42 



NEW ENGLAND FARMER. 



Jan. 



range matters on a fair business basis, — but the 

 next thing you know, he is engaged to some lit- 

 tle sentimental school-girl, with apparently only 

 poverty and pretty looks and ways for her por- 

 tion. Be patient, and the application will be 

 seen. 



We walked up on to the hill behind the cot- 

 tage, on to the bald ledge, which commands a 

 view of the distant hills, and of the beautiful 

 quiet meadows through which the Concord, the 

 river of harmony, gently flows. Here, on the 

 verge of this rock, on the memorable 19th of 

 April, 1775, were "the rebels" watching the 

 progress of Earl Percy's troops up to the bridge, 

 whose abutments may still be seen, and there, 

 where the granite shaft rises by the further riv- 

 er's bank, among the trees, the British soldiers 

 received the fire of the brave farmers who had 

 made their stand for freedom and their homes, 

 and there was shed the first British blood of the 

 Revolution. 



"By the rude bridge that arched the flood, 



Their flag to April's breeze unfurled ; 

 Here once the embattled farmers stood, 



And fired the shol heard round the world." 



Driven back in disorder, the flower of the 



English army, attacked from behind fences* 

 and woods, and buildings, slowly retraced their 

 weary eighteen miles, to Boston, In a field in 

 view from the spot where we stand, some of 

 the cannon, which the soldiers came up to des- 

 troy, were placed in the open furrow, and buried 

 by the plow. And there, beyond the battle- 

 ground, is the "Old Manse," of Hawthorn's tales, 

 and in the village lived the good old man who 

 went on a mission of freedom to Charleston, and 

 was, to the eternal disgrace of that Southern 

 city, compelled to flee from it for his- life. Em- 

 erson's home is here, and his pen and the pens of 

 Channing and Thoreau have made classic ground 

 of the shores of the Concord and the Assabet. 



And so, after all, our friend had given way to 

 sentiment and imagination, and had paid his dol- 

 lars for revolutionary associations, for beautiful 

 views, and the good society of one of the best 

 of New England towns. 



And now, when ten years have passed, our so- 

 ber verdict must be, that it was money well ex- 

 pended. Glancing again after our young friend 

 who married for love, we shall most likely find 

 him, ten years after, a happier and a more pros- 

 perous man than he who married from pruden- 

 tial motives. He has worked hard, but hopeful- 

 ly, and of his young dreams, he has wrought out 

 a reality which is not a disappointment. An 

 "Angel in the House" has made his home more 

 than earthly ; a "home where the heart is," and 

 that is better than a palace. 



Ten years have changed the scene at the cot- 



tage. Various duties of a private and public na- 

 ture have claimed its owner's attention, but the 

 centre of all has been Home. Slowly, year after 

 year, the scene around it has been wrought into 

 the proportions with which imagination clothed 

 it from the first. 



A large and convenient barn has been built, 

 with cellars under the whole extent. The huge 

 boulders have been blasted and built into walls, 

 wet places have been tile-drained and made fer- 

 tile, several acres of apple trees have been set out 

 and already brought into bearing, and the gar- 

 dens are filled with pears and cherries and plums 

 and grapes of the choicest kinds. Sixteen acres 

 of land have been added to the farm, and it now 

 winters a dozen head of cattle and four horses. 

 The birds find none but friends in these grounds, 

 and you see in the picture, how they are clustei'- 

 ing as doves at their windows, and the bees, that 

 never will work for any person Avho does not give 

 away part of the honey, are busy all the sum- 

 mer long, with their labors. But that is all mat- 

 ter of fact. 



Do you see that elm tree, in front of the house, 

 around which a vine is twining ? One cold win- 

 ter da) , about nine years ago, the editor and the 

 writer hereof, with some half dozen yoke of ox- 

 en and men to help, hauled that same tree about 

 half a mile with a ball of frozen earth of half a 

 dozen tons weight, and set it where it now is. 

 It has grown finely, and as a mere tree, is valua- 

 ble, but when we look at it with the associations 

 of bygone days, it takes its position with the bat- 

 tle monument. Like Tennyson's "Talking Oak," 

 long may it stand the guardian of the place, 



"And flourish high with leafy towers 

 And overlook the lea," 



recounting to future generations stories of the 

 prospered loves and realized hopes of the cot- 

 tage inmates. 



And so our friend lias wrought his life into his 

 Home. The helping hands of kindred and family 

 have aided to adorn its surrounding grounds. 

 Within, a new life has recently been added to 

 the family group, and the child's prattle reminds 

 us that a third generation is begun, though the 

 grandsire's raven locks tell us that time is deal- 

 ing gently with him, or rather that he has taken 

 this second degree somewhat earlier in life than 

 is usual. 



And now with this picture before us of the 

 pleasant home of one who is doing all he can to 

 improve the homes and the hearts of others, and 

 to make the earth more fruitful and beautiful, let 

 us unite in wishing a Happy New Year to the 

 inmates of River Cottage. With the like wish 

 for yourself, I remain your friend, 



Henky F. French. 



Exeter, N. 77., Dec, 1858. 



