44 AROUND AN OLD HOMESTEAD. 



sion for reminiscences without number of former days. 

 It is the time, too, for many a solemn thought and ten- 

 der recollection. We warm our toes before ascending 

 to the less hospitable sheets of winter nights, and the 

 little ones go to sleep counting the flocks of pigeons 

 which the flames have started up back there on the 

 bricks among the soot. Yarns — unspeakable for their 

 quaintness and cheerful exaggeration — hunting tales of 

 deer and 'coons, beech and hickory nuts and walnuts, 

 mulled cider and apples, mince and pumpkin pies, and 

 popcorn: — what a time we have of it! There is sure 

 to be a ghost story, and there is generally one at hand 

 right in the neighborhood; but the ghost usually turns 

 out to be the trunk of a tree, with bare arms extended, 

 though frequently the younger hearers are left in an 

 uncomfortable mystery, the thought of which is by no 

 means reassuring when they take at dusk the long tramp 

 through the woods for the cows. Perhaps, on occa- 

 sion, a few sweet potatoes will be roasted in the ashes, 

 in the old American way, to be whisked out with a 

 turkey wing as a besom ; and then, the f amilar incident 

 of his offering the British officer a mess of baked sweet 

 potatoes served on bark furnishing the theme, exten- 

 sive moralizings will be entered into upon the valor of 

 Francis Marion's men, with the inevitable conclusion 

 always finally reached that no one will ever be able to 

 whip America. Or it may be that we shall have a 

 fiddle during the evening, and shall laugh once more at 

 "The Arkansaw Traveler;" or a flute may play for us 

 "Robin Adair." 



Every hearthside is the place of immemorial family 

 tradition. How many such farmsteads dot the country 



