MY EARLY DAYS.

(SEE FRONTISPIECE.)


My father's house was indeed a pleasant home; and father was the supreme
guide of his own household. He was gentle, but he could be firm and
resolute when the case demanded. Mother was the sunshine of our little
garden of love; her talents and energy gave her influence; and united to
a man like father, she was all that is lovable in the character of
woman.

But the dear old home, where I grew from infancy to boyhood, and from
boyhood to youth, I shall never forget. It was a large house on the
slope of a hill, just high enough to overlook several miles of our level
country, and smooth enough with its soft grassy carpet for us to roll
down from the summit to the foot of the hill. At the back of the house
was another hill, where we used to roll under the shade of the old elm,
and where Miles and I would sit whole afternoons and fly the kite, each
taking turns in holding the string. This was a happy place for us, and
especially in the spring time, when the happy looking cows grazed along
the pathway which winds around the elm to the stream where Kate and I
used to sail my little boat. All summer long this place was vocal with
the songs of birds, which built their nests in safety among the tall
trees of the grove in the rear of the farm. We had also the music of the
running brook, and the pleasant hum of my father's cotton mill, which
brought us in our daily bread. Haying time was always a happy season for
us boys. Father's two horses, "_Dick_" and "_Bony_" would take off the
farm as large a load of hay as any in the village.