_June_, 1856.

THE LAST OF THE FORESTERS.

"_If we shadows have offended,
Think but this, (and all is mended,)
That you have but slumbered here
While these visions did appear;
And this weak and idle theme
No more yielding than a dream,
Gentles, do not reprehend_."

MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM.

THE LAST OF THE FORESTERS,

CHAPTER I.

AT APPLE ORCHARD.

On a bright October morning, when the last century was rapidly going
down hill, and all old things began to give way to the new, the sun
was shining in upon the breakfast room at Apple Orchard with a joyous
splendor, which, perhaps, he had never before displayed in tarrying at
that domain, or any other.

But, about Apple Orchard, which we have introduced to the reader in
a manner somewhat abrupt and unceremonious. It was one of those old
wooden houses, which dot our valleys in Virginia almost at every
turn--contented with their absence from the gay flashing world of
cities, and raising proudly their moss-covered roofs between the
branches of wide spreading oaks, and haughty pines, and locusts,
burdening the air with perfume. Apple Orchard had about it an
indefinable air of moral happiness and domestic comfort. It seemed
full of memories, too; and you would have said that innumerable
weddings and christenings had taken place there, time out of
mind, leaving their influence on the old homestead, on its very
dormer-windows, and porch trellis-work, and clambering vines, and even
on the flags before the door, worn by the feet of children and slow
grandfathers.

Within, everything was quite as old-fashioned; over the mantel-piece
a portrait, ruffled and powdered, hung; in the corner a huge clock
ticked; by the window stood a japanned cabinet; and more than one
china ornament, in deplorably grotesque taste, spoke of the olden
time.

This is all we can say of the abode of Mr. Adam Summers, better known
as Squire Summers, except that we may add, that Apple Orchard was
situated not very far from Winchester, and thus looked upon the beauty
of that lovely valley which poor Virginia exiles sigh for, often, far
away from it in other lands.

The sun shines for some time upon the well-ordered room, wherein the
breakfast-table is set forth, and in whose wide country fire-place
a handful of twigs dispel with the flame which wraps them the cool
bracing air of morning; then the door opens, and a lady of some thirty
autumns, with l