PRELUDE. A BOY LOST! IN September, 1878, we spent a few days with a farmer residing upon one of the lofty hills of the "Granite State"-the Switzerland of America. The location was one of rare beauty; admirable for enjoying a view, wonderfully diversified, charming, sublime. The harmonious blending of mountain and valley, lake and forest; the cottages of the farmers, nestling among the hills, or high up on some lofty eminence; the gorgeous hues of the maples and other deciduous trees richer in color, in the blending, in all the diversity of shading imaginable, surpassing the highest conception of the best imitations of nature's art-painting; all combined, formed a landscape of marvelous attractions-perfectly grand. To our eyes unsurpassed; one that no human skill could transfer to canvas. are inclined to believe nature has not duplicated it. We Looking southward from our location down across well cultivated fields, were the grand old woods, beyond and above which arose a high ridge of hills sweeping around on a half circle east and west, where they terminated abruptly, leaving gateways wide open, through which came to view villages with their church spires, and the dwellings of the farmers. Looking westward, still more remote arose other ranges of hills, covered with the native forest. The Connecticut river-with Bellows Falls, eleven miles away, the roar of which could be distinctly heard-flowed between the two States, and beyond which towered ridge after ridge, each succeeding one growing loftier, until lost in the famous Green Mountains of Vermont, fifty miles distant. One who has never witnessed a New England sunset cannot conceive the gorgeousness of the scene, here in its glory. Directly south loomed up the lofty head of old Monadnack, forty miles away. Beacon fires on a Fourth of July night have here been lighted, flashing their smiles upon Bunker Hill monument, seventy-five miles to the southward. To the north-east, one hundred miles distant, we almost seemed to see the White Mountains up among the clouds. 2 Having scanned the most striking objects in the distance, we will look at those less prominent. A little way to the east is a little lakelet surrounded by hills, its margin skirted with forest trees, its surface placid, its waters cold and deep. Only one person, a boy, who stole out from his home on a Sunday afternoon to have a skate on the newly formed ice, was ever known to have been drowned in its waters. The boy's hat revealed his sad fate. Looking southwest over a forest of evergreen trees on a plain, is a little country village with its white cottages. Just beyond this another lakelet, exceedingly beautiful. For more than a century it has been a favorite resort for people near and far away. The late Rev. Dr. Vinton, of New York city, and family, spent many a summer vacation, enjoying the hospitality of a farmer's home near by, and riding or fishing daily in its waters. One of the most remarkable facts, is, that of the many thousands who have here bathed, fished, sailed and skated, not one has ever been known to have been drowned. We now come to the place and point of our story. The home that now affords us a delightful resting place superseded the original log-cabin, built when the country was a “howling wilderness." The entire region was then covered with a dense forest, only a little clearing had been made around the homes of the early pioneers. There were no roads, except foot paths, or "Indian trails." The guide boards, were "blazed" trees. About one hundred and fifty years ago a man and his wife and a little boy named Jacob, had their home in the cabin. The father, when time permitted, was cutting away the forest to broaden his fields for cultivation, to grow his grain and vegetables. One pleasant afternoon the little boy asked his mother if he might go out and see his father chop down the great trees. The mother said he could go, and come in with his father at night. When the day's labor was over, the father returned to his cabin. The mother, not seeing her little boy with him, asked, "Where is Jacob?" The father did not know; had not seen him. Instantly it flashed upon them that Jacob was lost. Hurriedly they went out to look for him. They called and searched-searched until night's sable drapery settled down upon the black forest. He was not found. They retired to their lonely cabin. It was very dark within. The sunlight, the light of that home, the little sunbeam was not there. The supper had been prepared and was on the table. There lay the little pewter 66 plate; there stood the little chair. Each whispered 'missing." The rude playthings upon the floor whispered "missing." The supper was untouched; how could they eat! All night long they watched. How could they close their eyes in sleep when the fate of little Jacob was weighing them down, crushing out their fondest hopes, centered and bound up in their little idol! In vain did they pile the wood upon the fire, or set a light in the window, hoping to attract his weary feet in their wanderings homeward. In vain did they peer out into the pitchy darkness, or call "Jacob! Jacob! O, Jacob!" In vain did they listen to hear the childish cry : Papa or for mamma to come to me quick." No responses came but the doleful "hoot" of some great owl, or the growl of bears, for they were dwellers in the woods. The harrowing and most unwelcome thoughts would come to them. "Has he been killed by the bears? Are they growling over his bones with whetted appetites for more human blood?" 66 The long night passed slowly away. Early in the morning light the father hastens to the nearest neighbors, a mile away, to tell of their great distress. The news was sent speedily to other neighbors, and with alacrity and sympathy all responded. The entire day was spent in the most vigorous and careful search. Not a trace had been discovered. Another night of fearful forebodings drove sleep from the disconsolate family. The second day dawned. Great numbers came to join in the hunt. When the sun again went down behind the green hills of Vermont, no tidings had been brought to the sorrowing parents. Not a foot-print had been seen. The night set in; the deepest gloom overshadowed that humble cottage-black darkness. The morning of the third day came at last. It is said that five hundred men came that day to join in the hunt, the news having spread to the more thickly settled neighborhoods. They were earnest men, and they engaged in the search with a determination to find the boy or learn something of his fate. The day wore away, and all had returned from the hunt, the problem unsolved-a mystery of mysteries. All were preparing to return to their homes, having abandoned all hopes of finding the boy; further search was declared hopeless and useless. The mother learned the decision they had made, and in almost frantic agony she came to the door and said that if she only knew that little Jacob was dead she would |