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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 1 have read this many a day." 
 Boston Sunday Herald. 
 
 "Miss Kate Sanborn has made a name and place fur herself 
 beside the immortal Sam Slick, and has made Gooseville, Con 
 necticut, as illustrious as Slickville in Onion County, of the same 
 State." Tht 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 furni*h it." Neiv 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 Sanborn 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 
 you rnal. 
 
 New York: D. APPLETON & CO., 72 Fifth Avenue.
 
 Hbanboning 
 En Hbopteb jfarm 
 
 * BY 
 
 KATE A SANBORN 
 
 A 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 WIT OF WOMEN ; HOME PICTURES OF ENGLISH POETS ; VANITY 
 
 AND INSANITY, SHADOWS OF GENIUS ; SUNSHINE AND 
 
 RAINBOW CALENDARS ; ADOPTING AN ABANDONED 
 
 FARM ; A TRUTHFUL WOMAN IN SOUTHERN 
 
 CALIFORNIA ; ETC. 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 
 
 1894
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1894, 
 BY D. APPLETON AND COMPANY.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER * 
 
 I. TRUTHFUL SKETCHES i 
 
 II. HIT OR MISS 26 
 
 III. BYGONES 48 
 
 IV. HELP! 66 
 
 V. WOMEN AND GEESE .... 80 
 
 VI. UNPLEASANT VISITORS ... 92 
 
 VII. FACTS ABOUT FARMING . . .109 
 
 VIII. TRIBULATIONS AND COMPENSATION . 139 
 
 IX. HOME l68
 
 ABANDONING 
 AN ADOPTED FARM. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 TRUTHFUL SKETCHES. 
 
 " There is nothing so improbable as truth." 
 
 EDITH BROWER. 
 
 YES, strange as it may seem, I am 
 forced by the pressure of circumstances, 
 to leave the dearly-beloved Farm of my 
 Adoption ; but not from caprice or lack 
 of interest (or capital) in this place, now 
 reclaimed and beautified. Determined 
 always to see the sunny side, I rejoice in 
 the prospect of more land to till land 
 that is now my own more complete soli 
 tude, and comparative freedom from the 
 inquisitiveness and persistence of passers- 
 by, tramps, small boys with kleptomaniac 
 tendencies, agents, peddlers, bores of all 
 kinds, the insistent shriek of the rushing 
 d)
 
 2 Qtbanboning on ^bopteb -farm. 
 
 locomotive, and strangers from near and 
 far who insist on seeing my hens ! 
 
 A former cook, corpulent Bessie, used 
 to exclaim, " Heaven helping me, I ll 
 never leave the bandaged farm ! " But 
 a thriving Dutchman courted her, and 
 appropriated her ample proportions, rais 
 ing her to a higher social position ; for, 
 as his father said at the wedding : " My 
 son has a beautiful brofession. He is a 
 blumber." So, in spite of her fixed inten 
 tions, she is now only a fat memory. 
 
 She was a devout Catholic, almost too 
 devout. In the midst of preparations for 
 a dinner for city guests, who were wait 
 ing, I have noticed her in a corner mur 
 muring prayers over her beads; and when 
 a friend cut his finger and ejaculated a 
 hasty " O Lord ! " she raised her eyes, 
 folded her hands and responded reverent 
 ly, " Amen ! " 
 
 She was always making genuine Irish 
 bulls, as when she said, on hearing me 
 complain of my immense grain bills, " If 
 I were you, Miss, I wouldn t keep any 
 cows this winter but the horse." 
 
 But she has gone with her warm heart,
 
 Sketches. 
 
 good-natured face, and the piano legs she 
 was proud to display in a clumsy dance 
 of her own invention, with its singing 
 accompaniment of " Idely, idely, idely, 
 ide." 
 
 I also supposed I should live and die 
 right here, and I too must depart. 
 
 The general air of suspicion with which 
 the statements in my book are received, 
 and the fact that it is classed as " Fic 
 tion " in public libraries, are disheartening. 
 1 judge that the plain everyday, out-and- 
 out truth is so seldom told that it is not 
 easily recognized. 
 
 A novelist has assured me that where 
 he made up plots of the most startling 
 kinds, the reviewers and readers pro 
 nounced them true to Nature and life, an 
 absolute reproduction of the secrets and 
 mysteries, bliss and agonies of love or 
 passion. But where he ventured to tell 
 of events which had really happened, 
 hearts that had truly broken, every one 
 had condemned his work as unnatural, 
 unreal, improbable, impossible. 
 
 Another writes : " My difficulty has been, 
 when I looked about me for suggestive
 
 4 Qtbanboning an 3Vbopte5 .farm. 
 
 matter, to find things that I dared to tell ; 
 and it is a fact that not one person in ten 
 can pick out the true from the false in a 
 work of fiction. If ever I have introduced 
 a veritable incident, that is the point upon 
 which some one or other is sure to put his 
 finger and say, T/iis you invented, letting 
 my pure fabrications pass unnoticed. Once 
 I ventured to write down a whole story al 
 most exactly as it had happened, adding, 
 by way of setting only, a sort of prologue 
 and epilogue. An editor returned it with" 
 the stricture, Too intentionally pathetic ! 
 I was reminded of the ornithologist who 
 criticised an owl in a shop window. The 
 man who stuffed that owl, he said, knew 
 nothing whatever of the genus Strix. As 
 he discoursed upon the true anatomy of 
 owls, enforcing his argument by the 
 dreadful example in the window, the 
 dreadful example winked at him, thereby 
 cutting short the discourse and saddening 
 that wise man. 
 
 "I often wish I had tried saddening my 
 editor, by showing him how w/zintention- 
 ally pathetic real life can sometimes be. 
 I politely refrained from doing so, but
 
 rutbfal Sketches. 
 
 since then I have concluded that artistic 
 verities are a humbug, and more than 
 ever do I hug to my heart this motto of 
 my own invention : Anything may happen." 
 
 There are things said to me every week 
 of my life, so queer, that it does seem as 
 if I had made them up " out of whole 
 cloth " ; but no one can do this success 
 fully in the line of original sayings. 
 
 For instance, I offered some of Huyler s 
 best the other day to an old man who 
 had brought me some extra fine popcorn 
 as a gift, and he said : " Bless you, I can t 
 do nothin with it ; I haven t got but one 
 upper teeth ! " No one could evolve that 
 statement, nor the question and remarks 
 of the interested old lady who called on 
 me to beg some silk pieces to patch up. 
 Running up and down stairs during the 
 search, I became decidedly flushed, and 
 she queried, "Do you ever have fits?" 
 "Why, no certainly not," I gasped; 
 "why do you say that?" "Well, I sup 
 pose you know you re built just right for 
 fits." And as I panted harder at such a 
 fearful foreboding, she added, musingly, 
 "Yes, just the build for fits."
 
 6 Qlbonboning an Qlbopteb farm. 
 
 And I recall another blow to my van 
 ity. I asked a carpenter working for me 
 to adorn a cracked and weather-beaten 
 door with some putty and a coat of paint. 
 " Yes m," he replied ; " paint and putty will 
 fix up a thing wonderful. Lots o hum 
 bly people use paint and putty. But I 
 guess you and I hain t tried it yet." 
 
 Another woman caller said, as she left, 
 " As you seem destined to the fine arts, 
 hens, and vegetables, I m sure you would 
 enjoy our county fair ! " 
 
 Could any one invent this combination ? 
 
 Nevertheless, my stories are considered 
 the wildest romancing. 
 
 My present cook tells me that a friend 
 has written her, "Do see if there is any 
 dark room there, or a stuffed peacock, 
 for I never could believe it." 
 
 In summer time I delight in roaming 
 over the fields, followed by a flock of 
 hungry hens or frolicsome dogs. I like 
 to dig and plant, and, never having wed,* 
 it seems to me as if I might be left to 
 
 * My youthful assistant says, " I have wed so fur 
 to-day."
 
 (Erutl)ftil Sketches. 
 
 weed in peaceful seclusion and work un 
 observed. But passing vehicles are sure 
 to slow up, eager faces peer forth, and I 
 am stared at as a free show. I hear, too, 
 the unreserved comments, the interroga 
 tions and replies, as " There she goes, be 
 hind those tall hollyhocks. Well, she 
 does look kind o farmerlike, sure enough," 
 or " Is it the slim one going in, or the fat 
 woman by the fence?" And again: 
 " Who is it that lives here now ? Why, 
 it s that Kate Sanborn, who writes lots of 
 love stories, and gets well paid, I guess. 
 She s an old maid." " Well, anybody 
 would know that by those damdold lan 
 terns hung round the piazza." 
 
 When I had the honor of entertaining 
 a Hindoo monk last summer, a man of 
 wondrous learning, eloquence, and phi 
 lanthropy, the excitement rose to fever 
 height. 
 
 I had met him in the observation car 
 of the Canadian Pacific, where even the 
 gigantically grand scenery of mountains, 
 canons, glaciers, and the Great Divide 
 could not take my eyes entirely from the 
 cosmopolitan travellers, all en route for
 
 8 QUmnboning an ^.bopteb .farm. 
 
 Chicago. Parsees from India, Canton 
 merchant millionaires, New-Zealanders, 
 pretty women from the Philippine Isles 
 married to Portuguese and Spanish trad 
 ers, Japanese dignitaries with their cul 
 tivated wives and collegiate sons, high 
 bred and well informed, etc. 
 
 I talked with all. They cordially in 
 vited me to visit them at their respective 
 homes, and I, nothing abashed, spoke in 
 rather glowing terms of my rural resi 
 dence, and gave each my card, with " Met- 
 calf, Mass.," as permanent address. 
 
 I alluded to the distinguished men and 
 women in Boston and vicinity who were 
 frequently my guests, and assured all of 
 a hearty welcome at my farm. 
 
 But most of all was I impressed by the 
 monk, a magnificent specimen of man 
 hood six feet two, as handsome as Sal- 
 vini at his best, with a lordly, imposing 
 stride, as if he ruled the universe, and 
 soft, dark eyes that could flash fire if 
 roused or dance with merriment if the 
 conversation amused him. 
 
 He wore a bright yellow turban many 
 yards in length, a red ochre robe, the
 
 rntl)ful Sketches. 9 
 
 badge of his calling; this was tied with a 
 pink sash, broad and heavily befringed. 
 Snuff-brown trousers and russet shoes 
 completed the outfit. 
 
 He spoke better English than I did, 
 was conversant with ancient and modern 
 literature, would quote easily and natu 
 rally from Shakespeare or Longfellow 
 or Tennyson, Darwin, Miiller, Tyndall ; 
 could repeat pages of our Bible, was 
 familiar with and tolerant of all creeds. 
 He was an education, an illumination, a 
 revelation ! 
 
 I told him, as we separated, I should 
 be most pleased to present him to some 
 men and women of learning and general 
 culture, if by any chance he should come 
 to Boston. 
 
 We parted. I fatigued myself into pos 
 itive illness by my pedestrian and cere 
 bral exertions at the Exposition, and all 
 that motley assemblage, with minds as 
 diverse as their raiment, was only a high 
 ly colored fantasy of the past. 
 
 Just risen from a sick bed, I received a 
 telegram of forty-five words announcing 
 that my reverend friend of the observa-
 
 io Qlbanboning an Qlbopteb .farm. 
 
 tion car was at the Quincy House, Bos 
 ton, and awaiting my orders. 
 
 Then I remembered vividly. I had 
 urged him to accept my hospitalities if 
 he felt lonely or needed help. I had 
 promised those introductions to Harvard 
 professors, Concord philosophers, New 
 York capitalists, women of fame, position, 
 and means, with brilliant gifts in writing 
 and conversation. It was mid-August. 
 Not a soul was in town, and how could I 
 entertain my gayly appareled pundit ? I 
 was aghast, but telegraphed bravely : 
 "Yours received. Come to-day; 4.20 
 train, Boston and Albany." 
 
 As the cars stopped, even the piercing 
 whistle had a derisive sound, and I trem 
 bled at the effect he might produce on 
 the crowd gathered for the mail. But he 
 was received in breathless silence. He 
 was such a surprise ! 
 
 If he had looked regal but bizarre 
 among a group collected from all na 
 tions, he was simply amazing on the plat 
 form at Gooseville. His luggage was so 
 considerable in amount that the train was 
 ten minutes late at the next stopping place.
 
 He had brought almost a Bodleian Li 
 brary with him of books recondite and 
 rare, heavy in either sense. 
 
 The yellow headgear looked a brighter 
 yellow than before. 
 
 The mulberry pink sash failed to har 
 monize at all with the red robe. He 
 seemed slightly surprised by the simplici 
 ty and quiet of the place, but was too 
 courteous to speak of it. 
 
 He never minded the stares and grins 
 that were most evident to me. " Shall I 
 give up the costume of my forefathers?" 
 he sensibly inquired. " Shall you adopt 
 the trailing robes of our women when you 
 visit India ? " It is only our bad man 
 ners and ignorance that make us think 
 everything is queer, ludicrous, or wrong 
 that differs from our own way. Rose 
 Terry Cooke told me that in a little town 
 where she once lived they spoke of every 
 stranger as a " furriner," and there were 
 dislike and a lurking contempt in the way 
 the word was used. So with my " fur 
 riner." 
 
 But the climax was reached the next 
 morning, when he was sitting on the porch
 
 12 3\,banboning an ^bopteb .farm. 
 
 wrapped in deepest thought or, rather, 
 endeavoring to exclude all thought from 
 his active mind, and thus give room for 
 divine light and communications to flow 
 in. As he sat there, immovable, with eyes 
 vacant and fixed, striving for an approxi 
 mate condition of Nirvana, Bill Hanson 
 came round the back way, staring, half 
 awe-struck, half amused, and said to my 
 man : " Gosh all hemlock ! What has she 
 got now, and how did she make it ? " 
 
 He inclined to the theory that it was 
 either a lifelike wax figure, or a huge rag 
 doll, which I had built and painted and 
 stationed there for effect and the wonder 
 ment of the public. 
 
 How could I imagine that ? So, please, 
 in future believe implicitly my truthful 
 tales. It was trying and vastly embar 
 rassing to have my Oriental visitor in 
 quire in rotund but melancholy and doubt 
 ing tones: "Where are these influential 
 gentlemen, these women you promised 
 me ? I must see them, and begin my 
 struggle for my poor people." 
 
 The mail bag was stuffed next morning 
 with frantic appeals for help, and I am
 
 rutl)fni Sketches. 13 
 
 proud to say that my friends rallied nobly 
 from their vacation haunts by seashore, 
 lake, and mountain, and my careless prom 
 ise was through them most gloriously ful 
 filled. 
 
 O dear ! I can not help laughing here 
 all by myself at the remembrance of one 
 evening when fully a dozen ladies were 
 gathered around my honored guest, look 
 ing at him admiringly and at each other 
 with approving words as he explained at 
 length his creed and philosophy and plans 
 for bringing the wretched masses in India 
 out of their poverty and suffering by in 
 troducing a little of our practical way of 
 earning money. Then he told us that 
 "the soul is a circle whose circumference 
 is nowhere and whose center can be 
 everywhere, and that the universe is a 
 power composed of the Great Infineet, 
 and each separate world a distinct meter 
 or rhythm." 
 
 My overstrained mind began to wobble, 
 and I found I was sitting on the edge of 
 my chair, with eyes aching from a pro 
 longed stare of wonder, my mouth posi 
 tively ajar, like a rustic at a muster; and
 
 14 Qlbanboning an Qlbcpteb -farm. 
 
 as he talked on and on in glowing rhap 
 sody, I suddenly saw myself as an ex 
 tremely mature American Desdemona, lis 
 tening intently to the marvelous eloquence 
 of my Bengalese Othello. I left the cir 
 cle to indulge in immoderate, half-hys 
 teric laughter all alone. I had achieved 
 success, butJ, too, had to "struggle." 
 
 He called me " Mother " at parting an 
 especial tribute to any woman in India, 
 as he explained. I appreciated the com 
 pliment. I was proud of such a son, yet 
 and yet it was somehow a trifle depress 
 ing. Of course, I did not expect my fas 
 cinating guest to prostrate himself before 
 me, and, laying flowers at my feet, chant 
 a song of worshipful admiration, as he 
 had said was the proper thing to do on 
 meeting a young and beautiful woman. 
 Oh, no, I didn t sigh for that lovely atten 
 tion ; but to change instanter from a Des 
 demona, however old, to a sort of spin- 
 sterial Cornelia, the adopted mother of a 
 Hindoo Gracchus, it was either sad or 
 supremely funny, with a leaning toward 
 pathos. 
 
 Later, a note of inquiry as to my where-
 
 ruthful Sketches. 15 
 
 abouts was received from the senior Par- 
 see, a most interesting personage, but I 
 let it remain unanswered. Very rude, but 
 I knew I could not do this sort of thing 
 twice with the same eclat. 
 
 The sensation produced is not yet en 
 tirely a thing of the past. A friend pass 
 ing my home in the car overheard the 
 following dialogue between two Irish 
 women as they looked out upon my hum 
 ble residence : 
 
 " And is that the place where the Hin 
 doo praaste was entertained?" "Yes, it 
 is, but he was not a praaste at all ; it is a 
 moonke he was." "Well, to my mind it s 
 a mighty poor place to be entertainin 
 either a moonke or a praaste ! " 
 
 I m not especially sensitive, still could 
 not be called a pachyderm, and this con 
 tinual criticism is distressing. 1 want to 
 hide away in deeper depths of seclusion, 
 where I can wear overalls if I want to, 
 and cowhide boots, mount or try to mount 
 a bicycle in my own grounds, and enter 
 tain the Wild Man of Borneo if he should 
 "just come to town," without a chorus 
 of invidious comment.
 
 1 6 QVbanboning an ^bopteb .farm. 
 
 My unfeigned interest in hens and 
 model hen-houses causes me another trial. 
 The moment any one ventures to keep 
 more than fifty fowls, he ceases to be a 
 private individual with personal rights 
 and is the property of the public. Visit 
 ors to my poultry yard come uninvited, 
 wander where they choose, borrowing 
 ideas and disparaging my system, and if 
 I step out they regard me with surprise 
 as an undesired intruder. One man, who 
 preached Sundays and was a butcher 
 weekdays, supplying sausages or salva 
 tion, came until I ventured to remon 
 strate, and his amazement was intense. 
 
 " I saw you had an extensive hen 
 plant, and couldn t dream you would ob 
 ject to my copying your good ideas." 
 
 A professional poultry raiser, a good 
 friend of mine, agrees with me that the 
 visitor question is pressing, and the per 
 secuted poultryman should have his side 
 better understood. " Why should a raiser 
 of poultry be considered the legitimate 
 prey of every son of Adam blessed (?) 
 with a Jittle curiosity ? Directly a man 
 has put up a poultry house, and a couple
 
 rntl)ful Sketches. 17 
 
 of dozen fowls are seen about the place, 
 every passer stops and says (to himself) : 
 Hello ! here s a hen man. I ll go in and 
 see what he s got to say about the chicken 
 business! and in he drives, jumps out 
 of his carriage, and expects you to show 
 him about and entertain him with chunks 
 of information about your methods of 
 feeding, breeding, management, etc. He 
 doesn t care whether you are busy or not. 
 He simply has a little curiosity about the 
 poultry business, and thinks you are in 
 duty bound to stand and deliver an 
 swers to his questions, and show him over 
 the premises, so long as he has honored 
 you with a call." 
 
 On Sundays, my place fills the vacancy 
 made by lack of Sunday concerts or a 
 cockpit or bullfight, and so many drove 
 in that they had to be driven out. 1 can 
 not convince the public that I am not 
 running a show for all who care to in 
 spect. And the remarks are so aggra 
 vating. 
 
 Lately my four hundred hens have been 
 on a simultaneous strike not one egg for 
 six weeks. Each expert consulted gives
 
 1 8 &banboning an Qlbopteb .farm. 
 
 a different theory and plan of action. 
 All are tried no effect. Other hen wom 
 en seem to sniff it in the air and rejoice. 
 One old dame said, with supercilious su 
 periority : " I hear your hens ain t doing 
 nothing. Mine are laying right along. 
 I make a hundred and fifty dollars a year 
 clear profit, and don t keep but a few 
 neither. I don t never clean out my hen 
 shed. Once a year pa he carts out a lot. 
 Yours are too fancy and too fat. It s the 
 mongrils that do the business. My, what 
 a lot you got ! Say, can t you give me 
 that Plymouth Rock rooster ? " (I had 
 just purchased a beauty for ten dollars.) 
 " He d look well in my yard, and I like 
 his crow. You d never miss him." 
 
 When I mildly disagreed, she evidently 
 thought me close and stingy, and left, re 
 marking: 
 
 "Well, some folks have all their good 
 things in this life, as the Bible says." 
 
 After she went, I wondered if a little 
 wholesome neglect was as good occasion 
 ally for hens as for children, and recalled 
 the bluff wisdom of our old butcher at 
 home, who, seeing a little boy look rather
 
 rnil)ful Sketchea. 19 
 
 delicate, or, in his parlance, "measly," 
 said: "You let him run and take care of 
 himself, dig in the dirt all day, just grub 
 round, and if he finds any worms let him 
 eat em. Do him good. That s the way 
 I raised my seven boys, and there ain t a 
 healthier lot in the country." 
 
 He was a steady drinker, but seldom 
 drunk. I can see his face before me. 
 Snow-white, curly hair, red cheeks, with 
 fine, purplish streaks (produced by good 
 beef and poor whisky), sharp blue eyes, 
 twinkling with fun. My father once asked 
 him rather a pointed question : " Mr. Car 
 son, what is it that gives you such a red 
 face?" "Well, professor, I guess it s 
 nothing but cider apple-sass. I m un 
 common fond of that, you know." When 
 he was on his death-bed one of his life 
 long patrons called and endeavored to 
 cheer him by saying how long he had 
 been indebted to him for excellent meat. 
 "Yes, squire, that s so, but you never 
 knew how much I cheated you, just the 
 same," and a semblance of the old twinkle 
 came into the dull eyes. 
 
 Every little place has its unique char-
 
 20 ^banboning an Qlbopteb .farm. 
 
 acters, its eccentricities, only they are not 
 chronicled. In my New Hampshire home 
 they surely abounded. 
 
 There was old Increase Kimball, snowy- 
 haired, with a long, white beard, which he 
 had vowed never to shave ; bent form, 
 bright face, and his right hand perma 
 nently disabled from being once practi 
 cally dealt with according to the New Tes 
 tament injunction, "If thy right hand of 
 fend thee, cut it off and cast it from thee." 
 It will not do to indulge in a strictly lit 
 eral interpretation of Bible commands. 
 And poor Sally Duget, daughter of a pop 
 ular physician, her life ruined, her child 
 dead, herself insane, yet witty through it 
 all. Her repartees were inimitable, and 
 no one could attempt a word contest with 
 her without being beaten. She would wan 
 der down from her forlorn hut on a dis 
 tant hillside to get her pail filled with food 
 and ask for a cup of tea, and no one could 
 get the better of her quick wit. One day 
 she had decked herself with some showy 
 bit of faded finery, and^a gentleman, pass 
 ing, stopped her with the question, " Well, 
 Sally, are you going to get married ?"
 
 Sketches. 
 
 "Yes," she cried, with her dark eyes 
 flashing, " if you and I can make a bar 
 gain." 
 
 It is rather risky to venture on the in 
 terrogative form of warfare with a bright 
 woman, even when demented. 
 
 And the old storekeeper, who had been 
 very profane and converted late in life, 
 could not always control his speech. 
 During a revival prayer meeting in the 
 schoolhouse some wicked boys put pep 
 per on the red-hot stove, causing an epi 
 demic of sneezing. He was praying fer 
 vently, but stopped to sneeze, then ex 
 claimed : "By ! There s enemies to 
 religion in this house ! H ist the win 
 dows ! " 
 
 The seriously disabled Elder Hodgkins, 
 who had a game eye, two game legs, and 
 as much difficulty in articulation as in lo 
 comotion, thought himself a match for the 
 fairest maiden on earth, and, although 
 still a bachelor at sixty, kept on offering 
 himself in rotation to every unappropri 
 ated girl, woman, or widow in town, and 
 not a few in neighboring villages. His 
 calls were late because, as he said in rau-
 
 22 Qlbanbonimj an Qlboptcb .farm. 
 
 cous, mumbling, " The Postal Depart 
 ment is very confining," but he stayed 
 long enough to make up for that. 
 
 Once, when he had proposed for the 
 second time to a rarely gifted woman so 
 far above him that he must have been in 
 sane to hazard his fortune with her, he 
 was kindly but firmly assisted to the door 
 and launched forth on his homeward way, 
 and the fatigued family sought needed 
 repose. 
 
 About i A. M. a thumping at the door 
 awakened the household, and, partially 
 dressed, the head of the house went down, 
 armed with a heavy cane, to discover the 
 cause of the disturbance, and found the 
 unfortunate elder on his back like a mam 
 moth dorbug, sprawling helpless in the 
 chill of a November night, unable to turn 
 over. He had tottled back to meekly 
 apologize for his temerity, and in his dis 
 appointment his legs were even less sure 
 than usual. 
 
 He made another impressive tableau 
 vivant when, after buying two dozen fresh 
 eggs at the grocer s, he slipped while tot- 
 tling down the steps and sat down heavily
 
 Sketches. 23 
 
 in the center of the basket, producing a 
 Turneresque pastel effect (or perhaps it 
 would belong more strictly to the French 
 impressionist school) in the rear view as 
 he was lifted up. 
 
 And that pioneer tramp, Webb Hall, 
 who wandered about in picturesque rags 
 begging for " cold victuals " from door to 
 door, half-cracked, but sometimes shrewd 
 enough. Some men, who happened to be 
 Democrats, were rallying him about his 
 appearance. "Yes, gentlemen," he re 
 plied, "you might take me to be a Demo 
 crat from my clothes, but I haven t got 
 so low yet as to train with such com 
 
 pany ! 
 
 Considering himself unjustly treated by 
 a judge in the capital of the State, he 
 did not turn to infernal machines, and did 
 not dream of dynamite, but thirsted for 
 revenge in a manly fashion, and would 
 thus explain his plan of action : " I shall 
 buy two guns, and go down to Concord 
 and shoot Judge Bemis with one and kill 
 myself with the other ; or else I shall wait 
 quietly till spring and see what will be 
 come of it."
 
 24 Qlbanboning an ^.bopteb farm. 
 
 I also remember certain speeches which 
 are worth preserving as the statement of 
 a witness when questioned as to the num 
 ber of students who broke into his store 
 for liquor, that as " near as he could make 
 out there was betwixt six and seven." 
 (He afterward figured as the hero of 
 Hoyt s " Temperance Town.") 
 
 Like the Irishman, who was superin 
 tending an excavation, shouting down to 
 his " gang " : 
 
 " How many of ye s down there ? " 
 
 " Five," was the reply. 
 
 " Half of ye s come up here ! " 
 
 I recall the puzzlement of old Lecount, 
 over the river, who came one year to peti 
 tion money to buy a cow, as his had tum 
 bled over a precipice and broken its neck. 
 It was given. But at the same time the 
 next year he was round again for another 
 bovine, saying, " It s the singularest thing 
 in natur , but that plaguy critter went 
 over the same precipice ! " 
 
 And the retort of a bright Scotch woman, 
 an old maid, who was gingerly questioned 
 by a red-headed physician as to why she 
 never got married : " Well, doctor, I ll tell
 
 $rmhfttl Sketches. 25 
 
 you. I made up my mind early in life 
 that nothing would induce me to marry a 
 man with red hair, and no one else has ever 
 proposed." 
 
 Or the exceeding optimism of an old 
 fellow tall, lanky, thin, with a narrow 
 head and long, straight hair, to whom my 
 father gave many articles of clothing. 
 This time he had bestowed a " beaver," 
 an old silk hat of abnormal size. It was 
 tried on* and the entire head was com 
 pletely obscured. 
 
 " You can t wear that," said father; 
 " it s a mile too big for you." 
 
 " It is a leetle large," said the grateful 
 recipient, reappearing from beneath the 
 extinguisher, "but I ll take it along. My 
 hair may thicken up." 
 
 Oh, yes, just keep your eyes and ears 
 open, and you will soon find a wealth of 
 material for character sketches wherever 
 you may be. Or, to adapt whimsically 
 from Shakespeare : " To have seen what 
 I have seen, see what I see ! "
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 HIT OR MISS. 
 
 She talked of politics or prayers, 
 
 Of Southey s prose or Wordsworth s sonnets, 
 Of danglers or of dancing bears, 
 
 Of battles or the last new bonnets. 
 
 W. M. PRAED. 
 
 I DESIRE to apologize to Foxboro and 
 every inhabitant thereof who may hap 
 pen to know of my unintentional affront. 
 
 In giving the name of that large and 
 prosperous town to the scenes of my 
 tragi-comic initiation into an agricul 
 tural career, I never knew that such a 
 place existed. And wanting to insinuate 
 in a sly yet genial way that I had been 
 considerably imposed upon, with the old 
 game of Fox and Geese reversed, I said 
 I was a goose at Foxboro , like a mouse 
 at Catsville. 
 
 The game has been played. I was sup 
 posed to have some money and no expe 
 rience ; now it s the other way. 
 (26)
 
 Ijit or ifliss. 27 
 
 It must have been a poor joke, for no 
 one ever saw the point or application, 
 and I am obliged now to explain it at 
 length, at the risk of being considered 
 egotistic. 
 
 Perhaps a New Hampshire woman, 
 transplanted early to New York, will be 
 pardoned for not knowing all the tires of 
 the immense wheel of which Boston is 
 the Hub. 
 
 Egotism in print is not so insufferable 
 as in close conversation. It is hard to 
 escape from a garrulous bore at your 
 elbow, but you can drop a paper or book 
 instanter, or turn to a more promising 
 page, or sink in peaceful slumber, narco 
 tized by the tedious narrative. 
 
 So you will allow me to ramble on ? 
 
 Reporters rushed to Foxboro" in hot 
 test dog-dayest weather to look up the 
 "Abandoned Farm." No one had heard 
 of it. The postmistress knew no such 
 place, no such "party," but pointed to a 
 small mountain of mail matter directed 
 to me there, and wished she knew how to 
 get rid of it. 
 
 One interviewer, more persistent than 
 3
 
 28 ntbanboning an &b0pteb .farm. 
 
 the rest, did find a sister spinster of eighty- 
 one summers with the same name but with 
 no proclivities for agriculture. My dense 
 ignorance was mortifying. 
 
 I wish also to add that "Gooseville" is 
 my name for my special portion of Met- 
 calf (for myself and three other geese), 
 and has no pertinence whatever as ap 
 plied to the other inhabitants, many of 
 whom are my true friends, to whom I am 
 strongly attached. 
 
 Metcalf is a station in Holliston, is on 
 no map, has no telegraph office, and but 
 one mail per day, which brings the letters 
 of day before yesterday. The outgoing 
 mail leaves at such an unconscionably 
 early hour that we can only mail yester 
 day s letters day after to-morrow ! 
 
 It sometimes happens, when surprised 
 by a bevy of unexpected visitors who 
 have come out " just for a lark and 
 a light lunch, my dear " which always 
 means the expectation of a big country 
 dinner, and I dash out and order a couple 
 of chickens slain and scratch up an im 
 promptu refection of those old stand-bys, 
 sardines, deviled ham, Edam cheese, and
 
 fijit or ittiss. 29 
 
 the ever-present pie, while said visitors 
 in a starving condition are wondering at 
 my enforced absence that a messenger 
 drives up with foaming steed and a bill 
 for " special delivery," announcing the in 
 tentions of the aforesaid visitors to drop in 
 upon me. Sometimes as they are leaving 
 the station they are requested, if going to 
 Miss Sanborn s, to kindly carry over a 
 telegram, which proves to be their own ! 
 
 An air of deep mystery hangs over the 
 locality. "What is the name of that place 
 where Kate has hid herself?" said a well- 
 known New York artist to his wife. " She 
 invited me to stop there on my way to 
 Boston. Is it Lambsboro , or Calfsville ? " 
 
 Another distinguished friend, who has 
 for a lifetime been identified with express 
 interests and railroads, heard his wife say, 
 one morning, " I ve got a letter from Kate 
 at her new home, and she s quite near us 
 now, at Metcalf, Mass." 
 
 He repeated her last two words with 
 thunderous scorn. "Metcalf, Mass.! Met 
 calf! There s no such place. She s made 
 a mistake. Her writing is so bad you 
 can t make it out."
 
 3 ^banboning an Qlbopteb .farm. 
 
 "But," she quietly persisted, "here is 
 her envelope, my dear, clearly stamped 
 " Metcalf, Mass." I don t suppose the 
 postmaster has entered into any plot for 
 deceiving us! " 
 
 " I tell you there is no such place ! 
 Don t I know every town, village, city, 
 hamlet in all Massachusetts ? Find it on 
 the map, and I ll give you a handsome 
 present. There s no such place." 
 
 The wife searched the atlas sadly. The 
 husband took the train for town. As the 
 conductor punched his ticket, Metcalf and 
 its impossibility were still on his mind. 
 A man always knows he s right, but likes 
 to have it confirmed. " Look here ! Is 
 there such a town as Metcalf on this 
 road ? " 
 
 " No, sir." 
 
 " I thought so." 
 
 " But there is a stopping place with that 
 name." 
 
 " Well, I am surprised. What s the pop 
 ulation ? " 
 
 " Population ! " and he burst out laugh 
 ing ; " there ain t any ! " 
 
 " What is there, then ? "
 
 $it or Jttiss. 31 
 
 "Oh, three houses and four cows," and 
 he hurried on. 
 
 He next went into the baggage car and 
 consulted the expressman. 
 
 "Do you know a lady by the name cf 
 Sanborn, that has taken a house in Met- 
 calf ?" 
 
 " Yes, I guess so. There s a stout, 
 buxom, red-headed woman with hair all 
 a-flying. I see her coming down the road 
 most every day to meet some one, or get 
 a package, and I believe they do say her 
 name s Sanborn." 
 
 Yes, we do have a local habitation and 
 a name, and are rapidly growing. In fact, 
 my optimistic eye discerns a coming boom 
 in real estate. Three unoccupied farms 
 have recently been purchased and greatly 
 improved ; a flagstaff has been raised in 
 front of the depot ; a new guide-post an 
 nounces in large letters the exact distance 
 of Providence and Boston from Metcalf ; 
 one man thinks of painting his house yel 
 low, in the spring, if the financial strin 
 gency lets up. Two famous authors, fas 
 cinated by my happy life, have consulted 
 me about a permanent residence here ;
 
 32 Qlbanboning an QUroptcb .farm. 
 
 one, a woman afflicted with insomnia, who 
 wanted me, as "woman for woman," to 
 silence my entire menagerie from sun 
 down until 10 A. M. ; the other, a novelist, 
 who has written of inexpensive homes he 
 found across the ocean, and hoped he 
 could secure a place like mine. As the 
 old granny remarked when the cars first 
 passed through her village, built upon an 
 inland hill, "Well, it will be a seaport 
 afore we know it ! " 
 
 I think in time Metcalf will attain a 
 mature dignity of nomenclature and be 
 dubbed Metcow. Before that, I must take 
 a trip to Russia for the purpose of utiliz 
 ing a proposed title, " From Metcalf to 
 Moscow." 
 
 A friend who often visits me, and looks 
 upon my life here as an unfailing source 
 of merriment, dates letters from " Met 
 cow," " Metheifer," " Met-bull-calf-but- 
 managed-to-get-over-fence," or " Had- 
 the-pleasure-of-meeting-bull." Such let 
 ters are described as " Metbulletins." 
 
 To return to my good friend, for whom 
 I want to " express " the truest regard. 
 I can not withhold from those who have
 
 fit or Jflise. 33 
 
 had the strength to follow me thus far 
 one or two of his excellent stories, though 
 I can not do him justice. And, first, the 
 inimitable way in which he commented 
 upon my enthusiastic praise of his beau 
 tiful country seat as I sat on the broad 
 veranda, with its background of choice 
 flowers and a charming perspective of 
 velvety lawn, fine trees, parterres of bril 
 liant blossoms and variegated colors, 
 and the lazy Charles River meandering 
 through a densely wooded park. He 
 seemed weary, and I was not speaking to 
 him, but he was listening as I said in my 
 gushing way : " Oh, this is a paradise ! 
 How I would like to come here and sit 
 down in a corner, be invisible, and not 
 say one word just revel in the view ! " 
 
 "That s just the kind of visit I d like 
 to have you make," he responded. 
 
 Of all his good stories I like this one 
 best : 
 
 He says that at school, one winter, the 
 teacher, a better specimen than they usu 
 ally had, fine looking and thoroughly 
 educated, had little mercy for the stupid 
 scholars, and was especially tried by an
 
 .34 Qlbanboning an Qlboptcb .farm. 
 
 overgrown lummux, who was bright 
 enough in some studies but hopelessly 
 deficient in mathematics. He also stut 
 tered a little, and made the usual wry 
 faces in trying to get his words out. 
 
 One day, when Mr. Duncan was dis 
 gusted by his failure to do a simple sum 
 in subtraction, he rubbed out the figures 
 on his slate and put down six ciphers, and 
 six more underneath these, drew a line, 
 and handing back the slate to the dull 
 ard, said gruffly, " There ! see if you can 
 subtract that." 
 
 The poor boy gazed stolidly at this 
 new sum. It looked queer and hard : 
 
 oooooo 
 oooooo 
 
 He at last tackles it in this way, slowly 
 stumbling along, making hideous grim 
 aces as he progressed : 
 
 " Nawthin/>wtt nawthin leaves nawth- 
 in. Nawthin from nawthin leaves 
 nawthin. Nawthin from nawthin 
 leaves nawthin. Nawthin from nawthin 
 leaves nawthin. Nawthin from nawth 
 in leaves nau thin."
 
 l)it or ffliso. 35 
 
 Then he paused confused, but rallying 
 all his brain power and making the worst 
 face of all, exclaimed : " Gad, if I m ever 
 goin to carry I ve got to carry now! 
 Nawthin from nawthin leaves ? ? ! 
 one ! " 
 
 One other example of my absolute ad 
 herence to facts I would like to give be 
 fore going further. 
 
 Last summer a dear friend, just returned 
 from a gay resort, was kind enough to 
 give me a few days. We were sitting in 
 the quietest way. Her only boy was at 
 play somewhere. I was reading aloud. 
 
 The silence was so intense it could al 
 most be heard. It did seem dull to her, 
 no doubt, and in the middle of a sentence 
 she interrupted me, saying : " Kate, I do 
 try to believe what you say, but you 
 know you made up what you said about 
 something always happening here, and a 
 continual state of excitement. It s as 
 quiet as the Hark ! oh, horrors, what 
 is it?" She screamed, as a tremendous 
 crash and the rattle of broken glass 
 came in emphatic rebuttal of her unbe 
 lief. "Heavens! has the side of the house
 
 36 &banboning an SlbopUfc .farm. 
 
 fallen in, or is it an earthquake ? And 
 oh, where is Karl, my precious Karl ? He 
 may be killed now ! I was half afraid to 
 bring him anyway." 
 
 I was equally surprised. What could 
 have made all that noise ? 
 
 We two listened with bated breath for 
 more. At last we heard hurrying steps 
 and excited voices. The help were roused 
 to action. But what was it ? House ex 
 amined from top to bottom. No plaster 
 had fallen; nothing had caved in; house 
 was intact ; barn scaffold as strong as 
 ever ; hen house all right there. Karl 
 was found safe and sound down by the 
 lakelet floating a tiny skiff for the dogs 
 to bring in. The sun shone serenely. 
 There had evidently been no earthquake. 
 Was it a day-nightmare ? 
 
 At last some one thought of the cellar, 
 and we ventured down. All seemed nor 
 mal even there, but we opened the door 
 of the small room, and there it was! The 
 ropes, too long tested by the big swing 
 cupboard, had given way, letti-ng down 
 three long shelves laden with preserves 
 in all sorts of delicious permutations.
 
 or isQ. 37 
 
 Jams, jellies, and pickles, down they 
 dashed on to a rickety old table also 
 loaded with goodies. All, all had gone 
 down in a general collapse. 
 
 From the advent of the early pie plant 
 to the ripening of the brilliant but as 
 tringent barberry, which combined with 
 pears makes a relishing compote, I had 
 toiled first to gather and then to pick 
 over and prepare, and then stand over a 
 hot stove, waiting for the concoction to 
 "jell " or to boil up, and now all was gone ! 
 
 That dreadful mess represented hours 
 of toil and at least a barrel of sugar, and 
 the hopes that perished there. For my 
 guests depend upon finding lots of " sass " 
 on the table as well as coming from my 
 own lips. 
 
 A wheelbarrow and a couple of shovels 
 were lumbered down and up the cellar 
 stairs several times to cart off the sicken 
 ing debris. It was used to fill up an old 
 well, refuting the truth of the familiar 
 proverb, "All s well that ends well." But 
 one can find fault with many of our oft- 
 quoted proverbs. 
 
 As we sat down and resumed our read-
 
 38 &ban5oning an &boptcb farm. 
 
 ing my friend again interrupted me, and 
 remarked humbly, "Well, I ll never again 
 doubt one word you say at least when I 
 am here, and unless my loved ones are at 
 a safe distance from these impending dan 
 gers !" 
 
 Those desiring her name as a reliable 
 witness will please address me (with stamp 
 inclosed). 
 
 Apropos of earthquakes and " nothing 
 happening" I will tell you of my first ex 
 perience with a big-sized " seismic disturb 
 ance " in San Diego. 
 
 We had dawdled stupidly for weeks on 
 the Sun Porch of the " Florence," walked 
 about the sleepy town more than half 
 asleep ourselves, driven all about to see 
 the same peaceful views, beautiful but 
 monotonous; miles and miles of orange 
 orchards, masses of flowers and eternal 
 sunshine ; and as I came in from such 
 an excursion I said (confidentially, of 
 course, to another invalid) : " This is a 
 good place to be in, a poor place to do 
 in. There is nothing going on, never the 
 least ripple of excitement ; nothing ever 
 happens to stir the blood or make one
 
 $it or fttiso. 39 
 
 think ; it s just one perpetual calm a 
 dead calm and I do not want a person 
 or a place to be so invariably placid." 
 
 There was a little hop, but less hope, in 
 the parlors that evening. What could a 
 dozen pretty girls hope for, with only a 
 few beardless boys to dance with, and a 
 languid, blast lieutenant who took them 
 out on the floor as a philanthropic duty ? 
 I went up to bed, moralized a little about 
 growing old gracefully, not remaining 
 down-stairs as one of the juvenile an 
 tiques, and at last took up a tract on the- 
 osophy given me that morning by a full- 
 fledged positive convert, who never had 
 been on solid ground before in matters 
 of religion and faith. I could not under 
 stand much of it. There s a lot of rub 
 bish and rot about a good many theories. 
 When writers lack clear ideas themselves 
 they always confuse the readers with big, 
 incomprehensible terms and technicalities 
 that mean nothing when sifted down to 
 hard pan. It is so in metaphysics, relig 
 ion, and literature, in my modest opinion. 
 
 I had just reached the chapter on " Kar 
 ma," the unerring swing of the great
 
 40 Qlbanboning on ^boptcfc .farm. 
 
 moral pendulum started by God himself, 
 that never fails to strike the guilty one 
 with just the fair degree of force, or, as I 
 once heard a plain woman define the same 
 fact, "We all on us gits our come-up- 
 ance! " 
 
 I was dozing off, when all at once my 
 bed swayed as if it were on shipboard in 
 an equinoctial. What was it ? Music 
 ceased ; feet changed from a gallop to a 
 run. There were shrieks and sobs and 
 loud cries. 
 
 Surely my time had come. 
 
 Was it Karma ? 
 
 I wished it had been ! 
 
 Tumbling some way from my couch in 
 a seasick condition, I crawled on hands 
 and knees to the closet the very worst 
 place to be in. One should stand in a 
 doorway. But we are not mostly Sam 
 sons, and the house shakes us, instead of 
 our "bringing down the house." 
 
 I didn t know that then ; I didn t know 
 much of anything. At last, getting on 
 some sort of covering, I crawled down the 
 stairs to see strong men sick from fear. 
 
 Yes, it was a quake a tremor of one
 
 4it or iftiss. 41 
 
 minute and twenty seconds duration ; 
 and I didn t like it any more than I was 
 pleased with the catastrophe in my cellar. 
 My unpropitious advent into the realm of 
 theosophic cloudland did not put me on 
 " solid ground," and I have never dabbled 
 with it since. 
 
 As the unregenerate old woman said to 
 a clerical friend of mine when he urged 
 her to give at least the last days of her 
 life to the Lord: "Well," said she, "I ve 
 no doubt religion is a good thing, but I ve 
 got along so far now I guess I won t put 
 ter with it." 
 
 My Hindoo friend assured me that he 
 had never encountered a " Mahatma " in 
 the mountains nor the valleys, and that 
 he heard more of theosophy in this coun 
 try than in his own land. 
 
 In this book I intend to be utterly nat 
 ural and helter-skelter. Please, now, un 
 derstand that two hours are elapsing. 
 
 I ve just come in from shoveling a path 
 through the drifted snow to the big barn 
 door.
 
 42 QVbonboning an ^.bopteb .farm. 
 
 Such fun, such exercise, I ve not had 
 for years something like the old New 
 Hampshire winters, when I would occa 
 sionally rise at dawn and steal out with 
 my sled for a coast down " River Hill." I 
 labored so earnestly that I threw all the 
 snow across to the neat path which had 
 just been made to the woodhouse, so did 
 not receive quite the praise I had looked 
 for. Then Maxidar I, Rhadamanthus, 
 Snapper, and I plunged through the un 
 trodden deeps into the road and waded 
 along for some distance. 
 
 It was grand ! The only way to enjoy 
 snow is not to fear or dislike it, but rush 
 out, dash about, and get up as glorious a 
 glow and tingle as ever one feels in the 
 briny surf. 
 
 I believe pneumonia, la grippe, and kin 
 dred horrors are caused by overheated 
 rooms, lack of fresh air and exercise, over 
 loaded stomachs, and an artificial, nerv 
 ous, hurried way of living. My present 
 manager of farm affairs, a burly Nova 
 Scotian, a fine model of vigorous man 
 hood, tells me he never heard of these 
 diseases till he came to this country. His
 
 Ijit or ittisa. 43 
 
 mother, now over eighty, and the mother 
 of eleven children, never was ill in her 
 life. He has often seen her in "sugar 
 season " working hard all day in the 
 woods, soaked to the skin, and then turn 
 in to sleep on boughs, with an old quilt 
 over her, drying her clothes by the wan 
 ing fire of the open-mouthed camp as she 
 slept soundly. Outdoors, M. D., is my 
 physician. 
 
 Do try my doctor ! No nauseous doses, 
 no dangerous drugs, no big bills for small 
 pills, infinitesimal triturations of highest 
 power. Nothing to do but to go out 
 doors and stay out, taking as much exer 
 cise as your strength will allow, and call 
 every day on the cows and horses, pet 
 them, feed them, get interested in them, 
 and soon you will be well. 
 
 I could cite more wonderful cures from 
 this simple prescription than you see 
 boasted of in every paper in the land. 
 I know a young man who, threatened with 
 sudden and inherited consumption, was ad 
 vised to give up all study, go to Morris- 
 town, N. J., buy a horse, groom it, feed 
 it, ride it, and keep outdoors. Two years 
 4
 
 44 Qlbanboning an Qlboptcd .farm. 
 
 after he took a prize for a standing high 
 jump in college athletics, and stood high in 
 his class as a student. One great secret of 
 the frequent cures in California is the un 
 conscious patronizing of Outdoors, M. D. 
 Half the middle-aged people of our coun 
 try are slowly committing suicide from 
 either too much or too little work, eating 
 too much and exercising too little. I am 
 often unpleasantly reminded of the aged, 
 short-breathed, over-corpulent pet pug, as 
 I meet these indolent, overfed men and 
 women, who can not go up two flights of 
 stairs without painful panting for lack of 
 breath, to whom running would be an im 
 possibility. 
 
 If you can not bring yourself to care for 
 animals, the next best thing is to study Na 
 ture. We know some charming authors 
 who go to her school every day. One 
 great source of health and freshness for 
 Wordsworth was the out-of-door life led 
 by that poet. 
 
 " I should like to see your master s 
 study," said a reverent visitor. " Is this 
 it ? " pointing to the loaded book shelves. 
 " No, sir," said the servant, " this is my
 
 4)it or illiss. 45 
 
 master s library ; his study is out of doors." 
 And Thoreau and Burroughs and Jeffries 
 and Abbott and Olive Thome Miller and 
 Ellwanger have shown us how much one 
 can see close at home by careful obser 
 vation. Ruskin greatly exalts this habit, 
 saying : " The more I think of it, the more 
 I find this conclusion impressed upon me, 
 that the greatest thing a human soul ever 
 does in this world is to see something and 
 tell what it saw in a plain way. Hundreds 
 of people can talk for one who can think, 
 but thousands can think for one who can 
 see." 
 
 Yes, say with Macbeth : 
 
 Throw physic to the dogs ; I ll none of it. 
 
 I literally cure my dogs with the popu 
 lar patent medicines. " Snapper," threat 
 ened with red mange from high living and 
 too many lumps of sugar, was restored to 
 health by sulphur and sarsaparilla. Maxi- 
 dar, ditto. Ebenezer, a handsome double- 
 pawed cat (named for my great-grand 
 father, and, like him, a good fighter), was 
 undoubtedly saved from an untimely death 
 by Castoria. I notice that hens are now
 
 46 Qtbanbotting an Qlboptcb farm. 
 
 treated with homoeopathic remedies. One 
 unlucky hen woman queries thus in The 
 Poultry Journal : " Will you please tell me 
 what is the trouble with my little chicks ? 
 They can not use their legs." Answer: 
 " Give calcarea silicata 6 in drinking wa 
 ter." What a magic and universal power 
 there is in advertising ! 
 
 The last person in the world to be in 
 fluenced by such blazing self-praise con 
 fessed to me that when friends constant 
 ly remarked on her pallor, she thought 
 for one moment in a strange, wild, last- 
 hope sort of way of "Pink Pills for Pale 
 People," promising preservation of pe 
 rennial pulchritude. We are none of us 
 invulnerable, but I believe "Outdoor, 
 M. D.," to be the best physician of them 
 all! 
 
 How I am rattling on ! But why aspire 
 to formal elegance of diction ? My best 
 friends say : " O Kate, if you would only 
 let yourself out, and write as you talk, you 
 would make a hit. Just dash along and 
 be natural, forgetting your audience." It 
 is true that the nib of a steel pen is apt to 
 stiffen my thought-flow, but this chapter
 
 4Fit or itti0s. 47 
 
 is, as the title indicates, just as I talk. 
 Like Rousseau s receipt for a love letter : 
 " Begin without knowing what you are go 
 ing to say, and leave off without knowing 
 what you have said."
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 BYGONES. 
 
 Why can not some web be woven fit for lifelong 
 wear, so that memory may be allowed to crystallize 
 about it, and then the mantles of those we have 
 loved could literally fall upon us ? 
 
 E. H. ROLLINS. 
 
 WHAT sharp contrasts occur in the 
 simplest life ! Day before yesterday, at 
 the Authors Reading, listening with rev 
 erence and delight to Mrs. Howe, Mr. 
 Higginson, and a brilliant circle of celeb 
 rities ; to-day plowing through two feet 
 of snow, with only dogs for companions. 
 This alternation of urban privileges and 
 rural delights makes a perfect combina 
 tion. 
 
 In my young days Boston to me meant 
 all that was best in life. College profess 
 ors in a fresh-water college had but star 
 vation salaries. How did they manage 
 to live comfortably on fifteen hundred 
 (48)
 
 Cngones. 49 
 
 dollars a year, entertaining willingly and 
 generously the anxious parent of wild 
 students, ministers who exchanged, agents 
 for various societies, commencement ora 
 tors, stray missionaries, give class parties, 
 supply themselves with needed books, edu 
 cate their families ? One of the trustees 
 had but three hundred dollars per year as 
 a pastor ; yet he lived well, kept horse 
 and cow, and educated three children. 
 Of course, they could not afford to travel 
 much. 
 
 I remember one professor saying of an 
 associate instructor: "John needs to trav 
 el to rub off sharp corners and broaden 
 his views. If he could only get to White 
 River Junction, or possibly as far as Thet- 
 ford, it would be an immense advantage." 
 But those same professors, overworked, 
 underpaid, restricted by narrow incomes 
 and narrower codes of life, were scholars 
 and heroes, and knew how to make men 
 out of the rough, gawky material sent 
 from the even poorer families in New 
 Hampshire and Vermont. 
 
 It has been the poor boys that have 
 been heard from. Dartmouth does not
 
 50 Qlbanboning an Qlbopteb .farm. 
 
 send forth rationalistic dudes or profes 
 sional sluggers, with a special bow and 
 gait and big canes and swelled heads, but 
 men, to do grand work in the world. 
 
 I never go anywhere, no matter how far 
 away, that I do not find, among the fore 
 most citizens, Dartmouth graduates to be 
 proud of. " It is a small college, but there 
 are those who love it." 
 
 Time s whirligig brings wondrous 
 changes and improvements. Students 
 were forbidden to play cards, so the en 
 joyable games of whist or euchre or 
 cribbage were also forbidden in the homes 
 of the faculty. But the boys played all 
 the same on the sly. Once the inspector, 
 with another teacher, entered a room sud 
 denly where a quiet game was progress 
 ing. Lights went out as suddenly as the 
 door had opened; there was a shuffling 
 and a scuffling, and all was still. The 
 culprits were dragged forth from various 
 retreats. A negro had hidden under the 
 bed. " He need not have done that," said 
 the witty Greek professor ; " he had only 
 to keep dark ! " 
 
 We girls were not allowed to learn to
 
 ones. 51 
 
 dance. Even the simplest square dance 
 was out of the question. But the boys 
 danced by themselves, with handkerchiefs 
 on their arms to designate fair partners, 
 and once in a while drove down to the 
 "June" to indulge in rowdy Terpsicho- 
 rean exertions with a doubtful set of 
 partners. 
 
 The theater was almost the gate of 
 hell 
 
 I remember a question solemnly pro 
 pounded to my class in Sunday school 
 by a professor, afterward a member of 
 Congress : 
 
 "Can a Unitarian possibly be saved?" 
 We were to think over it conscientiously 
 and carefully during the week. 
 
 Billiards was only played secretly and 
 in fear of discovery, in back rooms smell 
 ing of cheap drinks. 
 
 A courageous woman who cooked in 
 the house next to ours let her pretty 
 daughter, Frances, go to a dancing-school. 
 " For," she said, " I don t want to bring 
 her up in a superstitious tragedy." Peo 
 ple laughed at her remark, but I think she 
 had the right of it. Now I open the
 
 52 Qtbanboning an QVbopteb farm. 
 
 Dartmouth and read of private theatri 
 cals, dancing and card parties. Com 
 mencement balls are matronized by pro 
 fessors wives. The professors themselves 
 play lawn tennis and whist, and I believe 
 the average of morality is higher than 
 when all amusement was suppressed, and 
 considered wicked. 
 
 My life was pretty tame ; entertaining 
 returned missionaries was not to my taste. 
 The especial Western brother that I recall 
 with detestation was a home missionary 
 from Oregon, who had come back for 
 funds and a second wife to assist him in 
 his arduous labors. 
 
 He came to spend one night, but re 
 mained four days. 
 
 Of course our one servant had been 
 called to nurse a sick brother, and 1 had 
 to rattle round in her place. What an 
 appetite that man was blessed with, and 
 how interminably he did talk and talk, 
 keeping all at table when I longed to be 
 clearing up and get outdoors ! The day 
 he did go he gave us a drive. I sat by 
 him, and these were his pleasing remarks : 
 
 "You have one sister, I believe?"
 
 Bygones. 53 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " She is happily married, I hear." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " She, I am told, is very good-looking 
 quite a beauty ! " 
 
 " Yes," again. 
 
 " They say she hasn t got red hair." 
 
 Once in a great while, when fairly 
 starved for a little uplift and recreation, 
 I was allowed to go down to Boston for 
 a few days to see famous pictures there 
 on exhibition, hear an organ concert, go 
 to the theater, hear Dickens read, see 
 Charlotte Cushman or Booth, do a very 
 little shopping, stare like a hungry child 
 on Christmas eve at shop windows, browse 
 in bookstores and the Public Library, and 
 best and most prized of all pleasure see 
 dear Mr. Fields for a few moments. He 
 would greet me so cordially, tell me a 
 story, give me some new books to notice, 
 and I would go home with enough joy to 
 live on for three months. 
 
 I have never felt that enough has been 
 said about Mr. Fields as a generous help 
 er of young people and young authors 
 and struggling teachers and poverty-
 
 54 Qlbanboning an QVboptcb .farm. 
 
 struck colleges. It was a constant and 
 cheerful habit with him to give, give, 
 give to all who needed his assistance a 
 lecture here, an encouraging letter there, 
 a reassuring hand-grasp, a greeting smile 
 of welcome. 
 
 De Quincey s widely scattered essays 
 were hunted up and collected by his lov 
 ing hand. He made Dickens and Thack 
 eray feel at home in Boston. His lectures, 
 given freely to classes of students, did 
 incalculable good ; his own essays are 
 delightful reading ; his verses are grace 
 ful and genuine. As a friend he will ever 
 stand pre-eminent. I revere and bless 
 his memory. If it was a treat to a cal 
 low scribbler to see Mr. Fields in his 
 sanctum or in his ideal home, it was even 
 more to be allowed to have him as an 
 honored guest for several days and sev 
 eral times in our own home " Under the 
 Elms." 
 
 The students to whom he gave these 
 lectures fairly adored him. On the mem 
 orable occasion of his first visit to us I, 
 for the only time in my life, was too ex 
 cited and delighted to think of food, fas-
 
 Sfigoncs. 55 
 
 cinated by the charm of his conversation. 
 I did feel the pangs of hunger after omit 
 ting supper and breakfast, and had to 
 seek in the pantry for a cold drumstick 
 and a glass of milk after his departure. 
 Every story he told on that first visit is 
 stamped indelibly on my mind. I have 
 never seen them in print, and they de- 
 ,serve resurrection. 
 
 He said : " We decided to go to some 
 quiet spot in New Hampshire. I needed 
 rest. I desired to get away from talk, 
 from authors with manuscripts under their 
 arms, from the Atlantic Monthly and any 
 one who could say anything about it. 
 We chose Camptown as just the place, 
 and drove up to a very pretty cottage, 
 with the neatest surroundings, and in 
 quired for board and room for two. The 
 woman herself opened the door just a 
 little way and looked out. Can t you 
 take us ? We would like to stay with 
 you a week. Guess not. I ve got tired 
 of these city boarders. They want every 
 thing for nothing, and women are dread 
 ful fussy. But at length she relented, 
 and said : Well, I like your appearance
 
 56 QUmnftoning an QVboptcb .farm. 
 
 and I ll take you ; but you must do your 
 own stretching, " meaning, as was after 
 ward discovered, that they were expected 
 to wait upon themselves at table. 
 
 He started out after breakfast the first 
 morning for a long tramp, and as he went 
 out of the yard he congratulated him 
 self that he was at last away from all an 
 noyance incident to his life as editor of 
 the Atlantic Monthly. Probably nobody 
 here ever heard of such a thing. And 
 he strode on, light-hearted and at ease. 
 As he descended the first hill he saw a 
 curious figure hastening down the oppo 
 site incline. He was tall and shambly in 
 gait, wore a beflowered old dressing-gown 
 and a rusty beaver, and as he approached 
 he began this salutation : 
 
 " Is this Mr. Fields ? " 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 " Mr. Fields who is editor of the At 
 lantic Monthly ? " 
 
 "Yes, yes," and he tried to get on. 
 But, oh, no ! 
 
 The object said: " Good morning, Mr. 
 Fields. I have come thus early, intending 
 to call and see if you would not provide
 
 Bngones. 57 
 
 the Atlantic Monthly for one year gratis 
 to an indigent clergyman ? " 
 
 On his return from the walk his host 
 congratulated him. " You are quite a 
 pedestinarian," and called his attention 
 to some chairs on the porch. " Do you 
 like these chairs ? " 
 
 " Why, yes, they are just the thing." 
 
 " Well, I think myself that they are 
 pretty good for piazzery purposes." 
 
 He pretended that he went into the 
 drug store and inquired of the clerk, who 
 was presumably rather simple-minded, 
 " What do you consider the most popular 
 pill now ? " 
 
 But said clerk was not so artless as he 
 looked, and he replied promptly : " Wall, 
 I have an uncle who has traveled a lot 
 been to Europe, Asia, Indy, and Cali- 
 forny ; and he gives the preference to 
 Schenck s. He says that all the craowned 
 heads are a-takin of em ! " 
 
 He told me of a chore boy adopted in 
 this family whose name was Henry Ward 
 Beecher Fogg, who was more lazy than 
 devout, but used his religion as a cloak to 
 hide his sins from his trusting parents.
 
 58 Qlbanboning an Qlboptcb farm. 
 
 He would suggest, on a hot day when 
 weary of haying, that they should sing 
 before nooning, " Lord, dismiss us with 
 thy blessing," and go home to meditate. 
 When the good woman listened at his 
 door and distinctly heard him snoring in 
 stead of praying, her confidence waned. 
 
 His stories about lecturing were ex 
 cellent. Several of Boston s beacon lights 
 were discussing their remunerations for 
 lectures as novitiates, and Dr. Holmes 
 capped the climax by saying that he once 
 lectured for five dollars. But as he was 
 coming down from the pulpit a deacon 
 met him, and said, " This lecture wasn t 
 just what we was lookin for, and I guess 
 that tew-fifty will be abaout right." 
 
 How quaint his tale of Whittier, when 
 he spent a night at Amesbury and was 
 just sinking into his first sleep, stealing 
 in at night to tuck up his feet against the 
 cold, as his mother used to do ! And of 
 the Frenchman who, coming to Boston, 
 went out to Cambridge to call on Long 
 fellow, offering as his reason for the 
 visit, " Sare, I hear you ave no ruins in 
 dis countree, so I ave come to see you."
 
 59 
 
 Mr. Fields never hesitated to tell a 
 story about himself ; as when he was 
 going out to his seaside home at Man 
 chester, Mass., and overheard two men 
 just in front, talking in this way: 
 
 " They say that Fields the publisher s 
 got a house up there on Thunderbolt 
 Hill." 
 
 " Yes, that s his house, right up there." 
 
 " He s a lecturing a little too, now, ain t 
 he?" 
 
 " Yes, he s going round all the time." 
 
 " Well, how is he, anyway ? " 
 
 " Well, he ain t Gough, by a - sight." 
 
 And the man who didn t seem pleased 
 by his personal appearance or manner, 
 who presented himself with the usual 
 bundle of manuscripts at his office door : 
 
 " Good morning, sir," he said. " Is this 
 Mr. Fields ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir, I am Mr. Fields." 
 
 " Mr. James T. Fields?" 
 
 " Yes, that is my name." 
 
 " I mean a member of the firm of Tick- 
 nor & Fields." 
 
 " I am that person." 
 
 "Well, then, I d like to see Mr. Ticknor." 
 5
 
 60 Qlbanboning an ^.bopteb farm. 
 
 That s all I can spare space for now on 
 that delightful theme. 
 
 Mr. Higginson alluded to a letter from 
 Mr. Fields which procured him " A Morn 
 ing with Tennyson," and his words 
 brought back old memories. 
 
 I can t quite go back to quiltings, spin 
 ning bees, " singing meetings," and spell 
 ing matches, or to the shoemakers who 
 went from house to house with bench and 
 lapstone, making a supply of shoes for the 
 whole family, nor to the invaluable tai- 
 loress who carried her goose and press- 
 board, but I distinctly do recall the dress 
 maker, who came to us with big shears (I 
 can still feel them clipping round my 
 neck) and brass thimble without a top, 
 who made our dresses for twenty-five 
 cents a day; and considering the crea 
 tions evolved, I think she was too well 
 paid. Money was precious and scarce, 
 but I knew nothing of the miserly scrimp 
 ing and meanness that are often allied to 
 close economy. I was told, the other day, 
 of a deacon s wife of a former generation 
 who lay awake a whole night praying 
 that her husband might give her twenty-
 
 6l 
 
 five cents to pay her "quarterage" for 
 the missionary collection, and that he 
 might give it willingly. A lady born in 
 1801 says : 
 
 " The early inculcation of saving formed 
 a lifelong habit, and was sometimes car 
 ried to a ridiculous extent; as when an 
 aged minister stopped on the steps of his 
 church of a Sunday morning, and, point 
 ing with his cane, said, There is a pin ; 
 or when a portly gentleman, walking with 
 a lady, stooped, and picking up an old 
 brass button placed it carefully on the 
 top of a post. I know it is of no use, 
 he said, but I could not pass it by. Sav 
 ing has been my habit from childhood. 
 There was no waste of a crumb or scrap 
 that could help feed an animal or be made 
 into soap or paper. Paper was used with 
 especial care. My mother would as soon 
 have taken her handkerchief as a paper 
 to kindle a fire. When the fire went out, 
 if there was not a tinder-box in the house 
 a flint was used to get a spark, or a lan 
 tern was taken to a neighbor to have the 
 candle lighted, or a skillet to bring home 
 a coal of fire."
 
 62 QUjcmbonittg on &bopteb .farm. 
 
 Nor did I see aught but the rosy side 
 of farm life in my girlhood. The farmers 
 who came to our door with their produce 
 to sell were our friends and benefactors, 
 well-to-do, "forehanded," and "good 
 providers " for their own families. Two 
 of these I remember with real affection. 
 The first was Uncle Daniel Farnum tall, 
 lank, lean-favored, with a twinkling eye 
 and a ready smile. He called potatoes 
 " short sass " ; carrots, beets, etc., " long 
 sass " ; and spoke of steaks and chops as 
 " low meats " in distinction from roasts. 
 In his bounteous hospitality he was al 
 ways urging us to " come over " in sugar- 
 ing-off time, cherry time, plum time, 
 hulled-corn time, beechnut time, molasses- 
 candy time, etc. a calendar of goodies 
 for the entire year. He inclined to an 
 alphabetical arrangement of his family, 
 and at table he would say in his hearty 
 way, " Hannah A., pass the butter ; Noah 
 B., run down cellar*and draw a little ci 
 der ; Emma C, help Kate to cottage 
 cheese made to hum ; Polly D., you tend 
 to that pie." He became at last a little 
 crazed by the Millerite doctrine, and, pru-
 
 63 
 
 dently willing his property to his wife, he 
 prepared to go up. Alcott used to say, 
 " Each one may decide when he will as 
 cend," and dear Uncle Daniel had that 
 conviction in a literal fashion. One even 
 ing he donned his white robe of de 
 parture his " going-away gown " and 
 mounted to the ridge-pole, but receiving 
 no supernal summons nor assistance, re 
 turned to his anxious family to await 
 orders. 
 
 The second stand-by was white-haired, 
 rosy-cheeked, blue-eyed Father Newton, 
 a veritable Cheeryble brother, who .came 
 twice a week with goodies, and whom I 
 often visited. Oh, the delights of taking 
 tea there, and the sense of repletion that 
 followed! Oh, those big raised biscuits, 
 the three kinds of sauce, four or five va 
 rieties of cake, and always pie in astound 
 ing variety ! and why not pie when one 
 can get such pies ? Beecher knew what 
 he was talking about when he said : " Ap 
 ple pie should be eaten while it is yet 
 florescent, white or creamy yellow, with 
 the merest drip of candied juice along the 
 edges ; of a mild and modest warmth ; the
 
 64 Qlbanbonituj an Qlbopteb .farm. 
 
 sugar suggesting jelly, yet not jellied ; the 
 morsels of apple neither dissolved nor yet 
 in original substance, but hanging, as it 
 were, in a trance between the spirit and 
 the flesh of applehood." 
 
 And Dr. Holmes says: "There is a 
 very odd prejudice against pie as an arti 
 cle of diet. It is common to hear every 
 form of bodily degeneracy attributed to 
 this particular favorite food. I see no 
 reason or sense in it. Mr. Emerson be 
 lieved in pie, and was almost indignant 
 when a fellow-traveler refused the slice 
 
 he offered him. Why, Mr. , he 
 
 said, what is pie made for ? If every 
 Green Mountain boy has not eaten a 
 thousand times his weight in apple, 
 pumpkin, squash, and mince pie, call me 
 a dumpling. And Colonel Ethan Allen 
 was one of them Ethan Allen, who, as 
 they used to say, could wrench off the 
 head of a wrought nail with his teeth." 
 
 And do you understand me when I al 
 lude to a "pan-dowdy" and a "brown 
 Betty"? If not, I condole with you. I 
 would walk ten miles to-night to get 
 again the robust welcome, the exuberant
 
 65 
 
 happiness, the old fashioned sincerity, not 
 omitting the well-spread table, of those 
 old-time visits. It has been the lasting 
 remembrance of such delights that made 
 me aspire to a farm and a country home; 
 and my highest ambition socially is to 
 make my dear friends as happy round my 
 table as I used to be when a guest at 
 " Jericho."
 
 *v 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 HELP ! 
 No suitable quotation exists for this theme. 
 
 I SAID that when we were afflicted with 
 the missionary our cook had gone to care 
 for a sick brother. When she returned 
 she told us he was "dead and in his 
 grave," but announced it in such a jubi 
 lant mood that we wondered. " It was 
 good he went as he did ; he was gittin 
 awful helpless. Fust off he had paralyssis, 
 and then pewmony set in. The Masons 
 come and took care of him, slick as ever 
 you see, and I tell you they buried him 
 right up to the handle." The display and 
 paraphernalia of the Masonic rites had 
 obliterated her natural grief. 
 
 She it was who came out and stood at 
 the front gate one exquisite summer even 
 ing in July. So peaceful, so dreamy, so 
 serene, yet I could discern a happy un 
 dertone of insect language and soft twit- 
 
 (66)
 
 67 
 
 tering of sleepy birds, and I said : " How 
 still and quiet ! yet, if you listen, you can 
 hear various sounds." 
 
 " Yes, mum, there s most allers some 
 thing a-squeekin in natur." 
 
 She left us to marry a brother Mason 
 in the fall. I think they met at the fu 
 neral ; and when I wrote that I would like 
 to know how she was getting on, and 
 hoped she had found a good husband, she 
 replied, " I got a pretty good husband, I 
 suppose, as men run." 
 
 I could quote all day the sayings of my 
 various assistants in my early home; as 
 the very grand young lady who came to 
 honor us with her presence for a few 
 weeks, but left suddenly with the expla 
 nation that " there was no future in cook 
 ing." 
 
 But it is on my sorrows here with my 
 hired men that I desire to dwell. Several 
 have professed such devotion to me that 
 they could remain forever ; but in each 
 instance cider hard old cider has de 
 prived me of their valuable society. My 
 farm has proved to be a temporary re 
 treat for nonreformed inebriates, all of
 
 68 Qlbanboning an Qlboptcb .farm. 
 
 whom came with glorious testimonials of 
 character from reliable and religious peo 
 ple, none of which alluded to the fatal 
 habit. There are more lies told in these 
 letters of recommendation negative, si 
 lent lies than in the advertisements offer 
 ing a house or horse for sale ; and that is 
 putting it strong. 
 
 I have had ample opportunity to study 
 intoxication in its various phases. Mar 
 tin Dubois, my first, used to get red-faced 
 and audaciously complimentary after he 
 had imbibed too freely. 
 
 "You are a most beautiful lady!" he 
 once exclaimed as he tottered in and fell 
 heavily over a clothes-horse and back 
 against the kitchen door. "You re a per 
 fect lady, so you are ! " 
 
 He was an extreme egotist, and always 
 desired to speak of himself, his sea adven 
 tures, his agricultural success, whoever 
 my guests might be. Once I was walking 
 over the farm with two distinguished men, 
 one prominent in philanthropy, the other 
 a rabid politician of opposite views. Both 
 were talking, each on his own theme ; but 
 Martin would attempt to drown both
 
 69 
 
 voices by tales of his achievements with 
 my oats or cabbages. They would nod 
 abstractedly and return each to his " mou- 
 ton." At last Martin insisted on display 
 ing his withered arm. He had fallen 
 from a masthead and injured said arm. 
 It was useless from the elbow, unpleas 
 antly flabby. It would turn easily every 
 which way, and really was his pride. He 
 was sternly rebuked, and commanded 
 never to do so again ; but this patho 
 logical spectacle was still exhibited in a 
 more furtive way whenever a stray guest 
 could be momentarily impaled. 
 
 He was always talking about burglars, 
 and men he caught just climbing into the 
 dining-room window, and tramps he rout 
 ed at midnight from the haymow, and 
 mysterious characters lounging round the 
 depot, until I got so nervous and scary 
 that life was a burden. 
 
 One dark night, after waiting awake 
 for several hours to hear somebody, I did 
 certainly hear a step down-stairs. Prob 
 ably that burglar had got in this time. 
 After listening in that breathless way 
 which stands one s hair straight up and
 
 70 Qtbanboning an ^.boptcb farm. 
 
 protrudes the eyes, I stole stealthily down 
 and just escaped death at the hands of 
 my protector himself, who, armed with a 
 big club like a policeman s billy, was hid 
 ing behind the kitchen door ready to 
 swing it at any intruder. I just shied 
 past him and ran up to my room, decid 
 ing that my worst foes were those of my 
 own household. He was a wild-looking 
 Indiany object at all times, suggesting a 
 cross between a Canuck and an Apache. 
 But when he went out on rainy days to 
 cut rhubarb for the innocuous pie, skulk 
 ing through the shrubbery, an old red 
 blanket on his shoulders, bareheaded, and 
 armed with a huge carving knife, I was 
 truly in terror lest he might be seized 
 with a sudden frenzy and slay us all, for 
 he did have such bad "spells" of tem 
 per. At haying time he got so ugly that, 
 inflamed by more drink than usual, he 
 quarreled without reason with a quiet 
 hand who had come to help, and jammed 
 him against the side of the barn. Hear 
 ing loud altercation, I ran out and joined 
 in the fray to rescue the small-sized man, 
 who was not overstrong, from old wounds
 
 71 
 
 in the war. It was a thrilling occasion, 
 my first and last free fight. I could not 
 stand it to have a man killed right before 
 my eyes a man working for me, too. 
 The matter had been so hastily arranged 
 that the usual preliminaries were omitted, 
 such as the calling out of the militia, the 
 skillful working up of popular interest by 
 obtaining one kind of injunction from a 
 lower court, to be counteracted by an 
 other kind of injunction from a higher 
 court. There was not even a referee, no 
 seconds, no bottle-holder barring one of 
 the combatants no reporters, no audi 
 ence, not even a vidience. 
 
 I had to assume all these important 
 functions, and at once ; without, more 
 over, the usual training for the fist, years 
 of constant practice with the mouth, and 
 appearance as a star in any theater. I 
 also found it necessary to be one of the 
 principals ; in fact, the principal principal 
 as a matter of principle. 
 
 So, dashing in as they clinched, I land 
 ed on the neck of my hired man(iac), and, 
 pulling him off, gave him an " upper cut," 
 and a cut, too, " on the bias," across his
 
 72 5\.banboning an ^boptcb .farm. 
 
 left eye, and retired, tired but triumphant, 
 and proud of my muscle. 
 
 The martyrized victim declared, with 
 white lips and trembling tones, that he 
 wasn t at all alarmed ; but I was, and 
 angry, too ; and when he went off to con 
 sult a constable and get the law of the 
 "bloody Indian," I sincerely hoped my 
 ferocious Martin would be sent to the 
 lockup for a night at least. But nothing 
 ever came in retribution, and my friends 
 implored me to dismiss him; so he retired 
 from my household soon after. 
 
 Haying is a terrible ordeal. There s 
 real poetry about emerald-tinted, dewy 
 grass, and the wave of growing grain, and 
 the tall and blithely nodding oats, and 
 stalwart, bronzed haymakers, and merry, 
 sun -kissed maidens in broad -brimmed 
 hats. But the real man in actual, prosaic 
 haying time is like a woman on washing 
 day so outrageously and unreasonably 
 cross and irascible that the very dogs dart 
 outdoor with tails between their legs. 
 
 Then, hayers are always so " dry." 
 They bring, of course, cider by the gal 
 lon, but continually demand lemonade
 
 73 
 
 and ice-water, with strong hints for some 
 thing more potent. I have seen harvest 
 ing done in the West with twenty-eight 
 horses and a magnificent apparatus, with 
 three men to guide the machinery, deliv 
 ering the grain, tied up in strong bags, at 
 each corner of the immense field. This 
 is grand; but country haying is simply a 
 horror ! 
 
 My second superintendent, when mildly 
 boozy, was funny enough. He came one 
 evening to my sitting-room door and 
 knocked in a way that meant important 
 and pressing business and immediate ac 
 tion. I looked up from my letter-writing 
 a little annoyed at the untimely interrup 
 tion. 
 
 " Scuse me, miss," he said, doffing his 
 old cap with a Chesterfieldian bow, "but 
 we ve got to settle it to-night." 
 
 " Settle what, Jerry ? " 
 
 " Why, about that gosling or goose, as 
 she or he has grown to be. It won t do, 
 ma am, to let the old goose do any more 
 settin . I ll bet she s a hundred now, and 
 that the gander s her own brother. It 
 don t amount to nothing. Now, for the
 
 74 Qlbanfooninig an Qlbopleb .farm. 
 
 life of me " and he reeled a trifle, but 
 recovered himself with dignity " I can t 
 decide whether the only gosling we got 
 out of thirteen eggs and two months 
 steady setting (the gander taking his turn 
 at it full half the time) is a he or a she. 
 Sometimes I think she s a she, and then I 
 mistrust she s a he; and again I believe 
 it s a she, after all is said and done. 
 Now " and again his center of gravity 
 seemed as uncertain as the problem pre 
 sented " you see how it is ; if it is a she, 
 well, then we had better get a he ; and if 
 it turns out a he, why, we ll have to buy 
 a she, and we ve got to settle it to-night." 
 
 By this time his eye glittered, his face 
 was flushed, his tones loud. I told him I 
 always made it a practice, which I never 
 broke over, to sleep before settling any 
 serious question, and I must do so now, 
 even in this crisis. The mind, I contin 
 ued, often works out things for itself in 
 just the best way. " You go to bed now, 
 and in the morning we shall both be bet 
 ter able to decide." 
 
 As I went up-stairs after the impressive 
 interview, the old clock on the landing
 
 75 
 
 struck twelve, and the matter was not 
 settled. 
 
 I thought of a story I read long ago, 
 showing how much could be expressed 
 and explained by the use of one pronoun. 
 A Lancashire witness was explaining a 
 fight. " He d a stick, and he d a stick, 
 and he hit he, and he he. And if he had 
 hit he harder than he hit he he d a killed 
 he, and not he he." Who can help adding 
 he-he-he ! in a laugh ? 
 
 When Jerry was himself, no one could 
 be more civil, kind, and satisfactory. He 
 was so tall, well made, and good-looking 
 that I was proud of him as a coachman, 
 and have always missed him. 
 
 But drink changed him to a demon ; 
 then he grew white and desperate. And 
 when the climax came, and he hurled a 
 hatchet at the head of his patient, gentle, 
 loving wife, making a dangerous cut, and 
 dashed the brimming milk-pail through 
 the kitchen window, I felt it was time to 
 part. 
 
 But parting was a prolonged agony. 
 Five miserable days were devoted to ani 
 mated but unavailing efforts to induce 
 6
 
 76 QUwnboning an QVbopteb farm. 
 
 him to sever his associations with Goose- 
 ville. Forbidden the house, he would 
 stand under a spreading maple across the 
 way, looking dangerously sulky, and at 
 night would steal back to hold pathetic 
 interviews with his patient wife, who re 
 plied in hoarse, sobbing whispers from 
 her second-story window, all of which 
 sounded full of dire possibilities to me, 
 listening in that intense way in which a 
 thoroughly frightened woman does listen 
 after midnight, and no moon. He, too, 
 regarded me as a mother, and could not 
 go away without a last interview. I spent 
 most of the time with kind neighbors; 
 went away on the fourth day for a five- 
 mile tramp, only to see Jerry slouching 
 -around in the same old fashion as I wea 
 rily turned the last corner for home. 
 
 To add to my unhappy plight during 
 this protracted launching of poor Jerry 
 into the " wide, wide world," two friends 
 came, as three of old once came, to com 
 fort and advise. But, unlike Eliphaz the 
 Temanite and Bildad the Shuhite, they 
 didn t sit down for seven days in consid 
 erate silence, but began to speak at once.
 
 77 
 
 One said : " I don t want to alarm you, but 
 that man is a reckless character when in 
 toxicated, and it isn t safe for you to be 
 here nights without a guard. He said, 
 down town, that you would live to regret 
 turning him off. What you need is a con 
 stable here every night till he goes away. 
 It will cost a good deal, but he might set 
 fire to the barn, or get into the house 
 drunk and kill somebody. He knows 
 every door and window ; you couldn t 
 keep him out." The companion was a 
 constable and ready to be engaged at 
 once, but that I did not then know, and I 
 probably looked pale and nervous. Con 
 stable, next loquiter : 
 
 " There s another thing you ought to 
 do right away, and that is, to get a bull 
 dog to protect your premises. It would 
 cost something, of course, but my friend 
 here has got just the animal you want. 
 Why, the other day he jumped right 
 through a window after a bad-looking 
 tramp. Door was locked and family away, 
 and he was bound to get out and do his 
 duty." 
 
 " But I have two fine watch-dogs," I
 
 78 Qlbanboning an Qlbojjtcb .farm. 
 
 said, " and don t want to buy another, and 
 such a fierce one as you describe." 
 
 "Yes," said the owner of the dog, "I 
 know that; but then, you see, they know 
 Jerry and would let him go right by, and 
 wag their tails all right, if he was a-breakin 
 in. Well, all is, I don t think you re safe as 
 tis now. Jerry s fearful worked up. You 
 can have the dog for twenty-five dollars 
 he s worth every cent of it and then 
 you ll feel easy. Nobody knows what 
 such a man will do when he s drunk, and 
 mad too." 
 
 Unable to make their schemes succeed 
 although I was trembling with fear 
 they left, shaking their heads solemnly 
 and prophesying dire tragedies. The 
 next day Jerry did depart with his long- 
 suffering wife, who had declared that 
 he might go alone and look out for him 
 self. 
 
 After a series of tearful and demon 
 strative good-bys, she decided that there 
 couldn t be a better fellow than Jerry, 
 "when the liquor wasn t in him to pos 
 sess him," and such a husband was better, 
 after all, than no man at all. As the train
 
 79 
 
 disappeared, I sat down to moralize on 
 the curse of intemperance, the inexplica 
 ble devotion of a much-abused wife, and 
 the horror of crocodile sympathy.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 WOMEN AND GEESE. 
 
 Have a motto, but dare not give it. 
 
 " No Metcalf on map ! " 
 
 Apologies are again in order. I make 
 them gladly, gleefully, proudly, since such 
 dense ignorance is bliss, procuring me a 
 prize package a most complete and con 
 scientiously thorough atlas of the grand 
 old State of Massachusetts, also a small 
 pocket map, etc. 
 
 No Metcalf on any map ? I deserve a 
 dunce cap and bells, but never was good 
 in " jografy," and had no State atlas to 
 study. 
 
 On page 154 of my big atlas there is 
 " Metcalf Station P. O." in clear, black 
 letters, and " Chicken Brook " (how for 
 tuitously appropriate that name for a hen 
 woman!). My brook is meandering just 
 like life over the page, actually a tribu 
 tary of the Charles River. 
 (80)
 
 iDomen anb (Seeee. 81 
 
 I am sure that with the aid of a micro 
 scope I could actually discern the flag 
 staff, and my biggest henhouse, or " Kate s 
 Hen Coop," as " On Shares " calls it. 
 
 And not only Metcalf, but every town, 
 post office, railroad station, hill, pond, 
 stream, shore name, or any other feature 
 that has a name, no matter how insignifi 
 cant. 
 
 Yes, I see " Crimpville," " Peppercorn 
 Hill," " Lily Pond," " Magomiscock Hill," 
 etc., all down. I looked at " No. Fox- 
 borough " in a puzzled way (just one 
 instant). I knew full well about Fox- 
 borough. 
 
 How few people will admit that they 
 have made a mistake or are in the wrong ! 
 In fact, I can t recollect any single in 
 stance, bright and shining, but myself. 
 
 I like to admit a blunder and gain so 
 much information and a fifteen-dollar 
 atlas, with pocket map thrown in ! I am 
 willing, nay, eager, to make more blun 
 ders, and will apologize indefinitely and 
 continuously, if others will come to the 
 fore as nobly, as generously. 
 
 I do hereby and furthermore acknowl-
 
 82 ^banboning an Qlbopteb .farm. 
 
 edge that we women are most ignorant, 
 inconsequent, illogical, incoherent imbe 
 ciles at times. I determined to write on 
 that theme " Women as Imbeciles " 
 one day when in California sojourning at 
 a popular " Health Retreat " on a moun 
 tain top, three miles from anywhere. 
 
 I had commenced scribbling one Fri 
 day afternoon and had related one absurd 
 instance in rather a superior and far- 
 above-all-such-nonsense sort of fashion, 
 when the dinner-bell sounded. Wishing to 
 be wisely careful, I took up my valuable 
 little watch lying on the table, put it into 
 the trunk tray, and closed the lid. At 
 once I realized that on the watch chain 
 were both trunk keys, and the lock was 
 hopelessly closed. 
 
 I said twas " of a Friday." The whole 
 establishment was run by Second Advent- 
 ists, who kept Saturday most scrupulous 
 ly for their Sabbath. No guests were 
 received or taken down to depart. No 
 work could be done. Then came our 
 Sunday ! Had to wait nearly three days 
 before a locksmith could be secured and 
 brought up the rocky road to my relief.
 
 tDomen anb (Eeese. 83 
 
 I lost interest in that article, and it re 
 mains unfinished, but the materials for 
 such an essay gain upon me. I inquired 
 of a wretched woman almost dead from 
 dropsy, sojourning at the same retreat, 
 what she thought had caused the disease. 
 She sighed wearily, and replied : " I be 
 lieve it was brought upon me by an im 
 mense bustle which I hired a neighbor to 
 make for me when bustles were consid 
 ered a necessity as well as the fashion. 
 It was heavy and heating, tiring me ter 
 ribly, and when at last I took it off my 
 back was so sensitive I caught cold there, 
 so my doctor says " ; and this poor bloated 
 victim of a section of a hair mattress 
 leaned back to think of the tapping 
 probably the last on the morrow. An 
 other patient, a most interesting, culti 
 vated woman, literally caught her death 
 of cold by sitting for two hours in the 
 aisle of a damp cathedral directly over 
 a cold-air register during an organ re 
 cital. 
 
 " And why didn t you move, or go out ? " 
 I inquired. 
 
 "Oh, the aisles were crowded, and the
 
 84 ^.banboning on QVbopteb .farm. 
 
 music was heavenly, and I thought I 
 shouldn t mind the chill." 
 
 Needless suicide for two apparently 
 sensible women. We say, " How silly.! 
 how wicked ! " But just realize that almost 
 all our sex are to-day suffering for pock 
 ets nay, worse and more ridiculous, for 
 " only " one pocket apiece and go about 
 with handkerchiefs stuck in belt (usually 
 missing in time of need) and with port- 
 monnaie in extended hand, as if in char 
 itable consideration for the passing thief. 
 We need not aspire to the masculine lux 
 ury of fourteen pockets, but it is imbe 
 cile that we do not insist on having one 
 in each dress and in a convenient locality. 
 
 "Florence, your pocket is sticking out 
 of the placket," I said to a friend as she 
 was starting on a shopping expedition. 
 
 " Well, for mercy s sake, don t touch it ; 
 it s such a comfort to know where it is ! " 
 
 A New York friend wrote in this way 
 to me last summer : 
 
 " Dear Kate, I go to Boston to-morrow, 
 and would like to see you and your unique 
 home. Do you care enough for me to 
 meet me at Boston and take me out for a
 
 tDo me n anb (B>eese. 85 
 
 day to your farm ? It will be quite a test 
 of your friendship, nevertheless I shall 
 look for you, dear. It must be lovely out 
 there now. Till we meet, devotedly as 
 ever." 
 
 She did not mention hour of starting 
 nor intended route, nor even whether she 
 was to come by rail or boat. This was a 
 test, but I managed to reach her by tele 
 gram and secure a little definite informa 
 tion. After her visit, all too brief, I found 
 she had left her umbrella in the rack, her 
 sandals at the door, her tooth-wash on the 
 stand, and her watch in the upper bureau 
 drawer. 
 
 I can see that Howells is true to nature 
 when he makes his women unreasoning, 
 inconsequent, and often silly, but still 
 fascinating and lovable pleasing idiots ! 
 We grumble and rebel at his types, but 
 the trouble is they are too realistic, too 
 true to life. Being an imbecile myself, I 
 feel more at ease with such. I once met 
 a lady who remarked with supreme self- 
 gratulation, " I never made a mistake 
 in my life." That statement, in itself a 
 gigantic mistake, prejudiced me unpleas-
 
 86 Qlbanboning an Qlfcoptcb farm. 
 
 antly. I don t like women who think 
 themselves perfect, making a foible of om 
 niscience, as Sydney Smith said of Arch 
 bishop Whewell ; and, in spite of their im 
 becility, I prefer to stay with the jolly 
 majority, if they are geese. 
 
 Apropos of geese, I visited Hagen- 
 beck s show the other day and saw geese 
 going through a military drill. Must be 
 gin teaching mine at once. It will take 
 time, but, as they often live to be one 
 hundred and fifty years old, some one can 
 carry on the good work after I am gone. 
 I believe all living things can be marvel- 
 ously trained by care and patience. One 
 of my friends has a dozen pet frogs which 
 he feeds with mice. He becomes deeply 
 interested in the individual characteristics 
 of his batrachian friends. 
 
 Back of his house is a small pond full 
 of lily pads, grass-bordered, with a grav 
 el path about it. Red goldfish gleam in 
 the water. Here and there a turtle s 
 .head lies still on the surface. But the in 
 habitants and rulers of this province are 
 the dozen or more bullfrogs that have 
 lived there for six years past, and whose
 
 toomcn cm& (Biesse. 87 
 
 whole bearing indicates that they own 
 the pond and know they do. 
 
 They are simply monstrous great, fat, 
 unwieldy-looking creatures, but whoever 
 thinks them as stupid as they look makes 
 a great mistake. Three times a week, at 
 five o clock in the afternoon, Mr. Jewell 
 feeds them their favorite article of diet 
 live mice. Promptly by five o clock on 
 those afternoons the hungriest are up on 
 the bank waiting for him to come to his 
 regular seat by the path. When he rings 
 a bell the rest of them come swimming 
 along from all parts of the pond and 
 climb up beside the vanguard ; the gold 
 fish that also hear- the call come swarm 
 ing up to the shore, for they are to be 
 fed too ; and the blackbirds and robins, 
 hearing the bell, know it means crackers 
 for the fish, and that if they themselves 
 are prompt about it they can get their 
 share, and so they come flying to the 
 pond too. It is a queer sight the fish 
 in the water, the birds in the air, and the 
 frogs in one element or the other as they 
 prefer. 
 
 Gilbert White made much of a tortoise,
 
 88 ^.banboning an ^bopteb /arm. 
 
 and Lord Erskine at one time kept two 
 leeches as favorites. Being used when he 
 was taken dangerously ill, he fancied that 
 they saved his life. Every day he gave 
 them fresh water, and felt sure that both 
 knew him and were appreciative of his 
 attentions. He named them Home and 
 Cline, after two celebrated surgeons, and 
 he affirmed that they differed decidedly 
 in disposition. Robert Herrick had a pet 
 pig which he fed daily with milk from a 
 silver tankard. Harriet Martineau had 
 the same odd pet which she had washed 
 and scrubbed daily. When too ill to su 
 perintend the operation, she would listen 
 at* her window for piggy s squeals when 
 the ablution commenced. Charles Kings- 
 ley was interested in all animals, and ev 
 ery creature living (barring the spider) ; 
 toads and sandwasps were protected and 
 cared for, and he even rejoiced in a favor 
 ite slow-worm, which his parishioners were 
 especially enjoined not to kill. 
 
 And a New York artist has a cricket 
 orchestra in her studio, living in a Gothic 
 cottage of glass with a wire roof, and 
 filled with ferns and grasses. She de-
 
 tDomen onb >eese. 89 
 
 lights in their shrill reiterations, to her the 
 merriest music, and says they are always 
 entertaining, never having to be enter 
 tained.* 
 
 It is my belief that all animals, birds, 
 and insects know much more than we 
 give them credit for. Dear little " Snap 
 per " has learned with ease and rapidity 
 ten rather uncommon and difficult tricks, 
 such as ringing a bell when he wants his 
 dinner, or turning a tiny barrel organ 
 which plays one simple phrase, or mount 
 ing a chair and delivering an oration with 
 earnest and appropriate gestures. And 
 when Max and Rhad fight over a big 
 bone until they become so angry with 
 each other as to be completely absorbed, 
 Snapper rushes in and slyly carries off 
 the cause of contention. He will un 
 doubtedly be a lawyer when he reaches 
 our degree of ratiocination. My geese 
 certainly do reason. Why, yes, I quite 
 forgot. I was talking of women as geese, 
 and here I am back again. " Do Wom- 
 
 * We are told in a recent charming magazine ar 
 ticle of a butterfly as an all too transitory pet.
 
 9 Slbanboning an QVboptcb .farm. 
 
 en reason?" the subject for a recent 
 "symposium." Some women reason 
 logically, consistently, and less laborious 
 ly than men. I m proud of them; and in 
 two generations more that question will 
 not be raised. Colleges, professional 
 discipline, and the tremendous educa 
 tional influence of our clubs will answer for 
 us. But just now I do wish we used our 
 reasoning powers a little more in matters 
 of dress, traveling, friendships, and in 
 love, religion, politics, and philanthropies. 
 Think of the ordinary woman as a traveler ! 
 It takes five minutes to purchase a ticket, 
 while a dozen men are impatiently waiting; 
 then she takes a position in the middle of 
 the door with no appreciable motive, com 
 pletely blocking the way -for hurrying 
 passengers on either side. She rushes up 
 the steps as soon as the train stops before 
 any one has time to get out, and looks 
 injured and vexed when pushed back by 
 the conductor. And so on to the journey s 
 end. If in traveling I could be as wise as 
 a goose, and quietly follow orders plainly 
 given, I should be spared a deal of men 
 tal agitation, and the saving of voice and
 
 tOomcn drift (Seese. 91 
 
 temper for officials would be incalcu 
 lable. 
 
 Women are forever hiding away their 
 diamonds, and only after putting a gang 
 of hopeful Italians to digging in the gar 
 bage and ash heaps can they remember 
 just where they put them. How many 
 women have a sense of locality, know the 
 points of the compass, or can reason 
 themselves back to the right road ? An 
 old cat would do far better with mere in 
 stinct. How many can keep their temper 
 in a discussion and not make it a personal 
 matter ? 
 
 I presume every woman who has read 
 this chapter is vexed, but they have no 
 " reason " for it, as I could write volumes 
 on Women as Martyrs, Heroines (or She- 
 roines), and Angels, and no one minds the 
 cacklings of a confessed goose.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 UNPLEASANT VISITORS. 
 
 Avoid giving invitations to bores ; they will come 
 without ! ELIZA LESLIE. 
 
 I HAVE just returned from New York 
 city, escaping for a week or so from the 
 constant and wearing rush of exciting 
 events here, to the calm stagnation of 
 Gotham and the Gerlach. 
 
 I was tempted there by the poultry 
 show, and by a laudable ambition to en 
 ter Maxidar I among the smooth-coated 
 Bernard beauties at the coming dog show. 
 His brother took a first prize last spring, 
 and I sent him to keep up the family 
 honor. 
 
 Though living like a veritable hermit, 
 
 and silent as a sphinx, yet I do have 
 
 But I must illustrate my position by a 
 story which my grandmother loved to 
 tell. She said that she and her play 
 mates used to stop once in a while at a 
 M
 
 Visitors. 93 
 
 house where two very old ladies lived, both 
 rather dilapidated, just to hear the inva 
 riable response made to their kind inquiry : 
 
 " How do, Aunt Polly, this morning ?" 
 
 "Wall, I ain t a bit smart. I feel 
 mighty slim. I have a sight of a sight 
 of I can t think o the name on t, but I 
 do have a sight of of of " 
 
 Then she would totter to the back 
 stairs, and, lifting up a shrill, quavering 
 treble, would say : 
 
 " Sally sister Sally! (She s dreadful 
 deef!) SALLY ! SALLY ! what was it that 
 your husband had such a sight of during 
 the war ? " 
 
 A pause, and then, in feeble, peevish 
 tones, we heard : 
 
 " Trouble, sister trouble." 
 
 " Oh, that s it. Yes, gals, I have a 
 sight o trouble." 
 
 So do I. I almost feel like greeting 
 you in the words of another truly true 
 old woman of old Gilmanton, who, when 
 asked how she did, replied dolefully : 
 
 "Wall, I dew and dew, and keep a- 
 dewin and tryin to dew an can t dew. 
 An haouw dew yew dew ? "
 
 94 ^banboning an Qtboptcb farm. 
 
 I came home from New York late on 
 Saturday night, weary of the cackling and 
 crowing of the hen show, but pleased 
 that a Massachusetts man had taken first 
 prize for light Brahmas. 
 
 As I sat down by a ruddy open fire, 
 with the dogs crazy with joy to see me 
 back, I quoted : 
 
 " How pleasant it is on Saturday night, 
 When I ve tried all the week to be good ! " 
 
 But I was soon disturbed by unusually 
 thrilling accounts of extraordinary expe 
 riences, and my next quotation was in 
 prose : 
 
 " There s nothing so certain as the un 
 expected." 
 
 I did hope for a serene Sunday, but 
 just after breakfast I heard loud screams 
 for help from some one evidently in a 
 highly critical position. I gathered this : 
 
 " Run for somebody ! Quick ! Quick ! 
 Quick ! Bring the revolver ! Load it ! 
 Hurry ! " 
 
 I rushed up for two new revolvers, al 
 ways loaded to be prepared for any social 
 emergency, and when I again looked out 
 I saw my man dragging rapidly over the
 
 Hnplea0ant bisitors. 95 
 
 snow by the ring of the trap a well, the 
 Cree Indians call it a "seecawk," and 
 learned folks dub it the " mephitis chin- 
 ga," but to me it was just a pretty little 
 creature with pointed nose, bushy tail, 
 black eyes, now so wild and pleading. 
 Do you understand me ? 
 
 And here let me record the bravest act 
 I ever knew of a woman. My courageous 
 cook seized the revolver, went out, and, 
 putting three bullets into the animal s 
 head, dispatched him without the least 
 annoyance to any of us. I used to put 
 Hannah Dustin at the top notch for fe 
 male heroism. She not only killed sev 
 eral Indians, but returned to scalp them. 
 But that pales into insignificance before 
 this unparalleled instance of pluck and 
 clear grit. 
 
 He had been wintering with us greatly 
 to our dismay. We fear he left a family 
 on our hands. Milton undoubtedly al 
 luded to this intruder in Samson Agonistes. 
 
 " And as an evening dragon came 
 Assailant on the perched roosts 
 And nests in order ranged 
 Of tame villatic fowl."
 
 96 &banboning an Qlboptcb farm. 
 
 Governor Colby, of New Hampshire, 
 liked to tell of an old fellow, a great brag, 
 who used to visit the grocery store and 
 tell amusing yarns to a gaping, giggling 
 audience seated on barrels and squirting 
 tobacco-juice toward the red-hot stove. 
 
 "Well, boys," he said one night, "I 
 found twenty-four skunks under one log 
 yesterday, and it wasn t much of a log for 
 skunks neither." 
 
 I would not offend my readers by say 
 ing that word right out, but Governor 
 Colby never minced matters. Do you be 
 lieve me, I felt sorry for the creature when 
 I saw the revolver flash in the sunlight 
 and heard the quick report once, twice, 
 thrice ? He was endeavoring to support 
 himself by living on me. But he didn t 
 know it was wrong. 
 
 No, I shall not use the Saxon name, 
 but leave you to guess what I mean, as 
 do certain advertisers who offer large 
 rewards for all who will first subscribe for 
 their publication, and then fill in the right 
 letters for a puzzler like this : 
 
 G--v-r Cl-v-l--d! " 
 
 I feel strangely poetical this blizzardy
 
 Unpleasant bisitore. 97 
 
 day. My capricious Muse seems luring 
 me to further efforts. Inspiration is 
 something quite outside of and beyond 
 ourselves. I do not write ; I am simply 
 impelled. 
 
 Ha! she is at my elbow and guiding 
 my pen ! 
 
 We found he had made a bunk 
 Right under the henhouse floor ; 
 
 We gave him of meat a hunk, 
 And he will thieve no more. 
 
 We fear he ate many a pullet, 
 
 And several young chickens we mourn ; 
 
 But now he is dead from a bullet 
 He s gone to the far-away bourn. 
 
 Heroic in times of danger, 
 
 I confess I m a cowardly flunk 
 When near a black-and-white stranger, 
 
 Which in whispers we call a . 
 
 When I see a appearing, 
 
 If he has two legs or four, 
 I don t stop to meet or greet him, 
 
 But discreetly close the door. 
 
 Then comes the chorus, and a grand 
 walk-around after the burial with disin 
 fectants. 
 
 CHORUS " It s better to go a good way round 
 Than to walk or talk with a ! "
 
 98 Qlbanboning an Qlbopteb ,arm. 
 
 Dear me ! There s a knock at the door ! 
 Who can call in such weather ? Excuse 
 me, sweet Muse, and I will report. 
 
 It was a peddler, who wanted, nay, in 
 sisted upon selling me a "dandy sink- 
 cleaner, with shovel combined." 
 
 No doubt it s a good thing, but I have 
 so many of these combinations and novel 
 ties. I purchased, the other day, a clothes 
 sprinkler which makes the Chinese meth 
 od useless, and I am assured that it can 
 also do duty as a funnel by taking some 
 thing off, a strainer by putting something 
 on, a tea ball for steeping tea for one, 
 and I think he said it could be altered into 
 a fire-alarm, a drinking-cup, a dinner 
 horn, and no, it couldn t really be a pair 
 of suspenders ; but the grand final trans 
 formation was something equally improb 
 able. 
 
 I have a set of jagged knives for 
 smoothly cutting hot bread, although I 
 greatly prefer to break it; the nonmelt- 
 ing plate, that will rest peacefully and 
 unharmed all day on the stove ; " es 
 sences " that smell like barbers cheap 
 hair oil, and will never be used. But why
 
 Visitors. 99 
 
 weary you ? These are mild afflictions 
 compared with the picture-man ! 
 
 Have any of you been rasped and tor 
 tured by his visitations ? He hails from 
 Philadelphia, has never been " on the 
 road " before, but was induced by his em 
 ployer, and a high salary, to show the 
 country people the new and charming 
 process of getting a perfect crayon pic 
 ture from an ordinary photograph, done 
 in an incredibly short space of time and 
 at a minimum of expense. He was a 
 large, aggressive man, with a swinging 
 gait and a strident voice. He spotted me 
 on the porch and commenced his attack : 
 
 " Madam, I am here to show to you a 
 new and remarkable invention, by which 
 an ordinary photograph can be taken and 
 in ten days you will receive by mail a fine 
 crayon portrait, done by hand, a most 
 speaking likeness. Here are several 
 dozen specimens. I am sure you will be 
 pleased." 
 
 I assured him I wanted nothing of the 
 sort, and walked into the house, he close 
 ly following. 
 
 " Pardon me, madam, but have you no
 
 ioo QHbanboning an Qlboptcb .farm. 
 
 photograph of yourself ? We should be 
 pleased to undertake a crayon copy. No 
 charge whatever unless perfect satisfac 
 tion is given." 
 
 One of my recent horrors lay on the 
 table. His eagle eye glared, his relent 
 less fingers clutched it. He held it out 
 at arms length and thus delivered him 
 self : 
 
 "This I call a botch, madam an abso 
 lute botch, quite unworthy of you and 
 of the artist whose name it bears. He 
 really does some good work. Ah ! I see 
 there is another ! There ! this has a little 
 more grace of outline, a little more sym 
 metry of form. This could be reproduced, 
 and at very little cost." 
 
 " But I do not wish you to take it away. 
 I can not afford to have it enlarged, and 
 should not wish one if I could." 
 
 " I am sorry, madam, for your pov 
 erty," and he took out a fifty-cent piece 
 and began to wipe his eyes. 
 
 He had gone too far, and was directed 
 to the door. When he was really out of 
 sight, I found he had taken the photo he 
 preferred. But I trust it was an over-
 
 Unpleasant bisitors. 101 
 
 sight, and that I shall not have to look 
 upon my own features done over in cheap 
 crayon ! 
 
 We all know the persistent book agent. 
 My house is crammed to overflowing with 
 books of all sizes and all themes, ancient 
 and most modern. I will not pay two 
 dollars per month or is it per week for 
 a mammoth illustrated series cf pamphlets 
 about the World s Fair. Nor will I tol 
 erate a woman, however worthy, who 
 will come in and squat down on my din 
 ing-room floor and exhibit books of de 
 votional exercises for the Sunset of Life, 
 cook books for middle age, and at last 
 bring out picture books as just the thing 
 for my grandchildren ! 
 
 You can t shoot these creatures ; even 
 a trap at the door might be illegal. All 
 they want is money your money; they 
 have no decency. All sympathy with 
 their victims is obliterated. 
 
 Each season has its own special hor 
 rors, but in summer the torture rises to 
 its climax. No matter how tired I am, 
 or how busy in my sanctum, or trying to 
 take a nap before the arrival of guests,
 
 102 ^.banboning an ^boptcb farm. 
 
 these dreaded vampires will not be put 
 off or sent away ; they insist on a purse- 
 onal interview. From June to August, 
 through "hoeing and haying," it is an 
 appeal to buy a cultivator or a mowing 
 machine, a weed-breeder no, a " Breed- 
 weeder " or, in a general way, " machin 
 ery." I sent word, the other day, that I 
 was taking a bath and must be excused. 
 But the aggravating creature seemed glad 
 to hear that I appreciated the necessities 
 and delights of cleanliness, and announced 
 that he had come quite a distance (on a 
 holiday, too), and would wait for me to 
 come down. Such a specimen seldom 
 rises when I enter, but with an air of im 
 mense importance begins his memorized 
 harangue, presenting a fully illustrated 
 catalogue. 
 
 The " machinery " I most ardently de 
 sire is an automatic or autokinetic pro 
 peller for all agents a kicker that will 
 hurl them half a mile. 
 
 After being called down twice in one 
 hot day to say I did not want to buy a 
 mowing machine, I expressed myself with 
 straightforward frankness to the third
 
 Unpleasant isitors. 103 
 
 persecutor. They have an instinct that 
 divines your needs. I did need a mower, 
 but could not buy just then, and I said, 
 with impressive dignity, "When I want a 
 mowing machine I shall send directly to 
 the city." " But we agents must live," 
 he insisted ; to which I responded with 
 the ancient but appropriate retort, " I 
 do not see the necessity for that ! " He 
 left highly indignant, and all at once such 
 a fascinating scheme came to me : I would 
 consult some practical chemist, and beg 
 him to prepare a tanglefoot agent paper 
 sure to snare their persistent pestilential 
 feet as they approach from the street; 
 something that, like a coat of tar and 
 feathers, would be vastly unpleasant but 
 not deadly. O what bliss to watch their 
 prolonged and unavailing efforts to tear 
 themselves away ! But I must not let 
 them catch a glimpse of " the lady of the 
 house," or in their desperate contortions 
 they would hold up in one hand, still 
 free, a pamphlet setting forth the merits 
 of a "Buckeye," a "Rocker Washer," or 
 a " Chicago Dustpan," invented by a 
 woman, and which no woman with any
 
 104 Qlbanboning an ^bopteb .farm. 
 
 pretense to good housekeeping should be 
 one day without ! 
 
 When there s nothing else to drive me 
 distracted there is always a "tree man." 
 I think them more trying than any other 
 peripatetic nuisance. They do have such 
 " staying " qualities ! They are almost as 
 bad as delirium tre 
 
 What ! Another man at the door ? This 
 time it s a "potato man," with " Rupert s 
 Perfection " as his special subject for eulo 
 gy. I buy a peck, to be delivered in April. 
 If I don t have to go to the poorhouse or 
 old ladies home before September, I may 
 enjoy the mealy, snowflake tubers. 
 
 This morning it was a "razor man"; 
 wanted me to let him sharpen all I had. 
 Our interview was briefer than I had 
 dared to hope. He saw the situation, and 
 left without any cutting sarcasm or keen- 
 edged witticism. He might have quoted 
 Voltaire s epigram : " Ideas are like beards : 
 men don t get them until they grow up. 
 Women never have any." 
 
 Anything in life s experience told right 
 straight out, like this tale of woe, seems 
 unreal to those who have not been simi-
 
 Unpleasant Visitors. 105 
 
 larly imposed upon. I have suffered so 
 severely that the following exaggeration 
 falls short of the actual facts : 
 
 Mr. Jimsmith, a Chicago lawyer, re 
 cently moved into a beautiful suburban 
 home. He is highly pleased with it in a 
 general way, but so many agents call upon 
 him that he finds it rather a bore. The 
 other day he opened the door to twelve 
 agents before the afternoon was half over, 
 and when he was summoned to the door 
 for the thirteenth time he was mad enough 
 to fight a herd of porcupines. A tall, sad- 
 eyed man, dressed in black, confronted 
 him and started to say something, but Mr. 
 Jimsmith interrupted him : 
 
 "You don t need to tell me what you 
 have to sell, because I don t want it. I 
 don t need a burglar-proof clock, nor a 
 bootjack that has a music box in it, nor a 
 stemwinding can-opener. I don t 
 
 " My dear sir, you are mis " 
 
 " Oh, you don t need to dear sir me ; 
 it won t work ! I tell you, I don t want a 
 gate that may be taken from its hinges and 
 used as a folding bed. I have no use for 
 a combined currycomb and mustache cup.
 
 io6 Qlbanbonituj an Qlboptcb farm. 
 
 I have a full supply of furniture polish, 
 cough medicine, and hair restorer; and, 
 what s more, my wife doesn t need a recipe 
 for preserving codfish or frying billiard 
 balls." 
 
 "Really, sir, this is a most extraordi 
 nary " 
 
 " Oh, of course, it s extraordinary, but 
 I don t want it. I suppose it can be used 
 to grate horseradish and tune the piano, 
 but I tell you I don t need it. Perhaps it 
 will take the grease spots out of clothing, 
 pare apples, and chase dogs out of the 
 yard, but you ll have to go somewhere 
 else to sell it. I am surprised that a man 
 of your age and respectable appearance 
 should go around trying to sell pocket 
 corn-shellers when the whole neighbor 
 hood is full of wood that ought to be 
 sawed. What s the use of trying to sell 
 a man a fire-escape, when you can make a 
 dollar a day baling hay ? " 
 
 " I m not an agent." 
 
 " Then what are you ? " 
 
 " I m the pastor of the Orthodox Breth 
 ren Church, and I came over to get ac 
 quainted, not knowing that you were
 
 Unpleasant tHsitors. 107 
 
 running a private madhouse. Good- 
 day."* 
 
 Under the heading of this growling 
 chapter might be included some of my 
 callers who come determined to get rid 
 of an old canopy bedstead, or a rocker 
 one hundred years old, or to work off 
 some aged hens, or a venerable rooster, 
 or an Afghan or crazy-quilt that has been 
 vainly paraded for years at county fairs 
 and shows. 
 
 Each one insists on seeing me "on a 
 matter of business." Each declares that 
 he or she " needs the money," which seems 
 to them a sufficient reason for my purchas 
 ing at once. Each feels personally and 
 eternally aggrieved by my utter failure to 
 respond. 
 
 I have been so perpetually annoyed 
 that I naturally dread to see strangers 
 approaching with an air of business, fear 
 ing they might prove to be constables, 
 
 * I hear that agents in the West are actively rep 
 resenting an " Anti-Agent Protective Association," 
 furnishing for one dollar a brass plate, announcing 
 a full supply of all possible wares. Let them hasten 
 their approach ! I ll buy them out !
 
 io8 Qlbanboning on QVbopteb .farm. 
 
 agents, reporters, or curiosity seekers who 
 had heard of the place. After many pro 
 voking delays I was just starting for a 
 drive the other day, when I noticed the 
 usual stranger hurrying on. "O dear," I 
 said to myself, " is there no respite from 
 this sort of thing?" and, putting my 
 head out of the carriage, I said in rather 
 a petulant and weary tone, " Do you want 
 to see me ? " The young man stopped, 
 smiled, and replied, " I have no objec 
 tion to looking at you, Madam , but 
 
 I was going farther on ! "
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 FACTS ABOUT FARMING. 
 
 " I m sick and tired of hoeing, ditching, 
 And milking cows with tails a-switching 
 
 In face and eyes. 
 
 There s little pay and lots of labor 
 In raising corn or taters, neighbor, 
 
 And fighting flies. 
 
 " The farm and necessary fixtures 
 To me are not such pleasant pictures 
 
 Scythe, fork, and rake ; 
 To tell the truth, I do not love them, 
 And, soaring far to realms above them, 
 
 My leave would take. 
 
 " Oh, for a season of refreshing ! 
 Oh, for a crop that s worth the threshing ! 
 
 The farmers pray. 
 Until one s ready for his coffin ; 
 Their dying words we hear so often : 
 
 Farming don t pay ! " 
 
 ONE of my favorite books in girlish 
 days was Rural Hours, by Miss Susan 
 Cooper, a daughter of Fenimore Cooper. 
 (109)
 
 no QUjanboning on QVbopUb .farm. 
 
 It is a journal of the simple scenes of 
 country life for just one year; delightful 
 reading, like Gilbert White s Natural His 
 tory of Selborne. His genial " observa 
 tions in various parts of Nature" are still 
 read with exquisite delight. He was a 
 parish priest, and employed his leisure 
 time in studying birds and flowers; "a 
 man, the power of whose writings has im 
 mortalized an obscure village and a tor 
 toise for who has not heard of Timo 
 thy ? as long as the English language 
 lives." 
 
 Miss Cooper, as well, wrote about what 
 every one sees, but not as every one sees 
 it. She records modestly her "trifling ob 
 servations on rustic matters," but shows 
 an intense love of Nature and a poetical, 
 womanly way of studying her daily mar 
 vels. I have been looking over Rural 
 Hours. How unruffled, how placidly the 
 gentle stream of description and narra 
 tion runs along ! no eddies, no noisy 
 waterfalls, no overflow. 
 
 She began her diary on March 4, 1849 : 
 " Drove several miles down the valley 
 this morning in the teeth of a sharp wind
 
 .facts about .farming. 
 
 and flurries of snow, but after facing the 
 cold bravely one brings home a sort of 
 virtuous glow which is not to be picked 
 up by cowering over the fireside. It is 
 with this as with more important matters 
 the effort brings its own reward. 
 
 " The 8th. Spring in the air, in the 
 light, and in the sky, although the earth 
 is yet unconscious of its approach. 
 
 " yth. The frogs were heard last night 
 for the first time this season. 
 
 " April i6th. Fresh grass butter from 
 the farm to-day." She dilates practically 
 on fresh maple sugar for seven pages, 
 and ends with the story of a Scotch stock 
 ing weaver who bought a farm near the 
 lake at Cooperstown, and the first spring 
 after arrival in the country was so suc 
 cessful with his maple trees that in the 
 midst of his labors he came into the vil 
 lage and gave large orders for sap buck 
 ets, pans, furnaces, etc. People, surprised 
 at his extensive preparations, inquired 
 about this grand sugar mill. He said 
 that as yet he had tapped only a small 
 number of trees, but he intended soon to 
 go to work in earnest among the maples,
 
 ii2 Qtbanboning on Qlboptcb farm. 
 
 and indeed had quite made up his mind. 
 " Canny Scot " as he was, to give up 
 farming altogether and keep to sugar- 
 making all the year round ! 
 
 Now isn t that lovely ? She announces 
 the coming of the robins, the springing 
 up of the small yellow violets, a solitary 
 goldfinch on the lawn, the lights and 
 shadows on the lake, a little blue butter 
 fly on the highway, first dish of green 
 peas. I rejoice to find an illusion which 
 re-enforces me in my position. 
 
 " The skunk we all know only too well. 
 There is one in the village now which 
 has taken possession of one of the hand 
 somest houses in the place, and all but 
 drives the family out of doors. For 
 several months it has kept possession 
 of its quarters with impunity, our friends 
 being actually afraid to kill it lest its 
 death should be worse even than its 
 life." 
 
 But did nothing ever happen in these 
 two lives ? I love Nature as truly, but 
 am not allowed much time to get better 
 acquainted. My diary, for instance, of 
 last week runs thus:
 
 facts about farming. 113 
 
 Wednesday, March 2ist. Threatened 
 with summary ejectment in midwinter. 
 
 Thursday, 22d. Stranger called with 
 constable to complain of Maxidar I, who 
 had knocked him down as he was passing. 
 
 Friday, 2jd. My man started out to 
 exercise Dolly, her high-bred spirited 
 colt, "Viva," and the dogs. Too compli 
 cated a job. Just out of the driveway I 
 saw the sleigh overturned and the driver 
 dragged for some rods, holding grimly on 
 to the reins. Max had barked too loud. 
 Viva threw up her pretty heels in his face. 
 Dolly shied into the ditch. An exciting 
 scene. 
 
 Saturday, 24th. Another stranger drove 
 in with a lady in sleigh, asked for me, and, 
 without giving name or references, said : 
 
 " I want to borrow two hundred dollars 
 of you to-day ; will give five per cent a 
 month on it. I need it at once." 
 
 I assured him that I had overdrawn on 
 the bank and was in debt myself, and saw 
 no reason for his applying to me, a wom 
 an who had many demands upon her 
 small income. 
 
 " I presume your putting up that mon-
 
 ii4 Sibanbonittg an OVbopteb farm. 
 
 strous hen house made you feel a little 
 pinched," he persisted, "but two hundred 
 dollars I must borrow before Tuesday, 
 and I was sent to you as the likeliest per 
 son to get it from." 
 
 He left a sadder and, I trust, a wiser 
 man. 
 
 Monday, 26th. A tramp, almost a boy, 
 called for a meal. He said he was "trou 
 bled with swallerring," and did make ex 
 traordinary sounds and grimaces as he 
 emptied the plates. But as he was from 
 New Hampshire and couldn t get work, I 
 stuffed his pockets with sandwiches, nut, 
 cakes, and cheese, and wished him better 
 fortune. 
 
 Yes, I must adhere to facts, in spite of 
 her peaceful influence and gentle jottings. 
 
 Let me see : 
 
 Yesterday saw first henhawk of the 
 season hovering over my white Wyan- 
 dottes. Noticed faint yellow light on 
 lakelet at midnight. Was it a Will-o -the- 
 wisp ? No, I rather incline to the theory 
 of young hoodlums from " Hog Holler " 
 fishing by lantern light through ice holes 
 for my imported carp. All improvements
 
 about .farming. 115 
 
 on the farm in the line of fruit, fish, fowl 
 of any kind is only unconscious altruism. 
 
 To-day I m told that big rats have in 
 vaded the potato bin. " Cozy " and " Eb- 
 enezer Castoria " are too petted and 
 stuffed to be of the least service at this 
 juncture. A dozen doves have invaded 
 the barn loft and will ruin my hay. Must 
 
 utilize in a stew. Doves are a hum 
 
 "Come in, Mr. Wood." "Heavy door 
 just dropped through scuttle in stable and 
 killed our shoat ! " 
 
 It s no use ! Sentiment, romance, and 
 pretty poetic moralizing have no chance 
 for development here. 
 
 I wonder what planet influenced my 
 birth ! Sirius or Saturn ; possibly both. 
 Still it is not always gloomy. 
 
 " Behind the clouds is the sun still shining." 
 
 Tuesday, 2"fth, has a brighter record. 
 Received an offer from a farmer in Iowa. 
 He writes : 
 
 " Madam : I read your article, One 
 Way of Co-operating, saw your portrait, 
 and now I write you proposing that we 
 become acquainted, and if we then con-
 
 an 
 
 elude that it would be best we can form 
 a co-operative union. I am a single 
 man of forty-eight, and am six feet in 
 height ; have a very loving heart but no 
 wife; our girls are good, but are married 
 very young. This leaves me in the cold, 
 as I am in favor of men and women being 
 mature before they marry. I wish to cor 
 respond with you, and if", after we know 
 each other, we find that we do not har 
 monize, I will promise to return your 
 letters and you can return mine, and no 
 harm will result to either of us. If we 
 find that it would be best to have a per 
 sonal interview, we can provide for that 
 at the proper time and place. Please de 
 scribe yourself physically, mentally, and 
 morally. ... I served in the army dur 
 ing the late war, was wounded, but lost 
 no limbs. Have accumulated some prop 
 erty. I believe in the science of phre 
 nology. My temperament is the mental 
 motive." 
 
 I copy this to show that, although soli 
 tary, it is still a matter of choice. Two 
 famous "predictors of fate wrote out my 
 life history years ago. Each said I should
 
 fads about forming. 117 
 
 live to be eighty-two a prophecy which 
 has already been more than fulfilled. 
 Each said that I should marry " very late 
 in life." As a queer old man said when 
 father asked him if he had ever had small 
 pox, " No, but 1 have had chances." 
 
 Literary old maids are blessed with re 
 markable longevity. If any slip out of 
 the ranks they are apt to marry men 
 much younger than themselves; as Miss 
 Mulock, Miss Thackeray, etc. In our 
 own country the same law holds good, 
 Margaret Fuller heading the list. 
 
 Must I come to this led about by 
 some boy that I might have petted in his 
 cradle ? O Venus, spare me ! O Saturn, 
 give me a reprieve ! Never mind if the 
 dogcart I purchased from a Cincinnati 
 " Cart and Buggy Company " (on the 
 strength of their own assertions) did 
 break down on its first trip, on my side, 
 too, going all to pieces, like the "one- 
 hoss shay," and I unable to secure any 
 redress. No matter if the terrors of the 
 law hang over my innocent head, and that 
 my naughty Max is always getting me 
 into a distressing complication. No con-
 
 n8 OVbanbonin on &botcb farm. 
 
 sequence in the least, if I am regarded far 
 and wide as a repository for all undesir 
 able, unsalable things, from alligators to 
 zebras ; nothing is of the least real im 
 portance, in the light of this " fearful 
 looking for," which in my second child 
 hood and senile weakness I may be left 
 to realize ! I will struggle bravely against 
 being escorted down the " post-meridian " 
 path by a youthful spouse whose bibs I 
 might have embroidered! Let me turn 
 for relief and distraction to further gems 
 of correspondence. 
 
 A woman who fell through her barn 
 loft and broke her left leg while attending 
 to the wants of her poultry ventures to 
 ask a loan out of my " abundance," and 
 offers for sale at a reasonable price " the 
 old carriage or parts of the first carriage 
 that President Fillmore ever owned. We 
 have three wheels, the hub of the fourth 
 wheel, the axle, the driver s seat, and the 
 evener, the whiffletrees; both the silver- 
 mounted handles which belonged to the 
 doors." 
 
 My dangerous experience with a new 
 and loudly bepraised carriage rendered
 
 facts about .farming. 119 
 
 me averse to investing in this antiquated 
 vehicle. But I did buy from her an old 
 lantern of quaintly perforated tin, brought 
 from Germany over six generations ago, 
 and in return I received a poetical effu 
 sion dedicated to myself, entitled 
 
 To JUNE. 
 
 Dedicated to Miss K. Sanborn. 
 Ah, June, beautiful June ! 
 
 Whither art thou hastening 
 All too soon ? 
 
 Stay with us, stop with us, linger awhile, 
 That we may bask in thy sunny smile, 
 And drink in thy beauties that so beguile. 
 
 Stop with us, stay with us still, 
 
 Listen to the wild birds in their musical trill, 
 
 Wooing thee well with a joyous tune, 
 
 Singing a love song to leafy June ; 
 
 Go not hence to thy sisters fair, 
 
 With trailing robes and gentle air. 
 
 Kiss with a smile the violets sweet, 
 
 The marguerites stately that bloom at my feet ; 
 
 Kiss the pansies that lie in the shade, 
 
 And the wild roses that bloom in the glade. 
 
 Stay with us even till midsummer s noon 
 
 Bide with us, dear one, go not so soon. 
 
 Ah. mild-aired and gentle June, 
 
 Thou of the sunny skies and perfect days !
 
 120 Qlbanboning on ^boptcb .farm. 
 
 While thus we rhynre these simple lays, 
 We ll tune our harps to sing thy praise, 
 Rightly named the " month of roses," 
 Poets sing in songs and stories 
 Of thy gentle witching ways. 
 
 One more extract from the jocose let 
 ter of a noted publisher: 
 
 " I hope that the crops are all trying 
 to get out (I don t mean the hen crops), 
 but the potato and sich, and that you are 
 finding a good market for all your prod 
 uce. Do you drive the milk route, or 
 can you trust the guests with the cans 
 and be sure that they will turn in every 
 cent ? Try the bell-punch, and see if 
 your receipts do not enlarge. I should 
 like to know your price for clams ; we 
 eat a good many, and will buy in the 
 cheapest market. Turnip tops and potato 
 skins in equal parts, boiled in milk, with 
 nine parts water, make a very good soup 
 for boarders ; and brown bread can be 
 palmed off on some as coffee. I only 
 throw out these suggestions for your own 
 benefit. I hope that you will not overdo 
 in working the farm, and I am sure that 
 it will be better for you not to go to
 
 iFacts about farming. 
 
 church at all, rather than to do as far too 
 many farmers do at meeting stand out 
 side and chew a straw before ser.vice, and 
 snore while the good pastor preaches and 
 knocks off flies." 
 
 My mail-bag would easily supply mate 
 rial for a whole chapter, but I want now 
 to talk seriously about farming as a pay 
 ing and satisfactory business for women. 
 I notice in papers and magazines ama 
 teurish, optimistic articles on this theme 
 which have had a false and dangerous in 
 fluence upon the piteous army of impe 
 cunious and unemployed women who are 
 eagerly looking for something to do and 
 some practical method of self-support. 
 These articles speak of "dairying" as 
 pleasant and profitable ; poultry, mush 
 rooms, violets, market gardening, etc. 
 treating all in an airy, fairy fashion that 
 shows little intimacy with the truth of it. 
 
 To begin with, dairying is not a busi 
 ness that can well be carried on by wom 
 en. As an honest farmer said to me : " I 
 wouldn t bother with too many cows. 
 They re allus a-goin out or a-comin in, 
 or a-dryin up, or farrer or chokin them-
 
 Qlbanboning an Qlboptcb .farm. 
 
 selves, or losin their cud, or gettin out 
 o paster, or may be inclined to hookin , 
 and they die easy, though they look 
 tough." 
 
 No desirable man can be hired for small 
 wages, and valuable cows range in price 
 from fifty to three hundred dollars. One 
 must have capital to commence. It is 
 hard to find a market, at least a paying 
 market, for milk ; harder to collect the 
 money. The farmer sells milk at two and 
 a half or three cents a quart, which is 
 sold in Boston the same morning for eight 
 cents. The cream, nicely watered, sells 
 easily at sixty cents a quart. 
 
 If we have a calf or old cow to dispose 
 of, butchers are instantly overloaded with 
 the same, and " prices are way down." 
 But the cows go right on eating up grain, 
 which never seems to go down, except 
 down their own gullets. The grain bill 
 and milk bill pretty nearly balance, and 
 nothing is left but a residue of fertilizer. 
 In fact, a cow is a living machine. I ve 
 made butter that Mrs. Lincoln praised, 
 but if I wanted to sell because I needed 
 the pay ah, there s the difference !
 
 :facts about farming. 123 
 
 It is almost impossible to find a cheap 
 farm with good pasture and RUNNING 
 WATER near a railroad, and a market for 
 milk. The pay is pitiably small, and even 
 a portion of this is withheld from you as 
 " surplus." * I should use another 
 word with the same initial letter. This 
 surplus is utilized for butter, which you 
 are allowed to purchase at moderate 
 rates. You sell me cherries. I use a 
 part of them (without paying) for pies 
 and preserves, which I sell to you or 
 others. 
 
 The milk cans come back sour and 
 dirty ; these must be washed and scalded 
 with great care, and the corks soaked in 
 boiling water aided by pearline for, as 
 my cook remarks, " they are the stink- 
 ingest things ! " After all possible pre 
 caution, if the weather is hot and the 
 route long you will have it returned la 
 beled "Sour," and it is a loss, unless you 
 have hens or pigs, to whom it is a luxury, 
 and a letter warns you as follows : 
 
 * My nearest neighbor, with thirty cows, had a 
 loss through " surplus " of sixteen dollars this month. 
 
 9
 
 124 QUwnboning an QVbopteb .farm. 
 
 " Miss SANBORN, No. 53 : 
 
 " DEAR SIR : Your milk is coming to us 
 sour, and unless you cool it properly and 
 send it to us sweet we can not use it. 
 
 " Your cans, stoppers, and other utensils 
 must be kept clean and sweet. The milk 
 should be cooled as soon as it is taken 
 from the cow, and kept so. The water in 
 which the cans are placed should in all 
 cases be as high on the outside of the can 
 as the milk is on the inside. The tem 
 perature of the water should be no higher 
 than 55, and below that point if possi 
 ble. You will find a thermometer very 
 useful. Your personal attention to this 
 matter will oblige I. GOUGEM." 
 
 I must add that the neatest housewife 
 will get discouraged and disgusted over 
 said cans, as her own will not be returned, 
 but no one knows whose from no one 
 knows where. I have seen the remains 
 of chicken soup, chocolate ice cream, and 
 omelet passt in the dirty, malodorous 
 depths of those dropped at my door, after 
 stoppers are removed by a man with a 
 hammer.
 
 .facts about farming. 125 
 
 This announcement of March 2d is a 
 fair sample of the lack of encouragement 
 for butter-makers : 
 
 "SPREAD TOO THICK. Surplus of but 
 ter makes a dull market. Receipts since 
 New Year s have been upward of three 
 hundred thousand pounds heavier than 
 they were in the first two months of 1893." 
 
 The romantic word pictures in novels 
 of rosy milkmaids, snowy arms, dimpled 
 elbows, pretty white aprons, golden but 
 ter, yellow cream, red lips, cool, shaded 
 dairy, rows of shining, well-filled pans, 
 are attractive, but the reality is vastly 
 different at least in Metcalf ! 
 
 For those who seriously contemplate 
 cows as an easy means of support, I would 
 suggest that they first try to lead two 
 frisky, frightened calves from the pasture 
 to the barn when a sudden thunderstorm is 
 on and your so-called " help " has not re 
 turned from Rumford, and the nine cows 
 are vociferously entreating some one to 
 do the milking. I have known that ex 
 perience. Or to churn some hot, "mug 
 gy " morning, when the butter won t 
 " come " in three, or five, or seven min-
 
 126 QUmnboning on QUiopteb 
 
 utes, as usual, and with weary arms on 
 you go, turn-itty-turn, chunk-atty-chunk, 
 round and round, round and round, trying 
 in vain a pinch of salt, a little bit of 
 warm water, a small piece of ice, etc., and 
 at last set it down cellar for a few hours, 
 then boil it, let it cool, and finally give it 
 to the hens. That I also have endured. 
 The hens like it, but hardly appreciate my 
 efforts. Dairying is one perpetual job, 
 and one needs be a Job to master it. 
 
 Then, poultry farming is a life study, 
 a profound art. Nine tenths lose and 
 give up who attempt it. If I should cir 
 cumstantially describe the history of my 
 two hundred fall chickens you would bet 
 ter realize the myriad difficulties in this 
 direction. My hens are now rousing 
 themselves to action, and I search the 
 papers for prices, and read thusly : 
 
 "POULTRY AND EGGS. Live poultry 
 has been in excessive supply, and values 
 are very weak, with stock pressing for 
 sale. Fowls are 10 @ ioy 2 c. ; chickens, 
 8 @ S 1 ^ c. ; roosters, 6 @ 6 1 /,, c. ; turkeys, 
 8c. ; ducks, 60 @ 750. per pair ; and geese, 
 $i @ $1.37. Dressed poultry are in small
 
 atls about .farming. 127 
 
 demand. A good many lots are in poor 
 quality, and the market is overstocked." 
 
 As the old lady remarked, " Such low 
 rates don t pay for the wear and tear of 
 the hens." There is no fortune in hens. 
 
 Letters come continually, telling sad 
 stories, asking for help, and suggestion 
 and advice. I will quote from one lately 
 received from an especially bright woman, 
 earnest and energetic. It tells the out- 
 and-out truth, so seldom seen in print, in 
 regard to women as farmers : 
 
 " Until a few years ago I lived in New 
 York city. My husband was an artist. 
 He died five years ago. Since then I 
 have been a recluse, living alone on a 
 farm that I had the misfortune to become 
 the owner of many years ago. It used 
 to be pleasant enough to come here for 
 the summer, but it is quite a different 
 matter to attempt making a living by 
 working it. I went at farming bravely 
 raised chickens, ducks, and calves. The 
 crows didn t carry away the calves, but 
 they did eggs, chicks, and ducks at a 
 most appalling rate. That was discour 
 aging. The natives here informed me
 
 128 ^banboning an QUJoptcb .farm. 
 
 that there is a law protecting crows that 
 a tremendous penalty can be enforced for 
 poisoning the critters, so I haven t dared 
 to try that remedy. Some advised shoot 
 ing at the ravenous things, but seemed to 
 hold to the opinion that it wouldn t an 
 swer to kill one. Well, I hadn t a shooter, 
 and if I had I suppose I wouldn t have 
 dared to shoot; not that there would be 
 any danger of killing a crow, but I m 
 timid about firearms generally. This year 
 I entirely abandoned poultry raising. 
 When I first began farming, having in 
 mind the lovely little rolls of Philadelphia 
 butter that I used to pay from fifty cents 
 upward a pound for in New York, I 
 thought I d make that kind, and fame 
 and fortune would follow sure. I man 
 aged to establish a nice little dairy only 
 six cows, but such wonderful ones ! My 
 six produced as much butter as did eight 
 een scrubby ones on an adjoining farm. 
 I did make gilt-edged butter ; but, alas ! 
 when it came to marketing it I found 
 that cow grease of any and all kinds went 
 under the same market price as gilt-edged 
 butter put up in the most tempting pack-
 
 .facts about farming. 129 
 
 ages! So I ve abandoned my lovely, 
 petted Durham bossies; have kept just 
 one, to supply my humble little manage. 
 As for garden sass, how I did work and 
 weed, and watch and pray watched for 
 things to sprout, prayed for rain, and 
 when there was too much rain prayed for 
 sun ! Well, when my weary back, weary 
 from weed-pulling, would be taking a 
 needed rest, because everything in the 
 garden looked thrifty, and I in a mood to 
 give fervent thanks to Him who sent just 
 enough each of sun and rain, my neigh 
 bor s hogs and cattle would be let loose 
 to forage, and It s well that I hadn t an 
 arsenal to turn upon them. My courage, 
 patience, and garden have given out. 
 The jolliest Mark Tapley would have a 
 terrible dampening trying to fight against 
 the fearful odds that make farming at 
 least for a lone woman a thing to be 
 abandoned, even for a refuge in the alms- 
 house. 
 
 She now writes me from an insane asy 
 lum in Kansas as presiding matron and 
 greatly prefers the situation. If she had 
 not retired from the unequal fight she
 
 130 &banboning an Slfooptefc 
 
 would probably now be a "shut-in" in 
 same institution. 
 
 Another bit from a bright, versatile, 
 accomplished widow who is trying to 
 carry on a farm near me : 
 
 " I ve been attending to some little de 
 tails this morning. I queried how, with 
 out giving offense, I could approach a 
 neighbor across the way who has been 
 using my tip-cart, roller, lawn mower, 
 and hose constantly during the past three 
 weeks. I queried how to ask for the 
 loan of my hose, tip-cart, etc., for an 
 hour or two. I have been living here 
 ten years, and been " running " the farm 
 eight of those years, during which time I 
 have furnished a hay-cart for five farmers, 
 and plow, harrow, etc. If I were to live it 
 over again I would not buy a tool not a 
 tool or implement to mend for other peo 
 ple. The one of the five that breaks the 
 hay-cart never can be found ! 
 
 " Has the pesky cankerworm struck 
 your trees, and are the cutworm and the 
 potato bug eating ravenously ? I wish I 
 could abandon my adopted -farm, but, 
 alas! I find no way to do it. Shall you
 
 facte about farming. 131 
 
 plant and sow and reap and mow this 
 year ? I draw the line at tree and bush 
 peddlers, and shake my head, put my fin 
 gers to my ears, and play deaf. 
 
 " Yours sympathetically." 
 
 I can not advise any woman to go into 
 farming or poultry or dairy business, un 
 less she has a certain income and is will 
 ing to work hard and endure much. She 
 must war eternally with insects, animals, 
 and birds, and expect imposition, extor 
 tion, and cheating on every hand. There 
 are compensations which almost balance 
 these hostile forces, but they will only be 
 found by the genuine lover of country 
 life. 
 
 Women on the farms as I know them 
 have too much work and too little recrea 
 tion ; a steady, treadmill grind, and few 
 outings; few chances to exchange ideas 
 and courtesies with women that are not 
 on farms. I too often see thin, wrinkled, 
 and careworn faces among farmers wives. 
 When I meet a cheery, buxom, smiling 
 woman in a farmhouse, who cares to "fix 
 up " afternoons, and, as the saying is,
 
 i32 Qtbanboning an ^.bopteb .farm. 
 
 " go " a little, it rejoices my heart, and I 
 add, " God bless her husband ! " who evi 
 dently cares more for her happiness than 
 he does to have her toil sixteen hours out 
 of the twenty-four. I think of the time 
 when these overworked women were 
 brides, blushing, joyous, eager to begin a 
 new life in a home of their own, proud to 
 do anything and everything for the dar 
 ling John or Jack or Jerry who had won 
 their hearts. 
 
 I ask most thoughtfully, Can nothing 
 be done to make the farmers wives of the 
 next generation a little no, a great deal 
 more happy, and to prevent the causes 
 of such overwork ? 
 
 No women ought to be better looking 
 than these same farmers wives. They 
 should have pure country air; exercise 
 (but not too much of it) indoors and out; 
 the best of everything in the way of meats, 
 fruits, vegetables, butter, milk, and eggs, 
 and all the goodies made from these ; rich 
 cream, and delicious homemade preserves 
 and jellies. They should have horses to 
 drive, should belong to granges and wom 
 en s clubs, and take part in the exercises
 
 fads about farming. 133 
 
 with voice and pen. They should be in 
 terested in the county fairs, the poultry 
 shows, church sociables, and sewing soci 
 eties; should have at least a yearly trip 
 to some city; plenty of good papers and 
 magazines, to be had now for almost noth 
 ing, considering their value; and should 
 belong to a book club, to enjoy the newest 
 publications. Neighborhood meetings of 
 young and old should be held once a fort 
 night to talk over what has been thus 
 enjoyed, while the children get better ac 
 quainted over their games and discussing 
 the charming stories in St. Nicholas or 
 Youth s Companion. It seems not a bad 
 lot, after all. 
 
 But is this the way in which the major 
 ity of farmers wives in New England now 
 live ? The improvement has been great 
 in all these matters during the last twenty 
 years. But it is still true that it is the 
 city folks who enjoy all the farm luxuries, 
 and the middlemen get the profits that 
 should go to the farmers. From the time 
 that the sap starts in spring until the last 
 hog is killed in February, who gets the 
 maple sugar and sirup, the cherries,
 
 134 Slbanboning an ^.bopteb ^ 
 
 plums, and apples, the broilers, the eggs 
 in omelet or cake, or hard boiled for jolly 
 picnics ? Who gets the spareribs and de 
 licious sausages, the thick, yellow cream, 
 etc. ? Do not most of these in most cases 
 go straight to market ? After long years 
 of such strenuous self-denial in matters 
 of diet one comes to look pinched and 
 hungry. City friends, who are so loving 
 and devoted and hungry, from the middle 
 of June until the leaves begin to fall 
 we all know them. How much they might 
 do for farmers wives and daughters by 
 cordial returns of the summer s hospi 
 tality, receiving them as their honored 
 guests, and suggesting, in a well-bred and 
 friendly way, little improvements in mat 
 ters of dress and adornment ! What hap 
 piness could be given in that way ; with 
 invitations to concerts, and lectures, and 
 picture-galleries, and drives! Two such 
 weeks of city life each year would furnish 
 food for a winter s growth, and cause a 
 beautiful development of character. 
 
 I believe that farmers wives should re 
 ceive regular wages from their husbands. 
 Call it a weekly allowance; but let each
 
 .facts about .farming. 135 
 
 busy woman feel sure of three or four or 
 five dollars every Saturday night, and an 
 occasional share in the profits. Why not ? 
 Ah, how well it would "pay"! That is 
 what some farmers think of first, even be 
 fore the welfare of their wives.* 
 
 Let each daughter and each son have a 
 regular business of his or her own, from 
 which to gain a little spending-money a 
 few hens, a bit of ground for vegetables, 
 a tool chest, and pay for good jobs done, 
 some animals to keep or to raise and sell. 
 If this plan could be generally adopted, 
 the exodus from New England would not 
 be so alarming as it now is. The boys go 
 West for a chance to live their own lives, 
 to see a little of the world, to earn money 
 of their own, to get out of grooves and 
 ruts, and from under a rigid, close-fisted 
 master whom they call father. No in 
 ducements are held out for them to re 
 main. 
 
 Another and most important cause of 
 
 * Many farmers send two wives to untimely 
 graves by terrific toil. The third has a chance of 
 surviving him !
 
 Qlbanboning an Qtbopteb 
 
 poor health in the country is the frequent 
 neglect of drains and criminal carelessness 
 in regard to sanitary necessities. A friend 
 of mine that married a farmer in northern 
 Vermont, whose home is on a high hill, 
 where it seems as if the bracing winds 
 would blow away all disease, lost her only 
 son, a dear, bright boy, from typhoid fe 
 ver, caused by a connection between the 
 well and their cesspool. Near by, an eld 
 est daughter died of the same disease from 
 a similar cause; and when the father real 
 ized this, he grew morbidly depressed and 
 hanged himself on his barn door. A little 
 decent care, and all might have been pre 
 vented. I often see a half-rotten wooden 
 drain-pipe running from the kitchen, with 
 the drinking water too near for safety. 
 If farmers had their dwellings properly 
 arranged in this regard, did not sell all of 
 their best products, and insisted upon hav 
 ing good roads, making driving easy and 
 pleasant; and if their families, not even 
 excluding the " women-folks," were al 
 lowed a drive occasionally, there would 
 be brighter faces and happier homes. 
 There are in this land many farmers
 
 .facts about .farming. 137 
 
 daughters who are filling high positions 
 with grace and ease and dignity. There 
 will be many more in the next generation. 
 It is seldom those who have the greatest 
 advantages that make the most of them 
 selves. The farmer s daughter of to-day 
 can put herself almost where she pleases 
 by seizing every opportunity for improve 
 ment and " getting on." To rest content 
 in the old groove is fatal. Now, to me 
 the chatty " Round the Table " or " Arm 
 chair " or "Aunty" columns in agricul 
 tural papers are simply sickening from 
 their silliness, going over the same old 
 dribble about bachelors and old maids, 
 and whether it is proper to kiss your 
 escort good-night, and what will cure 
 freckles or improve red hair, and how to 
 do tatting and make rag rugs, with con 
 troversies on little subjects, and some 
 times a show of pertness and bad temper. 
 Those columns might be made most valu 
 able by each correspondent taking up a 
 trade, a business, a " fad," a study of some 
 kind, and then reporting failure or suc 
 cess. 
 
 As to women s work on the farm, I
 
 138 ^banboning an QVbopteb farm. 
 
 would aim to have it simplified. I would 
 have dish-washing machines for the wives, 
 as men have machines to simplify their 
 labor. Laundry work should be done in 
 some co-operative way that is feasible. 
 There should be something to think of 
 besides household drudgery and idle gos 
 sip. I should like to bring the city nearer 
 the quiet country life, and would suggest 
 an occasional long trip such as the teach 
 ers are now taking in their vacations 
 and they have less to spend than does the 
 average farmer. I believe in women hav 
 ing time to adorn themselves and beautify 
 their homes ; and they will always do this 
 unless crushed in spirit by never-ending 
 toil. If I could help a little bit toward 
 this very possible millennium, with tongue 
 and pen, and influence and example, and 
 letters to any who care to talk over the 
 subject in a most practical way, I should 
 be more pleased, more proud, than if I had 
 perched on the north pole or had estab 
 lished communication with Mars.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 TRIBULATIONS AND COMPENSATION. 
 
 " Per aspera ad astra." 
 
 I WOULD like to say that I regard most 
 of the farmers I see as unconscious slaves 
 to middlemen and the manure heap ! They 
 work too continuously, and are willing to 
 stay as they are. It is not the truest in 
 dependence to be tied to a plow and a hoe 
 handle. But I dare not express such a 
 sentiment. 
 
 If I did say it, no one would believe 
 me. No one will allow me to be in ear 
 nest. If I tell an anecdote about myself, 
 an actual happening, it is considered " an 
 entertaining exaggeration." In the Mid 
 way Plaisance at the Chicago Exposition 
 we staggered along, so warm, so weary, 
 so footsore ; and as we passed the Lap 
 landers village a " whipper-in " accosted 
 us in stentorian tones, urging us not to 
 omit the greatest curiosity of the whole 
 
 IO 0391
 
 an &boteb ,farm. 
 
 collection. His quick eye discerned our 
 agricultural tendencies, and, enraged at 
 our resistance of his yawping laudations, 
 he screamed even louder as we turned 
 away, " No one, who had a soul that could 
 soar beyond a manure heap or a dish-pan, 
 would neglect this opportunity ! " 
 
 And for a moment we forgot our fa 
 tigue in hearty laughter. No one be 
 lieves this to whom it is repeated. 
 
 I had to make a little bit of a speech 
 lately to nearly three hundred bright men 
 and women, and although they kindly 
 laughed loud and long, I could see they 
 did not believe one word I said, one 
 story I told ! 
 
 It s horrible to labor under this univer 
 sal doubt this regarding me as a bucolic 
 Sapphira! 
 
 I am strictly truthful. 
 
 I can not get rid, if I would, of my New 
 England conscience. 
 
 I told of a few things which had been 
 said to me in all sincerity : such as the 
 earnest comment of my faithful old col 
 ored cook, Judy Dickinson, when I had 
 been enjoying a visit from Miss Frances
 
 ribnlalion0 anb (Compensation. 141 
 
 Willard. I told Judy of her grand life- 
 work, her noble achievements ; of the 
 help she was to each one who was so for 
 tunate as to come under her blessed in 
 fluence, and how useless and insignificant 
 and guilty I felt in contrast. 
 
 Dear Judy looked lovingly at me, and 
 said : " I do declar, Miss Kate, ef you was 
 only as speritous as you is littery, you 
 would do just as much good in dis world 
 as dat ar woman ! " * 
 
 They did not believe me! 
 
 I next repeated the criticism of a Bos 
 ton man in one of the best of Boston s 
 good shops. I wanted something to 
 wear to New York as an outside garment. 
 
 * Poor Judy ! I picked up the remnants of a 
 parasol when moving, which recalled her brief but 
 forcible interview with the young woman who had 
 alienated her husband s affection. She returned, ex 
 cited and exhausted, and thus explained the situation : 
 
 " I found dat woman sitting up fine on a sofa 
 reading. She had big bangs ; put on de style. I went 
 straight up and faced her, and said I, Ef you s 
 Mis Dickerson, who s I ? and ef I is Mis Dickerson, 
 den who s you, I d like ter know ? and den I let the 
 parasol fly right on dem bangs. She hollered, deed 
 she did."
 
 142 QUmnboning an ^bopteb .farm. 
 
 I could find nothing large enough that 
 had the least pretension to style. Jack 
 ets, wraps, cloaks, capes none would at 
 all become me. 
 
 I stood in despair after trying on half a 
 dozen varieties, and exclaimed in pathetic 
 tone : " Am I really the biggest woman in 
 Boston ? Is there no help for me no 
 hope of getting anything ? " 
 
 The " sales-ladies " gathered around in 
 sympathy. At last it was decided to ap 
 peal to a member of the firm who did the 
 special importing. He might possibly 
 have something. 
 
 He came an important, bay-windowish 
 personage, with a fastidious, traveled ex 
 pression and an eyeglass. I wished they 
 hadn t called him. I felt small enough 
 under his critical survey, but braced up 
 and " stated my want." 
 
 He looked at me in silence, asked me 
 to revolve, to be seated, to walk about, 
 to stand still. Then, removing the eye 
 glass with the air of a judge delivering an 
 opinion, he said, " I think, madam, that a 
 woman of your formation would look 
 best in an elongated garment."
 
 tribulations anfc Compensation. 143 
 
 " Formation ! " 
 
 A.S if I belonged to the Neolithic era, 
 and had been dug up somewhere ! 
 
 And no one believed me. 
 
 I told them of the giant of a fellow 
 seated high on a big cart, who drove in 
 and wanted me to give him one of my 
 books. It was a gratifying compliment, 
 but I felt that it would be a dangerous 
 precedent, and he was so overcome by 
 recent libations that I hoped he wouldn t 
 mind if I refused. He muttered that I 
 might repent if I didn t. But as he 
 turned around to leave he brightened up, 
 and said : 
 
 " Look a-here : I ll give you half a barrel 
 of shavings I ve got left, and a peck of 
 Porters, a little rotten, but the rot s most 
 ly cut out. Is it a trade ? " 
 
 And it was. 
 
 Still no one believed me. 
 
 So I stopped talking. One loses in 
 spiration with such an avalanche of sus 
 picion resting on each statement. 
 
 Every one imagines his own trials are 
 peculiar, but I know mine are ! My phys 
 ical proportions are always unduly en-
 
 144 Qlbanboning an Qlboptefc .farm. 
 
 larged, and my literary pretensions looked 
 at from the wrong end of the glass. 
 
 Only yesterday I drove down town to 
 bring back a mammoth laundress, who, 
 as she settled her elephantine perspiring 
 bulk, crowded me out upon the wheel. 
 As I struggled to regain a minute portion 
 of the seat she looked at me with wonder 
 ing eyes and exclaimed, "My, ain t you 
 fat ! " 
 
 I work three months in public and pri 
 vate libraries on a lecture collect, con 
 dense, boil down some more, presenting 
 an immense amount of labor in an off 
 hand style, and some one is sure to say, 
 in a superior manner, " Yes, we really 
 quite enjoyed your little talk ! " even if 
 utterly ignorant of the subject treated. 
 
 I once did my best to converse with an 
 erudite, formal old bachelor, and at the 
 close of the visit he said, in the same su 
 perior style, " I have really enjoyed your 
 cheerful prattle ! " Oh, it is too bad ! 
 
 Then, the modest requests that come to 
 me ! I am positively staggered by the 
 petitions I constantly receive through the 
 mail. There seems to be a general long-
 
 tribulations ana (Compensation. 145 
 
 ing on the part of a multitude of helpless 
 females, young and old, to be my " com 
 panion." Now, if there is one thing I am 
 positive I do not want and will not have, 
 and will pay large sums to escape from, it 
 is a female " companion." Oh, the inex 
 pressible horror ! 
 
 I have questioned some of these would- 
 be companions in this way : " Can you 
 read aloud for hours with ease, distinct 
 ness, and expression ? " 
 
 " No have never tried that." 
 " Do you write a clear, legible hand, or 
 can you use a typewriter ? Can you read 
 music at sight, or play a good sympa 
 thetic accompaniment ? Are you a fine 
 French scholar, so that you could easily 
 pilot me if in France ? Are you a Ger 
 man student ? Can you play without 
 your notes in the twilight, so that all who 
 hear will love to listen and feel refreshed ? 
 Are you an experienced traveler ? Can 
 you act as courier ? Can you fit a waist, 
 or make over a skirt, or mend, or make 
 over old clothes, or cook, or wait on 
 table, or nurse me if I am sick, or enter 
 tain me with conversation, or keep my
 
 146 Qlbcmboning an QUioptcb .farm. 
 
 bureau drawers in order, or do ordinary 
 housework ? " No, no. Not one of all 
 these. And no wish to learn. All that 
 is wanted is to be my "companion," to 
 travel, to meet distinguished people to 
 be supported while I suffer. A recent let 
 ter shows better what I mean. " Luella, 
 my daughter, wishes to see you. She says 
 she knows she shall like you. She says 
 she wishes you had to hire a companion, 
 and would hire her to travel with you, if 
 only at a small salary, so she can finish 
 her musical education, so she could earn a 
 good living. There is no chance here but 
 to get a few scholars, and she is so anx 
 ious to get a position. She says she wishes 
 you would come up here. She is going to 
 the mountains in a week or two, and says 
 she wishes you would come before she 
 goes, or wait until she comes back, which 
 would be some time in September. Luella 
 was playing on the piano this morning, 
 and she" said, Oh, how I wish I could earn 
 a lot of money, so I could get me a new 
 piano; this is a regular old rattle-trap ! 
 She said she did not see why some girls 
 who had a good chance to learn music
 
 tribulations anb Qlompcnsalion. 147 
 
 and did not care for it at all, they could 
 have a nice new piano and a good chance 
 to learn. I think it is too bad she is such 
 a good girl. I do hope you will answer 
 this, for I certainly would like to keep up 
 a correspondence." (! !) 
 
 Let me now boldly state that I am de 
 termined to live and die without a so- 
 called "companion." 
 
 I am asked to contribute whole chap 
 ters on woman s work to other women s 
 books, without the slightest allusion to 
 remuneration ; to lend my lectures for 
 another woman to read, to furnish maga 
 zine articles for a new venture, sending 
 a slight sketch of my life and a photo 
 graph ; to lecture at a dozen women s 
 clubs each season, paying expenses, and 
 for no honorarium but the expressed thanks 
 and unexpressed (to me) criticisms of said 
 clubs. It does seem amazingly rude to 
 request a woman to take a journey in win 
 ter weather, when such exposure may 
 endanger life, to entertain a coterie of 
 unknown women for an hour with an essay 
 that has cost months of hard work, and 
 then go home again with nothing but a
 
 148 Qlbanboning an Slbojitcb ^ 
 
 severe cold or sore throat ! I am re 
 quested perennially to read for charity, 
 and have read to provide carpets, stained- 
 glass windows, water coolers, a suit for a 
 missionary, the beginning of a library, 
 for aged women and homeless infants. 
 Also to furnish something " bright, 
 breezy, characteristic," in my best style, 
 for a paper in a church fair as if I kept a 
 dozen such desirable sketches on hand 
 for these opportunities for benevolence. 
 Then, interviews where reporters swoop 
 down upon me just at lunch-time, and no 
 hope of relief until the afternoon train, 
 hungry for material and all the goodies 
 that appertain to a farm, and evidently 
 feel that they are conferring a great honor 
 upon me. Sister spinsters, with flourish 
 ing boarding-schools, that pay splendidly, 
 patronized by rich families such spin 
 sters come to me begging an hour s prac 
 tical talk for their dear girls such a talk 
 (practical, original, impressive, helpful) 
 as I could easily give. And then the 
 good I might do ! Oh, yes, dear spinsters. 
 But I would rather see a ten-dollar bill 
 even if it had been torn in two and
 
 tribulations anb (Compensation. 149 
 
 pasted together with dirty brown paper 
 ten dollars with which I could help some 
 one than to listen to your unmeaning 
 compliments ! 
 
 I might prolong the agonies of this ar 
 ticle by a long list of modest requests : 
 as, being a chaperone for two wild girls 
 for Harvard class day ; to furnish long 
 lists of books for courses of reading ; to 
 state what were the most potent forma 
 tive influences of my youth. And if I 
 go far away to some distant Eden, it is 
 distressing to find that I am expected to 
 "do something" all the time to furnish 
 entertainment for a lazy crowd. "Well, 
 what will you do for us to-night?" said 
 a girl of twenty-five years to me. I re 
 plied : " I think it is your turn now. 
 What can you do sing ? " " Oh, no ! " 
 " Play ? " " Only a very little." " Tell 
 a good story ? " " Bless you, never could 
 do that !" " Play whist or chess ?" "Too 
 much bother." " Recite or read ? " 
 "Gracious, no ! I m not a professional." 
 " If I were you I would fit myself to do 
 something for others amusement, even if 
 you never rise to the heights of an ama-
 
 Slbanboning on SUiojjtcb farm. 
 
 teur. I would not stupidly sit and expect 
 older people to do all the work." " She 
 looked aggrieved. But her " modest re 
 quest " roused for once a sincere reply. 
 
 Then I am petitioned to buy " hooked- 
 in " rugs to save children from starving ; to 
 purchase a high-posted buggy no, I mean 
 a bedstead, that has been in constant use 
 in a family for seventy years ; to take at 
 reduced rates an Afghan that the woman 
 can not sell. She frankly states that she 
 has tried it at three fairs, and has had it 
 on sale at her home for two years, and 
 no one would take it. She thought I 
 might like it. 
 
 I like rag rugs make em myself. I 
 believe in homely, homemade decorations 
 for a farmhouse. I visited a big-hearted 
 woman the other day, whose husband was 
 crippled in the war. He has a small pen 
 sion, and she writes and works and does 
 much to support and educate the family. 
 There I saw a rug with an eagle and flag 
 worked in, and the blood-stains on the 
 coat-sleeve that had seen hard fighting 
 were pathetically prominent. 
 
 The queerest thing I ever did see in
 
 (tribulations anb (Compensation. 151 
 
 amateur art was a picture-frame to sur 
 round the face of a dear departed spouse, 
 designed by his appreciative relict. The 
 frame was at first covered with soft putty ; 
 on that were stuck flowers of an entirely 
 unknown species made of shavings from 
 the coffin. Inside this were various ten 
 der mementoes a lock of his hair, two of 
 his teeth which she had always kept, three 
 kernels of corn, a bottle of homoeopathic 
 pills, of which he had taken half, several 
 shirt buttons, the silver coffin-plate, and 
 some raisins ! She explained that once 
 when he went to town he brought her 
 home a whole pound of table raisins, and 
 he said : " Now, Sophrony, these are for 
 you, to use just as you like, and all for 
 yourself. Don t stone em for cakes or 
 pies. Just eat em yourself. It was real 
 good of him, wasn t it ? So I never 
 could bear to eat none of them, when he 
 was so thoughtful, and I says I ll preserve 
 some of em right here ! " 
 
 There was a piece of his last But, 
 sho ! You will not believe me if I go on, 
 and it would crush me to lose your con 
 fidence.
 
 i5 2 QVbcmboning on Qlbopteb .farm. 
 
 Almost as bizarre was the " Crazy Jug," 
 a fad in our circle last year. A jug is 
 first varnished, then covered with rice, 
 and every sort of oddity stuck on, as a 
 boot-buttoner, wishbones gilded or plain, 
 hairpins, buttons large and small, half a 
 pair of scissors, old buckles, etc., " too 
 numerous to mention," and finally bronzed 
 with a really artistic effect. One was pre 
 sented to me, which I prize highly. 
 
 Mrs. Rollins, whose descriptions of early 
 New England life are as accurate and clear 
 as a verbal mirror, speaks of the ingenious 
 attempts to beautify the home by faithful 
 Hannah, one of those old-time servants 
 " who never changed her place, and spun 
 and wove and knit and stitched her strength 
 into the fabrics of the house until her hair 
 grew gray and her eyes dim in its service. 
 . . . Hannah had queer ways. She was given 
 to interior adornments, and the fruits of 
 her needlework were thick in the house. 
 These were not fine, but considering the 
 material from which she wrought them, 
 and the time and patience which she gave 
 to them, they were worthy of praise. She 
 pinned black broadcloth cats to the wall,
 
 tribulations anb Compensation. 153 
 
 brought out in silhouette upon red flannel. 
 As portraits they were failures, and little 
 Benny was always saying to her that he 
 was sure he had never seen any cats like 
 them. She hung novel comb-cases under 
 all the bedroom looking-glasses. These 
 were of varied shapes and materials, some 
 of broadcloth, some of straw, and less pre 
 tentious ones of covered pasteboard, all 
 much stitched with colored silks. The 
 patchwork about the house was endless. 
 Hannah hoarded scraps of silk and cam 
 bric, and pieced them together into pin- 
 balls, chair-cushions, and coverlets. She 
 glued painted pictures to the inside of 
 wide-mouthed glass jars, which she filled 
 with flour and planted with asparagus, 
 thus simulating quaint vases. She em 
 bossed blown egg-shells with the pith of 
 bulrushes, coiled round bits of bright silk, 
 and hung them upon pine boughs in the 
 fireplaces of the front rooms. Homely 
 handiwork, but well seasoned with the 
 true flavor of rustic life." 
 
 Another trial has been the wondering 
 comment on my having the good sense 
 to love the country. My friends every-
 
 i54 Qlbanboning an ^boptcb .farm. 
 
 where regarded my desertion of city life 
 and "social duties" as mysterious and 
 almost wrong. Had I degenerated into 
 a harmless lunatic; or was I a fugitive 
 from justice; or had paresis claimed me 
 for its own? Was I simply a little more 
 eccentric than usual ? Curiosity and in 
 quiry rose to fever height. Letters be 
 gan to arrive addressed to the Mayor of 
 Metcalf, to the postmaster, to the Poor 
 Farm, to Holliston Cemetery Association. 
 Mrs. Johnson, of the Sherborn Reforma 
 tory for Women, received, I believe, sev 
 eral delicately veiled missives of interro 
 gation. Had I married a man I dared not 
 display ? Had a big wen grown on the 
 end of my nose ? Did I really prefer 
 the society of hens to women, and the 
 companionship of dogs and horses to re 
 ceptions and a maelstrom of " functions " ? 
 At last reporters were sent out on a 
 searching expedition. Then I saw that 
 longer concealment was impossible. I 
 must now show my find to the world. 
 Engraved invitations were sent to seven 
 hundred dear friends in all parts of the 
 civilized globe, six weeks in advance, to
 
 GTribnliUions ana Compensation. 155 
 
 be present at a rural festival, September 
 17, 1892, offering as attractions home 
 made pies, husking party (plenty of red 
 ears), old-fashioned games, concert, re 
 gatta on lake, dance in barn, legerde 
 main exhibition, and a lunch under the 
 maples. Two hundred and seventy-five 
 loyal friends from nine different States 
 responded, and from noon to 9 P. M. we 
 had a glorious reunion. It is the pleas- 
 antest memory of my life here. 
 This was the style : 
 
 Miss KATE SANBORN 
 
 requests the pleasure of your presence at a 
 
 Co-operative Rural Festival, 
 
 Saturday, September 17, 1892. 
 
 Breezy Meadows, Metcalf, Mass. 
 
 (The " Abandoned Farm.") 
 Each guest may contribute some " goody " 
 
 not indigenous to Gooseville. 
 
 Lunch at 1.15. Hens fed 3.30 precisely. 
 
 Homemade pies. Husking party. Old-fashioned 
 
 games. Ride on lake. Dance in barn. 
 
 Trains leave Boston & Albany Station, 
 
 10.55; 2.15 ; 4.30; 5.25. 
 Return 4.05. Special evening train nine o clock. 
 
 If stormy, 
 
 picnic postponed until first decidedly pleasant day. 
 Please respond promptly.
 
 156 Qlbunboning an ^boptcb farm. 
 
 I will quote from the description given 
 by a friend : 
 
 " A few minutes ride brought us to 
 Metcalf, and there, upon a dais at the 
 base of the flagstaff upon the little green, 
 stood the radiant hostess, waving a small 
 banner in each hand in welcome to the 
 guests that flocked from the train. 
 
 "The programme was next read in im 
 pressive orotund by a distinguished di 
 vine : 
 
 Rural Festival and Co-operative Columbian Col 
 lation, Breezy Meadows, September 17, 1892. Pro 
 gramme : 
 
 12.28 Arrival at station. Rally around flag. 
 Reading of programme. 
 
 12.35 Grand march from station. Walking the 
 plank, single file. Guests will be "headed off" at 
 the triumphal arch. 
 
 12.42 Halt for repairs at arch. Welcome from 
 Gooseville quartette. 
 
 12.50 Opportunity for rest after remarks of host 
 ess ; physicians with restoratives at hand ; ambu 
 lance in attendance. 
 
 12.55 Announcements by marshal. 
 
 1.15 Fifteen minutes for mental refreshment. 
 Recess and preparatory fast. Guests will form in 
 line at Grindstone for sharpening their appetites. 
 Welcome to house, barn, lake, monument, pasture,
 
 tribulations anb Compensation. 157 
 
 and orchard. Help yourself freely to the green ap 
 ples. Do not disarrange the barb-wire fence. Ca 
 pacity of hammocks not warranted beyond 300 
 pounds. 
 
 2.15 Round-up for lunch. Grand march to Mer 
 rill s Maples. The police must and will preserve 
 order. Lunch, followed by speeches, songs, recita 
 tions. 
 
 3.30 Pilgrimage by survivors to poultry yard ; 
 hens fed. 
 
 4 Regatta on lake. 
 
 4.30 Old-fashioned games around the tlm, and 
 husking party. 
 
 6 to 7 Concert. 
 
 7.30 to 8.30 Dancing in the barn. 
 
 9 Last departing train. Final opportunity for 
 escape. 
 
 " Arrived in front of the house, the 
 hostess stood beneath an arch of golden- 
 rod and clematis, spanned at top with an 
 ornamental sign, Gooseville, and from 
 that position she welcomed her friends to 
 the freedom of her house, barn, poultry- 
 house, the lake, tower, and, in fact, 
 to all of her possessions. And now, 
 she said, we will hear from the other 
 members of the Gooseville quartette. 
 Whereupon an attendant, at a sign, re 
 moved a cover from a large box near the
 
 158 Slbanfconing an Qlbopteb farm. 
 
 front door, and out sprang three hand 
 some geese, which ran screaming through 
 the groups of guests away toward their 
 quarters, followed by the shouts of laugh 
 ter of the amused assembly. 
 
 " Everybody was at home at once ; old 
 friends were greeted and new ones made ; 
 the countless treasures of the different 
 rooms, the spoil of the world-famous auc 
 tions, were looked over; the poultry build 
 ings including a new house about a hun 
 dred feet long were inspected, the cele 
 brated lake visited, and the hour pre 
 ceding the spread too quickly passed 
 away, the warning toot-toot of the farm 
 dinner-horn calling the guests to assem 
 ble for the march to the tables, which 
 were spread, beneath the maples on a 
 neighbor s lawn, a few rods away this 
 excellent arrangement freeing her own 
 farm from all the trouble and annoyance 
 of a large corps of helpers, reserving it 
 for the more immediate entertainment of 
 the guests. Arrived at the tables, friends 
 were asked to take seats wherever their 
 taste or inclination suggested. No re 
 served seats for distinguished guests; all
 
 tribulations anfc Compensation. 159 
 
 these friends were distinguished, hence 
 were all treated alike. 
 
 " The after-dinner speeches were spon 
 taneous and brilliant from both men and 
 women. 
 
 " There was a carefully worded note 
 from the Hon. Grover Cleveland. 
 
 " On its face a casual inquiry in regard 
 to the kind of bait used in our lake for 
 horned pout. It did not, however, con 
 ceal the writer s anxiety as to the polit 
 ical significance of the assemblage. 
 
 " Miss Sanborn s brother read the let 
 ters of regret, which he did in a manner 
 most pleasing, and with a gravity unim 
 peachable. One from the Hon. Jerry 
 Simpson, the sockless Socrates of the 
 West, urging that Miss Sanborn turn the 
 occasion to the furthering the interests 
 of the Farmers Alliance, and suggesting 
 her taking the lead in that party s cam 
 paign. From the Hon. Jeremiah Rusk, 
 speaking of the great help to the depart 
 ment of her Standard Work on Agricul 
 ture, and the absorbing interest he had in 
 the valuable experiments Miss Sanborn 
 was conducting, among them being the
 
 160 Qtbanboning an "Stbopteb .farm. 
 
 grafting of the tomato upon the potato 
 plant, with a view to the raising of a crop 
 of tubers beneath the surface, and an 
 other crop, of tomatoes, upon the stalks 
 of the plant, above ground ; also the 
 doubling of the honey crop by crossing 
 the honey bee upon the firefly, so that 
 the bee could gather honey at night by 
 its own light ; raising the painted variety 
 of broom-handle, etc. It was great fun, 
 and more than one of the guests found it 
 difficult to determine where the fake 
 letters ended and the genuine letters be 
 gan. 
 
 " Mr. Hezekiah Butterworth, The 
 Youth s Companion, continued the en 
 tertainment with anecdotes and shrewd 
 observations pertinent to the occasion, 
 closing by reciting the first and last verses 
 of an old New England husking-party 
 song, which he had recently discovered in 
 his old-book rambles, the last verse of 
 which is 
 
 I wish I was a geese, 
 
 All forlorn ; 
 
 I wish I was a geese, 
 
 All forlorn ;
 
 tribulations anb (Compensation. 161 
 
 I \\ish I was a geese, 
 For they lives and dies in peace, 
 And accumulates much grease, 
 Eating corn. " 
 
 And the reminiscent epistles were equal 
 ly pleasant. A noted Boston man wrote: 
 
 " It was a great day. I enjoyed it 
 hugely. I gave up my choice of three 
 great banquets, but I would not have 
 missed your luxurious lark for three times 
 three times those ordinary hotel spreads. 
 In this busy life it is not everything that 
 sticks, but your day will abide as a story 
 for my children s children." 
 
 And just one more: 
 
 " I never had so good a time in ail my 
 life before. Never did nine consecutive 
 hours go so swiftly and delightfully. 
 Everything was perfect. Weather made 
 to order. Every detail was carried out. 
 Your farm was fairyland. Alhambra, a 
 little touch of Venice, all combined ; every 
 stone so immaculate; the old barn so 
 trim and tidy ; the narrow sidewalk so 
 prim ; the decorated grounds, with stacks 
 of hay-rakes and strings of lanterns, so 
 bewitchingly attractive ; those sheaves
 
 162 Qlbanboning on &boptcb .farm. 
 
 of ripened grain ; the teter, the room for 
 two, the lake so neatly stoned up all 
 round, the triumphal arch, the dinner, 
 the whole thing absolutely delightful 
 and unrepeatable once only in a life 
 time." 
 
 Ah, it is in this way that my farming 
 does pay ! Such a glorious opportunity 
 to repay hospitalities, to bring friends 
 together, to give them a jolly outing! 
 And in my new home I hope to have 
 many a house-warming and heart-warm 
 ing. 
 
 And do I then abandon farming ? Not 
 for my own benefit, but no longer shall I 
 try to make money by selling to others. 
 If hard-handed, long-headed, tight-fisted, 
 squeeze-a-penny-till-it-squeals old farm 
 ers of forty years toiling experience fail 
 to get much beyond a mortgage and 
 the plainest sort of living, why should 
 I continue my well-meant but absurd 
 efforts ? 
 
 No. In the words, slightly altered, of 
 Pope s Ode on Solitude, written before he 
 was twelve (if he had been more mature 
 it would not have seen the light) :
 
 ^Tribulations onb QTompcnsation. 163 
 
 " Happy the she whose wish and care 
 A few well-enriched acres bound, 
 Content to breathe pure country air 
 In her own ground." 
 
 My own ! And may I tell you about 
 the new " Breezy Meadows " ? A fine old 
 home, nearly eighty acres of land, two 
 swimming pools, a little forest of oak and 
 chestnut, grand, superb, magnificent, re 
 spect-compelling old elms all about the 
 lawns, a pond-lily pool, and, best of all, a 
 brook. I always have hankered for a 
 brook that I could take a personal inter 
 est in as partially my own, and surely now 
 I have a merry musical brook meandering 
 in graceful curves across my fields. Don 
 ald Mitchell says: "I believe there is 
 nothing in Nature which so enlarges one s 
 love for the country and binds it with 
 willing fetters as the silver meshes of a 
 brook." 
 
 The house is seventy-five years old, and 
 one old inhabitant can remember the great 
 event of the " raising." The men used to 
 gather from other towns to assist. One 
 big house, a mile away, was put up in the 
 morning, and then, after a hearty meal,
 
 164 QVbanboning an Qtbopteb .farm. 
 
 closing with a course of one hundred and 
 forty-three pumpkin no, " punkin " pies 
 and two barrels of hard cider, this build 
 ing was erected. He says that men were 
 so elated that they skipped lightly as 
 mice over the ridgepole, and no one was 
 hurt. 
 
 Tearing off the papers, curious hand- 
 painting is revealed ; and one paper, 
 which you may well believe is not to be 
 disturbed, was put on before the inven 
 tion of rolls of paper, and was made in 
 small squares. 
 
 My antique treasures will properly be 
 placed in that room. 
 
 Do I ever attend auctions now ? Yes, 
 indeed, and get as good bargains as ever. 
 At a sale of horses, harnesses, and ve 
 hicles of all kinds, I arrived as the auc 
 tioneer held up half a dozen new whips, 
 worth at least fifty cents each. Some one 
 started with " Twenty-five," and I boldly 
 added " Thirty." Then there was a strange 
 pause, which I could not understand until 
 an explanation was called for, and a 
 bright-faced boy said, " You know we 
 wouldn t any of us bid against that lady."
 
 tribulations an& Compensation. 165 
 
 I also secured an astonishing carryall, 
 with three corduroy cushioned seats, easy 
 springs, solid wheels, queer high windows, 
 looking as ancient and comical as Sydney 
 Smith s famous carriage, " The Immor 
 tal," for six dollars and ten cents! All 
 agreed, you see, that it was just suited to 
 my especial style and needs. 
 
 I was half ashamed to bring it home 
 for critical inspection, but it won all 
 hearts at once. It could be used to carry 
 a picnicking load, or utilized as a milk- 
 cart, or sent to the station on rainy days 
 for guests, or I could go out and peddle 
 vegetables from door to door. As I have 
 had three men come to buy it from me at 
 increased value, I am properly pleased 
 and proud. 
 
 Again, I went with my invaluable cook 
 and right-hand woman to a sale of farm 
 stock and brought home triumphantly 
 two cows, pronounced to be first class. 
 The auctioneer agreed to look mean 
 ingly at me when the animals I should 
 buy were brought out, so I deserve no 
 credit. He said to the crowd, " Gentle 
 men and ladies for I am glad to say we
 
 i66 Qlbanbonittcj an Qlboptcb .farm. 
 
 have ladies with us to-day I am now 
 about to offer for sale a dozen of the 
 finest milkers in the country." 
 
 A drunken man rather annoyed me by 
 standing near me and bidding loudly, and 
 then saying in a confidential tone: " I m 
 bidding for you. / don t want her. She s 
 a bargain. You ll double your money." 
 But no one minded him. 
 
 The owner was solemnly called out to 
 testify. " Now, Mr. Wheeler, you come 
 out here and tell all you know about these 
 cows of yours be it good or be it bad. 
 If any one of em is gargetty or breachy, 
 say so say so, and stand by ! " 
 
 Those I bid on and bought were char 
 acterized as " Butes, real butes," and they 
 do " show up " well in the fine stalls of 
 my big barn. 
 
 Then let me report briefly on the horse 
 question. My luck has turned. I ex 
 changed a backer for the prettiest gray 
 mare high spirited yet gentle, my con 
 stant delight. Needing a farm horse, I 
 sent in Mr. Wood, and he found a perfect 
 wonder for thirty-five dollars! I named 
 him " Horace Greeley " at once, that he
 
 STribnlations anb (Compensation. 167 
 
 might show us what he knew about farm 
 ing. He has but one fault, and that I 
 sympathize with. At half-past twelve, his 
 dinner hour, he has twice come home 
 alone on a full canter. Well, Horace him 
 self ran once, you know ! 
 
 "Viva," the beautiful colt, was named 
 after my Hindoo friend, but has not yet 
 acquired his repose of manner. 
 
 All that now remains for me to tell is 
 of my " flitting " from the old love to the 
 new.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 HOME. 
 
 No place like it ! 
 
 IT is the day after the " glorious Fourth," 
 and so forth, which means that we have 
 passed through the usual idiocies of that 
 dreadful holiday, are still alive with no 
 mutilation, kept awake the night before 
 by twanging fish-horns, bells, and crack 
 ers, and alarmed in the morning by the 
 bursting of the old cannon, demolishing 
 the windows of enraged and outraged 
 householders; the procession of horribles, 
 effigies, the average number of accidents, 
 and the late return of the merrymakers, 
 extremely overcome. It is over, and I 
 am at last settled in my new home, after 
 " most disastrous chances of moving acci 
 dents." 
 
 " Seem to have skipped spring ? " Yes, 
 it is an intentional because actual hiatus, 
 not skipped or " lost," as Miss Phelps lost 
 
 (168)
 
 169 
 
 a winter in Florida. Oh, no ! I ve been 
 here, hard at work, worried, flurried, hur 
 ried, knowing nothing whatever about 
 the tender, radiant miracle of the bud 
 ding, blushing New Year of Nature. It 
 has been chaos, siege, purgatory ; a 
 " storm and stress " period, never to be 
 described. As the old darky aunty terse 
 ly expressed it, " I have passed through 
 scenes and unscenes." Moving, like 
 mal de mer, measles, mumps, disappoint 
 ment in love, a cold in the head, or loss 
 of money, is something that must be en 
 dured, and no commiseration solicited. 
 You must go through it like the clown 
 through the flaming hoop at the circus, 
 and, like him, come out smiling. I must 
 now forget the Babel-bedlam agonies of 
 " jacking up " the sills, putting down 
 floors, tearing out partitions, demolish 
 ing defective chimneys and building up 
 again, and searching for water ! 
 
 I was often congratulated on the un 
 failing supply of water from the hillside 
 reservoir at new " Breezy Meadows," and 
 I planned a generous bathroom, water in 
 second story, big tank in attic, bigger
 
 1 70 Qlbanboning on Qibopteb .farm. 
 
 hogshead in cellar, a fountain in southern 
 Spanishy court which should lull me to 
 sleep with its musical tinkle and plash, 
 a sprinkler of newest pattern for the gar 
 den and lawn, etc. In June the stream 
 from the faucet became a trickle, the 
 trickle a thread, the thread a drop, and 
 then the drop disappeared ! A dozen 
 workmen " dry " and " almost choked " 
 looking bitterly at me. Four hundred 
 hens with open mouths in desperate 
 thirst ! Dogs in all probability going 
 mad ! I used to lie awake half the night 
 studying the situation, and then fall 
 asleep only to dream of all my faithful 
 assistants and my entire stock lying stiff 
 and stark in distressing attitudes, with 
 black tongues protruding. " Diviners " 
 were sent for from a distance to search 
 for springs by means of a forked twig of 
 apple, witch-hazel, or alder, which would 
 bend to the presence of water, as the 
 orange branch bows to gold, and bless 
 em ! those wizards did find a full sup 
 ply, and my plans may now be realized. 
 And the reminiscent chorus, as the happy 
 artisans ply the pump-handle and the
 
 17 1 
 
 " hands " and "foreman" "jocund drive 
 the team afield," with throats well moist 
 ened, and big cans of molasses and 
 WATER, enlivened by liberal doses of 
 ginger ; and water, plain water iced to 
 delicious coolness, clattering cheerfully, 
 is very similar to the grateful comments 
 of the old woman in the sleeping-car. 
 You have heard of her ? Never mind, 
 I want to tell it once more. She kept 
 the weary passengers awake by exclaim 
 ing at intervals : " Oh, how dry I am ! " 
 "Ain t I dry!" "I never was so dry." 
 " Dear me, how dry I am ! " At last one 
 of the sufferers arose, donned one gar 
 ment, went for a glass of water, and kindly 
 thrust it between the curtains from which 
 the complaint proceeded. He was re 
 warded with effusive thanks ; but no soon 
 er had he taken back the empty tumbler, 
 and returned to his berth, with the hope 
 of speedy slumber, than again her voice 
 was lifted up, different words, but the 
 same general effect : " Oh, wasn t I dry ?" 
 " Never was so dry in my life ! " " O, how 
 dry I was ! " 
 
 I said I knew no spring. Just once,
 
 172 QUwnboning an ^bopteb .farm. 
 
 when rushing through " the congested 
 district " of Boston looking for papers 
 and mattings and rugs that would har 
 monize each with all and all severely 
 "colonial," I saw a boy holding up 
 bunches of the trailing arbutus. How 
 I love that dainty flower ! What long 
 tramps I have taken to seek it, hidden 
 under damp, dead leaves on a sunny bank 
 beneath the pines ! I have enough col 
 lected from poets who have sung its 
 praises to make a beautiful gift-book ; 
 have even planned the cover of soft, rich, 
 earth-brown leather, and the shy-pink 
 blossoms under the dark leaves. No 
 title none would be needed. I can now 
 smell the fragrance of the bouquets of 
 these beauties which used to be hung on 
 my door. But I looked at those shy 
 darlings of the woods in a sad, dazed 
 way, and plunged into a store for a bar 
 gain in draperies ! The day before, the 
 only folding bed I ever owned (one war 
 ranted safe for a lady, with no tricks, 
 and perfectly sound) was being taken to 
 pieces, and the heavy top fell hard upon 
 my head. It hit upon a hollow where
 
 fjome. 173 
 
 the phrenologists say that Reverence is 
 absolutely lacking, or I should have been 
 instantly killed. That, with a score of 
 similar casualties, may have temporarily 
 dulled my senses, or I could never have 
 passed those dearly loved heralds of spring. 
 Once I was tripped up by my own shoestring 
 when carrying some precious old china, 
 stumbled over a small table and followed 
 its descent, spilling an ink-bottle on a new 
 and light carpet. Again, in struggling 
 up-stairs with too big a load, handicapped 
 also by impeding skirts, I have fallen up 
 instead of down, skinning my knee and 
 bruising my forehead.* But I forget my 
 own creed " Grin and bear it," and never 
 bore even your dearest friends by a tale 
 of woe. I have had a pessimist with me, 
 and it is depressing and tiresome. For a 
 morning greeting, he would tell me that 
 the fence I had mended " war nt done no 
 
 . * I felt like crying like a child who is hurt, but 
 went to the window brushing my damp hair from a 
 damper brow, only to be accosted by (yes, truly) an 
 other agent who called up : "I hear you have pur 
 chased this place recently. Have you ever contem 
 plated buying a mower?"
 
 174 Qlbcmfconinq an QVboptcb .farm. 
 
 way thorough, and all the cows got out 
 and were off half a mile before the men 
 could catch up " ; or that " the hens were 
 most on em broody, seemed possessed to 
 stick to nests, were thin as snakes, and 
 ought to have more care or they d all die." 
 He had a touch of malaria, and was in 
 wholesome fear of "gems," which he had 
 read about, and imagined dread results. 
 
 " Lead pipe didn t poison everybody, but 
 it did some ; but he didn t want to say 
 nothin ," and so on. 
 
 Let us number " only the sunny hours " ; 
 as the brave little boy who went berrying 
 said, " I held up the full pail to mother, 
 and didn t say anything about the briers." 
 There are times, though, when the af 
 flicted soul cries out for some relief, for 
 some proper verbal explosives. I seri 
 ously thought of borrowing a parrot, but 
 recollecting that an excellent minister 
 had said that human nature needed some 
 explosives, I carefully coined an expres 
 sion which has proved a relief to me, as it 
 sounds bad, but is free from profanity. 
 One of my friends, when deeply roused, 
 exclaims "Sugar!" on the principle, I
 
 175 
 
 suppose, of lumping what she does not 
 like. 
 
 As to furnishing my house, I am not 
 one of those fortunate people who can 
 live on one hundred and fifty dollars a 
 year, and have every comfort and save 
 something too. Nor have I ever taken 
 kindly to the " four B s " barrels, burlaps, 
 bones, and bay leaves for economic cater 
 ing and homemaking. 
 
 Are you not all weary of directions, 
 full-length, for making barrel chairs ? 
 Every one knows that he can construct 
 something to sit on out of a barrel; why 
 continue the study endlessly ? I once 
 advised a friend to take a popular journal 
 for ladies. 
 
 " Does it always have a column devoted 
 to barrel chairs ?" she asked. 
 
 "Oh, no," I replied. "It has the best 
 women writers as its contributors." 
 
 She sent for a sample copy, and the 
 first words that met her eye were explicit 
 directions for making a double-barreled 
 chair! 
 
 Then burlaps ! If the skillful wives 
 of army officers, who have a special gift
 
 i7 6 Slbanboning an Qlbopteb .farm. 
 
 for furnishing their quarters effectively 
 from the contents of a moderate-sized 
 trunk, aided by soap boxes and a piano 
 case, choose to drape with burlaps or line 
 their walls with the same, all right; but it 
 seems unnecessary constantly to urge its 
 claims upon housekeepers in ordinary life. 
 The furnishing was lately described of a 
 large parlor with odds and ends of furni 
 ture covered with red canton flannel and 
 unbleached cotton in stripes (like a bar 
 ber s pole), finished with a cheap worsted 
 fringe knotted in with a crochet needle. 
 This savage combination was used even 
 to " treat " three-legged wooden stools, 
 much better looking without it. The re 
 sult semi-surgical, semi-patriotic must 
 have been bad enough to enrage a bull in 
 the next county. Then, nothing soils 
 more quickly than this red flannel, with 
 its rough nap absorbing all the dust, and 
 nothing looks more hopelessly dirty when 
 soiled. Burlaps, in this case, would have 
 done better. 
 
 I once studied a prize article on How 
 to live on Five Hundred Dollars per 
 Year. Each needed article was enumer-
 
 177 
 
 ated. I remember that some garment, as 
 universal and essential as overcoat for 
 the master of the house, was entirely for 
 gotten. Then, providing for the table, 
 the glowing word-pictures that make my 
 mouth water, of delicious meals made of 
 almost nothing and pronounced perfect 
 by two able-bodied, hungry men -that is 
 aggravating to the average woman who 
 can not perform miracles. 
 
 This is the usual story. John sends 
 word to his bright-eyed, loving little wifie, 
 Jennie, that he will bring home an old 
 college friend to dinner. 
 
 There is nothing in the house but a 
 small loaf of bread, a smaller piece of 
 beef, and the usual vegetables that are 
 kept in stock in every house and a. good 
 supply of bay leaves. Molly, a raw, un 
 trained Irish girl, makes, with little help, 
 a most savory soup of the beef bone, and 
 bay leaves float on the surface ; the rem 
 nant of beef makes croquettes a few bay 
 leaves surrounding the platter; the bread 
 appears, as do actresses, in three different 
 ways dice-toasted, thick squares by the 
 dinner plate, at last as a bread pudding
 
 78 ^.bonboning an ^bopteb farm. 
 
 disguised by raisins and spices. The linen 
 is always spotless, the glass and silver 
 shining, and the two hungry men are filled 
 and serene. 
 
 Is this a general experience ? Do bay 
 leaves and a shining soup-spoon satisfy 
 your " two men " ? 
 
 The men who visit me hope to meet the 
 fattened calf at Metcalf, with plentiful 
 and appropriate additions. May we not 
 hope feebly, to be sure, but still hope 
 that there may some time be a blessed 
 surcease of this too chronic twaddle about 
 sitting in barrels, living on love and shin 
 ing silver, and generous gorges on bones 
 and bay leaves ? 
 
 There are other fallacies which need to 
 be forever refuted that literary women 
 are not good housekeepers, and that an 
 unmarried woman can not make a home 
 and knows nothing of cooking. 
 
 Both in England and in our own coun 
 try there are many distinguished authors 
 who are also good wives and mothers; 
 women in happy, well-kept homes, with 
 husbands proud and fond, sure of three 
 good meals a day and every button on.
 
 179 
 
 Go back to Elizabeth Carter, and see if 
 you can not find old maids also in plenty 
 who were practical as well as literary. 
 Miss Carter was pronounced by Dr. John 
 son to be " the best Greek scholar in Eng 
 land." He said, " A man is in general 
 better pleased when he has a good dinner 
 upon his table than when his wife talks 
 Greek." My old friend Mrs. Carter could 
 make a pudding as well as translate 
 Epictetus, and work a handkerchief as 
 well as compose a poem. (English spin 
 sters were addressed as " Mrs." after 
 fifty.) Hannah More, Jane Austen, Jo 
 anna Baillie, Miss Mitford, Miss Mar- 
 tineau, Caroline Herschel, and many oth 
 ers, were famous housekeepers. Eliza 
 Leslie, one of our bright writers forty 
 years ago, published a cook book from 
 tested recipes. Catherine Beecher pub 
 lished a most useful book on household 
 economies. 
 
 I intend some day to publish a prac 
 tical book giving other women "the gist" 
 of my experience as a homemaker, and I 
 believe I can astonish and help some un 
 believers. But I will not boast ; only
 
 i8o &banb0ning an ^baptcfc .farm. 
 
 make a mem. to buy a copy when you see 
 it advertised ! 
 
 Yes, it is summer now. The birds tell 
 me that, and the trees they love to live in. 
 I am glad to say that my new farm, with 
 its brooks and groves and large solitary 
 trees, is just a paradise for birds. They 
 seem to have a sense of proprietorship. 
 
 In the great drooping elm just south 
 of the house there is a colony of nests. 
 I see the Baltimore oriole below, and 
 above the golden-winged woodpecker. 
 The quick flash of their wings and their 
 loud, cheery call contrast charmingly 
 with the quiet flitting and rich, low notes 
 of the brilliant "hang-bird." There is a 
 long, dead limb of the same tree, honey 
 combed by woodpeckers of the past, now 
 the abode of a tribe of cliff swallows. 
 They have adopted an abandoned home, 
 and in still evenings they twitter and cir 
 cle about in the enthusiasm of entomo 
 logical research : not so bold and sweep 
 ing in their flight as their cousins and 
 neighbors who prefer my chimneys, and 
 spoil my newly painted fireplaces with 
 dropping soot and broken eggs.
 
 In a larger hollow of the old elm there 
 was a nest of little owls. I have seen 
 several fly-catchers in a pear tree near the 
 brook. May they be blessed with large 
 appetites ! And the robins, lots of them, 
 started housekeeping with me. I sympa 
 thize with a remark of the late Senator 
 Stanford. When his gardener told him 
 that the robins were getting his whole crop 
 of cherries, he said : " Ah ! Why, then we 
 must plant more cherry trees." I sit on 
 the porch at twilight and listen to the 
 whip-poor-will, the catbird, and the quail, 
 but the robin s song is the best of all. 
 
 I can not write scientifically or in long 
 detailed observation of the habits and 
 manners of birds; could never spend a 
 whole afternoon lying on a hill concealed 
 by bushes and armed with an opera-glass, 
 and then report accurately all I saw. Life 
 is too short for me to care to learn the 
 languages of birds or monkeys, or carry 
 a phonograph into the hen-yards. But I 
 love birds and value their friendship. I 
 even aspire to a nest for myself in one of 
 the gigantic twin elms that meet over the 
 northern driveway.
 
 182 Qlbanfconing an QV&ojiteb /arm. 
 
 There, on an aerial platform, embowered 
 and shaded, with cool breezes to refresh 
 and exhilarate, I may yet have a " high 
 tea" for a few favored friends. I do not 
 object to the theory of arboreal ancestry, 
 and only wish I had not lost the art of 
 climbing. I do not think of much else to 
 report. I still keep ducks. A duck has 
 been well defined as " a waddling appe 
 tite." Hens don t pay (me!). I must fol 
 low Lowell s example, and read aloud to 
 them on rainy days the Lay Sermons of 
 Coleridge. He says the effect was magi 
 cal. My hens lay plentifully when eggs 
 are at the lowest price. 
 
 A woman must needs be sharper than a 
 razor to farm and not become bankrupt. 
 Nor is it women only who fail to make 
 money from the ground. 
 
 In a recent newspaper an amateur mush 
 room grower recounts his costly experi 
 ence, headed, " $900 for One Mushroom " 
 a fact also. How I did revel in his story, 
 and chuckle over my decision last fall not 
 to try mushrooms! I bought a book of 
 instructions, but was discouraged by the 
 difficulties. I have all sorts of sugges-
 
 Ijome. 183 
 
 tions sent me by interested friends, and 
 one read in this way : 
 
 "The United States is not yet a large 
 mushroom-consumingcountry,butl judge 
 that she soon will be. In France, some 
 operators produce from five hundred to 
 three thousand pounds per day. There 
 is a great future for the mushroom busi 
 ness in America, and more than a hundred 
 fortunes await those who are prepared to 
 engage in the industry." 
 
 Ah, yes ! And they can so easily be 
 cultivated in a common cellar or in a 
 horse stall. Oh, how I long to give the 
 entire story ! He says that about three 
 years ago a fiend in human form, with a 
 mushroom brain, suggested that he had 
 just the place to make money from mush 
 rooms ; sell from seventy-five cents to 
 one dollar a pound; tremendous profit; 
 demand always greater than the supply; 
 clear income of fifty thousand dollars a 
 year! 
 
 First conclusion : " There s a vast dif 
 ference between a fine mushroom bed and 
 a bed of fine mushrooms." 
 
 He went through all the mushroom lit-
 
 1 84 Qlbanboning an Q\.bojjtc& ^ 
 
 erature and then knew less than nothing. 
 They are raised in heated manure. First 
 it was too wet ; next season too dry ; third 
 season the horses had been fed on soft 
 feed must have hard feed. His house 
 cost him nine hundred dollars, and from 
 all this he grew one mushroom ! 
 
 Let me earnestly advise every woman 
 in search of a paying business to avoid 
 mushrooms. 
 
 I have recently been assured that there 
 is money in gooseberries, especially the 
 green gooseberry. I don t doubt it. Let 
 it stay there. I am weary of these highly 
 colored stories of profit in anything that 
 comes out of the earth but tobacco and 
 whisky. I ought to have seven hundred 
 bushels of potatoes this year, but - Oh, 
 yes but - But, the " droot " and the 
 bugs ! I couldn t allow a friend to go to 
 Princeton to be educated, I am so preju 
 diced against the combination of black 
 and yellow ! My present " manager " is 
 a Boanerges whose voice can be heard 
 distinctly for half a mile, as he urges on 
 the faithful " Horace " or accelerates the 
 home-coming of the cows. He rises at
 
 185 
 
 half-past three and works until it is dark, 
 then sends for a lantern and keeps right 
 on. He believes there is money to be 
 got out of a farm, and is trying for it. I 
 have offered him half of the profits, and 
 will gladly report his success. Then I will 
 have a house-warming indeed, and every 
 one interested in my ventures will be more 
 than welcome. 
 
 Woman is said to be like a cat : she can 
 certainly make a home wherever she can 
 cuddle down and purr. This home, my 
 second adoption, is all my own, and I am 
 so grateful for it, so happy in it, that it 
 will never be " abandoned." 
 
 " Man s greatest strength is shown in standing still ; 
 The first sure symptom of a mind in health 
 Is rest of heart and pleasure felt at home." 
 
 THE END.
 
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