64 MASSACHUSETTS AGRICULTURE. 



of that old house in the country which we loved so well, those 

 green shadows which have passed away — those vanished shad- 

 ows, and the children playing in the shadows, which we can 

 see far off, as if in some beautiful dream. The light that is 

 not on land or sea lingers always around those hours, and 

 hallows them forever. Who is there among you who does not 

 recall the picture of a happy New England home, seen from the 

 highway as we journey along at eventide? ^acn in the sweet, 

 sacred memories of other years, you seem to feel the hush 

 of peace and repose which dwells beneath the drooping elm 

 trees that shade and guard the door. The last rays of the 

 sunset are fading in dissolving beauty in the west, and in their 

 soft light you can see the farmer who, by his thoughtful labor, 

 has earned his repose, lie is resting there in the wide porch, 

 looking out over his well-tilled fields, watching the last fading- 

 traces of the sunset — the first trembling beam of the evening 

 star, as he will watch one day for another sunset and for 

 another evening star, and will know then it is his morning 

 star also. Beside him is the wife and mother — for what would 

 be the picture of a home if woman's sweet influence and empire 

 were forgotten ? We should miss the flame on the altar, the 

 fire on the hearth, the angel in the house, if her form were 

 wanting there. Flowers are growing in the shelter of the 

 porch, but fairer flowers are blooming in the shelter of that 

 quiet home. Her daughters are with her, not languid and 

 pale, but as fresh and modest as the dewy rosebuds, half 

 opening by the porch. On the grass, a little apart, the boys 

 are gathered, — a little apart, for with a growing sense of man- 

 liness they are beginning to separate themselves, and lay their 

 own plans for their future, studying out what independence 

 means ; and over all bends God's beautiful sky ; over them all 

 flows softly that deep, blue, boundless river, which we call 

 eternity. As a contrast with all this, think of the homes of the 

 poor in the city. The country spreads a tender, kindly grace 

 over even the home of poverty ; the green trees wave gently 

 over the ruinous cottage ; the green moss conceals and adorns 

 its decay ; the wild rose and the soft-eyed violet grow on the 

 grassy bank. But in the city, the poor live in narrow, squalid 

 room-, where the sunshine can never bring in its blessing. 

 We build stately churches, and endow costly hospitals, but 



