and
heat. Every petal was drooping, and I wondered if the dwellers in the
neighboring cot heeded the lesson. The buckwheat fields were snowy
with blossoms and fragrant as the new honey the bees were industriously
gathering.

Lexington is a lovely village, with pretty dwellings, soft meadows, and
an infinite entanglement of mountains, great and small, green and blue,
for background in every direction. I had already been warned that the
stage went no farther; and, as my destination that evening was
Prattsville, some means of conveyance was of course necessary. The
driver feared the horses would all be engaged haying, and asked what I
would do in case no wagon could be found. I replied that, as the
distance from Lexington to Prattsville was only seven miles, and I had
no luggage, it might readily be accomplished on foot. He opened his
eyes, and, perhaps, finding the Lexington hotel not likely to be
benefited by my delay, cast about for some way of obliging me. As we
drove up to the post office, the door was found locked, and Uncle
Samuel's agent absent, which circumstance, taken in connection with the
fact that the mail comes to Lexington only twice per week, struck me as
decidedly 'cool.'

By six o'clock I found myself seated in a comfortable buggy, behind a
sleek, fleet pony, and beside an old gentleman, whose upright mien and
pleasant talk added no little to the enjoyment of the hour. The evening
lights were charming, the hills wound in and out, the Schoharie rippled
merrily over the cobble stones or slate rocks forming its bed, and the
clematis and elder bushes gently waved their treasures of white
blossoms, silky seeds, or deepening berries, in the soft summer air. By
and by the slate cliffs rose precipitously from the river shore, leaving
only room sufficient for the road, which, is in fact, sometimes
impassable, when the rains or melting snows have swollen the singing
river to an angry, foaming, roaring flood. My companion told me of the
agriculture of the district, of the wild Bushnell Clove, of bees and
honey making, and of the Prattsville tanneries, which he stigmatized as
a curse to the country, cutting down all the trees, and leaving only
briers and brambles in their stead. He also told me of two brave sons in
the Union army, and of a married daughter far away. The oldest boy had
been wounded at Gettysburg, and all three children had recently been
home on a short visit. 'Children,' said the old man, 'are a h