THE MINUTE-MAN IN A SNOWDRIFT. 49 



the farms had an air of being mortgaged. Dirty 

 cows and heifers sunned themselves in the barn- 

 yards, multitudes of hens roamed over bare 

 spots around the buildings, and mongrel curs 

 barked from back door-steps. 



Before taking an afternoon train back from 

 Concord, I wandered about the town for an 

 hour, admiring its aged shade trees and com- 

 fortable homesteads. In front of one of these 

 homesteads a red squirrel was eating buds from 

 the upper branches of the elm. If the British 

 soldier had tried to reach the bridge over Con- 

 cord River he would have had hard work to 

 get at the " embattled farmer," for snow vary- 

 ing from ten inches to more than two feet 

 in depth blocked the lane leading to the Minute- 

 Man. Only the foot of a crow had trodden 

 the white covering of historic ground, and the 

 silence and loneliness but added to the charm 

 and suggestiveness of the scene. The Old 

 Manse could be seen through the leafless elms, 

 the snow drifted high against its walls. The 

 eager river hurried along under the bridge, 

 bearing away many a raft of ice. The alert 

 figure in bronze stood above the stream gazing 

 through the elm vista at the snow-covered dis- 

 tance. He is emblematic of something more 

 than our national vigilance against political 



