reader, that the cause of this change in the poor man was rum. We have referred to the month of July and a part of August; it was during this season of the year that the plain, on account of the rich berries tinging its surface with beautiful blue, became a place of much resort. These berries, hanging in countless clusters upon their low bushes among the shrubbery, were at least worth going to see. It is the opinion of most people, however, (an opinion first entertained in Eden,) that fruit pleasant to the eye is desirable for the taste. Such was the opinion prevalent in that region; and the sight of merry "blue-berry companies," sometimes in wagons, sometimes on foot, was among the most common of our midsummer morning scenes. Equally familiar was the sight of like companies returning at evening, weary, but better satisfied; glad that, with well-filled pails and baskets, they were so near home. This was the time of year when the young Graffams became visible. The blue-berry companies often encountered them upon the plain, but found them shy as young partridges, dodging through the bushes, and skulking away as though kidnappers were in pursuit. There was, however, one boy among them, the eldest, (if we remember rightly,) who was quite familiar with the villagers. He was a little boy, not more than ten or eleven at the time of which I now write, and for two or three summers had been in the habit of bringing berries to the village, and offering them for any small matter, either for food or clothing. Both the kind-hearted and the curious had plied this little boy with questions, relative to his manner of life, his mother, brothers, and sisters; but his answers were far from giving information upon any of these points. He always declined a proposed visit by saying, "Mother don't want no company." This seemed true enough; for when any visitor to the plain called at Graffam's for a drink of water, they were never invited to enter. The water was handed them through a small opening, and the mother was seldom visible. It was one of the brightest of our July mornings, when a blue-berry company started from the village before-mentioned. Two wagons filled with young people passed along the principal street at an early hour, raising a cloud of dust as they turned the corner where stood a guide-board pointing out the _plain_ road to the pond. Onward rolled the two wagons, the tin-pails and dippers dancing and rattling in the rear, keeping time with the clatter of untamed tongues in the van. "Shall we call at 'Appledale?'" asked the driver of the first wagon, coming to a sudden stand. "Go along!" laughingly answered a gay girl in the second. "Our horse is putting his nose into your tin rattletraps." The question was repeated.