Various

Which sloping hills around enclose.

Where many a beech and brown oak grows,

Beneath whose dark and branching bowers

Its tide a far-famed river pours,

By Nature’s beauties taught to please

Sweet Tusculan of rural ease.

Warton.

Have I beheld a vision?

Old Play.

The gentle breath of spring-time was now stirring in L. The trees had begun to blossom, the flowers to bud, and the tender grass to spring up beneath the tread. Birds were returning from exile, and fishes were re-peopling the village rivulet. Nature, in short, was assuming her most attractive and becoming dress—that attire which many a worshiper has celebrated in songs such as not the gaudiest birth-night garb of any other queen has ever elicited. After these, it is not we who dare venture to become her laureate on the occasion referred to, when she outshone herself in that gentle season, in the balminess of her breath and the brightness of her sky, as well as in all those other particulars which are dependent upon these. Those who have lived the longest may recall every return of spring within their recollection, and select the fairest of the hoard, but it will still refuse comparison with the spring of which we speak.

The pretty English custom of children celebrating the first of May by an excursion into the country had been preserved among the colonists. On that day, from every village and town a flock of these happy beings, dressed with uncommon attention, and provided with baskets, might be seen merrily departing on one of these picknick rambles. Every excursion of this kind was not merely an event in the future, but an epoch in the past. The recollection of each successive May-day treasured up throughout the following year, never became so swallowed up in that which came after it, that it did not preserve in its own associations and incidents a separate place in the memory.

But an occurrence transpired on the May-day of which we are about to speak, for the little villagers of L., calculated to fix it indelibly on their remembrance. The morning rose as serene and clear as if no pleasure excursion had been intended. A large party of children set out from their homes on the day alluded to. This was composed, with very few exceptions and additions, of the same group which had been collected the previous winter about the frozen brook on the day of the accident to the young niece of the governor.

The utmost harmony and good conduct prevailed among the youthful corps, which was generaled by the sage and skillful Lucy Ellet, who, in order to preserve order on all festive occasions, lent the young people her decorous example, and the experience of her superior years. The young procession made a beautiful appearance as it wound along the verdant banks of the village rivulet, and was lost among the neighboring hills.

The spot selected as the place of rendezvous was an umbrageous woods in a green valley, surrounded by various rocky hills of considerable height, rising in some places one above another with great regularity, the highest apparently touching the horizon, and the progressive ascent seeming like a ladder of approach to the sky. The cavities and crevices of these hills were numerous, serving as excellent retreats for the children in their game of hide-and-seek, as well as for the retirement of separate groups apart from each other. This vicinity had, therefore, for years been the stated resort on May-day occasions; yet not alone for the advantages mentioned, since the shady grove attached to it, well cleared beneath the tread, might of itself have been sufficient cause for its selection. Even in winter it was a sheltered and sequestered spot; but when arrayed in the verdure of Spring, the earth bringing forth all her wild-flowers, the shrubs spreading their wealth of blossoms around it, and the thick branches interweaving their leaves to intercept the sun, it was a peculiarly appropriate place for the purpose in question. If a gardener would have deplored the opportunities of embellishment which had been here suffered to lie undeveloped, a true lover of scenery would have been glad that the wild and picturesque spot had been left undisturbed by the hands of industry or art. The situation had been first discovered, and its aptitude for the purpose which it served, pointed out by Lucy Ellet, ever interested, since she had emerged from her own childhood, in considering the happiness and pleasure of the little community.

On the day in question it was therefore remarked as somewhat strange that that young lady strove to exert her influence in prevailing on the party to turn another way, expending much eloquence in extolling the superior advantages of a spot of ground situated in an opposite direction. The former prejudice in favor of the other prevailed, and the assemblage repaired thither as usual.

In this glade the forest trees were somewhat wildly separated from each other, and the ground beneath was covered with a carpet of the softest and loveliest green, that being well shaded from the heat of the sun was as beautifully tender as such spots are in the milder and more equable climes of the South.

The morning was occupied in crowning and doing honor to the lovely little Jessy Ellet, who had been unanimously chosen, according to a custom prevalent, the queen of the day. At noon dinner was served upon the grass from the contents of the various baskets, and the afternoon passed in the customary sports.

It had been noticed by such of the children as were old enough to be in any wise observant, that Lucy Ellet, so far from busying herself as usual to devise rambles among the hills, and promote diversity of amusement, would have used her persuasions to detain the young people the whole day in the grove. Her amiable disposition, however, prevented her from employing positive authority in restraining their footsteps, and she had been obliged, however regretfully, to behold them wander abroad at their pleasure.

When the members of the scattered assemblage were re-collecting around her, late in the afternoon, previous to their return home, she anxiously scanned their several countenances as they appeared, as if to detect whether any individual had made an unusual or curious discovery. She seemed satisfied, at length, that this was not the case, and evinced extreme satisfaction when, a little before sunset, the party set out on their return to L.

They had not proceeded far, however, ere it was discovered that the young May-queen was missing from the party. In small alarm, they retraced their steps, expecting to find her fallen asleep under the trees where they had dined. But on arriving at the spot, she was nowhere to be seen. Her name was next loudly called, yet there was no reply. Apprehension now seized every member of the young party, who dispersed in various directions in search of the lost child.

Frank Stanley, the youth who, it will be remembered, had once been her preserver from a watery grave, evinced especial uneasiness at her singular absence, and was, perhaps—her sister excepted, whose anxiety amounted almost to frenzy—the most active in his endeavors to discover her. Separating himself entirely from the rest, he climbed among the rocky hills, and searched in every nook and cavity, at the same time shouting her name until his voice was drowned in the resounding echoes.

At length he had given up his search in despair, and was in the act of descending, when he heard a soft call from behind him. He turned, and on a higher hill than any of the young villagers had ever been known to climb, stretched out upon its side in calmness sleeping, lay the fair object of his search! On the rock above her, round which the dew of evening had gathered the thickest, he beheld standing, apparently to keep watch upon the child’s slumbers, a full-grown female figure. This form, reflected against the sky, appeared rather the undefined lineaments of a spirit than a mortal, for her person seemed as light and almost as transparent as the thin cloud of mist that surrounded her. The smoky light of the setting sun gave a hazy, dubious, and as it were, phantom-like appearance to the strange apparition. He had scarcely time, however, to note this, ere she vanished from his view, so suddenly and mysteriously, that he could hardly distinguish whether he had been subjected to a mere illusion of the senses, or whether he had actually seen the aereal figure we have described. Yet he could in no other wise account for the voice he had heard, except by ascribing it to the same vague form, for the child was evidently in too deep a sleep to have uttered any sound. Doubtful what to believe in regard to this phantom-image, and in that perplexed state natural to one not willing to believe that his sight had deceived him, ere he yielded himself up to the joy of recovering Jessy Ellet, whom he loved with the depth and sentiment of more mature age, he hastily climbed to the spot where it had appeared. There was no trace, however, of the vision to be seen. It had melted again into that air from which it had seemed embodied. Immediately descending again, he lifted the slumbering child, whom he had found at last, and imprinting a kiss upon her face, proceeded to bear her down the hill.

On reaching the valley, he found the rest of the party collected in the grove, after an unsuccessful search, in great anxiety awaiting his return.

——