September 3d.--On the slope of Bald Mountain a clearing, set in the frame
of the forest on all sides,--a growth of clover upon it, which, having
been mowed once this year, is now appropriated to pasturage. Stumps
remaining in the ground; one tall, barkless stem of a tree standing
upright, branchless, and with a shattered summit. One or two other stems
lying prostrate and partly overgrown with bushes and shrubbery, some of
them bearing a yellow flower,--a color which Autumn loves. The stumps
and trunks fire-blackened, yet nothing about them that indicates a recent
clearing, but the roughness of an old clearing, that, being removed from
convenient labor, has none of the polish of the homestead. The field,
with slight undulations, slopes pretty directly down. Near the lower
verge, a rude sort of barn, or rather haystack roofed over, and with hay
protruding and hanging out. An ox feeding, and putting up his muzzle to
pull down a mouthful of hay; but seeing me, a stranger, in the upper part
of the field, he remains long gazing, and finally betakes himself to
feeding again.
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