TAKING REINS IN HAND 



of rural swains, who can do a good day's work 

 and keep their Hnen clean, — is all a most 

 wretched phantasm. Pork, and cabbage, and 

 dirty wristbands, are the facts. 



Plainly, the milkmaids must have a home 

 to themselves, where no dreary etiquette shall 

 oppress them. This home, which is properly 

 the farmer's, lies some eighth of a mile south- 

 ward, upon the same highway that passes my 

 door. For a few rods the road keeps upon a 

 gravelly ridge, from which, eastward, stretches 

 away the wide-reaching view I have already 

 noted; and westward, in as full sight, is the 

 little valley lawn, where the shadows of the 

 copses lie splintered on the green. So it is, 

 for a breathing space of level ; then the gravelly 

 road makes sudden plunge under a thicket of 

 trees; a rustic culvert is crossed, which is the 

 wasteway of the pool at the foot of the lawn; 

 and opposite on a gentle lift of turf, all over- 

 shadowed with trees, is the farmery. Here, as 

 before described, were outlying sheds, and 

 leaning gables, and a wreck of castaway 

 ploughs and carts; and the scene alive with 

 the cluck of matronly hens, conducting broods 

 of gleesome chickens, and with the sidelong 

 waddle of a bevy of ducks. I have a recollec- 

 tion, too, of certain long-necked turkeys, who 



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