3Une 



as the trees that shade it, you will promptly leave 

 the highway behind you. It is but to take a single 

 step and enter another world. This, at least, is 

 true of Pearson's lane. Closing the quaint old 

 gate behind you, you leave to-day with your neigh- 

 bors and become a subject say of James II. or 

 Queen Anne. It matters not if you are a stranger 

 and know nothing of the place's history ; the sur- 

 roundings will keep you needfully posted. No one 

 ever saw an old lane and did not know it was a 

 thing of the past that held its own against the pres- 

 ent I would I might add, was sure to combat 

 successfully with the future. 



Now that we are in the lane, let us look about 

 us. The first apple-tree that we reach holds us, 

 of course. Its rugged trunk must be carefully in- 

 spected, its gnarly branches closely scanned. The 

 warbler singing in its leafy top is no ordinary bird. 

 Is not its song the echo of one that was uttered at 

 least a century ago ? We fancy this, and the bird, 

 at last coming into view, proves most appropriately 

 as plain of feather as the good old Quakers of 

 Penn's day were of garb, for this is the lane of a 

 Quaker pioneer. If in spring, you pin an apple- 

 blossom to your coat as a matter of course, when 

 no modern orchard bloom would ever tempt to 

 such vanity. If in summer, you hear the humming 

 of bees, but forget that there are such things, and 

 listen with rapt attention to the buzzing of the big 

 spinning-wheel, for the house is not far off. If in 

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