NATURE'S REALM. 17 
crossing over the hills from one trout stream to 
another I came upon a small and forlorn-look- 
ing boy hoeing potatoes in an immense field, 
where the stones lay thick, and loose earth for 
“‘hilling up” was scarce. The utter hopeless- 
ness of his ever completing his task, and the 
impression of loneliness that it gave me to see 
that little fellow working away by himself, I 
shall not soon forget. He told me he was 
“bound out” to a farmer until he should be 
twenty years old, and then he was to have 
‘‘his time and a new suit of clothes.” Whata 
patrimony to start life with! I asked him if he 
was net lonesome out there, with no one to talk 
to. ‘ Yes, some,” he said, ‘‘but I’ve got Gyp 
with me.” And, in response to his whistle, a 
lean little dog ran out to him from the edge of 
the woods. Even the dog could not stand that 
potato field, and had taken refuge elsewhere. 
He was proud of his canine comrade, and put 
him through a course of tricks for my benefit. 
I felt better to think he had even this much 
comfort and society, and thought of that ap- 
propriate line, ‘‘ His taithful dog shall bear him 
company.” If attempting to hoe ten-acre lots 
single-handed did not kill him, he has had 
given him, long ere now, his time and a new 
suit of clothes. Judging from what I saw, he 
must have sorely needed both. 
There are certain items of farm work which, 
on account of being light and easy employment 
and well suited to their years, are usually im- 
posed upon the boys; such as turning the 
grindstone and mowing away hay. The pro- 
priety of this distribution of the work will be rec- 
ognized by those holding among their reminis- 
cences certain hours spent at the grindstone on 
hot July days, while an able-bodied man was 
bearing down his scythe with all his weight 
upon it; or those other hours of recreation un- 
der the high beams of the barn, when, choking 
with dust and with the perspiration running 
into his eyes, the small boy, on an unstable 
and slippery footing, was expected to drag 
away the hay and tread it down as fast as the 
strongest man on the farm could pitch it up to 
him. 
It is perhaps true, then, that the old farm is 
not in all respects a Eutopia, and that the life 
of the farmer's boy is not altogether a blissful 
one ; and yet who that has spent the days of 
his boyhood thus would wish them blotted out 
or give up the sweet knowledge he then ac- 
quired, even though it was perhaps distilled 
from bitter fruit? The shady lane along which 
he drove the cows to pasture; the orchard 
where the birds and bees held their summer 
carnival ; the meadow where the bobolink tin- 
kled and the air was saturated with the fra- 
grance of the clover—these and a hundred 
other familiar scenes which were a part of the 
farmer boy's life come back to him in a flood 
of delightful recollections and make him ready 
and willing to believe that 
““God made the country, man made the town.” 

A COVEY OF PARTRIDGES KILLED BY LIGHTNING. 
During the month of June a covey of part- 
ridges, two adult and fifteen young ones, were 
found dead on an estate in Southern Prussia. 
The whole covey lay within a space of a square 
metre, with the heads together. As eight days 
elapsed before the proprietor of the estate re- 
ceived news of the discovery, the birds were 
already too far gone to discover the reason for 
their death by examination of their bodies. 
Poison was suspected at first—the spot was 
close to some peasants’ allotments—and the 
place was carefully examined. In due course 
it was discovered that the whole covey must 
have been struck by lightning. One could 
plainly see where the flash had struck a little 
mound and from thence proceeded along the 
ground. The grasssurrounding the spot where 
the partridges lay had a yellow and burnt ap- 
pearance. 
