l.

"Their song might be compared
To the croaking of frogs in a pond!"

The drive was lovelier than before. The road crept and curled down
the hill, now covered from side to side with the interlacing boughs of
grand old chestnuts; now barriered on the edge of a ravine with broken
fragments and boulders of granite, garlanded by heavy vines; now
skirting orchards full of promise; and all the way companied by a tiny
brook, veiled deeply in alder and hazel thickets, and making in its
shadowy channel perpetual muffled music, like a child singing in the
twilight to reassure its half-fearful heart. Kate's face was softened
and full of rich expression; her pink ribbons threw a delicate tinge
of bloom upon the rounded cheek and pensive eyelid; the air was pure
balm, and a cool breath from the receding showers of the distant
thunderstorm just freshened the odors of wood and field. I began to
feel suspiciously that sentimental, but through it all came
persevering "week! week! week!" from the basket at my feet. Did I
make a fine remark on the beauties of nature, "Week!" echoed the
turkeys. Did Kate praise some tint or shape by the way, "Week! week!"
was the feeble response. Did we get deep in poetry, romance, or
metaphysics, through the most brilliant quotation, the sublimest
climax, the most acute distinction, came in "Week! week! week!" I
began to feel as if the old story of transmigration were true, and the
souls of half a dozen quaint and ancient satirists had got into the
turkeys. I could not endure it! Was I to be squeaked out of all my
wisdom, and knowledge, and device, after this fashion? Never! I
began, too, to discover a dawning smile upon Kate's face; she turned
her head away, and I placed the turkey-basket on my knees, hoping a
change of position might quiet its contents. Never was man more at
fault! they were no way stilled by my magnetism; on the contrary, they
threw their sarcastic utterances into my teeth, as it were, and shamed
me to my very face. I forgot entirely to go round by Mrs. Peters's. I
took a cross-road directly homeward; a pause--a lull--took place among
the turkeys.

"How sweet and mystical this hour is!" said I to Kate, in a
high-flown manner; "it is indeed

"'An hour when lips delay to speak,
Oppressed with silence deep and pure;
When passion pauses--'"

"Week! week! week!" chimed in those confounded turkeys. Kate burst
into a helpless fit of laughter. What could I