e latest wild flowers, from the pale blue, three-lobed hepatica, and small, delicate wood-anemone, to the yellow bloom of the witch-hazel burning in the leafless October woods.
Yet, after all, I think the chief attraction of the Brook to my brother and myself was the fine fishing it afforded us. Our bachelor uncle who lived wit
Send for the milingtary. Noah Claypole in Oliver Twist.
what's now in the wind?
Sounds of distant music float in at my window on this still October air. Hurrying drum-beat, shrill fife-tones, wailing bugle-notes, and, by way of accompaniment, hurrahs from the urchins on the crowded sidewalks.
Here come the cared these sturdy old Puritans for the wild beauty of the landscape thus revealed before them?
I think I see them standing there in the golden light of a closing October day, with their sombre brown doublets and slouched hats, and their heavy matchlocks, —such men as Ireton fronted death with on the battle-field of Naseby, or thos
e now fewer wealthy planters here than there were twenty years ago, and little increase of sheep or horned cattle.
The people do seem to me less sober and grave, in their carriage and conversation, than they of the Massachusetts,—hunting, fishing, and fowling more, and working on the land less.
Nor do they keep the Lord's Day so strict; many of the young people going abroad, both riding and walking, visiting each other, and diverting themselves, especially after the meetings are over.
Goodwife Nowell, an ancient gossip of mine aunt's, looking in this morning, and talking of the trial of the Dutchman, Van Valken, spake of the coming into these parts many years ago of one Sir Christopher Gardiner, who was thought to be a Papist.
He sought lodgings at her house for one whom he called his cousin, a fair young woman, together with her serving girl, who did attend upon her. She tarried about a month, seeing no one, and going out only towards the evening, accompanied by