130 Bursting with light seemed the smithy, through

every cranny and crevice,

Warm by the forge within they watched the la

boring bellows,

And as its panting ceased, and the sparks expired in the ashes,

Merrily laughed, and said they were nuns going into the chapel.

Oft on sledges in winter, as swift as the swoop of the eagle,

135 Down the hillside bounding, they glided away o'er

the meadow.

Oft in the barns they climbed to the populous nests on the rafters,

Secking with eager eyes that wondrous stone, which the swallow

Brings from the shore of the sea to restore the sight of its fledglings;

Lucky was he who found that stone in the nest of

the swallow!

140 Thus passed a few swift years, and they no longer were children.

He was a valiant youth, and his face, like the face of the morning,

Gladdened the earth with its light, and ripened thought into action.

She was a woman now, with the heart and hopes

of a woman.

133. The French have another saying similar to this, that they were guests going into the wedding.

139. In Pluquet's Contes Populaires we are told that if one of a swallow's young is blind the mother bird seeks on the shore of the ocean a little stone, with which she restores its sight; and he adds, "He who is fortunate enough to find that stone in a swallow's nest holds a wonderful remedy." Pluquet's book treats of Norman superstitions and popular traits.

"Sunshine of Saint Eulalie "

that was the sunshine

was she called; for

145 Which, as the farmers believed, would load their orchards with apples;

She too would bring to her husband's house delight and abundance,

Filling it full of love and the ruddy faces of chil

dren.

II.

Now had the season returned, when the nights grow colder and longer,

And the retreating sun the sign of the Scorpion

enters.

150 Birds of passage sailed through the leaden air, from the ice-bound,

Desolate northern bays to the shores of tropical

islands.

Harvests were gathered in; and wild with the winds of September

Wrestled the trees of the forest, as Jacob of old with the angel.

All the signs foretold a winter long and inclement. 155 Bees, with prophetic instinct of want, had hoarded

their honey

Till the hives overflc wed; and the Indian hunters

asserted

Cold would the winter be, for thick was the fur of

the foxes.

144. Pluquet also gives this proverbial saying:

"Si le soleil rit le jour Sainte-Eulalie,

Il y aura pommes et cidre à folie."

(If the sun smiles on Saint Eulalie's day, there will be plenty

of apples, and cider enough.)

Saint Eulalie's day is the 12th of February.

Such was the advent of autumn. Then followed that beautiful season,

Called by the pious Acadian peasants the Summer of All-Saints!

160 Filled was the air with a dreamy and magical light; and the landscape

Lay as if new-created in all the freshness of child

hood.

Peace seemed to reign upon earth, and the restless heart of the ocean

Was for a moment consoled.

harmony blended.

All sounds were in

Voices of children at play, the crowing of cocks in

the farm-yards,

165 Whir of wings in the drowsy air, and the cooing

of pigeons,

All were subdued and low as the murmurs of love,

and the great sun

Looked with the eye of love through the golden vapors around him;

While arrayed in its robes of russet and scarlet

and yellow,

Bright with the sheen of the dew, each glittering tree of the forest

170 Flashed like the plane-tree the Persian adorned with mantles and jewels.

159 The Summer of All-Saints is our Indian Summer, All Saints Day being November 1st. The French also give this season the name of St. Martin's Summer, St. Martin's Day being November 11th.

170. Herodotus, in his account of Xerxes' expedition against Greece, tells of a beautiful plane-tree which Xerxes found, and was so enamored with that he dressed it as one might a woman and placed it under the care of a guardsman (vii. 31). Another writer, Elian, improving on this, says he adorned with a necklace and bracelets.

Now recommenced the reign of rest and affec

tion and stillness.

Day with its burden and heat had departed, and twilight descending

Brought back the evening star to the sky, and the herds to the homestead.

Pawing the ground they came, and resting their necks on each other,

175 And with their nostrils distended inhaling the freshness of evening.

Foremost, bearing the bell, Evangeline's beautiful

heifer,

Proud of her snow-white hide, and the ribbon that waved from her collar,

Quietly paced and slow, as if conscious of human

affection.

Then came the shepherd back with his bleating flocks from the seaside,

180 Where was their favorite pasture. Behind them followed the watch-dog,

Patient, full of importance, and grand in the pride

of his instinct,

Walking from side to side with a lordly air, and

superbly

Waving his bushy tail, and urging forward the

stragglers;

Regent of flocks was he when the shepherd slept;

their protector,

185 When from the forest at night, through the starry silence, the wolves howled.

Late, with the rising moon, returned the wains

from the marshes,

Laden with briny hay, that filled the air with its

odor.

Cheerily neighed the steeds, with dew on their

manes and their fetlocks,

While aloft on their shoulders the wooden and

ponderous saddles,

190 Painted with brilliant dyes, and adorned with tassels of crimson,

Nodded in bright array, like hollyhocks heavy with blossoms.

Patiently stood the cows meanwhile, and yielded their udders

Unto the milkmaid's hand; whilst loud and in reg

ular cadence

Into the sounding pails the foaming streamlets de

scended.

195 Lowing of cattle and peals of laughter were heard in the farm-yard,

Echoed back by the barns. Anon they sank into

stillness;

Heavily closed, with a jarring sound, the valves of the barn-doors,

Rattled the wooden bars, and all for a season was silent.

In-doors, warm by the wide-mouthed fireplace, idly the farmer

200 Sat in his elbow-chair, and watched how the flames and the smoke-wreaths

Struggled together like foes in a burning city.

Behind him,

Nodding and mocking along the wall with gest

ures fantastic,

Darted his own huge shadow, and vanished away into darkness.

193. There is a charming milkmaid's song in Tennyson's drama of Queen Mary, Act III., Scene 5, where the streaming of the milk into the sounding pails is caught in the tinkline & of such lines as

"When you came and kissed ine milking the cows."