22 MY GARDEN ACCOUNTED FOR. 



mimic dams made by other childish hands than 

 mine. The same slumberous sound comes from 

 Moodna Creek as it rolls over the " Tumbling 

 Dam," scene of many thrilling boyish exploits 

 in snaring suckers. On the steep hill behind 

 the house still stand the great chestnut-trees, to 

 which I raced with the turkeys in crisp October 

 dawns, to secure the first downy nuts that the 

 night winds had rattled to the ground. Hard 

 by are yet growing the butternuts that furnished 

 a winter's store to us children and sundry fami- 

 lies of red squirrels. In the stony lot the tall 

 pine still breathes its sighs night and day, only 

 they seem more real and mournful than when 

 they fell on my childish ears. The trees in the 

 orchards have lost many of their side-boughs 

 during the storms of past years, but they stand 

 like aged Christian patriarchs, persisting in well- 

 doing though they can no longer bear the fruit 

 of their prime There are the large barn and 



