The young, fresh leaves were out, and looking so green and crisp.

The leak and the moss were creeping afresh over the rocks; wild flowers were budding and blossoming, and giving their sweet odors to the wind; birds were singing their touching songs; brooks rippled and murmured their mysterious music; and all Nature was indeed putting forth her beauties in one grand, sweet, soul-stirring harmony.
How I envy the being who, free from the cares of the world, can elevate his soul by holding sweet communion with nature, at spring time.

Earth has nothing so pure as the thoughts inspired by such sweet communion with the buds, the blossoms, and the flowers of spring.
It was one of these soft, breezy mornings in early spring, I have said, that Mattie and Tite sat together in a little clump of woods, where the branches formed a sort of bower overhead, and overlooking the Tappan Zee.

Every few minutes Tite would get up, advance to a point commanding a view of the river above, and gaze intently in that direction, as if expecting some object of interest.
"She is not in sight yet, Mattie," he said, as he returned after one of these intervals.

"But she will be down to-day, I know she will, and then we must part.