OUT-OF-TOWN PLACES 



a great array of blackberry briers, of elders, 

 of dog-willows, of dried stems of golden-rod, 

 of raspberries, and of pretentious wild-cher- 

 ries. Still further, I must mark down a great 

 sprawling array of the scattered wall, in some 

 half-dozen spots, where adventurous hunters 

 had made a mining foray after some unfortu- 

 nate woodchuck or rabbit. 



So much for the average New England 

 walling in retired districts twenty years ago. 

 Is it much better now? As for the wooden 

 fencing, there stretched across the meadow by 

 the road a staggering line of "posts and rails" 

 — one post veering southward the next veering 

 northward— a wholly frightful line, which 

 was like nothing so much as a file of tipsy sol- 

 diers making vain efforts to keep "eyes right." 

 In the woodlands and upon the borders of 

 the farm, were old, lichen-covered Virginia 

 fences, sinking rail by rail into the earth; 

 luxuriant young trees were shooting up in the 

 angles, brambles were overgrowing them, and 

 poisonous vines — the Rhus Toxicodendron 

 among them (which country people call mer- 

 cury, ivy, and I know not what names beside) 

 — and this entire range of exterior fence was 

 gone over each springtime — April being the 

 usual month— and made effective, by lopping 



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