No rheumatic old hero-invalid, battered in long wars with the
doctors,--no droll marplot of a boy, could appear within range, but I
could see in the changeful expression of my companion the admeasurement
and quiet adjustment of the appeal which either made upon his sympathy
or his humor. A flower, a tree, a burst of music, a country market-man
hoisted upon his wagon of cabbages,--all these by turns caught and
engaged his attention, however little they might interrupt the flow of
his talk.

I ventured to ask on one occasion, if he had depended solely upon his
memory for the thousand little descriptions of natural objects which
occur in his books.

"Not wholly," he replied; and went on to tell me it had been his way, in
the earlier days of his authorship, to carry little tablets with him
into the country, and whenever he saw a scene specially picturesque,--a
cottage of marked features, a noticeable tree, any picture, in short,
which promised service to him,--to note down its distinguishing points,
and hold it in reserve.

"This," said he, "is one among those small arts and industries which a
person who writes much must avail himself of: they are equivalent to the
little thumb-sketches from which a painter makes up his larger
compositions."

On our way to the church on a certain Sunday morning, he tapped my
shoulder as we entered the little gate, and called my attention to a
lithe young Indian girl, who had strolled down from the campment on the
plains, and was standing proudly erect upon the church-porch, with
finger to her lips, scanning curiously the worshippers as they passed