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r some wild turkey disappearing in the glades. Happy birds! the arrow never left the string. Verty's hand would fall--the bow would drop at his side--he would fix his eyes upon the autumn woods, and smile. He went on thus through the glades of the forest, over the hills, and along the banks of little streams towards the west. The autumn reigned in golden splendor--and not alone in gold: in purple, and azure and crimson, with a wealth of slowly falling leaves which soon would pass away, the poor perished glories of the fair golden year. The wild geese flying South sent their faint carol from the clouds--the swamp sparrow twittered, and the still copse was stirred by the silent croak of some wandering wild turkey, or the far forest made most musical with that sound which the master of Wharncliffe Lodge delighted in, the "belling of the hart." Verty drank in these forest sounds, and the full glories of the Autumn, rapturously--while he looked and listened, all his sadness passed away, and his wild Indian nature made him happy there, in the heart of the woods. Ever and anon, however, the events of the morning would occur to him, sweeping over his upraised brow like the shadow of a cloud, and dimming the brightness of his dreamy smiles. "How red the maples grow!" he said, "they are burning away--and the dogwood! Poor oaks! I'm sorry for you; you are going, and I think you look like kings--going? That was what Redbud said! She was going away--going away!" And a sigh issued from Verty's lips, which betrayed the importance he attached to Redbud's departure. Then his head drooped; and he murmured--"going away!" Poor Verty! It does not require any very profound acuteness to divine your condition. You are one more added to the list which Leander heads in the old Grecian fable. Your speech betrays you. "Wild geese! They are early this year. Ho, there! good companions that you are, come down and let me shoot at you. 'Crake! crake!' that is all you say--away up there in the white clouds, laughing at me, I suppose, and making fun of my bow. Listen! they are answering me from the clouds! I wish I could fly up in the clouds! Travelling, as I live, away off to the south!--leaving us to go and join their fellows. They are wild birds; I've shot many of em'. Hark, Longears! see up there! There they go--'crake! crake! crake!' I can see their long necks stretched out toward the South--they are almost gone--going away from me--li
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