g a blonde, fair, quiet, with a
moderate composure; and the gypsy (O. G.) a bright, vivacious,
dark-haired, rich-complexioned damsel,--both of them very pretty, at
least pretty enough to make fifteen years enchanting. Accompanied by
these denizens of the wild wood, we went onward, and came to a company
of fantastic figures, arranged in a ring for a dance or a game. There
was a Swiss girl, an Indian squaw, a negro of the Jim Crow order, one or
two foresters, and several people in Christian attire, besides children
of all ages. Then followed childish games, in which the grown people
took part with mirth enough,--while I, whose nature it is to be a mere
spectator both of sport and serious business, lay under the trees and
looked on. Meanwhile, Mr. Emerson and Miss Fuller, who arrived an hour
or two before, came forth into the little glade where we were assembled.
Here followed much talk. The ceremonies of the day concluded with a cold
collation of cakes and fruit. All was pleasant enough,--an excellent
piece of work,--"would 't were done!" It has left a fantastic impression
on my memory, this intermingling of wild and fabulous characters with
real and homely ones, in the secluded nook of the woods. I remember
them, with the sunlight breaking through overshadowing branches, and
they appearing and disappearing confusedly,--perhaps starting out of the
earth; as if the everyday laws of Nature were suspended for this
particular occasion. There were the children, too, laughing and sporting
about, as if they were at home among such strange shapes,--and anon
bursting into loud uproar of lamentation, when the rude gambols of the
merry archers chanced to overturn them. And apart, with a shrewd, Yankee
observation of the scene, stands our friend Orange, a thick-set, sturdy
figure, enjoying the fun well enough, yet rather laughing with a
perception of its nonsensicalness than at all entering into the spirit
of the thing.

This morning I have been helping to gather apples. The principal farm
labors at this time are ploughing for winter rye, and breaking up the
greensward for next year's crop of potatoes, gathering squashes, and not
much else, except such year-round employments as milking. The crop of
rye, to be sure, is in process of being thrashed, at odd intervals.

I ought to have mentioned among the diverse and incongruous growths of
the picnic party our two Spanish boys from Manilla;--Lucas, with his
heavy features and almost mul