The  place  consecrated  by  parental  love,  by  the  in-
nocence and  sports  of  childhood,  by  the  first  ac-
quaintance with  nature,  by  the  linking  of  the  heart
to  the  visible  creation,  is  the  only  home.  There,
there  is  a  living  and  breathing  spirit  infused  into  na-
ture :  every  familiar  object  has  a  history  ;  the  trees
have  tongues,  and  the  very  air  is  vocal.  There  the
vesture  of  decay  doth  not  close  in  and  control  the
noble  functions  of  the  soul.  It  sees,  and  hears,  and
enjoys  without  the  ministry  of  gross  material  sub-
stancerj

Mr.  Fletcher  had  resided  a  few  months  in  Spring-
field, when  he  one  day  entered,  with  an  open  letter
in  his  hand,  that  apartment  of  his  humble  dwelling
styled,  by  courtesy,  the  parlour.  His  wife  was  sit-
ting there  with  her  eldest  son,  a  stripling  of  fourteen,
busily  assisting  him  in  twisting  a  cord  for  his  cross-
bow. She  perceived  that  her  husband  looked  dis-
turbed ;  but  he  said  nothing,  and  her  habitual  defer-
ence prevented  her  inquiring  into  the  cause  of  his
discomposure.
After  taking  two  or  three  turns  about  the  room,
he  said  to  his  son,  "  Everell,  my  boy,  go  to  the  door,
and  await  there  the  arrival  of  an  Indian  girl ;  she
is,  as  you  may  see,  yonder  by  the  river  side,  and  will
be  here  shortly.  I  would  not  that  Jennet  should,  at
the  very  first,  shock  the  child  with  her  discourteous


HOPE    LESLIE.  21

"  Child  !  coming  here  !"  exclaimed  the  boy,  drop-
ping his  bow  and  gazing  through  the  window.
