1893.] ESSAYS. 75 



to change my views at any time in the future, I will proceed to the 

 suggestions. 



When we go round about our homes, and draw near to them, the 

 first thing we come to is the boundary line. It has been customary 

 from the very earliest times to mark the boundary line by monuments 

 of some kind. 



The law of Moses forbade a man to remove his neighbor's land- 

 mark. In Holland a ditch represents the boundary, in England the 

 hedge, in Australia and the West a barbed-wire fence, and in New 

 England a stone wall or a picket fence. Much has been said of late 

 years about the unnecessary expense and unsightliness of fences. In 

 some villages and rural districts a regular crusade has been made 

 against fences, and especially against road fences. In the Connecti- 

 cut Valley one may frequently ride on the highways for many miles 

 without seeing a fence or hedge on either side of the road. The land 

 is cultivated, and the crops grow close up to the travelled part of the 

 road. 



To one unaccustomed to this style of road fencing and cultivation, 

 he feels, as he rides along, that he is passing through some large pri- 

 vate estate and expects, at every turn, to come in sight of the owner's 

 residence. 



In the village of Williamstown there is not a fence to be seen in 

 any direction. All the buildings seem to have been set down in a 

 large park, and the effect is beautiful in the extreme. But fences, 

 like some other things, look well when they are appropriately placed, 

 while their absence improves the prospect in places where they are 

 not needed. In Williamstown. where there are acres of yard-room 

 around every house, and children and dogs are scarce, fencing would 

 be out of place. When the yards are small, and children and dogs 

 are numerous and not always well-behaved, a fence of some kind 

 around one's premises is necessary to preserve flowers, and to give 

 the secluded feeling requisite to quiet home-life. Then let us not be 

 scared out of our fences by the accusation that with them we are bar- 

 ricading our homes and shutting ourselves off from touch with our 

 fellow-men. A home ought to be private and secluded enough to 

 give its inmates sweet peace and quietude, and freedom from the gaze 

 of every passer-by, and even from the neighbors, though they be the 

 best of friends. I have no sympathy with the feeling that would 

 have its family hearth and dining-room table always in sight of the 

 public eye. I rather prefer the Englishman's love of seclusion for 

 his homestead, which causes him to set his house somewhat back from 



