he green lane that led from the village street, and
were soon in the forests. The half-muffled sunlight stole down sweetly
and tenderly through the chaos of naked branches overhead; and there
was a light crisp, crackling sound running through the dry fallen
leaves, as though they had become tired of their position, and were
striving to turn over. So quiet was the air that even this faint sound
was distinctly audible. Hark! whang! whang! there rings the woodman's
axe--crack! crash! b-o-o-m!--Hurrah! what thunder that little keen
instrument has waked up there, and what power it has! Say, ye wild,
deep forests, that have shrunk into rocky ravines, and retreated to
steep mountains, what caused ye to flee away from the valleys and
uplands of your dominion? Answer, fierce eagle! what drove thee from
thy pine of centuries to the desolate and wind-swept peak, where alone
thou couldst rear thy brood in safety? Tell, thou savage panther, what
made the daylight flash into thy den so suddenly, that thou didst
think thy eye-balls were extinguished?

And thou, too, busy city, that dost point up thy spires where two
score years ago the forest stood a frown upon the face of Nature--what
mowed the way for thee? And, lastly, thou radiant grain-field, what
prepared the room for thy bright and golden presence? Whew! if that
isn't a tremendous flight, I don't know what is! But the axe, as Uncle
Jack Lummis says of his brown mare, is "a tarnal great critter, any
how!"

How Settler Jake's cabin will gleam those approaching winter nights
from the "sticks" that axe of his will give him out of the tree he has
just prostrated. It is really pleasant to think of it. There will be
the great fire-place, with a huge block for a back-log; then a pile
will be built against it large enough for a bonfire--and then such a
crackling and streaming! why the dark night just around there will be
all in a blush with it. And the little window will glow like a red
star to the people of the village; and then within, there will be the
immense antlers over the door, belonging to a moose Jake shot the
first year he came into the country, all tremulous with the light, and
the long rifle thrust through it will glitter quick and keen; and the
scraped powder-horn hung by it will be transparent in redness; even
the row of bullets on the rude shelf near the window will give a dull
gleam, whilst our old acquaintance, the axe, will wink as if a dozen
eyes were strewn along