The Wheeling daily intelligencer. [volume] (Wheeling, W. Va.) 1865-1903, 1890-02-05
TILE OLD TIME FARM,


Tho bar Gntes TINT Lovers Leaned on M,
%, the iinndy 3lllkins Stool.
Clereland Loader aud Herald. @
Tho following exceedingly lively and
clever essay was read by Mrs. Myra K,
Fenton at the recent Farniers' Institute
in Collamer. 1t is entitled EARN Facts
and Fanc!es," and is well named:
Being born in the country and reared
on u farm Tor \ period OF twenty years.
would scarcely equip ono to write an
exhaustive article On farming. NV ef.
fort to write even on farm facts, reminds
me Of the answer OF u friend living in
the town Of Fruitport, Mich, who, when
asked why his place of residence was
thus named, replied, "Becauss there is
no port here, and there never was known
to be any fruit" /, =.
In taking u Retrospective view Of
child.life on the farm, that which was
poetic and beautiful comes back to me.
| recall the sweeping meadow with its
hillside. the mowers regular swntb, the
whetting Of the scythes, the bird songs.
the smell OF new mown hay, NIL blend.
ing in Euch sweet reality that again
catch The music and breathe fragrance.
What an event it was when bright red
revolving rake was purchased, with its
general air OF being able to do the work
alone, merely inviting the laborer to an
airy throne, and ride around in king.
ly state. This browning invention be.
gan TO brood "a spirit of unrest within
the farmhouse, and q smoldering spark
of anarchy found vent in vain longinps
for a dish washing apparatus, or wash.
ing-machiue that would 10 by horse.
power. What time it was when We
children were warned
THAT IT WAS 5 O'Clock
and We must 30 after the cows. What
wealth OF spearmint and peppermint on
the way! What gathering Of thorn.ap.
pies and sweet-fag, and what mixed and
pungent llavors puckered our lips and
stung our tongues, which we children
wisely learned to assuago by bowl Of
bread and milk!
There is mistaken notion aloat that
the country does not foster the love Of
beauty, and that the ideal aud the actual
are always at war; that it is all work,
woik, withnever time to enjoy the beau
ties Of nature. Surely it takes no time
to look over an orchard in blossom with
its bending mass of quivering bloom,
its delicate pink.tinged petals ireightins
the air with such sweetness, every
breath is delight. One need only to
lit the eye to find enhancing loveliness
in the hop-vine, with it's swaying pendu.
lous blossoms, SO light and filmy that
they Seem touched BY fairy fingers.
close my eyes now aud hear the drowsy
hum of insects, see the tender green
sward thickly dotted with dandelions, or
the rolling fields blushing with the red
clover or softly tlecked with white.
Even the long sprays Of sweet clover ap-
pear with their dainty incense and white
plumes. Who can say that all this opu.
lence Of nature gives no opportunity to
crafty ones sense Of beauty, even
though work is the dull daily round2 !
1t il question whether Burns ever
would have become the poet he WINS
without the inspiration he found in
homely farm life. Conjugating Latin
verbs was beyond him, but Rob, the
plowboy, could talk to the torn, tender
flower he had uprooted, to the poor
hunted hare, and TO tue mouse whose
nest he had destroyed, as poet dwellers
in cities could never have talked. Heal
him, when his ruthless pillow has crushed
the mountain daisy: ,:.
Wee, modest, erimson.tIpped flower,
Thoust uet me In HI evil hour =
-." For maun crush among the stones
Thy slender stem, IN