This mingled tide of health and social gladness flowed on to the grove of pine and birch, which threw their branching arms in a verdant canopy over a plat of green grass, which had been shorn close to the level earth. Around this arena strayed every variety of twig-inwoven seat, where matron and maiden, in the flow of the heart, forgot their disparity of years. The children wreathed each other’s locks with coronals of flowers, the soft breeze whispered in the pines, and the little billow murmured its music on the strand. And now the violin, the harp, and guitar woke the bounding dance. Forth upon the green the man of seventy, still erect and tall, led the blooming girl of sixteen. Age had whitened his locks, but the light of an unclouded spirit still rolled in his eye, and the salient bound of youth still dwelt in his limbs. His young partner, with her tresses of raven darkness, inwoven with snow-white flowers,—with a cheek, where the mantling tide of health was curbed into a blush—and a step light and elastic as that of the gazelle, seemed as one of Flora’s train, just lighted there to swim in youth and beauty in the wild woodland merriment. By the side of these, others, in mingled youth and age, lead down the double files, and balance and whirl in the mazy measures which roll from the orchestral band. As these retire, others still spring to the arena, and the dance goes on, ever changing, and still the same. No faltering step delays its feathered feet, no glance of envy disturbs its love-lit smiles, no look of clouded care overshadows its real mirth: “The garlands, the rose-odors, and the flowers, The sparkling eyes, and flashing ornaments, The white arms and the raven hair, the braids And bracelets, swan-like bosoms, the thin robes Floating like light clouds ’twixt our gaze and heaven.” And now they glide to the tables, which stretch away under the embowering trees, and where the rich larder has emptied its choicest stores. There the savory venison scents the still air, and the wild strawberries blush between the green leaves. There the domestic fowl, the swift-footed hare, and the timid quail have met in strange brotherhood. There the juice of the native grape, and the cool wave of the gushing rock, sparkle in the flowing goblet. These were discussed, and the festive board was relinquished to the children, who were too full of glee to note if aught more than the fruit and confectionery remained. The ripe berry sought in vain to add color to their lips, or rival the bloom which lent its rosy hue to the round cheek. Golden locks floated around eyes which sparkled with light and love, and the accents of gladness rung out in joyous peals, like the song of birds when the storm-cloud has passed.