Those over the hills of the west were the
most splendid in purple and gold, and, there being a haze, it added
immensely to their majesty and dusky magnificence.
This morning I walked a little way along the mountain road, and stood
awhile in the shadow of some oak and chestnut trees,--it being a warm,
bright, sunshiny morning. The shades lay long from trees and other
objects, as at sunset, but how different this cheerful and light radiance
from the mild repose of sunset! Locusts, crickets, and other insects
were making music. Cattle were feeding briskly, with morning appetites.
The wakeful voices of children were heard in a neighboring hollow. The
dew damped the road, and formed many-colored drops in the grass. In
short, the world was not weary with a long, sultry day, but in a fresh,
recruited state, fit to carry it through such a day.
A rough-looking, sunburnt, soiled-skirted, odd, middle-aged little man
came to the house a day or two ago, seeking work. He had come from Ohio,
and was returning to his native place, somewhere in New England, stopping
occasionally to earn money to pay his way.
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