XanDmarfcs 



is instructive in proportion to its age, why not let 

 it stand ? Remove not the ancient landmark. 



And what, too, of those mellow autumn days, 

 when the green leaf, before its fall, rejoices in gay 

 colors at the success of its mission ? Though its 

 last days have come, it sees no reason for mourn- 

 ing, but joins you in rejoicing that the expected 

 but not promised fruit has matured. Who that 

 has gathered nuts, after a stinging white frost in 

 October, but has learned to love the old shell- 

 barks that are landmarks in the meadows ? It is 

 not childish to love an old tree. It is brutal not 

 to do so. 



But there are other landmarks than old trees. 

 True ; there are old houses, and we add, perhaps, 

 old men. The village without its patriarch is in- 

 complete ; and what a difference between Colonial 

 houses and those that have recently sprung into 

 existence ! We breathe in the odor of unpainted 

 cedar and mossy shingles, not strive to rid our 

 lungs of the smell of paint. We seldom stop to 

 look at a house built in our own lifetime ; but ho\v 

 generally we scrutinize the old house near by, 

 though we may have seen it daily for many years! 

 Its quaint porch, the small-paned windows, the 

 low eaves and substantial chimney, appeal to us, 

 and we wonder if life is not more restful and soul- 

 satisfying under such a roof. The old man in his 

 high-backed rocker, dozing by the fireplace, the 

 old woman knitting in her throne-like easy-chair, 



