FARM PENCILLINGS AT LAKESIDE. 237 



us. Over yonder, in the meadow, is Mike, a gen- 

 uine Hibernian, in a straw hat and a striped shirt, 

 with sleeves rolled above the elbows, showing 

 brawny arms which, under the influence of sun and 

 air, have acquired a hue like that of hemlock- 

 tanned leather. He has milked his tenth cow this 

 morning, and driven the herd to the hill pasture, 

 where they are now busily at work nipping the 

 white clover blossoms fresh with dew. We have 

 sent him to the meadow to pull up by the roots 

 some burdock plants, the seeds of which during the 

 winter washed in from the highway. Mike de- 

 clares this to" be " sweaty work," and " terrible for 

 the back." From the experiment of extracting a 

 half dozen of the long-rooted plants, we conclude 

 he is more than half right. 



Let us " interview " Mike, and learn his opinion 

 regarding rural life, farm work, etc. " Well, 

 Mike, this is a fine morning ; what a happy fellow 

 you must be, out here in the green meadows, with 

 the birds making music for you, and the winds 

 filling you so full of sweet scents as even to mask 

 the odor of that old pipe, the stem of which has 

 found its way out through a hole in your pocket. 

 Tell us, Mike, what you think of these beautiful 

 scenes, and farming matters in general." " In- 

 dade, sir, the mornin' is a fine one, to be sure, but 

 I haven't heard any birds ; and as to the air, it is 



