The Ottawa free trader. [volume] (Ottawa, Ill.) 1843-1916, 1878-08-03

noble sons Of the SOIL who supcrintend affairs,
seem to have a more heartfelt regard for pen
MES those small bits of the filthy lpcre, than
even their meaner city brothers. Dhe sweet
butter that is scented with clover and all sorts
of poetical June blossoms, is the kind that
goes to market, and that churned in the pale
cold months of winter, when there are no bios
SONS to scent its long repose in cold salt brine,
no new -mOwn hay to sweeten it, Is the KIND
that stays at home and glistens on the hard
crust of your daily bread. The spring chick
ems that played around the barn yanl and feast
ed on grasshoppers during their happy, but
mournfully short career, suddenly disappear,
and are seen no more in their accustomed
places, while their sweet rustic voices are no
longer added to the morning chorlses. Your
great expectations that they will reappear on
the dnner-tabe, far more attractive and lovely
than when in lite, are never realized, for they,
poor things, find their way to market, while
their venerable progcnitors three or four gen
erations back are reserved for tie domestic
cuisine or some remarkable occasion, as the
visit of the preacher or some such notable.
There seems to be blueness In the milk,
which attracts your wondrous attention-it is
not the rich yellow milk of your dreams, when
this grand old farm house was in the future.
It is not suggestive Of cowslips and clover,
buttercups and daisies; far from it, and the
thought softly CLEANS across your mind that
water is used for other purposes than washing
clothes and watering plants.
The remarkable smalness Of The potatoes
which are served at meals attracts your atten-
ton, and if you are of "French descent from
that port of Limerick, very naturally you have
hankering for the pride of ould Ireland"
There is Il strangeness about this little mat
ter which you cannot understand, but ram
BILE round the barnyard reveals to you the fact
that the larger ones are sent to market while
the smaller ones are reserved for home con
sumption. You stretch your imagination
somewhat to understand why cream is not
served with your corn mush instei of skim
milk, and several other little minor matters
WHlNu Sttih bup " N'SiN'o 'i'N INV
gidcs through your unsophisticated brain that
all farmers do not feed" on the fat Of their
land.
Maria, who is high private and general
, commander in her department, is not one OF
those strong.minded females that can be in
, two places at the same time; so, frequent
and lively demands for her presence from all
quarters, in tones more emphatic than sweet
disturb the rural peace of the atmosphere, es
pecially at that hour called by poets the rosy
dawn of day, an hour unknown to few, save
ROSTERS, poets and farmers.
I When night folds its sable wings around you
ana the broling sun peering through youl
n uncovered windows may have made tina,
Heavenly spot" a-wel--M Least gerry lot
and the company of the social mosquito you
find rather overpowering, you keep roman
, tic watch with nature through your vine-cur
, tanned window until the stars commence to
grow pale then, with feelings more easily
b imagined than described, sink INTO your feath
er O. bed and call on sleep to touch your wea
, ny cyelids. The heat begins to grow less and
the festive mosquitoes, tired and weary from a
, night of "murmuring," are about retiring to
, the wall silent and subdued, and just as you
begin to find the delicious numbness Of sleep
beginning to creep over your weary soul, then
comes the internal racket of the alarnclock
set to arouse Maria from her sweet dreams
Then the voices of the farmer and his wife
break in upon the hollow stiffness, the ROSTERS
join the happy chorus with thrilling power,
and the children, whose last act before seek.
ing their peaceful couches was TO eat bread
and butter suddenly open their cherublc
mouths and clamor laudly for more of that
staff of life Milk pans rattle, cows low, birds
sing, the farm hands hustle about in the yard
and the day with all its sublimity of country
life begins.
! You drop the green paper curtain at your
window and long for n chamber in some vast
wilderness, one that is deaf to noise and blind
to light You wonder at yourself for being SO
DULY indifferent to all the sweet rus'icities OF
the early morning, but you are changed some
how since you took up this noble country life
your poetical instincts are deadencd, and you
care more for sluggish sleep than for anything
else You close your eyes and try TO sleep
but you are suddenly awakened by the sonor
GUS voice of the lady of the house shouting tc
Maria to call that "sleepy-head" After an in
terval Of some moments, during which time
the shouts continue, Maria calls loud and long
and you respond rs though something had
struck you, at the same time lighting out
with wonderful celebrity. You perform you
toilet in the manner which poets advise in all
undertakings, without haste, without rest; but
this does not altogether satisfy Maria who
harshly informs you that the table Is in til,
middle of the floor waiting, and the work
won't be done till noon if you don't make
3 haste! Without being allowed moment:
|, time for an appreciative glance at the morning