Evangeline | Page 3

were
gathered in; and wild with the winds of September
Wrestled the trees
of the forest, as Jacob of old with the angel.
All the signs foretold a
winter long and inclement.
Bees, with prophetic instinct of want, had
hoarded their honey
Till the hives overflowed; and the Indian hunters
asserted
Cold would the winter be, for thick was the fur of the foxes.

Such was the advent of autumn. Then followed that beautiful season,

Called by the pious Acadian peasants the Summer of All-Saints!

Filled was the air with a dreamy and magical light; and the landscape

Lay as if new-created in all the freshness of childhood.
Peace seemed
to reign upon earth, and the restless heart of the ocean
Was for a
moment consoled. All sounds were in harmony blended.
Voices of
children at play, the crowing of cocks in the farm-yards,
Whir of
wings in the drowsy air, and the cooing of pigeons,
All were subdued
and low as the murmurs of love, and the great sun
Looked with the
eye of love through the golden vapors around him;
While arrayed in
its robes of russet and scarlet and yellow,
Bright with the sheen of the
dew, each glittering tree of the forest
Flashed like the plane-tree the
Persian adorned with mantles and jewels.
Now recommenced the reign of rest and affection and stillness.
Day
with its burden and heat had departed, and twilight descending

Brought back the evening star to the sky, and the herds to the
homestead.
Pawing the ground they came, and resting their necks on
each other,
And with their nostrils distended inhaling the freshness of
evening.
Foremost, bearing the bell, Evangeline's beautiful heifer,

Proud of her snow-white hide, and the ribbon that waved from her
collar,
Quietly paced and slow, as if conscious of human affection.

Then came the shepherd back with his bleating flocks from the seaside,

Where was their favorite pasture. Behind them followed the
watch-dog,
Patient, full of importance, and grand in the pride of his

instinct,
Walking from side to side with a lordly air, and superbly

Waving his bushy tail, and urging forward the stragglers;
Regent of
flocks was he when the shepherd slept; their protector,
When from
the forest at night, through the starry silence, the wolves howled.
Late,
with the rising moon, returned the wains from the marshes,
Laden
with briny hay, that filled the air with its odor.
Cheerily neighed the
steeds, with dew on their manes and their fetlocks,
While aloft on
their shoulders the wooden and ponderous saddles,
Painted with
brilliant dyes, and adorned with tassels of crimson,
Nodded in bright
array, like hollyhocks heavy with blossoms.
Patiently stood the cows
meanwhile, and yielded their udders
Unto the milkmaid's hand;
whilst loud and in regular cadence
Into the sounding pails the
foaming streamlets descended.
Lowing of cattle and peals of laughter
were heard in the farm-yard,
Echoed back by the barns. Anon they
sank into stillness;
Heavily closed, with a jarring sound, the valves of
the barn-doors,
Rattled the wooden bars, and all for a season was
silent.
In-doors, warm by the wide-mouthed fireplace, idly the farmer
Sat in
his elbow-chair; and watched how the flames and the smoke-wreaths

Struggled together like foe in a burning city. Behind him,
Nodding
and mocking along the wall, with gestures fantastic,
Darted his own
huge shadow, and vanished away into darkness.
Faces, clumsily
carved in oak, on the back of his arm-chair
Laughed in the flickering
light, and the pewter plates on the dresser
Caught and reflected the
flame, as shields of armies the sunshine.
Fragments of song the old
man sang, and carols of Christmas,
Such as at home, in the olden
time, his fathers before him
Sang in their Norman orchards and bright
Burgundian vineyards.
Close at her father's side was the gentle
Evangeline seated,
Spinning flax for the loom, that stood in the
corner behind her.
Silent awhile were its treadles, at rest was its
diligent shuttle,
While the monotonous drone of the wheel, like the
drone of a bagpipe,
Followed the old man's song, and united the

fragments together.
As in a church, when the chant of the choir at
intervals ceases,
Footfalls are heard in the aisles, or words of the
priest at the altar,
So, in each pause of the song, with measured
motion the clock clicked.
Thus as they sat, there were footsteps heard, and, suddenly lifted,

Sounded the wooden latch, and the door swung back on its hinges.

Benedict knew by the hob-nailed shoes it was Basil the blacksmith,

And by her beating heart Evangeline knew who was with him.

"Welcome!" the farmer exclaimed, as their footsteps paused on the
threshold,
"Welcome, Basil, my friend! Come, take thy place on the
settle
Close by the chimney-side, which is always empty without thee;

Take from the shelf overhead thy pipe and the box of tobacco;

Never so much thyself art thou as when through the curling
Smoke of
the pipe or the forge thy friendly and jovial face gleams
Round and
red as the harvest moon through the mist of the marshes."
Then, with
a smile of content, thus answered Basil the blacksmith,
Taking with
easy air the accustomed seat by the fireside:--
"Benedict
Bellefontaine, thou