f parricide--the consequent
remorse merging into madness, and a fiery retributory death. Upon the
grassy mound, which the frost has not yet blighted, a beautiful white
rabbit has just glided. The lovely creature darts onward, then
crouches--now lays his long ears flat upon his shoulders, and now
points them forward in the most knowing and cunning manner. He plays
there in his white, pure beauty, as if in purposed contrast to the
blood-stained and guilty wretch who expired on the same spot in his
flaming torture. But the little shape now points his long, rose-tinted
ears in our direction, and then he does not disappear as much as melt
from our sight like the vanishing of breath from polished steel. We
then enter fully into the glade. One of the trees at the border is a
magnificent chestnut. I remember it in June, with its rich green
leaves hung over with short, braided cords of pale gold. These braided
blossoms have yielded fruit most plenteously. How thickly the
chestnuts, with their autumn-colored coats and gray caps, are
scattered around the tree, whilst the large yellow burrs on the
branches, gaping wide open, are displaying their soft velvet inner
lining in which the embedded nuts have ripened, and which in their
maturity they have deserted.

After changing the position of the little glossy things from the earth
to our satchels, we cross the glade, and strike a narrow road that
enters the forests in that direction. We pass along, our feet sinking
deep in the dead leaves, until we come to an opening where a bridge
spans a stream. It is a slight, rude structure, such as the emigrating
settler would (and probably did) make in a brief hour to facilitate
his passage across. Let us sketch the picture to our imagination for a
moment. We will suppose it about an hour to sunset of a summer's day.
There is a soft richness amidst the western trees, and the little
grassy opening here is dappled with light and shade. The emigrant's
wagon is standing near the brink, with its curved canvas top, white as
silver, in a slanting beam, and the broad tires of its huge wheels
stained green with the wood-plants and vines they have crushed in
their passage during the day. The patient oxen, which have drawn the
wagon so far, are chewing their cud, with their honest countenances
fixed straight forward. Around the wagon is hung a multitude of
household articles--pans, pails, kettles, brooms, and what not; and on
a heap of beds, bedding, quil