, 1880-03-04
The Old Barn.

Was ever perfume sweeter than that
all.pervading fragrance of the sweet
scented hay? And was ever an interior
so truly picturesque, 50 full of quiet har-
mony
The lofty haymows piled nearly to
the roof, the Jagged axe notched beams
overhung with cobwebs fecked with
dust of hay seed, with perhaps a downy
feather here and there. The rude,
quaint hen boxes, with the lone nest egg
in little hooks and corners. How viv-
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 obstructed the
highways, and we heard the noisy team
sters, with snap of whip and excit-
ing shouts, urge their straining oxen
through the solid barricade when all
the fences and stone walls We're 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 assem-
bled in the old barn to play, sought out
every hidden cornerin our game of hide
md seek, or jumped and frolicked in
the hay, now stopping quietly to listen
to the tiny squeak of some rustling
mouse close by, or it may be creeping
cautiously to the little hole up near the
caves in search of the big Seyed owl we
once caught mapping there. lu hun
dred ways we passed the feeting hours.
The general features Of New England
barns are all alike. The barn that we
remember is q 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 ruddy pumpkins piled up in
the corner near the bins, and the wistful
whinny Of the old horse as with pricked
up-ears and eager pull of chain he urged
your prompt attention to your chores !;
the cows, too, in the manger stalls-how
sweet their perfnmed breath Outside
the corn crib stands, It's golden stores
cleaning through the open laths, and
the oxen, reaching with tapping, up
turned tongues, yearn for the tempting
feast, $50 near and yet so far" The
parti.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 (that strange contagion), waddle
across the slushy snow and sail out
upon the born-yard pond. Here is the
pile of husks from whose bleached and
rustllng sheaths you picked the little
ravelings of brown for your corn silk
cigarettes. Did ever "pure Havana
taste as sweet 2
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 chinking 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
and necks cleaning with iridescent
sheen. Turning, in another corner we
look upon a miscellaneous group Of
plows and rakes, and all farm utensils,
and harness hanging on the wooden
pegs. There, too, is the little sleigh we
love so well. Could it but speak, how
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 encircling
arm-a shelter from the cold and cruel
wind But no-I'll say no more ;
these are memories too sacred for the
common ear-W. HI. Gibson in Har-
pel's Magazine for March.
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