For a time, change has the power
which nature does not often exercise; and under its freshness,
the waters DO seem sweeter, and the stores of the wilderness, the
wild-honey and the locust, DO seem more abundant to the lip and
eye.
Where our cottagers went, and under what delusion, are utterly
unknown to us; nor is it important to our narrative that we should
inquire. Our knowledge of them is only desirable, while they were
in the flourishing condition in which they have been seen. It is
our trust that the novelty which seduced them from their homes, did
not fail them in its promises--that they may never have found, in
all their wanderings, a less lovely abiding-place, than that which
they abandoned. But change has its bitter, as well as its sweet,
and the fear is strong that the cottagers of Charlemont, in the
weary hours, when life's winter is approaching, will still and
vainly sigh after the once-despised enjoyments of their deserted
hamlet.
It was toward the close of one of those bright, tearful days in
April, of which we have briefly spoken, when a couple of travellers
on horseback, ascended the last hill looking down upon Charlemont.
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