the fall, for instance, to the river, a journey that occupied both
ways four days. Then the family marketing was done in a few
groceries. Some cloth, new caps and boots for the boys, and a dress,
or a shawl, or a cloak for the girls were brought back, besides news
and adventure, and strange tidings of the distant world. The farmer
was days in getting ready to start; food was prepared and put in a
box to stand him on the journey, so as to lessen the hotel expenses,
and oats were put up for the horses. The butter was loaded up
overnight, and in the cold November morning, long before it was
light, he was up and off. I seem to hear the wagon yet, its slow
rattle over the frozen ground diminishing in the distance. On the
fourth day toward night all grew expectant of his return, but it was
usually dark before his wagon was heard coming down the hill, or his
voice from before the door summoning a light. When the boys got big
enough, one after the other accompanied him each year, until all had
made the famous journey and seen the great river and the steamboats,
and the thousand and one marvels of the far-away town. When it came
my turn to go, I was in a great state of excitement for a week
beforehand, for fear my clothes would not be ready, or else that it
would be too cold, or else that the world would come to an end
before the time fixed for starting. The day previous I roamed the
woods in quest of game to supply my bill of fare on the way, and was
lucky enough to shoot a partridge and an owl, though the latter I
did not take. Perched high on a "spring-board" I made the journey,
and saw more sights and wonders than I have ever seen on a journey
since, or ever expect to again.

But now all this is changed. The railroad has found its way through
or near every settlement, and marvels and wonders are cheap. Still,
the essential charm of the farm remains and always will remain: the