Shortly after leaving the cabin of this young backwoodsman, my path, hitherto passing under the gloomy shadows of the forest, debouched upon just such a scene. I had been warned of its proximity. My host, at parting, had given me directions as to how I should find my way across the _herrikin_--through which ran the trace that conducted to the clearing of the squatter, some two miles further down the creek. I was prepared to behold a tract of timber laid prostrate by the storm--the trees all lying in one direction, and exhibiting the usual scathed and dreary aspect. Instead of this, on emerging from the dark forest, I was agreeably surprised by a glorious landscape that burst upon my view. It was, as already stated, that season of the year when the American woods array themselves in their most attractive robes--when the very leaves appear as if they were flowers, so varied and brilliant are their hues--when the foliage of the young beeches becomes a pale yellow, and glimmers translucent against the sun--when the maples are dying off of a deep red, and the sumac and sassafras turning respectively crimson and scarlet--when the large drupes of the Osage orange, the purple clusters of the fox-grape, and the golden berries of the persimmon or Virginian lotus, hang temptingly from the tree: just at that season when the benignant earth has perfected, and is about to yield up, her annual bounty; and all nature is gratefully rejoicing at the gift. No wonder I was agreeably impressed by the gorgeous landscape--no wonder I reigned up, and permitted my eyes to dwell upon it; while my heart responded to the glad chorus, that, from bird and bee, was rising up to heaven around me! I, too felt joyous under the reflection that, amid such lovely scenes, I had chosen my future home. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN. A BACKWOODS VENUS.