THE OLD FARM'S WOOD-PILE. 



97 



shocked, and then carted to the barn! And, 

 later, far in the winter, what music was the 

 measured thumping of the flails ! 



In due course came the present order, the 

 natural outcome of relentless evolution, and it is 

 affectation to decry it. Mankind in the long- run 

 has been benefited, and all should be thankful. 

 But with these major changes have come minor 

 ones that I trust can be mourned without risking 

 a charge of silliness. I need not name them. 

 Mention of any one calls up the rest, so closely 

 related were they all. Who can think of the old 

 wood-pile, a maze of gnarly sticks, huge chop- 

 ping-log, and the rudely hafted axe, without a 

 vision also of the old kitchen with its cavernous 

 fireplace, and, just outside the door, the mossy 

 well with its ungainly sweep ! All these were 

 practically out of date in my time, .but here and 

 there were retained on more than one old farm I 

 knew, and are still in use within walking distance 

 ot my home. 



To many, perhaps, a wood-pile is but a pile 

 of wood ; but it is something more. Can you 

 not see that the ground is depressed, as though 

 the earth had been beaten down by the con- 

 tinued blows of axe and beetle ? Do you not no- 

 tice that the outlying weeds are different from 

 those that are scattered elsewhere about the door- 

 yard ? Here, there is not only a wood-pile now, 



