The beech trees, which had been planted in the time of the young Consul's grandfather, spread out their branches far and wide.

The shining dark green foliage hung in rich festoons nearly to the ground, and the long shoots were fringed with masses of tufted beech-nuts.
A mysterious silence reigned in the garden, while the moonlight came rippling noiselessly through the leaves and stealing down the trunks, forming patches of radiance on the grass, which were sharply defined by the edges of the dark shadows.

Goldfinches, bullfinches, a few thrushes, and other autumn birds, were sitting in the aspen trees.

They were mostly occupied in quietly pluming their feathers, and only some of the young birds, which had been hatched that spring, were hopping about from branch to branch.

The parents sat watching them, thinking, doubtless, how delightful it was to be young and innocent.