iumn i returo my southern home with a heart full of joyous memories. as i recall that visit north i am filled with wo the riess and variety of the experiehat cluster about it. it seems to have been the beginning of everything. the treasures of a new, beautiful world were laid at my feet, and i took in pleasure and information at every turn. i lived myself into all things. i was ill a moment; my life was as full of motion as those little is that crowd a whole existeo one brief day. i met many people who talked with me by spelling into my hand, and thought in joyous sympathy leaped up to meet thought, and behold, a miracle had been wrought! the barren places between my mind and the minds of others blossomed like the rose.
i spent the autumn months with my family at our summer cottage, on a mountain about fourteen miles from tuscumbia. it was called fern quarry, because near it there was a limestone quarry, long since abandoned.
three frolie little streams ran through it from springs in the rocks above, leaping here and tumbling there in laughing cascades wherever the rocks tried to bar their way. the opening was filled with ferns whipletely covered the beds of limestone and in places hid the streams. the rest of the mountain was thickly wooded. here were great oaks and splendid evergreens with trunks like mossy pillars, from the branches of which hung garlands of ivy and mistletoe, and persimmon trees, the odour of which pervaded every nook and er of the wood--an illusive, fragrant something that made the heart glad. in places the wild muse and scuppernong viretched from tree to tree, making arbours which were always full of butterflies and buzzing is. it was delightful to lose ourselves in the green hollows of that tangled wood ie afternoon, and to smell the cool, delicious odours that came up from the earth at the close of day.
our cottage was a sort h camp, beautifully situated oop of the mountain among oaks and pines.
the small rooms were arranged on each side of a long open hall. round the house was a wide piazza, where the mountain winds blew, sweet with all wood-sts. we lived on the piazza most of the time--there we worked, ate and played. at the back door there was a great butternut tree, round which the steps had been built, and in front the trees stood so close that i could touch them ahe wind shake their branches, or the leaves twirl downward iumn blast.
many visitors came to fern quarry. in the evening, by the ca
（本章未完）