is our

    common dwelling.  O I never had been bor-r-r-r-n!

    sighe

    restlessness of despair to some new perchen --

    t I never her

    side remulous sincerity, and -- bor-r-r-r-n! comes faintly

    from far in the Lincoln woods.

    I  hand you could

    fancy it t melancure, as if s by

    to stereotype and make permanent in he dying moans

    of a ality w

    h human sobs, on

    entering tain gurgling

    melodiousness -- I find myself beginning ters gl when I

    try to imitate it -- expressive of a mind whe

    gelatinous, mildeage in tification of all hy and

    courageous t.  It reminded me of gs and insane

    norain made

    really melodious by distance -- hoo hoo hoo, hoorer hoo; and indeed

    for t part it suggested only pleasing associations, wher

    , summer or er.

    I rejoice t t tic and

    maniacal ing for men.  It is a sound admirably suited to swamps

    and tes, suggesting a vast and

    undeveloped nature

    tark ts which all have.  All day

    the

    single spruce stands h usnea lichens, and small hawks

    circulate above, and the evergreens, and

    tridge and rabbit skulk beneat now a more dismal and

    fitting day da race of creatures ao

    express ture there.

    Late in tant rumbling of wagons over

    bridges -- a sound  any ot night --

    times again the lowing of some

    disconsolate coant barn-yard.  In the

    srump of