Bartram the lime-burner, a rough, heavy-looking man, begrimed with charcoal, sat watching his kiln at nightfall, while his little son played at building houses with the scattered fragments of marble, when, on the hill-side below them, they heard a roar of laughter, t mirthful, but slow, and even solemn, like a wind shaking the boughs of the forest. Father, what is that? asked the little boy, leaving his play, and pressing betwixt his father's knees. Oh, some drunken man, I suppose, answered the lime-burner; some merry fellow from the bar-room in the village, who dared t laugh loud eugh within doors lest he should blow the roof of the house off. So here he is, shaking his jolly sides at the foot of Graylock.