THE OLD HOME.

BY N. W.

FATHER was one among the many, who of late took notions into their heads to "go West." He owned a nice, good farm, where he lived, and this he sold. He has sons and daughters, whose worldly advancement he desires, and for their intended welfare, doubtless, the sale was made. Before any decisive step was taken towards this end, their wishes, in a general way, were consulted. And although there was opposition, the move was thought to be expedient.

It was not long till a farm, of more than three times the size of the old one, was purchased in the country whither we should go. For it was considered best to secure first a spot, somewhere on earth, to which the young and lively, as well as the more advanced in years and calmed in spirit, might look in hope of a future home-as their affections were torn loose from the old homestead-before the old one was brought "under the hammer" and left to the mercy of the stranger. A new place being so secured that we could call it "our own," on which, at least, the sole of our feet might rest, if not our hearts and spirits, all necessary arrangements were made for the disposal of the old home. An advertisement, in which the good qualities of the farm were made prominent, according to custom, was duly published.

Before the day of sale arrived, those of the family who were at a distance, and had partly made homes at other places, re-visited the place of their birth once more; and those who lived there, thought of it more frequently than they ever had done during an equal length of time before. It was after all the home.

For a stranger our old home possessed no unusual attractions. There was nothing grand or imposing in its appearance, and we cherish its memory not for that. Associations, in our view, contribute more towards a home, and on account of those we lament losing ours. Every object in this familiar spot crowds the mind with its many recollections. Here we were born and raised; first played and worked, smiled and were glad, wept and were sad. This small spot was the whole world in which we lived at first. What was beyond this we knew not, and little cared. From here, a few days later our wandering abroad commenced by means of which the horizon of our knowledge was enlarged. And the same objects, such as gates with their mysterious manner of opening, hills and turns in the road, rocks, trees and houses by the wayside, which at first seemed so strange, and were used to mark our great distance from home, afterwards reminded us of our near approach to home, became very familiar, recalled many events and could be opened as if by instinct.

With the house and furniture we were acquainted at an early day. The kitchen, the sitting-room, the parlor, the bedrooms, the garret, all, how very familiar! Every thing within them, and every corner and crack in the wall was known. Even in darkness every apartment, shelve and nook was accessible to a degree almost excluding liability to error. From usage we were accustomed to the bend and height of chairs, and softness of cushions, and knew at sight which would afford the most com

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fortable seat. And custom, also, had made us familiar with the appearance and positions of tables and stands, and the sizes and correctness of mirrors. Stoves were friends that seldom needed to be changed, still we remember of a few old ones being displaced by new and improved ones. But the clock was always at its post. From childhood we liked to hear its loud "tick ;" and often stood staring in its well-known face. And when once we had learned to tell the hour as its many hands pointed it out, we felt not a little satisfaction at our discovery. And the sound of that clock, when it strikes, is yet familiar as the voice of an old friend. Among the many objects which crowd upon our imagination, as if to plead for remembrance, we might refer to a huge hearth and a high mantle, a large cupboard from which we procured many a good "piece" between-times, a wood-bench and other things, even the wooden pins on which the "rod" was kept.

Our house was spacious from cellar to garret. But in some places vorsorge, as the German says, had pretty well filled up all spare corners. Still, this only added the more to our comfort. We never had any objections to dried fruit, nuts and cakes.

And when we think of things without the house, they have for us no fewer or less strong attractions than those within. On its steps and door-sills, we often sat and counted the stars as they appeared at evening in the heavens above us; or listened to the early notes of Robin Redbreast, as she sung from some topmost twig near by; of which delightful seasons we are even now invariably reminded whenever we hear her sing. And around this house we had many a lively race during warm spring evenings. In the yard before us were fruit trees, whose twigs we were always glad to see seasonably covered with many blossoms; and on whose fruit we were ever ready to watch the first turning color towards ripeness. Scarcely could we await that time. And when once fruit fell, it was an heroic deed to be out first in the morning to gather it.

From this yard our knowledge extended soon, also, to the orchard. Here the field was larger, but it was soon equally well known. First one kind of apples would ripen, then another and another, and at length many others together. The same was the case with the peaches. Experience soon taught us which trees were early and which late; which trees bore sour and which sweet apples. Paths through the uncut grass and unripe grain would often point out for weeks before hand, where fruit was ripening. We knew trees by their position and by their form-we knew them perfectly-not even excepting the young and beautiful shoots that would grow up from time to time, or the old limbs which would die off, in which the woodpeckers would build. Often we sat for hours waiting for a favorable breeze to shake us "one or two." And often we ventured out to "pick" long before the storm of rain which was passing ceased falling. And when once a venerable early-apple tree died, and was cut down, it was long held in sacred memory for the good it had done.

A few years later our hands helped to lay up in store for winter many large heaps in this orchard. And our pockets were accustomed to bear away not a few, in their dangerously extended bulks to the neighboring fields, to be consumed during the many long hours which intervened between meals. Still later, it was an object of great satisfaction to be able to point to some of the many fruit trees, whose tendency it was to make

home pleasant, and say: "these we planted." brothers." If ever trees were prized these were. dearest things which we left at the old home.

"This is sister's; that is They are among the

Next, we must say a word in reference to the stream of water that flowed by near our house. Among the pleasant things of youth we think, also of water-wheels, of dams and of fishing excursions. Some of these adventures we performed quite early in life. Who it was that first "taught our hands" to take the "finny tribe" with our simple hooks, we no longer recollect. But we know yet quite well that those hooks were at first made of those little domestic articles, which pedlars sell at “a penny a row." And our primitive lines were equally cheap. Often the clerk in the store gave them along with a pack of goods free of charge. And at other times they were unraveled from spools of thread taken from the work-basket without any very apparent injury. Meanwhile we are learned to scoop the shores of our run with a hand-basket, thus taking unawares those that had hid in rootlets and mud. Or, at other times this same handy instrument was by one carefully held in a branch of the stream, while another one or more, with frightful noise, wading the tiny "deep" and splashing it in all directions, would "chase in" the little fellows "by droves." This was also, during after years, our usual mode of taking bait for our links. To lay links for eels was to us great enjoyment. And often after an anxious half sleepless night we wound our way early through the long, dewy grass, until we were quite wet and frequently shivered with cold, to gather in the hooks and whatever "luck" hung to them, which had been hopefully baited and deposited the evening before. Any good success that followed our juvenile efforts at fishing made us leap for joy, and produced that satisfaction of heart to which youth alone is fully sensible. As we advanced in years our fishing implements, of course, were improved, and our success was better. For far and near we "had" the stream "perfectly." Knew every good fishing place. And long remembered the "good hauls" we made.

With our pleasures at fishing are associated closely our amusements at hunting. We could set traps and catch rabbits and partridges, and an occasional unwelcome skunk, at an early day. And we were seldom so busy, but that we could devote a few moments to these things when anything could be done at them. When necessary we were quite willing to rise a little earlier and retire later, rather than forgo these pleasures. But the more manly part of hunting, was later and more slowly entrusted to us. At first we were only permitted to go along with others of more advanced years than we. Then it belonged to us to "carry" whatever was shot. But at the same time, we were carefully charged to be "on the look out" for anything that might be near. Almost invariably however, our eyes saw not anything until it was shot, or was hastening away from us, or already in the distance. Being hungry and fatigued by long traps, we were often willing to return before we had taken game of any account. Still, we were not less anxious to go hunting on all returning occasions that would present themselves.

By and by, more confidence was placed in us, and we were permitted to discharge a gun ourselves, though it was always charged by another. At length the time came when we were allowed to rally forth with gun in hand. Happy day this! Once permitted to go alone, our hunts were

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more frequent. If we had not known the best places for game in the neighborhood before this, we soon knew them now. We were well acquainted with the brushes and field where rabbits could most likely be found, and could tell by experience the direction they would take, if chase were given. We knew also in which woods squirrels were most plenty-though they were most scarce far and wide-and had marked the trees in which they lived. And, if it was the season for birds, we were also familiar with their habits.

Before thus rambling away to describe amusements in which, of course, not all the young members of the family had an equal pleasure, we might have turned our thoughts to the enjoyments afforded in the garden. We will do it now. The garden was a spot we liked to visit; both early in spring and late in autumn; in the dewy morning and the calm evening. Here we once had our little garden beds. Here we planted seeds and rooted weeds. And how pleased we were to see the earth break, and the heads of little plants come forth. We half feared we had not done it rightly; but success crowned our labors and anxieties gave way to joys. Here, also, there were many flowers that were beautiful and sweet. We often watched them from day to day till they opened. The first "peep" at their mysterious colors and forms was the most gratifying. And oft in the dusk of eve, or during early morn we examined their folded petals, to see what fly, bee or humble-bee had been shut in, when the departure of the sun bid them close, and was compelled to make this beautiful, sweet chamber its sleeping closet. We were glad, also, to see vegetables grow. Especially if we had dug the beds on which they were planted. We learned early to associate in our ideas, the table around which we took our meals, and the garden. If vegetation grew well, we knew happy results would follow. But when radishes and peas and cabbage and potatoes grew slowly, we could hardly wait for the "first taste" or the "first fruits." Along with these annuals we think, too, of currants, of raspberries, of gooseberries, grapes, quinces and other good things.

Similarly pleasant thoughts are associated with our youthful reminiscences of the poultry yard. We have pleasure in seeing all kinds of fowls. And one sister seemed to have special delight in attending to their wants. We often saw her do so, when we would have been inclined to leave them to their fate. For the sake of brevity we will add only one more idea under this head. After a brood of chickens was attended to, and watched over with almost parental care for a long time, it was to us the height of gratification which could follow such watchfulness, to witness the most heroic young rooster of the brood, for the first time, mount some elevation, Hap his wings, extend his neck and audibly crow.

Following on these things we might also speak of our first ideas of objects about the barn. Look at the horses of which our stable generally had a goodly number, and with them, we, like other boys, had our adventures. Look at the cows, of which we have some early recollections, and of whose milk we were always fond. And look at the sheep and lambs, whose appearance is that of innocence and meekness, and of which we think so often since we know anything of the language of the Bible.

Abandoning these thoughts quickly, we hasten to cast a general glance

over the farm. Each field has its peculiarities and its particular associations. Could shade trees speak they might unfold some pleasant and some sorrowful tales. Under one we sat and were refreshed after hard labor in haymaking. Under another we reclined when we had “given out" in harvest. And others still remind of other histories. Long acquaintance with the different fields made us familiar with their soils, and taught us what kinds of grain and produce they would yield best. We knew where turnips, and sweet potatoes and melons would grow the richest.

Did space not admonish us to be as brief as possible, we might yet add to these reflections on early life, some on more advanced years. Such as the pride which some of the members took in mowing broad even swathes, in drawing straight furrows and in having good stock. How they liked to work for neighbors and have neighbors work for them. How they liked to visit friends and have friends do the same, and so on. But we must forbear. Suffice what we have said to show cause why we loved our home. It has for us many dear associations.

As we have already said the old homestead was advertised. Quickly the day of "public vendue" came. Old neighbors, old friends and trangers were there. The "crier" offered the farm, and it rose from "bid" to "bid." It was sold. "It was sold well," each thought so as the day closed.

At the interval of several weeks other real estate of indifferent interest was sold, and these sales were followed by numerous sales of personal property.

Without particularizing in reference to the implements sold, for they were such as ordinarily belonged to farms, nor were we present at the time, we will but remark, that handling them on such an occasion must have suggested many thoughts. Those, with which labor was difficult, could not fail to recall the sorrow previously produced. And with those by which work was accomplished pleasantly, it is against nature to part willingly. Thoughts of hard times, and pleasant times, of times that we would bury in oblivion, and of times that we would cherish for life, must have succeeded each other.

The furniture of the house stood nearer the centre of home, and the associations which it suggested were dearer. Among it were objects on which our young eyes first rested; and which left indelible forms in our minds. Among these, and with these we had often played in childhood; and afterwards used them until we attained to manhood. Here and there could still be seen traces of early mischief, which had received its due reward; while others were the mementoes of early, anxious wishes. With a few exceptions, such as the clock and other light furniture, every thing was sold. Not even mother's rocking chair was reserved. But this last article went to an aunt's house, and a member of the family thinks of redeeming it, and keeping it as a very precious relic. With such thoughts he need not wonder that mother, or a sister, would frequently say during preparation for sale: "It is such a bother to have sale and to move." But the work was undertaken and it had to be finished. And by the time spring came it was completed.

Meanwhile all were not too sanguine in their expectations of the new home, and the new society which would be formed. One member sought