A GREEN MOUNTAIN CORN-FIELD. 



Thus, without theft, I reap another's field. SIDNEY 

 LANIER. 



I WAS passing some days of idleness in 

 a shallow Vermont valley, situated at an 

 elevation of fifteen or sixteen hundred feet, 

 circled by wooded hills, and intersected by 

 an old turnpike, which connects the towns 

 near Lake Champlain with the region be- 

 yond the mountains. Small farmhouses 

 stood here and there along the highway, 

 while others were scattered at wide inter- 

 vals over the lower slopes of the outlying 

 hills. 



With all the brightness and freshness 

 of early summer upon it, it was indeed 

 an enchanting picture; but even so, one 

 could not altogether put aside a feeling of 

 something like commiseration for the peo- 

 ple who, year in and year out, from baby- 

 hood to old age, found in this narrow 

 vale, with its severity of weather, and its 



