Rocks, gray rocks, with their caverns dark,
Leaping rills, like the diamond spark;
Torrent voices thundering by,
When the pride of the vernal floods swelled high,
And a quiet roof, like the hanging-nest,
'Mid cliffs, by the feathery foliage drest."

October's harvest-moon hung in the blue ether. Brightly fell her golden
beams on the tall, old forest trees, that pointed spar-like toward the
starry heaven, and down, through their interlacing branches, upon gray,
mossy rocks and uprooted trunks, over which wild vines wreathed in
untrained exuberance; and dim, star-eyed flowers reared their slender
heads among the rank undergrowth of bush and shrub.

And here, in this primeval wildness, her silver beams revealed a low,
thatched cottage standing in a narrow opening. Its walls were built of
rough stones, piled one upon another in a rude, unartistical manner; and
the heavy turf roof, which projected far over the sides, was sunken and
overgrown with moss and lichens.

From this rough dwelling proceeded tones of mirth and hilarity. How
strangely they sounded in the lone solitude of nature! Through an open
window might be seen a group, seated round a small table, consisting of
two young men, and an old woman in a high starched cap, with a huge pair
of iron-bowed spectacles mounted on her Roman nose. A child was sleeping
on a pallet in a corner of the room, and one of the young men passed the
candle a moment over the low cot, and, gazing intently on the sleeper,
asked in a lively, careless tone,

"Sacri, Aunt Patty! is that your baby, or the fair spirit that unrolls
the destinies of mortals to your inspired vision?"

"She is neither one nor t'other," answered the old woman. "Now please to
hold that candle up here close to my eyes."

"But I want to know who that is asleep there; for I've a notion she is
more concerned in my destiny than anything you'll find in that old
teacup."

"Heaven forbid!" exclaimed the woman musingly, as she continued to peer,
with a mystic expression of countenance, into a small and apparently
empty teacup, which she turned slowly round and round in her skinny
hand, muttering at intervals in an ominous undertone.

"Well, Aunt Patty, out with it!" said the youth at length, tired of her
long silence. "Isn't it clear yet? Here's another bit of silver; toss
that in, and stir up again;" and he threw a shining half-eagle down on
the table. The woman