along the wood-path, and breathe their fragrance from among the withered -leaves. - -I remember, too, the faded butterfly, flitting about the wood-shed roof. -His wings were torn and jagged at their edges, and their feathery beauty -had nearly all been left among last summer's flowers. Warned by November -frosts, he had sought his winter shelter in some chink or crevice among -the loosened boards, where, benumbed and dormant, he had spent the -winter, awaiting the warmth of the returning sun to thaw him out, and -once more coax him into the outer world. As early as February, should -the day be mild, he would come out of his mysterious concealment and -bask in the warm sunshine. Presently he alights upon the end of a -birch-log in the wood-pile, and sips the sweet exuding sap. He is soon -joined by another, and another, until a swarm has gathered at the feast. -As the day declines, they retire again to the wood-shed, and there, -huddled together on the rafters, await their next opportunity of mild -and sunny weather. Even in a January thaw I have seen one of these faded -butterflies that had left his hiding-place to tantalize a troop of hens -around the barn-yard door. - -I remember the torrent of rain and the freshet; the broken dams and -bridges washed away. The softened ground yielded up its subterranean -frosts; in all the trees the winter wounds bled with the quickened -pulse; the elder spigots in the sugar-maples trickled all the day; and -the neighboring farms echoed with the snap of whip and voice of eager -teamsters, as the busy plough turned the dark-brown furrows, or the -crushing harrow combed the crumbling mould. How welcome were the -evidences of returning life among the low meadow-lands, where -velvety-green tufts of sprouting grass circled the borders of the marshy -pools, and the golden willow twigs bathed the brook-side in a luminous -glow! Here, too, the alders hung their swinging tassels or trailed them -o'er the surface of the swollen stream. - -One by one the feathered flocks returned, and the little snow-birds and -the buntings, seeing their place usurped, left for the northward -region, to lend their cheerful voices to another winter. Then came a -beautiful day, with mild, earth-scented breezes, like very spring. But -at night the north wind came again to reassert its power, and the earth -was once more subdued beneath the snow. And so for weeks the north wind -battled with the sun, - -[Illustration: - - Till at last the sweet Arbutus - Nestling close on Nature's breast - Felt a throb a warm pulsation - Rouse it from its dreamy rest - - Throwing wide its little portals - From its coverlet of snow - It peeped forth from the leafy shelter - Into a valley white below - - "Am I dreaming? Shall the Winter - Stifle and freeze my early breath - Nay hark! I hear the Bluebird singing - 'Spring has come' he answereth - - "Ah! Frost-flower in thy grotto yonder - Crystal sun-gem white and clear - Thy reign must cease when I awaken - Farewell! pale bloom thy fate draws near - - Bleak Winter is thine - Love's Spring-time is mine -] - - - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Pastoral Days, by William Hamilton Gibson - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PASTORAL DAYS *** - -***** This file should be named 41278-8.txt or 41278-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/1/2/7/41278/ - -Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images available at The Internet Archive) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Hamilton Gibson. -</title> -<style type="text/css"> - p {margin-top:.2em;text-align:justify;margin-bottom:.2em;text-indent:4%;} - -.c {text-align:center;text-indent:0%;} - -.cb {text-align:center;text-indent:0%;font-weight:bold;} - -.eng {font-family:OLD ENGLISH TEXT MT,serif;} - -.letra {font-size:300%;float:left;margin-top:-.5%; -padding:0%;} - -.nind {text-indent:0%;} - -small {font-size: 70%;} - - h1 {margin-top:5%;text-align:center;clear:both;} - - h2 {margin-top:5%;margin-bottom:2%;text-align:center;clear:both; - font-size:120%;} - - hr {width:90%;margin:2em auto 2em auto;clear:both;color:black;} - - hr.full {width: 50%;margin:5% auto 5% auto;border:4px double gray;} - - table {margin-top:5%;margin-bottom:5%;margin-left:auto;margin-right:auto;border:none;text-align:left;} - - body{margin-left:2%;margin-right:2%;background:#fdfdfd;color:black;font-family:"Times New Roman", serif;font-size:medium;} - -a:link {background-color:#ffffff;color:blue;text-decoration:none;} - - link {background-color:#ffffff;color:blue;text-decoration:none;} - -a:visited {background-color:#ffffff;color:purple;text-decoration:none;} - -a:hover {background-color:#ffffff;color:#FF0000;text-decoration:underline;} - - img {border:none;} - -.caption {font-weight:bold;font-size:75%;} - -.figcenter {margin-top:3%;margin-bottom:3%; -margin-left:auto;margin-right:auto;text-align:center;text-indent:0%;} - -.figleft {float:left;clear:left;margin-left:0;margin-bottom:1em;margin-top:1em;margin-right:1em;padding:0;text-align:center;} - -.figright {float:right;clear:right;margin-left:1em;margin-bottom:1em;margin-top:1em;margin-right:0;padding:0;text-align:center;} - -.poem {margin-left:25%;text-indent:0%;} -.poem .stanza {margin-top: 1em;margin-bottom:1em;} -.poem span.i0 {display: block; margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} -.poem span.i1 {display: block; margin-left: .55em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} -.poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 2em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} -.poem span.i3 {display: block; margin-left: 3em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} -.poem span.i4 {display: block; margin-left: 4em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} -</style> - </head> -<body> - - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Pastoral Days, by William Hamilton Gibson - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: Pastoral Days - or Memories of a New England Year - -Author: William Hamilton Gibson - -Release Date: November 3, 2012 [EBook #41278] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PASTORAL DAYS *** - - - - -Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images available at The Internet Archive) - - - - - - -</pre> - -<hr class="full" /> - -<table summary="note" border="4" cellpadding="10" style="background-color: #ffffff; -margin-left:auto;margin-right:auto;max-width:30em;"> - <tr> - <td valign="top">Please note: this etext was created to be viewed as xhtml. -Conversions to other formats in order to view the etext on various ereading devices may -render the intended formatting irrelevant: images may not appear as -intended in the created etext, etc. Clicking on the images will -bring up a larger view. (note of the etext transcriber.)</td> - </tr> -</table> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/cover_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="423" height="550" alt="image of the book's cover" /></a> -</p> - -<p><a name="page_003" id="page_003"></a> -<a name="page_004" id="page_004"></a> -<a name="page_005" id="page_005"></a></p> - -<p class="cb">PASTORAL DAYS</p> - -<p><a name="page_006" id="page_006"></a></p> - -<p><a name="page_007" id="page_007"></a></p> - -<h1>PASTORAL DAYS<br /> -<small><small>OR</small></small><br /> -<small><small>MEMORIES OF A NEW ENGLAND YEAR</small></small></h1> - -<p> </p> - -<p class="cb"><small>BY</small><br /> -W. HAMILTON GIBSON<br /><br /> -<br /> -<span class="eng">Illustrated</span><br /><br /> -<br /> -NEW YORK<br /> -HARPER & BROTHERS, FRANKLIN SQUARE<br /> -1881</p> - -<p> <a name="page_008" id="page_008"></a> </p> - -<p class="c"> -<small>Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1880, by<br /> -HARPER & BROTHERS,<br /> -In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.<br /> -——<br /> -<i>All rights reserved.</i></small> -</p> - -<p> <br /> <a name="page_009" id="page_009"></a> </p> - -<p class="c"> -TO<br /> -<br /> -ONE WHOSE CLOSE COMPANIONSHIP<br /> -<br /> -<small>HAS WROUGHT THAT HARMONY AND PEACE OF MIND FROM WHICH THIS<br /> -BOOK HAS SPRUNG, AND TO WHOM ITS EVERY PAGE RECALLS<br /> -A REMINISCENCE OF THE PAST IDENTIFIED<br /> -WITH MEMORIES OF MY OWN</small><br /> -<br /> -<span class="eng">This Memoir is Lovingly Inscribed</span><br /> -<br /> -OUR SOUVENIR<br /> -</p> - -<p><a name="page_010" id="page_010"></a></p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ilpg008_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilpg008_sml.jpg" width="134" height="86" alt="" /></a> -</p> - -<p><a name="page_011" id="page_011"></a></p> - -<table border="0" cellpadding="5" cellspacing="0" summary=""> - -<tr><th colspan="2" align="center">T<small>HE</small> C<small>YCLE</small>.</th></tr> - -<tr><td><a href="#SPRING">S<small>PRING</small></a>:</td> <td><small>PAGE</small></td></tr> - -<tr><td> <i>The Awakening</i> </td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_019">19</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td colspan="2"><a href="#SUMMER">S<small>UMMER</small></a>:</td></tr> - -<tr><td> <i>The Consummation</i></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_051">51</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td colspan="2"><a href="#AUTUMN">A<small>UTUMN</small></a>:</td></tr> - -<tr><td> <i>The Waning</i></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_091">91</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td colspan="2"><a href="#WINTER">W<small>INTER</small></a>:</td></tr> - -<tr><td> <i>The Sleep</i></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_125">125</a></td></tr> -</table> - -<p><a name="page_012" id="page_012"></a></p> - -<p><a name="page_013" id="page_013"></a></p> - -<h2><a name="ILLUSTRATIONS" id="ILLUSTRATIONS"></a>I<small>LLUSTRATIONS</small>.<br /><br /> -<small>DESIGNED BY<br /> -W. H<small>AMILTON</small> G<small>IBSON</small>.</small></h2> - -<table border="0" cellpadding="3" cellspacing="0" summary=""> -<tr><td align="left"> <small>TITLE</small>. </td><td align="center"><small>ENGRAVER</small>.</td><td align="right"><small>PAGE</small></td></tr> - -<tr><td>THE KINDLED FLAME</td><td>W. H. C<small>LARK</small> </td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_018">18</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>THE AWAKENING</td><td>H. G<small>RAY</small></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_019">19</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>A SPRING MORNING</td><td>F. S. K<small>ING</small></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_021">21</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>CATKINS</td><td>J<small>OHN</small> F<small>ILMER</small></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_023">23</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>PUSSIES</td><td> ” ”</td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_023">23</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>EARLY PLOUGHING</td><td>H. W<small>OLF</small></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_025">25</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>THE RETURN FROM THE FIELDS</td><td>G<small>EORGE</small> S<small>MITH</small></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_026">26</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>VOICES OF THE NIGHT</td><td>J<small>OHN</small> F<small>ILMER</small></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_027">27</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>A RAINY DAY</td><td>J. H<small>ELLAWELL</small></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_029">29</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>A HANDFUL FROM THE WOODS</td><td>H. G<small>RAY</small></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_032">32</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>AFTER ARBUTUS</td><td>J. T<small>INKEY</small></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_034">34</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>THE FAIRY FROND</td><td>J. P. D<small>AVIS</small></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_035">35</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>AN APRIL DAY</td><td>G<small>EORGE</small> S<small>MITH</small></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_036">36</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>AMONG THE WILD FLOWERS</td><td>S<small>MITHWICK</small> and F<small>RENCH</small></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_037">37</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>THE COLUMBINE</td><td>R. H<small>OSKIN</small></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_038">38</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>THE MEADOW BROOK</td><td> ” ”</td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_040">40</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>THE PHŒBE’S NEST</td><td>W. H. M<small>ORSE</small></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_041">41</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>BUILDING THE NEST</td><td>H<small>ENRY</small> M<small>ARSH</small></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_042">42</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>IN THE APPLE ORCHARD</td><td>R. H<small>OSKIN</small></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_043">43</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>LITTLE PLUNDERERS</td><td>A. H<small>AYMAN</small></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_045">45</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>ONE OF NATURE’S MARVELS</td><td>H. M<small>ARSH</small></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_046">46</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>BLUE-FLAGS</td><td>R. H<small>OSKIN</small></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_047">47</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>THE CONSUMING FLAME</td><td>W. H. C<small>LARK</small></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_050">50</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>THE CONSUMMATION</td><td>N. O<small>RR</small></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_051">51</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>DOLCE FAR NIENTE</td><td>F. S. K<small>ING</small></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_055">55</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>THE OLD GARRET</td><td>F. J<small>UENGLING</small><a name="page_014" id="page_014"></a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_056">56</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>AMID THE GRASSES</td><td>F. S. K<small>ING</small></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_058">58</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>EVEN-TIDE</td><td>G. K<small>RUELL</small></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_060">60</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>THROUGH THE SEDGES</td><td>R. H<small>OSKIN</small></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_062">62</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>AMONG THE BOGS</td><td>J. T<small>INKEY</small></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_063">63</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>SOME ART CONNOISSEURS</td><td>R. H<small>OSKIN</small></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_064">64</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>PROFESSOR WIGGLER</td><td>J. F<small>ILMER</small></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_065">65</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>THE TYRANT OF THE FIELDS</td><td>H. E. S<small>CHULTZ</small></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_067">67</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>FAMILIAR FACES AT THE VILLAGE STORE</td><td>R. A. M<small>ULLER</small></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_070">70</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>A SOUVENIR</td><td>S<small>MITHWICK</small> and F<small>RENCH</small></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_072">72</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>ALONG THE HOUSATONIC</td><td>G<small>EORGE</small> S<small>MITH</small></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_074">74</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>JUDD’S BRIDGE</td><td>P. A<small>NNIN</small></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_078">78</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>THE HAUNTED MILL</td><td>J. H<small>ELLAWELL</small></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_079">79</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>PURSUERS AND PURSUED</td><td>G<small>EORGE</small> A<small>NDREW</small></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_081">81</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>TOLLING FOR THE DEAD</td><td>R. S<small>CHELLING</small></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_083">83</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>WRECKS OF THE TORNADO</td><td>J. F<small>ILMER</small></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_084">84</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>PASSING THOUGHTS</td><td>H. G<small>RAY</small></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_086">86</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>THE SMOULDERING FLAME</td><td> ” ”</td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_090">90</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>THE WANING</td><td>A. H<small>AYMAN</small></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_091">91</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>“EVERY BREEZE A SIGH”</td><td>F. S. K<small>ING</small></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_093">93</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>AN OCTOBER DAY</td><td>S<small>MITHWICK</small> and F<small>RENCH</small></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_096">96</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>A WAY-SIDE PASTORAL</td><td>J. H<small>ELLAWELL</small></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_097">97</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>WAIFS</td><td>H<small>ENRY</small> M<small>ARSH</small></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_100">100</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>IN THE CORNFIELD</td><td>W. M<small>ILLER</small></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_102">102</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>THE ROAD TO THE MILL</td><td>E. H<small>ELD</small></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_105">105</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>THE CIDER-MILL</td><td>J. P. D<small>AVIS</small></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_107">107</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>THE “LINE STORM”</td><td>R. H<small>OSKIN</small></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_109">109</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>A POINTED REMINDER</td><td>J. F<small>ILMER</small></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_111">111</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>AFTER THE SHELL-BARKS</td><td>G<small>EORGE</small> S<small>MITH</small></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_113">113</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>A CORNER OF THE FARM</td><td>J. T<small>INKEY</small></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_115">115</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>BEECH-NUTTING</td><td>W. H. M<small>ORSE</small></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_118">118</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>THE NORTH WIND</td><td>M<small>ORSE</small> and H<small>OSKIN</small></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_120">120</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>DESERTED</td><td>H<small>ENRY</small> D<small>EIS</small></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_121">121</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>THE FLAME EXTINGUISHED</td><td>H. G<small>RAY</small></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_124">124</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>THE SLEEP</td><td>J. T<small>INKEY</small></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_125">125</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>THE TOMB</td><td>J. P. D<small>AVIS</small></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_127">127</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>SNOW-FLAKES OF MEMORY</td><td>G<small>EORGE</small> S<small>MITH</small></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_129">129</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>THE OLD MILL-POND</td><td>H. G<small>RAY</small></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_131">131</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>THE FIRST SNOW</td><td>G<small>EORGE</small> S<small>MITH</small></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_133">133</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>MUTE PROPHECIES</td><td>H. E. S<small>CHULTZ</small></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_135">135</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>THE TWITCH-UP</td><td>F. S. K<small>ING</small><a name="page_015" id="page_015"></a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_137">137</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>THE WINTER’S DARLING</td><td>H<small>ENRY</small> M<small>ARSH</small></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_139">139</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>WHO’S THAT?</td><td>H. W<small>OLF</small></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_140">140</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>SUNSHINE AND SHADOW IN THE WOODS</td><td>R. H<small>OSKIN</small></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_141">141</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>A SUNNY CORNER</td><td>W. H. M<small>ORSE</small></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_143">143</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>WINTER BROWSING</td><td>S<small>MITHWICK</small> and F<small>RENCH</small></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_144">144</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>A JANUARY THAW</td><td>J. F<small>ILMER</small></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_145">145</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>THE MOONLIGHT RIDE</td><td>J. H<small>ELLAWELL</small></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_147">147</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>THE SHADOWED PAGE</td><td>J. T<small>INKEY</small></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_149">149</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>THE GOOD PHYSICIAN</td><td>R. S<small>CHELLING</small></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_151">151</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>THE FULFILMENT</td><td>S<small>MITHWICK</small> and F<small>RENCH</small></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_153">153</a></td></tr> -</table> - -<p><a name="page_016" id="page_016"></a></p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ilpg015_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilpg015_sml.jpg" width="107" height="51" alt="" /></a> -</p> - -<p><a name="page_017" id="page_017"></a></p> - -<p><a name="page_018" id="page_018"></a></p> - -<h2><a name="SPRING" id="SPRING"></a>S<small>PRING</small>.</h2> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ilpg018_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilpg018_sml.jpg" width="88" height="105" alt="" /></a> -</p> - -<p><a name="page_019" id="page_019"></a></p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ilpg019_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilpg019_sml.jpg" width="317" height="528" alt="THE AWAKENING" /></a> -</p> - -<p><a name="page_020" id="page_020"></a></p> - -<p><a name="page_021" id="page_021"></a></p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ilpg021_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilpg021_sml.jpg" width="336" height="518" alt="" /></a> -</p> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">A</span>S far as the eye can reach, the snow lies in a deep mantle over the -cheerless landscape. I look out upon a dreary moor, where the horizon -melts into the cold gray of a heavy sky. The restless wind<a name="page_022" id="page_022"></a> sweeps with -pitiless blast through shivering trees and over bleak hills, from whose -crests, like a great white veil, the clouds of hoary flakes are lifted -and drawn along by the gale. Down the upland slope, across the -undulating field, the blinding drift, like a thing of life, speeds in -its wild caprice, now swirling in fantastic eddies around some isolated -stack, half hidden in its chill embrace, now winding away over -bare-blown wall and scraggy fence, and through the sighing willows near -the frozen stream; now with a wild whirl it flies aloft, and the dark -pines and hemlocks on the mountain-side fade away in its icy mist. -Again, yonder it appears trailing along the meadow, until, flying like -some fugitive spirit chased from earth by the howling wind, it vanishes -in the sky. On every side these winged phantoms lead their flying chase -across the dreary landscape, and fence and barn and house upon the hill -in turn are dimmed or lost to sight.</p> - -<p>Who has not watched the strange antics of the drifting snow whirling -past the window on a blustering winter’s day? But this is not a winter’s -day. This is the advent of a New England spring.</p> - -<p>Fortunate are we that its promises are not fulfilled, for the ides of -March might as oft betoken the approach of a tempestuous winter as of a -balmy spring. Consecrated to Mars and Tantalus, it is a month of -contradictions and disappointments, of broken promises and incessant -warfare. It is the struggle of tender awakening life against the -buffetings of rude and blighting elements. No man can tell what a day -may bring forth. Now we look out verily upon bleak December; -to-morrow—who knows?—we may be transported into May, and, with -aspirations high, feel our ardor cooled by a blast of ice and a blinding -fall of snow. But this cannot always last, for soon the southern breezes -come and hold their sway for days, and the north wind, angry in its -defeat, is driven back in lowering clouds to the region of eternal ice -and snow. Then comes a lovely day, without even a cloud—all blue above, -all dazzling white below. The sun shines with a glowing warmth, and we -say unto ourselves, “This is, indeed, a harbinger of spring.” The -sugar-maples throb and trickle with the flowing sap, and the lumbering -ox-team and sled wind through the woods from tree to tree to relieve the -overflowing buckets. The boiling caldron in the sugar-house near by -receives the continual supply, and gives forth that sweet-scented steam -that issues from the open door, and comes to us in occasional welcome -whiffs across the snow. Long “wedges” of wild-geese are seen cleaving -the sky in their northward flight.<a name="page_023" id="page_023"></a> The little pussies on the willows -are coaxed from their winter nest, and creep out upon the stem. The -solitary bluebird makes his appearance, flitting along the thickets and -stone walls with little hesitating warble, as if it were not yet the -appointed time to sing; and down among the bogs, that cautious little -pioneer, the swamp-cabbage flower, peers above the ground beneath his -purple-spotted hood. He knows the fickle month which gives him birth, -and keeps well under cover.</p> - -<div class="figleft" style="width: 103px;"> -<a href="images/ilpg023-a_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilpg023-a_sml.jpg" width="103" height="497" alt="CATKINS." /></a> -<br /> -<span class="caption">CATKINS.</span> -</div> - -<div class="figright" style="width: 128px;"> -<a href="images/ilpg023-b_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilpg023-b_sml.jpg" width="128" height="528" alt="PUSSIES." /></a> -<br /> -<span class="caption">PUSSIES.</span> -</div> - -<p>Such days in March are too perfect to endure, and at night the sky is -overcast and dark. Then follows a long warm rain that unlocks the ice in -all the streams. The whiteness of the hills and meadows melts into broad -contracting strips and patches. One by one, as mere specks upon the -landscape, these vanish in turn, until the last vestige of winter is -washed from the face of the earth to swell the tide of the rushing -stream. Even now, from the distant valley, we hear a continuous muffled -roar, as the mighty freshet, impelled by an irresistible force, ploughs -its tortuous channel through the lowlands and ravines. The quiet town is -filled with an unusual commotion. Excited groups of towns-people crowd -the village store, and eager voices tell of the havoc wrought by the -fearful flood. We hear how the old toll-bridge, with tollman’s house and -all, was lifted from its piers like a pile of straw, and whirled away -upon the current. How its floating timbers, in a great blockade, crushed -into the old mill-pond; how the dam had burst, and the rickety<a name="page_024" id="page_024"></a> red -saw-mill gone to pieces down the stream. Farmer Nathan’s barn had gone, -and his flat meadows were like a whirling sea, strewn with floating -rails and driftwood. Every hour records its new disaster as some eager -messenger returns from the excited crowds which line the river-bank. How -well I remember the fascinating excitement of the spring freshet as I -watched the rising water in the big swamp lot, anxious lest it might -creep up and undermine the wall foundations of the barn! And what a -royal raft I made from the drifting logs and beams, and with the spirit -of an adventurous explorer sailed out on the deep gliding current, -floating high among the branches of the half submerged willow-trees, and -scraping over the tips of the tallest alder-bushes, whose highest twigs -now hardly reached the surface! How deep and dark the water looked as I -lay upon the raft and peered into the depths below! But this jolly fun -was of but short duration. The flood soon subsided, and on the following -morning nothing was seen excepting the settlings of <i>débris</i> strewn -helter-skelter over the meadow, and hanging on all the bushes.</p> - -<p>The tepid rain has penetrated deep into the yielding ground, and with -the winter’s frost now coming to the surface, the roads are well-nigh -impassable with their plethora of mud. For a full appreciation of <i>mud</i> -in all its glory, and in its superlative degree, one should see a New -England highway “when the frost comes out of the ground.” The roads are -furrowed with deep grimy ruts, in which the bedabbled wheels sink to -their hubs as in a quicksand, and the hoofs of the floundering horse are -held in the swampy depths as if in a vise. For a week or more this state -of things continues, until at length, after warm winds and sunny days, -the ground once more packs firm beneath the tread. This marks the close -of idle days. The junk pile in the barn is invaded, and the rusty plough -abstracted from the midst of rakes and scythes and other farming tools. -The old white horse thrusts his long head from the stall near by, and -whinnies at the memories it revives, and with pricked-up ears and -whisking tail tells plainly of the eagerness he feels.</p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ilpg025_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilpg025_sml.jpg" width="331" height="202" alt="EARLY PLOUGHING." /></a> -<br /> -<span class="caption">EARLY PLOUGHING.</span> -</p> - -<p>Back and forth through the sloping lot the ploughman slowly turns the -dingy sward, and in the rich brown furrow, following in his track, we -see the cackling troop of hens, and the lordly rooster, with great ado, -searches out the dainty tidbits for his motley crowd of favorites. The -whole landscape has become infused with human life and motion. Wherever -the eye may turn it sees the evidences of varied and hopeful<a name="page_025" id="page_025"></a> industry. -Yonder we notice an oft-recurring little puff of mist, like a burlesque -snow-drift, ever and anon bursting into view, and softly vanishing -against the sward; another glance detects the slow progress of horse and -cart, as the farmer sows his load of plaster across the whitening field. -Farther up, where the brow of the hill stands clear against the sky, a -pacing figure, with measured sweep of arm, scatters the handfuls of -wheat, and team and harrow soon are in his path, combing and crumbling -the dark-brown mould. High curling wreaths of smoke wind upward from the -flat swamp lot beyond, where hilarious boys enjoy both work and play in -burning off the brush. Here we shall see the first welcome nibble of -fresh grass for the poor bereaved cow, whose lamenting bleat now echoes -through the barn near by; and for those oxen, too, that with swaying, -clumsy gait lug the huge roller across the neighboring field. And what -strange yells and exclamations guide them in their labored progress! “Ho -back! Gee up, ahoy! Ho haw!” From every direction, in voices near, and -others faint with distance, we hear this same queer jargon. Who could -believe that so much good work hung upon the incessant reiteration of -that brief and monotonous vocabulary? Rather would we listen to the -musical ring of the laughing children riding on the big “brush harrow” -down through that barn-yard lane beyond. Now they are out upon the -broken ground where John has strewn the “compost” to be “brushed in.” A -broad flat wake follows<a name="page_026" id="page_026"></a> them around the field, and that same troop of -hens and turkeys revel in the lively feast spread out before them in the -loose upturning.</p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ilpg026_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilpg026_sml.jpg" width="323" height="155" alt="RETURN FROM THE FIELDS." /></a> -<br /> -<span class="caption">RETURN FROM THE FIELDS.</span> -</p> - -<div class="figright" style="width: 188px;"> -<a href="images/ilpg027_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilpg027_sml.jpg" width="188" height="489" alt="VOICES OF THE NIGHT." /></a> -<br /> -<span class="caption">VOICES OF THE NIGHT.</span> -</div> - -<p>So runs the record of a busy day in the early New England springtime, -and with its all-absorbing industry it is a day that passes quickly. The -afternoon runs into evening. Cool shadows creep across the landscape as -the glowing sun sinks through the still bare and leafless trees and -disappears behind the wooded hills. The fields are now deserted, and -through the uncertain twilight we see the little knots of workmen with -their swinging pails, and hear their tramp along the homeward road. In -the dim shadows of the evergreens beyond, a faint gray object steals -into view. Now it stops at the old watering-trough, and I hear the sip -of the eager horse and the splash of overflowing water. Some belated -ploughman, fresh, perhaps, from a half-hour’s gossip at the village -store. I hear the sound of hoofs upon the stones as they renew their -way, the dragging of the chain upon the gravelly bed, and the receding -form is lost in the darkening road. One by one the scattered barns and -houses have disappeared in the gathering dusk, marked only by the faint -columns of blue smoke that rise above the trees, and melt away against -the twilight sky. I look out upon a wilderness of gloom, where all above -is still and clear, and all below is wrapped in impenetrable mystery. A -plaintive piping trill now breaks the impressive stillness. Again and -again I hear the little lonely voice vibrating through the low-lying -mist. It is only a little frog in some far-off marsh; but what a sweet -sense of sadness is awakened by that lowly melody! How its weird minor -key, with its magic<a name="page_027" id="page_027"></a> touch, unlocks the treasures of the heart. Only the -peeping of a frog; but where in all the varied voices of the night, -where, even among the great chorus of nature’s sweetest music, is there -another song so lulling in its dreamy melody, so full of that emotive -charm which quickens the human heart? How often in the vague spring -twilight have I yielded to the strange, fascinating melancholy awakened -by the frog’s low murmur at the water’s edge! How many times have I -lingered near some swampy roadside bog, and let these little wizards -weave their mystic spell about my willing senses, while the very air -seemed to quiver in the fulness of their song! I remember the tangle of -tall and withered rushes, through whose mysterious depths the eye in -vain would strive to penetrate at the sound of some faint splash or -ripple, or perhaps at the quaint, high-keyed note of some little -isolated hermit, piping in his sombre solitude. I recall the first -glimpse of the rising moon, as its great golden face peered out at me -from over the distant hill, enclosing half the summit against its broad -and luminous surface. Slowly and steadily it seemed to steal into view, -until, risen in all its fulness, I caught its image in the trembling -ripples at the edge of the soggy pool, where the palpitating water -responded to the frog’s low, tremulous monotone. Higher and higher it -sails across the inky sky, its glow now changed to a silvery pallor, -across whose white halo, in a floating film, the ghostly clouds glide in -their silent flight. A dull tinkling of some distant<a name="page_028" id="page_028"></a> cow-bell breaks -the spell, and recalls my wandering thoughts, and as I again take up my -way along the moonlit road, the glimmering windows on right and left -betray the hiding-places of a score of humble homes. Not far beyond I -see the swinging motion of a flickering lantern, as some tardy farmer’s -boy, whistling about his work, clears up his nightly chores. Now he -enters the old barn-door. I see the light glinting through the open -cracks, and hear the lowing of the cows, the bleating of the baby-calf, -and rattling chains of oxen in the stanchion rows. Now again I catch the -gleam at the open door; the swinging light flits across the yard, and -the old corn-crib starts from its obscurity. I see the boyish figure -relieved against the glow within as a basketful of yellow ears are -gathered for the impatient mouths in the noisy manger stalls. Sing on, -my boy, enjoy it while you may! That venerable barn will yield a -fragrance to you in after-life that will conjure up in your heart a -throng of memories as countless as the shining grains that glimmer in -the light you hold, and as golden, too, as they. I wonder if those -soft-winged bats squeak among the clapboards, or make their fluttering -zigzag swoops about your lantern as they were wont to do in olden times.</p> - -<p>Then there was that big-eyed owl, too, that perched upon the maple-tree -outside my window, and cried as if its heart would break at the doleful -tidings it foretold. What a world of kind solicitude that dolorous bird -awakened in our superstitious neighbor across the road! How she -overwhelmed us with her sympathy, aroused by that sepulchral omen! But I -still live, and so does the owl, for aught I know; and I sometimes think -that this aged, stooping dame over the way has never fully recovered -from her disappointment, for she always greets me with a sigh and an -injured expression, as she says, in her high and tremulous voice, “Well! -well! back agin ez hale ’n hearty ’s ever; an’ arter the way thet ar -witch bird yewst teu call ye, too, night arter night. Jest teu <i>think</i> -on’t! an’ we’d all a’ gi’n ye up fer sartin. Well! well! I never see the -beat on’t. Yen deu seem teu hang on <i>paowerful</i>;” and, after a moment’s -hesitation, seemingly in which to swallow the bitter pill, she usually -adds, with sad solicitude, “Feelin’ perty <i>tol’ble teu</i>, I spose?” But -the “witch bird” never roused my serious apprehensions. I remember its -plaintive cry only as a tender bit of pathos in the pages of my early -history.</p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ilpg029_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilpg029_sml.jpg" width="345" height="478" alt="A RAINY DAY." /></a> -<br /> -<span class="caption">A RAINY DAY.</span> -</p> - -<p>I recall, too, the pleasant sound upon the shingles overhead as the -dark-clouded sky let fall its tell-tale drops to warn us of the coming -rain. How many times have I glided into dream-land under the drowsy -influence<a name="page_029" id="page_029"></a> of the patter on the roof, and the ever varying tattoo upon -the tin beneath the dripping eaves! Who can forget those rainy days, -with their games of hide-and-seek in the old dark garret! How we looked -out upon the muddy puddled road, and laughed at the great drifting -sheets of water that ever and anon poured down from some bursting cloud, -and roared upon the roof! And as the driving rain beat against the -blurred window-panes, what strange capers the squirming tree-trunks -outside seemed to play for our amusement: the dark door-way of the barn, -too—now swelling out to twice its size, now stretching long and thin, -or dividing in the middle in its queer contortions. Out in the dismal -barn-yard we saw the forlorn row of hens huddled together on the -hay-rick, under the drizzling straw-thatched shed; and the gabled coop -near by, in whose dry retreat the motherly old hen spread her tawny -wings, and yielded the warmth of<a name="page_030" id="page_030"></a> her ruffled breast to the tender needs -of her little family, peeping so contentedly beneath her. The rain-proof -ducks dabble in the neighboring puddles, and chew the muddy water in -search of floating dainties, or gulp with nodding heads the unlucky -angle-worms which come struggling to the surface—drowned out of their -subterranean tunnels.</p> - -<p>Now we hear the snapping of the latch at the foot of the garret stairs, -and we are called to come and see a little outcast that John has brought -in from the wood-pile. Close beside the kitchen-stove a doubled piece of -blanket lies upon the floor, and within its folds we find what once was -a downy little chicken, now drenched and dying from exposure. He was a -naughty, wayward child, and would persist in thinking that he knew more -than his mother. At least so I was told—indeed, it was impressed upon -me. But the little fellow was rescued just in time. The warmth will soon -revive him, and by-and-by we shall hear his little chirp and see him -trot around the kitchen-floor, pecking at that everlasting fly, perhaps, -or at some tiny red-hot coal that snaps out from the stove.</p> - -<p>Little did we suspect the mission of those rainy days, so drear and -dismal without, or the sweet surprise preparing for us in the myriad -mysteries of life beneath the sod, where every root and thread-like -rootlet in the thirsty earth was drinking in that welcome moisture, and -numberless sleeping germs, dwelling in darkness, were awakening into -life to seek the light of day, waiting only for the glory of a sunny -dawn to burst forth from their hiding-places! That sunny morn does come -at last, and in its beams it sheds abroad a power that stirs the deepest -root. It is, indeed, a glorious day. The clustered buds upon the -silver-maples burst in their exuberance, and fringe the graceful -branches with their silken tassels. The restless crocus, for months an -unwilling captive in its winter prison, can contain itself no longer, -and with its little overflowing cup lifts up its face to the blue -heaven. Golden daffodils burst into bloom on drooping stems, and -exchange their little nods on right and left. The air is filled with a -faint perfume, in which the very earth mould yields its fragrance—that -wild aroma only known to spring. Our little feathered friends, so few -and far between as yet, are full of song. The bluebird wooes his mate -with a loving warble, full of tender sweetness, as they flit among the -swaying twigs, or pry with diligent search for some snug nesting-place -among the hollow crannies of the orchard trees. The noisy blackbirds -hold high carnival in the top of the old pine-tree, the woodpecker taps -upon the hollow limb his resonant tattoo, and the hungry crows, like a -posse of<a name="page_031" id="page_031"></a> tramps, hang around the great oak-tree upon the knoll, and -watch to see what they can steal. Down through the meadow the gurgling -stream babbles as of old, and along its fretted banks the alder thickets -are hanging full with drooping catkins swinging at every breeze. The -glossy willow-buds throw off their coat of fur, and plume themselves in -their wealth of inflorescence, lighting up the brook-side with a yellow -glow, and exhaling a fresh, delicious perfume. Here, too, we hear the -rattling screech of the swooping kingfisher, as with quick beats of wing -he skims along the surface of the stream, and with an ascending glide -settles upon the overhanging branch above the ripples. All these and a -thousand more I vividly recall from the memory of that New England -spring; but sweetest of all its manifold surprises was that crowning -consummation, that miracle of a single night, bringing on countless -wings through the early morning mist the welcome chorus of the returning -flocks of birds. How they swarmed the orchard and the elms, where but -yesterday the bluebird held his sway! Now we see the fiery oriole in his -gold and jetty velvet flashing in the morning sun, and robins without -number swell their ruddy throats in a continuous roundelay of song. The -pert cat-bird in his Quaker garb is here, and with flippant jerk of tail -and impertinent mew bustles about among the arbor-vitæs, where even now -are remnants of his last year’s nest. The puffy wrens, too, what saucy, -sputtering little bursts of glee are theirs as they strut upon the -rustic boxes in the maples! The fields are vocal with their sweet spring -medley, in which the happy carols of the linnets and the song sparrows -form a continuous pastoral. Now we hear the mellow bell of the wood -thrush echoing from some neighboring tree, and all intermingled with the -chatter and the gossip of the martens on their lofty house. Birds in the -sky, birds in the trees and on the ground, birds everywhere, and not a -silent throat among them; but from far and near, from mountain-side and -meadow, from earth and sky, uniting in a happy choral of perpetual -jubilee.</p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ilpg032_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilpg032_sml.jpg" width="353" height="460" alt="A HANDFUL FROM THE WOODS." /></a> -<br /> -<span class="caption">A HANDFUL FROM THE WOODS.</span> -</p> - -<p>Down in the moist green swamp lot the yellow cowslips bloom along the -shallow ditch, and the eager farmer’s wife fills her basket with the -succulent leaves she has been watching for so long; for they’ll tell you -in New England that “they ain’t noth’n’ like caowslips for a mess o’ -greens.” Near by we see the frog pond, with lush growth of arrow leaves -and pickerel weed, and flat blades of blue-flag just starting from the -boggy earth. Half submerged upon a lily pad, close by the water’s edge, -an ugly toad sits watching for some winged morsel for that ample mouth -of his.<a name="page_032" id="page_032"></a></p> - -<p>Who could believe that so much poetic inspiration could emerge from such -a mouth as that; for verily it is this miserable-looking toad that lifts -his little voice in the dreamy, drowsy chorus of the twilight. All sorts -of odium have been heaped upon the innocent toad; but he only returns -good for evil. He is the farmer’s faithful friend. He guards his garden -by day, and lulls him to sleep by night. Yonder, near those withered -cat-tails, we see the village boys among the calamus-beds, pulling up -the long white roots tipped with pink and fringed with trickling -rootlets. What visions of candied flag-root stimulate them in their -zeal! I can almost see the tender, juicy leaf-bud screened beneath that -smooth pink sheath, and its aromatic pungency is as fresh and real to me -as this appetizing fragrance that comes to us from the green tufts of -spearmint we crush beneath our feet at every step. Bevies of swallows -all around us skim through the air, like feathered darts, in their -twittering flight; and the restless starling, like a field-marshal, with -his scarlet epaulets, keeps sharp lookout for the enemy, and “flutes his -O-ka-lee” from the high alder-bush at the slightest<a name="page_033" id="page_033"></a> approach upon his -chosen ground. Yonder on the wooded slope the feathery shad-tree blooms, -like a suspended cloud of drifting snow lingering among the gray twigs -and branches; and chasing across the matted leaves beneath, a lively -troop of youngsters, girls and boys, make the woods resound with their -boisterous jubilee. A jolly band of fugitives fresh from the stormy -week’s captivity—spring buds bursting with life, with a pent-up store -of spirits that finds escape in an effervescence of ringing laughs and -in a din of incessant jabber. Well I know the buoyant exhilaration that -impels them on in their reckless frolic, as they skip from stone to -stone across the rippling stream, or “stump” each other on the -treacherous crossing-pole which spans the deep still current! Now I see -them huddle around the trickling grotto among the mossy bowlders in the -steep gully yonder, where the mountain spring bubbles into a crystal -pool. Alas! how quickly its faint blue border of hepaticas is rifled by -the ruthless mob! Now they clamber up the great gray rocks beneath the -drooping hemlocks, stopping in their headlong zeal to snatch some -trembling cluster of anemone, nodding from its velvety bed of moss; now -plunging down on hands and knees, shedding innocent blood among an -unsuspecting colony of fragile bloom—those glowing blossoms so welcome -in the early spring! Who does not know the bloodroot—that shy recluse -hiding away among the mountain nooks, that emblem of chaste purity with -its bridal ring of purest gold? Who has not seen its tender leaf-wrapped -buds lifting the matted leaves, and spreading their galaxy of snowy -stars along the woodland path?</p> - -<p>Then there was the shy arbutus, too. Where in all the world’s bouquet is -there another such a darling of a flower? And where in all New England -does that darling show so full and sweet a face as in its home upon that -sunny slope I have in mind, and know so well? Was ever such a fragrant -tufted carpet spread beneath a hesitating foot? Even now, along the -lichen-dappled wall upon the summit, I see the lingering strip of snow, -gritty and speckled, and at its very edge, hiding beneath the covering -leaves, those modest little faces looking out at me—faces which seemed -to blush a deeper pink at their rude discovery. No other flower can -breathe the perfume of the arbutus, that earthy, spicy fragrance, which -seems as though distilled from the very leaf-mould at its roots. Often -on this sunny slope, so sheltered by dense pines and hemlocks, have -these charming clusters, pink and white, burst into bloom beneath the -snow in March; and even on a certain late February day, we discovered a<a name="page_034" id="page_034"></a> -little, solitary clump, fully spread, and fairly ruddy with the cold. -Here, too, we found the earliest sprays of the slender maidenhair; that -fairy frond and loveliest among ferns, with black and lustrous stems, -and graceful spread of tender gauzy green.</p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ilpg034_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilpg034_sml.jpg" width="342" height="531" alt="AFTER ARBUTUS." /></a> -<br /> -<span class="caption">AFTER ARBUTUS.</span> -</p> - -<p>Where was the nook in all that hill-side woods that we left unsearched -in our April ramblings? I recall the “tat,” “tat” upon the dry carpet of -beech leaves, as the delicate anemone in my hand is dashed by a falling -drop! Lost in eager occupation, we had not observed the shadow that had -stolen through the forest; and now, as we look out through the trees, we -see the steel-blue warning of the coming shower, and feel the first gust -of the tell-tale breeze—how the willows wave and gleam against the deep -gray clouds, so weirdly reflected in the gliding stream beneath, like an -open seam to another sky! See the silvery flashes of that flock of -pigeons circling<a name="page_035" id="page_035"></a> against the lurid background. No, we cannot stop to -see them, for the rain-drops begin to patter thick and fast. Away we -scamper to the shelter of the overhanging rocks. The lowering sky rolls -above us through the branches. The glassy surface of the brook takes on -a leaden hue as the rain-cloud drags its misty veil across the distant -meadows. The brown leaves jump and spatter at my feet, and the blue -liverwort flowers on right and left duck their heads like little living -things dodging the pelting rain-drops.</p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ilpg035_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilpg035_sml.jpg" width="349" height="455" alt="THE FAIRY FROND." /></a> -<br /> -<span class="caption">THE FAIRY FROND.</span> -</p> - -<p>Oh, the lovely fickleness an April day! Even now the distant hill is lit -up by the bursting sun. Nearer and nearer the gleam creeps across the -landscape, chasing the shower away, and in a moment more the meadows -glow with a freshened green, and the trees<a name="page_036" id="page_036"></a> stand transfigured in -glistening beads flashing in the sunbeams. The quickened earth gives -forth its grateful incense, and even an enthusiastic frog down in the -lily-pond sends up his little vote of thanks.</p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ilpg036_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilpg036_sml.jpg" width="329" height="174" alt="AN APRIL DAY." /></a> -<br /> -<span class="caption">AN APRIL DAY.</span> -</p> - -<p>April’s woods are teeming with all forms of life, if one will only look -for them. On every side the ferns, curled up all winter in their dormant -sleep, unroll their spiral sprays, and reach out for the welcome sun. -The spicy colt’s-foot, or wild ginger, lifts its downy leaves among the -mossy rocks and crevices, and its homely flower just peeps above the -ground, and, with a lingering glance at the blushing <i>Rue anemone</i> close -by, hangs its humble head, never to look up again. High above us the -eccentric cottonwood-tree dangles its long speckled plumes, so silvery -white. Now we hear a mellow drumming sound, as some unsuspecting grouse, -concealed among the undergrowth near by, beats his resonant breast. -Could we but get a glimpse of him, we would see him simulate the -barn-yard gobbler, as with proud strut and spreading tail he disports -himself upon some fallen log or mossy rock. Perhaps, too, that coy mate -is near, admiring his show of gallantry, and holding a sly flirtation.</p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ilpg037_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilpg037_sml.jpg" width="332" height="434" alt="AMONG THE WILD FLOWERS." /></a> -<br /> -<span class="caption">AMONG THE WILD FLOWERS.</span> -</p> - -<p>Look at this craggy precipice of rock, lost above among the -green-tasselled evergreens, and trickling with crystal drops from every -drooping sprig of moss. How its rugged surface is painted with the -mottled lichens of every hue, here like a faint tinge of cool -sage-green, and there in large brown blotches of rich color! See the -fringe of ferns that bursts from the fissure across its surface. There -the trillium hangs its three-cleft<a name="page_037" id="page_037"></a> flower of rich maroon; and later we -shall see the fern-like spray of Solomon’s-seal swinging its little row -of straw-colored bells from the ledge above. Airy columbines, too, shall -float their scarlet pendants on fragile stems, and with their graceful -nod tell of the slightest breeze, when all else is still. What is that -cinnamon-brown bird that hops along the stone wall yonder? Now he -alights upon the tulip-tree, and swells his speckled breast in a series -of short experiments—a broken song, in which every<a name="page_038" id="page_038"></a> note or call has -its twin echo. A “mocking-thrush” he is, indeed, for he mimics his own -song from morn till night in all the thickets and pasture-lands. Take -care there! why, you almost trod upon that feathery tuft of “Dutchman’s -breeches.” Oh, who is he that dared to clothe this sweet blossom in such -an ignominious title? Where is the Dutchman that ever wore -unmentionables of such exquisite pink satin as that pale <i>dicentra</i> -wears? No wonder their little broken hearts droop at the insult!</p> - -<div class="figright" style="width: 336px;"> -<a href="images/ilpg038_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilpg038_sml.jpg" width="336" height="526" alt="THE COLUMBINE." /></a> -<br /> -<span class="caption">THE COLUMBINE.</span> -</div> - -<p><a name="page_039" id="page_039"></a>The grotesque Jack-in-the-pulpit, rising above that crumbling log, is -named more to my mind. There he stands beneath his striped canopy, and -preaches to me a sermon on the well-remembered rashness of my youth in -trifling with that subterranean bulb from which he grows. But I ignored -his warning in those early days. I only knew that a real nice boy across -the way seemed very fond of those little Indian turnips, called them -“sugar-roots,” and said that they were full of honey. And as he bit off -his eager mouthful, and refused to let me taste, I sought one for -myself, and, generous boy that he was, he showed me where to find the -buried treasure. It was like a small turnip, an innocent-looking affair -(and so was the nice boy’s modelled piece of apple, by-the-way). But oh! -the sudden revelation of the red-hot reservoir of chain-lightning that -crammed that innocent bulb! Even as I think of it, how I long once more -to interview that real nice boy who opened up the mysteries of the -“sugar-root” to my tempted curiosity. Let boys beware of this wild, -red-hot coal; and should they be impelled by a desire to test the -unknown flavor, let them solace themselves with a less dangerous mixture -of four papers of cambric needles and a spoonful of pounded glass. This -will give a faint suggestion of the racy pungency of the Indian turnip. -Were some kind friend at the present day to seek to kill me off with -poisoned food, I should forthwith have him arrested on a charge of -attempted murder, and incarcerated in the county jail. But what would be -wilful homicide in the man is only a guileless proof of friendship in -the boy, and his affections and their symptoms present a living paradox; -and those boisterous days, with all their fond caresses in the way of -fights and bruises and black eyes, and even Indian turnips, we all agree -were full of fun the like of which we never shall see again.</p> - -<div class="figleft" style="width: 371px;"> -<a href="images/ilpg040_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilpg040_sml.jpg" width="371" height="442" alt="MEADOW BROOK." /></a> -<br /> -<span class="caption">MEADOW BROOK.</span> -</div> - -<p>How well we remember those tramps along the meadow brook: the dark, -still holes beneath the overhanging rocks, where, with golden slipping -loop and pole and cautious creep, we wired those lazy, unsuspecting -“suckers” on the gravelly bed below! Ah! what scientific angling with -the rod and reel in later years has ever brought back the keen tingle of -that primitive sport? The great green bull-frogs, too, in the lily-pond, -disclosing their cavernous resources as they jumped and splashed and -sprawled after the tantalizing bit of red flannel on that dangling hook! -We recall that rickety bridge among the willows, and the mossy nest of -mud so firmly fixed upon the beam beneath. How could we be so deaf to -the pleading of those little phoebe-birds that fluttered so beseechingly -about us? Then there was that deep hole in the sand-bank near the<a name="page_040" id="page_040"></a> -brook, where the burrowing kingfisher hid away his nest, where we -watched in the twilight to see him enter, and, with big round stone in -readiness, “plugged” him in his den! What fun it was to dig him out, and -ventilate his musty nest of fish-bones! The starling in the thicket of -the swamp circled through the air with angry “Quit! quit!” as we picked -our way through the bristling bogs so close upon her nest. We’ll not -forget that false step that sent us sprawling in the green slimy mud, at -the first electrifying glimpse of those brown spotted eggs. The -high-holer, too, whose golden gleam of wing upon the bare dead tree -betrayed his nesting-place in the hollow limb—was ever such a stimulus -offered to the eagerness of youth? Who would give a second thought to -his tender shins at the prospect of such a prize as a nest of -high-hole’s eggs? How round and white they were! how the pale golden -yolk floated beneath the pearly shell! Those were jolly days for us; but -the poor birds had to suffer, and few, indeed, were the nests that -escaped our prying search. There was the cat-bird in the evergreens, -with lovely eggs of peacock blue; the pure white treasures of the -swallows in the mud nests under the barn-yard eaves; the sky-blue -beauties of the robin; the brown speckled eggs in the sheltered nest of -song-sparrows on the grassy slope; the dear little eggs of chippies in -their<a name="page_041" id="page_041"></a> horse-hair bed, and in their midst the insinuated specimen of the -cheeky cow-blackbird: there were eggs of every shape and hue, and we -knew too well where to put our hand on them.</p> - -<div class="figleft" style="width: 339px;"> -<a href="images/ilpg041_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilpg041_sml.jpg" width="339" height="343" alt="THE PHŒBE’S NEST." /></a> -<br /> -<span class="caption">THE PHŒBE’S NEST.</span> -</div> - -<p>In a flowering hawthorn outside our window we watched a loving pair -building their pensile nest among the thorns and blossoms. How incessant -was their solicitude for that fragile framework until its strength was -fully assured against the tossing breeze! Tenderly and eagerly they -helped each other in the disposition of those ravellings of string and -strips of bark! he stopping every now and then to whisper sweetly to his -mate, as she, with drooping, trembling wings, put up her little open -bill to kiss. Yes, we often saw this little tender episode, as we -watched them through the shutters of the half-closed blinds! Now he -flies away; and the little spouse, thus left alone, jumps into the nest, -and we see its mossy meshes swell as she fits the deep hollow to her -feathery breast. Presently her consort returns, trailing along a -gossamer of cobweb, which he throws around the supporting thorn, and -leaves for her to spread and tuck among the crevices. Again<a name="page_042" id="page_042"></a></p> - -<p style="clear:both;"> </p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ilpg042_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilpg042_sml.jpg" width="339" height="533" -alt="he appears, with his tiny bill concealed in a silvery puff of cotton from the willow -catkins in the swamp; next he brings a wisp of long gray moss; now a -curly flake of rich brown lichen, or a jagged square of birch bark, all -of which are laid against the nest, and half covered with films of -cobweb. Once more we see his tiny form among the hawthorn blossoms as he -tugs a papery piece of hornets’ nest through the pink barricade. This is -arranged to hang beneath as a pendant to their floating fabric, and the -happy little couple sit together upon a neighboring twig in twittering -admiration. And well they may, for a prettier nest than theirs" -title="he appears, with his tiny bill concealed in a silvery puff of cotton from the willow -catkins in the swamp; next he brings a wisp of long gray moss; now a -curly flake of rich brown lichen, or a jagged square of birch bark, all -of which are laid against the nest, and half covered with films of -cobweb. Once more we see his tiny form among the hawthorn blossoms as he -tugs a papery piece of hornets’ nest through the pink barricade. This is -arranged to hang beneath as a pendant to their floating fabric, and the -happy little couple sit together upon a neighboring twig in twittering -admiration. And well they may, for a prettier nest than theirs" /></a> -<br /> -<span class="caption">BUILDING THE NEST.</span> -</p> - -<p><a name="page_043" id="page_043"></a></p> -<p class="nind">never hung upon a thorn. Not perfect yet, it seems, however, for that little -feminine eye has seen the need of one more touch. Away she flies, and in -a minute more a downy feather, tipped with iridescent green, is adjusted -in the cobwebs.</p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ilpg043_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilpg043_sml.jpg" width="333" height="404" alt="IN THE APPLE ORCHARD." /></a> -<br /> -<span class="caption">IN THE APPLE ORCHARD.</span> -</p> - -<p>This dainty little work of art is only one of the thousands that -everywhere are building in the blooming trees and thickets. These are -the supreme moments of the spring, consecrated to the loves of bird and -blossom. Every little winged form that scarcely bends the twig has its -all-consuming passion, and every tree its wedding of the flower. Out in -the orchard the apple-trees are laden in veritable domes of pink-white -bloom, as if by the rare spectacle of a rosy fall of snow, and from -among the dewy petals the army of bees give forth their low, continuous<a name="page_044" id="page_044"></a> -drone—that sympathetic chord in the universal harmony of spring. How -they revel in that rich harvest! Who knows what sweet messages are borne -from flower to flower upon those filmy wings?</p> - -<p>On the green slope beneath, the scattered dandelions gleam like drops of -molten gold upon the velvety sward, and a lounging family group, intent -upon that savory noonday relish, gather the basketfuls of the dainty -plants for that appetizing “mess of greens.” Often, while thus engaged, -have I stopped to watch the antics of the festive bumblebee, tumbling -around in the tufted blossom—always an amusing sight. See how he rolls -and wallows in the golden fringe, even standing on his head and kicking -in his glee! Presently, with his long black nose thrust deep into the -yellow puff, he stops to enjoy a quiet snooze in the luxurious bed—an -endless sleep, for I generally took this chance to put him out of his -misery, preferring, perhaps, to watch the robin hopping across the lawn. -Now he stops, and seems to listen; runs a yard or so, and listens again, -and without a sign of warning dips his head, and pulls upon an unlucky -angle-worm that much prefers to go the other way. It is a well-known -fact that angle-worms approach the surface of their burrows at the sound -of rain-drops on the earth above. I sometimes wonder if the robin in its -quick running stroke of foot intends to simulate that sound, and thus -decoy its prey.</p> - -<p>I remember the wild tumult of a troop of boys upon the hill-side, -tracking the swarming bees as they whirled along in a living tangle -against the sky, now loosening in their dizzy meshes, now contracting in -a murmuring hum around their queen, and finally settling on a branch in -a pendent bunch about her. So tame and docile, too! seeming utterly to -forget their fiery javelins as they hung in that brown filmy mass upon -the bending bough! “A swarm of bees in May iz wuth a load o’ hay.” So -said our neighbor, as with fresh clean hive he secured that prized -equivalent. Here they are soon at home again, and we see their steady -winged stream pouring out through the little door of their -treasure-house, and the continual arrival of the little dusty -plunderers, laden with their smuggled store of honey, and their -saddle-bags replete with stolen gold. Down near the brook they find a -land of plenty, literally flowing with honey, as the luxuriant drooping -clusters of the locust-trees yield their brimful nectaries to the -impetuous, murmuring swarm. But there is no lack now of flowery sweets -for this buzzing colony. On every hand the meadow-sweets and milkweeds, -the brambles, and the fragrant creeping-clover show their alluring<a name="page_045" id="page_045"></a> -colors in the universal burst of bloom, and not one escapes its tender -pillaging.</p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ilpg045_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilpg045_sml.jpg" width="333" height="480" alt="" /></a> -</p> - -<p>Up in the woods the gray has turned to tender green. The flowering -dog-wood has spread its layers of creamy blossoms, giving the signal for -the planting of the corn, and in the furrowed field we see that -dislocated “man of straw,” with old plug hat jammed down upon his face, -with wooden backbone sticking through his neck-band, and dirty thatch -for a shirt bosom—a mocking outrage on any crow’s sagacity. Those -glittering strips of tin, too! Could you but interpret the low croaking -of the leader of that sable gang in yonder tree, you might hear of the -appalling effect of these precautions. I heard him once as I sat quietly -beneath a forest tree, and in the light of later events I readily -recalled his remarks upon the occasion: “Say, fellers! look at that old -fool down there hanging out those tins to show us where his corn is -planted. Haw! haw! I swaw! cawn! cawn! we’ll go down thaw and take a -chaw!” And they did; and they perched upon that old plug hat, and looked -around for something<a name="page_046" id="page_046"></a> to get scared about. A single look at a crow shows -that he has a long head, and it is not all mouth either.</p> - -<div class="figright" style="width: 310px;"> -<a href="images/ilpg046_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilpg046_sml.jpg" width="310" height="535" alt="" /></a> -</div> - -<p>Every day now makes a transformation in the landscape. The golden stars -upon the lawn are nearly all burnt out: we see their downy ashes in the -grass. Their virgin flame is quenched, and naught remains but those -ethereal globes of smoke that rise up and float away with every breeze. -Where is there in all nature’s marvels a more exquisite creation than -this evanescent phœnix of the dandelion? Beautiful in life, it is -even more beautiful in death. And now the high-grown grass is cloudy -with its puffs, whose little fairy parachutes are sailing everywhere, -over mountain-top and field. Here the corn has appeared in little waving -plumes, and the horse and cultivator are seen breaking up the soil -between the rows. Great snowy piles of cloud throw their gliding shadows -across the patchwork of ploughed fields and meadows, fresh and<a name="page_047" id="page_047"></a></p> - -<p style="clear:both;"> </p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ilpg047_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilpg047_sml.jpg" width="330" height="529" - -alt="green with winter wheat, or tinged with newly sprouting grain. The sunbeams -glow with a summer warmth, and the evaporation of the morning dews lifts -the glistening diamonds from the gossamer films among the grass, and -sends a quivering haze all through the air, in which the distant trees -tremble in a softened glimmer. The woods are screened in dense foliage, -and through the leafy canopy the merry birds dart and sing." - -title="green with winter wheat, or tinged with newly sprouting grain. The sunbeams -glow with a summer warmth, and the evaporation of the morning dews lifts -the glistening diamonds from the gossamer films among the grass, and -sends a quivering haze all through the air, in which the distant trees -tremble in a softened glimmer. The woods are screened in dense foliage, -and through the leafy canopy the merry birds dart and sing." /></a> -<br /> -<span class="caption">BLUE-FLAGS.</span> -</p> - -<p><a name="page_048" id="page_048"></a></p> - -<p>The chickadees are here, and scarlet tanagers gleam like living bits of -fire among the tantalizing leaves. Pert little vireos hop inquisitively -about you, and the bell note of the wood-thrush echoes from the hidden -tree-top overhead. Perhaps, too, you may chance upon a downy brood of -quail cuddling among the dry leaves; but, even though you should, you -might pass them by unnoticed, except as a mildewed spot of fungus at the -edge of a fallen log or tree-stump, perhaps. The loamy ground is shaded -knee-deep with rank growth of wood plants. The mossy, speckled rock is -set in a fringe of ferns. Palmate sprays of ginseng spread in mid-air a -luxurious carpet of intermingled leaves, interspersed with yellow spikes -of loosestrife and pale lilac blooms of crane’s-bill; and the -poison-ivy, creeping like a snake around that marbled beech, has -screened its hairy trunk beneath its three-cleft shiny leaves. The -mountain-laurel, with its deep green foliage and showy clusters, peers -above that rocky crag; and in the bog near by a thicket of wild azalea -is crowned with a profusion of pink blossoms.</p> - -<p>Out in the swamp meadow the tall clumps of boneset show their dull white -crests, and the blue flowers of the flag, the mint, and pickerel weed -deck the borders of the lily pond. The waddling geese let off their -shrieking calliopes as they sail out into the stream, or browse with -nodding twitch along the grassy bank. Swarms of yellow butterflies -disgrace their kind as they huddle around the greenish mud-holes, and we -hear on every side the “z-zip, z-zip,” amidst the din of a thousand -crickets and singing locusts among the reeds and rushes. The meadows -roll and swell in billowy waves, bearing like a white-speckled foam upon -their crests a sea of daisies, with here and there a floating patch of -crimson clover, or a golden haze of butter-cups. Rising suddenly from -the tall grass near by, the gushing brimful bobolink crowds a -half-hour’s song into a brief pell-mell rapture, beating time in mid-air -with his trembling wings, and alighting on the tall fence-rail to regain -his breath. A coy meadow-lark shows his yellow-breast and crescent above -the windrow yonder, and we hear the ringing beats of whetted scythes, -and see the mowers cut their circling swath.</p> - -<p>Mowing! Why, how is this? This surely is not Spring. But even thus the -Springtime leads us into Summer. No eye can mark the soft transition, -and ere we are aware the sweet fragrance of the new-mown hay breathes -its perfumed whisper, “Behold, the Spring has fled!<a name="page_049" id="page_049"></a>”</p> - -<p><a name="page_050" id="page_050"></a></p> - -<h2><a name="SUMMER" id="SUMMER"></a>S<small>UMMER</small>.</h2> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ilpg050_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilpg050_sml.jpg" width="99" height="120" alt="" /></a> -</p> - -<p><a name="page_051" id="page_051"></a></p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ilpg051_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilpg051_sml.jpg" width="318" height="489" alt="THE CONSUMMATION" /></a> -</p> - -<p><a name="page_052" id="page_052"></a></p> - -<p><a name="page_053" id="page_053"></a></p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ilpg053_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilpg053_sml.jpg" width="317" height="527" alt="" /></a> -</p> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">“A</span>LL -out for Hometown.” There is an epidemic of eagerness, a general -bustle for satchels and bundles, and the car is soon almost without a -passenger; and, indeed, it would really seem as though the whole train -had landed its entire human burden upon this platform; for Hometown is a -popular place, and<a name="page_054" id="page_054"></a> every Saturday evening brings just such an exodus as -this: Husbands and fathers who fly from the hot and crowded city for a -Sunday of quiet and content with their families, who year after year -have found a refuge of peace and comfort in this charming New England -town. Where is it? Talk with almost any one familiar with the -picturesque boroughs of the Housatonic, and your curiosity will be -gratified, for this village will be among the first to be described.</p> - -<p>From the platform of the car we step into the midst of a motley -assemblage, rustic peasantry and fashionable aristocracy intermingled. -Anxious and eager faces meet you at every turn. For a few minutes the -air fairly rings with kisses, as children welcome fathers, and fathers -children. Strange vehicles crowd the depot—vehicles of all sizes and -descriptions, from the veritable “one-hoss shay” to the dainty -basket-phaeton of fashion. One by one the merry loads depart, while I, a -pilgrim to my old home, stand almost unrecognized by the familiar faces -around me. Leaning up against the porch near by, stands a character -which, once seen, could never be forgotten. His face is turned from me, -but the old straw hat I recognize as the hat of ten years ago, with brim -pulled down to a slope in front, and pushed up vertically behind, and -the identical hole in the side with the long hair sticking through. Yes, -there he stands—Amos Shoopegg. I step up to him and lay my hand upon -his shoulder. With creditable skill he unwinds the twist of his -intricate legs, and with an inquiring gaze turns his good-natured face -toward me.</p> - -<p>“Is it possible that you don’t remember me, Shoop?”</p> - -<p>With an expression of surprise he raises both his arms. “Wa’al, thar! I -swaiou! I didn’t cal’late on runnin’ agin yeu. I was jes drivin’ hum -from taown-meetin’, an’ thought as haow I’d take a turn in, jest out o’ -cur’osity. Wa’al, naow, it’s pesky good to see yeu agin arter sech a -long spell. I didn’t re<i>cog</i>nize ye at fust, but I swan when ye began -a-talkin’, that was enuf fer me. Hello! fetched yer woman ’long tew, -hey? Haow air yeu, ma’am? hope ye’er perty tol’ble. Don’t see but what -yeu look’s nateral’s ever; but yer man here, I declar for’t, he got the -best on me at fust;” and after having thus delivered himself, he -swallowed up our hands in his ample fists.</p> - -<p>“Yes, Shoop, I thought I’d just run up to the old home for a few days.”</p> - -<p>“Wa’al, I swar! I’m tarnal glad to see ye, and that’s a fact. Anybody -cum up arter ye? No? Well, then, s’posin’ ye jest highst into my team.<a name="page_055" id="page_055"></a>” -So saying, he unhitched a corrugated shackle-jointed steed, and backed -around his indescribable impromptu covered wagon—a sort of a hybrid -between a “one-hoss shay” and a truck.</p> - -<p>“’Tain’t much of a kerridge fer city folks to ride in, that’s a fact,” -he continued, “but I cal’late it’s a little better’n shinnin’ it.” After -some little manœuvring in the way of climbing over the front seat, we -were soon wedged in the narrow compass, and, with an old horse-blanket -over our knees, we went rattling down the hill toward the village and -home of my boyhood.</p> - -<p>Years have passed since those days when, as a united family, we dwelt -under that old roof; but those who once were children are now men and -women, with divided interests and individual homes. The old New England -mansion is now a homestead only in name, known so only in recollections -of the past and the possibilities of the future.</p> - -<p>“Wa’al, thar’s the old house,” presently exclaimed Amos, as we neared -the brow of a declivity looking down into the valley below. “Don’t look -quite so spruce as’t did in the old times, but Warner’s a good keerful -tenant, ’tain’t no use talkin’. I cal’late yeu might dig a pleggy long -spell afore yeu could git another feller like him in this ’ere patch.”</p> - -<p>In the vale below, in its nest of old maples and elms, almost screened -from view by the foliage, we look upon the familiar outlines of the old -mansion, its diamond window in the gable peering through the branches at -us. “Skedup!” cried Amos, as he urged his pet nag into a jog-trot down -the hill, through the main street of the town. The long fence in front -of the homestead is soon reached, a sharp turn into the drive, a “Whoa, -January!” and we are extricated from the wagon.</p> - -<p>“Wa’al, I’ll leave ye naow. I guess ye kin find yer way around,” said -Shoop, as with one outlandish geometrical stride he lifted himself into -the wagon. Cordially greeted by our hostess, with repeated urgings to -“make ourselves at home,” we were shown to our room. The house, though -clad in a new dress, still retained the same hospitable and cosy look as -of old.</p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ilpg056_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilpg056_sml.jpg" width="308" height="357" alt="OLD HOMESTEAD AND GARRET." /></a> -<br /> -<span class="caption">OLD HOMESTEAD AND GARRET.</span> -</p> - -<p>Hometown, owing to some early local faction, is divided into two -sections, forming two distinct towns. One, Newborough, a hill-top -hamlet, with its picturesque long street, a hundred feet in width, and -shaded with great weeping elms that almost meet overhead; and the other, -Hometown proper, a picturesque little village in the valley, cuddling -close around the foot of a precipitous bluff, known as Mount Pisgah. A -mile’s distance<a name="page_056" id="page_056"></a> separates the two centres. The old homestead is -situated in the heart of Hometown, fronting on the main street. The -house itself is a series of after-thoughts, wing after wing and gable -after gable having clustered around the old nucleus, as the growth of -new generations necessitated increased accommodation. Its outward aspect -is rather modern, but the interior, with its broad open fireplaces, and -accessaries in the shape of cranes and fire-dogs, is rich with all the -features of typical New England; and the two gables of the main roof -enclose the dearest old garret imaginable—at present an asylum for the -quaint possessions of antique furniture and bric-à-brac, removed from -their accustomed quarters on the advent of<a name="page_057" id="page_057"></a> the new host. It is to this -sanctuary that my footsteps first lead me, and, with a longing that will -not be withstood, I find myself in front of the great white door. I lift -the latch; a cool pungent odor of oak wood greets me as I ascend the -steep stairs—an odor that awakens, like magic, a hundred fancies, and -recalls a host of memories long forgotten. Every stair seems to creak a -welcome, as when, on the rainy days of long ago, we sought the cosy -refuge to hear the patter on the roof, or to nestle in the dark, obscure -corners in our childish games. At the head of the stairs rises the -ancient chimney, cleft in twain at the foot, with the quaint little -cuddy between. Above me stretch the great beams of oak, like iron in -their hardness. Yonder is the queer old diamond window looking out upon -the village church, its panes half obscured by the dusty maze of webs. -To the left, in a shadowy corner, stands the antiquated wheel—a relic -of past generations. Long gray cobwebs festoon the rafters overhead, and -the low buzzing of a wasp betrays its mud nest in the gable above. A -sense of sadness steals over me as I sit gazing into this still chamber. -On every side are mementos of a happy past, and all, though mute, -speaking to me in a language whose power stirs the depths of my soul. -Wherever the eye may turn, it meets with a silent greeting from an old -friend, and the whole shrouded in a weird gloom that lends to the most -common object an air of melancholy mystery. And yet it is only a garret. -There are some, no doubt, for whom this word finds its fitting synonyme -in the dictionary, but there are others to whom it sings a poem of -infinite sweetness.</p> - -<p>Looking through the dingy window between the maple boughs, my eye -extends over lawn and shrubberies, three acres in extent—a little park, -overrun with paths in every direction, through ancient orchard and -embowered dells, while far beyond are glimpses of the wooded knolls, the -winding brook, and meadows dotted with waving willows, and farther still -the ample undulating farm.</p> - -<p>It is in such a place as this that I have sought recreation and change -of scene. My wife and I have run away from the city for a month or so. A -vacation we call it; but to an artist such a thing is rarely known in -its ordinary sense, and often, indeed, it means an increase of labor -rather than a respite. My first week, however, I had consecrated to -luxurious idleness. Together we wandered through the old familiar -rambles where as boy and girl in earlier days we had been so oft -together. Day after day found us in some new retreat. There were dark -cool nooks by sheltered<a name="page_058" id="page_058"></a></p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ilpg058_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilpg058_sml.jpg" width="342" height="537" -alt="streams, spicy groves of pine and spruce, -wooded slopes and rocky dells, and meadows rich with summer bloom, where -idle butterflies flitted lazily on the wing; where meadow lilies nodded -in billowing fields, and the daisies and red clover waved about our -knees half screened in feathery purple grasses that spread their cloudy" - -title="streams, spicy groves of pine and spruce, -wooded slopes and rocky dells, and meadows rich with summer bloom, where -idle butterflies flitted lazily on the wing; where meadow lilies nodded -in billowing fields, and the daisies and red clover waved about our -knees half screened in feathery purple grasses that spread their cloudy" /> -<br /></a> -<br /> -<span class="caption">AMONG THE GRASSES.</span> -</p> - -<p><a name="page_059" id="page_059"></a></p> - -<p class="nind">mist all through the blossoming maze. We heard the music of the scythe, -and, sitting in the deep cool grass beneath the maple shade, we watched -the circling motion of the mowers in the field—saw the forkfuls of the -hay tossed in the drying sun, and breathed the perfumed air that floated -from the windrows. We sauntered by the meadow brook where willows -gleamed along the bank, and overhanging alders threw their sombre -shadows in the quiet pools: where the ground-nut, and the meadow-rue, -and the creeping madder fringed the tangled brink, and every footstep -started up some agile frog that plunged into the unseen water. We stood -where rippling shallows gurgled under festooned canopies of fox-grape, -and the leaning linden-trees shut out the sky o’erhead and intertwined -their drooping branches above the gliding current. Here, too, the -weather-beaten crossing-pole makes its tottering span across the stream, -and deep down beneath the bank the rainbow-tinted sunfish floats on -filmy fins above his yellow bed of gravel, and we catch a flashing gleam -of a silvery dace or shiner turning in the water.</p> - -<p>Now we confront a rude slab fence, an ancient landmark, that terminates -its length at the edge of the stream, where its gray and crumbling -boards are secured with rusty nails against the trunk of a tall -buttonwood-tree. A loosened slab is easily found, and we are soon upon -the other side; and after picking our way through a forest of -bush-elders, we emerge upon an open lot of low flat pasture-land, known -always as the “old swamp meadow.” No other five acres on the face of the -earth are so dear to me as this neglected field. I know its every rise -and fall of ground, its every bog, and its lush greenness is refreshing -even to the thought.</p> - -<p>It is a luxuriant garden of all manner of succulent and juicy -vegetation; an outbursting extravagance of plant life of almost tropical -exuberance. All New England’s most majestic and ornamental flora seem -congregated in its congenial soil; and even when a boy I learned to know -and love them all, and even call them by their names.</p> - -<p>Here are towering stems of iron-weed lifting high their scattered purple -crowns, and in their midst the woolly clumps of boneset, its white -flowered cushions intermingling with the dense pink tufts of -thorough-wort.</p> - -<p>On every side we overlook whole patches of these splendid blossoms, with -their crests closely crowded in a mosaic of pink and white. And here’s a -bed of peppermint and spearmint, interspersed with flaming<a name="page_060" id="page_060"></a> spikes of -cardinal lobelia; and here a lusty plant of Indian mallow, entangled in -a maze of gold-thread and smart-weed. Here are massive burdocks six feet -high, and great trees of jimson-weed, with their large spiral flowers -and thorny pods.</p> - -<p>High fronds of chain-fern rise up on every side from a jungle of -bur-marigolds and clotburs, and tear-thumbs, with their saw-toothed -stems and tiny bunches of pink blossoms.</p> - -<p>No inch of ground in the old swamp lot but which does its tenfold duty; -and what it lacks in quality of produce it amply makes up in quantity. -Even a neighboring bed of clean-washed gravel is overrun with creeping -mallow, with its rounded leaves and little “cheeses” down among their -shadows.</p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ilpg060_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilpg060_sml.jpg" width="295" height="366" alt="EVEN-TIDE." /></a> -<br /> -<span class="caption">EVEN-TIDE.</span> -</p> - -<p>Farther on we see the lily-pond, with its surrounding swamp and its -legion of crowded water-plants. Here are rank, massive beds of -swamp-cabbage,<a name="page_061" id="page_061"></a> and lofty cat-tails by the thousand among the bristling -bogs of tussock-sedge and bulrush. Here are calamus patches, and alder -thickets, and sedges without number; and the prickly carex and blue-flag -abound on every side. There are galingales and reeds, and tall and -graceful rushes, turtle-head and jointed scouring grass, and horse-tail, -besides a host of other old acquaintances, whose faces are familiar, but -whose names I never knew. But they were all my friends in boyhood. I -knew them in the bud and in the blossom, and even in their winter -skeletons, brown and broken in the snow. Near by there is a ditch: you -never would know it, for it is completely hidden from view beneath an -interlacing growth of jewel-weed. But see that gorgeous mass of deep -scarlet that floods the farther bank! Nowhere within a circuit of miles -around is there such a regal display of cardinal flowers as this: -skirting the borders of the ditch for rods and rods, clustering about a -ruined, tumbling fence, whose moss-grown pickets are almost hidden in -the dense profusion of bloom.</p> - -<p>Then there is its airy companion, the “touch-me-not,” with its -translucent, juicy stem, and its queer little golden flowers with -spotted throats—the “jewel-weed” we used to call it. I know not why, -unless from the magic of its leaf, which, when held beneath the water, -was transformed to iridescent frosted silver. We all remember its -sensitive, jumping seed-pods, that burst even at our approach for fear -that we should touch them; but no one can fully appreciate the beauty of -the plant who has not seen its silvery leaf beneath the water. Here it -justifies its name, for it is indeed a jewel.</p> - -<p>How often in those olden times have I lain down among these bulrushes -and sedges near the lily pond, and listened to the buzzing songs of the -crickets and the tiny katydids that swarmed the growth about me, and -filled the air with their incessant din. I remember the little colony of -ants that picked their way among the rushes; that gauzy dragon-fly too, -that circled and dodged about the water’s edge, now skimming close upon -the surface, now darting out of sight, or perhaps alighting on an -overhanging sedge, as motionless as a mounted specimen, with wings -aslant and fully spread. “Devil’s darning-needles” they were called. The -devil may well be proud of them; for darning-needles of such precious -metals and such exquisite design are rare indeed. They were of several -sizes too. Some were large, and flashed the azure of the sapphire; -others fluttered by with smoky, pearly wings, and slender bodies -glittering in the light like<a name="page_062" id="page_062"></a> animated emeralds: and another I well -remember, a little airy thing, with a glistening sunbeam for a body, and -wings of tiny rainbows.</p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ilpg062_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilpg062_sml.jpg" width="345" height="523" alt="" /></a> -</p> - -<p>I remember how I watched the disturbed motion of the arrow-heads out in -the water, as the cautious turtles worked their way among them, and -crawled out upon the stump close by.</p> - -<p>Here they huddled together, a dozen or more, with heads erect, and -turning from side to side as they surveyed the surrounding carpet of -lily-pads, or listened to the bass-drum chorus of the great green -bull-frogs among the pickerel-weed; and when I jumped and yelled at -them, what a rolling, sprawling, splashing in the mud! It fairly makes -me laugh to think of it. But there is hardly a leaf or wisp of grass in -this old swamp lot but what brings back some old association or pleasant -reminiscence.<a name="page_063" id="page_063"></a></p> - -<div class="figleft" style="width: 324px;"> -<a href="images/ilpg063_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilpg063_sml.jpg" width="324" height="518" alt="" /></a> -</div> - -<p>For a week thus we idled, now on the mountain, now in the meadow, while -I, with my sketch-book and collecting-box, either whiled away the hours -with my pencil, or left the unfinished work to pursue the tantalizing -butterfly, or search for unsuspecting caterpillars among the weeds and -bushes.</p> - -<p style="clear:both;"></p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ilpg064_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilpg064_sml.jpg" width="309" height="446" alt="SOME ART CONNOISSEURS." /></a> -<br /> -<span class="caption">SOME ART CONNOISSEURS.</span> -</p> - -<div class="figleft" style="width: 319px;"> -<a href="images/ilpg065_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilpg065_sml.jpg" width="319" height="514" alt="PROFESSOR WIGGLER." /></a> -<br /> -<span class="caption">PROFESSOR WIGGLER.</span> -</div> - -<p>On a sprig of black alder I found one—the same little fellow as of old, -afflicted with the peculiarities of all his progenitors. We used to call -him “Professor Wiggler,” owing to an hereditary nervous habit of -wiggling his head from side to side when not otherwise<a name="page_064" id="page_064"></a> employed. To -this little humpbacked creature I am indebted for a great deal of past -amusement. Distinctly I remember the whack-whack-whack on the inside of -the old pasteboard box as the captive pets threatened to dash out their -brains in their demonstrations at my approach. Professor Wiggler is -really a most remarkable insect, as one might readily imagine from his -scientific name, for in learned circles this individual is known as Mr. -Gramatophora Trisignata. He has many strange eccentricities. At each -moult of the skin he retains the shell of his former<a name="page_065" id="page_065"></a> head on a long -vertical filament. Two or three thus accumulate, and, as a consequence, -in his maturer years he looks up to the head he wore when he was a -youngster, and ponders on the flight of time and the hollowness of -earthly things, or perhaps congratulates himself on the increased -contents of his present shell. When fully grown, he stops eating, and -goes into a new business. Selecting a suitable twig, he gnaws a -cylindrical hole to its centre and follows the pith, now and then -backing out of the tunnel, and dropping the excavated material in the -form of little balls of sawdust. At length he emerges from the hollow, -and again drawing himself in backward, spins a silken disk across the -opening, and tints it with the color of the surrounding bark. Here he -spends the winter, and comes out in a new spring suit in the following -May. Only recently I had in my possession several of these twigs with -their enclosed caterpillars, and in every one the color of the silken -lid so closely matched the tint of the<a name="page_066" id="page_066"></a> adjacent bark, although -different in each, that several of my friends, even with the most -careful scrutiny, failed to detect the deceptive spot. Whether the -result of chance or of the instincts of the insect, I do not know; but -certain it is that he paints with different colors under varying -circumstances.</p> - -<p>Insect-hunting had always been a passion with me. Large collections of -moths and butterflies had many times accumulated under my hands, only to -meet destruction through boyish inexperience; and even in childhood the -love for the insect and the passion for the pencil strove hard for the -ascendency, and were only reconciled by a combination which filled my -sketch-book with studies of insect life.</p> - -<p>There was one inhabitant of our fields which had always been to me a -never-failing source of entertainment. There he is, the gilded tyrant. I -see him now swinging to and fro on his glistening nest of silken -threads, his golden yellow form glowing in bold relief against the dark -recess in the brambles. My sketch is left in the grass, and I am soon -seated in front of the gossamer maze. A festive grasshopper jumps up -into my face, and makes a carom on the web. With a spasmodic snap of one -hind leg he extricates it from its entanglement, and in another instant -would fall from the meshes; but the agile spider is too quick for him. -With a movement so swift as almost to elude the eye, he draws from his -body a silver cloud of floss, and with his long hind legs throws it over -his captive. The head and tail of the grasshopper are now further -secured, after which the spider carefully straddles around the -struggling insect, and bites off the other radiating webs in close -proximity. The unlucky prey now hangs suspended across the opening. With -business-like coolness his tormentor dangles himself from the edge of -the torn web, and another cataract of glistening floss is thrown up and -attached to the under side of the prisoner, after which he is turned -round and round, as if on a spit. The stream of floss is carried from -head to foot, and in less time than it takes to describe it the victim -is wrapped in a silken winding-sheet, and soon meets his death from the -poisoned fangs of his captor. Here is but one of the thousands of -tragedies that are taking place every hour of the day in our fields. -While deeply interested in the closing scenes of this one, I suddenly -become aware of a shadow passing over the bushes. I turn my head, and -meet the puzzled and pleasant gaze of Amos Shoopegg, as he stands there, -hands in pockets, and milk-pail swinging from his wrist.<a name="page_067" id="page_067"></a></p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ilpg067_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilpg067_sml.jpg" width="314" height="521" -alt="“Wa’al, thar,” he exclaims, banging down one brawny fist on his uplifted -knee. “Buggin’ agin, I swaow! Hain’t yeu got over thet yit? What yeu kin -find so mighty fine in them ’ere bugs beats me. - -“Amos,” I replied, “there’s a great deal more in these bugs than you -imagine.” - -“A pleggy sight, I suppose,” he resumed. “What specie o’ critter ye got -hold on naow?” and he stretched for-”" - -title="“Wa’al, thar,” he exclaims, banging down one brawny fist on his uplifted -knee. “Buggin’ agin, I swaow! Hain’t yeu got over thet yit? What yeu kin -find so mighty fine in them ’ere bugs beats me. - -“Amos,” I replied, “there’s a great deal more in these bugs than you -imagine.” - -“A pleggy sight, I suppose,” he resumed. “What specie o’ critter ye got -hold on naow?” and he stretched for-”" /></a> -<br /> -<span class="caption">THE TYRANT OF THE FIELDS.</span> -</p> - -<p class="nind">ward<a name="page_068" id="page_068"></a> his fringed and weather-beaten -neck, and peered over the brambles. “What is’t ye got -thar—straddle-bug?” He came still nearer, and looked at the spider. -“Wa’al, darn my pictur ef ’tain’t an old yeller-belly! P’r’aps you don’t -know that them critters is pizen. Why, Eben Sanford’s gal got all chawed -up by one on ’em. Great Sneezer!” he exclaimed, taking three or four -strides backward, with both hands uplifted. I had merely raised my hand -and gently smoothed the spider.</p> - -<p>“Wa’al,” he continued, “yen kin rub ’em daown ef yeu pleze; but fer <i>my</i> -part, I’d ruther keep off abaout a good spittin’ distance”—which was -the Shoopegg way of expressing a length of about fifteen feet. Amos was -crossing lots for his “caow,” he said; but in spite of his plea that the -“old heiffer” was “bellerin’” like “Sam Hill,” and was “gittin’ ’tarnal -on-easy,” I made him tarry sufficiently long to enable me to send him -off a wiser man.</p> - -<p>Amos Shoopegg is a type of a large class of the native element of -Hometown. Of course, “Shoopegg” is not his actual name. In the long line -of his prided Puritan ancestry no one ever bore it before him. This is -only an affectionate epithet given him by the village boys full twenty -years ago, and it has stuck to him closer than a brother ever since, as -those festive surnames always do. Nominally, Amos was a farmer. In -summer he was one in fact, and could swing off as pretty a swath in -haying as any man in town. But in the winter he changed his vocation, -and became a disciple of the “waxed-end.” All day long he could be seen, -closeted with a little red-hot stove, plying his trade in his small, -square shop, up near the old red school-house. Here he pounded on the -big lapstone on his knees, or, with strap and foot-stick in position, -punched and tugged around the edge of those marvellous brogans. He made -slings and leather “suckers” for the boys, and furnished them with all -the black-wax they could chew—or stow-away, to stick between the lining -of their pockets. And the huge wooden shoe-pegs that he drove beneath -his hammer were a sight to behold. The man who used his “cheap line of -goods” might verily say he walked upon a wood-pile.</p> - -<p>So they dubbed him “Shoe-peg,” or “Shoop” for brevity. There are others -among his neighbors who would furnish an inexhaustible source of study -to the student of character. There’s old Rufus Fairchild, known as -“Roof,” a rotund specimen of rural jollity, his round face set in -dishevelled locks of gray, with a twinkle in his eye and a good word for -everybody. And there’s Father Tomlinson, who keeps the post-office down -by<a name="page_069" id="page_069"></a> the dam, as genial an old fellow as ever wrapped up his throat in a -white stock. And I might almost continue the list indefinitely. But -there is one I must especially mention; and, now that I think of it, he -really should have headed the list, for he stands alone—or at least he -does <i>sometimes</i>. If you are in search of the embodiment of typical -Erin, you need go no farther; here he is. This individual represents -another nationality which swells the population of Hometown—the -hard-working laborers who toil in the great factory down in the glen, -called “Satan’s Misery.” The above personage is one of the best-hearted -creatures in the town; but it is the old story, and the world to him is -enclosed in the compass of a barrel-hoop. When last I saw him he was in -an evident decline, but as I put my finger on his wrist I could still -feel the pulsations of the whiskey coursing through his veins.</p> - -<p>“Look here, my good fellow,” I said to him one day, “why don’t you taper -off a little? If you keep on in this way, you’ll be in your grave in -less than a month. How would you like that?”</p> - -<p>“Arrah, begorra,” he replied, with a look of hopeful resignation, “if I -cud awnly be shure o’ me gude skvare dthrink in the other wurrld, oi -wudn’t moind.”</p> - -<p>The record of a single evening spent in the village store, with its -rural jargon and homespun yarns, its odd vernacular and rustic gossip, -would make a volume as rare and unique as the characters it would -depict.</p> - -<p>The store itself is a matchless picture in its way, and for variety in -accessory is as rich as could be wished for. The low, murky ceiling, -hung with all manner of earthly goods—scythes and rakes, boots and -pails, in pendulous array; bottles and boxes, brooms and breast-pins, -are here—in short, everything that heart could wish or thought suggest, -from speckled calicoes to seven-cent sugar, or from a three-tined fork -to a goose-yoke. Evening after evening, for an hour or so, I was tempted -thither, until I found the week had gone. Sunday came again—Sunday in -New England. The old bell swung on its wheel in the belfry, ringing out -its call to devotion, and ere the echo had died in the recesses of the -mountain beyond the still atmosphere reverberated with an answering peal -from the little sister church in the valley below, as the scattered -groups with strolling steps wend their way to “meeting,” and the gay -loads from Newborough go flitting by on the accustomed Sunday drive.</p> - -<p>Monday dawned on Hometown. It found me up and doing. I had<a name="page_070" id="page_070"></a> enjoyed one -week of glorious loafing, but work was the programme for the next. I -went to Draper’s Inn and engaged a horse and buggy “until further -notice.” “A spang-up team” he called it, and it would be up “in half a -jiffy.” We were waiting for it when it came, and what with our variety -of luggage in the shape of canvases, color-boxes, hammocks, camp-seats, -and easels, every bit of available space in that buggy was well -utilized. Before the clock has struck nine, we are spinning along down -through the village, now past the store, now over the bridge, and -turning to the right, we glide by the little post-office, as the kind -face of Father Tomlinson nods a “good-bye” from the door-way.</p> - -<p>A little farther, and we have left the little slope-roofed school-house -in our path, and are soon ascending the long hill of Zoar, from which we -look back four miles to the cliff and nestling town. In ten minutes more -we approach the brow of a steep declivity, and the broad Housatonic -opens up to view, winding off into the misty mountains in the distance. -There is now a drive of half a mile along the side of a wild -mountain-slope, where mountain-laurels grow in wild profusion, and the -rooty, overhanging banks are tufted with rich green moss, overgrown with -checker-berries and arbutus. The river roars far down below us, and for -a few minutes our eyes feast on as lovely an extent of varied New -England landscape as is easily found. And yet this is only a short -section of one of the many matchless drives that follow the course of -this beautiful river around the borders of Hometown.</p> - -<div class="figleft" style="width: 245px;"> -<a href="images/ilpg070_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilpg070_sml.jpg" width="245" height="244" alt="FAMILIAR FACES AT THE VILLAGE STORE." /></a> -<br /> -<span class="caption">FAMILIAR FACES AT THE VILLAGE STORE.</span> -</div> - -<p>Suddenly we leave the stream as it glides away on an abrupt turn beneath -the crescent of a rocky precipice, and before we have fairly lost the -sound of the ripples we have arrived at our journey’s end. A pair of<a name="page_071" id="page_071"></a> -bars under an old butternut-tree mark the place. The carriage is backed -to the side of the road, and the horse turned loose in the rocky meadow. -This is Joab Nichols’s “pasture lot,” with fodder consisting principally -of huge boulders, hardhack, and spleenwort; to be sure, with a stray -relish of “butter-and-eggs” here and there, and a thousand white saucers -of wild carrot handy to go with them. One or two trips across the field -bring all our luggage, and we are soon enjoying cool comfort in the -hemlock shade of a fairy grotto. Above us the babbling brook bounds and -splashes over mossy rocks, disappearing in a mass of creamy foam, from -under which it eddies toward us only to plunge twenty feet into a -miniature cañon below. Again, yonder it bubbles into a whirling pool, -where the bordering ferns bend and nod above its buoyant surface; and -now gliding from view beneath the tangle of drooping boughs, it -disappears only to burst forth once more in its merry song as it rushes -over the rapids.</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“I chatter, chatter as I go,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To join the brimming river;<br /></span> -<span class="i1">For men may come and men may go,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">But I go on forever.”<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p>Here in this wild retreat I have found my sylvan studio—shut in by -fringed and fragrant evergreens, enlivened by the undergrowth of -feathery fronds, and the shimmer of the beech, as the tracery of -overhanging boughs trembles in the gentle breeze. Day after day finds us -in this little paradise, and as one in luxurious hammock swings away the -hours, now lost in fiction, now in short repose, or perhaps with busy -needle fashions graceful figures in Kensington design, the canvas on the -easel shows a fortnight’s constant care, and the palette changes to a -keepsake of a sunny memory—a tinted souvenir.</p> - -<p>For two weeks the gurgling brook sang to us in this wild retreat. As -evening after evening closed in upon us, the unfinished pictures were -stowed away in horizontal crevices between the rocks, and, with hammock -still swinging in the trees, we left the gloom to the hooting owl, that -evening after evening, with tremulous cry, proclaimed the twilight hour -from the tall hemlock overhead. Ere long the murmuring Housatonic -shimmers below us in the moonlight as we hurry on our homeward way, and -the distant lights of Hometown are soon seen glimmering; through the -evening mist. The old bridge now rumbles through the darkness its signal -of our return, and the host of Draper’s Inn is seen awaiting us at the<a name="page_072" id="page_072"></a> -illumined door-way. A quiet, cosy supper, and in the rays of a gleaming -lantern, held aloft to light our path, we follow our lengthening shadows -to the old front gate. Repeat this day’s record fourteen times, and you -have the sum of a happy experience, with but one drawback: it had an -end—an end that would have left its reaction, were it not for the store -of increased pleasure that awaited us for the few closing days of our -pilgrimage—for me, at least, although in other scenes, its climax.</p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ilpg072_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilpg072_sml.jpg" width="286" height="451" alt="A SOUVENIR." /></a> -<br /> -<span class="caption">A SOUVENIR.</span> -</p> - -<p>Many like me are happy in the possession of a dear old homestead; but -there are few, I ween, who enjoy the blessing of a double inheritance -such as has been my lot—two homes which share my equal devotion, two -homes without a choice; the one this beloved heirloom in Hometown, and -the other—But you shall see. We shall be there soon, for the little -satchel is packed, and the carriage awaits us at the gate. A drive of -eighteen miles is before us—a beautiful series of pictures. Down -through the village, past the old red mill and smithy, with its ringing -anvil, and we are soon winding our<a name="page_073" id="page_073"></a> way through a sombre glen. Presently -we catch glimpses of the great rumbling factory, with its clouds of -smoke and steam melting into the wooded mountain above. The old yellow -bridge now creaks under our approach, and ere we are aware a sudden turn -leads us out of a wilderness on to the shore of the beautiful -Housatonic. For a few minutes the rushing water trickles through the -wheels as over jolting stones our pony leads us through the ford, and, -refreshed by the cool bath, makes a lively sally up the eastern bank. -For ten miles the Housatonic guides us around its winding curves through -a path of ever-changing beauty, now shut in by the dense, dark -evergreens, and again emerging into a bower of silvery beeches, where -the roadway is carpeted with mottled shadows, and the dappled trunks -flicker with the softened glints of sunlight. Here we come upon a sandy -stretch where the road is sunken between two sloping banks thick-set -with mulleins and sweet-fern, and overrun with creeping brambles. The -stone-wall above is wreathed in trailing woodbine, and along its crest -we see the swaying tips of wheat from the edge of the field just beyond; -and here we pass a border of whortleberry bushes, laden with their -fruit. Now it is a hazel thicket crowding close upon our wheels, and -among the leaves we see the brown, tanned husks of the ripening nuts, -almost ready for that troop of boys and girls that you may be sure are -watching and waiting for them.</p> - -<p>The old gray toll-bridge soon nears to view, with its two long spans and -fantastic beams. Farther on, peering from its willows, stands the ruined -cider-mill, with its long moss-grown lever jutting through the trees—an -old-time haunt, now crumbling in decay. But we only catch a glimpse of -it, for in a moment more we are shut in beneath another bower of beeches -and white birches, where the road takes a steep ascent, and the rippling -river sends up its sunny reflections among the leaves and tree-trunks. -When once more upon a level, it is to look ahead through a long avenue -of shade—a leafy canopy two miles in length—with only an occasional -break to open up some charming bit of landscape across the water. In -these two miles of umbrage you may see types of almost every tree that -grows within the boundaries of New England. Old veteran beeches are -here, their trunks disfigured with scars that once were names cut in the -bark. Here are spots that look like half obliterated figures; and here -are spreading hieroglyphs that tell, perhaps, of old-time vows plighted -at the trysting-tree; and here’s a semblance of a heart, a broken heart -indeed, if its present form be taken as a prophetic symbol.<a name="page_074" id="page_074"></a></p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ilpg074_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilpg074_sml.jpg" width="312" height="268" alt="ALONG THE HOUSATONIC." /></a> -<br /> -<span class="caption">ALONG THE HOUSATONIC.</span> -</p> - -<p>There are magnificent rock-maples too, and silver-maples that shake down -their little swarms of winged seeds. Tulip-trees and spotted buttonwoods -grow side by side, and quivering aspens and white poplars are seen at -every clearing. There are yellow birch-trunks frayed out with the wind, -and great snake-like stems of grape-vine, that twist and writhe among -the branches of the trees. There are hop hornbeams, and chestnuts, -and—But there is no need to enumerate them all. Just think of every New -England tree you ever knew, and add a score besides, and you will form a -slight idea of the varied verdure that hems in this charming Housatonic -drive, with its rocky roadside embroidered in trickling moss and -fumitory; and rose-flowered mountain-raspberry growing so close upon the -road that your pony takes a wayward nip, and plucks its blossomed tip as -he passes.</p> - -<p>Now comes an open level, with wide, expansive views, where every turn -upon the road brings its fresh surprise, as some new combination of hazy -mountain landscape towers above the distant river bend; and the flitting -cloud shadows lead their capricious, undulating chase across the wooded -slopes. The roadsides here are full of everchanging beauties too, with -their trimmings of ornamental sunflowers, their picturesque old<a name="page_075" id="page_075"></a> fences, -and their clumps of purple-berried poke-weed, with here and there a -yellow patch of toad-flax, and aromatic tufts of tansy hugging close -against the fence. Even that clambering screen of clematis that trails -over the shrubbery yonder cannot hide the scattered tips of crimson that -already have appeared among the sumach leaves.</p> - -<p>There are a thousand things one meets upon a country ride or ramble -which at the time are allowed to pass with but a glance. The eye is -surfeited and the mind confused with the continual pageantry. But months -afterward, in the reveries about our winter fires, they all come back to -us, with the added charm of reminiscence; and whether it be a crystal -spring among a bank of ferns, or a thistle-top with its fluttering -butterfly and inevitable bumblebee rolling in the tufted blossom, or a -squirrel running along a rail, or perhaps a rattling grasshopper -hovering in mid-air above the dusty road—no matter what, they all are -welcome memories at our fireside, and draw our hearts still closer to -the loveliness of nature.</p> - -<p>This Housatonic road is rich in just such pastoral pictures. Two hours -on such a course soon pass, when our pony whinnies at the welcome sight -of the old log water-trough beyond—a landmark old and green when I was -yet a boy, still nestling in its rocky bed, shadowed by the drooping -hemlocks, still lavish with its overflowing bounty.</p> - -<p>This benefactor by the way-side marks a turning-point in our journey, as -we leave the grandeur of the Housatonic to pursue our way by the nooks -and dingles of the wild Shepaug—a bubbling tributary whose happy waters -sing of a varied experience. Now placid through the blossoming fields, -now plunging down the precipice to ripple through a verdant valley, -where, hemmed in at every turn, it seeks its only liberty beneath the -rumbling of the old mill-wheels; and at last, ere it loses its identity -in the swelling tide, leaving a mischievous and tumultuous record as it -pours through the rocky cañon, and with surging, whirling volume carves -huge caverns and fantastic statues in its massive bed of stone. Even now -through the dark forest beyond we can hear the muffled roar, and for -nearly a league farther as we ascend the long hill it comes to us in -fitful whispers wafted on the changing breeze. Reaching the summit of -this incline, we find ourselves on a hill-top wide and far-reaching, on -right and left losing itself in wooded wold, while in front the level -road diminishes to a point, surmounted by blue hills in the distance. -Two miles on a pastoral hill-top, where golden-rod and tall spiræas -cluster<a name="page_076" id="page_076"></a> along the lichen-covered walls, where orange-lilies gleam among -the alders, with now and then a blazing group of butterfly-plant or a -dusty clump of milk-weed. The air is laden with the nut-like odor of the -everlasting flowers all around us. The buzzing drum of the harvest-fly -vibrates from every tree, and we hear the tinkling bell and lowing of -the cattle in some neighboring field. Farther on, we look down from the -edge of the plateau through the length of Happy Valley, with its winding -stream, its barns and busy mills, its sunny homes glinting through the -summer haze. On the left the lofty shadowed cliff known as “Steep-rock” -towers against the evening sky, and again we catch the murmuring whiffs -of the rushing stream in its sweeping bend beneath the overhanging -precipice. A sharp turn round a jutting hill-side, and I meet a prospect -that quickens the heart and makes the eye grow dim. There beyond, three -miles “as flies the laden bee,” I linger on the welcome sight, as on its -hill-top fair two steeples side by side betray the hidden town, my -second home.</p> - -<p>How lightly did I appreciate the fortunate journey when, twenty summers -ago, I followed this road for the first time, when a boy of ten years, -on my way to an unknown village, I looked across the landscape to the -little spires on that distant hill! Little did I dream of the six years -of unmixed happiness and precious experience that awaited me in that -little Judea! I only knew that I was sadly quitting a happy home on my -way to “boarding-school”—a school called the Snuggery, taught by a Mr. -Snug, in a little village named Snug Hamlet, about twenty miles from -Hometown.</p> - -<p>There are some experiences in the life of every one which, however -truthful, cannot be told but to elicit the doubtful nod or the warning -finger of incredulity. They were such experiences as these, however, -that made up the sum of my early life in that happy refuge called in -modern parlance a “boarding-school”—a name as empty, a word as weak and -tame in its significance, as poverty itself; no doubt abundantly -expressive in its ordinary application, but here it is a mockery and a -satire. This is not a “boarding-school;” it is a <i>household</i>, whose -memories moisten the eye and stir the soul; to which its scattered -members through the fleeting years look back as to a neglected home, -with father and mother dear, whom they long once more to meet as in the -tenderness of boyhood days; a cherished remembrance which, like the -“house upon a hill, cannot be hid,” but sends abroad its light unto many -hearts who in those early days sought the loving shelter; a bright star -in the horizon of the<a name="page_077" id="page_077"></a> past, a glow that ne’er grows dim, but only -kindles and brightens with the flood of years. Yes, yes; I know it -sounds like a dash of sentiment, but words of mine are feeble and -impotent indeed when sought for the expression of an attachment so fond, -of a love so deep.</p> - -<p>Fifteen years ago, with a parting full of sorrow, I rode away from Snug -Hamlet yonder in the village stage—a day that brought a depression that -lingered long, and lingers still. Glowing, sunset-tinted fields glide by -unnoticed now, as, with eyes intent on the distant hill, I look back -through the lapse of time. A mile has gone without my knowing it, when a -joyous laugh awakens me from my day-dreams. Two boys approach us on the -road ahead, and, what might seem very strange to you, one wears a wooden -boot-jack strung around his neck and dangling on his breast; but he -carries his burden lightly and cheerfully. As they near the carriage I -draw the rein, and they both pause by the roadside.</p> - -<p>“Well, boys,” I ask, “where do <i>you</i> hail from?”</p> - -<p>“We’re from the Snuggery, sir.”</p> - -<p>“I thought so,” said I, with a laugh, in which they both joined. “But -what are you doing with that boot-jack?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, you see,” said one, with a roguish smile, “Charlie and I were -having a little tussle in the sitting-room, and he picked up Mr. Snug’s -boot-jack in the corner and began to pummel me with it; and jest as we -were having it the worst, and were rollin’ on the floor, Mr. Snug came -in and caught us in the job, and now we’re <i>payin’</i> for it.”</p> - -<p>“How so?” I inquired, well knowing what would be the response.</p> - -<p>“Oh, you see, Mr. Snug held a diagnosis over our remains, and said he -thought we were suffering, for the want of a little exercise, and -ordered us on a trip to Judd’s Bridge.”</p> - -<p>“And the boot-jack?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, he said that Charlie might want to play with that some more on the -way, and that he’d better fetch it along;” and with a mischievous -snicker at his encumbered companion, he led him along the road in an -hilarious race, while we enjoyed a hearty laugh at their expense.</p> - -<p>And this a <i>punishment</i>! Yes, here is an introduction to one phase of a -system of correction as unique as the matchless institution in which it -had its birth—a system without a parallel in the annals of chastisement -or school government, and which for thirty years has proved its wisdom -in the household management of the Snuggery.</p> - -<p>“To Judd’s Bridge!” How natural the sound of those words! How<a name="page_078" id="page_078"></a> many -times have I myself been on that same pilgrimage of penance! The -destination of these boys is a rickety but picturesque structure which -spans the Shepaug five miles below Snug Hamlet. Through three decades it -looks back to its host of acquaintances of those romping lads who, in -the superfluity of exuberant spirits, made havoc and din in the -household. The dose is administered with wise discrimination both as to -the symptoms and the needs and strength of the patient. It always proves -a sterling remedy, and sometimes, indeed, a sugar-coated one, as in the -case of these two ruddy, rollicking examples.</p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ilpg078_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilpg078_sml.jpg" width="317" height="286" alt="" /></a> -</p> - -<p>Judd’s Bridge is but one of a score of places which serve in the -administration of Snuggery discipline. It is, however, the one most -remote, and its ten-mile journey is reserved as an heroic dose for -extraordinary cases, after other prescriptions have been tried without -avail. Next on the list comes Moody Barn, with “open doors” every day in -the week to its frequent callers. This old settler, gray and -weather-beaten, marks a point one mile from the Snuggery, where the -still waters of the Shepaug run slow and deep—the favorite -“swimming-hole” of the Snuggery.<a name="page_079" id="page_079"></a></p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ilpg079_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilpg079_sml.jpg" width="311" height="464" alt="THE HAUNTED MILL." /></a> -<br /> -<span class="caption">THE HAUNTED MILL.</span> -</p> - -<p>And then there’s Kirby Corners, a mere stroll of a few minutes round the -square of a rock-bound pasture—just enough to give yourself time to -think a bit and congratulate yourself on what you have escaped. All -these, and several more, are vivid in my memory; friends, old and -intimate. And here’s another, right before us by the roadside. For -several minutes through the tantalizing trees we have heard its rumbling -wheel, its reiterating clank, and busy saw; and now, as its familiar -outline looms up against the evening sky, the vision seems to darken, as -on that night of long ago, when through<a name="page_080" id="page_080"></a> the shadowy mystery of the -moonlit gloom I stole my way among the sheltering golden-rod; when the -lofty flume, like a huge horned creature, seemed to stride athwart me in -the darkness, and the fitful boyish fancy saw strange phantoms in the -floating, melting mist. This ancient structure reposes in a verdant dell -at the foot of Snug Hamlet Hill. A choice of two roads lies before -us—one short and direct, the other a roundabout approach. A sudden -impulse leads me into the latter. On right and left I see the same old -rocks and trees. There stands the aged beech to whose gnarled and hollow -trunk I traced the agile flying-squirrel, and with suffocating flame and -smoke drove him from his hiding-place. Here between large rocks and -stones the trout-stream runs its course, now pouring in small cataracts, -now eddying into still, dark nooks, where in those by-gone times I -dropped the line of expectancy, but showed the clumsiness of adversity. -A few minutes later, and we are gliding again by the dark Shepaug, now -flowing calm and silent beneath a rugged bank, wild and umbrageous, -where the swarm of katydids, with grating discord, maintain their old -dispute, that never-ending feud. The wheels turn noiselessly in the -shifting sand as we pursue our way. The low gray fog steals lightly over -the lily-pads, floating into seclusion beneath the sheltering boughs, -or, like an evanescent spirit, borne upon the evening breath, is lifted -from the gloom, and slowly melts into the twilight sky. The solitary -whippoorwill from his mysterious haunt, perhaps in yonder tree, perhaps -in the mountain loneliness beyond, proclaims with dismal cry his -oft-repeated wail. And as we ascend the darkening path, through the -still night air, in measured cadence long and sad, we hear the toll of -the distant knell. Threescore-and-ten its numbers tell of the earthly -years—a curfew requiem for the dead. Even as we pass the little chapel -at the summit of the hill, and the bell has scarcely ceased its -melancholy tidings, we hear the shouts and merry laughs of the boys on -the village green. Presently its broad expanse, shut in by twinkling -windows and massive trees, spreads out before us, as a clear and ringing -voice, like that of old, echoes through the growing darkness, “One -hundred! Nothing said, coming ahead!” and a dim figure steals cautiously -from the steps of the old white church to seek in the sequestered -hiding-places. With a heart that fairly thumps, I urge my pony onward -across the green, and ere he slackens his pace I am at my journey’s end. -The dear old Snuggery, with its gables manifold and quaint, its -fantastic wings and towers, stands there before me, the glowing windows -beaming<a name="page_081" id="page_081"></a> through the maples. Leaving our pony in willing hands, we enter -the gate, and are soon upon the wide porch.</p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ilpg081_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilpg081_sml.jpg" width="296" height="398" alt="PURSUERS AND PURSUED." /></a> -<br /> -<span class="caption">PURSUERS AND PURSUED.</span> -</p> - -<p>It is eight o’clock, and the Snuggery is hushed in the quiet of the -study hour, and as we look through the windows we see the little groups -of studious lads bending over their books. Turning a corner on the -piazza, we are confronted with a tall hexagonal structure at its farther -end. This is the Tower, the lower room of which is consecrated to the -cosy retirement of Mr. and Mrs. Snug. The door leading to the porch is -open, and, as if awakening from a nap in which the past fifteen years -have been a dream, I listen to the same dear voice. I approach nearer. -Under the glow of a student’s lamp I look upon the beloved face, the -flowing hair and beard now silvered with the lapse of years—a face of -unusual firmness, but whose every line marks the expression of a tender, -loving nature, and of a large and noble heart. Near<a name="page_082" id="page_082"></a> him another sits—a -helpmeet kind and true, cherished companion in a happy, useful life. -Into her lap a nestling lad has climbed; and as she strokes the curly -head and looks into the chubby face, I see the same expression as of -old, the same motherly tenderness and love beaming from the large gray -eyes.</p> - -<p>Mr. Snug is leaning back in his easy-chair, and two boys are standing up -before him; one of them is speaking, evidently in answer to a question.</p> - -<p>“I called him a galoot, sir.”</p> - -<p>“You called George a galoot, and then he threw the base-ball club at -you—is that it?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir,” interrupted George; “but I was only playing, sir.”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” resumed the voice of Mr. Snug, “but that club went with -considerable force, and landed over the fence, and made havoc in Deacon -Farish’s onion-bed; and that reminds me that the deacon’s onion-bed is -overrun with weeds. Now, Willie,” continued Mr. Snug, after a moment’s -hesitation, with eyes closed, and head thrown back against the chair, -“Saturday morning—to-morrow, that is—directly after breakfast, you go -out into the grove and call names to the big rock for half an hour. -Don’t stop to take breath; and don’t call the same name twice. Your -vocabulary will easily stand the drain. You understand?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> - -<p>“And, George,” continued Mr. Snug, with deliberate, easy intonation, -“to-morrow morning, at the same time, you present yourself politely to -Deacon Farish, tell him that I sent you, and ask him to escort you to -his onion-bed. After which you will go carefully to work and pull out -all the weeds. You understand, sir?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> - -<p>“And then you will both report to me as usual.” And with a pleasant -smile, which was reflected in both their faces, the erring youngsters -were dismissed. Before the door has closed behind them we are standing -in the door-way. Here I draw the curtain; for who but one of its own -household could understand a welcome at the Snuggery?</p> - -<p>Those of my old school-mates who read this meagre sketch will know the -happiness of such a meeting; but others less fortunate in the -recollections of school-life can only look for its counterpart in an -affectionate welcome in their own homes, for the Snuggery <i>is</i> a home to -all who ever dwelt within its gates. Seated in the familiar cosiness, -and surrounded<a name="page_083" id="page_083"></a> by the friends of my school-days, the hours fly fast and -pleasantly. There is plenty to talk about. Here is a village full of -good people of whom I wish to learn, and there are many far-off chums of -whom I carry tidings. A bell rings in the cupola as one by one, from the -buzz in the outer rooms, boys large and small seek our seclusion for the -accustomed good-night adieu; and ere another hour has passed forty -sleepy urchins are packed away in their snug quarters. The evening runs -on into midnight, as with stories of the past, its pains and penalties, -its remembrances, now humorous now sad by turns, we recall the good old -times; and the “wee sma’ hours” are already upon us as we reluctantly -retire from the goodly company to our rooms across the way.</p> - -<div class="figright" style="width: 213px;"> -<a href="images/ilpg083_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilpg083_sml.jpg" width="213" height="371" alt="TOLLING FOR THE DEAD." /></a> -<br /> -<span class="caption">TOLLING FOR THE DEAD.</span> -</div> - -<p>The next morning finds us in the midst of a merry load, with Mr. Snug as -a driver; and many and varied were the beauties that opened up before us -on that charming ride! Snug Hamlet, once called Judea, in the qualities -of its landscape as well as in everything else, is unique. Stripped of -all its old associations, it presents to the artistic eye a combination -of attractions scarcely to be equalled in the boundaries of New England. -Situated itself on the brow of an abrupt hill, where its picturesque -homes cluster about a broad open green, a few minutes’ drive in any -direction reveals a surrounding panorama of the rarest loveliness. Five -hundred feet below us, winding in and out, now beneath leafy tangles, -now under quaint little bridges, and again reposing placidly in broad -mill-ponds, the happy Shepaug lends<a name="page_084" id="page_084"></a> to a lovely valley its usefulness -and beauty. Turning in another direction, we pass the Snuggery -ball-ground, animated with the shouts of victory; and descending into a -vale of almost primeval wildness, we continue our way up the ascent of -“Artist’s Hill,” from whose summit on every side, as far as the eye can -reach, the landscape softens into the hazy horizon. Returning, we pass -through a ruined waste, where, three months before, the fierce tornado -swooped down in its fiendish fury. On every side we see its awful -evidences. Huge oaks, like brittle pipe-stems, snapped from their -moorings; sturdy hickories, mere play-things in the gale, twisted into -shreds.</p> - -<div class="figleft" style="width: 315px;"> -<a href="images/ilpg084_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilpg084_sml.jpg" width="315" height="321" alt="WRECKS OF THE TORNADO." /></a> -<br /> -<span class="caption">WRECKS OF THE TORNADO.</span> -</div> - -<p>Every morning saw me on some new drive, either with a wagon full of -merry company, or as alone with Mr. Snug we held our quiet <i>tête-à-tête</i> -on wheels, living over the olden times. In the afternoon I strolled by -myself through the old and eloquent scenes. A volume could not hold the -memories they revived—no, not even those of yonder barn alone. Even as -I sit making my pencil-sketch, its reminiscences seem to float across -the vision. Distinctly it recalls the events of one evening years ago. -It was at about the sunset hour one Friday. I was quietly sitting on a -lounge in the parlor talking to Cuthbert Harding, who was standing in -front of me. Presently the door opens, and the tall figure of Dick<a name="page_085" id="page_085"></a> Shin -enters. Dick and I were antipodes in every sense of the word. Physically -we were as a match and a billiard ball, he being the lucifer. He was -also my <i>bête noire</i>, and he never missed an opportunity to vent his -spite. Accordingly he stalked toward us, and with a violent push sent -Cuthbert pell-mell on to me. In falling, he stepped heavily on my foot, -and hurt me severely, which accounted for my excited expression as I -threw him from me.</p> - -<p>Of course Mr. Snug had to come in just at this time, and seeing us in -what looked to him very like a fight, he took us firmly by the ears and -stood us side by side, while I ventured to explain.</p> - -<p>“Not a word!” exclaimed he, in a tone there was no mistaking. “You two -boys may cool off on a trip to Moody Barn, after which you will report -to me in the Tower. Now go.”</p> - -<p>Whatever may have been the state of my mind a few moments before, I was -now mad in earnest, and with every bit of my latent obstinacy aroused, I -sauntered out on to the porch.</p> - -<p>“Cool off, old boy,” whispered a grating voice at my side, as I turned -and met the gaze of Dick Shin, motioning with his thumb in the direction -of Moody Barn—“cool off; you need it;” and his ample mouth stretched -into a sneering grin.</p> - -<p>I had already formed an intention, but now it was a resolve.</p> - -<p>“Cuthbert,” said I to my quiet and less choleric companion, when some -distance down the road, “I am not going on that trip.”</p> - -<p>“Not going!” replied he, with surprise; “why, you’ll <i>have</i> to go.”</p> - -<p>“But I <i>won’t</i> go, and that settles it. It’s confounded unjust that -we’re sent, anyhow, and I don’t propose to stand it.”</p> - -<p>“I think so too,” answered Cuthbert, with hesitating emphasis; “but -what’ll we do? We’ll have to report to Mr. Snug, you know; that’s the -<i>worst</i> of it.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I’ll be spokesman, and I’ll <i>lie</i> before I’ll go on that trip.”</p> - -<p>I was boiling over with righteous wrath, but Cuthbert never was known to -boil; he only simmered a little, but readily seconded my plan. We -stopped at Kirby Corners, and there, secluded from view in the bushes, -we spent the interval. Cuthbert had a watch, and by the light of the -rising moon we were enabled to fix the full period for the trip. One -hour and a half we allowed—an abundant limit. During this time I had -completely “cooled off,” and had schooled myself to that point where I -could tell a lie with a smooth face and a clear conscience.<a name="page_086" id="page_086"></a> -Accordingly, when the time came, we appeared at the door of the Tower. -Mr. Snug was sitting in his accustomed place, and we entered and stood -before him.</p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ilpg086_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilpg086_sml.jpg" width="314" height="387" alt="PASSING THOUGHTS." /></a> -<br /> -<span class="caption">PASSING THOUGHTS.</span> -</p> - -<p>“Well, sir,” said he, with a polite bow of the head, dropping his paper -and looking up at us.</p> - -<p>“Mr. Snug, we have come to report,” said I, fearlessly. “We have been to -Moody Barn.”</p> - -<p>Instantly Mr. Snug straightened himself up in his chair, pushed back<a name="page_087" id="page_087"></a> -the gray locks from his high forehead, and, with an expression that I -never shall forget, glared at me from under the frowning eyebrows.</p> - -<p>“<i>You lie, sir!</i>” he exclaimed, in thundering tones that fairly made my -hair stand on end, while Cuthbert trembled from head to foot; then -followed a brief moment of consternation that seemed an age. “Now go!” -continued he, as with an emphatic nod of the head he motioned toward the -door. Sheepish and crest-fallen, we slunk away from the room. It is -needless to say that we went this time. Through the darkness, by the aid -of a lantern, we picked our way, as with theories numerous and ingenious -we strove to account for that vociferous reception.</p> - -<p>Late that night we held an experience meeting with Mr. and Mrs. Snug in -the Tower, and if I remember right there were a few tears that fell, and -many apologies and good resolves, and as the true state of the case -dawned on Mr. Snug there was an evident twinge of regret on his kind -face.</p> - -<p>On the following morning (Saturday) there was a jolly party of youths -leaving the Snuggery for a day’s boating at the lake. Dick Shin was -among them; and just as he was passing out the gate, a youngster -approaches him and taps him on the shoulder. “You are hereby arrested, -sir, on the orders of Mr. Snug.”</p> - -<p>With an anxious and innocent expression Dick follows his juvenile -constable into the Tower, and his companions stroll along after to -ascertain the cause of the detention. We pass over the brief but amusing -trial, in which the prisoner, with the innocence of a little lamb, -pleaded his cause.</p> - -<p>“You <i>stumbled</i>, did you?” said Mr. Snug. “Well, you ought to know, sir, -by this time that I don’t allow young men to stumble in that way in my -house. These two boys have suffered through your admitted clumsiness.” -Here Mr. Snug paused in a moment’s thought. “Dick Shin,” he continued, -“I sent these innocent young gentlemen on two trips to Moody Barn—that -makes four miles for Bigson and four miles for Harding, together making -eight that they walked on your account. Now you may put down your -fishing-pole, and ‘stumble’ along on the road to Judd’s Bridge, which -will give you two extra miles in which to think over your sins. And to -make sure”—here Mr. Snug arose and went to the closet—“you may take -this hatchet along with you, and bring me back a good big chip from the -end of the long bridge beam. I shall ride over that way to-morrow and -see whether it fits. You understand?<a name="page_088" id="page_088"></a>”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir,” replied the injured voice of Dick Shin. “But, Mr. Snug, -can’t I put off that penance until Monday?”</p> - -<p>“No, sir,” replied Mr. Snug, with a beaming smile and a bow of the head. -“This is a lovely morning for contrite meditation. Go—<i>instantly</i>.”</p> - -<p>Two hours later saw a demonstrative individual threatening to chop down -the whole side of a bridge, while ten miles to the northward the placid -surface of Waramaug rippled to the oars, and the lofty mountain-sides -echoed with the shouts of a merry holiday.</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>But all things must have an end. The school-days ended, and so did this -memorable vacation. A letter breaks the charm: insatiate publisher! Once -more through the winding paths of the Housatonic, and I leave the -loveliness of Hometown for the metropolis of brick and stone, there to -resume the old routine.</p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ilpg088_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilpg088_sml.jpg" width="112" height="70" alt="" /></a> -</p> - -<p><a name="page_089" id="page_089"></a></p> - -<p><a name="page_090" id="page_090"></a></p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ilpg090_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilpg090_sml.jpg" width="109" height="98" alt="" /></a> -</p> - -<p><a name="page_091" id="page_091"></a></p> - -<h2><a name="AUTUMN" id="AUTUMN"></a>A<small>UTUMN</small>.</h2> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ilpg091_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilpg091_sml.jpg" width="357" height="510" alt="THE WANING" /></a> -</p> - -<p><a name="page_092" id="page_092"></a></p> - -<p><a name="page_093" id="page_093"></a></p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ilpg093_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilpg093_sml.jpg" width="340" height="536" alt="" /></a> -</p> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">I</span> AM sitting alone upon a wooded knoll at our old farm at Hometown. -Above me a venerable oak holds aloft its dome of bronze-green verdure, -and on<a name="page_094" id="page_094"></a> either side the gnarled and knotty branches bend low, and trail -their rustling leaves among the tufts of waving grass that fringe the -slope around me.</p> - -<p>It is a spot endeared to me from earliest memory, a loved retreat whose -every glimpse beneath the overhanging boughs has left its impress, whose -every feature of undulating field, of wooded mountain, and winding -meadow-brook I have long been able to summon up at will before my closed -eyes, as though a mirror of the living picture now before me. And what -is this picture?</p> - -<p>It is an enchanted vision of nature’s autumn loveliness—a vision of -peace and tranquil resignation that lingers like a poem in the memory. -It is a glorious October day, one of those rarest and loveliest of days -when all nature seems transfigured, when a golden, misty veil swings -from the heavens in a charmed haze, through which the commonest and most -prosaic thing seems spiritualized and glorified. The summer’s full -fruition is past and gone, the dross has been consumed; and in the -lingering life, whose yielding flush now lends its sweet expression to -the declining year, we see the type of perfect trust and hope that finds -a fitting emblem in the dim horizon, where heaven and earth are wedded -in a golden haze, where purple hills melt softly in the sky. It is a day -when one may dream with open eyes, and whose day-dreams haunt the memory -as sweet realities. The sky is filled with rolling, fleecy clouds, whose -flat receding bases seem to float upon a transparent amber sea, from -whose depths I look through into the blue air beyond.</p> - -<p>Below me an ancient orchard skirts the borders of the knoll. Its boughs -are crimson studded, and the ground beneath is strewn with the bright -red fruit. They mark the minutes as they fall, running the gauntlet of -the craggy twigs and bounding upon the slope beneath. Beyond the orchard -stretch the low, flat meadow lands, set with alders and swamp-maples, -with swaying willows, now enclosing, now revealing the graceful curves -of the quiet stream as it winds in and out among the overhanging -foliage. Soon it is lost beneath a wooded hill, where an old square -tower and factory-bell betray the hiding-place of the glassy pond that -sends its splashing water-fall across the rocks beneath the old town -bridge. Looking down upon this bridge, Mount Pisgah, with its rugged -cliff, is seen rising bold and stern against the sky, above a broad and -bright mosaic of elms and maples, spreading from the grove of oaks near -by in an unbroken expanse, to the very foot of the precipice, with here -and there a<a name="page_095" id="page_095"></a> sunny cupola or gable peering out among the branches, or a -snowy steeple lifting high its golden cross or weather-vane glittering -in the sun. The mountain-side is lit up with its autumn glow of -intermingled maples, oaks, and beeches, with its changeless ledges of -jutting rock, and dense, defiant pines standing like veteran bearded -sentinels in perpetual vigilance.</p> - -<p>All this comes to me in a single glimpse beneath the branches. But there -are others, where undulating meadows, with their flowing lines of walls -and fences, lead the eye through soft gradations to distant purple -hills, through thrifty farms, with barns and barracks and rowen fields -with browsing cattle, and ruddy buckwheat patches, where the flocks of -village pigeons congregate among the cradle marks, in quest of scattered -kernels shaken from the sheaves.</p> - -<p>There is a tiny lake near by that nestles among the hill-side farms, -where sloping pastures and fields of yellow, rustling corn glide almost -to the water’s edge. So sensitive and sympathetic is this little sheet -of water that I christened it one day Chameleon Lake, for it wears a -different expression for every phase of season or freak of weather, and -always dwells in harmony with the landscape which encloses it. In cloudy -days it frowns as cold as steel. In days of sunshine it is as bright and -blue as the sky itself, or shimmers like a shield of burnished silver. -And now it is a flood of autumn gold, carrying from shore to shore a -maze of ripples laden with opaline reflections of intermingled glints -from cloud and sky, and of the gold and ruby colored foliage along its -banks.</p> - -<p>But this knoll and all these farms are not mine alone. They are such as -I should hope might lurk in the memory of almost any one who looks back -to early days among New England hills.</p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ilpg096_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilpg096_sml.jpg" width="339" height="410" alt="AN OCTOBER DAY." /></a> -<br /> -<span class="caption">AN OCTOBER DAY.</span> -</p> - -<p>This old oak-tree, whose furrowed bark I lean upon, was a hardy -patriarch when first I sought its shade. Its added years have scarcely -changed a feature or modified a line in its old-time noble expression. -As I look up, its great open arms spread out against the sky exactly as -they did when I lolled beneath their shelter and watched the drifting -clouds of twenty years ago sail through them in the blue above. Even the -jagged furrows in the bark I seem to recognize. Here, too, is that same -spreading scale of greenish lichen that fain will grow upon the trunk, -as if I had not often picked it all to pieces in my early idling. The -same round oak-gall rests on the bed of leaves in the hollow between the -rocks near by, as though it had forgotten how a dozen years ago I -cracked its polished shell and sent its spongy contents to the winds.<a name="page_096" id="page_096"></a></p> - -<p>And here comes that veritable ant creeping through the grass at my -elbow—now on the root, now on the bark, exploring every crack and -crevice in his hurried search. I wonder if the little fellow will ever -find what he has been looking for so long. And here’s a friend of his -coming down. They stop and wag their antennæ in a moment’s conversation. -I wonder what they said. I always <i>did</i> wonder when I watched them do -the same thing on this very spot a score of years ago. The soft waving -grass whispers about my ears as it did then, and I hear the low trumpet -of the nuthatch as he creeps about in the tree o’erhead. Easily may one -forget the lapse of time in such a place as this, where every leaf, and -twig, and blade of grass conspire to breed forgetfulness of later years. -Hark! that shrill tattoo again! The tree-toad. Yes, that same recluse in -his mysterious hiding-place, seeking by his tantalizing trill to renew -that game of hide-and-seek we left off so long ago—in those eager days -when every stick and stone upon the knoll was overturned in my zeal to -find his whereabouts. There he goes again! louder and more shrill. But -now I realize the effect of time, for I only sit and listen to his -oft-repeated call. Formerly that sound was like a galvanic thrill that -electrified every nerve and muscle in my physiology. No, I’ll not hunt -for you again, my musical young friend; besides, the odds would be -against you now, for I know more about tree-toads<a name="page_097" id="page_097"></a> than I once did, and -you wouldn’t see me hunting on the ground as in the olden days. Besides, -you’re getting bold; there is no need of hunting, for in that last toot -you gave yourself away. Even now my eyes are fixed upon the hole in -yonder hollow limb, and I see your tiny form clinging to the rotten wood -within the opening. What <i>would</i> I not have given <i>once</i> to have thought -of that soggy hole!</p> - -<div class="figright" style="width: 342px;"> -<a href="images/ilpg097_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilpg097_sml.jpg" width="342" height="420" alt="A WAY-SIDE PASTORAL." /></a> -<br /> -<span class="caption">A WAY-SIDE PASTORAL.</span> -</div> - -<p>Near by a spreading yew monopolizes a rocky bit of ground, its foliage -creeping above a silvery gray bed of branching moss, whose pillowy tufts -spread almost to my feet. This was my fairy forest of tiny trees. Here I -found the fairies’ cups and torches, and even now I can see their -scarlet tips scattered here and there among the gray; and fragile little -parasols, too—it were an insult, indeed, to designate such dainty -things as these by the name of toadstools. Beyond this bed of moss a -scrubby growth of whortleberry takes possession of the ground. The -bushes are now bare of fruit, but ruddy with their autumn blushes, -tingeing the surface of the knoll with a delicate coral pink. This -thicket extends far down upon the slope, even encroaching upon the -wheel-ruts of the lane, and across again, until<a name="page_098" id="page_098"></a> cut short by an ancient -tumbling line of lichen-covered stones, a landmark which has long since -yielded up its claim as a barrier of protection to the old orchard it -encloses, now only a moss-grown pile, with every chink and crevice a -nestling-place of some searching tendril, fern, or clambering vine. For -rods and rods it creeps along beneath the laden apple-trees, skirting -the borders of this old farm lane, and finally hides away among a clump -of cedars a few hundred feet away.</p> - -<p>Of all the picturesque in nature, what is there, after all, that so wins -one’s deeper sympathies as the ever-changing pictures of a rustic lane -or roadside, with its weather-beaten walls and fences, and their -rambling growth of weeds and creeping vines? How sweet the sense of near -companionship awakened by these charming way-side pastorals that -accompany you in your saunterings, and reach out to touch you as you -pass—a sense of friendly fellowship that breathes a silent greeting in -the most deserted paths or loneliest of by-ways!</p> - -<p>Show me a ruined wall or a rutted zigzag fence, and I will show you a -string of pearls, or rather, if in these later months, a fringe of gems, -for the autumn fence is set in wreaths of rubies and glowing sapphires. -Follow its rambling course, now through the field, now skirting swampy -fallows, now by rustic lanes and cornfields and over rocky pastures, and -you will follow a lead that will take you through the rarest bits of -nature’s autumn landscape.</p> - -<p>Even in this lane, at the foot of the knoll below us, see the brilliant -luxuriance of clustered bitter-sweet draping the side of that clump of -cedars! It is only an indication of the beauty that envelops this lane -for a full half mile beyond. Every angle of its rude rail fence encloses -a lovely pastoral, each a surprise and a contrast to its neighbor.</p> - -<p>Right here before us, what a beginning! Hold up your hands on either -side, and shut out the surroundings. Such is the glimpse I always long -to paint from nature, and yet how almost maddening is the result! Rather -would I drink it all in and fix its every feature in my mind, and paint -it from its memory, when the presence of the living thing before me -shall not mock my efforts and put to shame the crude creations of oil -and pigment.</p> - -<p>See how the cool gray rails are relieved against that rich dark -background of dense olive juniper, how they hide among the prickly -foliage! Look at that low-hanging branch which so exquisitely conceals -the lowest rail as it emerges from its other side, and spreads out among -the creeping<a name="page_099" id="page_099"></a> briers that wreathe the ground with their shining leaves -of crimson and deep bronze! Could any art more daringly concentrate a -rhapsody of color than nature has here done in bringing up that gorgeous -spray of scarlet sumach, whose fern-like pinnate leaves are so richly -massed against that background of dark evergreens? And even in that -single branch see the wondrous gradation of color, from purest green to -purplish olive, and olive melting into crimson, and then to scarlet, and -through orange into yellow, and all sustaining in its midst the -clustered cone of berries of rich maroon! Verily, it were almost an -affront to sit down before such a shrine and attempt to match it in -material pigment. A passing sketch, perhaps, that shall serve to aid the -memory in the retirement of the studio, but a careful copy, <i>never!</i> -until we can have a tenfold lease of life, and paint with sunbeams. But -there is more still in this tantalizing ideal, for a luxuriant wild -grape-vine, that shuts in the fence near by, sends toward us an -adventurous branch that climbs the upright rail, and festoons itself -from fence to tree, and hangs its luminous canopy over the crest of the -yielding juniper. Even from where we stand we can see the pendant -clusters of tiny grapes clearly shadowed against the translucent golden -screen. Add to all this the charm of life and motion, with trembling -leaves and branches bending in the breeze, with here and there a -flitting shadow playing across the half hidden rails, and where can you -find another such picture, its counterpart in beauty—where? perhaps its -very neighbor, for all roadside pictures are “hung upon the line,” they -are all by the same great Master, and it is often difficult to choose.</p> - -<p>Here we have a contrast. A dappled rock has taken possession of this -little corner, or the corner has been built around it, if you choose—a -“gray” rock we would call it in common parlance, but it is a gray -composed of a checkered multitude of tints, colors which upon a rock, it -would seem, were hardly worth an appreciative glance; but only let them -be exhibited upon a fold of Lyons silk or Jouvin kid glove, and dignify -them by the compliments of “ashes of roses,” or “London smoke,” and how -eagerly they are sought, how exquisite they become. I speak in -moderation when I say that I have often sat and counted as many as -thirty just such tints upon the surface of a small “gray” rock, each -<i>distinct</i>, and all so <i>refined</i> and exquisite in shade. This rounded -bowlder is no exception; and with its tufted spots of jetty moss, and -outcroppings of glistening quartz, its rounded, spreading blots of -greenish lichens, and mottled groundwork, it may well defy the craft of -the most skilled palette.<a name="page_100" id="page_100"></a> And when these grays are contrasted with -tender yellow greens and browns of fading ferns, such as fringe the -borders of the one before me, with a background of scarlet whortleberry -bushes and deep-green sprays of blackberry clustering about the -loosening bark of a crumbling stump, with its shelving growth of fungus -hiding among its brown debris, one may well pause and wonder which to -choose, or where a single touch is wanting in the perfect unity and -harmony of either.</p> - -<div class="figleft" style="width: 333px;"> -<a href="images/ilpg100_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilpg100_sml.jpg" width="333" height="512" alt="WAIFS." /></a> -<br /> -<span class="caption">WAIFS.</span> -</div> - -<p>Another jutting corner, and we confront a swaying mass of gold and -purple—that magnificent regal combination of graceful golden-rod and -asters that glorifies our autumn from September to the falling leaf. -There are a number of species of golden-rod, varying as much in their -intensity of color as in their time of bloom. The earliest appear in the -heart of summer, in wood and meadow; while others, larger and more -stately, lift up in their midst their plumy, undeveloped tips, and wait -until their predecessors are old and gray ere they roll out their -wreaths of gold. For weeks the roads and by-ways have been lit up with -their brilliant glow, that parting sunset gleam that lingers with the -closing year. This splendid cluster is full six feet in height, and -towers above the highest rail, or rather where the rail ought to be, for -it is lost from sight beneath a dense fret-work of prickly smilax—<a name="page_101" id="page_101"></a>and -such brilliant, polished leaves! how they glitter in the sun! almost as -though wet with dew.</p> - -<p>And to think how those prickly canes, denuded of their leaves, are sold -upon our city thoroughfares as “Spanish rose-trees” to the unsuspecting -passer-by! Those guileless venders, too! I remember one that sought to -enrich my store of botanical knowledge by telling me they “bloomed in -winter!” and had a flower as “big as a saucer,” and “kinder like a holy -hawk!!!?” I looked him straight in the eye, but he was the picture of -innocence. “Can you tell me the botanical name,” I asked. “Oh yes,” he -glibly replied, “I think they call it the <i>Rubus epistaxis</i>.” Eheu! but -this was <i>too much</i>, and he saw it, and with a wink of his foxy eye and -a shrewd grin, he whispered along the palm of his hand, “Got to git a -livin’ <i>somehow</i>, boss; now <i>don’t</i> give me away.” “Here you are, lady, -Spanish roses, lady, fresh from the steamer.” I never see a thicket of -green-brier without thinking of its “winter blossom;” and, by-the-way, -did you ever notice a thicket of this shrub, what a defiant, arbitrary -tyrant it is—shutting out the very life-breath and light of day from -its encumbered victims, monopolizing everything within its power, and -even reaching out for more with searching tips in mid-air, and a couple -of greedy tendrils at every leaf? And did you ever notice along the road -that delicious whiff that comes to you every now and then, that pungent -breath of the sweet-fern? We get it now; the air is laden with it from -the dark-green beds across the road. The sweet-fern, as I remember it, -was the simpler’s panacea and the small boy’s joy—an aromatic shrub, -whose inhaled fumes, together with its corn-silk rival, seem destined by -an all-wise Providence as a preparatory tonic to the more ambitious -fumigation of after-years. Many a time have I sat upon this bank and -tried to imagine in my domestic product the racy flavor of the famed -Havana!</p> - -<p>Between old Aunt Huldy, with her mania for the simples, and the demand -of the village boys, I wonder there is any of it left. But Aunt Huldy -has long since died; all her “yarbs,” and “yarrer tea,” and “paowerful -gud stimmilants” could not give her the lease of eternal earthly life -which she said lurked in the “everlastin’ flaowers;” and after she had -reached the age of one hundred and three, her tansy decoctions and -boneset potions ceased in their efficacy—the feeble pulse grew feebler, -and one winter’s eve, sitting in her rocker by her kettle and andirons, -she fell into a deep sleep, from which she never awoke. Aunt Huldy was -as strange and eccentric a character as one rarely meets in the walks of -life. Some<a name="page_102" id="page_102"></a> said she was crazy; others said she was a witch; but -whatever she may have been, this aged dame was picturesque with her bent -figure, her long white hair and scarlet hood. And who shall describe the -ancient withered face that looked out from the shadow of that hood, the -small gray eyes and heavy white eyebrows, the toothless jaws and -receding lips, and massive chin that made its appalling ascent across -the face? But I cannot describe that face: think of how a witch should -look, and old Huldy’s features will rise up before you. She knew every -herb that grew, but her great stand-by was “sweet-fern:” she smoked it, -she chewed it, she drank it, and even wore a little bag of it around her -neck, “to charm away the rheumatiz.”</p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ilpg102_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilpg102_sml.jpg" width="338" height="402" alt="IN THE CORNFIELD." /></a> -<br /> -<span class="caption">IN THE CORNFIELD.</span> -</p> - -<p>Since her time, however, the sweet-fern has had a chance to recuperate, -and, as far as we can see along the road, the banks are covered with it; -and there’s a clump of teazles in its midst! I wonder if that old -carding-mill still stands. You also, perhaps, will wonder what relation -can exist<a name="page_103" id="page_103"></a> between the two, that should make my thoughts jump half a -mile at the sight of a roadside weed. But that old woollen-mill offered -a premium on the extermination of one weed at least, for all the teasels -of the neighborhood were required to keep its cloth brushes in thorough -repair; but I fear its buzzing wheels are silent, for in olden times no -such splendid clump as this could have remained to go to seed upon the -highway. This old mill lies right upon our path, only a short walk down -the road beyond. It nestles among a bower of willows in a picturesque -ravine known as the “Devil’s Hollow”—an umbrageous, rocky glen, by far -too cool and comfortable a place to justify the name it bears.</p> - -<p>Following the road, we now descend into a long, low stretch, hedged in -between two tall banks of alder, overtopped with interwoven tangles of -clematis, with its cloudy autumn clusters—that graceful vine which, -like the dandelion, is even more beautiful in death than in the fulness -of its bloom. And so, indeed, are nearly all those plants whose final -state is thus endowed by nature with feathery wings to lift them from -the earth.</p> - -<p>When has this swamp milk-weed by the roadside looked so fair as now, -with its bursting pods and silky seeds—those little waifs thrown out -upon the world with every passing breeze. How tenderly they seem to -cling to the little cosy home where they have been so snugly cradled and -protected; and see how they sail away, two or three together, loth to -part, until some rude gust shall separate them forever.</p> - -<p>And here’s the great spiny thistle, too, that armed highwayman with -florid face and pompon in his cap. But he has had his day, and now we -see him old and seedy; his spears are broken, and his silvery gray hairs -are floating everywhere and glistening in the sun.</p> - -<p>Now we leave the alders, and another roadside mosaic of rich color opens -up before us, where the old half-wall fence, with its overtopping rails, -is luminous with a crimson glow of ampelopsis. It covers all the stones -for yards and yards; it swings from every jutting rail; it clambers up -the tree trunks and envelops them in fire, and hangs its waving fringe -from all the branches.</p> - -<p>Above the wall, like an encampment of thatched wigwams, the corn-shocks -lift their heads; a prospecting colony encamped among a field rich with -outcroppings of gold—a wealth of great round nuggets all in sight. And -were we to tear away that thatch, we might see where they have stowed -away their accumulated grains of wealth. We hear their rustling -whispers: “Hush! hush!” they seem to say to each other as we<a name="page_104" id="page_104"></a> approach; -but their wariness is gratuitous, for a tell-tale vine is creeping away -upon the fence near-by, and has stopped to rest its golden burden on the -summit of the wall, half hiding among the scarlet creepers.</p> - -<p>Here yellow brakes abound, spreading their broad, triangular fronds on -every side amid the brilliant berries of wild-rose, and pink leaves of -blueberry. And here are thickets of black-alder, where every twig is -studded with scarlet beads, that cling so close that even winter’s -bluster cannot shake them off. No matter where we look in these October -days, nature is burning itself away in a blaze of color that dazzles the -eyes; and now we approach its very crowning touch.</p> - -<p>I wish every one might see this gorgeous combination of oak and maples; -see it and go no farther, for a further search were fruitless in finding -its equal. It is the pride of the entire community; towns-people and -visitors ride from miles around to see its final flush—a magnificent -climax in the way of concentration of vivid color, in which nature seems -to have grouped with distinct purpose and design, producing a piece of -natural landscape-gardening such as no art could have approached. The -background is a massive precipice of rock towering to the height of -eighty feet, itself a perfect medley of tone.</p> - -<p>The group is composed of eight maples, each a distinct contrast of pure -color. In their midst a superb large oak presents one massive breadth of -deep purple green; and spreading up one side like a flood of yellow -light, a rock-maple lifts its splendid array of foliage. These two trees -concentrate the effect, and the others are arranged around them like -colors on a palette: one is a flaming scarlet, another beside it is -always a rich green, even to the falling leaf—with only a single -branch, that every year, even as early as August, persists in turning to -a peculiar salmon pink; another, a red-maple, is so deep a red as to -appear almost maroon, and its branches intermingle with the pale-pink -verdure of another growing by its side. There is one that combines every -intermediate color, from deep crimson to the palest saffron; while its -neighbor flutters in the wind with every leaf a brilliant butterfly of -pure green, with spots and splashes of deep carmine.</p> - -<p>This whole assemblage of color fairly blazes in the landscape, and even -from the top of Mount Pisgah, a half a mile away, it looks like a -glowing coal dropped down upon a bed of smouldering ashes in the valley; -for the surrounding meadow is thick-set with great gray rocks and -crimson viburnum, as though it had caught fire from the flaming<a name="page_105" id="page_105"></a> trees. -What other country can boast the glory of a tree which, taken all in -all, can hold its own beside our lovely maple? From the time when first -it hangs its silken tassels to the awakening spring breeze until its -autumn fire has burned away its leaves, it presents an everchanging -phase that lends a distinct expression to American landscape. It affords -us grateful shade in summer; and with its trickling bounty in the spring -we can all unite in a hearty toast, “A health to the glorious maple.”</p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ilpg105_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilpg105_sml.jpg" width="337" height="218" alt="THE ROAD TO THE MILL." /></a> -<br /> -<span class="caption">THE ROAD TO THE MILL.</span> -</p> - -<p>But there is another tree which should not be forgotten, and if once -seen in a New England autumn landscape there is little danger of its -escaping from the memory. Of course, I refer to the pepperidge, or -tupelo, that nondescript among trees; for who ever saw two -pepperidge-trees alike? They seem to scorn a reputation for symmetry, or -even the idea of establishing among themselves the recognition of a type -of character. Novelty or grotesqueness is their only aim, and they hit -the bull’s-eye every time. There is one I have in mind that has always -been a perfect curiosity. Its height is fully seventy feet, and its -crown is as flat as though cut off with a mammoth pair of -pruning-shears. The central trunk runs straight up to the summit, from -which it squirms off into six or seven snake-like branches, that dip -downward and writhe among the other limbs, all falling in the same -direction. One gets the impression,<a name="page_106" id="page_106"></a> on looking at it, that originally -it might have been a respectable-looking tree, but that in some rude -storm in its early days it had been struck by lightning, torn up by the -roots, and afterward had taken root at the top. The tupelo, whenever -seen, is always one of our most picturesque trees, and a never-failing -source of surprise, twisting and turning into some unheard-of shape, and -seeming always to say, “There! beat that if you can!” Near the coast it -assumes the form of a crazy Italian pine, with spindling trunk and -massive head of foliage. Sometimes it divides in the middle, like an -hour-glass, and again mimics a fir-tree in caricature; but he who would -keep track of the acrobatic capers of the tupelo would have his hands -full. Whatever its shape, however, its brilliant, glossy crimson foliage -forms one of the most striking features of our October landscape.</p> - -<p>But I believe we were on the road to that carding-mill. We had almost -forgotten it; and now, as we look ahead, we see the old lumber-shed that -marks the upper ledge of Devil’s Hollow. From this old shed a -trout-brook plunges through a series of rocky terraces, now winding -among prostrate moss-grown trunks, now gurgling through the bare roots -of great white birches, or spreading in a swift, glassy sheet as it -pours across some broad shelving rock, and plunges from its edge in a -filmy water-fall. It roars pent up in narrow cañons, and out again it -swirls in a smooth basin worn in the solid rock. At almost every rod or -two along its precipitous course there is a mill somewhere hid among the -trees—queer, quaint little mills, some built up on high stone walls, -others fed with trickling flumes which span from rock to rock, -supporting on every beam a rounded cushion of velvety green moss, and -hanging a fringe of ferns from almost every crevice. And one there is in -ruins, fallen from its lofty perch, and piled in chaos in the stream. -There are saw-mills, and shook-mills, and carding-mills, seven -altogether in this one descent of about three hundred feet. The water -enters the ravine as pure as crystal; but in its wild booming through -race-ways, dams, and water-wheels, it gradually assumes a rich sienna -hue from the <i>débris</i> of sawdust everywhere along its course. The -interior of the ravine is musical with the trebles of the falling water -and the accompaniment of the rumbling mills. Tiny rainbows gleam beneath -the water-falls, and swarms of glistening bubbles and little islands of -saffron-colored foam float away upon the dark-brown eddies.</p> - -<p>At last we reach the carding-mill, which is the lowest of them all—in<a name="page_107" id="page_107"></a> -every sense, it seems, for it is as I had feared: the flume is but a -pile of brown and mouldy timbers in the bed of the stream, and the old -box-wheel has rotted and fallen from its spokes, almost obscured beneath -a rank growth of weeds. No sound of buzzing teasels, no rumbling of the -water-wheel, no happy carder singing at his work: <i>nothing</i>—but a -couple of boys, kneeling in a corner, sucking cider through a straw. -Yes, the old mill has fallen from grace; but what else might one expect -from a mill in “Devil’s Hollow,” where all its neighbors are engaged in -making hogshead staves, and the very water has turned to ruddy wine?</p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ilpg107_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilpg107_sml.jpg" width="342" height="399" alt="THE CIDER MILL." /></a> -<br /> -<span class="caption">THE CIDER MILL.</span> -</p> - -<p>The carding-machine is gone, and has given place to a rustic -cider-press. A temporary undershot-wheel has been rigged beneath the -floor, and a rude trough, patched up with sods, conducts the water from -the stream.<a name="page_108" id="page_108"></a></p> - -<p>It is the same old cider-press we all remember, and with the same -accessories. Here are casks of all sizes waiting to be filled, and the -piles of party-colored apples spilled upon the floor from the farmers’ -wagons that every now and then back up to the open door. There is the -same rustic harangue on leading agricultural topics, among which we hear -a variety of opinions about that imaginary “line storm.”</p> - -<p>“Seems to gi’n the slip this year,” remarks one old long-limbed settler -with a slope-roofed straw hat, “’n’ I don’t know zactly what to <i>make</i> -on’t; but I ain’t so sartin nuther”—he now takes a wise observation of -a small patch of blue sky through the trees overhead. “I cal’late we’ll -git a leetle tetch on’t yit.”</p> - -<p>“Likenuff, likenuff,” responds another, with a squeaky voice; “the ar’s -gittin’ ruther dampish, ’n’ my woman hez got the rheumatiz ag’in. She -kin alluz tell when we’re goin’ to git a spell o’ weather; it’s sure to -fetch her all along her spine. But I lay <i>most</i> store on them ar pesky -tree-tuds. I heern um singin’ like all possessed ez I wuz comin’ through -the woods yender; ’n’ it’s a sartin sign o’ rain when them ar critters -gits agoin’, you kin depend on’t.”</p> - -<p>And now we hear all about the pumpkin and the corn crop, the potato -yield, and the regular list of other subjects so dear to the rural -heart.</p> - -<p>In a corner by themselves we see the pile of “vinegar nubbins”—a tanned -and soft variety of apple—in all stages of variegation. The “hopper” -receives the shovelfuls of fruit for the crushing “smasher,” which again -supplies the straw-laid press. We hear the creaking turn of the lever -screw, the yielding of the timbers, and a fresh burst of the trickling -beverage flowing from the surrounding trough into the great wooden tub -below. Here, too, is the swarm of eager urchins, with heads together, -like a troop of flies around a grain of sugar. Ah! what unalloyed bliss -is reflected from their countenances as they absorb the amber nectar -through the intermediate straw—that golden link that I have missed for -many a year!</p> - -<p>Outside upon the logs the refuse “pumice-cheese” has brought together -all the yellow-jackets and late butterflies of the -neighborhood—butterflies so tipsy that you can pick them up between -your fingers. I never went so far with the yellow-jackets, for they have -a hotter temper, and don’t like to be fooled with. Black hornets, too, -are here, and they find a feast spread at their very door; for overhead, -upon the beech, they<a name="page_109" id="page_109"></a> have hung their paper house, like a gray balloon -caught among the branches.</p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ilpg109_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilpg109_sml.jpg" width="331" height="459" alt="“THE LINE STORM.”" /></a> -<br /> -<span class="caption">“THE LINE STORM.”</span> -</p> - -<p>Now we hear a chatter and a scratching on the roof, where a pair of -lively squirrels hold a game of tag; and ascending the rickety stairs -into the loft above, we find the floor strewn with hickory-nuts, with -neat round<a name="page_110" id="page_110"></a> holes cut through on either side, and numberless shaggy -butternuts, too, with daylight let into their recesses also. The boards -and beams are covered with cobweb trimmings, laden with wool-dust; and -as we approach a pile of rusty iron near the murky window, we hear a -scraping of sharp claws, the dropping of a nut between the rafters, and -now a wild scampering on the roof overhead. Before we have fairly -recovered from our surprise, we notice a sudden darkening of a hole in -the shingles close by, where, still and motionless, two inquisitive -black eyes look down at us. We have intruded upon private property, for -this is the home of the squirrels. No one can dispute their title, for -these little squatters have occupied the premises and held the fort for -nearly twenty years.</p> - -<p>They, too, have found forage close at hand, from the nut-grove upon the -hill-side yonder—a yellow bank of foliage of clustered hickories and -beeches, and rounded domes of chestnuts—a grove whose every rock and -bush is my old-time friend; where there are “sermons in stones,” and -every tree speaks volumes.</p> - -<p>Here is the low thicket of weeds and hazel-bushes where we always -flushed that flock of quail, or started up some lively white-tailed hare -that jumped away among the quivering brakes and golden-rod. Here are -soft beds of rich green moss, studded with scarlet berries of -winter-green and partridge-vine. Now we come upon a creeping mat of -princess-pine, and here among the leaves we had almost stepped upon a -spreading chestnut-burr—that same burr I have so often seen before, -that same fuzzy, open palm holding out its tempting bait to lure the -eagerness of youth; an eagerness which always invested a neighbor’s -chestnuts with a peculiar charm too tempting to resist; “take one,” it -seems to say, as it did in years ago; and its hedge of thorny prickles -truly typifies the dangers which surrounded such an undertaking, for -these trees belong to Deacon Turney, and he prizes them as though their -yellow autumn leaves were so much gold. He guards them with an eagle’s -eye, and he gathers all their harvest; no single nut is ever known to -sprout in Turney’s woods if <i>he</i> knows it.</p> - -<p>This pointed reminder among the leaves fairly pricks my conscience as I -recall the many October escapades in which it formed the chief -attraction. I remember one occasion in particular, for it is indelibly -impressed on my memory, and it was on this very spot. A party of -adventurous lads, myself among the number, were out for a glorious -holiday. Each had his canvas bag across his shoulder, and we stole along -the<a name="page_111" id="page_111"></a> stone wall yonder, and entered the woods beneath that group of -chestnuts. Two of us acted as outposts on picket guard; and another, -young Teddy Shoopegg by name, the best climber in the village, did the -shaking. He prided himself on being able to “shin up any tree in the -caounty,” and after he had once got up among those chestnut-trees we -stood from under, and in a very short space of time no single burr was -left among their branches. There were five busy pairs of hands beneath -those trees, I can tell you, for each one of us fully realized the -necessity of making the most of his time, not knowing how soon the -warning cry from our outposts might put us all to headlong flight; for -the alarm, “Turney’s coming!” was enough to lift the hair of any boy in -town.</p> - -<div class="figleft" style="width: 330px;"> -<a href="images/ilpg111_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilpg111_sml.jpg" width="330" height="528" alt="A POINTED REMINDER." /></a> -<br /> -<span class="caption">A POINTED REMINDER.</span> -</div> - -<p>But luck seemed to favor us on that day; we “cleaned out” six big -chestnut-trees, and then turned our attention to the hickories. There -was a splendid tall shagbark close by, with branches fairly loaded with -the<a name="page_112" id="page_112"></a> white nuts in their open shucks. They were all ready to drop, and -when the shaking once commenced, the nuts came down like a shower of -hail, bounding from the rocks, rattling among the dry leaves, and -keeping up a clatter all around. We scrambled on all fours, and gathered -them by quarts and quarts. There was no need of poking over the leaves -for them, the ground was covered with them in plain sight. While busily -engaged, we noticed an ominous lull among the branches overhead.</p> - -<p>“’Sst! ’sst!” whispered Shoopegg up above; “I see old Turney on his -white horse daown the road yender.”</p> - -<p>“Coming this way?” also in a whisper, from below.</p> - -<p>“I dunno yit, but I jest guess you’d better be gittin’ reddy to leg it, -fer he’s hitchin’ his old nag ’t the side o’ the road. <i>Yis</i>, sir, I -bleeve he’s a-cummin’. Shoopegg, you’d better be gittin’ aout o’ this,” -and he commenced to drop hap-hazard from his lofty perch. In a moment, -however, he seemed to change his mind, and paused, once more upon the -watch. “Say, fellers,” he again broke in, as we were preparing for a -retreat, “he’s gone off to’rd the cedars; he ain’t cummin’ this way at -<i>all</i>.” So he again ascended into the tree-top, and finished his shaking -in peace, and we our picking also. There was still another tree, with -elegant large nuts, that we had all concluded to “finish up on.” It -would not do to leave it. They were the largest and thinnest-shelled -nuts in town, and there were over a bushel in sight on the branch tips. -Shoopegg was up among them in two minutes, and they were showered down -in torrents as before. And what splendid, perfect nuts they were! We -bagged them with eager hands, picked the ground all clean, and, with -jolly chuckles at our luck, were just about thinking of starting for -home with our well-rounded sacks, when a change came over the spirit of -our dreams. There was a suspicious noise in the shrubbery near by, and -in a moment more we heard our doom.</p> - -<p>“Jest yeu look <i>ee</i>ah, yeu boys!” exclaimed a high-pitched voice from -the neighboring shrubbery, accompanied by the form of Deacon Turney, -approaching at a brisk pace, hardly thirty feet away. “Don’t yeu think -yeu’ve got jest abaout <i>enuff</i> o’ them nuts?”</p> - -<p>Of course a wild panic ensued, in which we made for the bags and dear -life; but Turney was prepared and ready for the emergency, and, raising -a huge old shot-gun, he levelled it, and yelled, “Don’t any on ye stir -ner move, or by Christopher I’ll blow the heels clean off’n the hull -<i>pile</i> on ye. I’d <i>shoot</i> ye quicker’n <i>lightni’</i>.<a name="page_113" id="page_113"></a>”</p> - -<p>And we believed him, for his aim was true, and his whole expression was -not that of a man who was trifling. I never shall forget the -uncomfortable sensation that I experienced as I looked into the muzzle -of that double-barrelled shot-gun, and saw both hammers fully raised -too. And I can clearly see now the squint and the glaring eye that -glanced along those barrels. There was a wonderfully persuasive power -lurking in those horizontal tubes; so I at once hastened to inform the -deacon that we were “not going to run.”</p> - -<p>“Wa’al,” he drawled, “it looked a leetle thet <i>way</i>, I thort, a spell -<i>ago</i>;” and he still kept us in the field of his weapon, till at length -I exclaimed, in desperation.</p> - -<p>“For gracious sake! point that gun in some other <i>way</i>, will you?”</p> - -<p>“Wa’al, <i>no</i>! I’m not fer pintin’ it ennywhar else jest <i>yit</i>—not until -you’ve sot them ar <i>bags</i> daown agin, jist whar ye <i>got</i> ’em, every -<i>one</i> on ye.” The bags were speedily replaced, and he slowly lowered his -gun.</p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ilpg113_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilpg113_sml.jpg" width="340" height="380" alt="AFTER THE SHELL-BARKS" /></a> -<br /> -<span class="caption">AFTER THE SHELL-BARKS</span> -</p> - -<p>“Wa’al, naow,” he continued, as he came up in our midst, “this is putty -bizniss, <i>ain’t</i> it? Bin havin’ a putty likely sort o’ time teu, I sh’d -jedge from the looks o’ these ’ere <i>bags</i>. One—two—<i>six</i> on ’em; an’ I -vaow they must be nigh on teu a half bushel in every pleggy <i>one</i> on -’em. Wa’al, naow”—with his peculiar drawl—“look eeah: you’re a<a name="page_114" id="page_114"></a> putty -ondustrious lot o’ <i>thieves</i>, I’m <i>blest</i> if ye ain’t.” But the deacon -did all the talking, for his manœuvres were such as to render us -speechless. “Putty likely place teu cum a-nuttin’, ain’t it?” Pause. -“Putty nice mess o’ shell-barks ye got thar, I tell ye naow.—Quite a -sight o’ <i>chestnuts</i> in <i>yourn</i>, ain’t they?”</p> - -<p>There was only one spoken side to this dialogue, but the pauses were -eloquent on both sides, and we boys kept up a deal of tall thinking as -we watched the deacon alternate his glib remarks by the gradual removal -of the bags to the foot of a neighboring tree. This done, he seated -himself upon a rock beside them.</p> - -<p>“<i>Thar!</i>” he exclaimed, removing his tall hat and wiping his -white-fringed forehead with a red bandanna handkerchief. “I’m much -<i>obleeged</i>. I’ve been a-watchin’ on ye gittin’ these ’ere nuts the hull -arternoon. I thort ez haow yeu might like to know on’t.” And then, as -though a happy thought had struck him, what should he do but -deliberately spit on his hands and grasp his gun. “Look <i>ee</i>ah”—a -pause, in which he cocked both barrels—“yeu boys wuz paowerful anxyis -teu git <i>away</i> from <i>ee</i>ah a spell ago. Naow yeu kin <i>git</i> ez lively ez -yeu pleze; your chores is done fer to-day.” And bang! went one of the -gun-barrels directly over our heads.</p> - -<p>We <i>got</i>, and when once out of gun-range we paid the deacon a wealth of -those rare compliments for both eye and ear that always swell the boys’ -vocabulary.</p> - -<p>“All right,” he yelled back in answer, as he transported the bags across -the field. “Cum agin next year—cum agin. Alluz welcome! alluz welcome!”</p> - -<p>As I have already said, the deacon gathered all his nut -harvest—sometimes by a very novel method.</p> - -<p>Who does not remember some such episode of the old jolly days? If it was -not a Deacon Turney, it was some one else. I am sure his counterpart -exists in every country town, and in the memory of every boyhood -experience.</p> - -<p>We remember, perhaps, the sweet hazel-nuts which we gathered in their -brown husks and spread to dry upon the garret floor, and how those -mischievous mice avenged the deacon’s wrongs as they invaded our -treasured store, and transported it to the nooks and kinks among the -rafters and beneath the floor. Then there were those rambles after -“fox-grapes,” and the “gunning” tramps, when we stole with cautious step -upon the<a name="page_115" id="page_115"></a> unseen “Bob White” whistling for us among the brush near by, -when the startling <i>whirr</i> of the ruffed grouse from almost under our -feet sent an electric thrill up our backs and along our arms, even -touching off the powder in our barrels unawares. There were box-traps in -the woods, and snares among the copses, and lots of other mischief of -which we would not care to tell.</p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ilpg115_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilpg115_sml.jpg" width="326" height="243" alt="A CORNER OF THE FARM." /></a> -<br /> -<span class="caption">A CORNER OF THE FARM.</span> -</p> - -<p>There was another little three-cornered nut that fell among the -beech-trees where we held our October picnics, and the autumn beech -forest I remember as a lovely woodland parlor. We sit upon a painted -rock, in the shadow of a drooping hemlock, perhaps. Beyond, we look -across among the smooth gray tree-trunks, where sidelong shadows softly -stripe the matted leaves, with here and there a shining shaft of sunbeam -lighting up the carpet, or a glinting spray of sun-tipped leaves that -flicker above their shadows. The woods are filled with a luminous glow -such as no summer forest ever knew—an all-pervading light which seems -almost independent of the sunshine, as though living in the leaf itself. -It floods the mottled bark, and transforms its ashy tints to softened -autumn grays. It searches out the shadows of the evergreens, and throws<a name="page_116" id="page_116"></a> -its mellow glow upon the rocks among their recesses. It permeates the -whole interior as though it were transfigured through a golden-colored -glass.</p> - -<p>A quick, sharp whistle surprises you from the herbage near by, and a -striped chickaree skips across the leaves and dives into his burrow at -the foot of an old stump not far away. There are various other sounds -that come to you if you sit quietly in a beech wood. Now it is a tiny -footfall, a pat-pat upon the leaves, and a little brown bird is seen, -hopping in and out among the undergrowth, scratching and pecking like a -little hen among the leaf mould. Then comes a galloping sound, and you -know there is a scampering hare somewhere about. And at last a peeping -frog gains confidence, and starts up a trill somewhere behind you. He is -soon joined by another, and still others, until a chorus of the shrill -voices echoes among the trees, some from the around, some from the limbs -overhead; and if you only sit perfectly still, you may hear a -venturesome voice, perhaps, at your very elbow; for these little peepers -are capricious songsters, and only sing before a quiet, attentive -audience. Now a silly green katydid flits by, like an animated gauzy -leaf; and quick as thought a kingbird darts out from the leaves -overhead, hovers in mid-air for a second, and is away again; and -luckless katydid wishes she <i>hadn’t</i>.</p> - -<p>See the variety of beeches, too! Here are slender, dappled stems, clean -and trim; and others, great giants with fluted trunks and gnarled roots, -and with eccentric limbs reaching out in most fantastic angles; but all -spreading above in a graceful, airy screen of intermingled tracery and -sunlight, where slender branches bend and sway beneath the agile -squirrel as he leaps from tree to tree, and the leaves clatter with the -falling nuts. Behind us a soft fluttering of many wings betrays a -slender mountain-ash, with its drooping clusters of berries, growing in -an open, rocky space near by—where a flock of cedar birds assemble -among the fruit, or scatter away amid the evergreens at your slightest -movement. Turning your head in another direction, you can follow the -course of an old farm-road that leads out upon a bright clearing, -thick-set with light-green, feathery ferns. A few rods beyond, it makes -a sudden downward turn through a dense grove of lofty pines and -hemlocks. Here are “dim aisles” where dwell perpetual twilight—where no -ray of sun has entered for well-nigh a century—only, perhaps, as it is -brought down in a glistening sunbeam within the crystal bead of balsam -upon some dropping cone. There is a<a name="page_117" id="page_117"></a> solemn stillness in these stately -halls, in which your very footfall is proscribed and hushed in the -depths of the brown and silent carpet. There are old, venerable -gray-beards here, and fallen monarchs lying prostrate among the rugged -rocks; and here and there among the brown debris a fungus lifts its -head, to tell of other generations that lie crumbling beneath the mould. -Now among the lofty columns, like a magnificent illuminated window in -some vast cathedral, comes a glimpse of the outer world with its autumn -colors; and here the vaulted aisle soon leads us. We find a dazzling -contrast; for in the sombre shadows of the pine-forest one readily -forgets the month, or even the season. Here we approach a rippling -trout-stream, and as we stop to rest upon its tottering bridge we look -across a long brook meadow, where the asters screen the ground in -mid-air in a purple sea—one of the rarest spectacles of autumn. But in -this swamp lot there are presented a continual series of just such rich -displays from spring-time till the winter.</p> - -<p>I know of no other place in which the progress of the year is so readily -traced as in these swampy fallow lands. They are a living calendar, not -merely of the seasons alone, but of every month successively; and its -record is almost unmistakably disclosed. It is whispered in the fragrant -breath of flowers, and of the aromatic herbage you crush beneath your -feet. It floats about on filmy wings of dragon-fly and butterfly, or -glistens in the air on silky seeds. It skips upon the surface of the -water, or swims among the weeds beneath; and is noised about in myriads -of tell-tale songs among the reeds and sedges. The swallows and the -starlings proclaim it in their flight, and the very absence of these -living features is as eloquent as life itself. Even in the simple story -of the leaf, the bud, the blossom, and the downy seed, it is told as -plainly as though written in prosaic words and strewn among the herbage.</p> - -<p>In the early, blustering days of March, there is a stir beneath the -thawing ground, and the swamp cabbage-root sends up a well protected -scout to explore among the bogs; but so dismal are the tidings which he -brings, that for weeks no other venturing sprout dares lift its head. He -braves alone the stormy month—the solitary sign of spring, save, -perhaps, the lengthening of the alder catkins that loosen in the wind. -April woos the yellow cowslips into bloom along the water’s edge, and -the golden willow twigs shake out their perfumed tassels. In May the -prickly carex blossoms among the tussocks, and the calamus buds burst -forth among their flat, green blades. June is heralded on right and left -by the unfurling of<a name="page_118" id="page_118"></a> blue-flags, and the eyebright blue winks and blinks -as it awakens in the dazzling July sun.</p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ilpg118_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilpg118_sml.jpg" width="328" height="494" alt="BEECH-NUTTING." /></a> -<br /> -<span class="caption">BEECH-NUTTING.</span> -</p> - -<p>Then follows brimful August, with the summer’s consummation of -luxuriance and bloom; with flowers in dense profusion in bouquets of -iron-weed and thoroughworts, of cardinal flowers and fragrant clethra, -with their host of blossoming companions. The milk-weed pods fray out -their early floss upon September breezes, and the blue petals of the -gentian first unfold their fringes. October overwhelms us with the -friendly tokens of burr marigolds and bidens; while its thickets of -black-alder lose their autumn verdure, and<a name="page_119" id="page_119"></a> leave November with a -“burning bush” of scarlet berries hitherto half-hidden in the leafage. -Now, too, the copses of witch-hazel bedeck themselves, and are yellow -with their tiny ribbons. December’s name is written in wreaths of snow -upon the withered stalks of slender weeds and rushes, which soon lie -bent and broken in the lap of January, crushed beneath their winter -weight. And in fulfilment of the cycle, February sees the swelling buds -of willow, with their restless pussies eager for the spring, half -creeping from their winter cells.</p> - -<p>The October day is a dream, bright and beautiful as the rainbow, and as -brief and fugitive. The same clouds and the same sun may be with us on -the morrow, but the rainbow will have gone. There is a destroyer that -goes abroad by night; he fastens upon every leaf, and freezes out its -last drop of life, and leaves it on the parent stem, pale, withered, and -dying.</p> - -<p>Then come those closing days of dissolution, the saddest of the year, -when all nature is filled with phantoms, and the gaunt and naked trees -moan in the wind—every leaf a mockery, every breeze a sigh. The air -seems weighed with a premonition of the dreariness to come. The -landscape is darkened in a melancholy monotone, and death is written -everywhere. You may walk the woods and fields for hours without a gleam -of comfort or a cheering sound. We hear, perhaps, the hollow roll of the -woodpecker upon some neighboring tree; but even he is clad in mourning: -it is a muffled drum, and the resounding limb is dead. You sit beneath -the old oak-tree, but it is a lifeless rustle that grates upon your ear, -while you listen half beseechingly for some cheering note from the -robins in the thicket near; but they are coy and silent now, and their -flight is toward the southern hills. A villanous shrike must needs come -upon the scene: he alights upon a limb near by, with blood upon his -beak. Murder is in his eye, and his mission here is death. And now we -hear a noisy crow o’erhead: he perches upon a neighboring tree in hungry -scrutiny. And what is he but carrion’s bird, that revels in decay and -death, with raiment black as a funeral pall? In the cold gray sky we see -their scattered flocks blowing in the wind with sidelong flight, and in -the field below that mocking cadaver, the man of straw, shaking his -flimsy arms at them in wild contortions.</p> - -<p>There is a hopeless despondency abroad in all the air, in which the -summer medleys of the birds taunt us with their memories. We yearn for -one such joyful sound to break the gloomy reverie. But what bird<a name="page_120" id="page_120"></a> could -swell his throat in song amidst such cheerlessness? No, Nature does not -thus defeat her purpose. The hopefulness of Spring, the joyful -consummation of Summer, have fled; their mission is fulfilled, and these -are days for meditation on the past and future. All nature speaks of -death; and there are voices of despair, and others eloquent with hope -and trust. There are dead leaves that crumble into dust beneath our -feet; but, if we look higher, there are others that conceal the promise -of eternal life, where the undeveloped being, that perfect symbol,<a name="page_121" id="page_121"></a> -weaves his silken shroud, and awaits the coming of his day of full -perfection. In the ground beneath he seeks his sepulchre, and he knows -that at the appointed time he will burst his cerements and fly away. -These are inobtrusive, silent testimonies; but they are here, and need -only to be sought to unfold their prophecies.</p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ilpg120_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilpg120_sml.jpg" width="327" height="520" alt="THE NORTH WIND." /></a> -<br /> -<span class="caption">THE NORTH WIND.</span> -</p> - -<p>But there comes a respite even in these late gloomy days. There is a -lull in the work of devastation, in which the sunny skies and magic haze -of October come back to us in the charming dreaminess of the Indian -summer. A brief farewell—perhaps a day, perhaps a week; but however -long, it is a parting smile that we love to recall in the dreariness -that follows. The sky is luminous with soft sun-lit clouds, and the hazy -air is laden with spring-like breezes, with now and then a welcome -cricket-song or light-hearted bird-note, for, although long upon their -way, the birds have not yet all departed. They twitter cheerily among -the trees and thickets, and should you listen quietly you perhaps might -hear an echo of spring again in the warble of the robin upon the -dog-wood-tree. Here they have loitered by the way among the scarlet -berries. Not only robins, but cedar-birds and thrushes are here, in -successive flocks, from morn till night.</p> - -<p>The fields are dull with faded golden-rods and asters, among whose downy -seeds the frolicking chickadees and snow-birds hold a jubilee. The maze -of twigs and branches in the distant hills has enveloped them in a smoky -gray, and the sound of rustling leaves follows your footsteps in your -woodland rambles. The fringe of yellow petals is unfolding on the -witch-hazel boughs, and if you only knew the place, you might discover -in some forsaken nook a solitary pale-blue lamp of fringed gentian still -flickering among the withered leaves. Now a lively twittering and a hum -of wings surprises you, and before you can turn your head a happy little -troop of birds sweep across your path, and are away among the -evergreens. They are white buntings, and their presence here is like a -chill, for they come from the icy regions of the North, and they bring -the snow upon their wings. The Indian summer is soon a thing of the -past. Perhaps before another daybreak it will have flown. There is no -dawn upon that morning. The night runs into a day of dismal, cheerless -twilight, and the sky is overcast with ominous darkness. That angry -cloud that left us, driven away before the conquering Spring, now lowers -above the northward mountain; we see its livid face and feel its -blighting breath—“a hard, dull bitterness of cold,” that sweeps along -the moor<a name="page_122" id="page_122"></a> in noisy triumph, that howls and tears among the trembling -trees, and smothers out the last smouldering flame of faded Autumn.</p> - -<p>The final leaf is torn from the tree. The lingering birds depart the -desolation for scenes more tranquil, and I too with them, for nothing -here invites my tarrying. The Autumn days are gone, grim Winter is at -our door, and the covering snow will soon enshroud the earth, subdued -and silent in its winter sleep.</p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ilpg122_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilpg122_sml.jpg" width="197" height="126" alt="" /></a> -</p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ilpg124_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilpg124_sml.jpg" width="104" height="98" alt="" /></a> -</p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ilpg125_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilpg125_sml.jpg" width="314" height="468" alt="" /></a> -</p> - -<p><a name="page_123" id="page_123"></a></p> - -<p><a name="page_124" id="page_124"></a></p> - -<h2><a name="WINTER" id="WINTER"></a>W<small>INTER</small>.</h2> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ilpg127_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilpg127_sml.jpg" width="336" height="532" alt="" /></a> -</p> - -<p><a name="page_125" id="page_125"></a></p> - -<p><a name="page_126" id="page_126"></a></p> - -<p><a name="page_127" id="page_127"></a></p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i3">A WINTER IDYL<br /></span> -<span class="i4">—Prologue—<br /></span> - -</div><div class="stanza"> - -<span class="i0">A chill sad ending of a dreary day.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The waning light in stillness dies away.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bequeaths no ray of hope the void to fill<br /></span> -<span class="i2">But lends to gloomy thoughts more sadness still.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All nature hushed beneath a snowy shroud<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Darkness and death their sovereign rule decree<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O, reign of dread, of cruel blasts that kill<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Thy cycle brings a heavy heart to me.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">How many thus their Winter’s advent view<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Whose darkened faith no daylight ever knew.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Alas for him who thinks the grave his doom<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Or sees the sun go down behind the tomb.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Seek and ye shall find”. On every hand<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Mute prophecies their mission tell.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yield but a listening ear and they shall say<br /></span> -<span class="i2">‘The dead but sleep, they do not pass away’<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Else why mid earth and heaven on yonder tree<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That type of life in death, the living tomb?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Why the imago from dark cerements free<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Winging its upward flight from earthly gloom?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Why this device supreme unless a prophecy<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of resurrected life and immortality.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Oh thou whose downcast eyes refuse to seek<br /></span> -<span class="i2">See! even at the grave the sign is given.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The snow-clad evergreen, eternal life<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Clothed in celestial purity from heaven.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Even thus life’s Winter should be blest<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Not dark and dead but full of peace and rest.<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">S</span>ILENTLY, like thoughts that come and go, the snow-flakes fall, each one -a gem. The whitened air conceals all earthly trace, and leaves to<a name="page_128" id="page_128"></a> -memory the space to fill. I look upon a blank, whereon my fancy paints, -as could no hand of mine, the pictures and the poems of a boyhood life; -and even as the undertone of a painting, be it warm or cool, shall -modify or change the color laid upon it, so this cold and frosty -background through the window transfigures all my thoughts, and forms -them into winter memories legion like the snow. Oh that I could -translate for other eyes the winter idyl painted there! I see a living -past whose counterpart I well could wish might be a common fortune. I -see in all its joyous phases the gladsome winter in New England, the -snow-clad hills with bare and shivering trees, the homestead dear, the -old gray barn hemmed in with peaked drifts. I see the skating-pond, and -hear the ringing, intermingled shouts of the noisy, shuffling game, the -black ice written full with testimony of the winter’s brisk hilarity. -Down the hard-packed road with glancing sled I speed, past frightened -team and startled way-side groups; o’er “thank you, marms,” I fly in -clear mid-air, and crouching low, with sidelong spurts of snowy spray, I -sweep the sliding curve. Now past the village church and cosy parsonage. -Now scudding close beneath the hemlocks, hanging low with their piled -and tufted weight of snow. The way-side bits like dizzy streaks whiz by, -the old rail fence becomes a quivering tint of gray. The road-side weeds -bow after me, and in the swirling eddy chasing close upon my feet, sway -to and fro. Soon, like an arrow from the bow, I shoot across the “Town -Brook” bridge, and, jumping out beyond, skip the sinking ground, and -with an anxious eye and careful poise I “trim the ship,” and, hoping, -leave the rest to fate.</p> - -<p>Perhaps I land on both runners, perhaps I don’t; that depends. I’ve -tried both ways I know, and if I remember rightly, I always found it -royal jolly fun; for what cared I at a bruise, or a pint of snow down my -back, when I got it there myself?</p> - -<p>The average New England boy is hard to kill, and I was one of that kind. -Any boy who could brave the hidden mysteries and capricious favoritism -of those fifteen dislocating “thank you, marms,” and <i>hang together</i> -through it all, and, having so done, finish that experience with a -plunging double somersault into a crusted snow-bank, or, perchance, into -a stone wall—if he can do this, I say, and survive the fun, then there -is no reason why he should not live to tell of it in old age, for never -in the flesh will he go through a rougher ordeal. I’ve known a boy who -“<i>hated</i> the old district school because the hard benches hurt him so,<a name="page_129" id="page_129"></a>” -and who would rest his aching limbs for hours together in this gentle -sort of exercise. “The fine print made his eyes ache, and he couldn’t -study;” and yet when one day he comes home with one eye all colors of -the rainbow, “it’s <i>nothing</i>.” “Consistency is a jewel.” Boys don’t -generally wear jewels. But they are all alike. Boys will be boys, and if -they only live through it, they will some day look back and wonder at -their good fortune.</p> - -<p>At the foot of that long hill the “Town Brook” gurgles on its winding -way, and passing beneath the weather-beaten bridge, it makes a sudden -turn, and spreads into a glassy pond behind the bulwarks of the saw-mill -dam. In summer, were we as near as this, we would hear the intermittent -ring of the whizzing saw, the clanking cogs, and the tuneful sounds of -the falling bark-bound slabs; but now, like its bare willows that were -wont to wave their leafy boughs with caressing touch upon the mossy -roof, the old mill shows no sign of life. Its pulse is frozen, and the -silent wheel is resting from its labors beneath a coverlet of snow. Who -is there who has not in some recess of the memory a dear old haunt like -this, some such sleeping pond radiant with reflections of the scenes of -early life? Thither in those winter days we came, our numbers swelled -from right and left with eager volunteers for the game, till at last, -almost a hundred strong, we rally on the smooth black ice.</p> - -<div class="figright" style="width: 303px;"> -<a href="images/ilpg129_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilpg129_sml.jpg" width="303" height="524" alt="SNOW-FLAKES OF MEMORY." /></a> -<br /> -<span class="caption">SNOW-FLAKES OF MEMORY.</span> -</div> - -<p>The opposing leaders choose their sides, and with loud hurrahs we -penetrate the thickets at the water’s edge, each to cut his special -choice of stick—that festive cudgel, with curved and club-shaped end, -known to the boy as a<a name="page_130" id="page_130"></a> “shinney-stick,” but to the calm recollection of -after-life principally as an instrument of torture, indiscriminately -promiscuous in its playful moments. Were I to swing one of those dainty -little clubs again, I would rather that the end were tied up in -something soft, and that this should be the universal rule; otherwise I -don’t think I would play. I would prefer to sit on the bank and watch -the sport, or make myself useful in looking after the dead and wounded. -But to the “average New England boy” it makes a great deal of difference -who swings the club, and what it is swung for. If it is whirled in -<i>play</i>, and takes him with a blow that <i>ought</i> to kill him, and <i>would</i> -if he were not a boy, why then he laughs, and thinks it’s good fun, and -goes in and gets another. But if the parental guardian has any reason to -swing a stick even one-tenth the size, the whole neighborhood thinks -there is a boy being murdered. So much depends upon a name sometimes.</p> - -<p style="clear:both;"> </p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ilpg131_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilpg131_sml.jpg" width="338" height="478" alt="THE OLD MILL-POND." /></a> -<br /> -<span class="caption">THE OLD MILL-POND.</span> -</p> - -<p>How clearly and distinctly I recall those toughening, rollicking sports -on the old mill-pond! I see the two opposing forces on the field of ice, -the wooden ball placed ready for the fray. The starter lifts his stick. -I hear a whizzing sweep. Then comes that liquid, twittering ditty of the -hard-wood ball skimming over the ice, that quick succession of bird-like -notes, first distinct and clear, now fainter and more blended, now -fainter still, until at last it melts into a whispered, quivering -whistle, and dies away amidst the scraping sound of the close-pursuing -skates. With a sharp crack I see the ball returned singing over the -polished surface, and met half-way by the advance-guard of the leading -side. The holder of the ball with rapid onward flight hugs close upon -his charge, keeping it at the end of his stick. Past one and another of -his adversaries he flies on winged skates, followed by a score of his -companions, until, seeing his golden opportunity, with one tremendous -effort he gives a powerful blow. To be sure, one of his own men -interposes the back of his head and takes half the force of his stroke; -but what does that matter, it was all in fun? besides, he had no -business to be in the way. The ball thus retarded in such a trivial -manner instantly meets a barricade of the excited opponents, who have -hurried thither to save their game; but before any one can gain the time -to strike the ball, the starters rush pell-mell upon them. Now comes the -tug of war. Strange fun! What a spectacle! The would-be striker, with -stick uplifted, jammed in the centre of a boisterous throng; the -hill-sides echo with ringing shouts, and an anxious circle with ready -sticks forms about the swaying, gesticulating mob. Meanwhile the<a name="page_131" id="page_131"></a> ball -is beating round beneath their feet, their skates are clashing steel on -steel. I hear the shuffling kicks, the battling strokes of clubs, the -husky mutterings of passion half suppressed; I hear the panting breath -and the impetuous whisperings between the teeth, as they push and -wrestle and jam. A lucky hit now sends the ball a few feet from the -fray. A ready hand improves the chance; but as he lifts his stick a -youngster’s nose gets in the way and spoils his stroke; he slips, and -falls upon the ball; another and another plunge headlong over him. The -crowd surround the prostrate pile, and punch among them for the ball. -When found, the same riotous<a name="page_132" id="page_132"></a> scene ensues; another falls, and all are -trampled under foot by the enthusiastic crowd. Ye gods! will any one -come out alive? I hear the old familiar sounds vibrating on the air: -whack! whack! “Ouch!” “Get out of the way, then!” “Now I’ve got it!” -“Shinney on yer own side!” and now a heavy thud! which means a sudden -damper on some one’s wild enthusiasm. And so it goes until the game is -won. The mob disperses, and the riotous spectacle gives place to -uproarious jollity.</p> - -<p>There are other more tranquil reflections from that old mill-pond. Do -you not remember the little pair of dainty skates whose straps you -clasped on daintier feet; the quiet, gliding strolls through the -secluded nooks; the small, refractory buckle which you so often stooped -to conquer; and the sidelong grimaces of less fortunate swains—sneers -that brought the color tingling to your cheeks with mingled pride and -anger? Ah! things so near the heart as these can never freeze.</p> - -<p>Yonder, just below that clustered group of pines, where the water-weeds -and lily-pads are frozen in the ice, we chopped our fishing holes, and -with baited lines and tip-ups set, we waited, wondering what our luck -would be. With eager eyes we watched the line play out, or saw the -tip-up give the warning sign. And as with anxious pull we neared the end -of the tightening cord, who shall describe that tingling sense of joy at -the first glimpse of the gaping pickerel?</p> - -<p>Near by I see the yellow-fringed witch-hazel bending in graceful spray -over the flaky, bordering ice, that mystic shrub whose feathery winter -blooms we gathered as a token for the little one with dainty skates.</p> - -<p>Still farther up the pond the marbled button-wood-tree, with spreading -limbs and knotty brooms of branchlets, rises clear against the sky, its -little pendulums swinging away the winter moments. At its very roots the -dam spreads into a tufted swamp, thick-set with alders. How often have I -picked my way through that wheezing, soggy marsh in quest of the rare -Cecropia cocoons; treading among glazed air-chambers, whose roof of ice, -like a pane of brittle glass, falls in at my approach—a crystal fairy -grotto, set with diamonds and frost ferns, annihilated at a step.</p> - -<p>Here, too, the sagacious musk-rat built his cemented dome, and along the -neighboring shore we set the chained steel-traps, or made the ponderous -dead-fall from nature’s rude materials. Yonder, in the side-hill woods, -I set the big box rabbit-traps; with keen-edged jack-knife trimmed the -slender hickory poles, and on the ground near by, with sharpened, -branching sticks, I built the little pens for my twitch-up snares. Can<a name="page_133" id="page_133"></a> -I ever forget the fascinating excitement which sped me on from snare to -snare in those tramps through the snowy woods, the exhilarating buoyancy -of that delicious suspense, every nerve and every muscle on the <i>qui -vive</i> in my eagerness for the captured game! Even the memory of it acts -like a tonic, and almost creates an appetite like that of old.</p> - -<p>And then the lovely woods. How few there are who ever seek their winter -solitude: and of these how fewer still are they who find anything but -drear and cold monotony!</p> - -<p>We read the literature of our time, and find it rich in story of the -home aspects of winter; of Christmas joys and festivals, of holiday -festivities, and all the various phases of cosy domestic life; but not -often are we tempted from the glowing hearth into the wilds of the bare -and leafless forest. We read of the “drear and lonely waste, the -cheerless desolation of the howling wilderness,” and we look out upon -the naked, shivering trees and draw our cushioned rockers closer to the -grateful fire.</p> - -<div class="figright" style="width: 251px;"> -<a href="images/ilpg133_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilpg133_sml.jpg" width="251" height="365" alt="THE FIRST SNOW." /></a> -<br /> -<span class="caption">THE FIRST SNOW.</span> -</div> - -<p>Not I; bitter were the winds and high the piled-up drifts that shut me -in from out-of-doors in those glorious days; and whether on my animated -trapping tours, or hunting on the crusted snow, with powder-horn and -game-bag swinging at my side, or perhaps pressing through the tangled -thickets in my impetuous search for those pendulous cocoons, now -stopping to tear away the loosening bark on moss-grown stump, now -looking beneath some prostrate board for the little “woolly bears” -curled up in their dormant sleep: no matter what my purpose, always I -was sure to<a name="page_134" id="page_134"></a> find the winter full of interest and beauty. How distinctly -I recall the thrilling spectacle of that glad morning when, awakening -early, and jumping from the little cot so snug and warm, I tripped -across the chilly floor and scratched a peep-hole on the frosted -window-pane; looked out upon a world so changed, so strangely beautiful, -that at first it seemed like a lingering vision in half-awakened -eyes—still looking into dream-land. All the world is dressed in purest -white, as soft and light as down from seraphs’ wings. The orchard trees, -the elms, and all the leafless shrubs, as if by magic spell, transformed -to shadowy plumes of spotless purity, and the interlacing boughs -o’erhead vanishing in a canopy of glistening, feathery spray. I look -upon a realm celestial in its beauty, unprofaned by earthly sign or -sound. A strange, supernal stillness fills the air; and save where some -unseen spirit-wing tips the slender twig and lets fall the scintillating -shower, no slightest movement mars the enchanted vision. Above, in the -far-off blue, I see the circling flock of doves, their snowy wings -glittering in their upward flight—apt emblems in a scene so like a -glimpse of spirit-land. A single vision such as this should wed the -heart to winter’s loveliness, a loveliness inspiring and immaculate, for -never in the cycle of the year does nature wear a face so void of -earthly impress, so spirit-like, so near the heavenly ideal.</p> - -<p>One of the most striking features of the winter ramble in the woods is -their impressive stillness. But stop awhile and listen. That very -silence will give emphasis to every sound that soon shall vibrate on the -clear atmosphere, for “little pitchers have big ears,” and wide-open -eyes too. They will first be sure that the stick you hold is only a -cane, and not the small boy’s gun which they have so learned to dread. -Hark! even from the hollow maple at your side there comes a scraping -sound, and in an instant more two black and shining eyes are peering -down at us from the bulging hole above. Tut! don’t strike the little -fellow. Had you only waited a moment longer, we would have seen him -emerge from his concealment, and with frisky, bushy tail laid flat upon -the bark, he would have hung head downward on the trunk, and watched our -every movement; but now you’ve startled him, he thinks you mean -mischief, and you’ll see his sparkling eyes no more at that knot-hole. -Listen! Now we hear a rustling in the sere and snow-tipped weeds -somewhere near by, and presently a little feathery form flits past, and -settles yonder on the swaying rush. With feathers ruffled into a little -fuzzy ball, he bustles around among the downy seeds, now prying in their -midst, now<a name="page_135" id="page_135"></a></p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ilpg135_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilpg135_sml.jpg" width="336" height="530" -alt="hanging underneath, head up, head down, no matter which, -it’s all the same to him. Now he stops short in his busy search, turns -his little head jauntily from side to side, lifts his tufted crest, and -sets free his pent-up glee—“See! see! see me sing! Chickadee-dee-dee!” -Who has not heard that wee small voice ringing in the frosty air? and -who, having heard it, has not longed to catch and cuddle that little -feathery puff, the winter’s own darling, whose little warm heart and -sprightly song temper the chill and enliven the cheerless days?" - -title="hanging underneath, head up, head down, no matter which, -it’s all the same to him. Now he stops short in his busy search, turns -his little head jauntily from side to side, lifts his tufted crest, and -sets free his pent-up glee—“See! see! see me sing! Chickadee-dee-dee!” -Who has not heard that wee small voice ringing in the frosty air? and -who, having heard it, has not longed to catch and cuddle that little -feathery puff, the winter’s own darling, whose little warm heart and -sprightly song temper the chill and enliven the cheerless days?" /></a> -<br /> -<span class="caption">MUTE PROPHECIES.</span> -</p> - -<p><a name="page_136" id="page_136"></a></p> - -<p>The bending rush but lightly feels the dainty form, and, if at all, it -must delight to bear so sweet a burden. How dearly have I learned to -love this little fellow, perhaps my special favorite among the birds; -for while the others one by one desert us with the dying year for scenes -more bright and sunny, the chickadee is content to share our lot; he is -constant, always with us, ever full of sprightliness and cheer. No -winter is known in his warm heart, no piercing blast can freeze the -fountain of his song.</p> - -<p>How often in the woods and by-ways have I stopped and chatted with this -diminutive friend as he nestled in some oscillating spray of golden-rod, -or perhaps with jaunty strut shook down the new-fallen snow from some -drooping branch of hemlock. I say “chatted,” for he is a talkative and -entertaining little fellow, always ready to tell people “all about it,” -if they will only ask him. He is generally too busy searching amid the -dead and crumpled leaves for the indispensable <i>bug</i> to intrude himself -on any one; but once draw him into conversation and he will do his share -of the talking—only, mind you, remove those big fur gloves and tippet, -or he will put you to shame by crying, “See! see!” and showing you his -little, bare feet. This pert atom can be saucy and cross if things don’t -exactly suit his fancy; and, for whatever reason, he always seems out of -patience at the sight of a <i>man</i> all bundled up and mittened. I have -noticed this repeatedly. “Take off some of those things,” he seems to -say, “and let me see who you are, and then I’ll talk with you,” and with -feathers puffed up like an indignant hen in miniature, he scolds and -scolds.</p> - -<p>Then there are the little snow-birds, too. When the sad autumn days are -upon us, when the dying leaves with ominous flush yield up their hold on -life, and are borne to earth on wailing winds, and all nature seems -filled with mocking phantoms of the summer’s life and loveliness; when -we listen for the robin’s song and hear it not, or the thrush’s -bell-like trill, and listen in vain; when we look into the southern sky -and see the winged flocks departing behind the faded hills—it is at -such a time, while the very air seems weighed with melancholy, that the -snow-birds come with their welcome, twittering voices. All winter long -these sprightly little fellows swarm the thickets and sheltering -evergreens, frolicking in the new-fallen snow like sparrows in a summer -pool. Sometimes they unite in flocks with the chickadees and invade the -orchard, and even the kitchen door-yard, with their ceaseless chatter. -If you open<a name="page_137" id="page_137"></a> the window and scatter a few crumbs upon the porch, they -are soon hopping among the grateful morsels with twittering -thankfulness. And on a very cold day, should you leave the kitchen -window standing open, they will perch upon the sill and preen their -ruffled feathers. Always trusting and confiding when appreciated, but -often coy and distant for want of just such kindness.</p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ilpg137_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilpg137_sml.jpg" width="337" height="539" alt="THE TWITCH-UP." /></a> -<br /> -<span class="caption">THE TWITCH-UP.</span> -</p> - -<p>Although loving the cold, and choosing the winter season to be with us, -the snow-birds cannot hold their own against the little hardy chickadee. -Indeed, I sometimes think that this little frost-proof<a name="page_138" id="page_138"></a> puff is happier -and more sprightly in proportion as the cold increases, and that even -the sight of a frozen thermometer would be, perhaps, an especial -inspiration for his song. Not so the little snow-birds. When those raw -and bitter winds sweep like a blight over the face of nature, their -little song is frozen, and their familiar forms are seen no more. You -hunt amid the evergreens and hedge-rows, but they are not there. But -when the shingle-vane on the old barn-gable veers and points toward the -south or west, should you chance to be in the neighborhood of the -barrack mow, you would hear the muffled twittering of the little thawing -voices underneath the conical roof. Here they have assembled among the -wheat-sheaves still unthreshed, finding a warm and cosy shelter—“a -pavilion till the storm is overpast.”</p> - -<p>The winter woods are full of life and beauty, if we will only look for -them. We do as much for the summer woods, why not for the winter? Were -we to seclude ourselves in-doors in June, and shut our eyes to all its -loveliness, it would be only what so many do from November till the -budding spring. In one respect, at least, the woods are even more -beautiful in winter than in summer; for in their height of leafy -splendor—sometimes to me almost oppressive in its universal -greenness—the true and living tree is hidden from sight, its exquisite -anatomy is concealed, and, to a certain degree, all the different trees -melt into a mass of “nothing but leaves.”</p> - -<p>No one ever sees the full charm of the forest who turns his back upon it -in the winter, for its clear-cut tree-forms are an unceasing delight and -wonder. Look at the exquisite lines of that drooping birch, the -intricate interlacing tracery of the minute branching twigs! Could -anything be more graceful or more chaste? could any covering of leaves -enhance its beauty? And so the apple-tree by the old stone wall—how -different its various angles! how individual in its character! how -beautiful its silhouette against the sky! Thus every separate tree -affords a perfect study, of infinite design. See that mottled beech -trunk yonder. What! never noticed it before? That was because its -drooping leaf-clad branches concealed its beauty; but now not only does -it emerge from its wonted obscurity, but the whiteness of the snowy -ground beyond gives added value to every subtle tint upon its dappled -surface. Step nearer. With what variety of exquisite tender grays has -nature painted the clean smooth bark! See those marbled variegations, -each spot with a distinct tint of its own, and each tint composed of a -multitude of microscopic<a name="page_139" id="page_139"></a> points of color. Here we see a fimbriated -blotch of dark olive moss, spreading its intertwining rootlets in all -directions, and further up a spongy tuft of rich brown lichen tipped -with snow. Who could pass by unnoticed such a refined and exquisite bit -of painting as this? And yet they abound on every side. See the shingly -shagbark, with its mottlings of pale green lichen and orange spots, its -jagged outline so perfectly relieved against the snow, and, beyond, that -group of rock-maples, with its bold contrasts of deep green moss, and -striped tints of most varied shades, from lightest drab to deepest -brown. And there is the yellow birch with its tight-wound bark, fringed -with ravellings of buff-colored satin. Here we come upon a clump of -chestnuts, their cool trunks set off in bold relief against a background -of dark hemlocks, whose outer branches, clothed in snow, like tufted -mittens, hang low upon the ground.</p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ilpg139_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilpg139_sml.jpg" width="337" height="535" alt="THE WINTER’S DARLING." /></a> -<br /> -<span class="caption">THE WINTER’S DARLING.</span> -</p> - -<p>Passing from the wood, we now pick our way through a neglected by-path -shut in on either side with birches, whose brown and slender branches -spring from a trunk so white as to be almost lost in the background tint -of snow. At every step we dislodge the glistening wreaths of snowy -flakes from the bluish raspberry canes. The little withered nests on the -tips of the wild-carrot stems hurl their fleecy burden to the ground; -and each in turn the phantom shapes give place to homely yarrows, -golden-rods, or thistles. Further on we see a wild-rose<a name="page_140" id="page_140"></a></p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ilpg140_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilpg140_sml.jpg" width="330" height="522" - -alt="branch with scarlet berries, and further st—What’s that? A fleet-footed little -creature darts out almost from under our very feet, and bounds away into -the dark recess. That little cotton tail! what a tempting target it -always was for me! Lucky for you, my dear little fellow, that I am not a -boy again, or I’d set a snare for you in about ten minutes. This always -was a favorite haunt for hares, and if we had only kept our eyes open we -might have known it, for, see! all around us the snow is dotted with -hollows from their four little jumping foot-pads. - -Now we enter the old swamp lot, thick-set with bristling bulrushes and -bare and spindling brooms of iron-weed. Here is the little turtle pond, -from whose animated mud we" - -title="branch with scarlet berries, and further st—What’s that? A fleet-footed little -creature darts out almost from under our very feet, and bounds away into -the dark recess. That little cotton tail! what a tempting target it -always was for me! Lucky for you, my dear little fellow, that I am not a -boy again, or I’d set a snare for you in about ten minutes. This always -was a favorite haunt for hares, and if we had only kept our eyes open we -might have known it, for, see! all around us the snow is dotted with -hollows from their four little jumping foot-pads. - -Now we enter the old swamp lot, thick-set with bristling bulrushes and -bare and spindling brooms of iron-weed. Here is the little turtle pond, -from whose animated mud we" /></a> -<br /> -<span class="caption">“WHO’S THAT?”</span> -</p> - -<p><a name="page_141" id="page_141"></a></p> - -<p class="nind">fished the bugs and polly-wogs for our -aquarium. Now it is shrunken and cold with crackling ice. Around its -borders a thicket of black alder grows, its close-clinging scarlet -berries, half hid in summer by the overhanging foliage, now seen in all -their brilliancy and profusion, the brightest touches of color in -nature’s winter landscape.</p> - -<p>Soon we are walking over the soft and silent carpet in the pine grove’s -sombre shelter, stopping for one brief moment to listen to the sighing -wind overhead, and to inhale one long and lasting whiff of the delicious -invigorating aroma of the trees.</p> - -<p>Once more out in the open, our attention is arrested by a little stain -of blood upon the snow. Leading to the spot we see a row of tiny -imprints of some little field-mouse, and the white surface in close -vicinity is ruffled and disturbed. A cruel tragedy has been committed -here, and its evidence is plain, for there is but one line of wee -footprints from the little hole beneath the stump near by—no return. -Poor little fellow! I wish I had beneath my foot the sharp-eyed owl that -surprised you in your little antics on the snow.</p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ilpg141_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilpg141_sml.jpg" width="340" height="348" alt="SUNSHINE AND SHADOW IN THE WOODS." /></a> -<br /> -<span class="caption">SUNSHINE AND SHADOW IN THE WOODS.</span> -</p> - -<p><a name="page_142" id="page_142"></a></p> - -<p>A deserted nest now hangs across our pathway, and as I look upon the -cold heap within its hollow, I wonder where are the little birds that -nestled beneath the mother’s wings in the cosy warmth of that cradled -home only a few short months ago. And now I am reminded that nearly all -this land through which we have been strolling belongs to Nathan Beers; -for there’s his house right across the road, only a few rods in front of -us. I cannot help but laugh as I look over into that old door-yard at -the incident it recalls.</p> - -<p>I remember how, about fifteen years ago, I came up through these very -woods into the clearing where we stand, and saw old Nathan, with -slouched straw hat and stoga boots, entering his front gate. He was -muttering and gesticulating to himself; and on the gravel behind him he -trailed along a huge steel trap and clinking chain. He evidently had a -strong opinion on <i>some</i> subject, and I knew pretty well what that -subject <i>was</i>.</p> - -<p>“Hello, Nathan!” I ask, “what’s up?”</p> - -<p>He turns quickly, and I observe that his usually good-natured Yankee -face now wears a troubled expression.</p> - -<p>“My dander’s up—that’s what’s up,” he replies, a little sullenly.</p> - -<p>“They tell me you’ve been after a fox, Nathan; did you catch him?”</p> - -<p>“No, ’n I don’t cal’late to try agin nuther, he’s <i>airnt his livi’</i> fer -all <i>me</i>;” and with an impetuous fling he sent the old trap into a -corner of the wood-shed.</p> - -<p>I am soon by his side, anxious to hear all about it. “What’s the fox -done?” I ask, eagerly.</p> - -<p>“What <i>hain’t</i> he done, yeu better say. I never see nuthin’ t’ beat it -since uz born, ’n I’ve ketched tew er three on ’em afore naow, teu. I’ve -heern tell o’ them critters’ cunnin’, but I swaiou I alliz thort ez haow -folks wuz <i>coddi’</i>; but <i>thar</i>, yeu can’t tell me nuthin’ ’baout -<i>foxes</i>. It’s nigh cum a fortnit thet I’ve been arter thet feller, ’n I -swar teu gosh all hemlock! I hain’t got so much’s one on his pesky red -hairs teu <i>show</i> for’t, ’n I’m <i>sick</i> on’t. I tell ye that ar feller is -<i>mischievouser than pizen</i>, ’n his hed’s as long as a horse’s.”</p> - -<p>“Why, what’s he been doing, Nathan?”</p> - -<p>“<i>Doin’?</i> why fer considerable of a spell back he’s bin hangin’ raoun’ -my hen-roost an’ pickin’ off my brammys; thet’s what he’s bin doin’, ’n -the <i>fust</i> time I sot the trap I stuck it under some chaff in the hole -yender in the hen-haouse jest arter the hens hed gone ter -roost—cal’latin’<a name="page_143" id="page_143"></a></p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ilpg143_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilpg143_sml.jpg" width="333" height="531" -alt="as haow I’d wait a spell, ’n then go ’n take it away. -I thort that ’ud fetch him sure; but -thar, deu yeu b’leeve, I heern -thet feller cum’ sneakin’ along putty soon, ’n he cum’ raoun’ to t’other -side ’n scairt all the hens aout the hole. I heern a great squawkin’, ’n -I put fer the place ez tight ez I cud, ’n thar I see my best dorkin’ hen -in the trap. Ef I’d only gyn the feller time, like’s not he’d a chawed -off her leg, ’n lugged her off to his hole in the rocks yender. I tell -ye, everybody araoun’ what’s got hens hez hed to take thet feller’s -sass, ’n they’d orter be an end on’t. There’s old Reuben Scales, so poor -he hain’t got a pa’r o’ pants teu his back, ’n dependin’ on his faowls -fer his meat vittles; why, they tell me daown t’ the store thet he’s bin -jest cleaned right aout, ’n hain’t got even a ha’r-backed pullet left. -They ain’t no gunni’ nuther. Thet red-" - -title="as haow I’d wait a spell, ’n then go ’n take it away. -I thort that ’ud fetch him sure; but thar, deu yeu b’leeve, I heern -thet feller cum’ sneakin’ along putty soon, ’n he cum’ raoun’ to t’other -side ’n scairt all the hens aout the hole. I heern a great squawkin’, ’n -I put fer the place ez tight ez I cud, ’n thar I see my best dorkin’ hen -in the trap. Ef I’d only gyn the feller time, like’s not he’d a chawed -off her leg, ’n lugged her off to his hole in the rocks yender. I tell -ye, everybody araoun’ what’s got hens hez hed to take thet feller’s -sass, ’n they’d orter be an end on’t. There’s old Reuben Scales, so poor -he hain’t got a pa’r o’ pants teu his back, ’n dependin’ on his faowls -fer his meat vittles; why, they tell me daown t’ the store thet he’s bin -jest cleaned right aout, ’n hain’t got even a ha’r-backed pullet left. -They ain’t no gunni’ nuther. Thet red-" /></a> -<br /> -<span class="caption">A SUNNY CORNER.</span> -</p> - -<p class="nind">haired<a name="page_144" id="page_144"></a> thief hez knabbed every -tarnal pattridge ’n Bob White they iz.”</p> - -<p>And so he went on for half an hour, telling me all the various -stratagems by which Reynard had outwitted him.</p> - -<p>“I set it thar in the pine woods in a bed of pine needles, with the ded -rabbit hangin’ over it, ’n the next day I see by the scratched up dirt -haow the feller hed jumped clean over the trap at a <i>lick</i>, ’n taken his -rabbit on a fly. Yeu kin laff; but what I’m tellin’ ye is az true az -preachin’. So yest’d’y I lit aout on a new idee, ’n set the trap on top -a stump cluss teu a tree ’n covered it with leaves. I hung the bait on -the tree higher up, ’n sez I, old feller, I’ve got ye naow, sez I. I -left it thar. I went daown thar agin this mornin’, ’n I’ve <i>jest cum</i> -from thar. <i>No more fox fer me</i>; s’elp me gosh!”</p> - -<p>“Why,” I ask, “what was the matter down there, Nathan?”</p> - -<p>“Why, <i>blame my stogys</i>, ef the feller hadn’t gone ’n highsted the -clog-stick on the end o’ the chain, ’n shoved it agin the pan, ’n sprung -the trap on’t, ’n then stepped up and knabbed the bait. An’ I say thet -enny feller what’s got brains enuff fer thet, I swaiou he’d oughter -<i>live</i> off’n um; ’n he <i>kin</i> fer all <i>me</i>!”</p> - -<div class="figleft" style="width: 273px;"> -<a href="images/ilpg144_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilpg144_sml.jpg" width="273" height="501" alt="WINTER BROWSING." /></a> -<br /> -<span class="caption">WINTER BROWSING.</span> -</div> - -<p>It was too bad to have fooled old Nathan so; but then, you see, he had a -big farm, and was awfully stingy with us boys, and never would let us -set a rabbit snare on his place. He said it was “pesky <i>cruel</i>,” and -seemed to prefer the more humane way of wounding them with<a name="page_145" id="page_145"></a> shot, and -breaking their necks afterward to end their sufferings. Nathan had kept -very quiet about his little game. There really was a very sly fox in the -neighborhood; but boys make good foxes too, sometimes.</p> - -<p style="clear:both;"> </p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ilpg145_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilpg145_sml.jpg" width="340" height="350" alt="A JANUARY THAW." /></a> -<br /> -<span class="caption">A JANUARY THAW.</span> -</p> - -<p>Nathan’s house was a typical New England home, with slanting roof on one -side, and embowered in maples, and it had the most picturesque barn in -the neighborhood. Oh you good people far off in the country everywhere, -how I envy you these dear old barns! How much you ought to appreciate -their homely rustic beauty! But you never will, until, like me, you are -forced to live away from them, and to see them only through the golden -haze of memory. Then you will learn how great a part they took in -influencing your daily life and happiness.</p> - -<p>Was ever perfume sweeter than that all-pervading fragrance of the<a name="page_146" id="page_146"></a> -sweet-scented hay? and was ever an interior so truly picturesque, so -full of quiet harmony?</p> - -<p>The lofty hay-mows piled nearly to the roof, the jagged axe-notched -beams overhung with cobwebs flecked with dust of hay-seed, with perhaps -a downy feather here and there. The rude, quaint hen boxes, with the -lone nest-egg in little nooks and corners. How vividly, how lovingly, I -recall each one!</p> - -<p>In those snow-bound days, when the white flakes shut in the earth down -deep beneath, and the drifts obstructed the highways, and we heard the -noisy teamsters, with snap of whip and exciting shouts, urge their -straining oxen through the solid barricade; when all the fences and -stone walls were almost lost to sight in the universal avalanche; and, -best of all, when the little district school-house upon the hill stood -in an impassable sea of snow—then we assembled in the old barn to play, -sought out every hidden corner in our game of hide-and-seek, or jumped -and frolicked in the hay, now stopping quietly to listen to the tiny -squeak of some rustling mouse near by, or, it may be, creeping -cautiously to the little hole up near the eaves in search of the -big-eyed owl we once caught napping there. In a hundred ways we passed -the fleeting hours. The general features of New England barns are all -alike; and the barn of memory is a garner full of treasure sweet as -new-mown hay. You remember the great broad double doors, which made -their sweeping circuit in the snow; the ruddy pumpkins, piled up in the -corner near the bins, and the wistful whinny of the old farm-horse, as -with pricked-up ears and eager pull of chain he urged your prompt -attention to your chores; the cows, too, in the manger stalls—how -pleasant their low breathing—how sweet their perfumed breath! Outside -the corn-crib stands, its golden stores gleaming through the open laths, -and the oxen, reaching with lapping upturned tongues, yearn for the -tempting feast, “so near and yet so far.” The party-colored hens group -themselves in rich contrast against the sunny boards of the -weather-beaten shed, and the ducks and geese, with rattling croak and -husky hiss, and quick vibrating tails (that strange contagion), waddle -across the slushy snow, and sail out upon the barn-yard pond.</p> - -<p>Here is the pile of husks from whose bleached and rustling sheaths you -picked the little ravellings of brown for your corn-silk cigarettes. Did -ever “pure Havana” taste as sweet?</p> - -<p>Near by we see the barracks stored with yellow sheaves of wheat. Soon we -shall hear the intermittent music of the beating flail on the old<a name="page_147" id="page_147"></a> barn -floor, now chinking soft on the broken sheaf, now loud and clear on the -sounding boards. Upon the roof above we see the cooing doves, with -nodding heads and necks gleaming with iridescent sheen. Turning, in -another corner we look upon a miscellaneous group of ploughs and rakes -and all the farm utensils, and harness hanging on the wooden pegs. -There, too, is the little sleigh we love so well. Could it but speak, -how sweet a story it could tell of lovely drives through romantic glens -and moonlit woods, of tender squeezes of the little hand beneath the -covering robe, of whispered vows, and of the encircling arm—a shelter -from the cold and cruel wind! But no—I’ll say no more: these are -memories too sacred for the common ear. And there’s the carry-all sleigh -just by its side. How well you’ll remember the merry loads it carried, -its three wide seats and space between packed full of jolly company! How -the hard-pressed snow squeaked beneath the gliding runners, as with -prancing span and jingling bells you sped down through the village -street, with waving handkerchiefs and cheerful greetings right and left! -How with “ducking” heads and muffled screams you ran the gauntlet past -the school-house mob; saw them scrambling for “a hitch,” and with -tantalizing<a name="page_148" id="page_148"></a> beckonings tipped your horses with the whip. Away you go -through the deep ravine, with a <i>jing, jing, jing</i> on the frosty air, -with voices high in merry laughs, amid loud hurrahs from the -“boysterous” crowd now far behind. Now you speed through a mist of -drifting snow, and the rosy cheeks tingle with the stinging icy flakes -flying before the wind. Now comes another chorus of piercing screams, as -the laden hemlock bough, tapped with mischievous whip, hurls down its -fleecy avalanche on coat and robe, on jaunty little hat—yes, and on a -small pink ear, and even down a pretty neck. Ah me! How is it possible -that a shriek like that could come from a throat so fair? But so you go, -with a <i>jing, jing, jing</i>, now past the mill-pond with its game, now up -the hill, now through the woods and far away, now farther still, the -silvery bells now scarcely heard, now fainter yet, till lost to sight -and sound—but not to memory dear; for all through life we shall hear -those happy jingling bells.</p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ilpg147_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilpg147_sml.jpg" width="335" height="243" alt="THE MOONLIGHT RIDE." /></a> -<br /> -<span class="caption">THE MOONLIGHT RIDE.</span> -</p> - -<p>And when, with ruddy faces and stamping feet, we all rush in and crowd -the old fireplace, how welcome the glowing warmth, how keen the relish -for the appetizing spread upon the snow-white table-cloth: the smoking -dish of beans, with crisp accompaniment of luscious pork; the hot brown -bread so sweet; and, last of all, the far-famed Indian pudding, fresh -and steaming from the old brick oven!</p> - -<p>How distinctly I recall those long and happy evenings around that -radiant hearth, the games, the stories read from welcome magazines! -Little we cared for the howling storm without. I hear the tick of the -ancient clock in the corner shadowed by the old arm-chair; I see the -glimmer on the whitewashed wall, the festooned strings of apples, sliced -and hung above the fire to dry; I hear the patient, expectant stroke of -hammer on the upturned log, and now the crackling burst of the -rough-shelled butternut, yielding up its long and filmy kernel; I hear -the apples sizzling on the hearth, the puffy snap of pop-corn jumping in -its fiery cage, the kettle singing on the pendent hook—a thousand -things; and what a precious living picture of sweet home-life they all -bring back to me!</p> - -<p>But look! there is another hidden picture in the book of life—a -shadowed page, which we had well-nigh forgotten. See that crouching -figure in the dark, deserted street—that spurned and wretched outcast, -without a home, without a friend! Perhaps if that broken heart has not -already ceased to yearn, if the last spark has not yet been smothered by -the driving, covering snow, we might still hear the faint and stifled -sobs:<a name="page_149" id="page_149"></a></p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ilpg149_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilpg149_sml.jpg" width="335" height="371" alt="THE SHADOWED PAGE." /></a> -<br /> -<span class="caption">THE SHADOWED PAGE.</span> -</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Once I was loved for my innocent grace,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Flattered and sought for the charm of my face.<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Father, mother, sisters, all,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">God, and myself, I have lost in my fall.<br /></span> -<span class="i1">The veriest wretch that goes shivering by<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Will take a wide sweep lest I wander too nigh,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">For of all that is on or about me, I know,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">There is nothing that’s pure but the beautiful snow.<br /></span> -<span class="i1">How strange it should be that this beautiful snow<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Should fall on a sinner with nowhere to go!<br /></span> -<span class="i1">How strange it would be, when the night comes again,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">If the snow and the ice struck my desperate brain,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Fainting, freezing, dying alone!”<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p><a name="page_150" id="page_150"></a></p> - -<p>Life’s book is full of shadowed pages such as this; and it were well if -in the midst of our contented homes, around our cheerful fires, we -stopped to think and give a silent, heart-felt prayer for those who, by -some strange, inexplicable fatality, seem doomed to walk with cruel -burdens and with bleeding feet the path of life: no helping hand, no -friend, no hope, no God.</p> - -<p>What a terrible night! Hark how the wind moans, like a long wail from -some despairing soul shut out in the awful storm! The air is filled with -dense clouds of flying snow and sleet chased along by the gale. The -trees bend and writhe, and, as if in fear, scratch their boughs upon the -roof; the driving flakes beat with an angry, hissing sound upon the -window-panes, and for a moment there is a muffled, ominous silence. Now -comes a wild and furious gust, and a great white whirlwind sweeps with -serpentine contortions past the window and disappears in the thick -darkness of the night. Our very walls sway and tremble to their -foundation. The clap-boards snap, and some loosened blind is torn from -its hinges and hurled as a feather before the raging wind. We hear a -crash of breaking glass, the shaking of the old barn doors, and now a -frightened neigh, half smothered in the storm.</p> - -<p>Who would venture out in such a night as this? We shudder at the -thought, and yet there is one whose holy sense of duty will see no -barrier even in this fierce tempest. Even now he is urging his faithful -horse onward through the lonely road, cold and benumbed, but thinking -only of the suffering he hopes to relieve.</p> - -<p>How well I remember the welcome stamping at the front door, the chinking -rattle of the tin box sounding nearer and nearer up the stairs, the tall -and stately figure entering the room, clad in great-coat reaching nearly -to the floor, the genial smile bringing both hope and comfort with its -very presence! And what a noble face! the shapely forehead, the snowy -tufts of close-cut hair, the magnetic, penetrating eyes, so deep and -dark, looking out from beneath the heavy jet-black brows, and the -clean-shaven cheeks and chin, of almost child-like bloom, relieved -against the whiteness of the stock about the throat! Never before were -winter and summer so strangely and beautifully blended in a human face. -But we shall see that face no more. Physician, friend, companion, all -were laid away with him, and sad indeed was the day that bore him from -us. And now, as I look down upon that humble grave, I would that others, -with the reverence I feel, might read the sacred epitaph inscribed upon<a name="page_151" id="page_151"></a> -my memory, of one whose only aim through life was the relief of -suffering and sorrow. In storm or calm, by day or night, he fulfilled -his holy mission. And when the fearful scourge swept o’er the town, and -filled its homes with woe; when friends deserted friends, and brothers -left their kin, this noble soul sought out the sick and dying, cared -tenderly for their sufferings until the end, and even laid the dead away -alone. A life of sacrifice, for rich or poor alike, without a thought of -self. Professing no religious faith—yea, <i>doubting</i> even; but finding -in the precept of the “golden rule” an inspiration worthy the devotion -and the effort of his life: “By their <i>fruits</i> ye shall know them.”</p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ilpg151_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilpg151_sml.jpg" width="338" height="214" alt="THE GOOD PHYSICIAN." /></a> -<br /> -<span class="caption">THE GOOD PHYSICIAN.</span> -</p> - -<p>And so the winter goes. It has its joys and its sorrows, its strong -contrasts of light and shadow. The bitter winds will freeze and rule the -earth, but the sun will shine again, and the very gloom transform to -glittering splendor. Soon we greet the lengthening days. The farmer -heeds the warning sign. The woods resound with the stroke of the axe and -crashing of falling trees; and the prostrate trunks are rolled upon the -sledge and hauled away “to mill;” the fields are strewn with compost, -and meadows sown with clover on the snow, fences are fixed, and hot-bed -started on the sunny slope; the cackling hens have felt the prophecy, -and steal away into snug little places among the hay-mows<a name="page_152" id="page_152"></a> and the -mangers, and lay the foundation of their future brood; the climbing -bitter-sweet lets fall its scarlet seeds, and the little pussies on the -willows grow day by day. How eagerly I always watched these welcome -signs! for even though I loved the winter, I never sorrowed at its -departure in the face of coming spring, with its promises of the medleys -of the birds, of unfolding buds, and those sweet shy faces soon to peep -along the wood-path, and breathe their fragrance from among the withered -leaves.</p> - -<p>I remember, too, the faded butterfly, flitting about the wood-shed roof. -His wings were torn and jagged at their edges, and their feathery beauty -had nearly all been left among last summer’s flowers. Warned by November -frosts, he had sought his winter shelter in some chink or crevice among -the loosened boards, where, benumbed and dormant, he had spent the -winter, awaiting the warmth of the returning sun to thaw him out, and -once more coax him into the outer world. As early as February, should -the day be mild, he would come out of his mysterious concealment and -bask in the warm sunshine. Presently he alights upon the end of a -birch-log in the wood-pile, and sips the sweet exuding sap. He is soon -joined by another, and another, until a swarm has gathered at the feast. -As the day declines, they retire again to the wood-shed, and there, -huddled together on the rafters, await their next opportunity of mild -and sunny weather. Even in a January thaw I have seen one of these faded -butterflies that had left his hiding-place to tantalize a troop of hens -around the barn-yard door.</p> - -<p>I remember the torrent of rain and the freshet; the broken dams and -bridges washed away. The softened ground yielded up its subterranean -frosts; in all the trees the winter wounds bled with the quickened -pulse; the elder spigots in the sugar-maples trickled all the day; and -the neighboring farms echoed with the snap of whip and voice of eager -teamsters, as the busy plough turned the dark-brown furrows, or the -crushing harrow combed the crumbling mould. How welcome were the -evidences of returning life among the low meadow-lands, where -velvety-green tufts of sprouting grass circled the borders of the marshy -pools, and the golden willow twigs bathed the brook-side in a luminous -glow! Here, too, the alders hung their swinging tassels or trailed them -o’er the surface of the swollen stream.</p> - -<p>One by one the feathered flocks returned, and the little snow-birds and -the buntings, seeing their place usurped, left for the northward<a name="page_153" id="page_153"></a> -region, to lend their cheerful voices to another winter. Then came a -beautiful day, with mild, earth-scented breezes, like very spring. But -at night the north wind came again to reassert its power, and the earth -was once more subdued beneath the snow. And so for weeks the north wind -battled with the sun,</p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ilpg153_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilpg153_sml.jpg" width="327" height="529" alt="" /></a> -</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Till at last the sweet Arbutus<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Nestling close on Nature’s breast<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Felt a throb · a warm pulsation<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Rouse it from its dreamy rest·<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Throwing wide its little portals<br /></span> -<span class="i2">From its coverlet of snow<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It peeped forth from the leafy shelter<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Into a valley white below·<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Am I dreaming? · Shall the Winter<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Stifle and freeze my early breath<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nay · hark! · I hear the Bluebird singing<br /></span> -<span class="i2">’Spring has come’ he answereth·<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Ah! Frost-flower in thy grotto yonder<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Crystal sun-gem white and clear<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thy reign must cease when I awaken<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Farewell! pale bloom · thy fate draws near·<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Bleak Winter is thine<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Love’s Spring-time is mine·<br /></span> -</div></div> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Pastoral Days, by William Hamilton Gibson - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PASTORAL DAYS *** - -***** This file should be named 41278-h.htm or 41278-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/1/2/7/41278/ - -Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images available at The Internet Archive) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: Pastoral Days - or Memories of a New England Year - -Author: William Hamilton Gibson - -Release Date: November 3, 2012 [EBook #41278] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PASTORAL DAYS *** - - - - -Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images available at The Internet Archive) - - - - - - - - -PASTORAL DAYS - - - - -PASTORAL DAYS -OR -MEMORIES OF A NEW ENGLAND YEAR - -BY - -W. HAMILTON GIBSON - -Illustrated - -NEW YORK - -HARPER & BROTHERS, FRANKLIN SQUARE - -1881 - -Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1880, by - -HARPER & BROTHERS, - -In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. - -_All rights reserved._ - - -TO - -ONE WHOSE CLOSE COMPANIONSHIP - -HAS WROUGHT THAT HARMONY AND PEACE OF MIND FROM WHICH THIS -BOOK HAS SPRUNG, AND TO WHOM ITS EVERY PAGE RECALLS -A REMINISCENCE OF THE PAST IDENTIFIED -WITH MEMORIES OF MY OWN - -This Memoir is Lovingly Inscribed - -OUR SOUVENIR - -[Illustration] - - - - -THE CYCLE. - - -SPRING: PAGE - -_The Awakening_.....19 - -SUMMER: - -_The Consummation_.....51 - -AUTUMN: - -_The Waning_.....91 - -WINTER: - -_The Sleep_.....125 - - - - -ILLUSTRATIONS. - -DESIGNED BY W. HAMILTON GIBSON. - - -TITLE. ENGRAVER.....PAGE - -THE KINDLED FLAME W. H. CLARK.....18 - -THE AWAKENING H. GRAY.....19 - -A SPRING MORNING F. S. KING.....21 - -CATKINS JOHN FILMER.....23 - -PUSSIES " ".....23 - -EARLY PLOUGHING H. WOLF.....25 - -THE RETURN FROM THE FIELDS GEORGE SMITH.....26 - -VOICES OF THE NIGHT JOHN FILMER.....27 - -A RAINY DAY J. HELLAWELL.....29 - -A HANDFUL FROM THE WOODS H. GRAY.....32 - -AFTER ARBUTUS J. TINKEY.....34 - -THE FAIRY FROND J. P. DAVIS.....35 - -AN APRIL DAY GEORGE SMITH.....36 - -AMONG THE WILD FLOWERS SMITHWICK and FRENCH.....37 - -THE COLUMBINE R. HOSKIN.....38 - -THE MEADOW BROOK " ".....40 - -THE PHOEBE'S NEST W. H. MORSE.....41 - -BUILDING THE NEST HENRY MARSH.....42 - -IN THE APPLE ORCHARD R. HOSKIN.....43 - -LITTLE PLUNDERERS A. HAYMAN.....45 - -ONE OF NATURE'S MARVELS H. MARSH.....46 - -BLUE-FLAGS R. HOSKIN.....47 - -THE CONSUMING FLAME W. H. CLARK.....50 - -THE CONSUMMATION N. ORR.....51 - -DOLCE FAR NIENTE F. S. KING.....55 - -THE OLD GARRET F. JUENGLING.....56 - -AMID THE GRASSES F. S. KING.....58 - -EVEN-TIDE G. KRUELL.....60 - -THROUGH THE SEDGES R. HOSKIN.....62 - -AMONG THE BOGS J. TINKEY.....63 - -SOME ART CONNOISSEURS R. HOSKIN.....64 - -PROFESSOR WIGGLER J. FILMER.....65 - -THE TYRANT OF THE FIELDS H. E. SCHULTZ.....67 - -FAMILIAR FACES AT THE -VILLAGE STORE R. A. MULLER.....70 - -A SOUVENIR SMITHWICK and FRENCH.....72 - -ALONG THE HOUSATONIC GEORGE SMITH.....74 - -JUDD'S BRIDGE P. ANNIN.....78 - -THE HAUNTED MILL J. HELLAWELL.....79 - -PURSUERS AND PURSUED GEORGE ANDREW.....81 - -TOLLING FOR THE DEAD R. SCHELLING.....83 - -WRECKS OF THE TORNADO J. FILMER.....84 - -PASSING THOUGHTS H. GRAY.....86 - -THE SMOULDERING FLAME " ".....90 - -THE WANING A. HAYMAN.....91 - -"EVERY BREEZE A SIGH" F. S. KING.....93 - -AN OCTOBER DAY SMITHWICK and FRENCH.....96 - -A WAY-SIDE PASTORAL J. HELLAWELL.....97 - -WAIFS HENRY MARSH.....100 - -IN THE CORNFIELD W. MILLER.....102 - -THE ROAD TO THE MILL E. HELD.....105 - -THE CIDER-MILL J. P. DAVIS.....107 - -THE "LINE STORM" R. HOSKIN.....109 - -A POINTED REMINDER J. FILMER.....111 - -AFTER THE SHELL-BARKS GEORGE SMITH.....113 - -A CORNER OF THE FARM J. TINKEY.....115 - -BEECH-NUTTING W. H. MORSE.....118 - -THE NORTH WIND MORSE and HOSKIN.....120 - -DESERTED HENRY DEIS.....121 - -THE FLAME EXTINGUISHED H. GRAY.....124 - -THE SLEEP J. TINKEY.....125 - -THE TOMB J. P. DAVIS.....127 - -SNOW-FLAKES OF MEMORY GEORGE SMITH.....129 - -THE OLD MILL-POND H. GRAY.....131 - -THE FIRST SNOW GEORGE SMITH.....133 - -MUTE PROPHECIES H. E. SCHULTZ.....135 - -THE TWITCH-UP F. S. KING.....137 - -THE WINTER'S DARLING HENRY MARSH.....139 - -WHO'S THAT? H. WOLF.....140 - -SUNSHINE AND SHADOW IN THE -WOODS R. HOSKIN.....141 - -A SUNNY CORNER W. H. MORSE.....143 - -WINTER BROWSING SMITHWICK and FRENCH.....144 - -A JANUARY THAW J. FILMER.....145 - -THE MOONLIGHT RIDE J. HELLAWELL.....147 - -THE SHADOWED PAGE J. TINKEY.....149 - -THE GOOD PHYSICIAN R. SCHELLING.....151 - -THE FULFILMENT SMITHWICK and FRENCH.....153 - - - - -SPRING. - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration: THE AWAKENING] - -[Illustration] - - -As far as the eye can reach, the snow lies in a deep mantle over the -cheerless landscape. I look out upon a dreary moor, where the horizon -melts into the cold gray of a heavy sky. The restless wind sweeps with -pitiless blast through shivering trees and over bleak hills, from whose -crests, like a great white veil, the clouds of hoary flakes are lifted -and drawn along by the gale. Down the upland slope, across the -undulating field, the blinding drift, like a thing of life, speeds in -its wild caprice, now swirling in fantastic eddies around some isolated -stack, half hidden in its chill embrace, now winding away over -bare-blown wall and scraggy fence, and through the sighing willows near -the frozen stream; now with a wild whirl it flies aloft, and the dark -pines and hemlocks on the mountain-side fade away in its icy mist. -Again, yonder it appears trailing along the meadow, until, flying like -some fugitive spirit chased from earth by the howling wind, it vanishes -in the sky. On every side these winged phantoms lead their flying chase -across the dreary landscape, and fence and barn and house upon the hill -in turn are dimmed or lost to sight. - -Who has not watched the strange antics of the drifting snow whirling -past the window on a blustering winter's day? But this is not a winter's -day. This is the advent of a New England spring. - -Fortunate are we that its promises are not fulfilled, for the ides of -March might as oft betoken the approach of a tempestuous winter as of a -balmy spring. Consecrated to Mars and Tantalus, it is a month of -contradictions and disappointments, of broken promises and incessant -warfare. It is the struggle of tender awakening life against the -buffetings of rude and blighting elements. No man can tell what a day -may bring forth. Now we look out verily upon bleak December; -to-morrow--who knows?--we may be transported into May, and, with -aspirations high, feel our ardor cooled by a blast of ice and a blinding -fall of snow. But this cannot always last, for soon the southern breezes -come and hold their sway for days, and the north wind, angry in its -defeat, is driven back in lowering clouds to the region of eternal ice -and snow. Then comes a lovely day, without even a cloud--all blue above, -all dazzling white below. The sun shines with a glowing warmth, and we -say unto ourselves, "This is, indeed, a harbinger of spring." The -sugar-maples throb and trickle with the flowing sap, and the lumbering -ox-team and sled wind through the woods from tree to tree to relieve the -overflowing buckets. The boiling caldron in the sugar-house near by -receives the continual supply, and gives forth that sweet-scented steam -that issues from the open door, and comes to us in occasional welcome -whiffs across the snow. Long "wedges" of wild-geese are seen cleaving -the sky in their northward flight. The little pussies on the willows -are coaxed from their winter nest, and creep out upon the stem. The -solitary bluebird makes his appearance, flitting along the thickets and -stone walls with little hesitating warble, as if it were not yet the -appointed time to sing; and down among the bogs, that cautious little -pioneer, the swamp-cabbage flower, peers above the ground beneath his -purple-spotted hood. He knows the fickle month which gives him birth, -and keeps well under cover. - -[Illustration: CATKINS.] - -[Illustration: PUSSIES.] - -Such days in March are too perfect to endure, and at night the sky is -overcast and dark. Then follows a long warm rain that unlocks the ice in -all the streams. The whiteness of the hills and meadows melts into broad -contracting strips and patches. One by one, as mere specks upon the -landscape, these vanish in turn, until the last vestige of winter is -washed from the face of the earth to swell the tide of the rushing -stream. Even now, from the distant valley, we hear a continuous muffled -roar, as the mighty freshet, impelled by an irresistible force, ploughs -its tortuous channel through the lowlands and ravines. The quiet town is -filled with an unusual commotion. Excited groups of towns-people crowd -the village store, and eager voices tell of the havoc wrought by the -fearful flood. We hear how the old toll-bridge, with tollman's house and -all, was lifted from its piers like a pile of straw, and whirled away -upon the current. How its floating timbers, in a great blockade, crushed -into the old mill-pond; how the dam had burst, and the rickety red -saw-mill gone to pieces down the stream. Farmer Nathan's barn had gone, -and his flat meadows were like a whirling sea, strewn with floating -rails and driftwood. Every hour records its new disaster as some eager -messenger returns from the excited crowds which line the river-bank. How -well I remember the fascinating excitement of the spring freshet as I -watched the rising water in the big swamp lot, anxious lest it might -creep up and undermine the wall foundations of the barn! And what a -royal raft I made from the drifting logs and beams, and with the spirit -of an adventurous explorer sailed out on the deep gliding current, -floating high among the branches of the half submerged willow-trees, and -scraping over the tips of the tallest alder-bushes, whose highest twigs -now hardly reached the surface! How deep and dark the water looked as I -lay upon the raft and peered into the depths below! But this jolly fun -was of but short duration. The flood soon subsided, and on the following -morning nothing was seen excepting the settlings of _debris_ strewn -helter-skelter over the meadow, and hanging on all the bushes. - -The tepid rain has penetrated deep into the yielding ground, and with -the winter's frost now coming to the surface, the roads are well-nigh -impassable with their plethora of mud. For a full appreciation of _mud_ -in all its glory, and in its superlative degree, one should see a New -England highway "when the frost comes out of the ground." The roads are -furrowed with deep grimy ruts, in which the bedabbled wheels sink to -their hubs as in a quicksand, and the hoofs of the floundering horse are -held in the swampy depths as if in a vise. For a week or more this state -of things continues, until at length, after warm winds and sunny days, -the ground once more packs firm beneath the tread. This marks the close -of idle days. The junk pile in the barn is invaded, and the rusty plough -abstracted from the midst of rakes and scythes and other farming tools. -The old white horse thrusts his long head from the stall near by, and -whinnies at the memories it revives, and with pricked-up ears and -whisking tail tells plainly of the eagerness he feels. - -[Illustration: EARLY PLOUGHING.] - -Back and forth through the sloping lot the ploughman slowly turns the -dingy sward, and in the rich brown furrow, following in his track, we -see the cackling troop of hens, and the lordly rooster, with great ado, -searches out the dainty tidbits for his motley crowd of favorites. The -whole landscape has become infused with human life and motion. Wherever -the eye may turn it sees the evidences of varied and hopeful industry. -Yonder we notice an oft-recurring little puff of mist, like a burlesque -snow-drift, ever and anon bursting into view, and softly vanishing -against the sward; another glance detects the slow progress of horse and -cart, as the farmer sows his load of plaster across the whitening field. -Farther up, where the brow of the hill stands clear against the sky, a -pacing figure, with measured sweep of arm, scatters the handfuls of -wheat, and team and harrow soon are in his path, combing and crumbling -the dark-brown mould. High curling wreaths of smoke wind upward from the -flat swamp lot beyond, where hilarious boys enjoy both work and play in -burning off the brush. Here we shall see the first welcome nibble of -fresh grass for the poor bereaved cow, whose lamenting bleat now echoes -through the barn near by; and for those oxen, too, that with swaying, -clumsy gait lug the huge roller across the neighboring field. And what -strange yells and exclamations guide them in their labored progress! "Ho -back! Gee up, ahoy! Ho haw!" From every direction, in voices near, and -others faint with distance, we hear this same queer jargon. Who could -believe that so much good work hung upon the incessant reiteration of -that brief and monotonous vocabulary? Rather would we listen to the -musical ring of the laughing children riding on the big "brush harrow" -down through that barn-yard lane beyond. Now they are out upon the -broken ground where John has strewn the "compost" to be "brushed in." A -broad flat wake follows them around the field, and that same troop of -hens and turkeys revel in the lively feast spread out before them in the -loose upturning. - -[Illustration: RETURN FROM THE FIELDS.] - -[Illustration: VOICES OF THE NIGHT.] - -So runs the record of a busy day in the early New England springtime, -and with its all-absorbing industry it is a day that passes quickly. The -afternoon runs into evening. Cool shadows creep across the landscape as -the glowing sun sinks through the still bare and leafless trees and -disappears behind the wooded hills. The fields are now deserted, and -through the uncertain twilight we see the little knots of workmen with -their swinging pails, and hear their tramp along the homeward road. In -the dim shadows of the evergreens beyond, a faint gray object steals -into view. Now it stops at the old watering-trough, and I hear the sip -of the eager horse and the splash of overflowing water. Some belated -ploughman, fresh, perhaps, from a half-hour's gossip at the village -store. I hear the sound of hoofs upon the stones as they renew their -way, the dragging of the chain upon the gravelly bed, and the receding -form is lost in the darkening road. One by one the scattered barns and -houses have disappeared in the gathering dusk, marked only by the faint -columns of blue smoke that rise above the trees, and melt away against -the twilight sky. I look out upon a wilderness of gloom, where all above -is still and clear, and all below is wrapped in impenetrable mystery. A -plaintive piping trill now breaks the impressive stillness. Again and -again I hear the little lonely voice vibrating through the low-lying -mist. It is only a little frog in some far-off marsh; but what a sweet -sense of sadness is awakened by that lowly melody! How its weird minor -key, with its magic touch, unlocks the treasures of the heart. Only the -peeping of a frog; but where in all the varied voices of the night, -where, even among the great chorus of nature's sweetest music, is there -another song so lulling in its dreamy melody, so full of that emotive -charm which quickens the human heart? How often in the vague spring -twilight have I yielded to the strange, fascinating melancholy awakened -by the frog's low murmur at the water's edge! How many times have I -lingered near some swampy roadside bog, and let these little wizards -weave their mystic spell about my willing senses, while the very air -seemed to quiver in the fulness of their song! I remember the tangle of -tall and withered rushes, through whose mysterious depths the eye in -vain would strive to penetrate at the sound of some faint splash or -ripple, or perhaps at the quaint, high-keyed note of some little -isolated hermit, piping in his sombre solitude. I recall the first -glimpse of the rising moon, as its great golden face peered out at me -from over the distant hill, enclosing half the summit against its broad -and luminous surface. Slowly and steadily it seemed to steal into view, -until, risen in all its fulness, I caught its image in the trembling -ripples at the edge of the soggy pool, where the palpitating water -responded to the frog's low, tremulous monotone. Higher and higher it -sails across the inky sky, its glow now changed to a silvery pallor, -across whose white halo, in a floating film, the ghostly clouds glide in -their silent flight. A dull tinkling of some distant cow-bell breaks -the spell, and recalls my wandering thoughts, and as I again take up my -way along the moonlit road, the glimmering windows on right and left -betray the hiding-places of a score of humble homes. Not far beyond I -see the swinging motion of a flickering lantern, as some tardy farmer's -boy, whistling about his work, clears up his nightly chores. Now he -enters the old barn-door. I see the light glinting through the open -cracks, and hear the lowing of the cows, the bleating of the baby-calf, -and rattling chains of oxen in the stanchion rows. Now again I catch the -gleam at the open door; the swinging light flits across the yard, and -the old corn-crib starts from its obscurity. I see the boyish figure -relieved against the glow within as a basketful of yellow ears are -gathered for the impatient mouths in the noisy manger stalls. Sing on, -my boy, enjoy it while you may! That venerable barn will yield a -fragrance to you in after-life that will conjure up in your heart a -throng of memories as countless as the shining grains that glimmer in -the light you hold, and as golden, too, as they. I wonder if those -soft-winged bats squeak among the clapboards, or make their fluttering -zigzag swoops about your lantern as they were wont to do in olden times. - -Then there was that big-eyed owl, too, that perched upon the maple-tree -outside my window, and cried as if its heart would break at the doleful -tidings it foretold. What a world of kind solicitude that dolorous bird -awakened in our superstitious neighbor across the road! How she -overwhelmed us with her sympathy, aroused by that sepulchral omen! But I -still live, and so does the owl, for aught I know; and I sometimes think -that this aged, stooping dame over the way has never fully recovered -from her disappointment, for she always greets me with a sigh and an -injured expression, as she says, in her high and tremulous voice, "Well! -well! back agin ez hale 'n hearty 's ever; an' arter the way thet ar -witch bird yewst teu call ye, too, night arter night. Jest teu _think_ -on't! an' we'd all a' gi'n ye up fer sartin. Well! well! I never see the -beat on't. Yen deu seem teu hang on _paowerful_;" and, after a moment's -hesitation, seemingly in which to swallow the bitter pill, she usually -adds, with sad solicitude, "Feelin' perty _tol'ble teu_, I spose?" But -the "witch bird" never roused my serious apprehensions. I remember its -plaintive cry only as a tender bit of pathos in the pages of my early -history. - -[Illustration: A RAINY DAY.] - -I recall, too, the pleasant sound upon the shingles overhead as the -dark-clouded sky let fall its tell-tale drops to warn us of the coming -rain. How many times have I glided into dream-land under the drowsy -influence of the patter on the roof, and the ever varying tattoo upon -the tin beneath the dripping eaves! Who can forget those rainy days, -with their games of hide-and-seek in the old dark garret! How we looked -out upon the muddy puddled road, and laughed at the great drifting -sheets of water that ever and anon poured down from some bursting cloud, -and roared upon the roof! And as the driving rain beat against the -blurred window-panes, what strange capers the squirming tree-trunks -outside seemed to play for our amusement: the dark door-way of the barn, -too--now swelling out to twice its size, now stretching long and thin, -or dividing in the middle in its queer contortions. Out in the dismal -barn-yard we saw the forlorn row of hens huddled together on the -hay-rick, under the drizzling straw-thatched shed; and the gabled coop -near by, in whose dry retreat the motherly old hen spread her tawny -wings, and yielded the warmth of her ruffled breast to the tender needs -of her little family, peeping so contentedly beneath her. The rain-proof -ducks dabble in the neighboring puddles, and chew the muddy water in -search of floating dainties, or gulp with nodding heads the unlucky -angle-worms which come struggling to the surface--drowned out of their -subterranean tunnels. - -Now we hear the snapping of the latch at the foot of the garret stairs, -and we are called to come and see a little outcast that John has brought -in from the wood-pile. Close beside the kitchen-stove a doubled piece of -blanket lies upon the floor, and within its folds we find what once was -a downy little chicken, now drenched and dying from exposure. He was a -naughty, wayward child, and would persist in thinking that he knew more -than his mother. At least so I was told--indeed, it was impressed upon -me. But the little fellow was rescued just in time. The warmth will soon -revive him, and by-and-by we shall hear his little chirp and see him -trot around the kitchen-floor, pecking at that everlasting fly, perhaps, -or at some tiny red-hot coal that snaps out from the stove. - -Little did we suspect the mission of those rainy days, so drear and -dismal without, or the sweet surprise preparing for us in the myriad -mysteries of life beneath the sod, where every root and thread-like -rootlet in the thirsty earth was drinking in that welcome moisture, and -numberless sleeping germs, dwelling in darkness, were awakening into -life to seek the light of day, waiting only for the glory of a sunny -dawn to burst forth from their hiding-places! That sunny morn does come -at last, and in its beams it sheds abroad a power that stirs the deepest -root. It is, indeed, a glorious day. The clustered buds upon the -silver-maples burst in their exuberance, and fringe the graceful -branches with their silken tassels. The restless crocus, for months an -unwilling captive in its winter prison, can contain itself no longer, -and with its little overflowing cup lifts up its face to the blue -heaven. Golden daffodils burst into bloom on drooping stems, and -exchange their little nods on right and left. The air is filled with a -faint perfume, in which the very earth mould yields its fragrance--that -wild aroma only known to spring. Our little feathered friends, so few -and far between as yet, are full of song. The bluebird wooes his mate -with a loving warble, full of tender sweetness, as they flit among the -swaying twigs, or pry with diligent search for some snug nesting-place -among the hollow crannies of the orchard trees. The noisy blackbirds -hold high carnival in the top of the old pine-tree, the woodpecker taps -upon the hollow limb his resonant tattoo, and the hungry crows, like a -posse of tramps, hang around the great oak-tree upon the knoll, and -watch to see what they can steal. Down through the meadow the gurgling -stream babbles as of old, and along its fretted banks the alder thickets -are hanging full with drooping catkins swinging at every breeze. The -glossy willow-buds throw off their coat of fur, and plume themselves in -their wealth of inflorescence, lighting up the brook-side with a yellow -glow, and exhaling a fresh, delicious perfume. Here, too, we hear the -rattling screech of the swooping kingfisher, as with quick beats of wing -he skims along the surface of the stream, and with an ascending glide -settles upon the overhanging branch above the ripples. All these and a -thousand more I vividly recall from the memory of that New England -spring; but sweetest of all its manifold surprises was that crowning -consummation, that miracle of a single night, bringing on countless -wings through the early morning mist the welcome chorus of the returning -flocks of birds. How they swarmed the orchard and the elms, where but -yesterday the bluebird held his sway! Now we see the fiery oriole in his -gold and jetty velvet flashing in the morning sun, and robins without -number swell their ruddy throats in a continuous roundelay of song. The -pert cat-bird in his Quaker garb is here, and with flippant jerk of tail -and impertinent mew bustles about among the arbor-vitaes, where even now -are remnants of his last year's nest. The puffy wrens, too, what saucy, -sputtering little bursts of glee are theirs as they strut upon the -rustic boxes in the maples! The fields are vocal with their sweet spring -medley, in which the happy carols of the linnets and the song sparrows -form a continuous pastoral. Now we hear the mellow bell of the wood -thrush echoing from some neighboring tree, and all intermingled with the -chatter and the gossip of the martens on their lofty house. Birds in the -sky, birds in the trees and on the ground, birds everywhere, and not a -silent throat among them; but from far and near, from mountain-side and -meadow, from earth and sky, uniting in a happy choral of perpetual -jubilee. - -[Illustration: A HANDFUL FROM THE WOODS.] - -Down in the moist green swamp lot the yellow cowslips bloom along the -shallow ditch, and the eager farmer's wife fills her basket with the -succulent leaves she has been watching for so long; for they'll tell you -in New England that "they ain't noth'n' like caowslips for a mess o' -greens." Near by we see the frog pond, with lush growth of arrow leaves -and pickerel weed, and flat blades of blue-flag just starting from the -boggy earth. Half submerged upon a lily pad, close by the water's edge, -an ugly toad sits watching for some winged morsel for that ample mouth -of his. - -Who could believe that so much poetic inspiration could emerge from such -a mouth as that; for verily it is this miserable-looking toad that lifts -his little voice in the dreamy, drowsy chorus of the twilight. All sorts -of odium have been heaped upon the innocent toad; but he only returns -good for evil. He is the farmer's faithful friend. He guards his garden -by day, and lulls him to sleep by night. Yonder, near those withered -cat-tails, we see the village boys among the calamus-beds, pulling up -the long white roots tipped with pink and fringed with trickling -rootlets. What visions of candied flag-root stimulate them in their -zeal! I can almost see the tender, juicy leaf-bud screened beneath that -smooth pink sheath, and its aromatic pungency is as fresh and real to me -as this appetizing fragrance that comes to us from the green tufts of -spearmint we crush beneath our feet at every step. Bevies of swallows -all around us skim through the air, like feathered darts, in their -twittering flight; and the restless starling, like a field-marshal, with -his scarlet epaulets, keeps sharp lookout for the enemy, and "flutes his -O-ka-lee" from the high alder-bush at the slightest approach upon his -chosen ground. Yonder on the wooded slope the feathery shad-tree blooms, -like a suspended cloud of drifting snow lingering among the gray twigs -and branches; and chasing across the matted leaves beneath, a lively -troop of youngsters, girls and boys, make the woods resound with their -boisterous jubilee. A jolly band of fugitives fresh from the stormy -week's captivity--spring buds bursting with life, with a pent-up store -of spirits that finds escape in an effervescence of ringing laughs and -in a din of incessant jabber. Well I know the buoyant exhilaration that -impels them on in their reckless frolic, as they skip from stone to -stone across the rippling stream, or "stump" each other on the -treacherous crossing-pole which spans the deep still current! Now I see -them huddle around the trickling grotto among the mossy bowlders in the -steep gully yonder, where the mountain spring bubbles into a crystal -pool. Alas! how quickly its faint blue border of hepaticas is rifled by -the ruthless mob! Now they clamber up the great gray rocks beneath the -drooping hemlocks, stopping in their headlong zeal to snatch some -trembling cluster of anemone, nodding from its velvety bed of moss; now -plunging down on hands and knees, shedding innocent blood among an -unsuspecting colony of fragile bloom--those glowing blossoms so welcome -in the early spring! Who does not know the bloodroot--that shy recluse -hiding away among the mountain nooks, that emblem of chaste purity with -its bridal ring of purest gold? Who has not seen its tender leaf-wrapped -buds lifting the matted leaves, and spreading their galaxy of snowy -stars along the woodland path? - -Then there was the shy arbutus, too. Where in all the world's bouquet is -there another such a darling of a flower? And where in all New England -does that darling show so full and sweet a face as in its home upon that -sunny slope I have in mind, and know so well? Was ever such a fragrant -tufted carpet spread beneath a hesitating foot? Even now, along the -lichen-dappled wall upon the summit, I see the lingering strip of snow, -gritty and speckled, and at its very edge, hiding beneath the covering -leaves, those modest little faces looking out at me--faces which seemed -to blush a deeper pink at their rude discovery. No other flower can -breathe the perfume of the arbutus, that earthy, spicy fragrance, which -seems as though distilled from the very leaf-mould at its roots. Often -on this sunny slope, so sheltered by dense pines and hemlocks, have -these charming clusters, pink and white, burst into bloom beneath the -snow in March; and even on a certain late February day, we discovered a -little, solitary clump, fully spread, and fairly ruddy with the cold. -Here, too, we found the earliest sprays of the slender maidenhair; that -fairy frond and loveliest among ferns, with black and lustrous stems, -and graceful spread of tender gauzy green. - -[Illustration: AFTER ARBUTUS.] - -Where was the nook in all that hill-side woods that we left unsearched -in our April ramblings? I recall the "tat," "tat" upon the dry carpet of -beech leaves, as the delicate anemone in my hand is dashed by a falling -drop! Lost in eager occupation, we had not observed the shadow that had -stolen through the forest; and now, as we look out through the trees, we -see the steel-blue warning of the coming shower, and feel the first gust -of the tell-tale breeze--how the willows wave and gleam against the deep -gray clouds, so weirdly reflected in the gliding stream beneath, like an -open seam to another sky! See the silvery flashes of that flock of -pigeons circling against the lurid background. No, we cannot stop to -see them, for the rain-drops begin to patter thick and fast. Away we -scamper to the shelter of the overhanging rocks. The lowering sky rolls -above us through the branches. The glassy surface of the brook takes on -a leaden hue as the rain-cloud drags its misty veil across the distant -meadows. The brown leaves jump and spatter at my feet, and the blue -liverwort flowers on right and left duck their heads like little living -things dodging the pelting rain-drops. - -[Illustration: THE FAIRY FROND.] - -Oh, the lovely fickleness an April day! Even now the distant hill is lit -up by the bursting sun. Nearer and nearer the gleam creeps across the -landscape, chasing the shower away, and in a moment more the meadows -glow with a freshened green, and the trees stand transfigured in -glistening beads flashing in the sunbeams. The quickened earth gives -forth its grateful incense, and even an enthusiastic frog down in the -lily-pond sends up his little vote of thanks. - -[Illustration: AN APRIL DAY.] - -April's woods are teeming with all forms of life, if one will only look -for them. On every side the ferns, curled up all winter in their dormant -sleep, unroll their spiral sprays, and reach out for the welcome sun. -The spicy colt's-foot, or wild ginger, lifts its downy leaves among the -mossy rocks and crevices, and its homely flower just peeps above the -ground, and, with a lingering glance at the blushing _Rue anemone_ close -by, hangs its humble head, never to look up again. High above us the -eccentric cottonwood-tree dangles its long speckled plumes, so silvery -white. Now we hear a mellow drumming sound, as some unsuspecting grouse, -concealed among the undergrowth near by, beats his resonant breast. -Could we but get a glimpse of him, we would see him simulate the -barn-yard gobbler, as with proud strut and spreading tail he disports -himself upon some fallen log or mossy rock. Perhaps, too, that coy mate -is near, admiring his show of gallantry, and holding a sly flirtation. - -[Illustration: AMONG THE WILD FLOWERS.] - -Look at this craggy precipice of rock, lost above among the -green-tasselled evergreens, and trickling with crystal drops from every -drooping sprig of moss. How its rugged surface is painted with the -mottled lichens of every hue, here like a faint tinge of cool -sage-green, and there in large brown blotches of rich color! See the -fringe of ferns that bursts from the fissure across its surface. There -the trillium hangs its three-cleft flower of rich maroon; and later we -shall see the fern-like spray of Solomon's-seal swinging its little row -of straw-colored bells from the ledge above. Airy columbines, too, shall -float their scarlet pendants on fragile stems, and with their graceful -nod tell of the slightest breeze, when all else is still. What is that -cinnamon-brown bird that hops along the stone wall yonder? Now he -alights upon the tulip-tree, and swells his speckled breast in a series -of short experiments--a broken song, in which every note or call has -its twin echo. A "mocking-thrush" he is, indeed, for he mimics his own -song from morn till night in all the thickets and pasture-lands. Take -care there! why, you almost trod upon that feathery tuft of "Dutchman's -breeches." Oh, who is he that dared to clothe this sweet blossom in such -an ignominious title? Where is the Dutchman that ever wore -unmentionables of such exquisite pink satin as that pale _dicentra_ -wears? No wonder their little broken hearts droop at the insult! - -[Illustration: THE COLUMBINE.] - -The grotesque Jack-in-the-pulpit, rising above that crumbling log, is -named more to my mind. There he stands beneath his striped canopy, and -preaches to me a sermon on the well-remembered rashness of my youth in -trifling with that subterranean bulb from which he grows. But I ignored -his warning in those early days. I only knew that a real nice boy across -the way seemed very fond of those little Indian turnips, called them -"sugar-roots," and said that they were full of honey. And as he bit off -his eager mouthful, and refused to let me taste, I sought one for -myself, and, generous boy that he was, he showed me where to find the -buried treasure. It was like a small turnip, an innocent-looking affair -(and so was the nice boy's modelled piece of apple, by-the-way). But oh! -the sudden revelation of the red-hot reservoir of chain-lightning that -crammed that innocent bulb! Even as I think of it, how I long once more -to interview that real nice boy who opened up the mysteries of the -"sugar-root" to my tempted curiosity. Let boys beware of this wild, -red-hot coal; and should they be impelled by a desire to test the -unknown flavor, let them solace themselves with a less dangerous mixture -of four papers of cambric needles and a spoonful of pounded glass. This -will give a faint suggestion of the racy pungency of the Indian turnip. -Were some kind friend at the present day to seek to kill me off with -poisoned food, I should forthwith have him arrested on a charge of -attempted murder, and incarcerated in the county jail. But what would be -wilful homicide in the man is only a guileless proof of friendship in -the boy, and his affections and their symptoms present a living paradox; -and those boisterous days, with all their fond caresses in the way of -fights and bruises and black eyes, and even Indian turnips, we all agree -were full of fun the like of which we never shall see again. - -[Illustration: MEADOW BROOK.] - -How well we remember those tramps along the meadow brook: the dark, -still holes beneath the overhanging rocks, where, with golden slipping -loop and pole and cautious creep, we wired those lazy, unsuspecting -"suckers" on the gravelly bed below! Ah! what scientific angling with -the rod and reel in later years has ever brought back the keen tingle of -that primitive sport? The great green bull-frogs, too, in the lily-pond, -disclosing their cavernous resources as they jumped and splashed and -sprawled after the tantalizing bit of red flannel on that dangling hook! -We recall that rickety bridge among the willows, and the mossy nest of -mud so firmly fixed upon the beam beneath. How could we be so deaf to -the pleading of those little phoebe-birds that fluttered so beseechingly -about us? Then there was that deep hole in the sand-bank near the -brook, where the burrowing kingfisher hid away his nest, where we -watched in the twilight to see him enter, and, with big round stone in -readiness, "plugged" him in his den! What fun it was to dig him out, and -ventilate his musty nest of fish-bones! The starling in the thicket of -the swamp circled through the air with angry "Quit! quit!" as we picked -our way through the bristling bogs so close upon her nest. We'll not -forget that false step that sent us sprawling in the green slimy mud, at -the first electrifying glimpse of those brown spotted eggs. The -high-holer, too, whose golden gleam of wing upon the bare dead tree -betrayed his nesting-place in the hollow limb--was ever such a stimulus -offered to the eagerness of youth? Who would give a second thought to -his tender shins at the prospect of such a prize as a nest of -high-hole's eggs? How round and white they were! how the pale golden -yolk floated beneath the pearly shell! Those were jolly days for us; but -the poor birds had to suffer, and few, indeed, were the nests that -escaped our prying search. There was the cat-bird in the evergreens, -with lovely eggs of peacock blue; the pure white treasures of the -swallows in the mud nests under the barn-yard eaves; the sky-blue -beauties of the robin; the brown speckled eggs in the sheltered nest of -song-sparrows on the grassy slope; the dear little eggs of chippies in -their horse-hair bed, and in their midst the insinuated specimen of the -cheeky cow-blackbird: there were eggs of every shape and hue, and we -knew too well where to put our hand on them. - -[Illustration: THE PHOEBE'S NEST.] - -[Illustration: BUILDING THE NEST.] - -In a flowering hawthorn outside our window we watched a loving pair -building their pensile nest among the thorns and blossoms. How incessant -was their solicitude for that fragile framework until its strength was -fully assured against the tossing breeze! Tenderly and eagerly they -helped each other in the disposition of those ravellings of string and -strips of bark! he stopping every now and then to whisper sweetly to his -mate, as she, with drooping, trembling wings, put up her little open -bill to kiss. Yes, we often saw this little tender episode, as we -watched them through the shutters of the half-closed blinds! Now he -flies away; and the little spouse, thus left alone, jumps into the nest, -and we see its mossy meshes swell as she fits the deep hollow to her -feathery breast. Presently her consort returns, trailing along a -gossamer of cobweb, which he throws around the supporting thorn, and -leaves for her to spread and tuck among the crevices. Again he appears, -with his tiny bill concealed in a silvery puff of cotton from the willow -catkins in the swamp; next he brings a wisp of long gray moss; now a -curly flake of rich brown lichen, or a jagged square of birch bark, all -of which are laid against the nest, and half covered with films of -cobweb. Once more we see his tiny form among the hawthorn blossoms as he -tugs a papery piece of hornets' nest through the pink barricade. This is -arranged to hang beneath as a pendant to their floating fabric, and the -happy little couple sit together upon a neighboring twig in twittering -admiration. And well they may, for a prettier nest than theirs never -hung upon a thorn. Not perfect yet, it seems, however, for that little -feminine eye has seen the need of one more touch. Away she flies, and in -a minute more a downy feather, tipped with iridescent green, is adjusted -in the cobwebs. - -[Illustration: IN THE APPLE ORCHARD.] - -This dainty little work of art is only one of the thousands that -everywhere are building in the blooming trees and thickets. These are -the supreme moments of the spring, consecrated to the loves of bird and -blossom. Every little winged form that scarcely bends the twig has its -all-consuming passion, and every tree its wedding of the flower. Out in -the orchard the apple-trees are laden in veritable domes of pink-white -bloom, as if by the rare spectacle of a rosy fall of snow, and from -among the dewy petals the army of bees give forth their low, continuous -drone--that sympathetic chord in the universal harmony of spring. How -they revel in that rich harvest! Who knows what sweet messages are borne -from flower to flower upon those filmy wings? - -On the green slope beneath, the scattered dandelions gleam like drops of -molten gold upon the velvety sward, and a lounging family group, intent -upon that savory noonday relish, gather the basketfuls of the dainty -plants for that appetizing "mess of greens." Often, while thus engaged, -have I stopped to watch the antics of the festive bumblebee, tumbling -around in the tufted blossom--always an amusing sight. See how he rolls -and wallows in the golden fringe, even standing on his head and kicking -in his glee! Presently, with his long black nose thrust deep into the -yellow puff, he stops to enjoy a quiet snooze in the luxurious bed--an -endless sleep, for I generally took this chance to put him out of his -misery, preferring, perhaps, to watch the robin hopping across the lawn. -Now he stops, and seems to listen; runs a yard or so, and listens again, -and without a sign of warning dips his head, and pulls upon an unlucky -angle-worm that much prefers to go the other way. It is a well-known -fact that angle-worms approach the surface of their burrows at the sound -of rain-drops on the earth above. I sometimes wonder if the robin in its -quick running stroke of foot intends to simulate that sound, and thus -decoy its prey. - -I remember the wild tumult of a troop of boys upon the hill-side, -tracking the swarming bees as they whirled along in a living tangle -against the sky, now loosening in their dizzy meshes, now contracting in -a murmuring hum around their queen, and finally settling on a branch in -a pendent bunch about her. So tame and docile, too! seeming utterly to -forget their fiery javelins as they hung in that brown filmy mass upon -the bending bough! "A swarm of bees in May iz wuth a load o' hay." So -said our neighbor, as with fresh clean hive he secured that prized -equivalent. Here they are soon at home again, and we see their steady -winged stream pouring out through the little door of their -treasure-house, and the continual arrival of the little dusty -plunderers, laden with their smuggled store of honey, and their -saddle-bags replete with stolen gold. Down near the brook they find a -land of plenty, literally flowing with honey, as the luxuriant drooping -clusters of the locust-trees yield their brimful nectaries to the -impetuous, murmuring swarm. But there is no lack now of flowery sweets -for this buzzing colony. On every hand the meadow-sweets and milkweeds, -the brambles, and the fragrant creeping-clover show their alluring -colors in the universal burst of bloom, and not one escapes its tender -pillaging. - -[Illustration] - -Up in the woods the gray has turned to tender green. The flowering -dog-wood has spread its layers of creamy blossoms, giving the signal for -the planting of the corn, and in the furrowed field we see that -dislocated "man of straw," with old plug hat jammed down upon his face, -with wooden backbone sticking through his neck-band, and dirty thatch -for a shirt bosom--a mocking outrage on any crow's sagacity. Those -glittering strips of tin, too! Could you but interpret the low croaking -of the leader of that sable gang in yonder tree, you might hear of the -appalling effect of these precautions. I heard him once as I sat quietly -beneath a forest tree, and in the light of later events I readily -recalled his remarks upon the occasion: "Say, fellers! look at that old -fool down there hanging out those tins to show us where his corn is -planted. Haw! haw! I swaw! cawn! cawn! we'll go down thaw and take a -chaw!" And they did; and they perched upon that old plug hat, and looked -around for something to get scared about. A single look at a crow shows -that he has a long head, and it is not all mouth either. - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration: BLUE-FLAGS.] - -Every day now makes a transformation in the landscape. The golden stars -upon the lawn are nearly all burnt out: we see their downy ashes in the -grass. Their virgin flame is quenched, and naught remains but those -ethereal globes of smoke that rise up and float away with every breeze. -Where is there in all nature's marvels a more exquisite creation than -this evanescent phoenix of the dandelion? Beautiful in life, it is -even more beautiful in death. And now the high-grown grass is cloudy -with its puffs, whose little fairy parachutes are sailing everywhere, -over mountain-top and field. Here the corn has appeared in little waving -plumes, and the horse and cultivator are seen breaking up the soil -between the rows. Great snowy piles of cloud throw their gliding shadows -across the patchwork of ploughed fields and meadows, fresh and green -with winter wheat, or tinged with newly sprouting grain. The sunbeams -glow with a summer warmth, and the evaporation of the morning dews lifts -the glistening diamonds from the gossamer films among the grass, and -sends a quivering haze all through the air, in which the distant trees -tremble in a softened glimmer. The woods are screened in dense foliage, -and through the leafy canopy the merry birds dart and sing. - -The chickadees are here, and scarlet tanagers gleam like living bits of -fire among the tantalizing leaves. Pert little vireos hop inquisitively -about you, and the bell note of the wood-thrush echoes from the hidden -tree-top overhead. Perhaps, too, you may chance upon a downy brood of -quail cuddling among the dry leaves; but, even though you should, you -might pass them by unnoticed, except as a mildewed spot of fungus at the -edge of a fallen log or tree-stump, perhaps. The loamy ground is shaded -knee-deep with rank growth of wood plants. The mossy, speckled rock is -set in a fringe of ferns. Palmate sprays of ginseng spread in mid-air a -luxurious carpet of intermingled leaves, interspersed with yellow spikes -of loosestrife and pale lilac blooms of crane's-bill; and the -poison-ivy, creeping like a snake around that marbled beech, has -screened its hairy trunk beneath its three-cleft shiny leaves. The -mountain-laurel, with its deep green foliage and showy clusters, peers -above that rocky crag; and in the bog near by a thicket of wild azalea -is crowned with a profusion of pink blossoms. - -Out in the swamp meadow the tall clumps of boneset show their dull white -crests, and the blue flowers of the flag, the mint, and pickerel weed -deck the borders of the lily pond. The waddling geese let off their -shrieking calliopes as they sail out into the stream, or browse with -nodding twitch along the grassy bank. Swarms of yellow butterflies -disgrace their kind as they huddle around the greenish mud-holes, and we -hear on every side the "z-zip, z-zip," amidst the din of a thousand -crickets and singing locusts among the reeds and rushes. The meadows -roll and swell in billowy waves, bearing like a white-speckled foam upon -their crests a sea of daisies, with here and there a floating patch of -crimson clover, or a golden haze of butter-cups. Rising suddenly from -the tall grass near by, the gushing brimful bobolink crowds a -half-hour's song into a brief pell-mell rapture, beating time in mid-air -with his trembling wings, and alighting on the tall fence-rail to regain -his breath. A coy meadow-lark shows his yellow-breast and crescent above -the windrow yonder, and we hear the ringing beats of whetted scythes, -and see the mowers cut their circling swath. - -Mowing! Why, how is this? This surely is not Spring. But even thus the -Springtime leads us into Summer. No eye can mark the soft transition, -and ere we are aware the sweet fragrance of the new-mown hay breathes -its perfumed whisper, "Behold, the Spring has fled!" - - - - -SUMMER. - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration: THE CONSUMMATION] - -[Illustration] - - -"All out for Hometown." There is an epidemic of eagerness, a general -bustle for satchels and bundles, and the car is soon almost without a -passenger; and, indeed, it would really seem as though the whole train -had landed its entire human burden upon this platform; for Hometown is a -popular place, and every Saturday evening brings just such an exodus as -this: Husbands and fathers who fly from the hot and crowded city for a -Sunday of quiet and content with their families, who year after year -have found a refuge of peace and comfort in this charming New England -town. Where is it? Talk with almost any one familiar with the -picturesque boroughs of the Housatonic, and your curiosity will be -gratified, for this village will be among the first to be described. - -From the platform of the car we step into the midst of a motley -assemblage, rustic peasantry and fashionable aristocracy intermingled. -Anxious and eager faces meet you at every turn. For a few minutes the -air fairly rings with kisses, as children welcome fathers, and fathers -children. Strange vehicles crowd the depot--vehicles of all sizes and -descriptions, from the veritable "one-hoss shay" to the dainty -basket-phaeton of fashion. One by one the merry loads depart, while I, a -pilgrim to my old home, stand almost unrecognized by the familiar faces -around me. Leaning up against the porch near by, stands a character -which, once seen, could never be forgotten. His face is turned from me, -but the old straw hat I recognize as the hat of ten years ago, with brim -pulled down to a slope in front, and pushed up vertically behind, and -the identical hole in the side with the long hair sticking through. Yes, -there he stands--Amos Shoopegg. I step up to him and lay my hand upon -his shoulder. With creditable skill he unwinds the twist of his -intricate legs, and with an inquiring gaze turns his good-natured face -toward me. - -"Is it possible that you don't remember me, Shoop?" - -With an expression of surprise he raises both his arms. "Wa'al, thar! I -swaiou! I didn't cal'late on runnin' agin yeu. I was jes drivin' hum -from taown-meetin', an' thought as haow I'd take a turn in, jest out o' -cur'osity. Wa'al, naow, it's pesky good to see yeu agin arter sech a -long spell. I didn't re_cog_nize ye at fust, but I swan when ye began -a-talkin', that was enuf fer me. Hello! fetched yer woman 'long tew, -hey? Haow air yeu, ma'am? hope ye'er perty tol'ble. Don't see but what -yeu look's nateral's ever; but yer man here, I declar for't, he got the -best on me at fust;" and after having thus delivered himself, he -swallowed up our hands in his ample fists. - -"Yes, Shoop, I thought I'd just run up to the old home for a few days." - -"Wa'al, I swar! I'm tarnal glad to see ye, and that's a fact. Anybody -cum up arter ye? No? Well, then, s'posin' ye jest highst into my team." -So saying, he unhitched a corrugated shackle-jointed steed, and backed -around his indescribable impromptu covered wagon--a sort of a hybrid -between a "one-hoss shay" and a truck. - -"'Tain't much of a kerridge fer city folks to ride in, that's a fact," -he continued, "but I cal'late it's a little better'n shinnin' it." After -some little manoeuvring in the way of climbing over the front seat, we -were soon wedged in the narrow compass, and, with an old horse-blanket -over our knees, we went rattling down the hill toward the village and -home of my boyhood. - -Years have passed since those days when, as a united family, we dwelt -under that old roof; but those who once were children are now men and -women, with divided interests and individual homes. The old New England -mansion is now a homestead only in name, known so only in recollections -of the past and the possibilities of the future. - -"Wa'al, thar's the old house," presently exclaimed Amos, as we neared -the brow of a declivity looking down into the valley below. "Don't look -quite so spruce as't did in the old times, but Warner's a good keerful -tenant, 'tain't no use talkin'. I cal'late yeu might dig a pleggy long -spell afore yeu could git another feller like him in this 'ere patch." - -In the vale below, in its nest of old maples and elms, almost screened -from view by the foliage, we look upon the familiar outlines of the old -mansion, its diamond window in the gable peering through the branches at -us. "Skedup!" cried Amos, as he urged his pet nag into a jog-trot down -the hill, through the main street of the town. The long fence in front -of the homestead is soon reached, a sharp turn into the drive, a "Whoa, -January!" and we are extricated from the wagon. - -"Wa'al, I'll leave ye naow. I guess ye kin find yer way around," said -Shoop, as with one outlandish geometrical stride he lifted himself into -the wagon. Cordially greeted by our hostess, with repeated urgings to -"make ourselves at home," we were shown to our room. The house, though -clad in a new dress, still retained the same hospitable and cosy look as -of old. - -[Illustration: OLD HOMESTEAD AND GARRET.] - -Hometown, owing to some early local faction, is divided into two -sections, forming two distinct towns. One, Newborough, a hill-top -hamlet, with its picturesque long street, a hundred feet in width, and -shaded with great weeping elms that almost meet overhead; and the other, -Hometown proper, a picturesque little village in the valley, cuddling -close around the foot of a precipitous bluff, known as Mount Pisgah. A -mile's distance separates the two centres. The old homestead is -situated in the heart of Hometown, fronting on the main street. The -house itself is a series of after-thoughts, wing after wing and gable -after gable having clustered around the old nucleus, as the growth of -new generations necessitated increased accommodation. Its outward aspect -is rather modern, but the interior, with its broad open fireplaces, and -accessaries in the shape of cranes and fire-dogs, is rich with all the -features of typical New England; and the two gables of the main roof -enclose the dearest old garret imaginable--at present an asylum for the -quaint possessions of antique furniture and bric-a-brac, removed from -their accustomed quarters on the advent of the new host. It is to this -sanctuary that my footsteps first lead me, and, with a longing that will -not be withstood, I find myself in front of the great white door. I lift -the latch; a cool pungent odor of oak wood greets me as I ascend the -steep stairs--an odor that awakens, like magic, a hundred fancies, and -recalls a host of memories long forgotten. Every stair seems to creak a -welcome, as when, on the rainy days of long ago, we sought the cosy -refuge to hear the patter on the roof, or to nestle in the dark, obscure -corners in our childish games. At the head of the stairs rises the -ancient chimney, cleft in twain at the foot, with the quaint little -cuddy between. Above me stretch the great beams of oak, like iron in -their hardness. Yonder is the queer old diamond window looking out upon -the village church, its panes half obscured by the dusty maze of webs. -To the left, in a shadowy corner, stands the antiquated wheel--a relic -of past generations. Long gray cobwebs festoon the rafters overhead, and -the low buzzing of a wasp betrays its mud nest in the gable above. A -sense of sadness steals over me as I sit gazing into this still chamber. -On every side are mementos of a happy past, and all, though mute, -speaking to me in a language whose power stirs the depths of my soul. -Wherever the eye may turn, it meets with a silent greeting from an old -friend, and the whole shrouded in a weird gloom that lends to the most -common object an air of melancholy mystery. And yet it is only a garret. -There are some, no doubt, for whom this word finds its fitting synonyme -in the dictionary, but there are others to whom it sings a poem of -infinite sweetness. - -Looking through the dingy window between the maple boughs, my eye -extends over lawn and shrubberies, three acres in extent--a little park, -overrun with paths in every direction, through ancient orchard and -embowered dells, while far beyond are glimpses of the wooded knolls, the -winding brook, and meadows dotted with waving willows, and farther still -the ample undulating farm. - -[Illustration: AMONG THE GRASSES.] - -It is in such a place as this that I have sought recreation and change -of scene. My wife and I have run away from the city for a month or so. A -vacation we call it; but to an artist such a thing is rarely known in -its ordinary sense, and often, indeed, it means an increase of labor -rather than a respite. My first week, however, I had consecrated to -luxurious idleness. Together we wandered through the old familiar -rambles where as boy and girl in earlier days we had been so oft -together. Day after day found us in some new retreat. There were dark -cool nooks by sheltered streams, spicy groves of pine and spruce, -wooded slopes and rocky dells, and meadows rich with summer bloom, where -idle butterflies flitted lazily on the wing; where meadow lilies nodded -in billowing fields, and the daisies and red clover waved about our -knees half screened in feathery purple grasses that spread their cloudy -mist all through the blossoming maze. We heard the music of the scythe, -and, sitting in the deep cool grass beneath the maple shade, we watched -the circling motion of the mowers in the field--saw the forkfuls of the -hay tossed in the drying sun, and breathed the perfumed air that floated -from the windrows. We sauntered by the meadow brook where willows -gleamed along the bank, and overhanging alders threw their sombre -shadows in the quiet pools: where the ground-nut, and the meadow-rue, -and the creeping madder fringed the tangled brink, and every footstep -started up some agile frog that plunged into the unseen water. We stood -where rippling shallows gurgled under festooned canopies of fox-grape, -and the leaning linden-trees shut out the sky o'erhead and intertwined -their drooping branches above the gliding current. Here, too, the -weather-beaten crossing-pole makes its tottering span across the stream, -and deep down beneath the bank the rainbow-tinted sunfish floats on -filmy fins above his yellow bed of gravel, and we catch a flashing gleam -of a silvery dace or shiner turning in the water. - -Now we confront a rude slab fence, an ancient landmark, that terminates -its length at the edge of the stream, where its gray and crumbling -boards are secured with rusty nails against the trunk of a tall -buttonwood-tree. A loosened slab is easily found, and we are soon upon -the other side; and after picking our way through a forest of -bush-elders, we emerge upon an open lot of low flat pasture-land, known -always as the "old swamp meadow." No other five acres on the face of the -earth are so dear to me as this neglected field. I know its every rise -and fall of ground, its every bog, and its lush greenness is refreshing -even to the thought. - -It is a luxuriant garden of all manner of succulent and juicy -vegetation; an outbursting extravagance of plant life of almost tropical -exuberance. All New England's most majestic and ornamental flora seem -congregated in its congenial soil; and even when a boy I learned to know -and love them all, and even call them by their names. - -Here are towering stems of iron-weed lifting high their scattered purple -crowns, and in their midst the woolly clumps of boneset, its white -flowered cushions intermingling with the dense pink tufts of -thorough-wort. - -On every side we overlook whole patches of these splendid blossoms, with -their crests closely crowded in a mosaic of pink and white. And here's a -bed of peppermint and spearmint, interspersed with flaming spikes of -cardinal lobelia; and here a lusty plant of Indian mallow, entangled in -a maze of gold-thread and smart-weed. Here are massive burdocks six feet -high, and great trees of jimson-weed, with their large spiral flowers -and thorny pods. - -High fronds of chain-fern rise up on every side from a jungle of -bur-marigolds and clotburs, and tear-thumbs, with their saw-toothed -stems and tiny bunches of pink blossoms. - -No inch of ground in the old swamp lot but which does its tenfold duty; -and what it lacks in quality of produce it amply makes up in quantity. -Even a neighboring bed of clean-washed gravel is overrun with creeping -mallow, with its rounded leaves and little "cheeses" down among their -shadows. - -[Illustration: EVEN-TIDE.] - -Farther on we see the lily-pond, with its surrounding swamp and its -legion of crowded water-plants. Here are rank, massive beds of -swamp-cabbage, and lofty cat-tails by the thousand among the bristling -bogs of tussock-sedge and bulrush. Here are calamus patches, and alder -thickets, and sedges without number; and the prickly carex and blue-flag -abound on every side. There are galingales and reeds, and tall and -graceful rushes, turtle-head and jointed scouring grass, and horse-tail, -besides a host of other old acquaintances, whose faces are familiar, but -whose names I never knew. But they were all my friends in boyhood. I -knew them in the bud and in the blossom, and even in their winter -skeletons, brown and broken in the snow. Near by there is a ditch: you -never would know it, for it is completely hidden from view beneath an -interlacing growth of jewel-weed. But see that gorgeous mass of deep -scarlet that floods the farther bank! Nowhere within a circuit of miles -around is there such a regal display of cardinal flowers as this: -skirting the borders of the ditch for rods and rods, clustering about a -ruined, tumbling fence, whose moss-grown pickets are almost hidden in -the dense profusion of bloom. - -Then there is its airy companion, the "touch-me-not," with its -translucent, juicy stem, and its queer little golden flowers with -spotted throats--the "jewel-weed" we used to call it. I know not why, -unless from the magic of its leaf, which, when held beneath the water, -was transformed to iridescent frosted silver. We all remember its -sensitive, jumping seed-pods, that burst even at our approach for fear -that we should touch them; but no one can fully appreciate the beauty of -the plant who has not seen its silvery leaf beneath the water. Here it -justifies its name, for it is indeed a jewel. - -How often in those olden times have I lain down among these bulrushes -and sedges near the lily pond, and listened to the buzzing songs of the -crickets and the tiny katydids that swarmed the growth about me, and -filled the air with their incessant din. I remember the little colony of -ants that picked their way among the rushes; that gauzy dragon-fly too, -that circled and dodged about the water's edge, now skimming close upon -the surface, now darting out of sight, or perhaps alighting on an -overhanging sedge, as motionless as a mounted specimen, with wings -aslant and fully spread. "Devil's darning-needles" they were called. The -devil may well be proud of them; for darning-needles of such precious -metals and such exquisite design are rare indeed. They were of several -sizes too. Some were large, and flashed the azure of the sapphire; -others fluttered by with smoky, pearly wings, and slender bodies -glittering in the light like animated emeralds: and another I well -remember, a little airy thing, with a glistening sunbeam for a body, and -wings of tiny rainbows. - -[Illustration] - -I remember how I watched the disturbed motion of the arrow-heads out in -the water, as the cautious turtles worked their way among them, and -crawled out upon the stump close by. - -Here they huddled together, a dozen or more, with heads erect, and -turning from side to side as they surveyed the surrounding carpet of -lily-pads, or listened to the bass-drum chorus of the great green -bull-frogs among the pickerel-weed; and when I jumped and yelled at -them, what a rolling, sprawling, splashing in the mud! It fairly makes -me laugh to think of it. But there is hardly a leaf or wisp of grass in -this old swamp lot but what brings back some old association or pleasant -reminiscence. - -[Illustration] - -For a week thus we idled, now on the mountain, now in the meadow, while -I, with my sketch-book and collecting-box, either whiled away the hours -with my pencil, or left the unfinished work to pursue the tantalizing -butterfly, or search for unsuspecting caterpillars among the weeds and -bushes. - -[Illustration: SOME ART CONNOISSEURS.] - -[Illustration: PROFESSOR WIGGLER.] - -On a sprig of black alder I found one--the same little fellow as of old, -afflicted with the peculiarities of all his progenitors. We used to call -him "Professor Wiggler," owing to an hereditary nervous habit of -wiggling his head from side to side when not otherwise employed. To -this little humpbacked creature I am indebted for a great deal of past -amusement. Distinctly I remember the whack-whack-whack on the inside of -the old pasteboard box as the captive pets threatened to dash out their -brains in their demonstrations at my approach. Professor Wiggler is -really a most remarkable insect, as one might readily imagine from his -scientific name, for in learned circles this individual is known as Mr. -Gramatophora Trisignata. He has many strange eccentricities. At each -moult of the skin he retains the shell of his former head on a long -vertical filament. Two or three thus accumulate, and, as a consequence, -in his maturer years he looks up to the head he wore when he was a -youngster, and ponders on the flight of time and the hollowness of -earthly things, or perhaps congratulates himself on the increased -contents of his present shell. When fully grown, he stops eating, and -goes into a new business. Selecting a suitable twig, he gnaws a -cylindrical hole to its centre and follows the pith, now and then -backing out of the tunnel, and dropping the excavated material in the -form of little balls of sawdust. At length he emerges from the hollow, -and again drawing himself in backward, spins a silken disk across the -opening, and tints it with the color of the surrounding bark. Here he -spends the winter, and comes out in a new spring suit in the following -May. Only recently I had in my possession several of these twigs with -their enclosed caterpillars, and in every one the color of the silken -lid so closely matched the tint of the adjacent bark, although -different in each, that several of my friends, even with the most -careful scrutiny, failed to detect the deceptive spot. Whether the -result of chance or of the instincts of the insect, I do not know; but -certain it is that he paints with different colors under varying -circumstances. - -Insect-hunting had always been a passion with me. Large collections of -moths and butterflies had many times accumulated under my hands, only to -meet destruction through boyish inexperience; and even in childhood the -love for the insect and the passion for the pencil strove hard for the -ascendency, and were only reconciled by a combination which filled my -sketch-book with studies of insect life. - -There was one inhabitant of our fields which had always been to me a -never-failing source of entertainment. There he is, the gilded tyrant. I -see him now swinging to and fro on his glistening nest of silken -threads, his golden yellow form glowing in bold relief against the dark -recess in the brambles. My sketch is left in the grass, and I am soon -seated in front of the gossamer maze. A festive grasshopper jumps up -into my face, and makes a carom on the web. With a spasmodic snap of one -hind leg he extricates it from its entanglement, and in another instant -would fall from the meshes; but the agile spider is too quick for him. -With a movement so swift as almost to elude the eye, he draws from his -body a silver cloud of floss, and with his long hind legs throws it over -his captive. The head and tail of the grasshopper are now further -secured, after which the spider carefully straddles around the -struggling insect, and bites off the other radiating webs in close -proximity. The unlucky prey now hangs suspended across the opening. With -business-like coolness his tormentor dangles himself from the edge of -the torn web, and another cataract of glistening floss is thrown up and -attached to the under side of the prisoner, after which he is turned -round and round, as if on a spit. The stream of floss is carried from -head to foot, and in less time than it takes to describe it the victim -is wrapped in a silken winding-sheet, and soon meets his death from the -poisoned fangs of his captor. Here is but one of the thousands of -tragedies that are taking place every hour of the day in our fields. -While deeply interested in the closing scenes of this one, I suddenly -become aware of a shadow passing over the bushes. I turn my head, and -meet the puzzled and pleasant gaze of Amos Shoopegg, as he stands there, -hands in pockets, and milk-pail swinging from his wrist. - -[Illustration: THE TYRANT OF THE FIELDS.] - -"Wa'al, thar," he exclaims, banging down one brawny fist on his uplifted -knee. "Buggin' agin, I swaow! Hain't yeu got over thet yit? What yeu kin -find so mighty fine in them 'ere bugs beats me." - -"Amos," I replied, "there's a great deal more in these bugs than you -imagine." - -"A pleggy sight, I suppose," he resumed. "What specie o' critter ye got -hold on naow?" and he stretched forward his fringed and weather-beaten -neck, and peered over the brambles. "What is't ye got -thar--straddle-bug?" He came still nearer, and looked at the spider. -"Wa'al, darn my pictur ef 'tain't an old yeller-belly! P'r'aps you don't -know that them critters is pizen. Why, Eben Sanford's gal got all chawed -up by one on 'em. Great Sneezer!" he exclaimed, taking three or four -strides backward, with both hands uplifted. I had merely raised my hand -and gently smoothed the spider. - -"Wa'al," he continued, "yen kin rub 'em daown ef yeu pleze; but fer _my_ -part, I'd ruther keep off abaout a good spittin' distance"--which was -the Shoopegg way of expressing a length of about fifteen feet. Amos was -crossing lots for his "caow," he said; but in spite of his plea that the -"old heiffer" was "bellerin'" like "Sam Hill," and was "gittin' 'tarnal -on-easy," I made him tarry sufficiently long to enable me to send him -off a wiser man. - -Amos Shoopegg is a type of a large class of the native element of -Hometown. Of course, "Shoopegg" is not his actual name. In the long line -of his prided Puritan ancestry no one ever bore it before him. This is -only an affectionate epithet given him by the village boys full twenty -years ago, and it has stuck to him closer than a brother ever since, as -those festive surnames always do. Nominally, Amos was a farmer. In -summer he was one in fact, and could swing off as pretty a swath in -haying as any man in town. But in the winter he changed his vocation, -and became a disciple of the "waxed-end." All day long he could be seen, -closeted with a little red-hot stove, plying his trade in his small, -square shop, up near the old red school-house. Here he pounded on the -big lapstone on his knees, or, with strap and foot-stick in position, -punched and tugged around the edge of those marvellous brogans. He made -slings and leather "suckers" for the boys, and furnished them with all -the black-wax they could chew--or stow-away, to stick between the lining -of their pockets. And the huge wooden shoe-pegs that he drove beneath -his hammer were a sight to behold. The man who used his "cheap line of -goods" might verily say he walked upon a wood-pile. - -So they dubbed him "Shoe-peg," or "Shoop" for brevity. There are others -among his neighbors who would furnish an inexhaustible source of study -to the student of character. There's old Rufus Fairchild, known as -"Roof," a rotund specimen of rural jollity, his round face set in -dishevelled locks of gray, with a twinkle in his eye and a good word for -everybody. And there's Father Tomlinson, who keeps the post-office down -by the dam, as genial an old fellow as ever wrapped up his throat in a -white stock. And I might almost continue the list indefinitely. But -there is one I must especially mention; and, now that I think of it, he -really should have headed the list, for he stands alone--or at least he -does _sometimes_. If you are in search of the embodiment of typical -Erin, you need go no farther; here he is. This individual represents -another nationality which swells the population of Hometown--the -hard-working laborers who toil in the great factory down in the glen, -called "Satan's Misery." The above personage is one of the best-hearted -creatures in the town; but it is the old story, and the world to him is -enclosed in the compass of a barrel-hoop. When last I saw him he was in -an evident decline, but as I put my finger on his wrist I could still -feel the pulsations of the whiskey coursing through his veins. - -"Look here, my good fellow," I said to him one day, "why don't you taper -off a little? If you keep on in this way, you'll be in your grave in -less than a month. How would you like that?" - -"Arrah, begorra," he replied, with a look of hopeful resignation, "if I -cud awnly be shure o' me gude skvare dthrink in the other wurrld, oi -wudn't moind." - -The record of a single evening spent in the village store, with its -rural jargon and homespun yarns, its odd vernacular and rustic gossip, -would make a volume as rare and unique as the characters it would -depict. - -The store itself is a matchless picture in its way, and for variety in -accessory is as rich as could be wished for. The low, murky ceiling, -hung with all manner of earthly goods--scythes and rakes, boots and -pails, in pendulous array; bottles and boxes, brooms and breast-pins, -are here--in short, everything that heart could wish or thought suggest, -from speckled calicoes to seven-cent sugar, or from a three-tined fork -to a goose-yoke. Evening after evening, for an hour or so, I was tempted -thither, until I found the week had gone. Sunday came again--Sunday in -New England. The old bell swung on its wheel in the belfry, ringing out -its call to devotion, and ere the echo had died in the recesses of the -mountain beyond the still atmosphere reverberated with an answering peal -from the little sister church in the valley below, as the scattered -groups with strolling steps wend their way to "meeting," and the gay -loads from Newborough go flitting by on the accustomed Sunday drive. - -Monday dawned on Hometown. It found me up and doing. I had enjoyed one -week of glorious loafing, but work was the programme for the next. I -went to Draper's Inn and engaged a horse and buggy "until further -notice." "A spang-up team" he called it, and it would be up "in half a -jiffy." We were waiting for it when it came, and what with our variety -of luggage in the shape of canvases, color-boxes, hammocks, camp-seats, -and easels, every bit of available space in that buggy was well -utilized. Before the clock has struck nine, we are spinning along down -through the village, now past the store, now over the bridge, and -turning to the right, we glide by the little post-office, as the kind -face of Father Tomlinson nods a "good-bye" from the door-way. - -A little farther, and we have left the little slope-roofed school-house -in our path, and are soon ascending the long hill of Zoar, from which we -look back four miles to the cliff and nestling town. In ten minutes more -we approach the brow of a steep declivity, and the broad Housatonic -opens up to view, winding off into the misty mountains in the distance. -There is now a drive of half a mile along the side of a wild -mountain-slope, where mountain-laurels grow in wild profusion, and the -rooty, overhanging banks are tufted with rich green moss, overgrown with -checker-berries and arbutus. The river roars far down below us, and for -a few minutes our eyes feast on as lovely an extent of varied New -England landscape as is easily found. And yet this is only a short -section of one of the many matchless drives that follow the course of -this beautiful river around the borders of Hometown. - -[Illustration: FAMILIAR FACES AT THE VILLAGE STORE.] - -Suddenly we leave the stream as it glides away on an abrupt turn beneath -the crescent of a rocky precipice, and before we have fairly lost the -sound of the ripples we have arrived at our journey's end. A pair of -bars under an old butternut-tree mark the place. The carriage is backed -to the side of the road, and the horse turned loose in the rocky meadow. -This is Joab Nichols's "pasture lot," with fodder consisting principally -of huge boulders, hardhack, and spleenwort; to be sure, with a stray -relish of "butter-and-eggs" here and there, and a thousand white saucers -of wild carrot handy to go with them. One or two trips across the field -bring all our luggage, and we are soon enjoying cool comfort in the -hemlock shade of a fairy grotto. Above us the babbling brook bounds and -splashes over mossy rocks, disappearing in a mass of creamy foam, from -under which it eddies toward us only to plunge twenty feet into a -miniature canyon below. Again, yonder it bubbles into a whirling pool, -where the bordering ferns bend and nod above its buoyant surface; and -now gliding from view beneath the tangle of drooping boughs, it -disappears only to burst forth once more in its merry song as it rushes -over the rapids. - - "I chatter, chatter as I go, - To join the brimming river; - For men may come and men may go, - But I go on forever." - -Here in this wild retreat I have found my sylvan studio--shut in by -fringed and fragrant evergreens, enlivened by the undergrowth of -feathery fronds, and the shimmer of the beech, as the tracery of -overhanging boughs trembles in the gentle breeze. Day after day finds us -in this little paradise, and as one in luxurious hammock swings away the -hours, now lost in fiction, now in short repose, or perhaps with busy -needle fashions graceful figures in Kensington design, the canvas on the -easel shows a fortnight's constant care, and the palette changes to a -keepsake of a sunny memory--a tinted souvenir. - -For two weeks the gurgling brook sang to us in this wild retreat. As -evening after evening closed in upon us, the unfinished pictures were -stowed away in horizontal crevices between the rocks, and, with hammock -still swinging in the trees, we left the gloom to the hooting owl, that -evening after evening, with tremulous cry, proclaimed the twilight hour -from the tall hemlock overhead. Ere long the murmuring Housatonic -shimmers below us in the moonlight as we hurry on our homeward way, and -the distant lights of Hometown are soon seen glimmering; through the -evening mist. The old bridge now rumbles through the darkness its signal -of our return, and the host of Draper's Inn is seen awaiting us at the -illumined door-way. A quiet, cosy supper, and in the rays of a gleaming -lantern, held aloft to light our path, we follow our lengthening shadows -to the old front gate. Repeat this day's record fourteen times, and you -have the sum of a happy experience, with but one drawback: it had an -end--an end that would have left its reaction, were it not for the store -of increased pleasure that awaited us for the few closing days of our -pilgrimage--for me, at least, although in other scenes, its climax. - -[Illustration: A SOUVENIR.] - -Many like me are happy in the possession of a dear old homestead; but -there are few, I ween, who enjoy the blessing of a double inheritance -such as has been my lot--two homes which share my equal devotion, two -homes without a choice; the one this beloved heirloom in Hometown, and -the other--But you shall see. We shall be there soon, for the little -satchel is packed, and the carriage awaits us at the gate. A drive of -eighteen miles is before us--a beautiful series of pictures. Down -through the village, past the old red mill and smithy, with its ringing -anvil, and we are soon winding our way through a sombre glen. Presently -we catch glimpses of the great rumbling factory, with its clouds of -smoke and steam melting into the wooded mountain above. The old yellow -bridge now creaks under our approach, and ere we are aware a sudden turn -leads us out of a wilderness on to the shore of the beautiful -Housatonic. For a few minutes the rushing water trickles through the -wheels as over jolting stones our pony leads us through the ford, and, -refreshed by the cool bath, makes a lively sally up the eastern bank. -For ten miles the Housatonic guides us around its winding curves through -a path of ever-changing beauty, now shut in by the dense, dark -evergreens, and again emerging into a bower of silvery beeches, where -the roadway is carpeted with mottled shadows, and the dappled trunks -flicker with the softened glints of sunlight. Here we come upon a sandy -stretch where the road is sunken between two sloping banks thick-set -with mulleins and sweet-fern, and overrun with creeping brambles. The -stone-wall above is wreathed in trailing woodbine, and along its crest -we see the swaying tips of wheat from the edge of the field just beyond; -and here we pass a border of whortleberry bushes, laden with their -fruit. Now it is a hazel thicket crowding close upon our wheels, and -among the leaves we see the brown, tanned husks of the ripening nuts, -almost ready for that troop of boys and girls that you may be sure are -watching and waiting for them. - -The old gray toll-bridge soon nears to view, with its two long spans and -fantastic beams. Farther on, peering from its willows, stands the ruined -cider-mill, with its long moss-grown lever jutting through the trees--an -old-time haunt, now crumbling in decay. But we only catch a glimpse of -it, for in a moment more we are shut in beneath another bower of beeches -and white birches, where the road takes a steep ascent, and the rippling -river sends up its sunny reflections among the leaves and tree-trunks. -When once more upon a level, it is to look ahead through a long avenue -of shade--a leafy canopy two miles in length--with only an occasional -break to open up some charming bit of landscape across the water. In -these two miles of umbrage you may see types of almost every tree that -grows within the boundaries of New England. Old veteran beeches are -here, their trunks disfigured with scars that once were names cut in the -bark. Here are spots that look like half obliterated figures; and here -are spreading hieroglyphs that tell, perhaps, of old-time vows plighted -at the trysting-tree; and here's a semblance of a heart, a broken heart -indeed, if its present form be taken as a prophetic symbol. - -[Illustration: ALONG THE HOUSATONIC.] - -There are magnificent rock-maples too, and silver-maples that shake down -their little swarms of winged seeds. Tulip-trees and spotted buttonwoods -grow side by side, and quivering aspens and white poplars are seen at -every clearing. There are yellow birch-trunks frayed out with the wind, -and great snake-like stems of grape-vine, that twist and writhe among -the branches of the trees. There are hop hornbeams, and chestnuts, -and--But there is no need to enumerate them all. Just think of every New -England tree you ever knew, and add a score besides, and you will form a -slight idea of the varied verdure that hems in this charming Housatonic -drive, with its rocky roadside embroidered in trickling moss and -fumitory; and rose-flowered mountain-raspberry growing so close upon the -road that your pony takes a wayward nip, and plucks its blossomed tip as -he passes. - -Now comes an open level, with wide, expansive views, where every turn -upon the road brings its fresh surprise, as some new combination of hazy -mountain landscape towers above the distant river bend; and the flitting -cloud shadows lead their capricious, undulating chase across the wooded -slopes. The roadsides here are full of everchanging beauties too, with -their trimmings of ornamental sunflowers, their picturesque old fences, -and their clumps of purple-berried poke-weed, with here and there a -yellow patch of toad-flax, and aromatic tufts of tansy hugging close -against the fence. Even that clambering screen of clematis that trails -over the shrubbery yonder cannot hide the scattered tips of crimson that -already have appeared among the sumach leaves. - -There are a thousand things one meets upon a country ride or ramble -which at the time are allowed to pass with but a glance. The eye is -surfeited and the mind confused with the continual pageantry. But months -afterward, in the reveries about our winter fires, they all come back to -us, with the added charm of reminiscence; and whether it be a crystal -spring among a bank of ferns, or a thistle-top with its fluttering -butterfly and inevitable bumblebee rolling in the tufted blossom, or a -squirrel running along a rail, or perhaps a rattling grasshopper -hovering in mid-air above the dusty road--no matter what, they all are -welcome memories at our fireside, and draw our hearts still closer to -the loveliness of nature. - -This Housatonic road is rich in just such pastoral pictures. Two hours -on such a course soon pass, when our pony whinnies at the welcome sight -of the old log water-trough beyond--a landmark old and green when I was -yet a boy, still nestling in its rocky bed, shadowed by the drooping -hemlocks, still lavish with its overflowing bounty. - -This benefactor by the way-side marks a turning-point in our journey, as -we leave the grandeur of the Housatonic to pursue our way by the nooks -and dingles of the wild Shepaug--a bubbling tributary whose happy waters -sing of a varied experience. Now placid through the blossoming fields, -now plunging down the precipice to ripple through a verdant valley, -where, hemmed in at every turn, it seeks its only liberty beneath the -rumbling of the old mill-wheels; and at last, ere it loses its identity -in the swelling tide, leaving a mischievous and tumultuous record as it -pours through the rocky canyon, and with surging, whirling volume carves -huge caverns and fantastic statues in its massive bed of stone. Even now -through the dark forest beyond we can hear the muffled roar, and for -nearly a league farther as we ascend the long hill it comes to us in -fitful whispers wafted on the changing breeze. Reaching the summit of -this incline, we find ourselves on a hill-top wide and far-reaching, on -right and left losing itself in wooded wold, while in front the level -road diminishes to a point, surmounted by blue hills in the distance. -Two miles on a pastoral hill-top, where golden-rod and tall spiraeas -cluster along the lichen-covered walls, where orange-lilies gleam among -the alders, with now and then a blazing group of butterfly-plant or a -dusty clump of milk-weed. The air is laden with the nut-like odor of the -everlasting flowers all around us. The buzzing drum of the harvest-fly -vibrates from every tree, and we hear the tinkling bell and lowing of -the cattle in some neighboring field. Farther on, we look down from the -edge of the plateau through the length of Happy Valley, with its winding -stream, its barns and busy mills, its sunny homes glinting through the -summer haze. On the left the lofty shadowed cliff known as "Steep-rock" -towers against the evening sky, and again we catch the murmuring whiffs -of the rushing stream in its sweeping bend beneath the overhanging -precipice. A sharp turn round a jutting hill-side, and I meet a prospect -that quickens the heart and makes the eye grow dim. There beyond, three -miles "as flies the laden bee," I linger on the welcome sight, as on its -hill-top fair two steeples side by side betray the hidden town, my -second home. - -How lightly did I appreciate the fortunate journey when, twenty summers -ago, I followed this road for the first time, when a boy of ten years, -on my way to an unknown village, I looked across the landscape to the -little spires on that distant hill! Little did I dream of the six years -of unmixed happiness and precious experience that awaited me in that -little Judea! I only knew that I was sadly quitting a happy home on my -way to "boarding-school"--a school called the Snuggery, taught by a Mr. -Snug, in a little village named Snug Hamlet, about twenty miles from -Hometown. - -There are some experiences in the life of every one which, however -truthful, cannot be told but to elicit the doubtful nod or the warning -finger of incredulity. They were such experiences as these, however, -that made up the sum of my early life in that happy refuge called in -modern parlance a "boarding-school"--a name as empty, a word as weak and -tame in its significance, as poverty itself; no doubt abundantly -expressive in its ordinary application, but here it is a mockery and a -satire. This is not a "boarding-school;" it is a _household_, whose -memories moisten the eye and stir the soul; to which its scattered -members through the fleeting years look back as to a neglected home, -with father and mother dear, whom they long once more to meet as in the -tenderness of boyhood days; a cherished remembrance which, like the -"house upon a hill, cannot be hid," but sends abroad its light unto many -hearts who in those early days sought the loving shelter; a bright star -in the horizon of the past, a glow that ne'er grows dim, but only -kindles and brightens with the flood of years. Yes, yes; I know it -sounds like a dash of sentiment, but words of mine are feeble and -impotent indeed when sought for the expression of an attachment so fond, -of a love so deep. - -Fifteen years ago, with a parting full of sorrow, I rode away from Snug -Hamlet yonder in the village stage--a day that brought a depression that -lingered long, and lingers still. Glowing, sunset-tinted fields glide by -unnoticed now, as, with eyes intent on the distant hill, I look back -through the lapse of time. A mile has gone without my knowing it, when a -joyous laugh awakens me from my day-dreams. Two boys approach us on the -road ahead, and, what might seem very strange to you, one wears a wooden -boot-jack strung around his neck and dangling on his breast; but he -carries his burden lightly and cheerfully. As they near the carriage I -draw the rein, and they both pause by the roadside. - -"Well, boys," I ask, "where do _you_ hail from?" - -"We're from the Snuggery, sir." - -"I thought so," said I, with a laugh, in which they both joined. "But -what are you doing with that boot-jack?" - -"Oh, you see," said one, with a roguish smile, "Charlie and I were -having a little tussle in the sitting-room, and he picked up Mr. Snug's -boot-jack in the corner and began to pummel me with it; and jest as we -were having it the worst, and were rollin' on the floor, Mr. Snug came -in and caught us in the job, and now we're _payin'_ for it." - -"How so?" I inquired, well knowing what would be the response. - -"Oh, you see, Mr. Snug held a diagnosis over our remains, and said he -thought we were suffering, for the want of a little exercise, and -ordered us on a trip to Judd's Bridge." - -"And the boot-jack?" - -"Oh, he said that Charlie might want to play with that some more on the -way, and that he'd better fetch it along;" and with a mischievous -snicker at his encumbered companion, he led him along the road in an -hilarious race, while we enjoyed a hearty laugh at their expense. - -And this a _punishment_! Yes, here is an introduction to one phase of a -system of correction as unique as the matchless institution in which it -had its birth--a system without a parallel in the annals of chastisement -or school government, and which for thirty years has proved its wisdom -in the household management of the Snuggery. - -"To Judd's Bridge!" How natural the sound of those words! How many -times have I myself been on that same pilgrimage of penance! The -destination of these boys is a rickety but picturesque structure which -spans the Shepaug five miles below Snug Hamlet. Through three decades it -looks back to its host of acquaintances of those romping lads who, in -the superfluity of exuberant spirits, made havoc and din in the -household. The dose is administered with wise discrimination both as to -the symptoms and the needs and strength of the patient. It always proves -a sterling remedy, and sometimes, indeed, a sugar-coated one, as in the -case of these two ruddy, rollicking examples. - -[Illustration] - -Judd's Bridge is but one of a score of places which serve in the -administration of Snuggery discipline. It is, however, the one most -remote, and its ten-mile journey is reserved as an heroic dose for -extraordinary cases, after other prescriptions have been tried without -avail. Next on the list comes Moody Barn, with "open doors" every day in -the week to its frequent callers. This old settler, gray and -weather-beaten, marks a point one mile from the Snuggery, where the -still waters of the Shepaug run slow and deep--the favorite -"swimming-hole" of the Snuggery. - -[Illustration: THE HAUNTED MILL.] - -And then there's Kirby Corners, a mere stroll of a few minutes round the -square of a rock-bound pasture--just enough to give yourself time to -think a bit and congratulate yourself on what you have escaped. All -these, and several more, are vivid in my memory; friends, old and -intimate. And here's another, right before us by the roadside. For -several minutes through the tantalizing trees we have heard its rumbling -wheel, its reiterating clank, and busy saw; and now, as its familiar -outline looms up against the evening sky, the vision seems to darken, as -on that night of long ago, when through the shadowy mystery of the -moonlit gloom I stole my way among the sheltering golden-rod; when the -lofty flume, like a huge horned creature, seemed to stride athwart me in -the darkness, and the fitful boyish fancy saw strange phantoms in the -floating, melting mist. This ancient structure reposes in a verdant dell -at the foot of Snug Hamlet Hill. A choice of two roads lies before -us--one short and direct, the other a roundabout approach. A sudden -impulse leads me into the latter. On right and left I see the same old -rocks and trees. There stands the aged beech to whose gnarled and hollow -trunk I traced the agile flying-squirrel, and with suffocating flame and -smoke drove him from his hiding-place. Here between large rocks and -stones the trout-stream runs its course, now pouring in small cataracts, -now eddying into still, dark nooks, where in those by-gone times I -dropped the line of expectancy, but showed the clumsiness of adversity. -A few minutes later, and we are gliding again by the dark Shepaug, now -flowing calm and silent beneath a rugged bank, wild and umbrageous, -where the swarm of katydids, with grating discord, maintain their old -dispute, that never-ending feud. The wheels turn noiselessly in the -shifting sand as we pursue our way. The low gray fog steals lightly over -the lily-pads, floating into seclusion beneath the sheltering boughs, -or, like an evanescent spirit, borne upon the evening breath, is lifted -from the gloom, and slowly melts into the twilight sky. The solitary -whippoorwill from his mysterious haunt, perhaps in yonder tree, perhaps -in the mountain loneliness beyond, proclaims with dismal cry his -oft-repeated wail. And as we ascend the darkening path, through the -still night air, in measured cadence long and sad, we hear the toll of -the distant knell. Threescore-and-ten its numbers tell of the earthly -years--a curfew requiem for the dead. Even as we pass the little chapel -at the summit of the hill, and the bell has scarcely ceased its -melancholy tidings, we hear the shouts and merry laughs of the boys on -the village green. Presently its broad expanse, shut in by twinkling -windows and massive trees, spreads out before us, as a clear and ringing -voice, like that of old, echoes through the growing darkness, "One -hundred! Nothing said, coming ahead!" and a dim figure steals cautiously -from the steps of the old white church to seek in the sequestered -hiding-places. With a heart that fairly thumps, I urge my pony onward -across the green, and ere he slackens his pace I am at my journey's end. -The dear old Snuggery, with its gables manifold and quaint, its -fantastic wings and towers, stands there before me, the glowing windows -beaming through the maples. Leaving our pony in willing hands, we enter -the gate, and are soon upon the wide porch. - -[Illustration: PURSUERS AND PURSUED.] - -It is eight o'clock, and the Snuggery is hushed in the quiet of the -study hour, and as we look through the windows we see the little groups -of studious lads bending over their books. Turning a corner on the -piazza, we are confronted with a tall hexagonal structure at its farther -end. This is the Tower, the lower room of which is consecrated to the -cosy retirement of Mr. and Mrs. Snug. The door leading to the porch is -open, and, as if awakening from a nap in which the past fifteen years -have been a dream, I listen to the same dear voice. I approach nearer. -Under the glow of a student's lamp I look upon the beloved face, the -flowing hair and beard now silvered with the lapse of years--a face of -unusual firmness, but whose every line marks the expression of a tender, -loving nature, and of a large and noble heart. Near him another sits--a -helpmeet kind and true, cherished companion in a happy, useful life. -Into her lap a nestling lad has climbed; and as she strokes the curly -head and looks into the chubby face, I see the same expression as of -old, the same motherly tenderness and love beaming from the large gray -eyes. - -Mr. Snug is leaning back in his easy-chair, and two boys are standing up -before him; one of them is speaking, evidently in answer to a question. - -"I called him a galoot, sir." - -"You called George a galoot, and then he threw the base-ball club at -you--is that it?" - -"Yes, sir," interrupted George; "but I was only playing, sir." - -"Yes," resumed the voice of Mr. Snug, "but that club went with -considerable force, and landed over the fence, and made havoc in Deacon -Farish's onion-bed; and that reminds me that the deacon's onion-bed is -overrun with weeds. Now, Willie," continued Mr. Snug, after a moment's -hesitation, with eyes closed, and head thrown back against the chair, -"Saturday morning--to-morrow, that is--directly after breakfast, you go -out into the grove and call names to the big rock for half an hour. -Don't stop to take breath; and don't call the same name twice. Your -vocabulary will easily stand the drain. You understand?" - -"Yes, sir." - -"And, George," continued Mr. Snug, with deliberate, easy intonation, -"to-morrow morning, at the same time, you present yourself politely to -Deacon Farish, tell him that I sent you, and ask him to escort you to -his onion-bed. After which you will go carefully to work and pull out -all the weeds. You understand, sir?" - -"Yes, sir." - -"And then you will both report to me as usual." And with a pleasant -smile, which was reflected in both their faces, the erring youngsters -were dismissed. Before the door has closed behind them we are standing -in the door-way. Here I draw the curtain; for who but one of its own -household could understand a welcome at the Snuggery? - -Those of my old school-mates who read this meagre sketch will know the -happiness of such a meeting; but others less fortunate in the -recollections of school-life can only look for its counterpart in an -affectionate welcome in their own homes, for the Snuggery _is_ a home to -all who ever dwelt within its gates. Seated in the familiar cosiness, -and surrounded by the friends of my school-days, the hours fly fast and -pleasantly. There is plenty to talk about. Here is a village full of -good people of whom I wish to learn, and there are many far-off chums of -whom I carry tidings. A bell rings in the cupola as one by one, from the -buzz in the outer rooms, boys large and small seek our seclusion for the -accustomed good-night adieu; and ere another hour has passed forty -sleepy urchins are packed away in their snug quarters. The evening runs -on into midnight, as with stories of the past, its pains and penalties, -its remembrances, now humorous now sad by turns, we recall the good old -times; and the "wee sma' hours" are already upon us as we reluctantly -retire from the goodly company to our rooms across the way. - -[Illustration: TOLLING FOR THE DEAD.] - -The next morning finds us in the midst of a merry load, with Mr. Snug as -a driver; and many and varied were the beauties that opened up before us -on that charming ride! Snug Hamlet, once called Judea, in the qualities -of its landscape as well as in everything else, is unique. Stripped of -all its old associations, it presents to the artistic eye a combination -of attractions scarcely to be equalled in the boundaries of New England. -Situated itself on the brow of an abrupt hill, where its picturesque -homes cluster about a broad open green, a few minutes' drive in any -direction reveals a surrounding panorama of the rarest loveliness. Five -hundred feet below us, winding in and out, now beneath leafy tangles, -now under quaint little bridges, and again reposing placidly in broad -mill-ponds, the happy Shepaug lends to a lovely valley its usefulness -and beauty. Turning in another direction, we pass the Snuggery -ball-ground, animated with the shouts of victory; and descending into a -vale of almost primeval wildness, we continue our way up the ascent of -"Artist's Hill," from whose summit on every side, as far as the eye can -reach, the landscape softens into the hazy horizon. Returning, we pass -through a ruined waste, where, three months before, the fierce tornado -swooped down in its fiendish fury. On every side we see its awful -evidences. Huge oaks, like brittle pipe-stems, snapped from their -moorings; sturdy hickories, mere play-things in the gale, twisted into -shreds. - -[Illustration: WRECKS OF THE TORNADO.] - -Every morning saw me on some new drive, either with a wagon full of -merry company, or as alone with Mr. Snug we held our quiet _tete-a-tete_ -on wheels, living over the olden times. In the afternoon I strolled by -myself through the old and eloquent scenes. A volume could not hold the -memories they revived--no, not even those of yonder barn alone. Even as -I sit making my pencil-sketch, its reminiscences seem to float across -the vision. Distinctly it recalls the events of one evening years ago. -It was at about the sunset hour one Friday. I was quietly sitting on a -lounge in the parlor talking to Cuthbert Harding, who was standing in -front of me. Presently the door opens, and the tall figure of Dick Shin -enters. Dick and I were antipodes in every sense of the word. Physically -we were as a match and a billiard ball, he being the lucifer. He was -also my _bete noire_, and he never missed an opportunity to vent his -spite. Accordingly he stalked toward us, and with a violent push sent -Cuthbert pell-mell on to me. In falling, he stepped heavily on my foot, -and hurt me severely, which accounted for my excited expression as I -threw him from me. - -Of course Mr. Snug had to come in just at this time, and seeing us in -what looked to him very like a fight, he took us firmly by the ears and -stood us side by side, while I ventured to explain. - -"Not a word!" exclaimed he, in a tone there was no mistaking. "You two -boys may cool off on a trip to Moody Barn, after which you will report -to me in the Tower. Now go." - -Whatever may have been the state of my mind a few moments before, I was -now mad in earnest, and with every bit of my latent obstinacy aroused, I -sauntered out on to the porch. - -"Cool off, old boy," whispered a grating voice at my side, as I turned -and met the gaze of Dick Shin, motioning with his thumb in the direction -of Moody Barn--"cool off; you need it;" and his ample mouth stretched -into a sneering grin. - -I had already formed an intention, but now it was a resolve. - -"Cuthbert," said I to my quiet and less choleric companion, when some -distance down the road, "I am not going on that trip." - -"Not going!" replied he, with surprise; "why, you'll _have_ to go." - -"But I _won't_ go, and that settles it. It's confounded unjust that -we're sent, anyhow, and I don't propose to stand it." - -"I think so too," answered Cuthbert, with hesitating emphasis; "but -what'll we do? We'll have to report to Mr. Snug, you know; that's the -_worst_ of it." - -"Well, I'll be spokesman, and I'll _lie_ before I'll go on that trip." - -I was boiling over with righteous wrath, but Cuthbert never was known to -boil; he only simmered a little, but readily seconded my plan. We -stopped at Kirby Corners, and there, secluded from view in the bushes, -we spent the interval. Cuthbert had a watch, and by the light of the -rising moon we were enabled to fix the full period for the trip. One -hour and a half we allowed--an abundant limit. During this time I had -completely "cooled off," and had schooled myself to that point where I -could tell a lie with a smooth face and a clear conscience. -Accordingly, when the time came, we appeared at the door of the Tower. -Mr. Snug was sitting in his accustomed place, and we entered and stood -before him. - -[Illustration: PASSING THOUGHTS.] - -"Well, sir," said he, with a polite bow of the head, dropping his paper -and looking up at us. - -"Mr. Snug, we have come to report," said I, fearlessly. "We have been to -Moody Barn." - -Instantly Mr. Snug straightened himself up in his chair, pushed back -the gray locks from his high forehead, and, with an expression that I -never shall forget, glared at me from under the frowning eyebrows. - -"_You lie, sir!_" he exclaimed, in thundering tones that fairly made my -hair stand on end, while Cuthbert trembled from head to foot; then -followed a brief moment of consternation that seemed an age. "Now go!" -continued he, as with an emphatic nod of the head he motioned toward the -door. Sheepish and crest-fallen, we slunk away from the room. It is -needless to say that we went this time. Through the darkness, by the aid -of a lantern, we picked our way, as with theories numerous and ingenious -we strove to account for that vociferous reception. - -Late that night we held an experience meeting with Mr. and Mrs. Snug in -the Tower, and if I remember right there were a few tears that fell, and -many apologies and good resolves, and as the true state of the case -dawned on Mr. Snug there was an evident twinge of regret on his kind -face. - -On the following morning (Saturday) there was a jolly party of youths -leaving the Snuggery for a day's boating at the lake. Dick Shin was -among them; and just as he was passing out the gate, a youngster -approaches him and taps him on the shoulder. "You are hereby arrested, -sir, on the orders of Mr. Snug." - -With an anxious and innocent expression Dick follows his juvenile -constable into the Tower, and his companions stroll along after to -ascertain the cause of the detention. We pass over the brief but amusing -trial, in which the prisoner, with the innocence of a little lamb, -pleaded his cause. - -"You _stumbled_, did you?" said Mr. Snug. "Well, you ought to know, sir, -by this time that I don't allow young men to stumble in that way in my -house. These two boys have suffered through your admitted clumsiness." -Here Mr. Snug paused in a moment's thought. "Dick Shin," he continued, -"I sent these innocent young gentlemen on two trips to Moody Barn--that -makes four miles for Bigson and four miles for Harding, together making -eight that they walked on your account. Now you may put down your -fishing-pole, and 'stumble' along on the road to Judd's Bridge, which -will give you two extra miles in which to think over your sins. And to -make sure"--here Mr. Snug arose and went to the closet--"you may take -this hatchet along with you, and bring me back a good big chip from the -end of the long bridge beam. I shall ride over that way to-morrow and -see whether it fits. You understand?" - -"Yes, sir," replied the injured voice of Dick Shin. "But, Mr. Snug, -can't I put off that penance until Monday?" - -"No, sir," replied Mr. Snug, with a beaming smile and a bow of the head. -"This is a lovely morning for contrite meditation. Go--_instantly_." - -Two hours later saw a demonstrative individual threatening to chop down -the whole side of a bridge, while ten miles to the northward the placid -surface of Waramaug rippled to the oars, and the lofty mountain-sides -echoed with the shouts of a merry holiday. - - * * * * * - -But all things must have an end. The school-days ended, and so did this -memorable vacation. A letter breaks the charm: insatiate publisher! Once -more through the winding paths of the Housatonic, and I leave the -loveliness of Hometown for the metropolis of brick and stone, there to -resume the old routine. - - - - -AUTUMN. - -[Illustration: THE WANING] - -[Illustration] - - -I am sitting alone upon a wooded knoll at our old farm at Hometown. -Above me a venerable oak holds aloft its dome of bronze-green verdure, -and on either side the gnarled and knotty branches bend low, and trail -their rustling leaves among the tufts of waving grass that fringe the -slope around me. - -It is a spot endeared to me from earliest memory, a loved retreat whose -every glimpse beneath the overhanging boughs has left its impress, whose -every feature of undulating field, of wooded mountain, and winding -meadow-brook I have long been able to summon up at will before my closed -eyes, as though a mirror of the living picture now before me. And what -is this picture? - -It is an enchanted vision of nature's autumn loveliness--a vision of -peace and tranquil resignation that lingers like a poem in the memory. -It is a glorious October day, one of those rarest and loveliest of days -when all nature seems transfigured, when a golden, misty veil swings -from the heavens in a charmed haze, through which the commonest and most -prosaic thing seems spiritualized and glorified. The summer's full -fruition is past and gone, the dross has been consumed; and in the -lingering life, whose yielding flush now lends its sweet expression to -the declining year, we see the type of perfect trust and hope that finds -a fitting emblem in the dim horizon, where heaven and earth are wedded -in a golden haze, where purple hills melt softly in the sky. It is a day -when one may dream with open eyes, and whose day-dreams haunt the memory -as sweet realities. The sky is filled with rolling, fleecy clouds, whose -flat receding bases seem to float upon a transparent amber sea, from -whose depths I look through into the blue air beyond. - -Below me an ancient orchard skirts the borders of the knoll. Its boughs -are crimson studded, and the ground beneath is strewn with the bright -red fruit. They mark the minutes as they fall, running the gauntlet of -the craggy twigs and bounding upon the slope beneath. Beyond the orchard -stretch the low, flat meadow lands, set with alders and swamp-maples, -with swaying willows, now enclosing, now revealing the graceful curves -of the quiet stream as it winds in and out among the overhanging -foliage. Soon it is lost beneath a wooded hill, where an old square -tower and factory-bell betray the hiding-place of the glassy pond that -sends its splashing water-fall across the rocks beneath the old town -bridge. Looking down upon this bridge, Mount Pisgah, with its rugged -cliff, is seen rising bold and stern against the sky, above a broad and -bright mosaic of elms and maples, spreading from the grove of oaks near -by in an unbroken expanse, to the very foot of the precipice, with here -and there a sunny cupola or gable peering out among the branches, or a -snowy steeple lifting high its golden cross or weather-vane glittering -in the sun. The mountain-side is lit up with its autumn glow of -intermingled maples, oaks, and beeches, with its changeless ledges of -jutting rock, and dense, defiant pines standing like veteran bearded -sentinels in perpetual vigilance. - -All this comes to me in a single glimpse beneath the branches. But there -are others, where undulating meadows, with their flowing lines of walls -and fences, lead the eye through soft gradations to distant purple -hills, through thrifty farms, with barns and barracks and rowen fields -with browsing cattle, and ruddy buckwheat patches, where the flocks of -village pigeons congregate among the cradle marks, in quest of scattered -kernels shaken from the sheaves. - -There is a tiny lake near by that nestles among the hill-side farms, -where sloping pastures and fields of yellow, rustling corn glide almost -to the water's edge. So sensitive and sympathetic is this little sheet -of water that I christened it one day Chameleon Lake, for it wears a -different expression for every phase of season or freak of weather, and -always dwells in harmony with the landscape which encloses it. In cloudy -days it frowns as cold as steel. In days of sunshine it is as bright and -blue as the sky itself, or shimmers like a shield of burnished silver. -And now it is a flood of autumn gold, carrying from shore to shore a -maze of ripples laden with opaline reflections of intermingled glints -from cloud and sky, and of the gold and ruby colored foliage along its -banks. - -But this knoll and all these farms are not mine alone. They are such as -I should hope might lurk in the memory of almost any one who looks back -to early days among New England hills. - -[Illustration: AN OCTOBER DAY.] - -This old oak-tree, whose furrowed bark I lean upon, was a hardy -patriarch when first I sought its shade. Its added years have scarcely -changed a feature or modified a line in its old-time noble expression. -As I look up, its great open arms spread out against the sky exactly as -they did when I lolled beneath their shelter and watched the drifting -clouds of twenty years ago sail through them in the blue above. Even the -jagged furrows in the bark I seem to recognize. Here, too, is that same -spreading scale of greenish lichen that fain will grow upon the trunk, -as if I had not often picked it all to pieces in my early idling. The -same round oak-gall rests on the bed of leaves in the hollow between the -rocks near by, as though it had forgotten how a dozen years ago I -cracked its polished shell and sent its spongy contents to the winds. - -And here comes that veritable ant creeping through the grass at my -elbow--now on the root, now on the bark, exploring every crack and -crevice in his hurried search. I wonder if the little fellow will ever -find what he has been looking for so long. And here's a friend of his -coming down. They stop and wag their antennae in a moment's conversation. -I wonder what they said. I always _did_ wonder when I watched them do -the same thing on this very spot a score of years ago. The soft waving -grass whispers about my ears as it did then, and I hear the low trumpet -of the nuthatch as he creeps about in the tree o'erhead. Easily may one -forget the lapse of time in such a place as this, where every leaf, and -twig, and blade of grass conspire to breed forgetfulness of later years. -Hark! that shrill tattoo again! The tree-toad. Yes, that same recluse in -his mysterious hiding-place, seeking by his tantalizing trill to renew -that game of hide-and-seek we left off so long ago--in those eager days -when every stick and stone upon the knoll was overturned in my zeal to -find his whereabouts. There he goes again! louder and more shrill. But -now I realize the effect of time, for I only sit and listen to his -oft-repeated call. Formerly that sound was like a galvanic thrill that -electrified every nerve and muscle in my physiology. No, I'll not hunt -for you again, my musical young friend; besides, the odds would be -against you now, for I know more about tree-toads than I once did, and -you wouldn't see me hunting on the ground as in the olden days. Besides, -you're getting bold; there is no need of hunting, for in that last toot -you gave yourself away. Even now my eyes are fixed upon the hole in -yonder hollow limb, and I see your tiny form clinging to the rotten wood -within the opening. What _would_ I not have given _once_ to have thought -of that soggy hole! - -[Illustration: A WAY-SIDE PASTORAL.] - -Near by a spreading yew monopolizes a rocky bit of ground, its foliage -creeping above a silvery gray bed of branching moss, whose pillowy tufts -spread almost to my feet. This was my fairy forest of tiny trees. Here I -found the fairies' cups and torches, and even now I can see their -scarlet tips scattered here and there among the gray; and fragile little -parasols, too--it were an insult, indeed, to designate such dainty -things as these by the name of toadstools. Beyond this bed of moss a -scrubby growth of whortleberry takes possession of the ground. The -bushes are now bare of fruit, but ruddy with their autumn blushes, -tingeing the surface of the knoll with a delicate coral pink. This -thicket extends far down upon the slope, even encroaching upon the -wheel-ruts of the lane, and across again, until cut short by an ancient -tumbling line of lichen-covered stones, a landmark which has long since -yielded up its claim as a barrier of protection to the old orchard it -encloses, now only a moss-grown pile, with every chink and crevice a -nestling-place of some searching tendril, fern, or clambering vine. For -rods and rods it creeps along beneath the laden apple-trees, skirting -the borders of this old farm lane, and finally hides away among a clump -of cedars a few hundred feet away. - -Of all the picturesque in nature, what is there, after all, that so wins -one's deeper sympathies as the ever-changing pictures of a rustic lane -or roadside, with its weather-beaten walls and fences, and their -rambling growth of weeds and creeping vines? How sweet the sense of near -companionship awakened by these charming way-side pastorals that -accompany you in your saunterings, and reach out to touch you as you -pass--a sense of friendly fellowship that breathes a silent greeting in -the most deserted paths or loneliest of by-ways! - -Show me a ruined wall or a rutted zigzag fence, and I will show you a -string of pearls, or rather, if in these later months, a fringe of gems, -for the autumn fence is set in wreaths of rubies and glowing sapphires. -Follow its rambling course, now through the field, now skirting swampy -fallows, now by rustic lanes and cornfields and over rocky pastures, and -you will follow a lead that will take you through the rarest bits of -nature's autumn landscape. - -Even in this lane, at the foot of the knoll below us, see the brilliant -luxuriance of clustered bitter-sweet draping the side of that clump of -cedars! It is only an indication of the beauty that envelops this lane -for a full half mile beyond. Every angle of its rude rail fence encloses -a lovely pastoral, each a surprise and a contrast to its neighbor. - -Right here before us, what a beginning! Hold up your hands on either -side, and shut out the surroundings. Such is the glimpse I always long -to paint from nature, and yet how almost maddening is the result! Rather -would I drink it all in and fix its every feature in my mind, and paint -it from its memory, when the presence of the living thing before me -shall not mock my efforts and put to shame the crude creations of oil -and pigment. - -See how the cool gray rails are relieved against that rich dark -background of dense olive juniper, how they hide among the prickly -foliage! Look at that low-hanging branch which so exquisitely conceals -the lowest rail as it emerges from its other side, and spreads out among -the creeping briers that wreathe the ground with their shining leaves -of crimson and deep bronze! Could any art more daringly concentrate a -rhapsody of color than nature has here done in bringing up that gorgeous -spray of scarlet sumach, whose fern-like pinnate leaves are so richly -massed against that background of dark evergreens? And even in that -single branch see the wondrous gradation of color, from purest green to -purplish olive, and olive melting into crimson, and then to scarlet, and -through orange into yellow, and all sustaining in its midst the -clustered cone of berries of rich maroon! Verily, it were almost an -affront to sit down before such a shrine and attempt to match it in -material pigment. A passing sketch, perhaps, that shall serve to aid the -memory in the retirement of the studio, but a careful copy, _never!_ -until we can have a tenfold lease of life, and paint with sunbeams. But -there is more still in this tantalizing ideal, for a luxuriant wild -grape-vine, that shuts in the fence near by, sends toward us an -adventurous branch that climbs the upright rail, and festoons itself -from fence to tree, and hangs its luminous canopy over the crest of the -yielding juniper. Even from where we stand we can see the pendant -clusters of tiny grapes clearly shadowed against the translucent golden -screen. Add to all this the charm of life and motion, with trembling -leaves and branches bending in the breeze, with here and there a -flitting shadow playing across the half hidden rails, and where can you -find another such picture, its counterpart in beauty--where? perhaps its -very neighbor, for all roadside pictures are "hung upon the line," they -are all by the same great Master, and it is often difficult to choose. - -Here we have a contrast. A dappled rock has taken possession of this -little corner, or the corner has been built around it, if you choose--a -"gray" rock we would call it in common parlance, but it is a gray -composed of a checkered multitude of tints, colors which upon a rock, it -would seem, were hardly worth an appreciative glance; but only let them -be exhibited upon a fold of Lyons silk or Jouvin kid glove, and dignify -them by the compliments of "ashes of roses," or "London smoke," and how -eagerly they are sought, how exquisite they become. I speak in -moderation when I say that I have often sat and counted as many as -thirty just such tints upon the surface of a small "gray" rock, each -_distinct_, and all so _refined_ and exquisite in shade. This rounded -bowlder is no exception; and with its tufted spots of jetty moss, and -outcroppings of glistening quartz, its rounded, spreading blots of -greenish lichens, and mottled groundwork, it may well defy the craft of -the most skilled palette. And when these grays are contrasted with -tender yellow greens and browns of fading ferns, such as fringe the -borders of the one before me, with a background of scarlet whortleberry -bushes and deep-green sprays of blackberry clustering about the -loosening bark of a crumbling stump, with its shelving growth of fungus -hiding among its brown debris, one may well pause and wonder which to -choose, or where a single touch is wanting in the perfect unity and -harmony of either. - -[Illustration: WAIFS.] - -Another jutting corner, and we confront a swaying mass of gold and -purple--that magnificent regal combination of graceful golden-rod and -asters that glorifies our autumn from September to the falling leaf. -There are a number of species of golden-rod, varying as much in their -intensity of color as in their time of bloom. The earliest appear in the -heart of summer, in wood and meadow; while others, larger and more -stately, lift up in their midst their plumy, undeveloped tips, and wait -until their predecessors are old and gray ere they roll out their -wreaths of gold. For weeks the roads and by-ways have been lit up with -their brilliant glow, that parting sunset gleam that lingers with the -closing year. This splendid cluster is full six feet in height, and -towers above the highest rail, or rather where the rail ought to be, for -it is lost from sight beneath a dense fret-work of prickly smilax--and -such brilliant, polished leaves! how they glitter in the sun! almost as -though wet with dew. - -And to think how those prickly canes, denuded of their leaves, are sold -upon our city thoroughfares as "Spanish rose-trees" to the unsuspecting -passer-by! Those guileless venders, too! I remember one that sought to -enrich my store of botanical knowledge by telling me they "bloomed in -winter!" and had a flower as "big as a saucer," and "kinder like a holy -hawk!!!?" I looked him straight in the eye, but he was the picture of -innocence. "Can you tell me the botanical name," I asked. "Oh yes," he -glibly replied, "I think they call it the _Rubus epistaxis_." Eheu! but -this was _too much_, and he saw it, and with a wink of his foxy eye and -a shrewd grin, he whispered along the palm of his hand, "Got to git a -livin' _somehow_, boss; now _don't_ give me away." "Here you are, lady, -Spanish roses, lady, fresh from the steamer." I never see a thicket of -green-brier without thinking of its "winter blossom;" and, by-the-way, -did you ever notice a thicket of this shrub, what a defiant, arbitrary -tyrant it is--shutting out the very life-breath and light of day from -its encumbered victims, monopolizing everything within its power, and -even reaching out for more with searching tips in mid-air, and a couple -of greedy tendrils at every leaf? And did you ever notice along the road -that delicious whiff that comes to you every now and then, that pungent -breath of the sweet-fern? We get it now; the air is laden with it from -the dark-green beds across the road. The sweet-fern, as I remember it, -was the simpler's panacea and the small boy's joy--an aromatic shrub, -whose inhaled fumes, together with its corn-silk rival, seem destined by -an all-wise Providence as a preparatory tonic to the more ambitious -fumigation of after-years. Many a time have I sat upon this bank and -tried to imagine in my domestic product the racy flavor of the famed -Havana! - -Between old Aunt Huldy, with her mania for the simples, and the demand -of the village boys, I wonder there is any of it left. But Aunt Huldy -has long since died; all her "yarbs," and "yarrer tea," and "paowerful -gud stimmilants" could not give her the lease of eternal earthly life -which she said lurked in the "everlastin' flaowers;" and after she had -reached the age of one hundred and three, her tansy decoctions and -boneset potions ceased in their efficacy--the feeble pulse grew feebler, -and one winter's eve, sitting in her rocker by her kettle and andirons, -she fell into a deep sleep, from which she never awoke. Aunt Huldy was -as strange and eccentric a character as one rarely meets in the walks of -life. Some said she was crazy; others said she was a witch; but -whatever she may have been, this aged dame was picturesque with her bent -figure, her long white hair and scarlet hood. And who shall describe the -ancient withered face that looked out from the shadow of that hood, the -small gray eyes and heavy white eyebrows, the toothless jaws and -receding lips, and massive chin that made its appalling ascent across -the face? But I cannot describe that face: think of how a witch should -look, and old Huldy's features will rise up before you. She knew every -herb that grew, but her great stand-by was "sweet-fern:" she smoked it, -she chewed it, she drank it, and even wore a little bag of it around her -neck, "to charm away the rheumatiz." - -[Illustration: IN THE CORNFIELD.] - -Since her time, however, the sweet-fern has had a chance to recuperate, -and, as far as we can see along the road, the banks are covered with it; -and there's a clump of teazles in its midst! I wonder if that old -carding-mill still stands. You also, perhaps, will wonder what relation -can exist between the two, that should make my thoughts jump half a -mile at the sight of a roadside weed. But that old woollen-mill offered -a premium on the extermination of one weed at least, for all the teasels -of the neighborhood were required to keep its cloth brushes in thorough -repair; but I fear its buzzing wheels are silent, for in olden times no -such splendid clump as this could have remained to go to seed upon the -highway. This old mill lies right upon our path, only a short walk down -the road beyond. It nestles among a bower of willows in a picturesque -ravine known as the "Devil's Hollow"--an umbrageous, rocky glen, by far -too cool and comfortable a place to justify the name it bears. - -Following the road, we now descend into a long, low stretch, hedged in -between two tall banks of alder, overtopped with interwoven tangles of -clematis, with its cloudy autumn clusters--that graceful vine which, -like the dandelion, is even more beautiful in death than in the fulness -of its bloom. And so, indeed, are nearly all those plants whose final -state is thus endowed by nature with feathery wings to lift them from -the earth. - -When has this swamp milk-weed by the roadside looked so fair as now, -with its bursting pods and silky seeds--those little waifs thrown out -upon the world with every passing breeze. How tenderly they seem to -cling to the little cosy home where they have been so snugly cradled and -protected; and see how they sail away, two or three together, loth to -part, until some rude gust shall separate them forever. - -And here's the great spiny thistle, too, that armed highwayman with -florid face and pompon in his cap. But he has had his day, and now we -see him old and seedy; his spears are broken, and his silvery gray hairs -are floating everywhere and glistening in the sun. - -Now we leave the alders, and another roadside mosaic of rich color opens -up before us, where the old half-wall fence, with its overtopping rails, -is luminous with a crimson glow of ampelopsis. It covers all the stones -for yards and yards; it swings from every jutting rail; it clambers up -the tree trunks and envelops them in fire, and hangs its waving fringe -from all the branches. - -Above the wall, like an encampment of thatched wigwams, the corn-shocks -lift their heads; a prospecting colony encamped among a field rich with -outcroppings of gold--a wealth of great round nuggets all in sight. And -were we to tear away that thatch, we might see where they have stowed -away their accumulated grains of wealth. We hear their rustling -whispers: "Hush! hush!" they seem to say to each other as we approach; -but their wariness is gratuitous, for a tell-tale vine is creeping away -upon the fence near-by, and has stopped to rest its golden burden on the -summit of the wall, half hiding among the scarlet creepers. - -Here yellow brakes abound, spreading their broad, triangular fronds on -every side amid the brilliant berries of wild-rose, and pink leaves of -blueberry. And here are thickets of black-alder, where every twig is -studded with scarlet beads, that cling so close that even winter's -bluster cannot shake them off. No matter where we look in these October -days, nature is burning itself away in a blaze of color that dazzles the -eyes; and now we approach its very crowning touch. - -I wish every one might see this gorgeous combination of oak and maples; -see it and go no farther, for a further search were fruitless in finding -its equal. It is the pride of the entire community; towns-people and -visitors ride from miles around to see its final flush--a magnificent -climax in the way of concentration of vivid color, in which nature seems -to have grouped with distinct purpose and design, producing a piece of -natural landscape-gardening such as no art could have approached. The -background is a massive precipice of rock towering to the height of -eighty feet, itself a perfect medley of tone. - -The group is composed of eight maples, each a distinct contrast of pure -color. In their midst a superb large oak presents one massive breadth of -deep purple green; and spreading up one side like a flood of yellow -light, a rock-maple lifts its splendid array of foliage. These two trees -concentrate the effect, and the others are arranged around them like -colors on a palette: one is a flaming scarlet, another beside it is -always a rich green, even to the falling leaf--with only a single -branch, that every year, even as early as August, persists in turning to -a peculiar salmon pink; another, a red-maple, is so deep a red as to -appear almost maroon, and its branches intermingle with the pale-pink -verdure of another growing by its side. There is one that combines every -intermediate color, from deep crimson to the palest saffron; while its -neighbor flutters in the wind with every leaf a brilliant butterfly of -pure green, with spots and splashes of deep carmine. - -This whole assemblage of color fairly blazes in the landscape, and even -from the top of Mount Pisgah, a half a mile away, it looks like a -glowing coal dropped down upon a bed of smouldering ashes in the valley; -for the surrounding meadow is thick-set with great gray rocks and -crimson viburnum, as though it had caught fire from the flaming trees. -What other country can boast the glory of a tree which, taken all in -all, can hold its own beside our lovely maple? From the time when first -it hangs its silken tassels to the awakening spring breeze until its -autumn fire has burned away its leaves, it presents an everchanging -phase that lends a distinct expression to American landscape. It affords -us grateful shade in summer; and with its trickling bounty in the spring -we can all unite in a hearty toast, "A health to the glorious maple." - -[Illustration: THE ROAD TO THE MILL.] - -But there is another tree which should not be forgotten, and if once -seen in a New England autumn landscape there is little danger of its -escaping from the memory. Of course, I refer to the pepperidge, or -tupelo, that nondescript among trees; for who ever saw two -pepperidge-trees alike? They seem to scorn a reputation for symmetry, or -even the idea of establishing among themselves the recognition of a type -of character. Novelty or grotesqueness is their only aim, and they hit -the bull's-eye every time. There is one I have in mind that has always -been a perfect curiosity. Its height is fully seventy feet, and its -crown is as flat as though cut off with a mammoth pair of -pruning-shears. The central trunk runs straight up to the summit, from -which it squirms off into six or seven snake-like branches, that dip -downward and writhe among the other limbs, all falling in the same -direction. One gets the impression, on looking at it, that originally -it might have been a respectable-looking tree, but that in some rude -storm in its early days it had been struck by lightning, torn up by the -roots, and afterward had taken root at the top. The tupelo, whenever -seen, is always one of our most picturesque trees, and a never-failing -source of surprise, twisting and turning into some unheard-of shape, and -seeming always to say, "There! beat that if you can!" Near the coast it -assumes the form of a crazy Italian pine, with spindling trunk and -massive head of foliage. Sometimes it divides in the middle, like an -hour-glass, and again mimics a fir-tree in caricature; but he who would -keep track of the acrobatic capers of the tupelo would have his hands -full. Whatever its shape, however, its brilliant, glossy crimson foliage -forms one of the most striking features of our October landscape. - -But I believe we were on the road to that carding-mill. We had almost -forgotten it; and now, as we look ahead, we see the old lumber-shed that -marks the upper ledge of Devil's Hollow. From this old shed a -trout-brook plunges through a series of rocky terraces, now winding -among prostrate moss-grown trunks, now gurgling through the bare roots -of great white birches, or spreading in a swift, glassy sheet as it -pours across some broad shelving rock, and plunges from its edge in a -filmy water-fall. It roars pent up in narrow canyons, and out again it -swirls in a smooth basin worn in the solid rock. At almost every rod or -two along its precipitous course there is a mill somewhere hid among the -trees--queer, quaint little mills, some built up on high stone walls, -others fed with trickling flumes which span from rock to rock, -supporting on every beam a rounded cushion of velvety green moss, and -hanging a fringe of ferns from almost every crevice. And one there is in -ruins, fallen from its lofty perch, and piled in chaos in the stream. -There are saw-mills, and shook-mills, and carding-mills, seven -altogether in this one descent of about three hundred feet. The water -enters the ravine as pure as crystal; but in its wild booming through -race-ways, dams, and water-wheels, it gradually assumes a rich sienna -hue from the _debris_ of sawdust everywhere along its course. The -interior of the ravine is musical with the trebles of the falling water -and the accompaniment of the rumbling mills. Tiny rainbows gleam beneath -the water-falls, and swarms of glistening bubbles and little islands of -saffron-colored foam float away upon the dark-brown eddies. - -At last we reach the carding-mill, which is the lowest of them all--in -every sense, it seems, for it is as I had feared: the flume is but a -pile of brown and mouldy timbers in the bed of the stream, and the old -box-wheel has rotted and fallen from its spokes, almost obscured beneath -a rank growth of weeds. No sound of buzzing teasels, no rumbling of the -water-wheel, no happy carder singing at his work: _nothing_--but a -couple of boys, kneeling in a corner, sucking cider through a straw. -Yes, the old mill has fallen from grace; but what else might one expect -from a mill in "Devil's Hollow," where all its neighbors are engaged in -making hogshead staves, and the very water has turned to ruddy wine? - -[Illustration: THE CIDER MILL.] - -The carding-machine is gone, and has given place to a rustic -cider-press. A temporary undershot-wheel has been rigged beneath the -floor, and a rude trough, patched up with sods, conducts the water from -the stream. - -It is the same old cider-press we all remember, and with the same -accessories. Here are casks of all sizes waiting to be filled, and the -piles of party-colored apples spilled upon the floor from the farmers' -wagons that every now and then back up to the open door. There is the -same rustic harangue on leading agricultural topics, among which we hear -a variety of opinions about that imaginary "line storm." - -"Seems to gi'n the slip this year," remarks one old long-limbed settler -with a slope-roofed straw hat, "'n' I don't know zactly what to _make_ -on't; but I ain't so sartin nuther"--he now takes a wise observation of -a small patch of blue sky through the trees overhead. "I cal'late we'll -git a leetle tetch on't yit." - -"Likenuff, likenuff," responds another, with a squeaky voice; "the ar's -gittin' ruther dampish, 'n' my woman hez got the rheumatiz ag'in. She -kin alluz tell when we're goin' to git a spell o' weather; it's sure to -fetch her all along her spine. But I lay _most_ store on them ar pesky -tree-tuds. I heern um singin' like all possessed ez I wuz comin' through -the woods yender; 'n' it's a sartin sign o' rain when them ar critters -gits agoin', you kin depend on't." - -And now we hear all about the pumpkin and the corn crop, the potato -yield, and the regular list of other subjects so dear to the rural -heart. - -In a corner by themselves we see the pile of "vinegar nubbins"--a tanned -and soft variety of apple--in all stages of variegation. The "hopper" -receives the shovelfuls of fruit for the crushing "smasher," which again -supplies the straw-laid press. We hear the creaking turn of the lever -screw, the yielding of the timbers, and a fresh burst of the trickling -beverage flowing from the surrounding trough into the great wooden tub -below. Here, too, is the swarm of eager urchins, with heads together, -like a troop of flies around a grain of sugar. Ah! what unalloyed bliss -is reflected from their countenances as they absorb the amber nectar -through the intermediate straw--that golden link that I have missed for -many a year! - -Outside upon the logs the refuse "pumice-cheese" has brought together -all the yellow-jackets and late butterflies of the neighborhood--butterflies -so tipsy that you can pick them up between your fingers. I never went so -far with the yellow-jackets, for they have a hotter temper, and don't -like to be fooled with. Black hornets, too, are here, and they find a -feast spread at their very door; for overhead, upon the beech, they -have hung their paper house, like a gray balloon caught among the -branches. - -[Illustration: "THE LINE STORM."] - -Now we hear a chatter and a scratching on the roof, where a pair of -lively squirrels hold a game of tag; and ascending the rickety stairs -into the loft above, we find the floor strewn with hickory-nuts, with -neat round holes cut through on either side, and numberless shaggy -butternuts, too, with daylight let into their recesses also. The boards -and beams are covered with cobweb trimmings, laden with wool-dust; and -as we approach a pile of rusty iron near the murky window, we hear a -scraping of sharp claws, the dropping of a nut between the rafters, and -now a wild scampering on the roof overhead. Before we have fairly -recovered from our surprise, we notice a sudden darkening of a hole in -the shingles close by, where, still and motionless, two inquisitive -black eyes look down at us. We have intruded upon private property, for -this is the home of the squirrels. No one can dispute their title, for -these little squatters have occupied the premises and held the fort for -nearly twenty years. - -They, too, have found forage close at hand, from the nut-grove upon the -hill-side yonder--a yellow bank of foliage of clustered hickories and -beeches, and rounded domes of chestnuts--a grove whose every rock and -bush is my old-time friend; where there are "sermons in stones," and -every tree speaks volumes. - -Here is the low thicket of weeds and hazel-bushes where we always -flushed that flock of quail, or started up some lively white-tailed hare -that jumped away among the quivering brakes and golden-rod. Here are -soft beds of rich green moss, studded with scarlet berries of -winter-green and partridge-vine. Now we come upon a creeping mat of -princess-pine, and here among the leaves we had almost stepped upon a -spreading chestnut-burr--that same burr I have so often seen before, -that same fuzzy, open palm holding out its tempting bait to lure the -eagerness of youth; an eagerness which always invested a neighbor's -chestnuts with a peculiar charm too tempting to resist; "take one," it -seems to say, as it did in years ago; and its hedge of thorny prickles -truly typifies the dangers which surrounded such an undertaking, for -these trees belong to Deacon Turney, and he prizes them as though their -yellow autumn leaves were so much gold. He guards them with an eagle's -eye, and he gathers all their harvest; no single nut is ever known to -sprout in Turney's woods if _he_ knows it. - -This pointed reminder among the leaves fairly pricks my conscience as I -recall the many October escapades in which it formed the chief -attraction. I remember one occasion in particular, for it is indelibly -impressed on my memory, and it was on this very spot. A party of -adventurous lads, myself among the number, were out for a glorious -holiday. Each had his canvas bag across his shoulder, and we stole along -the stone wall yonder, and entered the woods beneath that group of -chestnuts. Two of us acted as outposts on picket guard; and another, -young Teddy Shoopegg by name, the best climber in the village, did the -shaking. He prided himself on being able to "shin up any tree in the -caounty," and after he had once got up among those chestnut-trees we -stood from under, and in a very short space of time no single burr was -left among their branches. There were five busy pairs of hands beneath -those trees, I can tell you, for each one of us fully realized the -necessity of making the most of his time, not knowing how soon the -warning cry from our outposts might put us all to headlong flight; for -the alarm, "Turney's coming!" was enough to lift the hair of any boy in -town. - -[Illustration: A POINTED REMINDER.] - -But luck seemed to favor us on that day; we "cleaned out" six big -chestnut-trees, and then turned our attention to the hickories. There -was a splendid tall shagbark close by, with branches fairly loaded with -the white nuts in their open shucks. They were all ready to drop, and -when the shaking once commenced, the nuts came down like a shower of -hail, bounding from the rocks, rattling among the dry leaves, and -keeping up a clatter all around. We scrambled on all fours, and gathered -them by quarts and quarts. There was no need of poking over the leaves -for them, the ground was covered with them in plain sight. While busily -engaged, we noticed an ominous lull among the branches overhead. - -"'Sst! 'sst!" whispered Shoopegg up above; "I see old Turney on his -white horse daown the road yender." - -"Coming this way?" also in a whisper, from below. - -"I dunno yit, but I jest guess you'd better be gittin' reddy to leg it, -fer he's hitchin' his old nag 't the side o' the road. _Yis_, sir, I -bleeve he's a-cummin'. Shoopegg, you'd better be gittin' aout o' this," -and he commenced to drop hap-hazard from his lofty perch. In a moment, -however, he seemed to change his mind, and paused, once more upon the -watch. "Say, fellers," he again broke in, as we were preparing for a -retreat, "he's gone off to'rd the cedars; he ain't cummin' this way at -_all_." So he again ascended into the tree-top, and finished his shaking -in peace, and we our picking also. There was still another tree, with -elegant large nuts, that we had all concluded to "finish up on." It -would not do to leave it. They were the largest and thinnest-shelled -nuts in town, and there were over a bushel in sight on the branch tips. -Shoopegg was up among them in two minutes, and they were showered down -in torrents as before. And what splendid, perfect nuts they were! We -bagged them with eager hands, picked the ground all clean, and, with -jolly chuckles at our luck, were just about thinking of starting for -home with our well-rounded sacks, when a change came over the spirit of -our dreams. There was a suspicious noise in the shrubbery near by, and -in a moment more we heard our doom. - -"Jest yeu look _ee_ah, yeu boys!" exclaimed a high-pitched voice from -the neighboring shrubbery, accompanied by the form of Deacon Turney, -approaching at a brisk pace, hardly thirty feet away. "Don't yeu think -yeu've got jest abaout _enuff_ o' them nuts?" - -Of course a wild panic ensued, in which we made for the bags and dear -life; but Turney was prepared and ready for the emergency, and, raising -a huge old shot-gun, he levelled it, and yelled, "Don't any on ye stir -ner move, or by Christopher I'll blow the heels clean off'n the hull -_pile_ on ye. I'd _shoot_ ye quicker'n _lightni'_." - -And we believed him, for his aim was true, and his whole expression was -not that of a man who was trifling. I never shall forget the -uncomfortable sensation that I experienced as I looked into the muzzle -of that double-barrelled shot-gun, and saw both hammers fully raised -too. And I can clearly see now the squint and the glaring eye that -glanced along those barrels. There was a wonderfully persuasive power -lurking in those horizontal tubes; so I at once hastened to inform the -deacon that we were "not going to run." - -"Wa'al," he drawled, "it looked a leetle thet _way_, I thort, a spell -_ago_;" and he still kept us in the field of his weapon, till at length -I exclaimed, in desperation. - -"For gracious sake! point that gun in some other _way_, will you?" - -"Wa'al, _no_! I'm not fer pintin' it ennywhar else jest _yit_--not until -you've sot them ar _bags_ daown agin, jist whar ye _got_ 'em, every -_one_ on ye." The bags were speedily replaced, and he slowly lowered his -gun. - -[Illustration: AFTER THE SHELL-BARKS] - -"Wa'al, naow," he continued, as he came up in our midst, "this is putty -bizniss, _ain't_ it? Bin havin' a putty likely sort o' time teu, I sh'd -jedge from the looks o' these 'ere _bags_. One--two--_six_ on 'em; an' I -vaow they must be nigh on teu a half bushel in every pleggy _one_ on -'em. Wa'al, naow"--with his peculiar drawl--"look eeah: you're a putty -ondustrious lot o' _thieves_, I'm _blest_ if ye ain't." But the deacon -did all the talking, for his manoeuvres were such as to render us -speechless. "Putty likely place teu cum a-nuttin', ain't it?" Pause. -"Putty nice mess o' shell-barks ye got thar, I tell ye naow.--Quite a -sight o' _chestnuts_ in _yourn_, ain't they?" - -There was only one spoken side to this dialogue, but the pauses were -eloquent on both sides, and we boys kept up a deal of tall thinking as -we watched the deacon alternate his glib remarks by the gradual removal -of the bags to the foot of a neighboring tree. This done, he seated -himself upon a rock beside them. - -"_Thar!_" he exclaimed, removing his tall hat and wiping his -white-fringed forehead with a red bandanna handkerchief. "I'm much -_obleeged_. I've been a-watchin' on ye gittin' these 'ere nuts the hull -arternoon. I thort ez haow yeu might like to know on't." And then, as -though a happy thought had struck him, what should he do but -deliberately spit on his hands and grasp his gun. "Look _ee_ah"--a -pause, in which he cocked both barrels--"yeu boys wuz paowerful anxyis -teu git _away_ from _ee_ah a spell ago. Naow yeu kin _git_ ez lively ez -yeu pleze; your chores is done fer to-day." And bang! went one of the -gun-barrels directly over our heads. - -We _got_, and when once out of gun-range we paid the deacon a wealth of -those rare compliments for both eye and ear that always swell the boys' -vocabulary. - -"All right," he yelled back in answer, as he transported the bags across -the field. "Cum agin next year--cum agin. Alluz welcome! alluz welcome!" - -As I have already said, the deacon gathered all his nut -harvest--sometimes by a very novel method. - -Who does not remember some such episode of the old jolly days? If it was -not a Deacon Turney, it was some one else. I am sure his counterpart -exists in every country town, and in the memory of every boyhood -experience. - -We remember, perhaps, the sweet hazel-nuts which we gathered in their -brown husks and spread to dry upon the garret floor, and how those -mischievous mice avenged the deacon's wrongs as they invaded our -treasured store, and transported it to the nooks and kinks among the -rafters and beneath the floor. Then there were those rambles after -"fox-grapes," and the "gunning" tramps, when we stole with cautious step -upon the unseen "Bob White" whistling for us among the brush near by, -when the startling _whirr_ of the ruffed grouse from almost under our -feet sent an electric thrill up our backs and along our arms, even -touching off the powder in our barrels unawares. There were box-traps in -the woods, and snares among the copses, and lots of other mischief of -which we would not care to tell. - -[Illustration: A CORNER OF THE FARM.] - -There was another little three-cornered nut that fell among the -beech-trees where we held our October picnics, and the autumn beech -forest I remember as a lovely woodland parlor. We sit upon a painted -rock, in the shadow of a drooping hemlock, perhaps. Beyond, we look -across among the smooth gray tree-trunks, where sidelong shadows softly -stripe the matted leaves, with here and there a shining shaft of sunbeam -lighting up the carpet, or a glinting spray of sun-tipped leaves that -flicker above their shadows. The woods are filled with a luminous glow -such as no summer forest ever knew--an all-pervading light which seems -almost independent of the sunshine, as though living in the leaf itself. -It floods the mottled bark, and transforms its ashy tints to softened -autumn grays. It searches out the shadows of the evergreens, and throws -its mellow glow upon the rocks among their recesses. It permeates the -whole interior as though it were transfigured through a golden-colored -glass. - -A quick, sharp whistle surprises you from the herbage near by, and a -striped chickaree skips across the leaves and dives into his burrow at -the foot of an old stump not far away. There are various other sounds -that come to you if you sit quietly in a beech wood. Now it is a tiny -footfall, a pat-pat upon the leaves, and a little brown bird is seen, -hopping in and out among the undergrowth, scratching and pecking like a -little hen among the leaf mould. Then comes a galloping sound, and you -know there is a scampering hare somewhere about. And at last a peeping -frog gains confidence, and starts up a trill somewhere behind you. He is -soon joined by another, and still others, until a chorus of the shrill -voices echoes among the trees, some from the around, some from the limbs -overhead; and if you only sit perfectly still, you may hear a -venturesome voice, perhaps, at your very elbow; for these little peepers -are capricious songsters, and only sing before a quiet, attentive -audience. Now a silly green katydid flits by, like an animated gauzy -leaf; and quick as thought a kingbird darts out from the leaves -overhead, hovers in mid-air for a second, and is away again; and -luckless katydid wishes she _hadn't_. - -See the variety of beeches, too! Here are slender, dappled stems, clean -and trim; and others, great giants with fluted trunks and gnarled roots, -and with eccentric limbs reaching out in most fantastic angles; but all -spreading above in a graceful, airy screen of intermingled tracery and -sunlight, where slender branches bend and sway beneath the agile -squirrel as he leaps from tree to tree, and the leaves clatter with the -falling nuts. Behind us a soft fluttering of many wings betrays a -slender mountain-ash, with its drooping clusters of berries, growing in -an open, rocky space near by--where a flock of cedar birds assemble -among the fruit, or scatter away amid the evergreens at your slightest -movement. Turning your head in another direction, you can follow the -course of an old farm-road that leads out upon a bright clearing, -thick-set with light-green, feathery ferns. A few rods beyond, it makes -a sudden downward turn through a dense grove of lofty pines and -hemlocks. Here are "dim aisles" where dwell perpetual twilight--where no -ray of sun has entered for well-nigh a century--only, perhaps, as it is -brought down in a glistening sunbeam within the crystal bead of balsam -upon some dropping cone. There is a solemn stillness in these stately -halls, in which your very footfall is proscribed and hushed in the -depths of the brown and silent carpet. There are old, venerable -gray-beards here, and fallen monarchs lying prostrate among the rugged -rocks; and here and there among the brown debris a fungus lifts its -head, to tell of other generations that lie crumbling beneath the mould. -Now among the lofty columns, like a magnificent illuminated window in -some vast cathedral, comes a glimpse of the outer world with its autumn -colors; and here the vaulted aisle soon leads us. We find a dazzling -contrast; for in the sombre shadows of the pine-forest one readily -forgets the month, or even the season. Here we approach a rippling -trout-stream, and as we stop to rest upon its tottering bridge we look -across a long brook meadow, where the asters screen the ground in -mid-air in a purple sea--one of the rarest spectacles of autumn. But in -this swamp lot there are presented a continual series of just such rich -displays from spring-time till the winter. - -I know of no other place in which the progress of the year is so readily -traced as in these swampy fallow lands. They are a living calendar, not -merely of the seasons alone, but of every month successively; and its -record is almost unmistakably disclosed. It is whispered in the fragrant -breath of flowers, and of the aromatic herbage you crush beneath your -feet. It floats about on filmy wings of dragon-fly and butterfly, or -glistens in the air on silky seeds. It skips upon the surface of the -water, or swims among the weeds beneath; and is noised about in myriads -of tell-tale songs among the reeds and sedges. The swallows and the -starlings proclaim it in their flight, and the very absence of these -living features is as eloquent as life itself. Even in the simple story -of the leaf, the bud, the blossom, and the downy seed, it is told as -plainly as though written in prosaic words and strewn among the herbage. - -In the early, blustering days of March, there is a stir beneath the -thawing ground, and the swamp cabbage-root sends up a well protected -scout to explore among the bogs; but so dismal are the tidings which he -brings, that for weeks no other venturing sprout dares lift its head. He -braves alone the stormy month--the solitary sign of spring, save, -perhaps, the lengthening of the alder catkins that loosen in the wind. -April woos the yellow cowslips into bloom along the water's edge, and -the golden willow twigs shake out their perfumed tassels. In May the -prickly carex blossoms among the tussocks, and the calamus buds burst -forth among their flat, green blades. June is heralded on right and left -by the unfurling of blue-flags, and the eyebright blue winks and blinks -as it awakens in the dazzling July sun. - -[Illustration: BEECH-NUTTING.] - -Then follows brimful August, with the summer's consummation of -luxuriance and bloom; with flowers in dense profusion in bouquets of -iron-weed and thoroughworts, of cardinal flowers and fragrant clethra, -with their host of blossoming companions. The milk-weed pods fray out -their early floss upon September breezes, and the blue petals of the -gentian first unfold their fringes. October overwhelms us with the -friendly tokens of burr marigolds and bidens; while its thickets of -black-alder lose their autumn verdure, and leave November with a -"burning bush" of scarlet berries hitherto half-hidden in the leafage. -Now, too, the copses of witch-hazel bedeck themselves, and are yellow -with their tiny ribbons. December's name is written in wreaths of snow -upon the withered stalks of slender weeds and rushes, which soon lie -bent and broken in the lap of January, crushed beneath their winter -weight. And in fulfilment of the cycle, February sees the swelling buds -of willow, with their restless pussies eager for the spring, half -creeping from their winter cells. - -The October day is a dream, bright and beautiful as the rainbow, and as -brief and fugitive. The same clouds and the same sun may be with us on -the morrow, but the rainbow will have gone. There is a destroyer that -goes abroad by night; he fastens upon every leaf, and freezes out its -last drop of life, and leaves it on the parent stem, pale, withered, and -dying. - -Then come those closing days of dissolution, the saddest of the year, -when all nature is filled with phantoms, and the gaunt and naked trees -moan in the wind--every leaf a mockery, every breeze a sigh. The air -seems weighed with a premonition of the dreariness to come. The -landscape is darkened in a melancholy monotone, and death is written -everywhere. You may walk the woods and fields for hours without a gleam -of comfort or a cheering sound. We hear, perhaps, the hollow roll of the -woodpecker upon some neighboring tree; but even he is clad in mourning: -it is a muffled drum, and the resounding limb is dead. You sit beneath -the old oak-tree, but it is a lifeless rustle that grates upon your ear, -while you listen half beseechingly for some cheering note from the -robins in the thicket near; but they are coy and silent now, and their -flight is toward the southern hills. A villanous shrike must needs come -upon the scene: he alights upon a limb near by, with blood upon his -beak. Murder is in his eye, and his mission here is death. And now we -hear a noisy crow o'erhead: he perches upon a neighboring tree in hungry -scrutiny. And what is he but carrion's bird, that revels in decay and -death, with raiment black as a funeral pall? In the cold gray sky we see -their scattered flocks blowing in the wind with sidelong flight, and in -the field below that mocking cadaver, the man of straw, shaking his -flimsy arms at them in wild contortions. - -[Illustration: THE NORTH WIND.] - -There is a hopeless despondency abroad in all the air, in which the -summer medleys of the birds taunt us with their memories. We yearn for -one such joyful sound to break the gloomy reverie. But what bird could -swell his throat in song amidst such cheerlessness? No, Nature does not -thus defeat her purpose. The hopefulness of Spring, the joyful -consummation of Summer, have fled; their mission is fulfilled, and these -are days for meditation on the past and future. All nature speaks of -death; and there are voices of despair, and others eloquent with hope -and trust. There are dead leaves that crumble into dust beneath our -feet; but, if we look higher, there are others that conceal the promise -of eternal life, where the undeveloped being, that perfect symbol, -weaves his silken shroud, and awaits the coming of his day of full -perfection. In the ground beneath he seeks his sepulchre, and he knows -that at the appointed time he will burst his cerements and fly away. -These are inobtrusive, silent testimonies; but they are here, and need -only to be sought to unfold their prophecies. - -But there comes a respite even in these late gloomy days. There is a -lull in the work of devastation, in which the sunny skies and magic haze -of October come back to us in the charming dreaminess of the Indian -summer. A brief farewell--perhaps a day, perhaps a week; but however -long, it is a parting smile that we love to recall in the dreariness -that follows. The sky is luminous with soft sun-lit clouds, and the hazy -air is laden with spring-like breezes, with now and then a welcome -cricket-song or light-hearted bird-note, for, although long upon their -way, the birds have not yet all departed. They twitter cheerily among -the trees and thickets, and should you listen quietly you perhaps might -hear an echo of spring again in the warble of the robin upon the -dog-wood-tree. Here they have loitered by the way among the scarlet -berries. Not only robins, but cedar-birds and thrushes are here, in -successive flocks, from morn till night. - -The fields are dull with faded golden-rods and asters, among whose downy -seeds the frolicking chickadees and snow-birds hold a jubilee. The maze -of twigs and branches in the distant hills has enveloped them in a smoky -gray, and the sound of rustling leaves follows your footsteps in your -woodland rambles. The fringe of yellow petals is unfolding on the -witch-hazel boughs, and if you only knew the place, you might discover -in some forsaken nook a solitary pale-blue lamp of fringed gentian still -flickering among the withered leaves. Now a lively twittering and a hum -of wings surprises you, and before you can turn your head a happy little -troop of birds sweep across your path, and are away among the -evergreens. They are white buntings, and their presence here is like a -chill, for they come from the icy regions of the North, and they bring -the snow upon their wings. The Indian summer is soon a thing of the -past. Perhaps before another daybreak it will have flown. There is no -dawn upon that morning. The night runs into a day of dismal, cheerless -twilight, and the sky is overcast with ominous darkness. That angry -cloud that left us, driven away before the conquering Spring, now lowers -above the northward mountain; we see its livid face and feel its -blighting breath--"a hard, dull bitterness of cold," that sweeps along -the moor in noisy triumph, that howls and tears among the trembling -trees, and smothers out the last smouldering flame of faded Autumn. - -The final leaf is torn from the tree. The lingering birds depart the -desolation for scenes more tranquil, and I too with them, for nothing -here invites my tarrying. The Autumn days are gone, grim Winter is at -our door, and the covering snow will soon enshroud the earth, subdued -and silent in its winter sleep. - -[Illustration] - - - - -WINTER. - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration: THE SLEEP] - -[Illustration: A WINTER IDYL - -Prologue - - A chill sad ending of a dreary day. - The waning light in stillness dies away. - Bequeaths no ray of hope the void to fill - But lends to gloomy thoughts more sadness still. - All nature hushed beneath a snowy shroud - Darkness and death their sovereign rule decree - O, reign of dread, of cruel blasts that kill - Thy cycle brings a heavy heart to me. - How many thus their Winter's advent view - Whose darkened faith no daylight ever knew. - Alas for him who thinks the grave his doom - Or sees the sun go down behind the tomb. - "Seek and ye shall find". On every hand - Mute prophecies their mission tell. - Yield but a listening ear and they shall say - 'The dead but sleep, they do not pass away' - Else why mid earth and heaven on yonder tree - That type of life in death, the living tomb? - Why the imago from dark cerements free - Winging its upward flight from earthly gloom? - Why this device supreme unless a prophecy - Of resurrected life and immortality. - Oh thou whose downcast eyes refuse to seek - See! even at the grave the sign is given. - The snow-clad evergreen, eternal life - Clothed in celestial purity from heaven. - Even thus life's Winter should be blest - Not dark and dead but full of peace and rest. -] - - -Silently, like thoughts that come and go, the snow-flakes fall, each one -a gem. The whitened air conceals all earthly trace, and leaves to -memory the space to fill. I look upon a blank, whereon my fancy paints, -as could no hand of mine, the pictures and the poems of a boyhood life; -and even as the undertone of a painting, be it warm or cool, shall -modify or change the color laid upon it, so this cold and frosty -background through the window transfigures all my thoughts, and forms -them into winter memories legion like the snow. Oh that I could -translate for other eyes the winter idyl painted there! I see a living -past whose counterpart I well could wish might be a common fortune. I -see in all its joyous phases the gladsome winter in New England, the -snow-clad hills with bare and shivering trees, the homestead dear, the -old gray barn hemmed in with peaked drifts. I see the skating-pond, and -hear the ringing, intermingled shouts of the noisy, shuffling game, the -black ice written full with testimony of the winter's brisk hilarity. -Down the hard-packed road with glancing sled I speed, past frightened -team and startled way-side groups; o'er "thank you, marms," I fly in -clear mid-air, and crouching low, with sidelong spurts of snowy spray, I -sweep the sliding curve. Now past the village church and cosy parsonage. -Now scudding close beneath the hemlocks, hanging low with their piled -and tufted weight of snow. The way-side bits like dizzy streaks whiz by, -the old rail fence becomes a quivering tint of gray. The road-side weeds -bow after me, and in the swirling eddy chasing close upon my feet, sway -to and fro. Soon, like an arrow from the bow, I shoot across the "Town -Brook" bridge, and, jumping out beyond, skip the sinking ground, and -with an anxious eye and careful poise I "trim the ship," and, hoping, -leave the rest to fate. - -Perhaps I land on both runners, perhaps I don't; that depends. I've -tried both ways I know, and if I remember rightly, I always found it -royal jolly fun; for what cared I at a bruise, or a pint of snow down my -back, when I got it there myself? - -The average New England boy is hard to kill, and I was one of that kind. -Any boy who could brave the hidden mysteries and capricious favoritism -of those fifteen dislocating "thank you, marms," and _hang together_ -through it all, and, having so done, finish that experience with a -plunging double somersault into a crusted snow-bank, or, perchance, into -a stone wall--if he can do this, I say, and survive the fun, then there -is no reason why he should not live to tell of it in old age, for never -in the flesh will he go through a rougher ordeal. I've known a boy who -"_hated_ the old district school because the hard benches hurt him so," -and who would rest his aching limbs for hours together in this gentle -sort of exercise. "The fine print made his eyes ache, and he couldn't -study;" and yet when one day he comes home with one eye all colors of -the rainbow, "it's _nothing_." "Consistency is a jewel." Boys don't -generally wear jewels. But they are all alike. Boys will be boys, and if -they only live through it, they will some day look back and wonder at -their good fortune. - -At the foot of that long hill the "Town Brook" gurgles on its winding -way, and passing beneath the weather-beaten bridge, it makes a sudden -turn, and spreads into a glassy pond behind the bulwarks of the saw-mill -dam. In summer, were we as near as this, we would hear the intermittent -ring of the whizzing saw, the clanking cogs, and the tuneful sounds of -the falling bark-bound slabs; but now, like its bare willows that were -wont to wave their leafy boughs with caressing touch upon the mossy -roof, the old mill shows no sign of life. Its pulse is frozen, and the -silent wheel is resting from its labors beneath a coverlet of snow. Who -is there who has not in some recess of the memory a dear old haunt like -this, some such sleeping pond radiant with reflections of the scenes of -early life? Thither in those winter days we came, our numbers swelled -from right and left with eager volunteers for the game, till at last, -almost a hundred strong, we rally on the smooth black ice. - -[Illustration: SNOW-FLAKES OF MEMORY.] - -The opposing leaders choose their sides, and with loud hurrahs we -penetrate the thickets at the water's edge, each to cut his special -choice of stick--that festive cudgel, with curved and club-shaped end, -known to the boy as a "shinney-stick," but to the calm recollection of -after-life principally as an instrument of torture, indiscriminately -promiscuous in its playful moments. Were I to swing one of those dainty -little clubs again, I would rather that the end were tied up in -something soft, and that this should be the universal rule; otherwise I -don't think I would play. I would prefer to sit on the bank and watch -the sport, or make myself useful in looking after the dead and wounded. -But to the "average New England boy" it makes a great deal of difference -who swings the club, and what it is swung for. If it is whirled in -_play_, and takes him with a blow that _ought_ to kill him, and _would_ -if he were not a boy, why then he laughs, and thinks it's good fun, and -goes in and gets another. But if the parental guardian has any reason to -swing a stick even one-tenth the size, the whole neighborhood thinks -there is a boy being murdered. So much depends upon a name sometimes. - -[Illustration: THE OLD MILL-POND.] - -How clearly and distinctly I recall those toughening, rollicking sports -on the old mill-pond! I see the two opposing forces on the field of ice, -the wooden ball placed ready for the fray. The starter lifts his stick. -I hear a whizzing sweep. Then comes that liquid, twittering ditty of the -hard-wood ball skimming over the ice, that quick succession of bird-like -notes, first distinct and clear, now fainter and more blended, now -fainter still, until at last it melts into a whispered, quivering -whistle, and dies away amidst the scraping sound of the close-pursuing -skates. With a sharp crack I see the ball returned singing over the -polished surface, and met half-way by the advance-guard of the leading -side. The holder of the ball with rapid onward flight hugs close upon -his charge, keeping it at the end of his stick. Past one and another of -his adversaries he flies on winged skates, followed by a score of his -companions, until, seeing his golden opportunity, with one tremendous -effort he gives a powerful blow. To be sure, one of his own men -interposes the back of his head and takes half the force of his stroke; -but what does that matter, it was all in fun? besides, he had no -business to be in the way. The ball thus retarded in such a trivial -manner instantly meets a barricade of the excited opponents, who have -hurried thither to save their game; but before any one can gain the time -to strike the ball, the starters rush pell-mell upon them. Now comes the -tug of war. Strange fun! What a spectacle! The would-be striker, with -stick uplifted, jammed in the centre of a boisterous throng; the -hill-sides echo with ringing shouts, and an anxious circle with ready -sticks forms about the swaying, gesticulating mob. Meanwhile the ball -is beating round beneath their feet, their skates are clashing steel on -steel. I hear the shuffling kicks, the battling strokes of clubs, the -husky mutterings of passion half suppressed; I hear the panting breath -and the impetuous whisperings between the teeth, as they push and -wrestle and jam. A lucky hit now sends the ball a few feet from the -fray. A ready hand improves the chance; but as he lifts his stick a -youngster's nose gets in the way and spoils his stroke; he slips, and -falls upon the ball; another and another plunge headlong over him. The -crowd surround the prostrate pile, and punch among them for the ball. -When found, the same riotous scene ensues; another falls, and all are -trampled under foot by the enthusiastic crowd. Ye gods! will any one -come out alive? I hear the old familiar sounds vibrating on the air: -whack! whack! "Ouch!" "Get out of the way, then!" "Now I've got it!" -"Shinney on yer own side!" and now a heavy thud! which means a sudden -damper on some one's wild enthusiasm. And so it goes until the game is -won. The mob disperses, and the riotous spectacle gives place to -uproarious jollity. - -There are other more tranquil reflections from that old mill-pond. Do -you not remember the little pair of dainty skates whose straps you -clasped on daintier feet; the quiet, gliding strolls through the -secluded nooks; the small, refractory buckle which you so often stooped -to conquer; and the sidelong grimaces of less fortunate swains--sneers -that brought the color tingling to your cheeks with mingled pride and -anger? Ah! things so near the heart as these can never freeze. - -Yonder, just below that clustered group of pines, where the water-weeds -and lily-pads are frozen in the ice, we chopped our fishing holes, and -with baited lines and tip-ups set, we waited, wondering what our luck -would be. With eager eyes we watched the line play out, or saw the -tip-up give the warning sign. And as with anxious pull we neared the end -of the tightening cord, who shall describe that tingling sense of joy at -the first glimpse of the gaping pickerel? - -Near by I see the yellow-fringed witch-hazel bending in graceful spray -over the flaky, bordering ice, that mystic shrub whose feathery winter -blooms we gathered as a token for the little one with dainty skates. - -Still farther up the pond the marbled button-wood-tree, with spreading -limbs and knotty brooms of branchlets, rises clear against the sky, its -little pendulums swinging away the winter moments. At its very roots the -dam spreads into a tufted swamp, thick-set with alders. How often have I -picked my way through that wheezing, soggy marsh in quest of the rare -Cecropia cocoons; treading among glazed air-chambers, whose roof of ice, -like a pane of brittle glass, falls in at my approach--a crystal fairy -grotto, set with diamonds and frost ferns, annihilated at a step. - -Here, too, the sagacious musk-rat built his cemented dome, and along the -neighboring shore we set the chained steel-traps, or made the ponderous -dead-fall from nature's rude materials. Yonder, in the side-hill woods, -I set the big box rabbit-traps; with keen-edged jack-knife trimmed the -slender hickory poles, and on the ground near by, with sharpened, -branching sticks, I built the little pens for my twitch-up snares. Can -I ever forget the fascinating excitement which sped me on from snare to -snare in those tramps through the snowy woods, the exhilarating buoyancy -of that delicious suspense, every nerve and every muscle on the _qui -vive_ in my eagerness for the captured game! Even the memory of it acts -like a tonic, and almost creates an appetite like that of old. - -And then the lovely woods. How few there are who ever seek their winter -solitude: and of these how fewer still are they who find anything but -drear and cold monotony! - -We read the literature of our time, and find it rich in story of the -home aspects of winter; of Christmas joys and festivals, of holiday -festivities, and all the various phases of cosy domestic life; but not -often are we tempted from the glowing hearth into the wilds of the bare -and leafless forest. We read of the "drear and lonely waste, the -cheerless desolation of the howling wilderness," and we look out upon -the naked, shivering trees and draw our cushioned rockers closer to the -grateful fire. - -[Illustration: THE FIRST SNOW.] - -Not I; bitter were the winds and high the piled-up drifts that shut me -in from out-of-doors in those glorious days; and whether on my animated -trapping tours, or hunting on the crusted snow, with powder-horn and -game-bag swinging at my side, or perhaps pressing through the tangled -thickets in my impetuous search for those pendulous cocoons, now -stopping to tear away the loosening bark on moss-grown stump, now -looking beneath some prostrate board for the little "woolly bears" -curled up in their dormant sleep: no matter what my purpose, always I -was sure to find the winter full of interest and beauty. How distinctly -I recall the thrilling spectacle of that glad morning when, awakening -early, and jumping from the little cot so snug and warm, I tripped -across the chilly floor and scratched a peep-hole on the frosted -window-pane; looked out upon a world so changed, so strangely beautiful, -that at first it seemed like a lingering vision in half-awakened -eyes--still looking into dream-land. All the world is dressed in purest -white, as soft and light as down from seraphs' wings. The orchard trees, -the elms, and all the leafless shrubs, as if by magic spell, transformed -to shadowy plumes of spotless purity, and the interlacing boughs -o'erhead vanishing in a canopy of glistening, feathery spray. I look -upon a realm celestial in its beauty, unprofaned by earthly sign or -sound. A strange, supernal stillness fills the air; and save where some -unseen spirit-wing tips the slender twig and lets fall the scintillating -shower, no slightest movement mars the enchanted vision. Above, in the -far-off blue, I see the circling flock of doves, their snowy wings -glittering in their upward flight--apt emblems in a scene so like a -glimpse of spirit-land. A single vision such as this should wed the -heart to winter's loveliness, a loveliness inspiring and immaculate, for -never in the cycle of the year does nature wear a face so void of -earthly impress, so spirit-like, so near the heavenly ideal. - -One of the most striking features of the winter ramble in the woods is -their impressive stillness. But stop awhile and listen. That very -silence will give emphasis to every sound that soon shall vibrate on the -clear atmosphere, for "little pitchers have big ears," and wide-open -eyes too. They will first be sure that the stick you hold is only a -cane, and not the small boy's gun which they have so learned to dread. -Hark! even from the hollow maple at your side there comes a scraping -sound, and in an instant more two black and shining eyes are peering -down at us from the bulging hole above. Tut! don't strike the little -fellow. Had you only waited a moment longer, we would have seen him -emerge from his concealment, and with frisky, bushy tail laid flat upon -the bark, he would have hung head downward on the trunk, and watched our -every movement; but now you've startled him, he thinks you mean -mischief, and you'll see his sparkling eyes no more at that knot-hole. -Listen! Now we hear a rustling in the sere and snow-tipped weeds -somewhere near by, and presently a little feathery form flits past, and -settles yonder on the swaying rush. With feathers ruffled into a little -fuzzy ball, he bustles around among the downy seeds, now prying in their -midst, now hanging underneath, head up, head down, no matter which, -it's all the same to him. Now he stops short in his busy search, turns -his little head jauntily from side to side, lifts his tufted crest, and -sets free his pent-up glee--"See! see! see me sing! Chickadee-dee-dee!" -Who has not heard that wee small voice ringing in the frosty air? and -who, having heard it, has not longed to catch and cuddle that little -feathery puff, the winter's own darling, whose little warm heart and -sprightly song temper the chill and enliven the cheerless days? - -[Illustration: MUTE PROPHECIES.] - -The bending rush but lightly feels the dainty form, and, if at all, it -must delight to bear so sweet a burden. How dearly have I learned to -love this little fellow, perhaps my special favorite among the birds; -for while the others one by one desert us with the dying year for scenes -more bright and sunny, the chickadee is content to share our lot; he is -constant, always with us, ever full of sprightliness and cheer. No -winter is known in his warm heart, no piercing blast can freeze the -fountain of his song. - -How often in the woods and by-ways have I stopped and chatted with this -diminutive friend as he nestled in some oscillating spray of golden-rod, -or perhaps with jaunty strut shook down the new-fallen snow from some -drooping branch of hemlock. I say "chatted," for he is a talkative and -entertaining little fellow, always ready to tell people "all about it," -if they will only ask him. He is generally too busy searching amid the -dead and crumpled leaves for the indispensable _bug_ to intrude himself -on any one; but once draw him into conversation and he will do his share -of the talking--only, mind you, remove those big fur gloves and tippet, -or he will put you to shame by crying, "See! see!" and showing you his -little, bare feet. This pert atom can be saucy and cross if things don't -exactly suit his fancy; and, for whatever reason, he always seems out of -patience at the sight of a _man_ all bundled up and mittened. I have -noticed this repeatedly. "Take off some of those things," he seems to -say, "and let me see who you are, and then I'll talk with you," and with -feathers puffed up like an indignant hen in miniature, he scolds and -scolds. - -Then there are the little snow-birds, too. When the sad autumn days are -upon us, when the dying leaves with ominous flush yield up their hold on -life, and are borne to earth on wailing winds, and all nature seems -filled with mocking phantoms of the summer's life and loveliness; when -we listen for the robin's song and hear it not, or the thrush's -bell-like trill, and listen in vain; when we look into the southern sky -and see the winged flocks departing behind the faded hills--it is at -such a time, while the very air seems weighed with melancholy, that the -snow-birds come with their welcome, twittering voices. All winter long -these sprightly little fellows swarm the thickets and sheltering -evergreens, frolicking in the new-fallen snow like sparrows in a summer -pool. Sometimes they unite in flocks with the chickadees and invade the -orchard, and even the kitchen door-yard, with their ceaseless chatter. -If you open the window and scatter a few crumbs upon the porch, they -are soon hopping among the grateful morsels with twittering -thankfulness. And on a very cold day, should you leave the kitchen -window standing open, they will perch upon the sill and preen their -ruffled feathers. Always trusting and confiding when appreciated, but -often coy and distant for want of just such kindness. - -[Illustration: THE TWITCH-UP.] - -Although loving the cold, and choosing the winter season to be with us, -the snow-birds cannot hold their own against the little hardy chickadee. -Indeed, I sometimes think that this little frost-proof puff is happier -and more sprightly in proportion as the cold increases, and that even -the sight of a frozen thermometer would be, perhaps, an especial -inspiration for his song. Not so the little snow-birds. When those raw -and bitter winds sweep like a blight over the face of nature, their -little song is frozen, and their familiar forms are seen no more. You -hunt amid the evergreens and hedge-rows, but they are not there. But -when the shingle-vane on the old barn-gable veers and points toward the -south or west, should you chance to be in the neighborhood of the -barrack mow, you would hear the muffled twittering of the little thawing -voices underneath the conical roof. Here they have assembled among the -wheat-sheaves still unthreshed, finding a warm and cosy shelter--"a -pavilion till the storm is overpast." - -The winter woods are full of life and beauty, if we will only look for -them. We do as much for the summer woods, why not for the winter? Were -we to seclude ourselves in-doors in June, and shut our eyes to all its -loveliness, it would be only what so many do from November till the -budding spring. In one respect, at least, the woods are even more -beautiful in winter than in summer; for in their height of leafy -splendor--sometimes to me almost oppressive in its universal -greenness--the true and living tree is hidden from sight, its exquisite -anatomy is concealed, and, to a certain degree, all the different trees -melt into a mass of "nothing but leaves." - -No one ever sees the full charm of the forest who turns his back upon it -in the winter, for its clear-cut tree-forms are an unceasing delight and -wonder. Look at the exquisite lines of that drooping birch, the -intricate interlacing tracery of the minute branching twigs! Could -anything be more graceful or more chaste? could any covering of leaves -enhance its beauty? And so the apple-tree by the old stone wall--how -different its various angles! how individual in its character! how -beautiful its silhouette against the sky! Thus every separate tree -affords a perfect study, of infinite design. See that mottled beech -trunk yonder. What! never noticed it before? That was because its -drooping leaf-clad branches concealed its beauty; but now not only does -it emerge from its wonted obscurity, but the whiteness of the snowy -ground beyond gives added value to every subtle tint upon its dappled -surface. Step nearer. With what variety of exquisite tender grays has -nature painted the clean smooth bark! See those marbled variegations, -each spot with a distinct tint of its own, and each tint composed of a -multitude of microscopic points of color. Here we see a fimbriated -blotch of dark olive moss, spreading its intertwining rootlets in all -directions, and further up a spongy tuft of rich brown lichen tipped -with snow. Who could pass by unnoticed such a refined and exquisite bit -of painting as this? And yet they abound on every side. See the shingly -shagbark, with its mottlings of pale green lichen and orange spots, its -jagged outline so perfectly relieved against the snow, and, beyond, that -group of rock-maples, with its bold contrasts of deep green moss, and -striped tints of most varied shades, from lightest drab to deepest -brown. And there is the yellow birch with its tight-wound bark, fringed -with ravellings of buff-colored satin. Here we come upon a clump of -chestnuts, their cool trunks set off in bold relief against a background -of dark hemlocks, whose outer branches, clothed in snow, like tufted -mittens, hang low upon the ground. - -[Illustration: THE WINTER'S DARLING.] - -Passing from the wood, we now pick our way through a neglected by-path -shut in on either side with birches, whose brown and slender branches -spring from a trunk so white as to be almost lost in the background tint -of snow. At every step we dislodge the glistening wreaths of snowy -flakes from the bluish raspberry canes. The little withered nests on the -tips of the wild-carrot stems hurl their fleecy burden to the ground; -and each in turn the phantom shapes give place to homely yarrows, -golden-rods, or thistles. Further on we see a wild-rose branch with -scarlet berries, and further st--What's that? A fleet-footed little -creature darts out almost from under our very feet, and bounds away into -the dark recess. That little cotton tail! what a tempting target it -always was for me! Lucky for you, my dear little fellow, that I am not a -boy again, or I'd set a snare for you in about ten minutes. This always -was a favorite haunt for hares, and if we had only kept our eyes open we -might have known it, for, see! all around us the snow is dotted with -hollows from their four little jumping foot-pads. - -[Illustration: "WHO'S THAT?"] - -Now we enter the old swamp lot, thick-set with bristling bulrushes and -bare and spindling brooms of iron-weed. Here is the little turtle pond, -from whose animated mud we fished the bugs and polly-wogs for our -aquarium. Now it is shrunken and cold with crackling ice. Around its -borders a thicket of black alder grows, its close-clinging scarlet -berries, half hid in summer by the overhanging foliage, now seen in all -their brilliancy and profusion, the brightest touches of color in -nature's winter landscape. - -Soon we are walking over the soft and silent carpet in the pine grove's -sombre shelter, stopping for one brief moment to listen to the sighing -wind overhead, and to inhale one long and lasting whiff of the delicious -invigorating aroma of the trees. - -Once more out in the open, our attention is arrested by a little stain -of blood upon the snow. Leading to the spot we see a row of tiny -imprints of some little field-mouse, and the white surface in close -vicinity is ruffled and disturbed. A cruel tragedy has been committed -here, and its evidence is plain, for there is but one line of wee -footprints from the little hole beneath the stump near by--no return. -Poor little fellow! I wish I had beneath my foot the sharp-eyed owl that -surprised you in your little antics on the snow. - -[Illustration: SUNSHINE AND SHADOW IN THE WOODS.] - -A deserted nest now hangs across our pathway, and as I look upon the -cold heap within its hollow, I wonder where are the little birds that -nestled beneath the mother's wings in the cosy warmth of that cradled -home only a few short months ago. And now I am reminded that nearly all -this land through which we have been strolling belongs to Nathan Beers; -for there's his house right across the road, only a few rods in front of -us. I cannot help but laugh as I look over into that old door-yard at -the incident it recalls. - -I remember how, about fifteen years ago, I came up through these very -woods into the clearing where we stand, and saw old Nathan, with -slouched straw hat and stoga boots, entering his front gate. He was -muttering and gesticulating to himself; and on the gravel behind him he -trailed along a huge steel trap and clinking chain. He evidently had a -strong opinion on _some_ subject, and I knew pretty well what that -subject _was_. - -"Hello, Nathan!" I ask, "what's up?" - -He turns quickly, and I observe that his usually good-natured Yankee -face now wears a troubled expression. - -"My dander's up--that's what's up," he replies, a little sullenly. - -"They tell me you've been after a fox, Nathan; did you catch him?" - -"No, 'n I don't cal'late to try agin nuther, he's _airnt his livi'_ fer -all _me_;" and with an impetuous fling he sent the old trap into a -corner of the wood-shed. - -I am soon by his side, anxious to hear all about it. "What's the fox -done?" I ask, eagerly. - -"What _hain't_ he done, yeu better say. I never see nuthin' t' beat it -since uz born, 'n I've ketched tew er three on 'em afore naow, teu. I've -heern tell o' them critters' cunnin', but I swaiou I alliz thort ez haow -folks wuz _coddi'_; but _thar_, yeu can't tell me nuthin' 'baout -_foxes_. It's nigh cum a fortnit thet I've been arter thet feller, 'n I -swar teu gosh all hemlock! I hain't got so much's one on his pesky red -hairs teu _show_ for't, 'n I'm _sick_ on't. I tell ye that ar feller is -_mischievouser than pizen_, 'n his hed's as long as a horse's." - -"Why, what's he been doing, Nathan?" - -[Illustration: A SUNNY CORNER.] - -"_Doin'?_ why fer considerable of a spell back he's bin hangin' raoun' -my hen-roost an' pickin' off my brammys; thet's what he's bin doin', 'n -the _fust_ time I sot the trap I stuck it under some chaff in the hole -yender in the hen-haouse jest arter the hens hed gone ter -roost--cal'latin' as haow I'd wait a spell, 'n then go 'n take it away. -I thort that 'ud fetch him sure; but _thar_, deu yeu b'leeve, I heern -thet feller cum' sneakin' along putty soon, 'n he cum' raoun' to t'other -side 'n scairt all the hens aout the hole. I heern a great squawkin', 'n -I put fer the place ez tight ez I cud, 'n thar I see my best dorkin' hen -in the trap. Ef I'd only gyn the feller time, like's not he'd a chawed -off her leg, 'n lugged her off to his hole in the rocks yender. I tell -ye, everybody araoun' what's got hens hez hed to take thet feller's -sass, 'n they'd orter be an end on't. There's old Reuben Scales, so poor -he hain't got a pa'r o' pants teu his back, 'n dependin' on his faowls -fer his meat vittles; why, they tell me daown t' the store thet he's bin -jest _cleaned right aout_, 'n hain't got even a ha'r-backed pullet left. -They ain't no _gunni'_ nuther. Thet red-haired thief hez knabbed every -tarnal pattridge 'n Bob White they iz." - -And so he went on for half an hour, telling me all the various -stratagems by which Reynard had outwitted him. - -"I set it thar in the pine woods in a bed of pine needles, with the ded -rabbit hangin' over it, 'n the next day I see by the scratched up dirt -haow the feller hed jumped clean over the trap at a _lick_, 'n taken his -rabbit on a fly. Yeu kin laff; but what I'm tellin' ye is az true az -preachin'. So yest'd'y I lit aout on a new idee, 'n set the trap on top -a stump cluss teu a tree 'n covered it with leaves. I hung the bait on -the tree higher up, 'n sez I, old feller, I've got ye naow, sez I. I -left it thar. I went daown thar agin this mornin', 'n I've _jest cum_ -from thar. _No more fox fer me_; s'elp me gosh!" - -"Why," I ask, "what was the matter down there, Nathan?" - -"Why, _blame my stogys_, ef the feller hadn't gone 'n highsted the -clog-stick on the end o' the chain, 'n shoved it agin the pan, 'n sprung -the trap on't, 'n then stepped up and knabbed the bait. An' I say thet -enny feller what's got brains enuff fer thet, I swaiou he'd oughter -_live_ off'n um; 'n he _kin_ fer all _me_!" - -[Illustration: WINTER BROWSING.] - -It was too bad to have fooled old Nathan so; but then, you see, he had a -big farm, and was awfully stingy with us boys, and never would let us -set a rabbit snare on his place. He said it was "pesky _cruel_," and -seemed to prefer the more humane way of wounding them with shot, and -breaking their necks afterward to end their sufferings. Nathan had kept -very quiet about his little game. There really was a very sly fox in the -neighborhood; but boys make good foxes too, sometimes. - -[Illustration: A JANUARY THAW.] - -Nathan's house was a typical New England home, with slanting roof on one -side, and embowered in maples, and it had the most picturesque barn in -the neighborhood. Oh you good people far off in the country everywhere, -how I envy you these dear old barns! How much you ought to appreciate -their homely rustic beauty! But you never will, until, like me, you are -forced to live away from them, and to see them only through the golden -haze of memory. Then you will learn how great a part they took in -influencing your daily life and happiness. - -Was ever perfume sweeter than that all-pervading fragrance of the -sweet-scented hay? and was ever an interior so truly picturesque, so -full of quiet harmony? - -The lofty hay-mows piled nearly to the roof, the jagged axe-notched -beams overhung with cobwebs flecked with dust of hay-seed, with perhaps -a downy feather here and there. The rude, quaint hen boxes, with the -lone nest-egg in little nooks and corners. How vividly, how lovingly, I -recall each one! - -In those snow-bound days, when the white flakes shut in the earth down -deep beneath, and the drifts obstructed the highways, and we heard the -noisy teamsters, with snap of whip and exciting shouts, urge their -straining oxen through the solid barricade; when all the fences and -stone walls were almost lost to sight in the universal avalanche; and, -best of all, when the little district school-house upon the hill stood -in an impassable sea of snow--then we assembled in the old barn to play, -sought out every hidden corner in our game of hide-and-seek, or jumped -and frolicked in the hay, now stopping quietly to listen to the tiny -squeak of some rustling mouse near by, or, it may be, creeping -cautiously to the little hole up near the eaves in search of the -big-eyed owl we once caught napping there. In a hundred ways we passed -the fleeting hours. The general features of New England barns are all -alike; and the barn of memory is a garner full of treasure sweet as -new-mown hay. You remember the great broad double doors, which made -their sweeping circuit in the snow; the ruddy pumpkins, piled up in the -corner near the bins, and the wistful whinny of the old farm-horse, as -with pricked-up ears and eager pull of chain he urged your prompt -attention to your chores; the cows, too, in the manger stalls--how -pleasant their low breathing--how sweet their perfumed breath! Outside -the corn-crib stands, its golden stores gleaming through the open laths, -and the oxen, reaching with lapping upturned tongues, yearn for the -tempting feast, "so near and yet so far." The party-colored hens group -themselves in rich contrast against the sunny boards of the -weather-beaten shed, and the ducks and geese, with rattling croak and -husky hiss, and quick vibrating tails (that strange contagion), waddle -across the slushy snow, and sail out upon the barn-yard pond. - -Here is the pile of husks from whose bleached and rustling sheaths you -picked the little ravellings of brown for your corn-silk cigarettes. Did -ever "pure Havana" taste as sweet? - -[Illustration: THE MOONLIGHT RIDE.] - -Near by we see the barracks stored with yellow sheaves of wheat. Soon we -shall hear the intermittent music of the beating flail on the old barn -floor, now chinking soft on the broken sheaf, now loud and clear on the -sounding boards. Upon the roof above we see the cooing doves, with -nodding heads and necks gleaming with iridescent sheen. Turning, in -another corner we look upon a miscellaneous group of ploughs and rakes -and all the farm utensils, and harness hanging on the wooden pegs. -There, too, is the little sleigh we love so well. Could it but speak, -how sweet a story it could tell of lovely drives through romantic glens -and moonlit woods, of tender squeezes of the little hand beneath the -covering robe, of whispered vows, and of the encircling arm--a shelter -from the cold and cruel wind! But no--I'll say no more: these are -memories too sacred for the common ear. And there's the carry-all sleigh -just by its side. How well you'll remember the merry loads it carried, -its three wide seats and space between packed full of jolly company! How -the hard-pressed snow squeaked beneath the gliding runners, as with -prancing span and jingling bells you sped down through the village -street, with waving handkerchiefs and cheerful greetings right and left! -How with "ducking" heads and muffled screams you ran the gauntlet past -the school-house mob; saw them scrambling for "a hitch," and with -tantalizing beckonings tipped your horses with the whip. Away you go -through the deep ravine, with a _jing, jing, jing_ on the frosty air, -with voices high in merry laughs, amid loud hurrahs from the -"boysterous" crowd now far behind. Now you speed through a mist of -drifting snow, and the rosy cheeks tingle with the stinging icy flakes -flying before the wind. Now comes another chorus of piercing screams, as -the laden hemlock bough, tapped with mischievous whip, hurls down its -fleecy avalanche on coat and robe, on jaunty little hat--yes, and on a -small pink ear, and even down a pretty neck. Ah me! How is it possible -that a shriek like that could come from a throat so fair? But so you go, -with a _jing, jing, jing_, now past the mill-pond with its game, now up -the hill, now through the woods and far away, now farther still, the -silvery bells now scarcely heard, now fainter yet, till lost to sight -and sound--but not to memory dear; for all through life we shall hear -those happy jingling bells. - -And when, with ruddy faces and stamping feet, we all rush in and crowd -the old fireplace, how welcome the glowing warmth, how keen the relish -for the appetizing spread upon the snow-white table-cloth: the smoking -dish of beans, with crisp accompaniment of luscious pork; the hot brown -bread so sweet; and, last of all, the far-famed Indian pudding, fresh -and steaming from the old brick oven! - -How distinctly I recall those long and happy evenings around that -radiant hearth, the games, the stories read from welcome magazines! -Little we cared for the howling storm without. I hear the tick of the -ancient clock in the corner shadowed by the old arm-chair; I see the -glimmer on the whitewashed wall, the festooned strings of apples, sliced -and hung above the fire to dry; I hear the patient, expectant stroke of -hammer on the upturned log, and now the crackling burst of the -rough-shelled butternut, yielding up its long and filmy kernel; I hear -the apples sizzling on the hearth, the puffy snap of pop-corn jumping in -its fiery cage, the kettle singing on the pendent hook--a thousand -things; and what a precious living picture of sweet home-life they all -bring back to me! - -But look! there is another hidden picture in the book of life--a -shadowed page, which we had well-nigh forgotten. See that crouching -figure in the dark, deserted street--that spurned and wretched outcast, -without a home, without a friend! Perhaps if that broken heart has not -already ceased to yearn, if the last spark has not yet been smothered by -the driving, covering snow, we might still hear the faint and stifled -sobs: - -[Illustration: THE SHADOWED PAGE.] - - "Once I was loved for my innocent grace, - Flattered and sought for the charm of my face. - Father, mother, sisters, all, - God, and myself, I have lost in my fall. - The veriest wretch that goes shivering by - Will take a wide sweep lest I wander too nigh, - For of all that is on or about me, I know, - There is nothing that's pure but the beautiful snow. - How strange it should be that this beautiful snow - Should fall on a sinner with nowhere to go! - How strange it would be, when the night comes again, - If the snow and the ice struck my desperate brain, - Fainting, freezing, dying alone!" - -Life's book is full of shadowed pages such as this; and it were well if -in the midst of our contented homes, around our cheerful fires, we -stopped to think and give a silent, heart-felt prayer for those who, by -some strange, inexplicable fatality, seem doomed to walk with cruel -burdens and with bleeding feet the path of life: no helping hand, no -friend, no hope, no God. - -What a terrible night! Hark how the wind moans, like a long wail from -some despairing soul shut out in the awful storm! The air is filled with -dense clouds of flying snow and sleet chased along by the gale. The -trees bend and writhe, and, as if in fear, scratch their boughs upon the -roof; the driving flakes beat with an angry, hissing sound upon the -window-panes, and for a moment there is a muffled, ominous silence. Now -comes a wild and furious gust, and a great white whirlwind sweeps with -serpentine contortions past the window and disappears in the thick -darkness of the night. Our very walls sway and tremble to their -foundation. The clap-boards snap, and some loosened blind is torn from -its hinges and hurled as a feather before the raging wind. We hear a -crash of breaking glass, the shaking of the old barn doors, and now a -frightened neigh, half smothered in the storm. - -Who would venture out in such a night as this? We shudder at the -thought, and yet there is one whose holy sense of duty will see no -barrier even in this fierce tempest. Even now he is urging his faithful -horse onward through the lonely road, cold and benumbed, but thinking -only of the suffering he hopes to relieve. - -How well I remember the welcome stamping at the front door, the chinking -rattle of the tin box sounding nearer and nearer up the stairs, the tall -and stately figure entering the room, clad in great-coat reaching nearly -to the floor, the genial smile bringing both hope and comfort with its -very presence! And what a noble face! the shapely forehead, the snowy -tufts of close-cut hair, the magnetic, penetrating eyes, so deep and -dark, looking out from beneath the heavy jet-black brows, and the -clean-shaven cheeks and chin, of almost child-like bloom, relieved -against the whiteness of the stock about the throat! Never before were -winter and summer so strangely and beautifully blended in a human face. -But we shall see that face no more. Physician, friend, companion, all -were laid away with him, and sad indeed was the day that bore him from -us. And now, as I look down upon that humble grave, I would that others, -with the reverence I feel, might read the sacred epitaph inscribed upon -my memory, of one whose only aim through life was the relief of -suffering and sorrow. In storm or calm, by day or night, he fulfilled -his holy mission. And when the fearful scourge swept o'er the town, and -filled its homes with woe; when friends deserted friends, and brothers -left their kin, this noble soul sought out the sick and dying, cared -tenderly for their sufferings until the end, and even laid the dead away -alone. A life of sacrifice, for rich or poor alike, without a thought of -self. Professing no religious faith--yea, _doubting_ even; but finding -in the precept of the "golden rule" an inspiration worthy the devotion -and the effort of his life: "By their _fruits_ ye shall know them." - -[Illustration: THE GOOD PHYSICIAN.] - -And so the winter goes. It has its joys and its sorrows, its strong -contrasts of light and shadow. The bitter winds will freeze and rule the -earth, but the sun will shine again, and the very gloom transform to -glittering splendor. Soon we greet the lengthening days. The farmer -heeds the warning sign. The woods resound with the stroke of the axe and -crashing of falling trees; and the prostrate trunks are rolled upon the -sledge and hauled away "to mill;" the fields are strewn with compost, -and meadows sown with clover on the snow, fences are fixed, and hot-bed -started on the sunny slope; the cackling hens have felt the prophecy, -and steal away into snug little places among the hay-mows and the -mangers, and lay the foundation of their future brood; the climbing -bitter-sweet lets fall its scarlet seeds, and the little pussies on the -willows grow day by day. How eagerly I always watched these welcome -signs! for even though I loved the winter, I never sorrowed at its -departure in the face of coming spring, with its promises of the medleys -of the birds, of unfolding buds, and those sweet shy faces soon to peep -along the wood-path, and breathe their fragrance from among the withered -leaves. - -I remember, too, the faded butterfly, flitting about the wood-shed roof. -His wings were torn and jagged at their edges, and their feathery beauty -had nearly all been left among last summer's flowers. Warned by November -frosts, he had sought his winter shelter in some chink or crevice among -the loosened boards, where, benumbed and dormant, he had spent the -winter, awaiting the warmth of the returning sun to thaw him out, and -once more coax him into the outer world. As early as February, should -the day be mild, he would come out of his mysterious concealment and -bask in the warm sunshine. Presently he alights upon the end of a -birch-log in the wood-pile, and sips the sweet exuding sap. He is soon -joined by another, and another, until a swarm has gathered at the feast. -As the day declines, they retire again to the wood-shed, and there, -huddled together on the rafters, await their next opportunity of mild -and sunny weather. Even in a January thaw I have seen one of these faded -butterflies that had left his hiding-place to tantalize a troop of hens -around the barn-yard door. - -I remember the torrent of rain and the freshet; the broken dams and -bridges washed away. The softened ground yielded up its subterranean -frosts; in all the trees the winter wounds bled with the quickened -pulse; the elder spigots in the sugar-maples trickled all the day; and -the neighboring farms echoed with the snap of whip and voice of eager -teamsters, as the busy plough turned the dark-brown furrows, or the -crushing harrow combed the crumbling mould. How welcome were the -evidences of returning life among the low meadow-lands, where -velvety-green tufts of sprouting grass circled the borders of the marshy -pools, and the golden willow twigs bathed the brook-side in a luminous -glow! Here, too, the alders hung their swinging tassels or trailed them -o'er the surface of the swollen stream. - -One by one the feathered flocks returned, and the little snow-birds and -the buntings, seeing their place usurped, left for the northward -region, to lend their cheerful voices to another winter. Then came a -beautiful day, with mild, earth-scented breezes, like very spring. But -at night the north wind came again to reassert its power, and the earth -was once more subdued beneath the snow. And so for weeks the north wind -battled with the sun, - -[Illustration: - - Till at last the sweet Arbutus - Nestling close on Nature's breast - Felt a throb . a warm pulsation - Rouse it from its dreamy rest. - - Throwing wide its little portals - From its coverlet of snow - It peeped forth from the leafy shelter - Into a valley white below. - - "Am I dreaming? . Shall the Winter - Stifle and freeze my early breath - Nay . hark! . I hear the Bluebird singing - 'Spring has come' he answereth. - - "Ah! Frost-flower in thy grotto yonder - Crystal sun-gem white and clear - Thy reign must cease when I awaken - Farewell! pale bloom . thy fate draws near. - - Bleak Winter is thine - Love's Spring-time is mine. -] - - - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Pastoral Days, by William Hamilton Gibson - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PASTORAL DAYS *** - -***** This file should be named 41278.txt or 41278.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/1/2/7/41278/ - -Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images available at The Internet Archive) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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