Pittsburg dispatch. [volume] (Pittsburg [Pa.]) 1880-1923, 1889-12-28

supply the churches and homes with fra.
grant branches for strewing on holy anC
feast days; and the wood cleaners whit
gather dead limbs at will in the forests o
esta tes and among the mountain wilds botE
for the use of the peasantry and the humber
classes of the towns. Among all these peo
pie is not single implement or utensil in
vented within the past thousand years; ar
ordinary American farm hand would accom-
plish under our methods in one day mort
than a score OF any of these: and the wizard
brush of the painter of Barbazon nevel
fastened upon canvas more startingly an
cient ways, wares, postures and plodding'
among the clods OF Brittany, than remain
universal and changeless among the bright
eyed but changeless folk of these enhancing
mountain wales.
WHO COULDN'T ENJOY so LITTLE ToILi
There is a careless, half-joyous abandon
upon the surface of all Azorean peasant toll
which adds greatly to its picturesqueness
Join with this, quaintness in dress, priml
tiveness of implements, that grace which
uuVarvingly accompanies innocent igno.
rance, and the universal loveliness Of
scenery, and your pastoral pictures are most
idyllic and complete. Ground is titled with
oxen, tandem, in rush traces drawing a
pIow of the sort first known to mantle
tree-crook or sharpened root, Now and then
you will find one rudely pointed with iron.
One short furrow is scratched amid tre-
mendous shoutings. Then the halt-dozen
who have clung to the handles, rode upon
the beam, or goaded the oxen, rest by the
f1ower-laden hedge or division wall to enjoy
siesta or the delights of country gossip with
passing goatherds or muleteers.
A l. =,
rance ior mere pricking of the soil The
small grains are gathered, a handful at
a time, cut by the olden sickle, and cleaners
follow as in the Bible days. Corr is cut, or
pulled, the blades preserved for fodder, the
stalks munched by goats or donkeys, or
used for fires, the ears strung together and
hung upon pyramidal lattice-work for cur
ing, and, finally, the kernels removed from
thecobs by the cottiers and children who re-
ceive the cob, for burning, in payment-a
score of merry stragglers being required to
house the product of one acre of ground, and
every one of these working, or making pre-.
tense Of work, in that care-free, need moth
ing way that marks all toll and effort here
Wheat and barley are threshed precisely as
they were 5000 years ago. At every road
side, round, high piles of pumiced lava
beaten and rain soaked until hard as stone,
may be seen. These, called eiras, are the
Azorean threshing-foors.
BLINDFoLDED OXEN TO THREsH.
The grain is piled upon them and COWS
and oxen, blindfolded, are driven around
these in opposite directions until the tread
ing has released the kernels. There is no
other method of threshing grain in these
islands; and the fanning-mill is unknown.
The straw is lifted of the eirss with wooden
forks and preserved for the food of donkeys
and goats. Then flag is hoisted to find
the direction of the wind. This done, men
and women, but more often women and girls,
standing at the side from whence comes the
wind, throw the grain and chaf into the air,
and the chat is borne away. Nor is this
done as if the fair workers knew the mean
ing of labor.
Down there by the sea acres of linen made
from the native fax is spread upon the fiat
rocks, or drawn smoothly upon bright,
brown beaches. 1t looks like gypsy camp.
Scores of women and children, bsreheaded,
barelegged and barebreasted, their gailY
colored clothing contrasting prettily with
the olive of their faces, wade into the sea
knee-deep, fill their ewers or casks with the
flashing brine, and gracefully struggling
back among the linens pour water upon the
whitening cloth, while singing songs that
echo back from the cliff and blend melodi-
ously with the music of the waves along the
shore
If anything like energetic labor is ever
known in the Azores it is at this season of the
year among the orange pickers and packers,
in getting this luscious fruit ready for ship
ment to the American and English markets.
Each orange is wrapped in an odorous corn
husk-you can always know an Azoresn
orange by this wrapping-and the dexterity
with which even little children will pro-
ceed in this work among the picturesqe
crowds which comprise the orange-pickers,
is winsomely marvellous indeed.
NO BURGLARS TO BE AFRAID OF.
The home-life of the Azorean peasant, if
not always a radiant one. never lacks cheeri-
ness, affection and simple content. He
knows no other life better than his own and
is satisfied with what he has and gets to the
end of his DAYS The cottage or cabin or
hut is simply square structure built of
lava rock thatched with furze or tiles.
The windows and doors are never closed,
for there are neither cold blasts nor robbers
to enter. The bare earth is the foor He
requires no stove. His fireplace for cooking
is simply slab, waist high in the wall, and
the smoke kindly takes care of ITSELF His
staple food is meal-bread fast-day, feast-day
and five times day. Eggs, chickens and
goats milk are almost without value, and
salt fish and wine are his luxuries. His
wife is dutiful, mis- children beautiful. As
the lowly go they are all cleanly, if the
chickens do perch in the loft, the pig insist
on domestic companionship. and his goats
choose the inside OF the house at night. He
lives gloriously in his way without severe
effort. His wife and childr are loyal and
never gadabouts. He is true to his religion,
his home, his friends; and he is never too
old to love his guitar or mandolin, or to
join with his wife in the innocent dances to
the numbers of his beloved island music. If
he is ailing unto death the church comes to
him, scarlet-robed and all-suficient, with its,
to him, saving santissimo, and he passes to
his simple heaven from heaven of every
day content. To my dying day shall re-
member him and his sea-girt lands, their
fruits and flowers, their scents and songs,
their lovely valley homes, their shepherds
pipings upon the heights, not as
something truly of this work-a-day world
but, as those things that poets fancies know
and place in dreamful isles OF peace.
EDGAR L. WAKEMAN.
"