128 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS. 



Only an hour's ride on the cars from the city is such 

 an orchard which I frequently visit. When there I 

 partake of the hospitality both of the orchard and its 

 proprietor, and divide with them my time and aif ection. 

 The owner of this orchard has lived there nearl}^ seventy 

 years ; the orchard was planted ten years earlier, and 

 the picturesque log house that ornaments the grounds 

 was built the year before the trees were planted, or 

 eighty-one years ago. The low but roomy house was 

 built upon honor and of good material, as well as upon 

 a pleasant site ; there was no shoddy in the timber or 

 in its construction. The straight logs were from the 

 trimmest red beech and rock ma]3le, and they were so 

 nicely fitted to one another by the axe of the deft chop- 

 pers that when plastered on the outside where they 

 came together no rain nor damp could penetrate the 

 chinks; and the house to-day, after an exposure to sun 

 and rain of more than man's allotted age, stands as firm 

 and sound and as snug and warm as it was when the 

 bride came to live in it so many years ago. It is robed 

 in vines, which are so dense that they have to be put 

 away like curtains from the square windows to let in 

 more light. 



The courteous old gentleman is justly proud of this old 

 house, and would not see it replaced by any modern 

 frame or brick building that the most famous architect 

 could plan. He is also proud of the cellar, always filled 

 with a])ples and barrels of cider, but prouder still of the 

 mammoth trees in the orchard. lie frequently calls 

 attention to the one that overhangs the back piazza. 



