other object to study in the vast setting of this quiet rural picture, but
the seemingly endless maze of wilderness. The broken surface of the land,
however, limited the view to an horizon of no great extent, though the art
of man could scarcely devise colors so vivid, or so gay, as those which
were afforded by the brilliant hues of the foliage. The keen, biting
frosts, known at the close of a New-England autumn, had already touched
the broad and fringed leaves of the maples, and the sudden and secret
process had been wrought upon all the other varieties of the forest,
producing that magical effect, which can be nowhere seen, except in
regions in which nature is so bountiful and luxuriant in summer, and so
sudden and so stern in the change of the seasons.

Over this picture of prosperity and peace, the eye of old Mark Heathcote
wandered with a keen degree of worldly prudence. The melancholy sounds of
the various toned bells, ringing hollow and plaintively among the arches
of the woods, gave him reason to believe that the herds of the family were
returning, voluntarily, from their unlimited forest pasturage. His
grandson, a fine spirited boy of some fourteen years, was approaching
through the fields. The youngster drove before him a small flock, which
domestic necessity compelled the family to keep at great occasional loss,
and at a heavy expense of time and trouble; both of which could alone
protect them from the ravages of the beasts of prey. A species of
half-witted serving-lad, whom charity had induced the old man to harbor
among his dependants was seen issuing from the woods, nearly in a line
with the neglected clearing on the mountain-side. The latter advanced,
shouting and urging before him a drove of colts, as shaggy, as wayward,
and nearly as untamed as himself.

"How now, weak one," said the Puritan, with a severe eye, as the two lads
approached him, with their several charges, from different directions, and