The Republican. [volume] (Oakland, Md.) 1877-current, 1880-03-06
The Old Barn.

Was ever perfume sweeter than that
all-pervading fragrance of the sweet
scented hayP and was ever an interior
so truly picturesque, SO full of quiet
harmony?
The lofty haymows piled nearly to
the roof, the jagged ax-notched beams
overhung with cobwebs iecked with
dust of hayseed, with perhaps downy
feather here and there. The rude,
quaint hen boxes, with the lone nest-egg
in little hooks and corners. How Wv
idly, how lovingly recall each one!
In those snow-bound days when the
white flakes shut in the earth down
deep beneath, and the drifts INSTRUCTED
the highways, and we heard the noisy
teamsters, with snap of whip and ex-
citing shouts, urge their straining oxen
through the solid barricade; when all the
fences and stone walls were almost lost
to sight in the universal avalanche;
and, best of all, when the little district
school-house upon the hill stood in an
impossible sea of snow-then we as
sembled in the old barn to play, sought
out every hidden corner in our game of
hide-and-seek, or jumped and frolicked
in the hay, now stopping quietly to list
en- to the tiny squeak of some rustling
mouse near by, or it may be creeping
cautiously to the little hole up near the
caves in search of the big eyed owl we
once caught mapping there. In hun
dred ways we passed the fleeting hours.
The general features of New England
barns are all alike. The barn that we
remember is garner full of treasure
sweet as new-mown hay. You remem-
Der the great broad double doors,
which made their sweeping circuit in
the snow; the rudy pumpkins, piled
up in the corner near the bins, and the
wistful whinny Of the old farm horse as
with pricked-up ears and eager pull of
chain he urged your prompt attention
to your chores; the cows, too, in the
manager stalls-how sweet their per-
TUNED breath! Outside the corn crib
stands, its golden stores cleaning
through the open laths, and the oxen,
reaching with tapping, upturned
tongues, yearn for the tempting feast
so near and yet so far" The party
colored hens group themselves in rich
contrast against the sunny boards of
the weather. beaten shed, and the ducks
and geese, with rafting croak and
husky hiss and quick vibrating tails
Chat strange contagion), waddle across
the slushy snow, and sail out upon the
barn-yard pond. Here is the pile of
husks from whose bleached and rust
ling sheaths you picked the little ravel-
lngs OF brown for your corn-silk cigar
cites. Did ever "pure Havana" taste
as sweetp
Near by we see the barracks stored
with yellow sheaves of wheat. Soon
we shall hear the intermittent music of
the beating fail on the old barn floor,
now thinking soft on the broken sheaf.
now loud and clear on the sounding
boards. Upon the roof above we see
the cooling doves, with nodding heads
ana necks cleaning with iridescent
sheen. Turning, in another corner
we look upon miscellaneous group of
plows and rakes and all the farm uten-
Sis, and harness hanging on the wood
en- pegs. There, too, is the little sleigh
we love so well. Could it but speak,
now sweet story it could tell of lovely
drives through romantic glens and
moonlit woods, of tender squeezes of
the little hand beneath the covering
robe, OF whispered VOWS, and of the en-
arm-a shelter from the cold
ana cruel wind! But no-rll say no
more; these are memories too sacred
lor the common ear.-W. II. Gibson, IN
HdTpeT'S Magazine for March.