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stones into walls, they constructed the rude bridges and the 

 highways, they planted the fruit trees ; their houses were nur- 

 series of pious sons and daughters. In them there was 

 plenty, and there was peace. One generation after another 

 inhabited them, or came back to them on holidays to renew 

 their early associations, at the old homestead. And why not 

 continue the custom .'' Why should you allow these old farm- 

 houses to go out of the family name, — to be demolished, to 

 fall to pieces from decay .'* Why is it that these ancient tem- 

 ples of godly piety, and of all rustic virtues, are falling to 

 ruin .-• 



There are crises in the life of almost every man who lives 

 to middle age, which are sad. As when a man parts with his 

 homestead. If he has laid out the grounds, builded the house, 

 planted the trees, trained the vines, — if his wife has watched 

 the growth of the flower beds, and with each returning spring 

 has given to the sunshine and the summer showers the plants 

 which she has guarded within doors from the cold of winter ; 



— there is something inexpressibly sad in this. 



But it is sadder far when a man parts with an old farm 

 which has been the homestead of his family through many 

 successive generations, and it passes out of the family name 

 or falls into ruins ! You have seen this — you have stood by 

 the front door of one of these old farm-houses when the last 

 owner was borne out by his neighbors to return no more. 

 You have looked eastward, southward, westward, northward, 

 over acres of tillage, orchard, woodland, which he had added 

 to the acres which had come to him from his paternal ances- 

 tors, and you have then recalled with what anxious care he 

 had guarded these acres, with what watchful thrift he had ad- 

 ded to them and had extended his bounds, building walls and 

 fences, ditching and draining, and enriching the old pastures, 



— increasing his crops and his flocks and herds. Conserva- 

 tive in his frugal industry — holding the world together while 

 all about him there might be changes, and you have been 

 ready to exclaim as you looked upon the old house, 



"Say, ancient edifice, thyself with years 

 Grown gray, how long upon the hill has stood 



