es, as a protection against rain, a large square of black
oil-cloth was spread over the white cover. The front of the wagon was
left open: at the back the cover was drawn together by a string run
through the hem. Before leaving his old home the farmer generally held a
public sale and disposed of his household furniture, farming utensils
and the horses and cattle he did not intend to take with him. Sometimes
this property went by private sale to the purchaser of his farm. He
reserved the bedding, a few cooking utensils and other necessaries.
These were loaded into the wagon, a feed-box for the horses was fastened
behind, an axe strapped to it, and a tar-bucket hung underneath. Flour
and bacon were stored away in a box under the driver's seat, or, if
they expected no chance for replenishing on the way, another wagon was
filled with stores. Then, when all was ready, the farmer and his family
looked their last upon their old home, bade good-bye to the friends who
had gathered to see them off, took their places in the wagon and began
the long, tedious journey to "Ioway." Hitherto they had had a local
habitation and a name: now, for several months, they were to be known
simply as "movers." Among the memories of a childhood spent in a village
on the old National 'Pike those pertaining to movers are the earliest.
It was the pastime of my playmates and myself to hang on the fence and
watch the long train of white-covered wagons go by, always toward the
setting sun. Sometimes there were twenty in a train, and the slow creak
of the wagons, the labored stepping of the horses, had an important
sound to our childish ears. It was

The tread of pioneers
Of nations yet to be.

Looking backward to that time, it seems to me now that they went by
every day. It was a common sight, but one which never lost its interest
to us. The cry of "Movers! movers!" would draw us from our play to hang
idly on the fence until the procession had passed. In some instances
nightfall overtook them just as they reached our village, and they
camped by the roadside, lighting fires on the ground with which to cook
their evening meal. Our timidity was greater than our curiosity, and we
seldom went near their camps. Movers, in our estimation, were above
"stragglers," the name by which we knew the vagrants--forerunners of the
great tribe of tramps--who occasionally passed along the road with a
bundle on a stick over their shoulders; but still, they were a