ty; and Fanny lent gladness to the scene; leaping
like a merry fawn about the little opening, and amid the clustering
bushes; her face lustrous and soft as a velvet peach; her voice
blithesome as the pee-wee's, and clear and sweet as the robin's.

"And if Clinton could be here, too!" sighed the bereaved mother.
"Dear, dear Clinton! if he could be here, O would we not be happy?"

"How I would kiss him, and say, 'Good brother,' and feed him, and
crinkle his curly hair, if he would come back!" added Fanny.

To one fond of the romance of rural life, a scene like this addresses
many attractive charms. The evenings were clear and beautiful; a class
of the grandest constellations took their course in the sky, and rained
their holy lights, while the winds were asleep in their caves, and keen
frosts came down each night to increase the morrow's run; the days were
warm and agreeable with bracing air and kindly sunshine; and the
forests were roused from their stillness by the sound of the axe, the
shrill reports of the frost escaping from the trees, and the notes of a
few birds that carolled of the coming spring-time.

Fabens had, for some time, felt the advances of spring in his heart;
and he had a heart in the season and in its manly toils. He remained
in the camp over night when his maples had given a copious run, and
tended his kettles, to boil and save what the bounty of Providence so
lavishly furnished. He had no one with him but his dog, and yet he was
never alone. His thoughts were his companions, his hopes, his pleasing
pastimes. A veil of blinding atmosphere hung over him, and his eyes
perceived no objects beyond his camp but the solemn trees and the lofty
stars; and yet his mind was not muffled up in that veil. When Jesus
died, the veil of God's temple was rent in twain; the veil between
earth and heaven; and though that veil would continue to hang in its
place for a time; and he could not make maps of the heavenly world, or
locate the constellations of all its starry glories, or gossip with its
unseen citizens, as with familiars here; still Faith saw light enough
streaming through the rent in the veil to raise and enlarge his soul;
and Hope saw light enough to replume her wings and re-adjust her
vision. God embosomed him in his spiritual presence; Christ was to him
not a cold and distant phantasm, but a warm and intimate friend. Good
spirits were all about him, he believed, though he heard not their
voices,