of granite that stood out on a ragged
hill-side, and presently another cabin of the same kind came in view. Then
other scare-crow edifices wheeled in sight as we drove along; all forlorn,
all patched with mud, all perched on barren knolls, or gigantic bars of
granite, high up, like ragged redoubts of poverty, armed at every window
with a formidable artillery of old hats, rolls of rags, quilts, carpets,
and indescribable bundles, or barricaded with boards to keep out the air
and sunshine.

"You do not mean to say those wretched hovels are occupied by living
beings?" said I to my companion.

"Oh yes," he replied, with a quiet smile, "these are your people, your
_fugitives_."

"But, surely," said I, "they do not live in those airy nests during your
intensely cold winters?"

"Yes," replied my companion, "and they have a pretty hard time of it.
Between you and I," he continued, "they are a miserable set of devils;
they won't work, and they shiver it out here as well as they can. During
the most of the year they are in a state of abject want, and then they are
very humble. But in the strawberry season they make a little money, and
while it lasts are fat and saucy enough. We can't do anything with them,
they won't work. There they are in their cabins, just as you see them, a
poor, woe-begone set of vagabonds; a burden upon the community; of no use
to themselves, nor to anybody else."

"Ye who listen with credulity to the whispers of fancy and pursue with
eagerness the phantoms of hope, who expect that age will perform the
promises of youth, and that the deficiencies of the present day will be
supplied by the morrow, attend to the history of Rasselas, here in his
happy valley."

"Now then," said my companion, as this trite quotation was passing through
my mind. The wagon had stopped in front of a little, weather-beaten house
that kept watch and ward over an acre of greensward, broken ever and anon
with a projecting bone of granite, and not only fenced with stone, but
dotted also with various mounds of pebbles, some as large as a
paving-stone, and some much larger. This was "Deer's Castle." In front of
the castle was a swing-sign with an inscription:

"William Deer, who lives here,
Keeps the best of wine and beer,
Brandy, and cider, and other good cheer;
Fish, and ducks, and moose, and deer.
Caught or shot in the woods just here,
With cutlets, or steaks, as will appear;
If you will stop yo