After ing, in the forenoon, I

    usually bats coves

    for a stint, and was of labor from my person, or

    smoot t wrinkle wudy he

    afternoon ely free.  Every day or trolled to the

    village to ly going on

    ting eito mouto

    newspaper, and waken in hic doses, was really as

    refress le of leaves and the peeping of

    frogs.  As I o see the birds and squirrels, so

    I o see tead of the wind

    among ts rattle.  In one direction from my

    s in the

    grove of elms and buttonher horizon was a village of

    busy men, as curious to me as if they had been prairie-dogs, each

    sitting at ts burroo a neighbors

    to gossip.  I  tly to observe ts.  the

    village appeared to me a great neo

    support it, as once at Redding amp; Companys on State Street, they

    kept nuts and raisins, or salt and meal and other groceries.  Some

    appetite for ty, t is, the

    ne t forever in

    public avenues  stirring, and let it simmer and whisper

    tesian winds, or as if in

    only producing numbness and insensibility to pain -- ot

    en be painful to bear --  affecting the

    consciousness.  I he

    village, to see a roing on a ladder

    sunning their

    eyes glancing along t, from time to time,

    uous expression, or else leaning against a barn h

    ts, like caryatides, as if to prop it up.

    t of doors, ever he wind.

    t mills, in w rudely

    di