Morning journal and courier., 1880-03-05

in preparing small lots to be sold at high price The following ballad gives apleasingid idea of Chinese country life among the tea hills; it's author is not known. BALLAD OF THE TEA PIoKRRs. where thousand hills the vale incoss, little hut is And the soptns sides around, the tea grows every And must rise 2. early dawn, ss busy au can be. get my daily labor done and pluck the leafy tea. At early dawn seize my crate, and signing, Oh, for Thro the thick mist pass the door, with sloven hair The danes and maidens call to me, as hand in hand
 whas steep do you mias climb today, what steep of Dark is the sky, the twilight dim still on the hills is The dewy leaves cloudy buds may not bs gathered oh who they the thirsty ones, for whom this work For whom we spend our daily toll in bands of and As down we pull yielding twgs "sweet sister, don't Fen the buds growing old. all on the bOughs And then to-morrow,-who can tell 1.-the drizzling rain may drop We've picked enow, the topmost bough is bare of leaves; and We lift our brimming loads, and by the homeward In merry aa sashser by the pool the lotus pool he When hark uprise mallard pair and hence alright | ed fly. Lmpid the pool and there how rich the lotus only half its opening leaves round as the coins
 bend me OCT the jutting brink and to myself say
 q marvel in the glassy strea how looks my face to-
 
 My face is dirty out of trim my hair Is, and avry, o9 tell me where's h the Little f51 go 1y % now ss h And driving winds and soaking showers have made me With morn again wind and rain. and though so With basket big, and little hat, wend my way along At home again. when all is picked and everybody How muddy all our dresses are, and drabbled to the I saw this morning through the door pleasant day Be sure quickly dressed my hair and neatly fixed my And deety sped down the path to gain the wonted The garden reached, my bowshsped shoes soaking And the sky is changed-the thunder rols-and don't I'll call my comrades on ths hill to pass the word with
 speed o.-, .,,-o,,.
 
 need.
 But my little hat does little good my plight is very stand with clothes all dripping wet like poor Like him hsve basket, too, of meshes woven ne,- fsher-lad, if only had his nshiDg-rod and line.
 
 The oer the outer leaves their branching bers Shake the branch and the fragrant scent about Gather the yellow golden threads that high and low are Oh, what precious odor now is waited all aroundI No sweeter perfume does the wild and fair Aglaia Throughout wu-yuen's bounds my tea the choicest When all are picked we'll leave the shoots to bud again But for this morning we have done the third, last gathering.
 My maiden locks all askew, my pearIy fingers cold; only wish our tea to be superior over all, Der this ones sparrow-tongue, and OCT the others 'dragon-baI." Oh, for a month weary strive to find leisure day, go to pick at early dawn, and until dusk stay; Till midnight at the hring-pan I hold my rksome But will not this impair my pretty face But if my face be somewhat lank, firm shall be I'll ire my tea that else shall be my golden buds be- But yet the thought who the pretty maid shall To put the leaves in jeweed cup from thence to sip my tea.
 Her griefs all flee she makss her tes, and she is Where shall she learn the tolls of us who labor for her shall know of the winds that blow, and the rains that pour their wrath, into bath :?
 driving rains and bowling winds the birds forsake Yet many loving pair still the boughs to Oh, wherefore, loved with light look, ddst thou
 cannot, grieving as grieve go through my work to- day. But though my bosom rise and fall, like bucket in Patient and toiling am, 'gainst work I'll ne'er My care shall be to have my tea fired to tender brown And let the fag and a'ei, yell iolled display their Ho! for my toll. Hol for my stspsI Aweary though In our poor house, for working folk, there's lots of When the firing and the drying done, off at the call And once again, this very morn, climb the high sunglo, My wicker baske. sluug on arm, and hair entwined To the slopes go of the high sunglo pick the tea How laugh we, sisters, the road what merry turn gigge and say point down the way, There look, there lies our cot!
 Your handmad meath the sweet green shade shell Where the pendant willows sweeping bough the thatchy dwelling hides; Tomorrow, if you wish it so my guests pray The youn know by the fragrant scsnt the scent o, the firing tea. Awhile ts cold and then 'tis warm when I want to The sky Is sure to shift change-and a to worry When the goes down the western hills, on the And however fair he proniees he promises in vain. To-day the tint of the western hills is looking bright and fair,
 And bear my crate to the stie, and wait my fellow little tender lass is she-she leans upon the rail And sleeps-and though hail her she answers not my hail.
 And when at length to my loudest call she murmurs 'Tis as hard conquer sleep and with haf-opened Up starts she with struggling steps along the path She brings basket but forgets to put the Together trudgs we, and we pass the lodge of the 
 low flowers;
 Fatn would we stop pluck few to deck tress- gay,
 But high and s vain to try and reach the tempting spray.
 The pretty the boughs sing songs so sweet to hear,
 And the sky is so delicious now, half cloudy and half clear;
 While bending her work, each maid will pratIe of her woe,
 And talk till hearts sorely hurt, and tears unstinted flow. XVIII.
 Our time is up and yet not full baskets to the mouth,
 The twIgs anorth fully searched let's seek them the south; \ Just then by chance snapped twig whose leaves were all apair; 1 See, with my taper fingers now fix it in my hair Of various kinds of tea the bitter beats the sweet But for whenever either seeks, for him I'll find treat;
 Though who 1t is shall drink them as bitter or sweet they be,
 know not, my friend ;-but the psarlyend of my An- | ger only see! Ye twittering swallows rise and fall in your flight