HOUSE-WARMING. 
In October I went a-graping to the river meadows, 
and loaded myself with clusters more precious for their 
beauty and fragrance than for food. There too I ad¬ 
mired, though I did not gather, the cranberries, small 
waxen gems, pendants of the meadow grass, pearly and 
red, which the farmer plucks with an ugly rake, leaving 
the smooth meadow in a snarl, heedlessly measuring 
them by the bushel and the dollar only, and sells the 
spoils of the meads to Boston and New York; destined 
to be jammed, to satisfy the tastes of lovers of Na¬ 
ture there. So butchers rake the tongues of bison out 
of the prairie grass, regardless of the torn and droop¬ 
ing plant. The barberry’s brilliant fruit was likewise 
food for my eyes merely; but I collected a small store 
of wild apples for coddling, which the proprietor and 
travellers had overlooked. When chestnuts were ripe 
I laid up half a bushel for winter. It was very ex¬ 
citing at that season to roam the then boundless chest¬ 
nut woods of Lincoln, — they now sleep their long sleep 
under the railroad, — with a bag on my shoulder, and a 
stick to open burrs with in my hand, for I did not always 
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