The Cecil Whig. [volume] (Elkton, Md.) 1841-current, 1871-02-25
A Country Lady.

Francis Tiffany, in Old and New, gives
us this glimpse of woman and a lady.
We commend it to the "Troubled Mar
thas y of the day and generation. It is n
picture worth preserving:
One summer | was boarding with nv
family in a farmhouse by the sea shore.
Our host was a pitiful mser, starving him
SELF starving his family; and, fortiori,
starving his boarders. Sick of human
nature, sick of petty, miserable contention,
a party of us started out one day. in
wagon, for a fine beech some miles away.
20 try to forget our woes in the kind lap of
Mother Nature. AS we approached the
beach, we stopped at a farm-hous to ask
permission to put our horse in the barn.
Knocking at the door, it was opened by
motherly-looking woman of fifty, in spec
tacles, the glasses of which, however, far
from hiding, seemed only to serve, like
varnish on a picture, to bring out the light
and warmth of a pair of loving blue eyes
underneath. She gave us the heartest
reception. "Put your horse in the barn?
Certainly! You'll find plenty of hay there.
Come out to spend day by the beech have
yon? That's right! l do like to see young
people enjoy themselves Won't you eat
your luncheon in our apple orchard, it's
so nice and cool and shady there? And
wouldn't you like pan of sweet milk to
have with it ?"
''Bless your dear, loving heart" cried
internally. "Then the stern necessities of
farm life do not shrivel and wien and dry
rot all souls after the manner of old Grimes
we are boarding with. But perhaps this
old lady has trodden more silken path"
| looked round the room. There were
milk pans enough to make life one eternal
scour. Her dress, too, was trussed up;
her arms were bare, and with that battered
and callous look about the elbows which
betokens hard usage. mo children, pro-
badly! that accounts for it, Presently Il
rustling of bed clothes, and an incipient
wall from neighboring room. "Ahi
that's your grandchild, suppose?' ''No,
that's my baby"
| was about rs incredulous as Sarah of
old; but she went right on. GIVE had
sixteen children.' Sixteen children. all
these milk pans the ordinary work of the
farmhouse. and room still in the heart
for such reception as We had had, for
such generous 81 do like to see young peo-
pie enjoy themselves for snch hearty
proifers Of the hospitality of the apple
orchard, and of full gallon of sweet milk.
All. | see it. ''Where there is room in
the heart, there is always room in the
house, room for all these children. and
then room to spare for bevy of pleasure
seeking, do-nothing strangers, who would
seem sent only to suggest the complaint,
Why must my life be a ceaseless MOL of
nursing, scrubbing, ripping, sewing, while
these people can lie on the rocks all day
long, counting the breakers, cooled by the
spray, dosing of the music of the pulsing
ocean,
l went, after preliminary embarrass-
ment, in the stable over the horses collar,
and said, blushingly, MADAM, l am
ashamed to say do not know how to har-
ness that horse" "Of course not; every
body can't do everything" and this in
tone as though she were already over
whemed with amusement at the number
of things | could. Her replying thus, l
say, and then running to the back door and
calling to two Of her sons in the field,
Here, you Henry Clay! Daniel Webster.
room still in that heart, we see, for a
streak Of hero worship Come here and
help this gentleman harness his horse.''
But | cannot enlarge farther. Does not
she, however, illustrate gloriously the crea-
tive power of a large heart-creative power
to make small house big, narrow means
abundant, work play, contracted sphere
roomy, broad and airy.