FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 9 



only as a survival in culture, an evidence 

 of a past industry), and wandering along 

 the soft, sandy road, I came to a tree where 

 the boys presumably they were boys 

 had been clubbing chestnuts, the prickly 

 burrs of which are now just opening. Of 

 course I picked up a stick and tried my 

 hand in the old way just for a flyer, as it 

 were. And what a flyer it was indeed ! It 

 reminded me of the way my sisters used to 

 do it, only I fear that the infrequency with 

 which the stick hit the tree would have ex 

 cited the derision of even those well-mean 

 ing maidens. The baseball player who 

 would have been able to &quot;get on to my 

 curves,&quot; would have shown a miracle of in 

 genuity. The net result of my industry 

 was two chestnuts, not by any means ripe, 

 I am sorry to say, but chestnuts neverthe 

 less in the making. &quot; While I was musing, 

 the fire burned.&quot; While I was chestnutting, 

 the sun sank behind the western hills, and 

 I hastened on, hoping soon to find my road 

 bending to the right and emerging into the 

 valley. But alas ! what had been a well- 

 beaten country road with a stone wall on 

 one side, and a fence on the other, gradually 

 changed into a mere open cart track and 

 strayed away into the woods ; first the 



