;94 



The American Aiioier 



piness may be doiibl}' earned in restor- 

 ing the old places, painting up the 

 weathered houses, reshingling the barns, 

 embellishing the lawns, rejuvenating 

 the pasture-lots and the old fields, 

 cutting out the tangle by the roadside, 

 setting up the tennis nets, and collect- 

 ing the waters of the errant brooks for 

 trout ponds! Place the old people out 

 on the porch in their easy chairs and 

 let them watch the progress of the in- 

 novation. It would be like the devel- 

 opment of a new world to them. If the 

 absentees cannot come to abide per- 

 manently, let them fix here their vSum- 

 mer homes. Here is present choice of 

 pretty houses, now tenantless, for the 

 trifling rent of thirty dollars per year ; 

 or you can buy the house with plot of 

 ground outright for 'the paltry sum 

 which the rich man lavishes on a livery 

 for his coachman or an afternoon lunch. 

 Why follow the ignis fatiins of caprice 

 and fashion to inhospitable parts, where 

 envy and rivalry for precedence and 

 love of display are the animating im- 

 pulses ? Here is peace and rest. 



Are there any localities in the land 

 more capable of embellishment and im- 

 provement ? The whole region is like 

 a park, with mountain views and bucolic 

 scenes inimitable. Nature has fash- 

 ioned it with rounded lines of beauty, 

 and presented it in every conceivable 

 form to please the Summer sojourner. 

 These old farms have commanding 

 sites. Very few of them lie in the 

 valleys, because there are no valleys ! 

 Wherever there is a valley there is a 

 ravine and a tumbling stream, with 

 barely breadth enough for a wagon 

 road, over which the interlacing foliage 

 forms an arch. Were ever drives more 

 shady or more rustic ! No railroad 

 within a dozen miles ! Some would 

 call them lonesome, but here is where 

 solitude is most charming. The only 



wayfarers are the barefooted school- 

 children who trip their daily two-mile 

 walks as though it were a pastime. There 

 are no tramps — no thieves — for there is 

 nothing to steal. There are no locks on 

 the houses, and the barndoors stand 

 wide open. The old water troughs 

 where we used to drink when children 

 are demolished, and the trickling springs 

 run along the middle of the road and 

 wears gullies in the sand and gravel. 

 The "thank-you-marms " are worn level, 

 and the guard rails are out of place, for 

 the townspeople don't " work the roads " 

 any more. There is not travel enough 

 to justify the labor and expense. As 

 wc climb the hills out of the valley 

 each foot of altitude expands the view. 

 Some of the distant mountain ranges 

 are superb. Directly below us is the 

 valley panorama, with the old mill 

 ponds dwindled into pools and the face 

 of the brook revealed at intervals 

 through the hovering alder-bushes. 

 Hard by on the " side hill " is a rickety 

 cottage and an old man. He fixes a 

 clear and basilisk eye on the wayfarer, 

 but there is no recognition, and he turns 

 away as if only a blank were before 

 him. Poor old man ! He is ninety 

 years old ! Once he was selectman, and 

 afterward deacon. In those days it was 

 the custom of the country to raise the 

 hat, or nod, even when strangers met. 

 It is different now, and he wonders at 

 it. His son's family live in Boston, and 

 so an old woman of seventy does the 

 housekeeping for him. There are no 

 other occupants of the cottage. When 

 the church bell tolls next year or the 

 year after, the townspeople at the cen- 

 tre will unfasten the padlock which se- 

 cures the rickety hearse-house door, and 

 a string of shabby one-horse teams and 

 two-seated buggies will follow the ve- 

 hicle to the already populous church- 

 yard. The small party of rapidly 



