As summer wore away Dora and her husband became tired of fashionable life, and longed to return to the shades of forest life, for which they had a fondness—to feast again on the rich and savory dishes of venison, wild fowls and fish, and rest in tranquillity at their own cottage home, surrounded by shady bowers. Dora had paid the last debt of gratitude to her deceased parents at the earliest opportunity, and then started with her husband by the same route they came for their forest home, again to retrace their steps, guided by a blind Indian war-path, long since abandoned by the Indians.
After a weary march of several days they arrived at their forest home, and were warmly greeted by the elder Mayall and his learned and accomplished wife, who received them more warmly on account of some good books Esock Mayall had purchased for his mother, to repay her for his early education, which she had superintended in her own cottage, when her husband was absent on the chase. When they arrived at their forest home, Autumn, with all her charms, with yellow and crimson loaf and falling fruit, charmed the young hunter and his faithful and devoted wife, as they looked with pride upon their forest home, surrounded with all the charms which Nature has so wisely lavished upon the untarnished works of his adorable hand. They came to the conclusion that Contentment and Modesty were two beautiful flowers that flourished only in secret and retired places, where the God of Nature reigned.
"Dora again, in her wild forest home,
Where, in wavy masses fondly flowing
Droops the graceful mountain vine,
And the yellow sunbeams, glowing
Cross the shadows line on line;
Where the zephyrs, softly sighing,
Woo the gently pearling rills;
Where the feathered songsters, vieing,
Each a different measure trills;
Where the echoes, now replying,
Die amid the distant hills;
Where the skies are ever changing;
Where the slanting moonbeams quiver
On the noisy mountain streams:
Where the placid flowing river
Like a thread of silver gleams.
Oh, my heart is ever yearning
For the sweet, remembered ones,
Where magic roses blossom
In the evening golden light,
And tender, enchanting songs
Float on the balmy breeze at night."
THE END.
[Transcriber's Note: The original edition of this book did not contain a Table of Contents. A Table of Contents has been created for this electronic edition.]