ays our
loved little Clinton, the plump and laughing idol of the place; tossing
his ball out of sight into that cluster of golden mullens, and then
scampering full tilt after the broods of young chickens and turkeys
that peep about the door. Clinton is a promising boy, and the worst of
it is, he begins to find it out. But everybody likes him. He has most
of his father's look, with his mother's force and caution added, he
laughs all over his cunning little face; his yellow locks crinkle all
over his head; and his hands are so soft, and his neck so fat and
clean, you love to catch him to your heart, and hug him, and chuckle
beneath his chin, and carry away his sweetest strawberry kisses.

And stretched on the grass-plat before the door, sleeps the good dog
Jowler; shaggy and rough as a wolf; yet faithful and kind; resting from
a range in the woods, and dreaming of squirrels and coons.

Look around you a little, and tell us where is a handsomer spot! True,
it has not the ornament and regularity of an old estate. Handsome
buildings, and the smoothest meadow-lands are nowhere to be seen. The
stir and strife of a village are not here, nor the signs of ancient
opulence, except what Nature boasts; nor the voice of cultivated music.
But walk about, and view the scene.

The woods are arrayed in all their pomp and splendor; the fields have
the warmest and richest light to kindle their royal verdures; along the
trails, and in every little tract of sunshine, the flowers of the
forest hold forth their sweet and modest blooms; and while birds of
every wing and song, continue their full concert from twilight to
twilight, you may hear, if you listen, the chime of the cheering
cowbell, made mellow by the distance, wakening the music of contentment
in the heart, tolling the steps of the tripping hours, and sounding the
notes of rural bliss.

We set out in company to visit the settlers, and the birds salute us on
our way, and the air comes cool and fragrant to our lips. We pause and
survey the sugar camp, and a herd of fleet deer caper by, leading a
troop of frolicking fawns, and seeming to send back the word, "see our
darlings." Casting your eyes aloft to the top of that tall maple, you
discover a bee tree, and behold numberless diligent little beings going
and coming on the business of a miniature state. Then you hear the
chip-squirrels chirrup, and the red squirrels mock; then the hen-hawks
chatter and shriek in the air, an