THE ILLINOIS FA.R]VrEIl. 



185 



An Essay on Rural life, Social Economy and 

 Neighborhood Intercourse, by Mrs. K. C. Johns. 

 An essay upon rural life, which shall 

 at the same time be both "sensible and 

 entertaining,'' may be rather difficult of 

 production. Shall the "pen of the 

 ready- writer" draw a fancy sketch of 

 Utopian and rural life; a sketch of sun- 

 shine and flowers, shady nooks and fer- 

 tile fields, clustered with villas and gar- 

 dens and peopled by men of cultivation 

 and taste, who love at the same time 

 with equal ardor, the beauties of "God's 

 outside world and the more blessed world 

 of human sympathies within.". Or, 

 would a more sensible essay picture 

 rural life as it is, with its many cares 

 and trials, its want of poetry and 

 beauty, and the almost utter absence of 

 any system of social economy and either 

 pleasant or profitable neighborhood in- 

 tercourse. 



It is fashionable to write of the joys 

 of country life, the pure air, green fields, 

 fresh fruits and golden butter, to unite 

 with these, eulogies on the purity and 

 symplicity, the absence from corroding 

 care and petty jealousies, which the 

 happy denizens of these quiet rural 

 homes are supposed to enjoy. To pic- 

 ture the contented farmer as he goes 

 "whistling to his daily labor," rejoicing 

 in the fullness of his blessings, free 

 from ambition, care and sin. His wife, 

 the happy "Dolly with the milking pail," 

 enjoying the "sweet breath of the low- 

 ing kine," in the "pleasant fields of 

 clover.'' Meeting her loving husband 

 with that smile "which drives away all 

 care'' and seating him at the well filled 

 board, each viand and luxury being 

 sweetened by the thought that they are 

 the rich products of their mutual labor; 

 their children a wreath of olive plants 

 growing up in the green luxuriance of 

 innocence and beauty, unspotted from 

 the world; their old age a scene of calm 

 enjoyment, in which no ghost of mis- 

 spent days, and nights of dissipation 

 rises to reproach them. . 



But let us seek for truth. Are these 

 the real actual portraitures of country 

 life as it is? Is there as great a propor- 

 tion of refined enjoyment or comfortable 

 living amongst our farmers as with the 

 inhabitants (of equal means) of towns 

 and cities? Leave out the masses of 

 ignorance and poverty that congregate 

 in the towns, and do farmers of small 

 means seek the comfort and improvment 

 of their families -as do the mechanics 

 and tradesmen (of equal means,) in the 

 towns? Do farmers of wealth use their 

 wealth to render their homes beautiful 

 and happy, to educate and refine their 

 children, to cultivate a love of home and 

 country life? or, docs the often recur- 

 ring, "we are nothing but plain farm- 

 ers,'' serve as an excuse for the absence 

 of the common comforts, nay, almost 



decencies of life, and for the neglect of 

 all culture and refinement? 



There are many honorable exceptions, 

 men who glory in being farmers, but 

 not in being nothing but farmers, men 

 who believe that being- a farmer, enti'^cs 

 them to a high place upon the social 

 scale; imposes upon them grave respon- 

 sibilites, furnishes them with the means 

 of great culture and yields them the op- 

 portunity for the choicest home pleasures 

 and social enjoyments. But is it not a 

 truth that the majority of "well to do" 

 farmers live in a way that men of equal 

 means in towns and cities would scorn to 

 live, could not live and retain their 

 social position? Undoubtedly much of 

 this results from the force of example, 

 and men aim to live as well as their 

 neighbors, but as long as farmers de- 

 grade themselves by claiming to be no- 

 thing but farmers, the world will, class 

 them with the brute that labors and per- 

 ishes. ■■ - ■" ' 



het us look at the reverse of the Uto- 

 pian picture, at every day rural life as 

 we see it. 



Instead of sunshine and flowers, pure 

 air and green fields, we have the stock 

 yard in front of the door, the wood pile 

 on one side, whilst the chickens and pigs 

 effectually prevent the grass from get- 

 ting too high or the children being made 

 sick by eating too much fruit. The 

 garden, a miserably plowed, unfenced 

 patch, with a few onions and cabbages 

 over-run with weeds, because, forsooth, 

 the men have no time to attend to it, 

 and it must be the woman's care and 

 she with care piled on care, cannot do 

 it justice. 



The farmer, trudging up and down, 

 down and up the naked field, holding 

 the plow and making a calculation how 

 he shall pay that debt or buy that 

 "piece of land that joins.'' The beauties 

 of nature are "common doings" to him. 

 What cares he for the fine old tree, 

 save that it will make so many feet of 

 lumber, or what's the use of gaz- 

 ing at the sunset, you can't make any- 

 thing at that; or what use in the world 

 would be all those posies that Dolly is 

 so anxious to have him fix a bed for. 

 And then, "Dolly with the milking pail" 

 forth into the muddy stock yard (put 

 on his boots Dolly) and has a nice time 

 "separating" the "nimble calves from 

 the lowing kine,'' and if she escapes 

 getting her milk kicked over into the 

 mud and herself placed in a most inter- 

 esting attitude by some kicking cow, she 

 has much to congratulate herself upon. 



And now, that plentious board must 

 be spread; but what is there in the 

 house? 



Oh, dear! I wish we lived in town, 

 (exclaims Dolly,) where we could get 

 something to eat besides fact bacon and 

 potatoes, (and by the way the potatoes 



are just gone and we wont have new 

 ones for six weeks at least.) The day 

 I spent in town at brother George's bad 

 made me sick of country life. They 

 had peas and young beets, though it is 

 only the first of June, and a nice quarter 

 of lamb for dinner, and an excellent pie 

 plant pie for desert, and then in the 

 evening, such splendid strawberries and 

 ice cream. George tells me they have 

 had an abundance of asparagus for six 

 weeks, and gooseberries and currants 

 for pies in quantities. Now we won't 

 have anythmg from our garden for a 

 month, but onions and lettuce, because 

 pa couldn't get time to plow it till so 

 late, and then the chickens ^T,ve scratch- 

 ed out half the seeds I put in, so we 

 won't have much any how. I do wish 

 we could get a fence round the garden. 

 I could get any number of strawberry 

 plants from George, but then the bed 

 must be carefully spaded and prepared, 

 and I know no one will have time to do 

 it. I guess I will get a few gooseberries 

 and pie plant roots from him, for I can 

 get them out myself, but the pie plant I 

 have never did any good, the stems were 

 so small, George thinks it is because it 

 was never manured. 



"Mama," cries little Mary," is Uncle 

 George much richer than pa?'' 



"Richer, child! No. Your pa could 

 buy all he has three times over, he has 

 nothing but his house and lot and his 

 trade. Why do you ask that question?" 



"Oh, nothing, only I was thinking of 

 their nice pavements all round the house, 



and the good cow-shed to milk in, and 

 then the house is so convenient, such 

 nice pantries and closets and every thing 

 painted and white-washed and looking 

 so neat. Did Uncle have things so nice 

 when he lived in the country?" 



"No indeed, child, he lived like all 

 the rest of us then, but George is proud, 

 and when he went to town he would have 

 things as nice as his neighbors, and 

 though your Aunt was used to milking 

 in as muddy a cow-yard as ours, he was 

 ashamed to have her go into the dirty 

 alley to milk, when his neighbors did not 

 do so, and now he says it pays first rate, 

 for his cow gives enough more milk to 

 pay for the shed. But if I only had 

 their cistern I should not care so much 

 for the pavements, though they would 

 save a great deal of dirt.'* 



"But, mama, Aunty keeps but one 

 sow, and they had such nice milk and 

 butter and plenty of cream for ice 

 cream 



>» 



"Yes, George thinks that as it costs 

 so much to keep a cow in town, he must 

 make it pay, and so he bought a first 

 rate one and paid a high price for her, 

 and then he slops and stables her the 

 year round and so has plenty of milk and 

 cream, and as it -would be useless to try 



