26 AROUND AN OLD HOMESTEAD. 



hear faintly, floating up In sweet mellow tones, the 

 deep whistles of the big river steamers on the Ohio, 

 fifteen miles away; and in the distance, again, across 

 the rolling hills, on still days, could be heard the rumble 

 and tooting of the train on its way toward the North. 

 I used to think it one of the wildest places possible 

 upon such occasions. It seemCd as if we were remote 

 and isolated from the whole world, and I enjoyed it. 



There is a large picture in the sitting-room, which 

 long ago excited my imagination, entitled "Westward 

 Ho!" A pioneer has just returned from a hunt, and, 

 coming into his lean-to hut with his game — a deer 

 slung over his pony's back, and a raccoon and opossum 

 and some wild turkeys lying on the ground — stands 

 leaning on his long muzzle-loading rifle surveying the 

 scene, while his wife looks up admiringly into his eyes.' 

 His oldest boy is taking the deer from the horse; the 

 children are playing about a spring of water; and 

 supper simmers over the open fire beside , the spring. 

 A river winds its way not far distant among the hills. 

 An improvised shack is the home, with a roof of bark. 

 The whole picture set the wild blood and love of ad- 

 venture aglow in me, and I quivered for the life of 

 the forest. It seemed to me then, in my young boy- 

 hood days, and still seems, as I look upon it, the sym- 

 bol of all that is independent and adventuresome and 

 truly American. It speaks of the wild life that used 

 to be when the forests were here upon every hill, and 

 when Audubon could stop for the night and kill a wild 

 turkey for supper at almost any point along the Ohio. 



There used to be another picture, in the dining- 

 room, which not only excited my imagination, but 



