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BY THE SAME AUTHOR. 
 
 Adopting an Abandoned Farm. 
 
 i6mo. Boards, 50 cents. 
 
 " Adopting an Abandoned Farm has as much laugh to 
 the square inch as any book I have read this many a day." 
 Boston Sunday Herald. 
 
 "Miss Kate Sanborn has made a name and place for herself 
 beside the immortal Sam Slick, and has made Gooseville, Con 
 necticut, as illustrious as Slickville in Onion County, of the same 
 State." The Critic. 
 
 " She scores a point in every paragraph." Chicago Interior. 
 
 "If any one wants an hour s entertainment for a warm sunny 
 day on the piazza, or a cold wet day by a log fire, this is the 
 book that will furnish it." New York Observer. 
 
 " She has unwittingly answered a much-vexed question while 
 writing a truly delightful book." Boston Pilot. 
 
 A Truthful Woman in Southern 
 
 California. I2mo. Cloth, 75 cents. 
 
 "The veracious writer considers the pros of the glorious 
 climate of California, and then she gives the cons. . . . The 
 book is sprightly, and amiably entertaining. The descriptions 
 have the true Sanbom touch of vitality and humor." Philadel 
 phia Ledger. 
 
 " Miss Sanborn is certainly a very bright writer, and when a 
 book bears her name it is safe to buy it and put it aside for delec 
 tation when a leisure hour comes along. This bit of a volume 
 is enticing in every page, and the weather seemed not to be so 
 intolerably hot while we were reading it." New York Herald. 
 
 " Her descriptions are inimitable, and their brilliancy is en 
 hanced with quaint and witty observations and brief historical 
 allusions. . . . Valuable information and richly entertaining de 
 scriptions are admirably blended in this book." Boston Home 
 Journal. 
 
 New York: D. APPLETON & CO., 72 Fifth Avenue. 
 
Hn Hbanboneb jfarm 
 
 BY 
 KATE SANBORN 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 WIT OF WOMEN, HOME PICTURES OF ENGLISH POETS, 
 
 SANITY AND INSANITY, SHADOWS OF GENIUS, 
 
 SUNSHINE AND RAINBOW CALENDARS, 
 
 ETC. 
 
 NEW YORK 
 D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 
 
COPYRIGHT, 1891, 
 BY D. APPLETON AND COMPANY. 
 
PSi-76 
 
 A7 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 I. FROM GOTHAM TO GOOSEVILLE . 5 
 
 II. AUCTIONS 15 
 
 III. BUYING A HORSE .... 34 
 
 IV. FOR THOSE WHO LOVE PETS . . 48 
 
 V. STARTING A POULTRY FARM . . 62 
 
 VI. GHOSTS 78 
 
 VII. DAILY DISTRACTIONS ... 96 
 VIII. THE PROSE OF NEW ENGLAND FARM 
 
 LIFE 108 
 
 IX. THE PASSING OF THE PEACOCKS . 127 
 
 X. LOOKING BACK 154 
 
 218860 
 
An old farm-house with meadows wide, 
 And sweet with clover on each side. 
 
 MARION DOUGLASS. 
 
ADOPTING 
 AN ABANDONED FARM. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 FROM GOTHAM TO GOOSEVILLE. 
 
 I have now come to the fanner s life, with which 
 I am exceedingly delighted, and which seems to me 
 to belong especially to the life of a wise man. 
 
 CICERO. 
 
 WEARY of boarding at seashore and 
 mountain, tired of traveling in search of 
 comfort, hating hotel life, I visited a coun 
 try friend at Gooseville, Conn, (an as 
 sumed name for Foxboro, Mass.), and 
 passed three happy weeks in her peace 
 ful home. 
 
 Far away at last from the garish hor 
 rors of dress, formal dinners, visits, and 
 drives, the inevitable and demoralizing 
 gossip and scandal ; far away from hotel 
 
an Qlbanboneb -farm. 
 
 piazzas, with their tedious accompani 
 ments of corpulent dowagers, exclusive 
 or inquisitive, slowly dying from too 
 much food and too little exercise; en- 
 nuied spinsters ; gushing buds ; athletic 
 collegians, cigarettes in mouths and 
 hands in pockets; languid, drawling 
 dudes ; old bachelors, fluttering around 
 the fair human flower like September but 
 terflies ; fancy work, fancy work, like Pe 
 nelope s web, never finished ; pug dogs 
 of the aged and asthmatic variety. Ev 
 erything there but MEN they are wise 
 enough to keep far away. 
 
 Before leaving this haven of rest, I 
 heard that the old-fashioned farm-house 
 just opposite was for sale. And, as pur 
 chasers of real estate were infrequent at 
 Gooseville, it would be rented for forty 
 dollars a year to any responsible tenant 
 who would " keep it up." 
 
 After examining the house from garret 
 to cellar and looking over the fields with 
 
from <0>otl)am to (Stoosemlle. 7 
 
 a critical eye, I telegraphed to the owner, 
 fearful of losing such a prize, that I 
 would take it for three years. For it 
 captivated me. The cosy " settin -room," 
 with a " pie closet " and an upper tiny 
 cupboard known as a " rum closet " and 
 its pretty fire place bricked up, but ca 
 pable of being rescued from such prosaic 
 "desuetude"; a large sunny dining-room, 
 with a brick oven, an oven suggestive 
 of brown bread and baked beans yes, 
 the baked beans of my childhood, that 
 adorned the breakfast table on a Sunday 
 morning, cooked with just a little molas 
 ses and a square piece of crisp salt pork 
 in center, a dish to tempt a dying an 
 chorite. 
 
 There wore two broad landings on the 
 stairs, the lower one just the place for an 
 old clock to tick out its impressive " For 
 ever Never Never Forever" a la 
 Longfellow. Then the long " shed cham 
 ber " with a wide swinging door opening 
 
8 QUroptittg an Qlbaufcottefc 
 
 to the west, framing a sunset gorgeous 
 enough to inspire a mummy. And the 
 attic, with its possible treasures. 
 
 There was also a queer little room, dark 
 and mysterious, in the center of house on 
 the ground floor, without even one win 
 dow, convenient to retire to during severe 
 thunder storms or to evade a personal in 
 terview with a burglar; just the place, 
 too, for a restless ghost to revisit. 
 
 Best of all, every room was blessed 
 with two closets. 
 
 Outside, what rare attractions ! Twen 
 ty-five acres of arable land, stretching to 
 the south ; a grand old barn, with dusty, 
 cobwebbed, hay-filled lofts, stalls for two 
 horses and five cows ; hen houses, with 
 plenty of room to carry out a long-cher 
 ished plan of starting a poultry farm. 
 
 The situation, too, was exceptional, 
 since the station from which I could take 
 trains direct to Boston and New York 
 almost touched the northern corner of the 
 
from (Bkrtljam ta <B>00semlle. 9 
 
 farm, and nothing makes one so willing 
 to stay in a secluded spot as the certain 
 ty that he or she can leave it at any time 
 and plunge directly into the excitements 
 and pleasures which only a large city 
 gives. 
 
 What charmed me most of all was a 
 tiny but fascinating lakelet in the pasture 
 near the house ; a " spring-hole " it was 
 called by the natives, but a lakelet it was 
 to me, full of the most entrancing possi 
 bilities. It could be easily enlarged at 
 once, and by putting a wind-mill on the 
 hill, by the deep pool in " Chicken 
 Brook " where the pickerel loved to sport, 
 and damming something, somewhere, 
 I could create or evolve a miniature j 
 pond, transplant water lilies, pink and I 
 white, set willow shoots around the well- 
 turfed, graveled edge, with roots of the 
 forget-me-not hiding under the banks 
 their blue blossoms ; just the flower for 
 happy lovers to gather as they lingered 
 
io Slbopting an Qtbanfconefc farm. 
 
 in their rambles to feed my trout. And 
 there should be an arbor, vine-clad and 
 sheltered from the curious gaze of the 
 passers-by, and a little boat, moored at a 
 little wharf, and a plank walk leading up 
 to the house. And and oh, the idealism 
 possible when an enthusiastic woman first 
 rents a farm an " abandoned " farm ! 
 
 It may be more exact to say that my 
 farm was not exactly " abandoned," as its 
 owner desired a tenant and paid the 
 taxes; say rather depressed, full of evil 
 from long neglect, suffering from lack of 
 food and general debility. 
 
 As " abandoned farms " are now a sub 
 ject of general interest, let me say that 
 my find was nothing unusual. The num 
 ber of farms without occupants in New 
 Hampshire in August, 1889, was 1,342 and 
 in Maine 3,318; and I saw lately a farm 
 of twenty acres advertised " free rent and 
 a present of fifty dollars." 
 
 But it is my farm I want you to care 
 
from Qcotljatn to (&>oo0emlle. n 
 
 about. I could hardly wait until winter 
 was over to begin my new avocation. 
 By the last of March I was assured byj 
 practical agriculturists (who regarded me 
 with amusement tempered with pity) that 
 it was high time to prune the lazy fruit 
 trees and arouse, if possible, the debili 
 tated soil in short, begin to " keep it up." 
 
 So I left New York for the scene of 
 my future labors and novel lessons in 
 life, accompanied by a German girl who 
 proved to be merely an animated onion in 
 matters of cooking, a half-breed hired 
 man, and a full-bred setter pup who suf 
 fered severely from nostalgia and strong 
 ly objected to the baggage car and sepa 
 ration from his playmates. 
 
 If wit is, as has been averred, the " jux 
 taposition of dissimilar ideas," then from 
 " Gotham to Gooseville " is the most scin 
 tillating epigram ever achieved. Nothing 
 was going on at Gooseville except time 
 and the milk wagon collecting for the 
 
12 Qtbopting an QUjanbanefc farm. 
 
 creamery. The latter came rumbling 
 along every morning at 4.30 precisely, 
 with a clatter of cans that never failed 
 to arouse the soundest sleeper. 
 
 The general dreariness of the land 
 scape was depressing. Nature herself 
 seemed in a lethargic trance, and her 
 name was mud. 
 
 But with a house to furnish and twen 
 ty-five enfeebled acres to resuscitate, one 
 must not mind. Advanced scientists as 
 sure us of life, motion, even intelligence, 
 appetite, and affection in the most primi 
 tive primordial atoms. So, after a little 
 study, I found that the inhabitants of 
 Gooseville and its outlying hamlets were 
 neither dead nor sleeping. It was only 
 by contrast that they appeared comatose 
 and moribund. 
 
 Indeed, the degree of gayety was quite 
 startling. I was at once invited to 
 " gatherings " which rejoiced in the para 
 doxical title of " Mum Sociables," where 
 
from <fi>0tl)am to (Etooeemlle. 13 
 
 a penalty of five cents was imposed on 
 each person for speaking -(the revenue to 
 go toward buying a new hearse, a cheer 
 ful object of benevolence), and the occa 
 sions were most enjoyable. There was 
 also a " crazy party " at Way-back, the 
 next village. This special form of lunacy 
 I did not indulge in farming was enough 
 for me but the painter who was enliven 
 ing my dining-room with a coating of 
 vivid red and green, kindly told me all 
 about it, how much I missed, and how the 
 couple looked who took the first prize. 
 The lady wore tin plates, tin cans, tin 
 spoons, etc., sewed on to skirt and waist in 
 fantastic patterns, making music as she 
 walked, and on her head a battered old 
 coffee pot, with artificial flowers which 
 had outlived their usefulness sticking out 
 of the spout ; and her winning partner was 
 arrayed in rag patchwork of the most 
 demented variety. 
 " Youdorter gone " said he ; " twas a 
 
14 &bcrptittg an Qlbanboneb farm. 
 
 great show. But I bet youder beaten the 
 hull lot on em if you d set your mind 
 on t!" 
 
 My walls were now covered with old- 
 fashioned papers, five and ten cents a roll, 
 and cheap matting improved the floors. 
 But how to furnish eleven rooms? This 
 brings me to 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 AUCTIONS. 
 " Going, going, gone." 
 
 NEXT came the excitement of auc 
 tions, great occasions, and of vital impor 
 tance to me, as I was ambitious to fur 
 nish the entire house for one hundred 
 dollars \ 
 
 When the head of a family dies a set 
 tlement of the estate seems to make an 
 auction necessary I am glad of the cus 
 tom It proved of invaluable service to 
 me, and the mortality among old people 
 was quite phenomenal at Gooseville and 
 thereabouts last year While 1 deeply re 
 gretted the demise ot each and all still 
 this general taking off was opportune for 
 my needs. 
 
 There were seventeen auctions last 
 
16 &b0)tin an &banboneb ,farm. 
 
 season, and all but two were attended by 
 me or my representatives. 
 
 A country auction is not so exciting 
 as one in the city; still you must be wide 
 awake and cool, or you will be fleeced. 
 An experienced friend, acquainted with 
 the auctioneer, piloted me through my 
 first sale, and for ten dollars I bought 
 enough really valuable furniture to fill a 
 large express wagon as a large desk 
 with drawers, little and big, fascinating 
 pigeon holes, and a secret drawer, for two 
 dollars ; queer old table, ten cents ; good 
 solid chairs, nine cents each ; mahogany 
 center-table, one dollar and sixteen cents ; 
 and, best of all, a tall and venerable clock 
 for the landing, only eight dollars ! Its 
 " innards " sadly demoralized, but capable 
 of resuscitation, the weights being tin- 
 cans filled with sand and attached by 
 strong twine to the "works." It has to 
 be wound twice daily, and when the hour 
 hand points to six and the other to ten, I 
 
Unctions. 17 
 
 guess that it is about quarter past two, 
 and in five minutes I hear the senile time 
 piece strike eleven ! 
 
 The scene was unique. The sale had 
 been advertised in post-office and stores 
 as beginning at 10 A. M., but at eleven 
 the farmers and their women folks were 
 driving toward the house. A dozen old 
 men, chewing tobacco and looking wise, 
 were in the barn yard examining the 
 stock to be sold, the carts and farming 
 tools ; a flock of hens were also to be dis 
 posed of, at forty cents each. 
 
 On such occasions the families from 
 far and near who want to dispose of any 
 old truck are allowed to bring it to add 
 to the motley display. The really valu 
 able possessions, if any, are kept back, 
 either for private sale or to be divided 
 among the heirs. I saw genuine an 
 tiques occasionally old oak chests, fine 
 ly carved oaken chairs but these were 
 rare. After the horses have been driven 
 
1 8 &botin an &banbone& ,arttt. 
 
 up and down the street, and with the 
 other stock disposed of, it is time for 
 lunch. Following the crowd into the 
 kitchen, you see two barrels of crackers 
 open, a mammoth cheese of the skim- 
 milk species with a big knife by it, and 
 on the stove a giant kettle in which cot 
 ton bags full of coffee are being distilled 
 in boiling water. You are expected to 
 dip a heavy white mug into the kettle for 
 your share of the fragrant reviving bev 
 erage, cut off a hunk of cheese, and eat 
 as many crackers as you can. It tasted 
 well, that informal " free lunch." 
 
 Finding after one or two trials that the 
 interested parties raised rapidly on any 
 thing I desired. I used to send Gusta and 
 John, nicknamed very properly " Omnis 
 cience and Omnipotence," which names 
 did equally well when reversed (like a pa 
 per cuff), and they, less verdant than their 
 mistress, would return with an amazing 
 array of stuff. We now have everything 
 
factions. 19 
 
 but a second-hand pulpit, a wooden leg, 
 and a coffin plate. We utilized a cra 
 dle and antique churn as a composite 
 flower stand ; an immense spinning-wheel 
 looks pretty covered with running vines, 
 an old carriage lantern gleams brightly 
 on my piazza every evening. I nearly 
 bought a horse for fifteen dollars, and 
 did secure a wagon for one dollar and 
 a half, which, after a few needed repairs, 
 costing only twenty-six dollars, was my 
 pride, delight and comfort, and the envy 
 of the neighborhood. Men came from 
 near and far to examine that wagon, felt 
 critically of every wheel, admired the 
 shining coat of dark-green paint, and 
 would always wind up with: "I vum, if 
 that ere wagon ain t fine ! Why, it s 
 wuth fifty dollars, now, ef it s wuth a 
 cent ! " After a hard day s work, it 
 seemed a gratification to them to come 
 with lanterns to renew their critical sur 
 vey, making a fine Rembrandtish study 
 
20 Stbopting an Qlbanboneb .farm. 
 
 as they stood around it and wondered. 
 A sleigh was bought for three dollars 
 which, when painted by our home artist, 
 is both comfortable and effective. 
 
 At one auction, where I was the only 
 woman present, I bid on three shovels 
 (needed to dig worms for my prize hens !) 
 and, as the excitement increased with a 
 rise in bids from two cents to ten, I cried, 
 "Eleven!" And the gallant old fellow 
 in command roared out as a man opened 
 his mouth for "Twelve!": "I wouldn t 
 bid ag in a woman ef Fse you. Let er 
 have em! Madam, Mum, or Miss I 
 can t pernounce your name and don t 
 rightly know how to spell it but the 
 shovels are yourn ! " 
 
 Attending auctions may be an acquired 
 taste, but it grows on one like any other 
 habit, and whenever a new and tempting 
 announcement calls, I rise to the occasion 
 and hasten to the scene of action, be the 
 weather what it may. And many a treas- 
 
Auctions. 21 
 
 ure has been picked up in this way. 
 Quaint old mirrors with the queerest pict 
 ures above, brass knockers, candlesticks 
 of queer patterns, cups and saucers and 
 plates, mugs of all sizes, from one gen 
 erous enough to satisfy the capacities of 
 a lager-soaked Dutchman to a dear little 
 child s mug, evidently once belonging to a 
 series. Mine was for March. A mother 
 sitting on a bench, with a bowl of possi 
 bly Lenten soup by her side, is reproving 
 a fat little fellow for his gross appetite 
 at this solemn season. He is weeping, 
 and on her other side a pet dog is plead 
 ing to be fed. The rhyme explains the 
 reason : 
 
 The jovial days of feasting past, 
 Tis pious prudence come at last ; 
 And eager gluttony is taught 
 To be content with what it ought. 
 
 A warming pan and a foot stove, just as 
 it was brought home from a merry sleigh- 
 ride, or a solemn hour at the " meetin - 
 
22 QU> opting an Qlbanboneb ^Tartn. 
 
 house," recalling that line of Thomas 
 Gray s : 
 
 E en in our ashes live their wonted fires. 
 
 Sometimes I would offer a little more 
 to gain some coveted treasure already 
 bid off. How a city friend enjoyed the 
 confidences of a man who had agreed to 
 sell for a profit ! How he chuckled as 
 he told of " one of them women who he 
 guessed was a leetle crazy." " Why, jest 
 think on t! I only paid ten cents for 
 that hull lot on the table yonder, and 
 she" (pointing to me) "she gin me a 
 quarter for that old pair o* tongs ! " 
 
 One day I heard some comments on 
 myself after I had bid on a rag carpet 
 and offered more than the other women 
 knew it was worth. 
 
 " She s got a million, I hear." 
 ^ 4 : " Wanter know merried ? " 
 
 " No ; just an old maid." 
 
 " Judas Priest ! Howd she git it ? " 
 
Qitutions. 23 
 
 " Writin , I spoze. She writes love 
 stories and sich for city papers. Some 
 on em makes a lot." 
 
 It is not always cheering to overhear 
 too much. When some of my friends, 
 whom I had taken to a favorite junk 
 shop, felt after two hours of purchase 
 and exploration that they must not keep 
 me waiting any longer, the man, in his 
 eagerness to make a few more sales, ex 
 claimed : " Let her wait ; her time ain t 
 wuth nothin ! " 
 
 At an auction last summer, one man 
 told me of a very venerable lantern, an 
 heirloom in his first wife s family, so long, 
 measuring nearly a yard with his hands. 
 I said I should like to go with him to see 
 it, as I was making a collection of lan 
 terns. He looked rather dazed, and as I 
 turned away he inquired of my friend " if 
 I wusn t rather " She never allowed 
 him to finish, and his lantern is now 
 mine. 
 
24 Qlbopting an Qtbanboneb farm. 
 
 People seem to have but little senti 
 ment about their associations with furni 
 ture long in the family. 
 
 The family and a few intimate friends 
 usually sit at the upper windows gazing 
 | curiously on the crowd, with no evidence 
 \ of feeling or pathetic recollections. 
 
 I lately heard a daughter say less than 
 a month after her father s death, point 
 ing to a small cretonne-covered lounge : 
 " Father made me that lounge with his 
 own hands when I s a little girl. He 
 tho t a sight on t it, and allers kep it 
 round. But my house is full now. I 
 ain t got no room for t." It sold for 
 twelve cents ! 
 
 Arthur Helps says that human nature 
 craves, nay enjoys, tragedy; and when 
 away from dramatic representation of 
 crime and horrors and sudden death, as 
 in this quiet country life, the people grat 
 ify their needs in the sorrows, sins, and 
 calamities that befall their neighbors. 
 
Qtticticma. 25 
 
 I strongly incline to Hawthorne s idea 
 that furniture becomes magnetized, per 
 meated, semi-vitalized, so that the chairs, 
 sofas, and tables that have outlived their 
 dear owners in my own family have al 
 most a sacred value to me. 
 
 Still, why moralize. Estates must be 
 settled, and auctions are a blessing in dis 
 guise. 
 
 Of course, buying so much by substi 
 tutes, I amassed a lot of curious things, 
 of which I did not know the use or value, 
 and therefore greatly enjoyed the experi 
 ence of the Spectator as given in the 
 Christian Union. 
 
 He attended an auction with the fol 
 lowing result : " A long table was cov 
 ered with china, earthenware, and glass ; 
 and the mantel beyond, a narrow shelf 
 quite near the ceiling, glittered with a 
 tangled maze of clean brass candlesticks, 
 steel snuffers, and plated trays. At one 
 end dangled a huge warming pan, and on 
 
2(5 Qutin an QUjanboneb farm. 
 
 the wall near it hung a bit of canvas in a 
 gilded frame, from which the portrait 
 had as utterly faded as he whom it repre 
 sented had vanished into thin air. It 
 was a strange place, a room from which 
 many a colonial citizen had passed to 
 take a stroll upon the village street ; and 
 here, in sad confusion to be sure, the 
 dishes that graced his breakfast table. 
 The Spectator could have lingered there 
 if alone for half a day, but not willingly 
 for half an hour in such a crowd. The 
 crowd, however, closed every exit and he 
 had to submit. A possible chance to se 
 cure some odd bit was his only consola 
 tion. Why the good old soul who last 
 occupied the house, and who was born in 
 it fourscore years ago, should necessarily 
 have had only her grandmother s table 
 ware, why every generation of this fami 
 ly should have suffered no losses by 
 breakage, was not asked. Every bit, 
 even to baking-powder prizes of green 
 
Auctions. 27 
 
 and greasy glass, antedated the Revolu 
 tion, and the wise and mighty of Small 
 town knew no better. A bit of egg shell 
 sticking to a cracked teacup was stolen 
 as a relic of Washington s last breakfast 
 in Smalltown. 
 
 " While willow-pattern china was pass 
 ing into other hands the Spectator made 
 a discovery. A curious piece of polished, 
 crooked mahogany was seen lying be 
 tween soup tureens and gravy boats. 
 He picked it up cautiously, fearing to at 
 tract attention, and, with one eye every 
 where else, scanned it closely. What a 
 curious paper-knife ! he thought, and sly 
 ly tucked it back of a pile of plates. 
 This must be kept track of ; it may prove 
 a veritable prize. But all his care went 
 for naught. A curious old lady at his 
 elbow had seen every action. What is 
 it ? she asked, and the woode i wonder 
 was brought to light. It s an old-fash- 
 
28 Stbopting an Qtbanbonefc farm. 
 
 ioned wooden butter knife. I ve seen 
 em afore this. Don t you know in old 
 times it wasn t everybody as had silver, 
 and mahogany knives for butter was 
 put on the table for big folks. We folks 
 each used our own knife. All this was 
 dribbled into the Spectator s willing ears, 
 and have the relic he would at any cost. 
 Time and again he nervously turned it 
 over to be sure that it was on the table, 
 and so excited another s curiosity. * What 
 is it ? a second and still older lady asked. 
 A colonial butter knife, the Spectator 
 replied with an air of much antiquarian 
 lore. A butter knife ! No such thing. 
 My grandfather had one just like this, 
 and it s a pruning knife. He wouldn t 
 use a steel knife because it poisoned the 
 sap. What next ? Paper knife, butter 
 knife, and pruning knife ! At all events 
 every new name added a dollar to its 
 value, and the Spectator wondered what 
 the crowd would say, for now it was in 
 
Auctions. 29 
 
 the auctioneer s hands. He looked at it 
 with a puzzled expression and merely 
 cried : * What is bid for this ? His ig 
 norance was encouraging. It started at 
 a dime and the Spectator secured it for 
 a quarter. For a moment he little won 
 dered at the fascination of public sales. 
 The past was forgiven, for now luck had 
 turned and he gloried in the possession 
 of a prize. 
 
 " To seek the outer world was a peril 
 ous undertaking for fear that the triply- 
 named knife might come to grief; but a 
 snug harbor was reached at last, and hug 
 ging the precious bit, the Spectator myste 
 riously disappeared on reaching his home. 
 No one must know of his success until 
 the mystery was cleaned, brightened, and 
 restored to pristine beauty. The Specta 
 tor rubbed the gummy surface with kero 
 sene, and then polished it with flannel. 
 Then warm water and a tooth brush were 
 
30 Qlbopting an Qlbanbaneb farm. 
 
 brought into play, and the oil all re 
 moved. Then a long dry polishing, and 
 the restoration was complete. Certainly 
 no other Smalltowner had such a wooden 
 knife; and it was indeed beautiful. Black 
 in a cross light, red in direct light, and 
 kaleidoscopic by gaslight. Ah, such a 
 prize ! The family knew that something 
 strange was transpiring, but what no one 
 had an inkling. They must wait patiently, 
 and they did. The Spectator proudly ap 
 peared, his prize in hand. See there ! 
 he cried in triumph, and they all looked 
 eagerly ; and when the Spectator s pride 
 was soaring at its highest, a younger 
 daughter cried, Why, papa, it s the back 
 of a hair-brush ! And it was." 
 
 An auctioneer usually tries to be off 
 hand, waggish, and brisk a cross between 
 a street peddler and a circus clown, with a 
 hint of the forced mirth of the after-din 
 ner speaker. Occasionally the jokes are 
 
Qtttcti0n0. 3 1 
 
 good and the answers from the audience 
 show the ready Yankee wit. 
 
 Once an exceedingly fat man, too obese 
 to descend from his high wagon, bought 
 an immense dinner bell and he was hit 
 unmercifully. A rusty old fly-catcher 
 elicited many remarks as " no flies on 
 that." I bought several chests, half full 
 of rubbish, but found, alas! no hidden 
 treasure, no missing jewels, no money hid 
 away by miserly fingers and forgotten. 
 Jake Corey, who was doing some work 
 for me, encouraged me to hope. He 
 said : " I hear ye patronize auctions putty 
 reg lar; sometimes there is a good deal 
 to be made that way, and then ag in there 
 isn t. I never had no luck that way, but 
 it s like getting married, it s a lottery! 
 Folks git queer and put money in some 
 spot, where they re apt to forgit all about 
 it. Now I knew a man who bought an 
 old hat and a sight of other stuff ; jest 
 threw in the hat. And when he got 
 
 3 
 1 
 
32 St&opting an Qiban&0tie& 
 
 home and come to examine it ef thar 
 warn t three hundred dollars in good bills, 
 chucked in under the sweater ! " 
 
 " You ought to git over to Mason s auc 
 tion to Milldon, sure. It s day after to 
 morrow at nine sharp. You see he d a for 
 tune left him, but he run straight through 
 it buying the goldarndest things you ever 
 heerd tell on calves with six legs, dogs 
 with three eyes or two tails, steers that 
 could be druv most as well as hosses 
 (Barnum he got hold o em and tuk em 
 round with his show) ; all sorts o curious 
 fowl and every outlandish critter he could 
 lay his hands on. T stands to reason he 
 couldn t run that rig many years. Your 
 goin s on here made me think o Mason. 
 He cut a wide swath for a time. 
 
 " Wall, I hope you ll come off better n 
 he did. He sunk such a pile that he got 
 discouraged and took to drink ; then his 
 wife, a mighty likely woman she is (one o 
 the Batchelders of Dull Corner), couldn t 
 
Qttuti0n0. 33 
 
 stand it and went back to her old home, 
 and he died ragged and friendless about 
 a month ago. Ef I s you, I d go over, 
 just to take warning and hold up in 
 time." 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 BUYING A HORSE. 
 
 "And you know this Deacon Elkins to be a 
 thoroughly reliable man in every respect ? " 
 
 " Indeed, I do," said honest Nathan Robbins. 
 " He is the very soul of honor ; couldn t do a mean 
 thing. I d trust him with all I have." 
 
 " Well, I m glad to hear this, for I m just going to 
 buy a horse of him." 
 
 "Ahorse?" 
 
 " Yes a horse ! " 
 
 " Then I don t know anything about him ! " 
 
 A TRUE TALE. 
 
 AFTER furnishing my house in the afore 
 said economical and nondescript fashion, 
 came the trials of "planting time." This 
 was such an unfragrant and expensive 
 period that I pass over it as briefly as 
 possible. I saw it was necessary in con 
 formity with the appalling situation to 
 alter one vowel in my Manorial Hall. 
 The haul altogether amounted to eight- 
 
Btiging a 40r0e. 35 
 
 een loads besides a hundred bags of vile 
 ly smelling fertilizers. Agents for every 
 kind of phosphates crowded around me, 
 descanting on the needs of the old land, 
 until I began to comprehend what the 
 owner meant by " keeping it up." With 
 Gail Hamilton, I had supposed the entire 
 land of this earth to be pretty much 
 the same age until I adopted the " aban 
 doned." This I found was fairly senile 
 in its worthless decrepitude. 
 
 My expenditure was something prodig 
 ious. 
 
 Yes, " planting time " was a night 
 mare in broad daylight, but as I look 
 back, it seems a rosy dream, compared 
 with the prolonged agonies of buying a 
 horse ! 
 
 All my friends said I must have a 
 horse to truly enjoy the country, and it 
 seemed a simple matter to procure an 
 animal for my own use. 
 
 Livery-stable keepers, complaisant and 
 
36 Sibojjtittg an &banbonefc -farm. 
 
 cordial, were continually driving around 
 the corner into my yard, with a tremen 
 dous flourish and style, chirking up old 
 by-gones, drawing newly painted buggies, 
 patched-up phaetons, two-seated second 
 hand " Democrats," high wagons, low 
 chaises, just for me to try. They all said 
 that seeing I was a lady and had just 
 come among em, they would trade easy 
 and treat me well. Each mentioned the 
 real value, and a much lower price, at 
 which I, as a special favor, could secure 
 the entire rig. Their prices were all 
 abominably exorbitant, so I decided to 
 hire for a season. The dozen beasts tried 
 in two months, if placed in a row, would 
 cure the worst case of melancholia. 
 Some shied ; others were liable to be 
 overcome by " blind staggers "; three had 
 the epizootic badly, and longed to lie 
 down ; one was nearly blind. At last I 
 was told of a lady who desired to leave 
 her pet horse and Sargent buggy in some 
 
String a tyorze. 37 
 
 country home during her three months 
 trip abroad. 
 
 Both were so highly praised as just the 
 thing that I took them on faith. 
 
 I judge that a woman can lie worse 
 than a man about a horse ! 
 
 " You will love my Nellie " she wrote. 
 "I hate to part with her, even for the 
 summer. She has been a famous racer in 
 Canada can travel easily twenty-five 
 miles a day. Will go better at the end of 
 the journey than at the beginning. I 
 hear you are an accomplished driver, so 
 I send my pet to your care without 
 anxiety." 
 
 I sent a man to her home to drive out 
 with this delightful treasure, and pictured 
 myself taking long and daily drives over 
 our excellent country roads. Nellie, 
 dear Nellie; I loved her already. How 
 I would pet her, and how fond she 
 would become of me. Two lumps of su 
 gar at least, every day for her, and red 
 
38 St&ojjtittg an Qlbanftoneb farm. 
 
 ribbons for the whip. How she would 
 dash along ! A horse for me at last ! 
 About 1.45 A. M., of the next day, a 
 carriage was heard slowly entering the 
 yard. I could hardly wait until morning 
 to gloat over my gentle racer ! At early 
 dawn I visited the stable and found John 
 disgusted beyond measure with my bar 
 gain. A worn-out, tumble-down, rickety 
 carriage with wobbling wheels, and an 
 equally worn-out, thin, dejected, venera 
 ble animal, with an immense blood spavin 
 on left hind leg, recently blistered ! It 
 took three weeks of constant doctoring, 
 investment in Kendall s Spavin Cure, and 
 consultation with an expensive veterinary 
 surgeon, to get the whilom race horse 
 into a condition to slowly walk to market. 
 I understood now the force of the one 
 truthful clause " She will go better at the 
 end of the drive than at the beginning," 
 for it was well-nigh impossible to get her 
 stiff legs started without a fire kindled 
 
a ^orse. 39 
 
 under them and a measure of oats held 
 enticingly before her. It was enraging, 
 but nothing to after experiences. All the 
 disappointed livery men, their complai 
 sance and cordiality, wholly a thing of 
 the past, were jubilant that I had been so 
 imposed upon by some one, even if they 
 had failed. And their looks, as they 
 wheeled rapidly by me, as I crept along 
 with the poor, suffering, limping " Nellie," 
 were almost more than I could endure. 
 
 Horses were again brought for inspec 
 tion, and there was a repetition of previ 
 ous horrors. At last a man came from 
 Mossgrown. He had an honest face ; he 
 knew of a man who knew of a man whose 
 brother had just the horse for me, " sound, 
 stylish, kind, gentle as a lamb, fast as the 
 wind." Profiting by experience, I said I 
 would look at it. Next day, a young 
 man, gawky and seemingly unsophisti 
 cated, brought the animal. It looked 
 well enough, and I was so tired. He was 
 
40 &b0jjting an Qtbanftoneb farm. 
 
 anxious to sell, but only because he was 
 going to be married and go West ; needed 
 money. And he said with sweet simpli 
 city : " Now I ain t no jockey, I ain t ! 
 You needn t be afeard of me I say just 
 what I mean. I want spot cash, I do, and 
 you can have horse, carriage, and harness 
 for $125 down. He gave me a short 
 drive, and we did go " like the wind." I 
 thought the steed very hard to hold in, 
 but he convinced me that it was not so. 
 I decided to take the creature a week on 
 trial, which was a blow to that guileless 
 young man. And that very afternoon I 
 started for the long, pleasant drive I had 
 been dreaming about since early spring. 
 
 The horse looked quiet enough, but I 
 concluded to take my German domestic 
 along for extra safety. I remembered his 
 drawling direction, " Doan t pull up the 
 reins unless you want him to go pretty 
 lively," so held the reins rather loosely 
 for a moment only, for this last hope 
 
Stirling a Hjorse. 41 
 
 wheeled round the corner as if possessed, 
 and after trotting, then breaking, then 
 darting madly from side to side, started 
 into a full run. I pulled with all my 
 might ; Gusta stood up and helped. No 
 avail. On we rushed to sudden death. 
 No one in sight anywhere. With one Her 
 culean effort, bred of the wildest despair, 
 we managed to rein him in at a sharp right 
 angle, and we succeeded in calming his 
 fury, and tied the panting, trembling 
 fiend to a post. Then Gusta mounted 
 guard while I walked home in the heat 
 and dirt, fully half a mile to summon 
 John. 
 
 I learned that that horse had never be 
 fore been driven by a woman. He evi 
 dently was not pleased. 
 
 Soon the following appeared among the 
 local items of interest in the Gooseville 
 Clarion : 
 
 Uriel Snooks, who has been working in the 
 cheese factory at Frogville, is now to preside over 
 
42 &b0pting an &banfccmeb farm. 
 
 chair number four in Baldwin s Tonsorial Estab 
 lishment on Main Street. 
 
 Kate Sanborn is trying another horse. 
 
 These bits of information in the papers 
 were a boon to the various reporters, but 
 most annoying to me. The Bungtown 
 Gazetteer announced that " a well-known 
 Boston poetess had purchased the Britton 
 Farm, and was fitting up the old home 
 stead for city boarders ! " I couldn t im 
 port a few hens, invest in a new dog, or 
 order a lawn mower, but a full account 
 would grace the next issue of all the 
 weeklies. I sympathized with the old 
 woman who exclaimed in desperation : 
 
 " Great Jerusalem, ca nt I stir, 
 Without a-raisin some feller s fur ? " 
 
 At last I suspected the itinerant butcher 
 of doing double duty as a reporter, and 
 found that he " was engaged by several 
 editors to pick up bits of news for the 
 press " as he went his daily rounds. " But 
 
a ^orse. 43 
 
 this," I exclaimed, " is just what I don t 
 want and can t allow. Now if you 
 should drive in here some day and dis 
 cover me dead, reclining against yonder 
 noble elm, or stark at its base, surrounded 
 by my various pets, don t allude to it in 
 the most indirect way. I prefer the fu 
 neral to be strictly private. Moreover, if 
 I notice another * item about me, I ll buy 
 of your rival." And the trouble ceased. 
 
 But the horses! Still they came and 
 went. I used to pay my friend the rubi 
 cund surgeon to test some of these highly 
 recommended animals in a short drive 
 with me. 
 
 One pronounced absolutely unrivaled 
 was discovered by my wise mentor to be 
 " watch-eyed," " rat-tailed," with a swol 
 len gland on the neck, would shy at a 
 stone, stand on hind legs for a train, with 
 various other minor defects. I grew faint 
 hearted, discouraged, cynical, bitter. Was 
 there no horse for me ? I became town- 
 
44 Qlbopting an Qlbanboneb .farm. 
 
 talk as " a drefful fussy old maid who did 
 n t know her own mind, and couldn t be 
 suited no way." 
 
 I remember one horse brought by a 
 butcher from West Bungtown. It was, in 
 the vernacular, a buck-skin. Hide-bound, 
 with ribs so prominent they suggested a 
 wash-board. The two fore legs were well 
 bent out at the knees ; both hind legs were 
 swelled near the hoofs. His ears nearly 
 as large as a donkey s ; one eye covered 
 with a cataract, the other deeply sunken. 
 A Roman nose, accentuated by. a wide 
 stripe, aided the pensive expression of his 
 drooping under lip. He leaned against 
 the shafts as if he were tired. 
 
 " There, Marm," said the owner, eying 
 my face as an amused expression stole 
 over it ; " ef you don t care for style, ef ye 
 want a good, steddy critter, and a critter 
 that can go, and a critter that any lady can 
 drive, there s the critter for ye ! " 
 
 I did buy at last, for life had become 
 
Sumng a ^orsc. 45 
 
 a burden. An interested neighbor (who 
 really pitied me ?) induced me to buy a 
 pretty little black horse. I named him 
 "O. K." 
 
 After a week I changed to " N. G." 
 
 After he had run away, and no one 
 would buy him, " D. B." 
 
 At last I succeeded in exchanging this 
 shying and dangerous creature for a mel 
 ancholy, overworked mare at a livery sta 
 ble. I hear that " D. B." has since killed 
 two /-talians by throwing them out when 
 not sufficiently inebriated to fall against 
 rocks with safety. 
 
 And my latest venture is a backer. 
 
 Horses have just as many disagreeable 
 traits, just as much individuality in their 
 badness, as human beings. Under kind 
 treatment, daily petting, and generous 
 feeding, " Dolly " is too frisky and head 
 strong for a lady to drive. 
 
 " Sell that treacherous beast at once or 
 you will be killed," writes an anxious 
 
46 QUmpting an Qtbanboneb .farm. 
 
 friend who had a slight acquaintance 
 with her moods. 
 
 I want now to find an equine reliance 
 whose motto is " Nulla vestigia retror- 
 sum," or " No steps backward." 
 
 I have pasted Mr. Hale s famous motto, 
 " Look forward and not back," over her 
 stall but with no effect. The " Lend a 
 Hand " applies to those we yell for when 
 the backing is going on. 
 
 By the way, a witty woman said the 
 other day that men always had the ad 
 vantage. A woman looked back and was 
 turned into a pillar of salt ; Bellamy looked 
 back and made sixty thousand dollars. 
 
 Mr. Robert B. Roosevelt, in his amus 
 ing book " Five Acres too Much " gives 
 even a more tragic picture, saying : " My 
 experience of horseflesh has been various 
 and instructive. I have been thrown 
 over their heads and slid over their tails; 
 have been dragged by saddle, stirrups, 
 and tossed out of wagons. I have had 
 
J3 aging a florae. 47 
 
 them to back and to kick, to run and to 
 bolt, to stand on their hind feet and kick 
 with their front, and then reciprocate by 
 standing on their front and kicking with 
 their hind feet. ... I have been thrown 
 much with horses and more by them." 
 
 " Horses are the most miserable creat 
 ures, invariably doing precisely what 
 they ought not to do ; a pest, a nuisance, 
 a bore." Or, as some one else puts it : 
 
 "A horse at its best is an amiable 
 idiot ; at its worst, a dangerous maniac." 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 FOR THOSE WHO LOVE PETS. 
 
 " All were loved and all were regretted, but life 
 is made up of forgetting." 
 
 " The best thing which a man possesses is his 
 dog." 
 
 WHEN I saw a man driving into my 
 yard after this, I would dart out of a 
 back door and flee to sweet communion 
 with my cows. 
 
 On one such occasion I shouted back 
 that I did not want a horse of any vari 
 ety, could not engage any fruit trees, did 
 not want the place photographed, and 
 was just going out to spend the day. I 
 was courteously but firmly informed that 
 my latest visitor had, singular to relate, 
 no horse to dispose of, but he "would 
 like fourteen dollars for my dog tax for 
 the current year ! " As he was also sher- 
 
for tljose tuljo Cotie {Jets. 49 
 
 iff, constable, and justice of the peace, I 
 did not think it worth while to argue the 
 question, although I had no more thought 
 of being called up to pay a dog tax than 
 a hen tax or cat tax. I trembled, lest I 
 should be obliged to enumerate my en 
 tire menagerie cats, dogs, canaries, rab 
 bits, pigs, ducks, geese, hens, turkeys, 
 pigeons, peacocks, cows, and horses. 
 
 Each kind deserves an entire chapter, 
 and how easy it would be to write of cats 
 and their admirers from Cambyses to 
 Warner ; of dogs and their friends from 
 Ulysses to Bismarck. I agree with Ik 
 Marvel that a cat is like a politician, sly 
 and diplomatic ; purring for food; and 
 affectionate for a consideration ; really 
 caring nothing for friendship and devo 
 tion, except as means to an end. Those 
 who write books and articles and verse 
 and prose tributes to cats think very dif 
 ferently, but the cats I have met have 
 been of this type. 
 
50 &bo;pting an &bano0neb farm. 
 
 And dogs. Are they really so affec 
 tionate, or are they also a little shrewd in 
 licking the hand that feeds them ? I dis 
 like to be pessimistic. But when my 
 dogs come bounding to meet me for a 
 jolly morning greeting they do seem ex 
 pectant and hungry rather than affection 
 ate. At other hours of the day they 
 plead with loving eyes and wagging tails 
 for a walk or a seat in the carriage or 
 permission to follow the wagon. 
 
 But I will not analyze their motives. 
 They fill the house and grounds with life 
 and frolic, and a farm would be incom 
 plete if they were missing. Hamerton, in 
 speaking of the one dog, the special pet 
 and dear companion of one s youth, ob 
 serves that "the comparative shortness 
 of the lives of dogs is the only imperfec 
 tion in the relation between them and 
 us. If they had lived to three-score and 
 ten, man and dog might have traveled 
 through life together, but, as it is, we 
 
for tljcrse rol)0 Cone J)et0. 51 
 
 must either have a succession of affec 
 tions, or else, when the first is buried in 
 its early grave, live in a chill condition of 
 dog-less-ness." 
 
 I thank him for that expressive com 
 pound word. Almost every one might, 
 like Grace Greenwood and Gautier, write 
 a History of my Pets and make a readable 
 book. Carlyle, the grand old growler, 
 was actually attached to a little white 
 dog his wife s special delight, for whom 
 she used to write cute little notes to the 
 master. And when he met with a fatal 
 accident, he was tenderly nursed by both 
 for months, and when the doctor was at 
 last obliged to put him out of pain by 
 prussic acid, their grief was sincere. 
 They buried him at the top of the garden 
 in Cheyne Row, and planted cowslips 
 round his grave, and his mistress placed a 
 stone tablet, with name and date, to mark 
 the last resting place of her blessed 
 dog. 
 
52 Qtbopting an Qtbanbonefc .farm. 
 
 " I could not have believed," writes 
 Carlyle in the Memorials, " my grief then 
 and since would have been the twentieth 
 part of what it was nay, that the want 
 of him would have been to me other than 
 a riddance. Our last midnight walk to 
 gether (for he insisted on trying to come), 
 January 3ist, is still painful to my thought. 
 Little dim, white speck of life, of love, of 
 fidelity, girdled by the darkness of night 
 eternal." 
 
 Beecher said many a good thing about 
 dogs, but I like this best : Speaking of 
 horseback riding, he incidentally re 
 marked that in evolution, the human door 
 was just shut upon the horse, but the dog 
 got fully up before the door was shut. 
 If there was not reason, mirthfulness, 
 love, honor, and fidelity in a dog, he did 
 not know where to look for it. Oh, if 
 they only could speak, what wise and hu 
 morous and sarcastic things they would 
 say ! Did you never feel snubbed by an 
 
for tl)0se tul)o Coue JJets. 53 
 
 immense dog you had tried to patronize ? 
 And I have seen many a dog smile. Bay 
 ard Taylor says : " I know of nothing 
 more moving, indeed semi-tragic, than 
 the yearning helplessness in the face of 
 a dog, who understands what is said to 
 him, and can not answer ! " 
 
 Dr. Holland wrote a poem to his dog 
 Blanco, " his dear, dumb friend," in which 
 he expresses what we all have felt many 
 times. 
 
 I look into your great brown eyes, 
 Where love and loyal homage shine, 
 
 And wonder where the difference lies 
 Between your soul and mine. 
 
 The whole poem is one of the best 
 things Holland ever did in rhyme. He 
 was ambitious to be remembered as a 
 poet, but he never excelled in verse un 
 less he had something to express that was 
 very near his heart. He was emphati 
 cally the Apostle of Common Sense. 
 
54 &&0:ptittg an &banb0neo farm. 
 
 How beautifully he closes his loving trib 
 ute 
 
 Ah, Blanco, did I worship God 
 
 As truly as you worship me, 
 Or follow where my Master trod 
 
 With your humility, 
 
 Did I sit fondly at his feet 
 As you, dear Blanco, sit at mine, 
 
 And watch him with a love as sweet, 
 My life would grow divine ! 
 
 Almost all our great men have more 
 than one dog in their homes. When I 
 spent a day with the Quaker poet at Dan- 
 vers, I found he had three dogs. Roger 
 Williams, a fine Newfoundland, stood on 
 the piazza, with the questioning, patron 
 izing air of a dignified host ; a bright-faced 
 Scotch terrier, Charles Dickens, peered at 
 us from the window, as if glad of a little 
 excitement ; while Carl, the graceful grey 
 hound, was indolently coiled up on a 
 shawl and took little notice of us. 
 
 Whittier has also a pet cow, favorite 
 and favored, which puts up her handsome 
 
for tl)00e wl)0 oue fkts. 55 
 
 head for an expected caress. The kindly 
 hearted old poet, so full of tenderness for 
 all created things, told me that years 
 when nuts were scarce he would put 
 beech nuts and acorns here and there as 
 he walked over his farm, to cheer the 
 squirrels by an unexpected find. 
 
 Miss Mitford s tribute to her defunct 
 doggie shows to what a degree of imbe 
 cility an old maid may carry fondness for 
 her pets, but it is pathetically amusing. 
 
 " My own darling Mossy s hair, cut off 
 after he was dead by dear Drum, August 
 22, 1819. He was the greatest darling 
 that ever lived (son of Maria and Mr. 
 Webb s * Ruler, a famous dog given him 
 by Lord Rivers), and was, when he died, 
 about seven or eight years old. He was 
 a large black dog, of the largest and 
 strongest kind of greyhounds; very fast 
 and honest, and resolute past example; 
 an excellent killer of hares, and a most 
 magnificent and noble-looking creature. 
 
 
 
56 &b0ptitt0 an &banfcone& farm. 
 
 His coat was of the finest and most 
 glossy black, with no white, except a very 
 little under his feet (pretty white shoe 
 linings I used to call them) a little 
 beautiful white spot, quite small, in the 
 very middle of his neck, between his chin 
 and his breast and a white mark on his 
 bosom. His face was singularly beauti 
 ful ; the finest black eyes, very bright, 
 and yet sweet, and fond, and tender 
 eyes that seemed to speak ; a beautiful, 
 complacent mouth, which used sometimes 
 to show one of the long white teeth at 
 the side; a jet black nose; a brow which 
 was bent and flexible, like Mr. Fox s, and 
 gave great sweetness and expression, and 
 a look of thought to his dear face. 
 There never was such a dog ! His tem 
 per was, beyond comparison, the sweet 
 est ever known. Nobody ever saw him 
 out of humor. And his sagacity was 
 equal to his temper. Thank God, he 
 went off without suffering. He must 
 
for tl)0se tnl)0 ouc JJets. 57 
 
 have died in a moment. I thought I 
 should have broken my heart when I 
 came home and found what had hap 
 pened. I shall miss him every moment 
 of my life ; I have missed him every in 
 stant to-day so have Drum and Granny. 
 He was laid out last night in the stable, 
 and this morning we buried him in the 
 middle plantation on the house side of 
 the fence, in the flowery corner, between 
 the fence and Lord Shrewsbury s fields. 
 We covered his dear body with flowers; 
 every flower in the garden. Everybody 
 loved him ; { dear saint, as I used to 
 call him, and as / do not doubt he now 
 is! ! No human being was ever so faith 
 ful, so gentle, so generous, and so 
 fond! I shall never love anything half 
 so well. 
 
 "It will always be pleasant to me to 
 remember that I never teased him by pet 
 ting other things, and that everything I 
 had he shared. He always ate half my 
 
58 Stbopting an Qtbanboneb farm. 
 
 breakfast, and the very day before he 
 died I fed him all the morning with fil 
 berts." (There may have been a con 
 nection between the filberts and the fu 
 neral.) 
 7 
 
 " While I had him, I was always sure of 
 having one who would love me alike in 
 riches or poverty, who always looked at 
 me with looks of the fondest love, always 
 faithful and always kind. To think of 
 him was a talisman against vexing 
 thoughts. A thousand times I have said, 
 * I want my Mossy, when that dear 
 Mossy was close by and would put his 
 dear black nose under my hand on hear 
 ing his name. God bless you, my Mossy! 
 I cried when you died, and I can hardly 
 help crying whenever I think of you. 
 All who loved me loved Mossy. He had 
 the most perfect confidence in me al 
 ways came to me for protection against 
 any one who threatened him, and, thank 
 God, always found it. I value all things 
 
tljose tul)o oue flete. 59 
 
 he had lately or ever touched ; even the 
 old quilt that used to be spread on my 
 bed for him to lie on, and which we 
 called Mossy s quilt ; and the pan that he 
 used to drink out of in the parlor, and 
 which was always called Mossy s pan, 
 dear darling! 
 
 " I forgot to say that his breath was 
 always sweet and balmy ; his coat al 
 ways glossy like satin ; and he never 
 had any disease or anything to make 
 him disagreeable in his life. Many oth 
 er things I have omitted ; and so I 
 should if I were to write a whole vol 
 ume of his praise; for he was above 
 all praise, sweet angel ! I have inclosed 
 some of his hair, cut off by papa af 
 ter his death, and some of the hay on 
 which he was laid out. He died Satur 
 day, the 2ist of August, 1819, at Ber 
 tram House. Heaven bless him, beloved 
 angel ! " 
 
 It is as sad as true that great natures 
 
60 ^opting an OVbanaonea i*arm. 
 
 are solitary, and therefore doubly value 
 the affections of their pets. 
 
 Southey wrote a most interesting biog 
 raphy of the cats of Greta Hall, and on 
 the demise of one wrote to an old friend : 
 "Alas! Grosvenor, this day poor old 
 Rumpel was found dead, after as long 
 and as happy a life as cat could wish for 
 if cats form wishes on that subject. 
 There should be a court mourning in Cat- 
 land, and if the Dragon wear a black 
 ribbon round his neck, or a band ot 
 crape, a la militaire, round one of the 
 fore paws, it will be but a becoming 
 mark of respect. As we have not cata 
 combs here, he is to be decently interred 
 in the orchard and catnip planted on 
 his grave." 
 
 And so closes this catalogue of South- 
 ey s "Cattery." 
 
 But, hark ! my cats are mewing, dogs 
 all calling for me no for dinner ! After 
 all, what is the highest civilization but 
 
for tl)osc tol)0 Cooe JJels. 61 
 
 a thin veneer over natural appetites? 
 What would a club be without its chefs, 
 a social affair without refreshment, a 
 man without his dinner, a woman without 
 her tea? Come to think of it, I m hun 
 gry myself! 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 STARTING A POULTRY FARM. 
 
 If every hen should only raise five broods yearly 
 of ten each, and there were ten hens to start with, 
 at the end of two years they would number 344,760, 
 after the superfluous roosters were sold ; and then, 
 supposing the extra eggs to have paid for their keep 
 ing and the produce to be worth only a dollar and a 
 half a pair, there would be a clear profit of $258,520. 
 Allowing for occasional deaths, this sum might be 
 stated in round numbers at a quarter of a million, 
 which would be a liberal increase from ten hens. 
 Of course I did not expect to do as well as this, but 
 merely mention what might be done with good luck 
 and forcing. ROBERT ROOSEVELT. 
 
 HAVING always heard, on the best au 
 thority, that there was u money in hens, 
 I invested largely in prize fowls secured at 
 State fairs and large poultry shows, buy 
 ing as many kinds as possible to make 
 an effective and brilliant display in their 
 runs." 
 
Starting a poultry -farm. 63 
 
 There is a good deal of money in my hens 
 how to get it back is the present prob 
 lem. These hens were all heralded as fa 
 mous layers ; several did lay in the trav 
 eling coops on the journey, great pinky- 
 brown beauties, just to show what they 
 could do if they chose, then stopped 
 suddenly. I wrote anxiously to former 
 owners of this vaunted stock to ex 
 plain such disappointing behavior. Some 
 guessed the hens were just moulting, oth 
 ers thought " may be they were broody " ; 
 a few had the frankness to agree with me 
 that it was mighty curious, but hens al 
 ways were " sorter contrary critters." 
 
 Their appetites remained normal, but, 
 as the little girl said of her pet bantam, 
 they only lay about doing nothing. And 
 when guests desired some of my fine fresh 
 eggs boiled for breakfast, I used to go 
 secretly to a neighbor and buy a dozen, 
 but never gave away the mortifying sit 
 uation. 
 
64 QUropting an QUwnironeb .farm. 
 
 Seeing piles of ducks eggs in a farmer s 
 barn, all packed for market, and pictur 
 ing the producers, thirty white Pekins, a 
 snowy, self-supporting fleet on my re 
 formed lakelet, I bought the whole lot, and 
 for long weary months they were fed and 
 pampered and coaxed and reasoned with, 
 shut up, let out, kept on the water, for 
 bidden to go to it, but not one egg to be 
 seen ! 
 
 It was considered a rich joke in that 
 locality that a city woman who was try 
 ing to farm, had applied for these ducks 
 just as they had completed their labors 
 for the season of i888-*9o ; they were 
 also extremely venerable, and the reticent 
 owner rejoiced to be relieved of an ex 
 pensive burden at good rates. Knowing 
 nothing of these facts in natural history, 
 I pondered deeply over the double phe 
 nomenon. I said the hens seemed normal 
 only as to appetite ; the ducks proved 
 abnormal in this respect. They were al- 
 
Starting a {Jonltrg -farm. 65 
 
 ways coming up to the back door, clam 
 oring for food always tmappeased. They 
 preferred cake, fresh bread, hot boiled 
 potatoes, doted on tender bits of meat, 
 but would gobble up anything and every 
 thing, more voracious and less fastidious 
 than the ordinary hog of commerce. 
 Bags of corn were consumed in a flash, 
 " shorts " were never long before their 
 eager gaze, they went for every kind of 
 nourishment provided for the rest of the 
 menagerie. A goat is supposed to have a 
 champion appetite and digestion, but a 
 duck at least one of my ducks leaves a 
 goat so far behind that he never could 
 regain his reputation for omniverosity. 
 They were too antique to be eaten them 
 selves their longevity entitled them to 
 respect ; they could not be disposed of 
 by the shrewdest market man to the least 
 particular of boarding-house providers ; I 
 could only regard them with amazement 
 and horror and let them go on eating 
 
66 Qlbouin an &banboneb farm. 
 
 me out of house and home and purse- 
 strings. 
 
 But at last I knew. I asked an honest 
 man from afar, who called to sell some 
 thing, why those ducks would not lay a 
 single egg. He looked at them critically 
 and wrote to me the next day : 
 
 " DEAR MADAM : The reason your 
 ducks won t lay is because they re too 
 old to live and the bigest part of em is 
 drakes. Respectfully, 
 
 JONAS HURLBERT." 
 
 I hear that there are more ducks in the 
 Chinese Empire than in all the world out 
 side of it. They are kept by the Celes 
 tials on every farm, on the private and 
 public roads, on streets of cities, and on 
 all the lakes, ponds, rivers, streams, and 
 brooks in the country. That is the secret 
 of their lack of progress. What time 
 have they to advance after the ducks are 
 fed and cared for ? No male inhabitant 
 
Starting a flonitrjj ,farm. 67 
 
 could ever squeeze out a leisure half- 
 hour to visit a barber, hence their long 
 queues. 
 
 About this time the statement of Mr. 
 Crankin, of North Yeaston, Rhode Island, 
 that he makes a clear and easy profit of 
 five dollars and twenty cents per hen 
 each year, and nearly forty-four dollars 
 to every duck, and might have increased 
 said profit if he had hatched, rather than 
 sold, seventy-two dozen eggs, struck me 
 as wildly apocryphal. Also that caring 
 for said hens and ducks was merely an 
 incident of his day s work on the large 
 farm, he working with his laborers. 
 Heart -sick and indignant, contrasting 
 his rosy success with my leaden - hued 
 failure, I decided to give all my ducks 
 away, as they wouldn t, couldn t drown, 
 and there would be no use in killing 
 them. But no one wanted them ! And 
 everybody smiled quizzically when I pro 
 posed the gift. 
 
68 Qlbopting an Qtbanironeb ,faritt. 
 
 Just then, as if in direct sarcasm, a 
 friend sent me a paper with an item 
 marked to the effect that a poor young 
 girl had three ducks eggs given her as 
 the basis of a solid fortune, and actually 
 cleared one hundred and eighteen dollars 
 from those three eggs the first year. 
 
 Another woman solemnly asserts in 
 print a profit of $448.69 from one hun 
 dred hens each year. 
 
 The census man told me of a woman 
 who had only eighteen hens. They gave 
 her sixteen hundred and ninety eggs, of 
 which she sold eighteen dollars worth, 
 leaving plenty for household use. 
 
 And my hens and my ducks ! In my 
 despair I drove a long way to consult a 
 " duck man." He looked like the typical 
 Brother Jonathan, only with a longer 
 beard, and his face was haggard, un 
 kempt, anxious. He could scarcely stop 
 to converse, evidently grudged the time, 
 devotes his entire energies from dawn to 
 
Starting a JJattltrjj ,farm. 69 
 
 twilight to slaving for his eight hundred 
 ducklings. He also kept an incubator 
 going all the time. 
 
 " Do ducks pay you ? " I asked. 
 
 "Wall, I m gettin to be somewhat of a 
 bigotist," he said ; " I barely git a livin ." 
 
 " Why Mr. Crankin " I began. 
 
 The name roused his jealous ire, and 
 his voice, a low mumble before, now burst 
 into a loud roar. " Yes, Crankin makes 
 money, has a sight o incubators, makes 
 em himself, sells a lot, but some say they 
 don t act like his do when they git off his 
 place; most on em seem possessed, but 
 Crankin, he can manage em and makes 
 money too." 
 
 " Do your ducks lay much ? " 
 
 " Lay ! I don t want em to lay ! Sell 
 em all out at nine weeks, fore the pin 
 feathers come; then they re good eatin 
 for them as likes em. I ve heard of 
 yure old lot. Kill em, I say, and start 
 new ! " 
 
yo QUr0jJting an Qtbanbanefc farm. 
 
 " Crankin says " 
 
 " I don t care nothing what Crankin 
 says " (here the voice would have filled a 
 cathedral), " I tell ye ; me and Crankin s 
 two different critters! " 
 
 So I felt ; but it would not do to give 
 up. I purchased an expensive incubator 
 and brooder needn t have bought a 
 brooder. I put into the incubator at a 
 time when eggs were scarce and high 
 priced, two hundred eggs hens eggs, 
 ducks eggs, goose eggs. The tempera 
 ture must be kept from 102 to 104. 
 The lamps blazed up a little on the first 
 day, but after that we kept the heat ex 
 actly right by daily watching and night 
 vigils. It engrossed most of the time of 
 four able-bodied victims. 
 
 Nothing ever was developed. The 
 eggs were probably cooked that first 
 ( day! 
 
 Now I m vainly seeking for a pur 
 chaser for my I. and B. Terms of sale 
 
Starting a JJonitrj) farm. 71 
 
 very reasonable. Great reduction from 
 original price; shall no doubt be forced 
 to give them away to banish painful rec 
 ollections. 
 
 I also invested in turkeys, geese, and 
 peacocks, and a pair of guinea hens to 
 keep hawks away. 
 
 For long weary months the geese 
 seemed the only fowls truly at home on 
 my farm. They did their level best. 
 Satisfied that my hens would neither lay 
 nor set, I sent to noted poultry fanciers 
 for " settings " of eggs at three dollars 
 per thirteen, then paid a friendly " hen 
 woman " for assisting in the mysterious 
 evolution of said eggs into various inter 
 esting little families old enough to be 
 brought to me. 
 
 Many and curious were the casualties 
 befalling these young broods. Chickens 
 are subject to all the infantile diseases of 
 children and many more of their own, 
 and mine were truly afflicted. Imprimis, 
 
72 QUmpting an Qlbanboneb -farm. 
 
 most would not hatch ; the finest Brahma 
 eggs contained the commonest barn-yard 
 fowls. Some stuck to the shell, some were 
 drowned in a saucer of milk, some perished 
 because no lard had been rubbed on their 
 heads, others passed away discouraged by 
 too much lard. Several ate rose bugs 
 with fatal results ; others were greedy as 
 to gravel and agonized with distended 
 crops till released by death. They had 
 more " sand " than was good for them. 
 They were raised on " Cat Hill," and five 
 were captured by felines, and when the 
 remnant was brought to me they disap 
 peared day by day in the most puzzling 
 manner until we caught our mischievous 
 pug, "Tiny Tim," holding down a beau 
 tiful young Leghorn with his cruel paw 
 and biting a piece out of her neck. 
 
 So they left me, one by one, like the 
 illusions of youth, until there was no 
 "survival of the fittest." 
 
 In a ragged old barn opposite, a hen 
 
Starting a JJonltro ^arnt. 73 
 
 had stolen her nest and brought out sev 
 enteen vigorous chicks. I paid a large 
 bill for the care of what might have been 
 a splendid collection, and meekly bought 
 that faithful old hen with her large fami 
 ly. It is now a wonder to me that any 
 chickens arrive at maturity. Fowls are 
 afflicted with parasitic wrigglers in their 
 poor little throats. The disease is called 
 u gapes," because they try to open their 
 bills for more air until a red worm in the 
 trachea causes suffocation. This horrid 
 red worm, called scientifically Scelorostoma 
 syngamus, destroys annually half a million 
 of chickens. 
 
 Dr. Crisp, of England, says it would be 
 of truly national importance to find the 
 means of preventing its invasion. 
 
 The unpleasant results of hens and 
 garden contiguous, Warner has described. 
 They are incompatible if not antagonistic. 
 One man wisely advises : " Fence the 
 garden in and let the chickens run, as the 
 
74 &bo:ptittg an &banbotteb -farm. 
 
 man divided the house with his quarrel 
 some wife, by taking the inside himself 
 and giving her the outside, that she might 
 have room according to her strength." 
 
 Looking over the long list of diseases 
 to which fowls are subject is dispiriting. 
 I am glad they can t read them, or they 
 would have all at once, as J. K. Jerome, 
 the witty playwright, decided he had ev 
 ery disease found in a medical dictionary, 
 except housemaid s knee. Look at this 
 condensed list : 
 
 DISEASES OF NERVOUS SYSTEM. i. 
 Apoplexy. 2. Paralysis. 3. Vertigo. 4. 
 Neuralgia. 5. Debility. 
 
 DISEASES OF DIGESTIVE ORGANS. 99. 
 
 DISEASES OF LOCOMOTIVE ORGANS. 
 i. Rheumatism. 2. Cramp. 3. Gout. 4. 
 Leg weakness. 5. Paralysis of legs. 6. 
 Elephantiasis. 
 
 Next, diseases caused by parasites. 
 
 Then, injuries. 
 
 Lastly, miscellaneous. 
 
Starting a JJonltrji farm. 75 
 
 I could add a still longer list of unclas 
 sified ills : Homesickness, fits, melan 
 cholia, corns, blindness from fighting too 
 much, etc. 
 
 Now that I have learned to raise chick 
 ens, it is a hard and slow struggle to get 
 any killed. I say in an off-hand manner, 
 with assumed nonchalance : " Ellen, I 
 want Tom to kill a rooster at once for to 
 morrow s dinner, and I have an order 
 from a friend for four more, so he must 
 select five to-night." Then begins the 
 trouble. " Oh," pleads Ellen, " don t kill 
 dear Dick ! poor, dear Dick ! That is 
 Tom s pet of all ; so big and handsome 
 and knows so much ! He will jump up on 
 Tom s shoulder and eat out of his hand 
 and come when he calls and those big 
 Brahmas don t you know how they were 
 brought up by hand, as you might say, 
 and they know me and hang around the 
 door for crumbs, and that beauty of a 
 Wyandock, you couldn t eat him ! " When 
 
76 Qibopting an Qtbattbonefc farm. 
 
 the matter is decided, as the guillotining 
 is going on, Ellen and I sit listening to 
 the axe thuds and the death squaks, while 
 she wrings her hands, saying : " O dearie 
 me ! What a world the dear Lord ha 
 mercy on us poor creatures ! What a 
 thing to look into, that we must kill the 
 poor innocents to eat them. And they 
 were so tame and cunning, and would fol 
 low me all around ! " Then I tell her of 
 the horrors of the French Revolution to 
 distract her attention from the present 
 crisis, and alluded to the horrors of canni 
 balism recently disclosed in Africa. Then 
 I fall into a queer reverie and imagine 
 how awful it would be if we should ever 
 be called to submit to a race of beings as 
 much larger than we are as we are above 
 the fowls. I almost hear such a monster 
 of a house-wife, fully ninety feet high, 
 say to a servant, looking sternly and crit 
 ically at me : 
 
 "That fat, white creature must be 
 
Starling a poultry farm. 77 
 
 killed; just eats her old head off will i 
 soon be too tough " Ugh ! Here Tom 
 comes with five headless fowls. Wasn t 
 that a wierd fancy of mine ? 
 
 Truly " Me and Crankin s two different 
 critters." 
 
 From the following verse, quoted from 
 a recent poultry magazine, I conclude that 
 I must be classed as a " chump." As it 
 contains the secret of success in every 
 undertaking, it should be committed to 
 memory by all my readers. 
 
 " Grit makes the man, 
 The want of it the chump. 
 The men who win, 
 Lay hold, hang on, and hump." 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 GHOSTS. 
 
 "But stop," says the courteous and prudent 
 reader, " are there any such things as ghosts ? " 
 
 "Any ghostesses!" cries Superstition, who set 
 tled long since in the country, near a church yard 
 on a " rising ground," " any ghostesses ! Ay, man. 
 lots on em ! Bushels on em ! Sights on em ! 
 Why, there s one as walks in our parish, reglar as 
 the clock strikes twelve and always the same 
 round, over church- stile, round the corner, through 
 the gap, into Shorts Spinney, and so along into our 
 close, where he takes a drink at the pump for ye 
 see he died in liquor, and then arter he squenched 
 hisself, wanishes into waper. 
 
 " Then there s the ghost of old Beales, as goes o 
 nights and sows tares in his neighbor s wheat I ve 
 often seed em in seed time. They do say that Black 
 Ben, the poacher, have riz, and what s more, walked 
 slap through all the squire s steel traps, without 
 springing on em. And then there s Bet Hawkey as 
 murdered her own infant only the poor little babby 
 hadn t learned to walk, and so can t appear ag in her." 
 THOMAS HOOD, The Grimsby Ghost. 
 
 THAT dark little room I described as 
 so convenient during a terrific thunder- 
 
(Boosts. 79 
 
 storm or the prowling investigations of a 
 burglar, began after a while to get mys 
 terious and uncanny, and I disliked, nay, 
 dreaded to enter it after dark. It was so 
 still, so black, so empty, so chilly with a 
 sort of supernatural chill, so silent, that 
 imagination conjured up sounds such as I 
 had never heard before. I had been told 
 of an extremely old woman, a great-great- 
 grandmother, bed-ridden, peevish, and 
 weak-minded, who had occupied that 
 room for nearly a score of years, appar 
 ently forgotten by fate, and left to drag 
 out a monotonous, weary existence on 
 not her " mattress grave " (like the poet 
 Heine), but on an immensely thick feather 
 bed ; only a care, a burden, to her rela 
 tions. 
 
 As twilight came on, I always carefully 
 closed that door and shut the old lady in 
 to sleep by herself. For it seemed that 
 she was still there, still propped up in an 
 imaginary bed, mumbling incoherently of 
 
8o Qlbojtitt an Qlbanboneir farm. 
 
 the past, or moaning out some want, or 
 calling for some one to bring a light, as 
 she used to. 
 
 Once in a while, they told me, she 
 would regain her strength suddenly and 
 astonish the family by appearing at the 
 door. When the grand-daughter was en 
 joying a Sunday night call from her 
 " intended " it was rather embarrassing. 
 
 I said nothing to my friends about this 
 unpleasant room. But several were sus 
 ceptible to the strange influence. One 
 thought she should not mind so much if 
 the door swung open, and a portiere con 
 cealed the gloom. So a cheerful cretonne 
 soon was hung. Then the fancy came 
 that the curtain stirred and swayed as if 
 some one or something was groping fee 
 bly with ghostly or ghastly fingers behind 
 it. And one night, when sitting late and 
 alone over the embers of my open fire, 
 feeling a little forlorn, I certainly heard 
 moans coming from that direction. 
 
(B>l)00t0. 8l 
 
 It was not the wind, for, although it was 
 late October and the breezes were sighing 
 over summer s departure, this sound was 
 entirely different and distinct. Then (and 
 what a shiver ran down my back !) I re- 
 membered hearing that a woman had 
 been killed by falling down the steep cel 
 lar stairs, and the spot on the left side 
 where she was found unconscious and 
 bleeding had been pointed out to me. 
 There, I heard it again ! Was it the 
 wraith of the aged dame or the cries of 
 that unfortunate creature? Hush! El 
 len can t have fallen down ! 
 
 I am really scared ; the lamp seems to 
 be burning dim and the last coal has gone 
 out. Is it some restless spirit, so un 
 happy that it must moan out its weary 
 plaint ? I ought to be brave and go at 
 once and look boldly down the cellar 
 stairs and draw aside that waving por 
 tiere. Oh, dear! If I only had some one 
 to go with me and hold a light and 
 
82 SUropting an &banbone& farm. 
 
 there it is the third time. Courage van 
 ished. It might be some dreadful tramp 
 hiding and trying to drive me up-stairs, 
 so he could get the silver, and he would 
 gladly murder me for ten cents 
 
 "Tom," I cried. "Tom, come here." 
 But Tom, my six-footer factotum, made 
 no response. 
 
 I could stand it no longer the por 
 tiere seemed fairly alive, and I rushed out 
 to the kitchen where Ellen sat reading 
 the Ledger, deep in the horrors of The 
 Forsaken Inn. " Ellen, I m ashamed, but 
 I m really frightened. I do believe some 
 body is in that horrid dark room, or in 
 the cellar, and where is Tom ? 
 
 "Bedad, Miss, and you ve frightened 
 the heart right out o me. It might be a 
 ghost, for there are such things (Heaven 
 help us!), and I ve seen em in this coun 
 try and in dear old Ireland, and so has 
 Tom." 
 
 " You ve seen ghosts ? " 
 
(Boosts. 83 
 
 "Yes, indeed, Miss, but I ve never spoke 
 to any, for you ve no right to speak to a 
 ghost, and if you do you will surely die." 
 Tom now came in and soon satisfied me 
 that there was no living thing in the dark 
 ness, so I sat down and listened to Ellen s 
 experiences with ghosts. 
 
 THE FORMER MRS. WILKES. "Now 
 this happened in New York city, Miss, in 
 West 28th Street, and is every word true, 
 for, my dear, I saw it with my own eyes. 
 I went to bed, about half-past nine it was 
 this night, and I was lying quietly in bed, 
 looking up to the ceiling ; no light on ac 
 count of the mosquitoes, and Maud, the 
 little girl I was caring for, a romping dear 
 of seven or eight, a motherless child, had 
 been tossing about restless like, and her 
 arm was flung over me. All at once I 
 saw a lady standing by the side of the 
 bed in her night dress and looking ear 
 nestly at the child beyond me. She then 
 came nearer, took Maud s arm off me, 
 
84 Quotin an Qlbanboneb farm. 
 
 and gently straightened her in bed, then 
 stroked her face, both cheeks- fondly, you 
 know and then stood and looked at the 
 child. I said not a word, but I wasn t one 
 bit afraid for I thought it was a living 
 lady. I could tell the color of her eyes 
 and hair and just how she looked every 
 way. In the morning I described her to 
 Mrs. Wilkes, and asked, Is there any 
 strange lady in the house ? No, Ellen. 
 Why? she said. Then I said: Why, 
 there certainly was a pleasant-looking 
 lady in my room last night, in her night 
 dress, and she patted Maud as if she 
 thought a sight of her. 
 
 " Why, said my mistress, that is sure 
 ly the former Mrs. Wilkes ! 
 
 " She said that the older daughter had 
 seen her several times standing before her 
 glass, fixing her hair and looking at her 
 self, but if she spoke to her or tried to 
 speak, her mother would take up some 
 thing and shake it at her. And once when 
 
(Boosts. 85 
 
 we were going up-stairs together Alice 
 screamed, and said that her mother was 
 at the top of the stairs and blew her 
 cold breath right down on her. The step 
 mother started to give her her slipper, but 
 the father pitied her and would not allow 
 her to be whipped, and said * I ll go up to 
 bed with you, Alice. " 
 
 " Did you ever see the lady in white 
 again, Ellen ? " 
 
 " Never, Ma am, nor did I ever see any 
 other ghost in this country that I was sure 
 was a ghost, but Ireland, dear old Ire 
 land, oh, that s an ancient land, and they 
 have both ghosts and fairies and banshees 
 too, and many s the story I ve heard over 
 there, and from my own dear mother s 
 lips, and she would not tell a lie (Heaven 
 rest her soul !), and I ve seen them myself 
 over there, and so has Tom and his broth 
 er too, Miss. Oh, many s the story I 
 could tell ! " 
 
 " Well, Ellen, let me have one of your 
 
# 
 
 86 &&0jjting an Qtbanfconefc .farm. 
 
 own your very best." And I went for 
 pencil and pad. 
 
 " And are ye going to pin down my 
 story. Well, Miss, if ye take it just as I 
 say, and then fix it proper to be read, 
 they ll like it, for people are crazy now to 
 get the true ghost stories of dear old Ire 
 land. O Miss, when you go over, don t 
 forget my native place. It has a real 
 castle and a part of it is haunted, and the 
 master doesn t like to live there only 
 comes once a year or so, for hunting and 
 the rabbits there are as thick as they can 
 be and the river chuck full of fish, but no 
 one can touch any game, or even take out 
 one fish, or they would be punished." 
 
 " Yes, Ellen it s hard, and all wrong, but 
 we are wandering away from your ghosts, 
 and you know I am going to take notes. 
 So begin." 
 
 " Well, Miss, I was a sort of companion 
 or maid to a blind lady in my own town. 
 I slept in a little room just across the 
 
Crusts. 87 
 
 landing from hers, so as to always be 
 within reach of her. I was just going to 
 bed, when she called for me to come in 
 and see if there was something in the 
 room something alive, she thought, that 
 had been hopping, hopping all around her 
 bed, and frightened her dreadfully, poor 
 thing, for, you remember, she was stone 
 blind, Miss, which made it worse. So I 
 hurried in and I shook the curtains, 
 looked behind the bureau and under the 
 bed, and tried everywhere for whatever 
 might be hopping around, but could find 
 nothing and heard not a sound. While I 
 was there all was still. Then I went into 
 my room again, and left the door open, as 
 I thought Miss Lacy would feel more 
 comfortable about it, and I was hardly 
 in my bed when she called again and 
 screamed out with fear, for It was hopping 
 round the bed. She said I must go down 
 stairs and bring a candle. So I had to 
 go down-stairs to the pantry all alone 
 
88 &bo;pting an &banb0nefc -farm. 
 
 and get the candle. Then I searched as 
 before, but found nothing not a thing. 
 Well, my dear, I went into my room and 
 kept my candle lighted this time. The 
 third time she called me she was stand 
 ing on her pillow, shivering with fright, 
 and begged me to bring the light. It was 
 sad, because she was stone blind. She 
 told me how It went hopping around the 
 room, with its legs tied like. And after 
 looking once more and finding nothing, 
 she said I d have to sleep in the bed with 
 her and bring a chair near the bed and 
 put the lighted candle on it. For a long 
 time we kept awake, and watched and 
 listened, but nothing happened, nothing 
 appeared. We kept awake as long as we 
 could, but at last our eyes grew very 
 heavy, and the lady seemed to feel more 
 easy. So I snuffed out the candle. Out 
 It hopped and kept a jumping on one leg 
 like from one side to the other. We 
 were so much afraid we covered our 
 
89 
 
 faces; we dreaded to see It, so we hid 
 our eyes under the sheet, and she clung 
 on to me all shaking; she felt worse be 
 cause she was blind. 
 
 " We fell asleep at daylight, and when 
 I told Monk, the butler, he said it was a 
 corpse, sure a corpse whose legs had 
 been tied to keep them straight and the 
 cords had not been taken off, the feet not 
 being loosened. Why my own dear moth 
 er, that s dead many a year (Heaven bless 
 her departed spirit !) she would never tell 
 a word that was not true she saw a ghost 
 hopping in that way, tied-like, jumping 
 around a bed blue as a blue bag; just 
 after the third day she was buried, and 
 my mother (the Lord bless her soul !) told 
 me the sons went to her grave and loos 
 ened the cords and she never came back 
 any more. Isn t it awful ? And, bedad, 
 Miss, it s every word true. I can tell you 
 of a young man I knew who looked into 
 a window at midnight (after he had been 
 
90 Qtbojjting an Qlbanfcatub farm. 
 
 playing cards, Miss, gambling with the 
 other boys) and saw something awful 
 strange, and was turned by ghosts into a 
 shadow" 
 
 This seemed to be a thrilling theme, 
 such as Hawthorne would have been able 
 to weave into the weirdest of weird tales, 
 and I said, " Go on." 
 
 "Well, he used to go playing cards 
 about three miles from his home with a 
 lot of young men, for his mother wouldn t 
 have cards played in her house, and she 
 thought it was wicked, and begged him not 
 to play. It s a habit with the young men of 
 Ireland don t know as it s the same in 
 other countries and they play for a goose 
 or a chicken. They go to some vacant 
 house to get away from their fathers, 
 they re so against it at home. Why, my 
 brother-in-law used to go often to such a 
 house on the side of a country road. Each 
 man would in turn provide the candles to 
 play by, and as this house was said to be 
 
(Boosts. 91 
 
 haunted, bedad they had it all to them 
 selves. Well, this last night that ever 
 they played there it was Tom s own 
 brother that told me this just as they 
 were going to deal the cards, a tall gen 
 tleman came out from a room that had 
 been the kitchen. He walked right up to 
 them he was dressed in black cloth 
 clothes, and wore a high black hat and 
 came right between two of the men and 
 told them to deal out the cards. They 
 were too frightened even to speak, so the 
 stranger took the cards himself and dealt 
 around to each man. And afterward he 
 played with them ; then he looked at ev 
 ery man in turn and walked out of the 
 room. As soon as he cleared out of the 
 place, the men all went away as quick as 
 ever they could, and didn t stop to put 
 out the lights. Each man cleared with 
 himself and never stopped to look be 
 hind. And no one cared to play cards in 
 that house afterward any more. That 
 
92 Qtbojiting an Qlbanboneb .farm. 
 
 was Tom s own brother ; and now the 
 poor young man who was going home at 
 midnight saw a light in one of the houses 
 by the road, so he turned toward it, 
 thinking to light his pipe. Just before 
 knocking, he looked in at the window. 
 As soon as he peeped in the light went 
 out on him, and still he could see crowds 
 of people, as thick as grass, just as you 
 see em at a fair so thick they hadn t 
 room to stand and they kept swaying 
 back and forth, courtesying like. The 
 kitchen was full, and looking through a 
 door he saw a lot more of fine ladies and 
 gentlemen ; they were laughing and hav 
 ing great fun, running round the table 
 setting out cups and saucers, just as if 
 they were having a ball. Just then a big 
 side - board fell over with a great crash, 
 and all the fine people scampered away, 
 and all was dark. So he turned away on 
 his heel and was so frightened, his mother 
 said, he could hardly get home from fear, 
 
93 
 
 and he had three whole miles to go. 
 Next day he was thrashing corn in the 
 barn and something upset him and 
 pitched him head foremost across the 
 flail. He rose, and three times he was 
 pitched like that across the flail, so he 
 gave up and went home. His mother 
 asked him : Johnny, what is the matter 
 with you ? You do look very bad ! So 
 he up and told her what had happened to 
 him in the barn, and what he saw the 
 night before. And he took suddenly sick 
 and had to keep his bed for nine weeks, 
 and when he got up and was walking 
 around, he wasn t himself any more, and 
 the sister says to the mother: * Mother, 
 I m sure that it isn t Johnny that s there. 
 It s only his shadow, for when I look at 
 him, it isn t his features or face, but the 
 face of another thing. He used to be so 
 pleasant and cheerful, but now he looks 
 like quite another man. Mother, said 
 she, * we haven t Johnny at all. Soon he 
 
94 &fco:pting an &bcw&0nefc farm. 
 
 got a little stronger and went to the cap 
 ital town with corn. Several other men 
 went also to get their corn ground. They 
 were all coming home together a very 
 cold night, and the men got up and sat 
 on their sacks of corn. The other horses 
 walked on all right with them, but John 
 ny s horses wouldn t move, not one step 
 while he was on top of the load. Well, 
 my dear, he called for the rest to come 
 and help him to see if the horses would 
 go for them. But they would not move 
 one step, though they whipped them and 
 shouted at them to start on, for Johnny 
 he was as heavy as lead. And he had to 
 get down. Soon as he got down, the 
 horses seemed glad and went off on a 
 gallop after the rest of the train. So they 
 all went off together, and Johnny wan 
 dered away into the bogs. His friends 
 supposed, of course, he was coming on, 
 thought he was walking beside his load ; 
 the snow was falling down, and perhaps 
 
95 
 
 they were a little afraid. He was left 
 behind. They scoured the country for 
 him next day, and, bedad, they found him, 
 stiff dead, sitting against a fence. There s 
 where they found him. They brought 
 him on a door to his mother. Oh, it was 
 a sad thing to see to see her cry and 
 hear her mourn ! " 
 
 " And what more ? " I asked. 
 
 " That s all. He was waked and buried, 
 and that s what he got for playing cards ! 
 And that s all as true as ever could be 
 true, for it s myself knew the old mother, 
 and she told me it her very self, and she 
 cried many tears for her son." 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 DAILY DISTRACTIONS. 
 
 But the sheep shearing came, and the hay season 
 next, and then the harvest of small corn . . . then 
 the sweating of the apples, and the turning of the 
 cider mill and the stacking of the firewood, and 
 netting of the wood-cocks, and the springes to be 
 mended in the garden and by the hedgerows, where 
 the blackbirds hop to the molehills in the white Oc 
 tober mornings and gray birds come to look for 
 snails at the time when the sun is rising. It is won 
 derful how Time runs away when all these things, 
 and a great many others, come in to load him down 
 the hill, and prevent him from stopping to look about. 
 And I, for my part, can never conceive how people 
 who live in towns and cities, where neither lambs nor 
 birds are (except in some shop windows), nor growing 
 corn, nor meadow grass, nor even so much as a stick 
 to cut, or a stile to climb and sit down upon how 
 these poor folk get through their lives without being 
 utterly weary of them, and dying from pure indolence, 
 is a thing God only knows, if his mercy allows him 
 to think of it. LORNA DOONE. 
 
 A FARM-HOUSE looks on the outside like 
 a quiet place. No men are seen about, 
 
?Distractiona. 97 
 
 front windows are closely shaded, front 
 door locked. Go round to the back door ; 
 nobody seems to be at home. If by 
 chance you do find, after long bruising of 
 knuckles, that you have roused an inmate, 
 it is some withered, sad-faced old dame, 
 who is indifferent and hopelessly deaf, or 
 a bare-footed, stupid urchin, who stares 
 as if you had dropped from another 
 planet, and a cool " Dunno " is the sole 
 response to all inquiries. 
 
 All seems at a dead standstill. In 
 reality everything and everybody is going 
 at full speed, transpiring and perspiring 
 to such a degree that, like a swiftly whirl 
 ing top, it does not appear to move. 
 
 Friends think of me as not living, but 
 simply existing, and marvel that I can 
 endure such monotony. On the contrary, 
 I live in a constant state of excite 
 ment, hurry, and necessity for immediate 
 action. 
 
 The cows were continually getting out 
 
98 Qt&opting an Qtbaufconeir farm. 
 
 of pasture and into the corn ; the pigs, like 
 the chickens, evinced decided preference 
 for the garden. The horse would break 
 his halter and dart down the street, or, if 
 in pasture, would leap the barbed-wire 
 fence, at the risk of laming his legs for 
 life, and dash into a neighbor s yard where 
 children and babies were sunning on the 
 grass. 
 
 Rival butchers and bakers would drive 
 up simultaneously from different direc 
 tions and plead for patronage and instant 
 attention. 
 
 The vegetables must be gathered and 
 carried to market ; every animal was rav 
 enously hungry at all hours, and didn t 
 hesitate to speak of it. The magnificent 
 peacock would wander off two miles, 
 choosing the railroad track for his ram 
 bles, and loved to light on Si Evans s 
 barn ; then a boy must be detailed to re 
 cover the prize bird, said boy depending 
 on a reward. His modest-hued consort 
 
Distractions. 99 
 
 would seek the deep hedges back of a 
 distant swamp. 
 
 Friends would come from a distance to 
 surprise and cheer me in my lonely re 
 treat just at the time that the butter 
 must positively be made, while the flowers 
 were choking for water, smothered with 
 weeds, " pus ley," of course, pre-eminent. 
 Then a book agent would appear, blind, 
 but doubly persistent, with a five-dollar 
 illustrated volume recounting minutely 
 the Johnstown horror. And one of my 
 dogs would be apt at this crisis to pursue 
 and slay a chicken or poison himself with 
 fly-paper. Every laboring man for miles 
 around would come with an air of great 
 importance to confidentially warn me 
 against every other man that could be 
 employed, with the stereotyped phrase in 
 closing: "Well, whatever you do" (as if 
 I might be left to do anything) " don t 
 hire John Smallpate or Bill Storer. I ve 
 known him, man and boy, for thirty 
 
ioo QUropting an Qtbanbonefc .farm. 
 
 years ; you ll do well not to trust 
 him ! " 
 
 Yet these same men who had so villi- 
 fied each other could be seen nightly 
 lounging in front of the grocery, dis 
 cussing politics and spitting in sweet 
 unison. 
 
 The general animosity of my entire 
 family to each other caused constant in 
 terruptions. 
 
 " Sandy," the handsome setter, loathed 
 the pug, and tried to bite his neck in a 
 fatal way. He also chased the rabbits, 
 trod on young turkeys so that they were 
 no more, drove the cat out of the barn 
 and up a tree, barked madly at the cows, 
 enraging those placid animals, and doted 
 on frightening the horse. 
 
 The cat allowed mice to roam mer 
 rily through the grain bins, preferring 
 robins and sparrows, especially young 
 and happy mothers, to a proper diet ; was 
 fond of watching the chickens with wick- 
 
ftlailg UUstracli0n0. 
 
 ed, malicious, greedy, dangerous eyes, 
 and was always ready to make a sly 
 spring for my canaries. 
 
 The rabbits (pretty innocent little creat 
 ures I had thought them, as I gazed at 
 their representatives of white canton flan 
 nel, solidly stuffed, with such charming 
 eyes of pink beads) girded all my young 
 trees and killed them before I dreamed of 
 such mischief, nibbled at every tender 
 sprout, every swelling bud, were so agile 
 that they could not be captured, and be 
 came such a maddening nuisance that I 
 hired a boy to take them away. I fully 
 understand the recent excitement of the 
 Australians over the rabbit scourge which 
 threatened to devastate their land. 
 
 The relations were strained between 
 my cows ; mother and daughter of a noble 
 line ; they always fed at opposite corners 
 of the field, indulging in serious fights 
 when they met. 
 
 My doves ! I am almost ready to say 
 
 5TO5: 
 
 e 
 
 >/rx 
 
102 Qlbojitittg an Qtbanboneb ,farm. 
 
 that they were more annoying than all 
 the rest of my motley collection, picked 
 all seeds out of the ground faster than 
 they could be put in, so large spaces 
 sowed with rye lay bare all summer, and 
 ate most of the corn and grain that was 
 intended to fatten and stimulate my 
 fowls. 
 
 Doves are poetical and pleasing, pig 
 eons ditto in literature, and at a safe dis 
 tance from one s own barn. It s a pretty 
 sight at sunset on a summer s eve to see 
 them poising, wheeling, swirling, round a 
 neighbor s barn. Their rainbow hues 
 gleam brightly in the sun as they preen 
 their feathers or gently " coo-oo, I love 
 oo," on the ridge pole. I always longed 
 to own some, but now the illusion is past. 
 They have been admired and petted for 
 ages, consecrated as emblems of inno 
 cence and peace and sanctity, regarded 
 as almost sacred from the earliest an 
 tiquity. They have been idealized and 
 
iig ^Distractions. 103 
 
 praised from Noah to Anacreon, both in 
 clined to inebriety ! But in reality they 
 are a dirty, destructive, greedy lot, and 
 though fanciers sell them at high prices, 
 they only command twenty-five cents per 
 pair when sold for the market ! 
 
 The hens lost half their feathers, often 
 an eye, occasionally a life, in deadly 
 feuds. My spunky little bantam game 
 cock was always challenging one of my 
 monster roosters and laying him low, so 
 he had to be sent away. 
 
 John, my eccentric assistant, could 
 abide no possible rival, insulted every 
 man engaged to help him, occasionally in 
 dulging in a free fight after too frequent 
 visits to the cider barrels of my next 
 neighbor, so he had to follow the ban 
 tam. 
 
 Another distress was the constant calls 
 of natives with the most undesirable 
 things for me to buy ; two or three calls 
 daily for a long time. Boys with eager, 
 
104 Qlbopting an Qtban&anefc farm. 
 
 ingenuous faces bringing carrier pigeons 
 pretty creatures and I had been told 
 there was money in pigeons. I paid them 
 extortionate prices on account of extreme 
 ignorance ; and the birds, of course, flew 
 home as soon as released, to be bought 
 again by some gullible amateur. I had 
 omitted to secure the names and ad 
 dresses of these guileless lads. 
 
 A sandy - haired, lisping child with 
 chronic catarrh offered me a lot of pet 
 rats! 
 
 " I hear you like pets," she said. 
 " Well, I ve got some tame rats, a father 
 and mother and thirteen little ones, and 
 a mother with four. They re orful cun 
 ning. Hope you ll take em." 
 
 A big, red-faced, black-bearded, and 
 determined man drove one day into the 
 yard with an immense wagon, in which 
 was standing a stupid, vicious old goat, 
 and almost insisted on leaving it at a 
 most ridiculously high price. 
 
?Uistracti0n0. 105 
 
 " Heard that the woman that had come 
 to live here wanted most every animal 
 that Noah got into the ark ; was sure 
 she d like a goat." It was with consider 
 able difficulty that he could be induced 
 to take it away. 
 
 Dogs, dogs, dogs from mastiff to mon 
 grel, from St. Bernard to toy poodle 
 the yard really swarmed with them just 
 before the first of May, when dog taxes 
 must be paid ! 
 
 A crow that could talk, but rather ob 
 jectionably, was offered me. 
 
 A pert little boy, surrounded by his 
 equally pert mates, said, after coming 
 uninvited to look over my assortment: 
 " Got most everything, hain t ye? Got a 
 monkey ? " 
 
 Then his satellites all giggled. 
 
 " No, not yet. Will not you come in ? " 
 
 Second giggle, less hearty. 
 
 A superannuated clergyman walked 
 three miles and a quarter in a heavy rain, 
 
106 3tb0pting an Qtbanboneb farm. 
 
 minus umbrella, to bring me a large and 
 common pitcher, badly cracked and of 
 no original value ; heard I was collecting 
 old china. Then, after making a long 
 call, drew out a tiny package from his 
 vest pocket and offered for sale two time- 
 worn cheap rings taken from his mother s 
 dead hand. They were mere ghosts of 
 rings that had once meant so much of joy 
 or sorrow, pathetic souvenirs, one would 
 think, to a loving son. He would also 
 sell me his late father s old sermons for 
 a good sum ! 
 
 This reminded me of Sydney Smith s 
 remark to an old lady who was sorely 
 afflicted with insomnia : "Have you ever 
 tried one of my sermons ? " 
 
 Perhaps I have said enough to prove 
 that life in a bucolic solitude may be 
 something more varied than is generally 
 " Ellen don t let that old peddler come 
 into the house, say we want nothing, and 
 then tell the ladies I ll be down directly 
 
Distractions. 107 
 
 and, O Ellen, call Tom ! Those ducks are 
 devouring his new cabbage - plants and 
 one of the calves has got over the stone 
 wall and what ? 
 
 " He s gone to Dog Corner for the cow- 
 doctor." 
 
 Yes, more varied than is generally 
 supposed ! 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE PROSE OF NEW ENGLAND FARM LIFE. 
 
 A. life whose parlors have always been closed. 
 
 IK MARVEL. 
 
 Sunshine is tabooed in the front room of the house. 
 The " damp dignity" of the best-room has been well 
 described : " Musty smells, stiffness, angles, absence 
 of sunlight. What is there to talk about in a room 
 dark as the Domdaniel, except where one crack in a 
 reluctant shutter reveals a stand of wax flowers under 
 glass, and a dimly descried hostess who evidently 
 waits only your departure to extinguish that solitary 
 ray ? " 
 
 AT a recent auction I obtained twenty- 
 one volumes of State Agricultural Re 
 ports for seventeen cents ; and what I 
 read in them of the Advantages of Ru 
 ral Pursuits, The Dignity .pf Labor, 
 The Relation of Agriculture to Longev 
 ity and to Nations, and, above all, of the 
 
Prose of Neto nglano farm Cife. 109 
 
 Golden Egg, seem decidedly florid, un 
 practical, misleading, and very little per 
 manent popularity can be gained by such 
 self-interested buncombe from these elo 
 quent orators. 
 
 The idealized farmer, as he is depicted 
 by these white-handed rhetoricians who, 
 like John Paul, " would never lay hand to 
 a plow, unless said plow should actually 
 pursue him to a second story, and then 
 lay hands on it only to throw it out of 
 the window," and the phlegmatic, over 
 worked, horny-handed tillers of the soil 
 are no more alike than Fenimore Coop 
 er s handsome, romantic, noble, and im 
 pressive red man of the forest and the 
 actual Sioux or Apache, as regarded by 
 the cowboy of the West. 
 
 It s all work, with no play and no 
 proper pay, for Western competition now 
 prevents all chance of decent profits. 
 Little can be laid urj for old age, except 
 by the most painful economy and daily 
 
no ^botin an ^banboneb farm. 
 
 scrimping ; and how can the children con 
 sent to stay on, starving body and soul ? 
 That explains the 3,318 abandoned farms 
 in Maine at present. And the farmers 
 wives ! what monotonous, treadmill lives ! 
 Constant toil with no wages, no allow 
 ance, no pocket money, no vacations, no 
 pleasure trips to the city nearest them, 
 little of the pleasures of correspondence; 
 no time to write, unless a near relative is 
 dead or dying. Some one says that their 
 only chance for social life is in going to 
 some insane asylum ! There have been 
 four cases of suicide in farmers families 
 near me within eighteen months. 
 
 This does not apply to the fortunate 
 farmer who inherited money and is 
 shrewd enough to keep and increase it. 
 Nor to the market gardener, who raises 
 vegetables under glass ; nor to the own 
 ers of large nurseries. These do make a 
 good living, and are also able to save 
 something. 
 
J)ro0e of Nero (Knglanb farm Cife. 1 1 1 
 
 In general, it is all one steady rush of 
 work from March to November ; unceas 
 ing, uncomplaining activity for the barest 
 support, followed by three months of 
 hibernation and caring for the cattle. 
 Horace Greeley said : " If our most ener 
 getic farmers would abstract ten hours 
 each per week from their incessant drudg 
 ery and devote them to reading and re 
 flection in regard to their noble calling, 
 they would live to a better purpose and 
 bequeath better examples to their chil 
 dren." 
 
 It may have been true long years ago 
 that no shares, factory, bank, or railroad 
 paid better dividends than the plowshare, 
 but it is the veriest nonsense now. 
 
 Think of the New England climate in 
 summer. Rufus Choate describes it elo 
 quently : " Take the climate of New Eng 
 land in summer, hot to-day, cold to-mor 
 row, mercury at eighty degrees in the 
 shade in the morning, with a sultry wind 
 8 
 
ii2 Qtbopting an Slbanboneir farm. 
 
 southwest. In three hours more a sea 
 turn, wind at east, a thick fog from the 
 bottom of the ocean, and a fall of forty 
 degrees. Now so dry as to kill all the 
 beans in New Hampshire, then floods 
 carrying off all the dams and bridges on 
 the Penobscot and Androscoggin. Snow 
 in Portsmouth in July, and the next day 
 a man and a yoke of oxen killed by light 
 ning in Rhode Island. You would think 
 the world was coming to an end. But we 
 go along. Seed time and harvest never 
 fail. We have the early and the latter 
 rains ; the sixty days of hot corn weather 
 are pretty sure to be measured out to us ; 
 the Indian summer, with its bland south 
 winds and mitigated sunshine, brings all 
 up, and about the 25th of November, 
 being Thursday, a grateful people gath 
 er about the Thanksgiving board, with 
 hearts full of gratitude for the blessings 
 that have been vouchsafed to them." 
 Poets love to sing of the sympathy of 
 
JJrose of Nero <nglcm& -farm Cife. 113 
 
 Nature. I think she is decidedly at odds 
 with the farming interests of the country. 
 At any rate, her antipathy to me was 
 something intense and personal. That 
 mysterious stepmother of ours was really 
 riled by my experiments and determined 
 to circumvent every agricultural ambition. 
 
 She detailed a bug for every root, 
 worms to build nests on every tree, others 
 to devour every leaf, insects to attack 
 every flower, drought or deluge to ruin 
 the crops, grasshoppers to finish every 
 thing that was left. 
 
 Potato bugs swooped down on my 
 fields by tens of thousands, and when 
 somewhat thinned in ranks by my un 
 ceasing war, would be re-enforced from a 
 neighbor s fields, once actually fording 
 my lakelet to get to my precious potato 
 patch. The number and variety of de 
 vouring pests connected with each vege 
 table are alarming. Here are a few 
 connected closely with the homely cab- 
 
n4 Qlbopting an Qtbatrtroneb farm. 
 
 bage, as given by a noted helminthologist 
 under the head of " Cut-worms " : 
 
 "Granulated," " shagreened," "white," 
 "marked," "greasy," "glassy," "speck 
 led," " variegated," " wavy," " striped," 
 " harlequin," " imbricated," " tarnished." 
 The " snout beetle " is also a deadly foe. 
 
 To realize this horror, this worse than 
 Pharaoh plague, you must either try a 
 season of farming or peruse octavo vol 
 umes on Insects injurious to Vegetation, 
 fully illustrated. 
 
 In those you may gain a faint idea of 
 the "skippers," "stingers," "soothsayers," 
 "walking sticks or specters," "saw flies 
 and slugs," "boring caterpillars," "horn- 
 tailed wood wasps," etc., etc., etc., etc., 
 etc. a never-ending list. The average 
 absolute loss of the farmers of this coun 
 try from such pests is fully one million 
 dollars per annum. 
 
 Gail Hamilton said of her squashes : 
 
 " They appeared above-ground, large- 
 
flrose of Nero (England .farm ifc. 115 
 
 lobed and vigorous. Large and vigorous 
 appeared the bugs, all gleaming in green 
 and gold, like the wolf on the fold, and 
 stopped up all the stomata and ate up all 
 the parenchyma, till my squash - leaves 
 looked as if they had grown for the sole 
 purpose of illustrating net-veined organi 
 zations. A universal bug does not indi 
 cate a special want of skill in any one." 
 
 Not liking to crush the bug between 
 thumb and finger as advised, she tried 
 drowning them. She says: "The moment 
 they touched the water they all spread 
 unseen wings and flew away. I should 
 not have been much more surprised to see 
 Halicarnassus soaring over the ridge pole. 
 I had not the slightest idea they could fly " 
 
 Then the aphides ! Exhausters of 
 strength vine fretters plant destroyers ! 
 One aphis, often the progenitor of over 
 five thousand million aphides in a single 
 season. This seems understated, but I 
 accept it as the aphidavit of another 
 
n6 2Ur0jjting an Qlbanboneb farm. 
 
 noted helminthologist. I might have im 
 agined Nature had a special grudge 
 against me if I had not recalled Emer 
 son s experience. He says : " With brow 
 bent, with firm intent, I go musing in the 
 garden walk. I stoop to pick up a weed 
 that is choking the corn, find there were 
 two ; close behind is a third, and I reach 
 out my arm to a fourth ; behind that there 
 are four thousand and one ! 
 
 " Rose bugs and wasps appear best when 
 flying. I admired them most when flying 
 away from my garden." 
 
 Horace Greeley said that u No man who 
 harbors caterpillars has any moral right 
 to apples." But one sees whole orchards 
 destroyed in this way for lack of time to 
 attack such a big job. Farmers have 
 been unjustly attacked by city critics who 
 do not understand the situation. There 
 was much fine writing last year in regard 
 to the sin and shame of cutting down the 
 pretty, wild growth of shrubs, vines, and 
 
Prose of Nero (Englanb iFarm ife. 117 
 
 flowers along the wayside, so picturesque 
 to the summer tourist. The tangle of 
 wild grape, clematis, and woodbine is cer 
 tainly pretty, but underneath is sure to be 
 found a luxuriant growth of thistle, wild 
 carrot, silk weed, mullein, chickweed, tan 
 sy, and plantain, which, if allowed to seed 
 and disseminate themselves, would soon 
 ruin the best farms. There is a deadly 
 foe, an army of foes, hiding under these 
 luxuriant festoons and masses of cheerful 
 flowers. 
 
 Isn t it strange and sad and pitiful, that 
 it is the summer guest who alone enjoys 
 the delights of summering in the coun 
 try ? There is no time for rest, for recre 
 ation, for flowers, for outdoor pleasures, 
 for the average farmer and his family. 
 You seldom see any bright faces at the 
 windows, which are seldom opened only 
 a glimpse here and there of a sad, hag 
 gard creature, peering out for curosity. 
 Strange would it be to hear peals of 
 
n8 2tb0ptin an Qtbanboneb farm. 
 
 merry laughter; stranger still to see a 
 family enjoying a meal on the piazza or 
 a game on the grass. As for flowers, they 
 are valued no more than weeds ; the 
 names of the most common are unknown. 
 I asked in vain a dozen people last 
 summer, what that flower was called, 
 pointing to the ubiquitous Joe Rye weed 
 or pink motherwort. At last I asked one 
 man, who affected to know everything 
 
 " Oh, yes, I know it." 
 
 "What is it ?" I persisted. 
 
 " Well, I know it just as well, but can t 
 just now get the name out." A pause, 
 then, with great superiority : " I d rather 
 see a potato field in full bloom, than all 
 the flowers in the world." 
 
 Perhaps some of Tolstoi s disciples may 
 yet solve the problem of New England s 
 abandoned farms. He believes that ev 
 ery able-bodied man should labor with 
 his own hands and in " the sweat of his 
 brow " to produce his own living direct 
 
c oi N ctxj (nglanb farm ife. 119 
 
 from the soil. He dignifies agriculture 
 above all other means of earning a living, 
 and would have artificial employments 
 given up. "Back to the land," he cries; 
 and back he really goes, daily working 
 with the peasants. But tis a solemn, 
 almost tragical experience, not much bet 
 ter than the fate of the Siberian exile. 
 Rise at dawn ; work till dark ; eat go to 
 bed too tired to read a paper ; and no 
 money in it. 
 
 Let these once prosperous farms be 
 given up to Swedish colonies, hard work 
 ing and industrious, who can do better 
 here than in their own country and have 
 plenty of social life among themselves, or 
 let wealthy men purchase half a dozen of 
 these places to make a park, or two score 
 for a hunting ground or let unattached 
 women of middle age occupy them and 
 
 tf^"t* ** Q " 1 
 
 support themselves by raising poultry. 
 Men are making handsome incomes from 
 
 this business women can do the same. 
 
 Cfl^f 
 
 ** M 
 
 
120 &b0jjting an &banb0tteb farm. 
 
 The language of the poultry magazines, 
 by the way, is equally sentimental and 
 efflorescent with that of the speeches at 
 agricultural fairs, sufficiently so to sicken 
 one who has once accepted it as reliable, 
 as for instance : " The individual must be 
 very abnormal in his tastes if they can not 
 be catered to by our feathered tribe." 
 " To their owner they are a thing of 
 beauty and a joy forever. Their ways 
 are interesting, their language fascinat 
 ing, and their lives from the egg to the 
 mature fowl replete with constant sur 
 prises." * 
 
 "To simply watch them as they pass 
 from stage to stage of development fills 
 the mind of every sane person with pleas 
 ure." One poultry crank insists that each 
 hen must be so carefully studied that she 
 can be understood and managed as an 
 individual, and speaks of his hens hav- 
 
 * This clause is true. 
 
flrose of New (England .farm ife. 121 
 
 ing at times an "anxious nervous ex 
 pression ! " 
 
 " Yes, it is where the hens sing all the 
 day long in the barn-yard that throws off 
 the stiff ways of our modern civilization 
 
 and makes us feel that we are home and /"fi^ 
 
 u 
 
 can rest and play and grow young once 
 more. How many men and women have 
 regained lost health and spirits in keep 
 ing hens, in the excitement of finding and 
 gathering eggs ! " 
 
 "It is not the natural laying season 
 when snows lie deep on field and hill, 
 when the frost tingles in sparkling beads 
 from every twig, when the clear streams 
 bear up groups of merry skaters," etc. 
 
 After my pathetic experience with 
 chickens, who after a few days of downy 
 content grew ill, and gasped until they 
 gave up the ghost; ducklings, who pro 
 gressed finely for several weeks, then 
 turned over on their backs and flopped 
 helplessly unto the end ; or, surviving that 
 
122 Qtfcojtittj an Qlbanbotteb farm. 
 
 critical period, were found in the drink 
 ing trough, " drowned, dead, because they 
 couldn t keep their heads above water " ; 
 turkeys who flourished to a certain age, 
 then grew feeble and phantom-like and 
 faded out of life, I weary of gallinaceous 
 rhodomontade, and crave " pointers " for 
 my actual needs. 
 
 I still read " Crankin s " circulars with 
 a. thrill of enthusiasm because his facts 
 are so cheering. For instance, from his 
 latest : " We have some six thousand 
 ducklings out now, confined in yards 
 with wire netting eighteen inches high. 
 The first lot went to market May loth 
 and netted forty cents per pound. These 
 ducklings were ten weeks old and dressed 
 on an average eleven pounds per pair. 
 One pair dressed fourteen pounds." 
 Isn t that better than selling milk at two 
 and a half cents per quart ? And no 
 money can be made on vegetables unless 
 they are raised under glass in advance of 
 
prose of tfeto (Englano farm fife. 123 
 
 the season. I know, for did I not begin 
 with " pie plant," with which every mar 
 ket was glutted, at one cent per pound, 
 and try the entire list, with disgustingly 
 low prices, exposed to depressing com 
 parison and criticism ? When endeavor 
 ing to sell, one of the visiting butchers, 
 in reply to my petition that he would 
 buy some of my vegetables, said : " Well 
 now, Marm, you see just how it is; I ve 
 got more n I can sell now, and women 
 keep offering more all the way along. I 
 tell em I can t buy em, but I ll haul y em 
 off for ye if ye want to get rid of em! " 
 So much for market gardening at a dis 
 tance from city demands. 
 
 But ducks ! Sydney Smith, at the close 
 of his life, said he " had but one illusion 
 left, and that was the Archbishop of Can 
 terbury." I still believe in Crankin and 
 duck raising. Let me see: "One pair 
 dressed fourteen pounds, netted forty 
 cents per pound." I ll order one of 
 
124 &boptin an &banboneb farm. 
 
 Crankin s " Monarch " incubators and be 
 gin a poultry farm anew. 
 
 " Dido et dux" and so do Boston epi 
 cures. I ll sell at private sales, not for 
 hotels ! I used to imagine myself sup 
 plying one of the large hotels and saw 
 on the menu : 
 
 " Tame duck and apple sauce (from the 
 famous Breezy Meadows farm)." But 
 I inquired of one of the proprietors what 
 he would give, and "fifteen cents per 
 pound for poultry dressed and delivered " 
 gave me a combined attack of chills and 
 hysterics. 
 
 Think of my chickens, from those prize 
 hens (three dollars each) my chickens, 
 fed on eggs hard boiled, milk, Indian 
 meal, cracked corn, sun-flower seed, oats, 
 buckwheat, the best of bread, selling at 
 fifteen cents per pound, and I to pay ex 
 press charges! Is there, is there any 
 " money in hens ? " 
 
 To show how a child would revel in a 
 
Prose of New (Englanb farm Cife. 125 
 
 little rational enjoyment on a farm, read 
 this dear little poem of James Whitcomb 
 Riley s : 
 
 AT AUNTY S HOUSE. 
 
 One time when we s at aunty s house 
 
 Way in the country where 
 They s ist but woods and pigs and cows, 
 
 An all s outdoors and air ! 
 An orchurd swing ; an* churry trees, 
 
 An churries in em ! Yes, an these 
 Here red-head birds steal all they please 
 
 An tech em if you dare ! 
 Wy wunst, one time when we wuz there, 
 
 We et out on the porch ! 
 
 Wite where the cellar door wuz shut 
 
 The table wuz ; an I 
 Let aunty set by me an cut 
 
 My wittles up an pie. 
 Tuz awful funny ! I could see 
 
 The red heads in the churry tree ; 
 An* bee-hives, where you got to be 
 
 So keerful going by ; 
 An comp ny there an all ! An we 
 
 We et out on the torch ! 
 
 An I ist et p surves an things 
 
 At ma don t low me to 
 An chickun gizzurds (don t like wings 
 
 Like parunts does, do you ?) 
 
126 ^opting an &banb0tteb farm. 
 
 An all the time the wind blowed there 
 An I could feel it in my hair, 
 
 An ist smell clover ever where ! 
 An a old red head flew 
 
 Purt nigh wite over my high chair, 
 When we et out on the porch t 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE PASSING OF THE PEACOCKS. 
 
 I would rather look at a peacock than eat him. 
 The feathers of an angel and the voice of a devil. 
 
 THE story of this farm would not be 
 complete without a brief rehearsal of my 
 experiences, exciting, varied, and tragic, 
 resulting from the purchase of a magnifi 
 cent pair of peacocks. 
 
 My honest intention on leasing my 
 forty-dollars-a-year paradise was simply 
 to occupy the quaint old house for a sea 
 son or two as a relief from the usual 
 summer wanderings. I would plant noth 
 ing but a few hardy flowers of the old- 
 fashioned kind an economical and pro 
 longed picnic. In this way I could easily 
 save in three years sufficient funds to 
 make a grand tour du monde. 
 
 That was my plan! 
 
 
128 Qlbopting an Qtbanbonefc farm. 
 
 For some weeks I carried out this reso 
 lution, until an event occurred, which 
 changed the entire current of thought, 
 and transformed a quiet, rural retreat 
 into a scene of frantic activity and gigan 
 tic undertaking. 
 
 In the early summer I attended a 
 poultry show at Rooster, Mass., and, in 
 a moment of impulsive enthusiasm, was 
 so foolish as to pause and admire and 
 long for a prize peacock, until I was fair 
 ly and hopelessly hypnotized by its brill 
 iant plumage. 
 
 I reasoned: Anybody can keep hens, 
 " me and Crankin " can raise ducks, 
 geese thrive naturally with me, but a 
 peacock is a rare and glorious possession. 
 The proud scenes he is associated with 
 in mythology, history, and art rushed 
 through my mind with whirlwind rapidity 
 as I stood debating the question. The 
 favorite bird of Juno she called the me 
 tallic spots on its tail the eyes of Argus 
 
passing 0f tlje peacocks. 129 
 
 imported by Solomon to Palestine, essen 
 tially regal. Kings have used peacocks 
 as their crests, have worn crowns of their 
 feathers. Queens and princesses have 
 flirted gorgeous peacock fans; the pav- 
 an, a favorite dance in the days of Louis 
 le Grand, imitated its stately step. In 
 the days of chivalry the most solemn 
 oath was taken on the peacock s body, 
 roasted whole and adorned with its gay 
 feathers, as Shallow swore " by cock and 
 pie." I saw the fairest of all the fair 
 dames at a grand mediaeval banquet 
 proudly bearing the bird to the table. 
 The woman who hesitates is lost. I 
 bought the pair, and ordered them boxed 
 for "Breezy Meadows." 
 
 On the arrival of the royal pair at my 
 umble home, all its surroundings be 
 gan to lose the charm of rustic sim 
 plicity, and appear shabby, inappropri 
 ate, and unendurable. It became evi 
 dent that the entire place must be raised, 
 
i3 Qtbopting an Qtbanboneb -farm. 
 
 and at once, to the level of those pea 
 cocks. 
 
 The house and barn were painted (co 
 lonial yellow) without a moment s delay. 
 An ornamental piazza was added, all the 
 paths were broadened and graveled, and 
 even terraces were dreamed of, as I re 
 called the terraces where Lord Beacons- 
 field s peacocks used to sun themselves 
 and display their beauties Queen Vic 
 toria now has a screen made of their 
 feathers. 
 
 My expensive pets felt their degrada 
 tion in spite of my best efforts and deter 
 mined to sever their connection with such 
 a plebeian place. 
 
 Beauty (I ought to have called him Ab 
 salom or Alcibiades), as soon as let out of 
 his traveling box, displayed to an admir 
 ing crowd a tail so long it might be 
 called a " serial," gave one contemptuous 
 glance at the premises, and departed so 
 rapidly, by running and occasional flights, 
 
passing of tlje peacocks. 131 
 
 that three men and a boy were unable 
 to catch up with him for several hours. 
 Belle was not allowed her liberty, as we 
 saw more trouble ahead. A large yard, 
 inclosed top and sides with wire netting, 
 at last restrained their roving ambition. 
 But they were not happy. Peacocks dis 
 dain a " roost " and seek the top of some 
 tall tree ; they are also rovers by nature 
 and hate confinement. They pined and 
 failed, and seemed slowly dying ; so I 
 had to let them out. Total cost of pea 
 cock hunts by the boys of the village, 
 $11.33. I found that Beauty was happy 
 only when admiring himself, or deep in 
 mischief. His chief delight was to mount 
 the stone wall, and utter his raucous note, 
 again and again, as a carriage passed, 
 often scaring the horses into dangerous 
 antics, and causing severe, if not profane 
 criticism. Or he would steal slyly into a 
 neighbor s barn and kill half a dozen 
 chickens at a time. He was awake every 
 
i3 2 Qlbopting an Qlbanboneb .farm. 
 
 morning by four o clock, and would an 
 nounce the glories of the coming dawn 
 by a series of ear-splitting notes, disturb 
 ing not only all my guests, but the va 
 rious families within range, until com 
 plaints and petitions were sent in. He 
 became a nuisance but how could he be 
 muzzled ? 
 
 And he was so gloriously handsome ! 
 Visitors from town would come expressly 
 to see him. School children would troop 
 into my yard on Saturday afternoons, "to 
 see the peacock spread his tail," which 
 he often capriciously refused to do. As 
 soon as they departed, somewhat dis 
 appointed in "my great moral show," 
 Beauty would go to a large window on 
 the ground floor of the barn and parade 
 up and down, displaying his beauties for 
 his own gratification. At last he fancied 
 he saw a rival in this brilliant, irridescent 
 reflection and pecked fiercely at the glass, 
 breaking several panes. 
 
passing of ttye peacocks. 133 
 
 Utterly selfish, he would keep all dainty 
 bits for himself, leaving the scraps for his 
 devoted mate, who would wait meekly to 
 eat what he chose to leave. She made 
 up for this wifely self-abnegation by 
 frequenting the hen houses. She would 
 watch patiently by the side of a hen on 
 her nest, and as soon as an egg was de 
 posited, would remove it for her lunch 
 eon. She liked raw eggs, and six were 
 her usual limit. 
 
 There is a deal of something closely 
 akin to human nature in barn-yard fowls. 
 It was irresistibly ludicrous to see the 
 peacock strutting about in the sunshine, 
 his tail expanded in fullest glory, making 
 a curious rattle of triumph as he paraded, 
 while my large white Holland turkey 
 gobbler, who had been molting severely 
 and was almost denuded as to tail feath 
 ers, would attempt to emulate his display, 
 and would follow him closely, his wattles 
 swelling and reddening with fancied sue- 
 
i34 Qtb opting an Qlbanboneo farm. 
 
 cess, making all this fuss about what had 
 been a fine array, but now was reduced 
 to five scrubby, ragged, very dirty rem 
 nants of feathers. He fancied himself 
 equally fine, and was therefore equally 
 happy. 
 
 Next came the molting period. 
 
 Pliny said long ago of the peacock : 
 " When he hath lost his taile, he hath no 
 delight to come abroad," but I knew 
 nothing of this peculiarity, supposing 
 that a peacock s tail, once grown, was a 
 permanent ornament. On the contrary, 
 if a peacock should live one hundred 
 and twenty years (and his longevity is 
 something phenomenal) he would have 
 one hundred and seventeen new and in 
 teresting tails enough to start a circulat 
 ing library. Yes, Beauty s pride and mine 
 had a sad fall as one by one the long 
 plumes were dropped in road and field 
 and garden. He should have been caught 
 and confined, and the feathers, all loose 
 
STlje passing of ilje JJeacocke. 135 
 
 at once, should have been pulled out at 
 one big pull and saved intact for fans 
 and dust brushes, and adornment of mir 
 rors and fire-places. Soon every one was 
 gone, and the mortified creature now hid 
 away in the corn, and behind shrubbery, 
 disappearing entirely from view, save as 
 hunger necessitated a brief emerging. 
 
 This tailless absentee was not what I 
 had bought as the champion prize winner. 
 And Belle, after laying four eggs, refused 
 to set. But I put them under a turkey, 
 and, to console myself and re-enforce my 
 position as an owner of peacocks, I began 
 to study peacock lore and literature. I 
 read once more of the throne of the great 
 est of all the moguls at Delhi, India. 
 
 " The under part of the canopy is em 
 broidered with pearls and diamonds, with 
 a fringe of pearls round about. On the 
 top of the canopy, which is made like an 
 arch with four panes, stands a peacock 
 with his tail spread, consisting all of sap- 
 
i3 6 2tb opting an Qlbanboneb .farm. 
 
 phires and other proper-colored stones; 
 the body is of beaten gold enchased with 
 several jewels, and a great ruby upon 
 his breast, at which hangs a pearl that 
 weighs fifty carats. On each side of the 
 peacock stand two nosegays as high as 
 the bird, consisting of several sorts of 
 flowers, all of beaten gold enameled. 
 When the king seats himself upon the 
 throne, there is a transparent jewel with 
 a diamond appendant, of eighty or nine 
 ty carats, encompassed with rubies and 
 emeralds, so hung that it is always in his 
 eye. The twelve pillars also that support 
 the canopy are set with rows of fair 
 pearls, round, and of an excellent water, 
 that weigh from six to ten carats apiece. 
 At the distance of four feet upon each 
 side of the throne are placed two para 
 sols or umbrellas, the handles whereof 
 are about eight feet high, covered with 
 diamonds ; the parasols themselves are of 
 crimson velvet, embroidered and stringed 
 
passing of tlje JJeacacks. 137 
 
 with pearls." This is the famous throne 
 which Tamerlane began and Shah Jahan 
 finished, which is really reported to have 
 cost a hundred and sixty million five hun 
 dred thousand livres (thirty-two million 
 one hundred thousand dollars). 
 
 I also gloated over the description of 
 that famous London dining-room, known 
 to the art world as the " Peacock Room," 
 designed by Whistler. Panels to the 
 right and left represent peacocks with 
 their tails spread fan-wise, advancing in 
 perspective toward the spectator, one be 
 hind the other, the peacocks in gold and 
 the ground in blue. 
 
 I could not go so extensively into inte 
 rior decoration, and my mania for mak 
 ing the outside of the house and the 
 grounds highly decorative had received 
 a severe lesson in the verdict, overheard 
 by me, as I stood in the garden, made by 
 a gawky country couple who were out for 
 a Sunday drive. 
 
an Qtbanboneb farm. 
 
 As Warner once said to me, " young love 
 in the country is a very solemn thing," 
 and this shy, serious pair slowed up as 
 they passed, to see my place. The piaz 
 za was gay with hanging baskets, vines, 
 strings of beads and bells, lanterns of all 
 hues; there were tables, little and big, 
 and lounging chairs and a hammock and 
 two canaries. The brightest geraniums 
 blossomed in small beds through the 
 grass, and several long flower beds were 
 one brilliant mass of bloom, while giant 
 sun-flowers reared their golden heads the 
 entire length of the farm. 
 
 It was gay, but I had hoped to please 
 Beauty. 
 
 " What is that ? " said the girl, straining 
 her head out of the carriage. 
 
 " Don t know," said the youth, " guess 
 it s a store." 
 
 The girl scrutinized the scene as a 
 whole, and said decisively : 
 
 " No, taint, Bill it s a saloon ! " 
 
l)e passing of tfye JJeacocks. 139 
 
 That was a cruel blow ! I forgot my 
 flowers, walked in slowly and sadly and 
 carried in two lanterns to store in the 
 shed chamber. I also resolved to have 
 no more flower beds in front of the 
 house, star shaped or diamond they 
 must all be sodded over. 
 
 That opinion of my earnest efforts to 
 effect a renaissance at Gooseville to 
 show how a happy farm home should 
 look to the passer-by in short, my 
 struggle to " live up to " the peacocks 
 revealed, as does a lightning flash on a 
 dark night, much that I had not per 
 ceived. I had made as great a mistake 
 as the farmer who abjures flowers and 
 despises "fixin up." 
 
 The pendulum of emotion swung as far 
 back, and I almost disliked the innocent 
 cause of my decorative folly. I began to 
 look over my accounts, to study my 
 check books, to do some big sums in ad 
 dition, and it made me even more de- 
 
 
i4 QUropting an &banbone& .farm. 
 
 pressed. Result of these mental exercises 
 as follows : Rent, $40 per year ; incidental 
 expenses to date, $5,713.85. Was there 
 any good in this silly investment of 
 mine ? Well, if it came to the very worst, 
 I could kill the couple and have a rare 
 dish. Yet Horace did not think its flesh 
 equal to an ordinary chicken. He wrote: 
 
 I shall ne er prevail 
 
 To make our men of taste a pullet choose, 
 And the gay peacock with its train refuse. 
 For the rare bird at mighty price is sold, 
 And lo ! what wonders from its tail unfold ! 
 But can these whims a higher gusto raise 
 Unless you eat the plumage that you praise ? 
 Or do its glories when tis boiled remain? 
 No ; tis the unequaled beauty of its train, 
 Deludes your eye and charms you to the feast, 
 For hens and peacocks are alike in taste. 
 
 Then peacocks have been made useful 
 in a medicinal way. The doctors once 
 prescribed peacock broth for pleurisy, 
 peacocks tongues for epilepsy, peacocks 
 fat for colic, peacocks galls for weak 
 eyes, peahens eggs for gout. 
 
l)c passing of tlje peacocks. 141 
 
 It is always darkest just before dawn, 
 
 and only a week from that humiliating 
 
 x Yv-A 
 
 Sunday episode I was called ^by my gar- 
 denerjto look at the dearest little brown 
 something that was darting about in the 
 poultry yard. It was a baby peacock, 
 only one day old. He got out of the nest 
 in some way, and preferred to take care 
 
 of himself. How independent, how capti- ( ^f 
 
 ^ 
 vating he was ! As not one other egg 
 
 had hatched, he was lamentably, des 
 perately alone, with dangers on every 
 side, " homeless and orphanless." Some 
 thing on that Sabbath morning recalled 
 Melchizedec, the priest without father 
 or mother, of royal descent, and of great 
 length of days. Earnestly hoping for 
 longevity for this feathered mite of 
 princely birth, I called him " Melchizedec." 
 I caught him and was in his toils. 
 He was a tiny tyrant ; I was but a slave, 
 an attendant, a nurse, a night-watcher. 
 Completely under his claw ! 
 
142 Qlbopting an QUwnl0tte& farm. 
 
 No more work, no more leisure, no 
 more music or tennis ; my life career, my 
 sphere, was definitely settled. I was Kiz- 
 zie s attendant nothing more. People 
 have cared for rather odd pets, as the 
 leeches tamed and trained by Lord Ers- 
 kine ; others have been deeply interested 
 in toads, crickets, mice, lizards, alliga 
 tors, tortoises, and monkeys. Wolsey was 
 on familiar terms with a venerable carp ; 
 Clive owned a pet tortoise; Sir John 
 Lubbock contrived to win the affections 
 of a Syrian wasp ; Charles Dudley War 
 ner devoted an entire article in the At 
 lantic Monthly to the praises of his cat 
 Calvin ; but did you ever hear of a pea 
 cock as a household pet ? 
 
 As it is the correct thing now to lie 
 down all of a summer afternoon, hidden 
 by trees, and closely watch every move 
 ment of a pair of little birds, or spend 
 hours by a frog pond studying the slug 
 gish life there, and as mothers are 
 
&l)e passing of tfye peacocks. 143 
 
 urged by scientific students to record 
 daily the development of their infants 
 in each apparently unimportant matter, 
 I think I may be excused for a brief 
 sketch of my charge, for no mother 
 ever had a child so precocious, so wise, 
 so willful, so affectionate, so persistent, 
 as Kizzie at the same age. Before he 
 was three days old, he would follow me 
 like a dog up and down stairs and all 
 over the house, walk behind me as I 
 strolled about the grounds, and when 
 tired, he would cry and " peep, weep " 
 for me to sit down. Then he would 
 beg to be taken on my lap, thence he 
 would proceed to my arm, then my 
 neck, where he would peck and scream 
 and flutter, determined to nestle there 
 for a nap. My solicitude increased as 
 he lived on, and I hoped to " raise " 
 him. He literally demanded every mo 
 ment of my time, my entire attention 
 
 during the day, and, alas ! at night 
 10 
 
144 Ql&opting an Slbanboneb ,farm. 
 
 also, until I seemed to be living a tragic 
 farce ! 
 
 If put down on carpet or matting, he 
 at once began to pick up everything he 
 could spy on the floor, and never before 
 did I realize how much could be found 
 there. I had a dressmaker in the house, 
 and Kizzie was always going for a dead 
 ly danger here a pin, there a needle, 
 just a step away a tack or a bit of 
 thread or a bead of jet. 
 
 Outdoors it was even worse. With 
 two bird dogs ready for anything but 
 birds, the pug that had already devoured 
 all that had come to me of my expen 
 sive importations, a neighbor s cat often 
 stealing over to hunt for her dinner, a 
 crisis seemed imminent every minute. 
 Even his own father would destroy him 
 if they met, as the peacock allows no 
 possible rival. And Kizzie kept so close 
 to my heels that I hardly dared step. If 
 my days were distracting, the nights 
 
passing of tlje JJeacacks. 145 
 
 were inexpressibly awful. I supposed he 
 would be glad to go to sleep in a natural 
 way after a busy day. No, indeed ! He 
 would not stay in box or basket, or any 
 where but cradled close in my neck. 
 There he wished to remain, twittering 
 happily, giving now and then a sweet, 
 little, tremulous trill, indicative of con 
 tent, warmth, and drowsiness ; if I dared 
 to move ever so little, showing by a 
 sharp scratch from his claws that he pre 
 ferred absolute quiet. One night, when 
 all worn out, I rose and put him in a 
 hat box and covered it closely, but his 
 piercing cries of distress and anger pre 
 vented the briefest nap, reminding me of 
 the old man who said, " Yes, it s pretty 
 dangerous livin anywheres." I was so 
 afraid of hurting him that I scarcely 
 dared move. Each night we had a pro 
 longed battle, but he never gave in for 
 one instant until he could roost on my 
 outstretched finger or just under my chin. 
 
146 Qlbopting an Qtbanboneb .farm. 
 
 Then he would settle down, the conflict 
 over, he as usual the victor, and the 
 sweet little lullaby would begin. 
 
 One night I rose hastily to close the 
 windows in a sudden shower. Kizzie 
 wakened promptly, and actually followed 
 me out of the room and down-stairs. 
 Alas ! it was not far from his breakfast 
 hour, for he preferred his first meal at 
 four o clock A. M. You see how he in* 
 fluenced me to rise early and take plenty 
 of exercise. 
 
 I once heard of a wealthy Frenchman, 
 nervous and dyspeptic, who was ordered 
 by his eccentric physician to buy a Bar- 
 bary ostrich and imitate him as well as 
 care for him. And he was quickly cured ! 
 
 On the other hand, it is said that ani 
 mals and birds grow to be like those who 
 train and pet them. Christopher North 
 (John Wilson) used to carry a sparrow in 
 his coat pocket. And his friends averred 
 that the bird grew so large and impress- 
 
!)e {tossing of ttye peacocks. 147 
 
 ive that it seemed to be changing into an 
 eagle. 
 
 But Kizzie was the stronger influence. 
 I really grew afraid of him, as he liked 
 to watch my eyes, and once picked at 
 them, as he always picked at any shining 
 bit. 
 
 What respect I now feel for a sober, 
 steady - going, successful old hen, who 
 raises brood after brood of downy dar 
 lings without mishaps ! Her instinct is 
 an inspiration. Kizzie liked to perch on 
 my finger and catch flies for his dinner. 
 How solemn, wise, and bewitching he did 
 look as he snapped at and swallowed fif 
 teen flies, uttering all the time a satisfied 
 little note, quite distinct from his musical 
 slumber song ! 
 
 How he enjoyed lying on one side, 
 stretched out at full length, to bask in 
 the sun, a miniature copy of his magnifi 
 cent father ! Very careful was he of his 
 personal appearance, pruning and preen- 
 
148 &b0pting an ^bcmbanefc farm. 
 
 ing his pretty feathers many times each 
 day, paying special attention to his tail 
 not more than an inch long but what a 
 prophecy of the future ! As mothers care 
 most for the most troublesome child, so I 
 grew daily more fond of cute little Kiz- 
 zie, more anxious that he should live. 
 
 I could talk all day of his funny ways, 
 of his fondness for me, of his daily in 
 creasing intelligence, of his hair-breadth 
 escapes, etc. 
 
 The old story the dear gazelle expe 
 rience came all too soon. 
 
 Completely worn out with my constant 
 vigils, I intrusted him for one night to a 
 friend who assured me that she was a 
 most quiet sleeper, and that he could rest 
 safely on her fingers. I was too tired to 
 say no. 
 
 She came to me at daybreak, with poor 
 Kizzie dead in her hands. He died like 
 Desdemona, smothered with pillows. All 
 I can do in his honor has been done by 
 
JJassing of tl)e JJeacocks. 149 
 
 this inadequate recital of his charms and 
 his capacity. After a few days of sincere 
 grief I reflected philosophically that if he 
 had not passed away I must have gone 
 soon, and naturally felt it preferable that 
 I should be the survivor. 
 
 A skillful taxidermist has preserved as 
 much of Kizzie as possible for me, and 
 he now adorns the parlor mantel, a weak, 
 mute reminder of three weeks of anxiety. 
 
 And his parents 
 
 The peahen died suddenly and mys 
 teriously. There was no apparent reason 
 for her demise, but the autopsy, which 
 revealed a large and irregular fragment 
 of window glass lodged in her gizzard, 
 proved that she was a victim of Beau 
 ty s vanity. A friend who was pres 
 ent said, as he tenderly held the glass 
 between thumb and finger : " It is now easy 
 to see through the cause of her death; 
 under the circumstances, it would be idle 
 to speak of it as pane-less ! " Beauty 
 
150 Qlfcopting an OVbanboneb farm. 
 
 had never seemed very devoted to her, 
 but he mourned her long and sincerely. 
 Now that she had gone he appreciated 
 her meek adoration, her altruistic devo 
 tion. 
 
 Another touch like human nature. 
 
 And when, after a decent period of 
 mourning, another spouse was secured 
 for him he refused to notice her and 
 wandered solitary and sad to a neigh 
 bor s fields. The new madam was not 
 allowed to share the high roost on the 
 elm. She was obliged to seek a less ele 
 vated and airy dormitory. His voice, 
 always distressingly harsh, was now so 
 awful that it was fascinating. The notes 
 seemed cracked by grief or illness. At 
 last, growing feebler, he succumbed to 
 some wasting malady and no longer 
 strutted about in brilliant pre-eminence 
 or came to the piazza calling imperiously 
 for dainties, but rested for hours in some 
 quiet corner. The physician who was 
 
{tossing of tlje peacocks. 151 
 
 called in prescribed for his liver. He 
 showed symptoms of poisoning, and I be 
 gan to fear that in his visit to a neigh 
 bor s potato fields he had indulged in 
 Paris green, possibly with suicidal intent. 
 There was something heroic in his way 
 of dying. No moans, no cries ; just a 
 dignified endurance. From the western 
 window of the shed chamber where he 
 lay he could see the multitude of fowls 
 below, in the yards where he had so 
 lately reigned supreme. Occasionally, 
 with a heroic effort, he would get on his 
 legs and gaze wistfully on the lively 
 crowd so unmindful of his wretchedness, 
 then sink back exhausted, reminding me 
 of some grand old monarch, statesman, 
 or warrior looking for the last time on 
 the scenes of his former triumphs. I 
 should have named him Socrates. At 
 last he was carried to a cool resting 
 place in the deep grass, covered with pink 
 mosquito netting, and one kind friend 
 
152 Qibopting an Qlbcmboneb farm. 
 
 after another fanned him and watched 
 over his last moments. After he was 
 really dead, and Tom with tears rolling 
 down his face carried him tenderly away, 
 I woke from my ambitious dream and 
 felt verily guilty of aviscide. 
 
 But for my vainglorious ambition 
 Beauty would doubtless be alive and 
 resplendent ; his consort, modest hued 
 and devoted, at his side, and my 
 bank account would have a better show 
 ing. 
 
 There is a motto as follows, " Let him 
 keep peacock to himself," derived in this 
 way : 
 
 When George III had partly recovered 
 from one of his attacks, his ministers got 
 him to read the king s speech, but he 
 ended every sentence with the word " pea 
 cock." 
 
 The minister who drilled him said that 
 " peacock " was an excellent word for 
 ending a sentence, only kings should not 
 
passing of tlje peacocks. 153 
 
 let subjects hear it, but should whisper it 
 softly. 
 
 The result was a perfect success; the 
 pause at the close of each sentence had 
 such a fine elocutionary effect. 
 
 In future, when longing to indulge in 
 some new display, yield to another temp 
 tation, let me whisper " peacock " and be 
 saved. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 LOOKING BACK. 
 
 Then you seriously suppose, doctor, that garden 
 ing is good for the constitution ? 
 
 I do. For kings, lords, and commons. Grow 
 your own cabbages. Sow your own turnips, and if 
 you wish for a gray head, cultivate carrots. 
 
 THOMAS HOOD. 
 
 CONCEIT is not encouraged in the coun 
 try. Your level is decided for you, and 
 the public opinion is soon reported as 
 something you should know. 
 
 As a witty spinster once remarked : 
 " It s no use to fib about your age in 
 your native village. Some old woman 
 always had a calf born the same night 
 you were ! " 
 
 Jake Corey was refreshingly frank. 
 He would give me a quizzical look, shift 
 his quid, and begin : 
 
Cooking Back. 155 
 
 " Spent a sight o money on hens, 
 hain t ye ? Wall, by next year I guess 
 you ll find out whether ye want to quit 
 foolin with hens or not. Now, my hens 
 doan t git no condition powder, nor sun 
 flower seeds, nor no such nonsense, and I 
 ain t got no bone cutter nor fancy fount 
 ains for em; but I let em scratch for 
 themselves and have their liberty, and 
 mine look full better n your n. I ll give 
 ye one p int. You could save a lot by en- 
 gagin an old hoss that s got to be killed. 
 I m allers looking round in the fall of the 
 year for some old critter just ready to 
 drop. Wait till cold weather, and then, 
 when he s killed, hang half of him up in 
 the hen house and see how they ll pick at 
 it. It s the best feed going for hens, and 
 makes em lay right along. Doan t cost 
 nothin either." 
 
 I had been asked to give a lecture in a 
 neighboring town, and, to change the 
 subject, inquired if he thought many 
 
156 Qlbopting an Qlbanboneb farm. 
 
 would attend. Jake looked rather blank, 
 took off his cap, scratched his head, and 
 then said : 
 
 " I dunno. Ef you was a Beecher or a 
 Gough you could fill the hall, or may be 
 ef your more known like, and would talk 
 to em free, you might git em, or if you s 
 going to sing or dress up to make em 
 larf ; but as tis, I dunno." After the ef 
 fort was over I tried to sound him as to 
 my success. He was unusually reticent, 
 and would only say : " Wall, the only 
 man I heard speak on t, said twas differ 
 ent from anything he ever heard." This 
 reminded me of a capital story told me 
 by an old family doctor many years ago. 
 It was that sort of anecdote now out of 
 fashion with raconteurs a long preamble, 
 many details, a gradual increase of inter 
 est, and a vivid climax, and when told by 
 a sick bed would sometimes weary the 
 patient. A man not especially well 
 known had given a lecture in a New 
 
Cooking J3ack. 157 
 
 Hampshire town without rousing much 
 enthusiasm in his audience, and as he 
 rode away on the top of the stage coach 
 next morning he tried to get some sort 
 of opinion from Jim Barker, the driver. 
 After pumping in vain for a compliment 
 the gentleman inquired : " Did you hear 
 nothing about my lecture from any of 
 the people ? I should like very much to 
 get some idea of how it was received." 
 
 "Wall, no, stranger, I can t say as I 
 heerd much. I guess the folks was purty 
 well pleased. No one seemed to be ag in 
 it but Square Lothrop." 
 
 " And may I ask what he said ? " 
 "Wall, I wouldn t mind it, if I se you, 
 what he said. He says just what he 
 thinks right out with it, no matter who s 
 hurt and he usually gets the gist on t. 
 But I wouldn t mind what he said, the 
 public was purty generally pleased." 
 And the long whip lash cracks and Jim 
 shouts, " Get an, Dandy." 
 
158 QVbopting an Qlbanboneb .farm. 
 
 "Yes," persisted the tortured man; 
 " but I do want very much to know what 
 Squire Lothrop s opinion was." 
 
 " Now, stranger, I wouldn t think any 
 more about the Square. He s got good 
 common sense and allers hits the nail on 
 the head, but as I said, you pleased em 
 fust rate." 
 
 " Yes, but I must know what Squire 
 Lothrop did say." 
 
 "Wall, if you will have it, he did say 
 (and he s apt to get the gist on t) he did- 
 say that he thought twas awful shatter ! " 
 
 Many epigrammatic sayings come back 
 to me, and one is too good to be omitted. 
 An old woman was fiercely criticising a 
 neighbor and ended in this way : " Folks 
 that pretend to be somebody, and don t 
 act like nobody, ain t anybody ! " 
 
 Another woman reminded me of Mrs. 
 Partington. She told blood-curdling tales 
 of the positive reappearance of departed 
 spirits, and when I said, " Do you really 
 
Cooking Back. 159 
 
 believe all this ? " she replied, " Indeed, I 
 do, and yet I m not an imaginary woman ! " 
 Her dog was provoked into a conflict 
 with my setters, and she exclaimed : " Why, 
 I never saw him so completely ennervated" 
 
 Then the dear old lady who said she 
 was a free thinker and wasn t ashamed of 
 ; t; guessed she knew as much as the 
 minister bout this world or the next; 
 liked nothing better than to set down 
 Sunday afternoons after she d fed her 
 hens and read Ingersoll. "What books 
 of his have you ? " I asked. 
 
 She handed me a small paper-bound 
 volume which did not look like any of 
 " Bob s " productions. It was a Guide 
 Book through Picturesque Vermont by 
 Ernest Ingersoll ! 
 
 And I must not omit the queer sayings 
 of a simple - hearted hired man on a 
 friend s farm. 
 
 Oh, for a photo of him as I saw him one 
 
 cold, a ramy morning tending Jason Kib- 
 ii 
 
160 Qlb0;ptittg an Qtban&cmeb farm. 
 
 by s dozen cows. He had on a rubber 
 coat and cap, but his trouser legs were 
 rolled above the knee and he was barefoot. 
 " Hannibal," I shouted, " you ll take cold 
 with your feet in that wet grass ! " 
 
 "Gueth not, Marm," he lisped back 
 cheerily. " I never cared for shooth my- 
 thelf." 
 
 He was always shouting across the way 
 to inquire if " thith wath hot enough or 
 cold enough to thute me? " As if I had 
 expressed a strong desire for phenomenal 
 extremes of temperature. One morning 
 he suddenly departed. I met him trudg 
 ing along with three hats jammed on to 
 his head and a rubber coat under his arm, 
 for twas a fine day. 
 
 " Why, Hanny ! " I exclaimed, " where 
 are you going in such haste ? " 
 
 " Mithter Kibby told me to go to Hali 
 fax, and I m going ! " 
 
 Next, the man who was anxious to go 
 into partnership with me. He would 
 
Cooking Sack. 161 
 
 work my farm at halves, or I could buy 
 his farm, cranberry bog, and woodland, 
 and he would live right on there and run 
 that place at halves ; urged me to buy 
 twelve or fourteen cows cheap in the fall 
 and start a milk route, he to be the active 
 partner ; then he had a chance to buy a 
 lot of " essences " cheap, and if I d pur 
 chase a peddling-wagon, he d put in his 
 old horse, and we d go halves on that 
 business, or I could buy up a lot of calves 
 or young pigs and he d feed em and we d 
 go halves. 
 
 But I will not take you through my 
 entire picture-gallery, as I have two 
 good stories to tell you before saying 
 good-by. 
 
 Depressing remarks have reached me 
 about my " lakelet," which at first was 
 ridiculed by every one. The struggle of 
 evolution from the " spring hole " was se 
 vere and protracted. Experts were sum 
 moned, their estimates of cost ranging 
 
 
1 62 2U>0j3tittg an Qlbanboneb fatm- 
 
 from four hundred to one thousand dol 
 lars, and no one thought it worth while to 
 touch it. It was discouraging. Venerable 
 and enormous turtles hid in its muddy 
 depths and snapped at the legs of the 
 ducks as they dived, adding a limp to the 
 waddle ; frogs croaked there dismally ; 
 mosquitoes made it a camping ground 
 and head center ; big black water snakes 
 often came to drink and lingered by the 
 edge; the ugly horn pout was the only 
 fish that could live there. Depressing, in 
 contrast with my rosy dreams ! But now 
 the little lake is a charming reality, and 
 the boat is built and launched. Turtles, 
 pout, lily roots as big as small trees, and 
 two hundred loads of "alluvial deposit" 
 are no longer " in it," while carp are 
 promised me by my friend Commissioner 
 Blackford. The " Tomtoolan " * is not 
 a large body of water one hundred and 
 
 * Named in honor of the amateur engineers. 
 
Cooking Back. 163 
 
 fifty feet long, seventy-five feet wide . 
 but it is a delight to me and has been 
 grossly traduced by ignorant or envious 
 outsiders. The day after the " Katy-Did " 
 was christened (a flat - bottomed boat, 
 painted prettily with blue and gold) I in 
 vited a lady to try it with me. Flags 
 were fluttering from stem and stern. We 
 took a gayly colored horn to toot as we 
 went, and two dippers to bail, if neces 
 sary. It was not exactly "Youth at the 
 prow and Pleasure at the helm," but we 
 were very jolly and not a little proud. 
 
 A neglected knot-hole soon caused the 
 boat to leak badly. We had made but 
 one circuit, when we were obliged to 
 "hug the shore" and devote our entire 
 energies to bailing. " Tip her a little 
 more," I cried, and the next instant we 
 were both rolled into the water. It was 
 an absurd experience, and after scram 
 bling out, our clothes so heavy we could 
 scarcely step, we vowed, between hys- 
 
164 Qlbopting an Qlbanboneb .farm. 
 
 teric fits of laughter, to keep our tip-over 
 a profound secret. 
 
 But the next time I went to town, 
 friends began to smile mysteriously, 
 asked me if I had been out on the lake 
 yet, made sly and jocose allusions to a 
 sudden change to Baptistic faith, and if I 
 cordially invited them to join me in a 
 row, would declare a preference for surf 
 and salt water, or, if pressed, would mur 
 mur in the meanest way something 
 about having a bath-tub at home. 
 
 It is now nearly a year since that little 
 adventure, but it is still a subject of 
 mirth, even in other towns. A friend 
 calling yesterday told me the version he 
 had just heard at Gillford, ten miles 
 away! 
 
 " You bet they have comical goings-on 
 at that woman s farm by the Gooseville 
 depot ! She got a regular menagerie, fust 
 off everything she see or could hear of. 
 Got sick o the circus bizness, and went 
 
Cooking Back. 165 
 
 into potatoes deep. They say she was 
 actually up and outdoors by day-break, 
 working and worrying over the tater 
 bugs! 
 
 " She s a red-headed, fleshy woman, and 
 some of our folks going by in the cars 
 would tell of seeing her tramping up and 
 down the long furrows, with half a dozen 
 boys hired to help her. Soon as she d 
 killed most of her own, a million more 
 just traveled over from the field opposite 
 where they had had their own way and 
 cleaned out most everything. Then, 
 what the bugs spared, the long rains 
 rotted. So I hear she s giv* up pota 
 toes. 
 
 " Then she got sot on scooping out a 
 seven by nine mud hole to make a pond, 
 and had a boat built to match. 
 
 " Well, by darn, she took a stout woman 
 in with her, and, as I heerd it, that boat 
 just giv one groan, and sunk right 
 down ! " 
 
1 66 &&0titt an &banboneb farm. 
 
 As to the potatoes, I might never have 
 escaped from that terrific thralldom, if a 
 city friend, after hearing my woful ex 
 perience, had not inquired quietly : 
 
 " Why have potatoes ? It s much cheaper 
 to buy all you need ! " 
 
 I had been laboring under a strange 
 spell supposed I must plant potatoes; 
 the relief is unspeakable. 
 
 Jennie June once said, " The great art 
 of life is to eliminate" I admired the 
 condensed wisdom of this, but, like expe 
 rience, it only serves to illume the path 
 over which I have passed. 
 
 One little incident occurred this spring 
 which is too funny to withhold. Among 
 the groceries ordered from Boston was a 
 piece of extra fine cheese. A connoisseur 
 in cheese had advised me to try it. It 
 recommended itself so strongly that I 
 placed it carefully under glass, in a place 
 all by itself. It was strong strong 
 enough to sew buttons on, strong as 
 
Cooking Back. 167 
 
 Sampson, strong enough to walk away 
 alone. One warm morning it seemed to 
 have gained during the night. Its pene 
 trating, permeating power was something, 
 almost supernatural. I carried it from 
 one place to another, each time more re 
 mote. It would not be lonely if segre- 
 grated, doubtless it had ample social fa 
 cilities within itself! At last I became 
 desperate. " Ellen," I exclaimed, "just 
 bring in that cheese and burn it. It 
 comes high, too high. I can not endure 
 it." She opened the top of the range 
 and, as the cremation was going on, I 
 continued my comments. "Why, in all 
 my life, I never knew anything like it ; 
 wherever I put it in pantry, swing cup 
 board, on the cellar stairs, in a tin box, 
 on top of the refrigerator way out on 
 that " Just then Tom opened the door 
 and said : 
 
 " Miss, your fertilizer s come ! " 
 
 I have told you of my mistakes, fail- 
 
i68 QUmjJting an Qlbanboncb farm. 
 
 ures, losses, but have you any idea of my 
 daily delights, my lasting gains ? 
 
 From invalidism to health, from mental 
 depression to exuberant spirits, that is 
 the blessed record of two years of ama 
 teur farming. What has done this ? Ex 
 ercise, actual hard work, digging in the 
 dirt. We are made of dust, and the closer 
 our companionship with Mother Earth in 
 summer time the longer we shall keep 
 above ground. Then the freedom from 
 conventional restraints of dress ; no ne 
 cessity for " crimps," no need of foreign 
 hirsute adornment, no dresses with tight 
 arm holes and trailing skirts, no high- 
 heeled slippers with pointed toes, but 
 comfort, clear comfort, indoors and out. 
 
 Plenty of rocking chairs, lounges that 
 make one sleepy just to look at them, 
 open fires in every room, and nothing too 
 fine for the sun to glorify ; butter, eggs, 
 cream, vegetables, poultry simply per 
 fect, and the rare, ecstatic privilege of 
 
Cooking Back. 169 
 
 eating onions onions raw, boiled, baked, 
 and fried at any hour or all hours. I 
 said comfort ; it is luxury ! 
 
 Dr. Holmes says : " I have seen respect 
 ability and amiability grouped over the 
 air-tight stove, I have seen virtue and in 
 telligence hovering over the register, but 
 I have never seen true happiness in a 
 family circle where the faces were not 
 illuminated by the blaze of an open fire 
 place." And nature ! I could fill pages 
 with glowing descriptions of Days Out 
 doors. In my own homely pasture I 
 have found the dainty wild rose, the little 
 field strawberries so fragrant and spicy, 
 the blue berries high and low, so desira 
 ble for " pie-fodder," and daisies and ferns 
 in abundance, and, in an adjoining mead 
 ow by the brookside, the cardinal flower 
 and the blue gentian. All these simple 
 pleasures seem better to me than sitting 
 in heated, crowded rooms listening to in 
 terminable music, or to men or women 
 
1 70 &bojjting an &banbone& farm. 
 
 who never know when to stop, or rush 
 ing round to gain more information on 
 anything and everything from Alaska to 
 Zululand, and wildly struggling to catch 
 up with "social duties." 
 
 City friends, looking at the other side 
 of the shield, marvel at my contentment, 
 and regard me as buried alive. But when 
 I go back for a short time to the old life 
 I am fairly homesick. I miss my daily 
 visit to the cows and the frolic with the 
 dogs. All that has been unpleasant fades 
 like a dream. 
 
 I think of the delicious morning hours 
 on the broad vine-covered piazza, the 
 evenings with their starry splendor or 
 witching moonlight, the nights of sound 
 sleep and refreshing rest, the all-day 
 picnics, the jolly drives with friends as 
 charmed with country life as myself, and I 
 weary of social functions and overpower 
 ing intellectual privileges, and every oth 
 er advantage of the metropolis, and long 
 
Cooking Back. 171 
 
 to migrate once more from Gotham to 
 Gooseville. 
 
 " Dear country life of child and man ! 
 
 For both the best, the strongest, 
 That with the earliest race began, 
 
 And hast outlived the longest, 
 Their cities perished long ago ; 
 Who the first farmers were we know." 
 
 THE END. 
 
D. APPLETON & CO. S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
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