Omaha daily bee., 1889-07-14
AN EARLY MORNING TRAMP.
Matutinal SiAhts and Sounds Out
W3st Farnam.
A HALT AtA wAys'oE TAVERN
Gossip of the wayfarcrs-An Invigor-
ating Atmosphere, Picturesque
Scenes And Musical Sounds
Characterize the Stroll.
PASTORAL Scenes.

out past the end OF the car tracks, with
footsteps Gathering over the pavement
IN the early morning stiffness; out past
the Belt line and Holy Sepulchre ceme-
tery-God's acre, more quiet than the
rest, through Dundee place and up the
Hill again.
1t rained last night and the mist rises
from the valleys in clouds and hangs
lazily over the grass. The lungs expel
the fetid atmosphere OF the city and in
hale great draughts Of the fresh country
air. That indescribable fragrance
Of the prairie is clearly discernible.
Away to the left ripening grain can be
seen upon the hillside, and the green
corn waves everywhere.
What so rare as a day in june" the
poet sang, but July will do as well when
the morning sun is obscured by misty
clouds and everything is so full of life.
Back of US rises the smoke of the city;
hidden behind the hill and over there
to the left is South Omaha.
The plover pipes his monotonous tune
as he entices us away from the place
where the mother bird has made her
nest, and from, q fence-post great
yellow-breasted meadow lark sings its
own sweet lay.
"The iocund farmer drives his team
| afield," and others pass, even at this
early hour, with wagons loaded with
corn and hogs. The milk wagons from
| the dairies farther on have already
| gone by.
A merry company of graders go by
and then boy-a
Barefoot boy with feet of tan,
With his turned-up pantaloon
And his merry whjstling tune,"
comes along with q dinner pail upon
graders party. Down in the valley
| near the creek their tents can be seen.
The valley is passed, another hill
climbed and then we go down into the
| valley again. Z, The mud from last
! nights rain is up to our ankles and plod-
ding through the sticky clay has made
| us both tired and thirsty. A waysde
| tavern, with a hospitable porch in front
| and summer pavilion in the garden,
| invites us to stop and rest. The beer is
| cool and fresh, and sitting upon the
| porch and enjoying the landscape as we
| sip it, there is no inducement to leave.
| Mine host has mot yet heard the re-
suit of the prlze-fght and begs for
| the news. A, morning paper is given
| him and he settles down to the delecta-
tion afforded bg the account by
rounds" r.
Three teamsters stand near the water
ing, trough andt discuss the value of
It is air plsssosss o. hGss sss,ful There auds Is
about the place, which has an extraor-
dinary charm for these town-bred folk,
who are this morning tramping over
the hills and the valleys.
| On and on we go. The mud has dis
| appeared; it only sprinkled here, and
the walking is all that can be desired.
The larl1s still sing from the fence
posts, and the plover sJill scars above
us. Farmers Sit in their doorway,
smoking their pipes, and gaze with
stolid satisfaction upon the magnificent
| crops, while their children gaze with
mouths agape at these two dudish look
ing tramps passing by
The land out here is rolling-very
much so. AS we reach the summit of
one hlll another rises before US, but it
is relief from the monotonous streets
of the city.
BY and by the sweet odor of the elder
| berry reaches US, and farther along
line of willows marks the course OF the
| Little Papillion. We cross the tracks
of the Fremont road, and are soon
standing upon the bridge that spans the
| stream.
My companion, carried away with the
beauty OF the place, draws long breath,
and, raising his hands aloft, exclaims
'This is the spot 1 long have sought
And sighed because l found 1t not"
1t is, indeed, a charming bit of seem
cry. The little stream is nothing more
than creek, but it gurgles presump-
tuously along, seemingly proud OF the
title OF river which it bears upon the
maps. The vegetation is profuse. Above
and below the bridge the water is OBJ
scured by a mass of willows, vines and
the fragrant elderberry. The trees are
alive with birds. The quail sends forth
its clear Bob White" the brown
thrushes twitter and the rest join the
chorus.
| We linger here an half hour in silence.
Speech would be disturbing element.
Finally,we get away, and, following the
course OF the stream, soon come to an
other public house. We enter. A
comely woman is wiping glasses behind
the bar.
''Can you give us some beer this morn
ing, good mother?" we ask.
"Ich haben nicht beer,' says she.
''Ich haben vein und whiskey. Vos
Wills dup"
We try the wine and find it fairly
good.
''How is trade with you, mother?" we
ask to induce con versation.
''Oh, sometimes it vos goot, und
sometimes it 1vos bad. Sometimes /
makes tree, fouf uhd fife dollars day,
und some daysaI makes fifteen cents.
In der winter ven der farmers makes
lots OF money, den'I sells lots of viskey,
but in the summer it vas no goot."
The good dame proved garrulous, and
entertained us forean hour with stories
of days-red-letteT days in her life
when the bar receipts had reached the
munifcent sumHpf SO.
We are agaihIof and climbing long
hill of very easy ascent. AS we near
the top a buzziag9, sound, accompanied
by the clangor 81 q, a,cow-bell reaches US.
My more experieueed companion tells
me that bees are iswarming somewhat
near, and this we find true.
A neat white farm house snuggles
among grove of elm trees, and IN front
of these is an apple orchard. 1t Is here
that the bees are swarming.
An honest Dutch farmer stands on
the outskirts of the swarm, changing q
cow-bell, and, as he gazes meditatively
upon the buzzing bees, strokes the
sparse whiskers that grow from his