CHAPTER VIII.

Youth a happy period.-My young days.-A summer morning.-A day's adventures.

It is a common remark that youth is the happiest portion of life, but, like many other wise and deep sayings, it passes by us unheeded, till, at some late period in the great journey, we look back upon our track, and, by a comparison of the past with the present, are forced to feel and confess the truth, which we have before doubted. Mankind are ever tempted to think that there is something better before them; if they are not happy yet, they still indulge bright expectations. They are reluctant, even when advanced in years, to believe that the noon of life's joys is past; that the chill of evening is already mingling in every breeze that feeds the breath; that there is no returning morn to them;

that the course of the sun is now only downward; and that sunset is the final close of that day that has dawned upon them, and lighted up a world full of hopes, and wishes, and anticipations. It is not till the shadows, dark and defined, are creeping around us, an forcing us to deal honestly with ourselves, that we admit the truth-that life is made up of a series of illusions; that we are constantly pursuing bubbles, which seem bright at a distance and allure us on to the chase, but which fly from our pursuit, or, if reached, burst in the hand that grasps them. It is not till we are already at the landing and about to step into the bark that is to bear us from the shore, that we come to the conclusion that human life is a chase, in which the game is nothing, and the pursuit everything; and that the brightest and best portion of this chase is found in the spring

morning, when the faculties are fresh, the fancy pure, and all nature robed in dew, and chiming with the music of birds, and bees, and waterfalls.

It is something to have enjoyed life, even if that enjoyment may not come again, for memory can revive the past, and at least bring back its echoes. It is a pleasure to me, now that I am crippled and gray-a sort of hulk driven a-wreck upon the shore, and if incapable of further adventures upon the main, at least inaccessible to the surges that rise and rave upon its bosom-to look out to sea -to mark the sails that still glide over its surface-and, above all, to busy my fancy with the incidents of my own voyage upon the great ocean of life.

I love particularly to go back to that period at which my last chapter closed. I was then full of health, animation, and hope. As yet, my life was tarnished with no other vices or follies than those that belong to an ungoverned and passionate boy. My health was perfect. I can hardly describe the elation of my heart of a spring morning. Everything gave me delight. The adjacent mountains, robed in mist, or wreathed with clouds, seemed like the regions of the blest. The landscape around, tame and commonplace as it might be, was superior to the pictures of any artist that ever laid his colors upon canvass, to my vision. Every sound was music. The idle but joyous gabble of the geese at the brookthe far-off cawing of the crows that skimmed the slopes of the mountains-the multitudinous notes of jays, robins, and blackbirds in the orchard-the lowing of cattle the cackle of the fowls in the barnyard the gobble of the ostentatious turkey-were all melody to me. No burst of harmony from an Italian orchestra, even though Rossini composed and Paganini performed, ever touched the heart as those humble melodies of morn, in the little village of Salem, touched

mine at the age of fifteen. At such times my bosom actually overflowed with joy. I would sometimes shout aloud from mere pleasure; and then I would run for no other object than the excitement of the race. At such times it seemed almost that I could fly. There was an elasticity in my limbs like that of a mountain deer. So exuberant was this buoyant feeling, that in my dreams, which were then always blissful, I often dreamed of setting out to run, and after a brief space of stepping upward into the air, where I floated like some feather upon the breeze.

At evening, I used again to experience the same joyous gust of emotion; and during the day, I seldom felt otherwise than happy. Considering the quiet nature of the place in which I dwelt, my life was marked with numerous incidents and adventures-of little moment to the world at large, but important to a boy of my years. Saturday was, in that golden age, a day always given up to amusement, for there was no school kept then. A description of a single day will give a sufficient idea of my way of life at this period.

The day we will suppose to be fineand in fact it now seems to me that there was no dull weather when I was a boy. Bill Keeler and myself rose with the sun-and we must, of course, go to the mountain. For what? Like knights of the olden time, in search of adventures. Bound to no place, guided by no other power than our own will, we set out to see what we could see, and find what we could find.

We took our course through a narrow vale at the foot of the mountain, crossed by a whimpling brook, which wound with many a mazy turn amid bordering hills, the slopes of which were covered with trees, or consisted of smooth, open pastures. The brook was famous for trout, and as Bill usually carried his

I

saw

hooks and lines, we often stopped for a time and amused ourselves in fishing. On the present occasion, as we were passing a basin of still water, where the gush of the rivulet was stayed by a projecting bank, Bill saw an uncommonly large trout. He lay in the shadow of the knoll, perfectly still, except that the feathery fins beneath his gills fanned the water with a breath-like undulation. Bill at the instant he marked the monster of the pool. In a moment he lifted up and waved his hand as a sign to me, and uttered a long, low she-e-e-e! He then stepped softly backwards, and at a little distance knelt down, to hide himself from the view of the trout. All this time Bill was fumbling with a nervous quickness for his hook and line. First he ran his hands into the pockets of his trowsers, seeming to turn over a great variety of articles there; then he felt in his coat pockets; and then he uttered two or three awkward words, which signified much vexation.

There was Bill on his knees-it seems as if I could see him now-evidently disappointed at not finding his hook and line. At last he began very deliberately to unlade his pockets. First came out a stout buck-handled knife, with one large blade, and the stump of a smaller one. Then came a large bunch of tow, several bits of rope, a gimblet, four or five flints, and a chestnut whistle. From the other pocket of the trowsers he disclosed three or four bits of lead, a screwdriver, a dough-nut, and something rolled into a wad that might have been suspected of being a pocket-handkerchief, if Bill had ever been seen to use one. The trowsers pockets being thus emptied, our hero applied himself to those in the flaps of his coat. He first took out a ball covered with deerskin, then a powder-flask and tinder-box, two or three corks, and sundry articles difficult to From the other pocket he took

his stockings and shoes, for it was May, and we were both indulging ourselves in the luxury of going barefoota luxury which those only can know who have tried it.

Nothing could exceed the pitch of vexation to which Bill was worked up, when, turning the last pocket inside out, and shaking it as if it had been a viper, he found that he had not a hook or line about him. Gathering up his merchandise, and thrusting the articles back into their places, he cast about, and picking up a stone, approached the place where the trout lay, and hurled it at him with spiteful vengeance, exclaiming “If I'm ever ketched without a fishhook agin― I hope I may be shot!"

66

Stop, stop, Bill!" said I; "don't be rash."

"I say I hope I may be shot if I'm ever ketched without a fishhook agin!— so there!" said he, hurling another stone into the brook.

"Remember what you say now, Bill!" said I.

"I will remember it," said my companion; and though nothing more was said of it at the time, I may as well observe now that the fellow kept his word; for ever after I remarked that he carried a fishhook in his hat-band, and, as he said, in fulfilment of his vow. Such was the eccentric humor of my friend, and such the real depth of his character and feelings, that a speech, uttered in momentary passion and seeming thoughtlessness, clung to his mind, and never parted from him till death. Could that poor boy have had the advantages of wise cultivation, what a noble heart had now beat in his breast! But, alas! he was bound to a briefer and more inglorious destiny!

We pursued our way up the valley, though loth to leave the rivulet; for there is a fascination about running water that few can resist-there is a beauty in

it which enchants the eye-a companionship like that of life, and which no other inanimate thing affords. And of all brooks, this that I now describe was to me the sweetest.

After proceeding a considerable distance, the valley became narrowed down to a rocky ravine, and the shrunken stream fretted and foamed its way over a rugged and devious channel. At last, about half way up the mountain, and at a considerable elevation, we reached the source of the rivulet, which consisted of a small lake of as pure water as ever reflected the face of heaven. It was surrounded on three sides by tall cliffs, whose dark, shaggy forms, in contrast, gave a silver brilliancy and beauty to the mirror-like water that lay at their feet. The other side of the lake was bounded by a sandy lawn, of small extent, but in the centre of which stood a lofty white-wood tree.

The objects that first presented themselves, as we approached the lake, was a kingfisher, running over his watchman's rattle from the dry limb of a tree that projected over the water, by way of warning to the tenants of the mountain that danger was near; a heron, standing half-leg deep in the margin of the water, and seeming to be lost in a lazy dream; a pair of harlequin ducks that were swimming near the opposite shore; and a bald eagle, that stood upon the point of a rock that projected a few feet out of the water near the centre of the lake. This object particularly attracted our attention, but as we moved toward it, it heavily unfolded its wings, pitched forward, and with a labored beating of the air gained an elevation and sailed gloriously away beyond the reach of sight.

Those were days of feeling, rather than speech. Neither my companion nor myself spoke of the beauty of that scene at the time; but we felt it deeply,

and memory, to me, has kept a faithful transcript of the scene. When the kingfisher had sounded the alarm, he slunk away, and all was still. The morning overture of the birds had passed, for it was now near ten o'clock. The mournful metallic note of the wood-thrush was perchance faintly heard at intervals— the cooing of a pigeon, the amorous wooings of the high-hole, the hollow roll of the woodpecker at his work, might occasionally salute the ear, but all at such distance of time and place as to give effect to the silence and repose that marked the scene. I had my gun, but I felt no disposition to break the spell that nature had cast on all around. The harsh noise of gunpowder had been out of tune there and then. Bill and myself sauntered along the border of the lake, musing and stepping lightly, as if not to crumple a leaf or crush a twig, that might break the peace, over which nature, like a magistrate, seemed to preside.

But as we were slowly proceeding, Bill's piercing eye discovered a dark object upon the white-wood or tulip tree, that stood in the sandy lawn at some distance. He pointed to it, and both quickened our steps in that direction. As we approached it, we perceived it to be an enormous nest, and concluded it must be that of an eagle. As we came nearer, the nest seemed roughly composed of large sticks, and occupying a circumference equal to a cart-wheel. was at the very top of the tree, which rose to the height of sixty or seventy feet, and at least half of that elevation was a smooth trunk without a single limb. But Bill was an excellent climber, and it was resolved, without a council of war, that he should ascend and see what was

in the nest.

It

Accordingly, stripping off his coat, and clinging to the tree as if by suction, he began to ascend. It was "hitchety hatchety up I go!" By a process diffi

66

cult to describe-a sort of insinuation, the propelling power and working machinery of which were invisible-he soon cleared the smooth part of the trunk, and taking hold of the branches, rose limb by limb, till, with breathless interest, I saw him lift his head above the nest and peer into its recess. The best expression of his wonder was his silence. I waited, but no reply. "What is it?" said I, incapable of enduring the suspense. No answer. What is it, Bill -why don't you speak?" said I, once more. “Look!” said he, holding up a featherless little monster, about as large as a barn-door fowl-kicking and flapping its wings, and squealing with all its might. "Look! there's a pair on 'em. They're young eagles, I'll be bound, but I never see such critters afore! The nest is as big as a trundlebed, and there's a heap of snake-skins, and feathers, and fishes' tails in it; and there's a lamb's head here, that looks in the face like an acquaintance-and I should n't wonder if it belonged to Squire Kellogg's little cosset that he lost last week-the varmint!"

As Bill uttered these last words, his attention, as well my own, was attracted by a rushing sound above, and looking up, we saw an eagle, about a hundred yards in the air, descending like a thunderbolt directly toward Bill's head. The bird's wings were close to its body, its tail above and its head beneath, its beak open and its talons half displayed for the blow. Entirely forgetting my gun, in my agony of fear, I exclaimed, "Jump, Bill! for Heaven's sake jump!" But such was the suddenness of the proceeding, that ere I could fairly utter the words, the formidable bird, with a fearful and vengeful scream, swept down upon his mark. I shut my eyes in very horror. But not so Bill Keeler; there was no taking him by surprise. As the eagle came down, he dodged his

head beneath the nest, exposing only a portion of his person, together with the seat of his trowsers. The clash of the eagle's beak as he swept by, though it seemed like the clangor of a tailor's shears when forcibly shut, did no harm; but we cannot say as much of the creature's talons. One of the claws struck the part exposed, and made an incision in the trowsers as well as the skin, of about two inches in length.

The rent, however, was too superficial to prove mortal, nor did it deprive Bill of his presence of mind. Taking no manner of notice of the damage done, he cocked his eye up at the eagle, and seeing that he was already preparing for another descent, he slid down between the limbs of the tree with amazing dexterity, and had approached the lowest of the branches, when again we heard the rushing sound, and saw the infuriate bird falling like an iron wedge almost perpendicularly upon him. Although he was full five and thirty feet from the ground, such was my agony, that again I cried out, "Jump, Billfor Heaven's sake, jump!"

Bill was a fellow to go on his own hook-particularly in a time of imminent peril, like the present. Evidently paying no attention to me, he cast one glance at the eagle, and leaping from the branch, came down upon the wind. The eagle swept over him as he fell, and striking his talons into his brimless beaver, bore it away in triumph-dropping it however at a short distance. Bill struck the ground on his feet, I immediately saw that he was safe. After sitting a moment to recover his breath, he put his hand to his head, and finding that his hat was gone, exclaimed, "There, the critter's got my clamshell why didn't you fire, Bob?"

As

The hat was soon found, and after a little while Bill discovered the success of the eagle's first attack upon his per