238 FIRESIDE SCIENCE. 



good enough, what there is of it, but if there was 

 more of it 'twould cool me off a bit ; and as to the 

 scents, they don't trouble me. Farming, sir, i? 

 hard work, airly and late, dig, dig, all the time ; 

 what with the cows, and the milkin', and the 

 weeds to pull, and corn to hoe, there is small time 

 to take a whiff from the ould pipe. Fine gintle- 

 men, that can lie on the grass all day, don't know 

 what farming work is, beggin' your pardon, sir, for 

 bein' so plain with you." 



And Mike's plainness is excusable. He don't 

 hear the birds sing, nor smell the sweet odors of 

 flowers. A plug of tobacco has a more grateful 

 fragrance to him than buttercups or violets ; and as 

 to the air, it is only fine, when there is enough of 

 it to cool his sweaty brow. A visit to the city, 

 after haying, is an event to which he looks forward 

 as the one great thing in the future. But after all, 

 Mike is happy ; he has but few wants, and fewer 

 cares. If his back aches at night, from using the 

 hoe, or swinging the scythe, it is " all right " in 

 the morning after six hours of sound slumber. 

 Although insensible to the beautiful things in na- 

 ture, he finds compensation for this in the harmony 

 with which the physical mechanism works, and in 

 the robust health enjoyed, and in the narrowness 

 of the world in which he moves, which affords no 

 scope for ambition, and gives rise to but few artifi- 

 cial wants. 



