The Ottawa free trader. [volume] (Ottawa, Ill.) 1843-1916, 1888-07-14
expects, in due course of time, to enter into


Nirvana
A male ostrich Of good development can
reach over a large horse and get an orange
out Of the stirrup on the other side. Having
done SO, he swallows it whole: aid you car
see the globe majestically and slowly de
scending the gullet. Doubtless the ostrich
has longer taste than any other living
creature, excepting the giraffe, He will
swallow five or six such trifes as oranges
one after another, AMI you can see the pro
truding knots in his long and twisted osoph
agus as they gradually work their way down
stairs. He could perform several curves OF q
minuet before the last disappears from sight.
What is an ostrich farm fort IL is for the
production of ostriches. And what are the
ostriches for, They are for the production
of feathers, and the feathers are for sale.
Your vigorous well grown ostrich may be
plucked every six months and the less thrifty
birds every eight or nine months. The
yield of feathers from each is from
one TO one and half pounds, and
the farmer receives for his product from
$40 to 500 pound. An extra bird some
times Yields 800 worth Of feathers at time.
When the plucking season arrives, the birds
are harnessed up in narrow stall and care
fully blindfolded for fear the officiating
clergyman may be kicked through the fence.
The ostrich becomes exceedingly angry with
the pulling of his feathers, and his kick Is
one of the most swift and dangerous reac-
tons ever excited among the muscles and
tendons of animated nature. When the bird
is angry he lifts his wings, throws forward
his head somewhat, and utters sort of hiss,
which he bites OF with snap of his bill.
About this time look out for action.
After our visit TO the ostrich farm we
made our way down to the beach and spent
some hours on the shore OF the Pacific.
Here, for the first time in my life, l had an
opportunity to study and compare this
majestic water with the other seas and
oceans One might as well suppose that
an ocean is an ocean, without its
characteristic features; that one is as
the other: but not so. The ocean is
glorious in its individuality as in its
strength and grandeur. In the first place,
the shore has an ever varying condition.
The Pacific coast is totally different from
that of the Atlantic, in that it is almost
everywhere precipitous, broken of square
down to the deep Sometimes the precipice
is hundreds Of feet in height. Sometimes
the square wall, which is thus far Of the
surf, is long and low; but rarely do We
have the gentle sloping beach peculiar to
the Atlantic shores. II you stand upon the
precipice of the Pacific and look down to the
surf you shall find almost everywhere a quar-
ter or half mile Of single, which is the de-
batable ground alternately covered and I'M
covered by the tide At high tide the ocean
roars against the foot Of the precipice, and no
beach is seen; but at the low tide the surf
line is out at considerable distance, and thou
sands Of people may gather down there on
the strand between the ocean wall and the
break of the sea- Such is the general aspect
of all those parts of the Pacific coast which /
have visited.
The next fact is that Of the greater
grandeur of the Pacific as to the visual ex-
panse, the length and height of the pillows
and the majesty of the ocean symphony. !
do not know how it is that the Pacific can
suggest its extent and almightiness to the be-
holder on the shore; it may be his own knowl
edge that infinity is before him; but the scene
does inform him, in some way, that the inf
mite is there. The incoming pillows, even
when the sea is most calm, are, according to
my estimate, from ten to twenty feet in per-
pendicular height. Each wave stretches
laterally for miles and miles.
The ocean rhythm has its mathematical and
musical succession. 1t has its mighty poeti-
cal feet. 1t has an anapest or a dactyl an
amphibrach or molossus, according to the
mood of the spirit that broods upon the
waters.
Break, break, break,
At the foot of thy crags, o seq;
But the tender grace of the day that is dead
VIII never come back to me.
JOHN CLARK RIDPATH