old-fashioned rail.  If there must be fences (and I suppose must) let them be rail.
     I could have sat here all the rest of the day, the various sounds I heard from far and near, casting a spell over the place.  The cackling of hens, probably excited and every much exhilarated over the laying of an egg or eggs, and the crowing of roosters, more excited than the hens over the event – or events – came constantly from the hill beyond the distant Bottom road.  At the same time Guinea fowls strove to drown out the chickens – and very near succeeded – producing a medley of songs, which with the occasional mournful howl of a dog, had a very pleasing barnyard air to it – a barnyard in spring.  From out of the distant west came the whistle of a train, followed by the roar of it, both very plain as tho but a short distance away and having an air of mystery to them, produced by the silent steady glare of the sun overhead.
     Again, and unfortunately again bethinking myself of the late hour, I swung off of the fence onto the ground and proceeded to run up the Mound