California Agriculturist and Live Stock Journal. 



gouocholrt lUadini). 



Country Maidens. 



BY GEORGE w. 8EABS. 



fHEY Silt with thi^ir small, white feet iu the brooli. 

 Two country lutndeus of benuty rare- 

 Kate, with her brij^ht, t speigle look. 

 And blue-eyc(l Blauche, with her golden hair. 



The air was fraRritnt with new-mown hay, 

 The wild bee wrought with a drowsy hum, 



And they chatted the dreamy hours away, 

 With {^irlihh pJaus for the years to come. 



And she with the eyes of sparkling jet 

 Would be content as a fanner's wife. 



To shun the follies that wear and fret 

 For the simple pleasures of country life. 



Then Blanche wlih her eyes of sparkling blue 



.^hook down a river of sunny hair. 

 That rippled and flowed in golden hue 



O'er bosom and neck and shoulders bare. 



" And I," she said, " shall live in the town. 

 With lackeys to come and go at call: 



And I shall be proud if lueu will me crown 

 Queen of beauty at rout or bail. 



" My husband shall be a millionaire." 

 Oh, poorly ;ou guess your future life! 



On you, with your beauty rich and I'are, 

 Shall fall the lot of a farmer's wife. 



And red-lipped Kate, with her midnight curls, 

 Shall win the ri( hes 1\ r which you pine. 



Her brow shall glisten with gems and pearls. 

 Her table with plate and costly wine. 



But she shall long for the new-mown hay, 

 And the shadows upon the upland leas, 



And sicken and tire of her splendid way. 

 And sigh for brooks and birds and trees 



And you will sneer at your narrow lot. 

 Weary and tire of yttur household cares. 



And each shall covet what each hath not. 

 And pine for the burden the other wears. 



Oh, city dame'and farmer's wife. 

 Each from the other too long estranged. 



Ye were (wo jewels of love and life. 

 If but the settings were turned and changed. 



dTTats 



With Farmers' 

 Daughters — No. 



Wives 

 12. 



and 



Having had a little taste of farm life this 

 past Summer, I feel more capable of oflTering 

 advice or sympathy to the wives and daughters 

 upon what might otherwise seem beyond my 

 ooguizance. But knowing how it is myself, 

 and feeling that much viuhappiness is caused 

 by ignorant neglect, I think it a positive duty 

 to mention a few of the unpleasant things 

 about farm life to women. 



First, the inconvenience of most of the 

 farmhouses. Water in a well or tank some 

 distance from the kitchen, where it all has to 

 be carried for cooking, washing and other pur- 

 poses; no sink to carry off the waste water, 

 ■which in turn must be all carried out again; 

 no boiler and water back^to the stove to give 

 a plentiful supply of warm water; no bath- 

 room and few closets. In fact, a roof and a 

 floor, with a few partitions, constitute the ma- 

 jority of our fariaers' homes, where the wives 

 and daughters spend the most of their lives. 



Second, the drudgery of early rising, con- 

 tinued cooking and washing dishes, besides 

 the accompanying washing and ironing, 

 churning, with its heavy washings, scalding 

 of pans, etc., making many a delicate woman 

 _au invalid by overworking when not equal to 

 more than the actual cares of maternity. 



Third, the extra amount of strength re- 

 quired to go to town, i( the farm is any dis- 

 tance out in the country, takes from the en- 

 joyment of the trip as a pleasure. Conse- 

 quently the women-folks go only as a duty. 



when goods are to be purchased needing their 

 selection; and with two or three children to 

 take, and carry the whole distance makes the 

 day indeed a hard one. 



Then, usually, there are no horses on the 

 farm a woman can drive to visit neighbors, 

 so that pleasure is denied her unless the 

 menfolks are going that way, and she is then 

 at their disposal when to go or come. Indeed, 

 she seems as much a chattel on the farm, 

 useful and maybe ornamental, as any of the 

 farm stock or high-priced farm implements 

 belonging thereto. Certainly she is aneces- 

 sity to do the drudgery and icomrm's work, 

 and a companion to talk to when indoors, but 

 as to making her labors light by giving a 

 helping hand, or adding conveniences for 

 work, or providing conveyances she or the 

 girls can drive when or where they wish, how 

 many farmers do it? That is just the question 

 I wish to ask and have answered. I hope fifty 

 in this valley may say in all truth they are 

 thus favored, but I fear not more than five 

 can honestly say it. The farmers say, "times 

 are hard — can't afford it;" or, "crops have 

 failed the past few years, and when it comes 

 a good year I'm going to fix up things," etc. 

 But, my good friends, don't you see your 

 wives working under disadvantages, car-eworn 

 and failing in health daily? your daughters 

 losing their interest in the home that should 

 be so dear to them, and longing for a home 

 in town, or anywhere else but just where it 

 is? Nothing seems pleasant where all is hard 

 work with no freshness of improvement. 



This is jilain talk, but it is the truth in 

 many a home ; and I have seen enough of farm 

 life to know that the men have many an idle 

 day or week which might easily be improved 

 by adding conveniences for the wife, or improv- 

 ing the flower-garden, or by giving a help- 

 ing hand indoors, instead of spending it in 

 town or visiting some neighbor on business. 

 Let me whisper a word in the ear of fathers 

 and sons : If you believe wives and daughters 

 are blessings in farmers' homes, see to it that 

 your farms are kept thrifty, your fences and 

 gates firm and true, your cattle well-fed, 

 fields well tilled and homes convenient and 

 attractive, and my word for it, you will not 

 complain of whole neighborhoods destitute 

 of true and noble women to cheer and aid in 

 your labours; and when you do have families 

 you will be as much a blessing to them as yon 

 expect them to be to you. There is no mod- 

 ern convenience in city homes that might not 

 have a counterpart in country homes, and no 

 woman should be expected to do all the 

 drudgery of inside farm work without such 

 •onveniences, at least, as -will save steps and 

 make as light as possible the necessary work 

 of the family. 



Grandfather's Letters— No. 3. 



EVENTS OF THE L.IST CEXICEY. A LOVE-LKTTER 



AND ma's asd Susie's kemakes thekeon. 

 On breaking open an envelope the other 

 morning. Angle exclaimed: "Why, ma! I de- 

 clare, here's a love-letter! I know it is one 

 from its length. I wonder who that can be 

 from." " Oh," replies ma, " it must be from 

 one of your old beaux, or perhaps, and bet- 

 ter, from one of your late conquests. Well, 



do read and let's see what it is." "I guess 

 you may be right, ma; for it has such a long 

 address— begins, ' My darling, precious, be- 

 loved Angle!' " "Why, that's good; go on," 

 says ma. • ■ ' I think of you, talk of you, 

 wnte of you, and I love you.' " "Better yet, 

 if he only proves worthy of you. Beware 

 of giving him the mitten." "I wonder he 

 does not say he dreams of me." " Oh, that 

 is only the sleeping thinkings; you may be 

 sure he does that. Well, go on." 



" ' I have in these lew words stated my po- 

 sition towards you. These arc the heart's 

 impulses; there are those of the head to be 

 thought of by-and-by. First, those of the 

 heart: You know there is such a thing as at- 

 traction and repulsion ; every one must have 

 experienced this — how readily the best feel- 

 ings of our nature flow out towards some, 

 while from others we are repulsed, when but 

 little, if anything, has passed between either. 

 I murk this as a fact, without pretending 

 altogether to account for the cause. Suffice 

 it to say, you have proved for a long time at- 

 tractive to me; hence, my language at the 

 commencement of this letter, and its result 

 in the whole letter itself. It is but fair and 

 just to yourself, dear Angle, to account for 

 this attraction, so far as I am able, and I won- 

 der others have not seen the darhng Angie as 

 I have seen her.' " "Can'tforget the endear- 

 ing epithets, can he,'' says ma. " 'I have ob- 

 served that polite conrteousaess of manner 

 and kindliness of demeanor towards all, un- 

 der the varying circumstances and phases of 

 life, and I know it to be inherent in your 

 very nature. 



" 'I have observed too, your attentive defer- 

 ence to your dear ma's slightest wishes, your 

 counseling her on slight as well as more im- 

 portant occasions, your readiness to lend a 

 helping-hand to your brother out doors, to or- 

 nament the parlor or assist in the kitchen, 

 and surround the porch with Nature's loveli- 

 est beauties, and besitles all this an abnega- 

 tion of self in favor of those around you. 



"'Can you wonder, beloved Angle, my 

 mind dwelling ou all this till you have be"- 

 come precious to my memory, at my address- 

 ing you in the language of this" letter?'" 

 "Why, who can it be?" again exclaims ma. 

 " We'll soon see,'' says Angie, "for lam near 

 the end of the letter.' It goes on, ' I fancy 

 you want to know, by this time, who it is 

 that thus addresses you, and what's the mean- 

 ing of all this? To the first question I answer, 

 you must guess. You have so many visitors 

 to whom the same things are open and palpa- 

 ble as to myself, that I feel you are about as 

 likely to guess wrong as right. If you have 

 been a very close observer the chances may 

 be in favor of your guessing right. The rea- 

 son for the noin de plume will be explained 

 hereafter, if occasion require. As to the oth- 

 er question, dear Angie, you will do me the 

 favor to let me know if I may cherish those 

 sentiments with which I began this epistle, or 

 if I must quash them. Kely on their genu- 

 ineness and sincerity; but of your condition 

 and circumstances I am too ignorant to know 

 if they can go beyond mere sentiment, so an- 

 xiotisly await your reply to 



IXGLEWOOD. ' " 

 --»-.-.«■ -^ 



It's all right to talk about bringing np a 

 child in the way he should go, but the other 

 day, when a Third-street woman set out to do 

 it, a man halted at the gate and shouted, 

 "Coin, mother — cripple the boy for life!" 

 and a woman leaned over the" fence and 

 screamed, "Why don't you cut his throat?" 

 and a boy climbed on the alley fence and 

 cried out, " Why in blazes a'nt the renorters 

 around here to get this a-w-f-u-1 tragedy?" 

 And the mother had to stop pounding and go 

 into the house.— i)f/?oi7 Free P 



