Mayall was a bold, daring man, and none was found more brave; but when he looked upon his little prattling children and lovely wife, he thought of the three Indian warriors lying at the bottom of the dark, deep stream, and he wept, thinking they might have wives and fatherless children, who would look out evening and morning for their fathers and husbands, who would never return again to their homes. His wife and children hailed him with joy, but nothing they could say seemed worth his notice; he seemed to be wrapped in deep meditation--not a smile was seen to light up his sunburnt countenance. No one could read the secret of his meditation. Autumn quietly wore away, and Mayall confined his hunting excursions to his own quiet valley, where game appeared quite plenty, until the snows of winter began to whiten the hills. He then remained most of the time at home, excepting now and then, when the weather was favorable, he made an excursion up or down the valley in quest of deer, to supply his family with fresh venison. The deep snows had drifted over the war-path of the red man, and Mayall had enjoyed a quiet season, spending most of his time by a warm winter fire. At length winter began to resign his sway, and took up his march for his northern icy throne. The rays of the sun began to dissolve the deep snow, the southern breeze began to whisper among the dumb branches of the forest trees, the warm rains pattered down, the little mountain streams were swollen, and noisily hurrying down to pour their tribute into the Otego, which overflowed its banks and inundated the lowlands along the streams, and Spring began to put on her glorious robes of beauty. The violet opened its young leaves with all its youthful blush, the honeysuckle displayed its glistening cups of gold, and the forest trees were again clothed with living green, while every tree that bore the fruits of Autumn was dressed with Nature's fairest wreaths, which art can scarcely imitate. The feathered choir had fluttered up the valley, borne on the southern breeze, to cheer the woodland with their song. Such was the earthly Paradise of Mayall. Not all the halls of state, with their artificial splendor; not all the retinue of kings, with golden crowns, surrounded with warriors glittering with burnished gold and ornamented with diamonds--all these faded into insignificance, when compared with his green forest home.