ure; whose presence is the life and smile of the place.
If you have in your soul one sympathy that takes to children, you must
also love that rosy miniature Fabens, the idolized Clinton, as he vies
in his sports with the birds and squirrels; gives chase to butterflies
and bees; and races around the house drawing smiles on his antics;
darting from sight now and then like a spirit, and making house, and
fields and woods resound with his merry warble and glee.

A month goes away so pleasantly, you conclude to spend the summer with
them; and a bright and blissful summer it is as your young heart has
ever enjoyed. You cannot stand idle, despising labor. You catch the
impulse of the place and people, and none are more ready than you for
tasks that test courage and strength, and make the warm sweat flood the
glowing face. You are up and away in the morning before the
whippoorwill closes her song; and are breathing the fragrant air, and
enjoying the brisk exercise that gives the best sauce for breakfast.

You would hunt the stray cow, but you fear being lost, or devoured by
wild beasts. You are out on the fallow as they prepare to burn it; and
you carry fire to a dozen brush heaps, while Fabens and his father fire
the rest; and behold, the flames meet together in a curtain, and run
and roar like the waves of a burning sea.

You count the ages of the trees by the rings on the stumps, and say,
here is a walnut that flourished with Washington; there is a maple of
Milton's age; and this old oak was a brave young tree when Columbus was
born. This ring records a dry season, and that a wet season; this a
warm one, and that a cold. What made this elm so stocky and firm and
high, and gave it such mighty roots and massive limbs? It grew quite
alone on the hill, took the storm with the sunshine, and battled the
blast while others slept in peace. What made this poplar so weakly?
It grew in the thicket, and was sheltered from sun and storm. You see
in the trees fine types of human life.

You lead rosy Clinton on many a glad ramble. Your strength increases,
and you assist in the labors of the field. You plant corn and weed it;
and in that act you sow the seeds of energy and hope in your soul, and
weed it of vices and weakly shoots. You cut down fireweeds and
thistles; and still dress your soul withal, more and more. You set
deadfalls for corn-pulling squirrels; and entrap with the squirrels
your follies and fears. You watch