Creator has lavished on them. Every inanimate object--this hill,
that wood, the brook, the bridge, C.'s farm-house, and D.'s
barn--to the very highway, as far as eye can reach, all form
pleasing parts of a country home. In a city, on the contrary, we
live surrounded by strangers. Home is entirely restricted to our
own fire-side. One knows a neighbour's card, perhaps, but not his
face. There may have been a funeral or a wedding next-door, and
we learn it only from the morning paper. Then, even if a fixture
oneself, how is it possible for human sensibilities to cling very
closely to the row of brick houses opposite, which are
predestined to be burned or pulled down in a few years? Nor can
one be supposed to look with much pleasure at the omnibus horses,
or half-starved pigs that may belong to one's street. No doubt,
that with hearts warm and true, we may have a FIRESIDE in town;
but HOME with its thousand pleasant accessories--HOME, in its
fullest meaning, belongs especially to the country.

Elinor was a country girl, born and bred. Though banished from
Chesnut {sic} Street, she would have been well satisfied with the
usual occupations of a country life, varied only by quiet walks
with her aunt, rides with her grandfather, chatty meetings with a
few young companions, or long visits from old friends, whose
names and faces had been familiar to her all her life. The first
few weeks after her return to Wyllys-Roof, she had, of course,
more than usual to see and hear. Elinor had been absent from home
but a few months; yet, even in that short space, she found
changes had occurred in the neighbourhood--varied, as usual--some
of a sad, some of a pleasant nature. Miss Agnes and her niece
found one place vacant among those whom they were in the habit of
seeing often; the father of a family who lived within sight of