he distant city.

3. Half fatigued with my walk, I threw myself down upon a rocky slope of
the bank, where the panorama of earth, sky, and water lay clear and
distinct about me. Far above, silent and dim as a picture, was the city,
with its huge mill masonry, confused chimney tops, and church spires; near
it rose the height of Belvidere, with its deserted burial place and
neglected gravestones sharply defined on its bleak, bare summit against
the sky; before me the river went dashing down its rugged channel, sending
up its everlasting murmur; above me the birch tree hung its tassels; and
the last wild flowers of autumn profusely fringed the rocky rim of the
water.

4. Right opposite, the Dracut woods stretched upwards from the shore,
beautiful with the hues of frost, glowing with tints richer and deeper
than those which Claude or Poussin mingled, as if the rainbows of a summer
shower had fallen among them. At a little distance to the right, a group
of cattle stood mid-leg deep in the river; and a troop of children,
bright-eyed and mirthful, were casting pebbles at them from a projecting
shelf of rock. Over all a warm but softened sunshine melted down from a
slumberous autumnal sky.

5. My reverie was disagreeably broken. A low, grunting sound, half
bestial, half human, attracted my attention. I was not alone. Close beside
me, half hidden by a tuft of bushes, lay a human being, stretched out at
full length, with his face literally rooted into the gravel. A little boy,
five or six years of age, clean and healthful, with his fair brown locks
and blue eyes, stood on the bank above, gazing down upon him with an
expression of childhood's simple and unaffected pity.

6. "What ails you?" asked the boy at length. "What makes you lie there?"

The prostrate groveler struggled halfway up, exhibiting the bloated and
filthy countenance of a drunkard. He made two or three efforts to get upon
his feet, lost his balance, and tumbled forward upon his face.

"What are you doing there?" inquired the boy.

"I'm taking comfort," he muttered, with his mouth in the dirt.

7. Taking his comfort! There he lay,--squalid and loathsome under the
bright heaven,--an imbruted man. The holy harmonies of Nature, the sounds
of gushing waters, the rustle of the leaves above him, the wild flowers,
the frost bloom of the woods,--what were they to him? Insensible, deaf,
and blind, in the stupor of a living death, he lay there, literally
realizing tha