AESTHETICS IN AGRICULTURE. 33 



historical monuments, though, like ourselves, they have a life, 

 growing and passing away ; not being inanimate and unvarying 

 like the fields and rivers." 



Another little thing often neglected in country life is care in the 

 looks of out-buildings. Many a good looking residence is sur- 

 rounded with tumble-down or slovenly constructed pigpens and 

 hencoops. Too often, what might be an attractive home is ruined, 

 from an aesthetic standpoint, by the close proximity of rickety 

 sheds, conspicuous privies, and shabby barns. Great expense is 

 not necessary to effect a renovation. A uail in time will often 

 prevent things from looking shabby. There is no need of con- 

 structing the pigpen of odds and ends of refuse lumber in a crazy, 

 patchwork style, or of restraining the poultry at the expense of 

 the looks of an estate. The inventor of wire netting has been a 

 public benefactor, furnishing a ready and neat means for doing 

 this. With the cheapness and convenience of ready-mixed 

 paints, there is no excuse for not having all the buildings as tidy 

 as the home itself. 



The house should not be overlooked. Country aesthetics do 

 not necessarily require an elegant mansion, or the designs of the 

 fashionable architect. The graceful vine clings as lovingly to the 

 small, old-style homestead, as to the stately pile of palatial mien. 

 Only let the house — such as it is — be well cared for. Such 

 little neglects as a blind gone or hanging askew, broken windows, 

 or an old box for a doorstep, seriously detract from the ideal 

 of a home. Keep the house as neat as other parts of the premises, 

 make little repairs when needed, and let care and taste, rather 

 than great outlays of money be distinguishing characteristics. 



Let us now, by way of recapitulation, look at two pictures. 

 Here is a farm house unpainted and forlorn looking. A corner 

 board and a liberal portion of the chimney top are gone. No 

 tree, shrub, or vine is near it. The front door has not been 

 opened for months and tall grass grows out from the sides of the 

 rough door-stone. About the front j'ard are the ruins of a picket 

 fence, which, in some former age, was repaired with refuse knotty 

 slabs. Some old barrels under the front windows suggest memo- 

 ries of chickens, which long since were gathered to their fathers. 

 A few old hens are lazily sunning themselves or wallowing great 

 holes among the scattered tufts of wiry grass, while, under an 

 apple tree, full of suckers and dead branches, a half decayed bee- 

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