It leads between
fields of wheat and corn to a stretch of woods pasture, lying on a
hillside, that ends at the river. This covers many acres, most of
the trees have been cut; the land rises gradually to a crest, that
is crowned by a straggling old snake fence, velvety black in
places, grey with lint in others, and liberally decorated its
entire length with lichens, in every shade of grey and green.
Its corners are filled with wild flowers, ferns, gooseberries,
raspberries, black and red haw, papaw, wild grapevines, and trees
of all varieties. Across the fence a sumac covered embankment
falls precipitately to the Wabash, where it sweeps around a great
curve at Horseshoe Bend. The bed is stone and gravel, the water
flows shallow and pure in the sunlight, and mallows and willows
fringe the banks.
Beside this stretch of river most of one summer was spent, because
there were two broods of cardinals, whose acquaintance I was
cultivating, raised in those sumacs. The place was very secluded,
as the water was not deep enough for fishing or swimming.
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