AN OLD-STYLE FARM. 9 



the whole line of fence had been topped with long 

 poles, kept in their places by cross stakes firmly 

 driven into the ground and sustaining the " riders " 

 at the point of intersection. To complete the fence 

 picture, I have to add to those half-lopped hickories in 

 the gaps to those bulging tumors of stone to those 

 gaunt over-riding poles a great array of blackberry 

 briers, of elders, of dog-willows, of dried stems of 

 golden-rod, of raspberries, and of pretentious wild- 

 cherries. 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 unfortunate 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 

 soldiers 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 overgrow- 

 ing them, and poisonous vines the Bhus Toxicoden- 

 1* 



