DOWN ON THE FARM. 



F. E. DANIEL, M.D. 



"Give us a rest, oh, give us a rest," I 

 sighed. Well, I've had a rest. I haven't 

 exactly experienced James Whitcomb 

 Riley's "Knee Deep in June," but have 

 lazed during the sweltering days of Aug- 

 ust, lolling on grassy lawns, beneath 

 breezy trees. In the cool of the after- 

 noon, with the meek and lowly earth- 

 worm, we angled for the frolicsome mud 

 cat, or beguiled the festive perch in the 

 turbid waters of the Colorado close- by the 

 ranch where we ranched; we watched the 

 sunset, reveled in the delights of 60 

 pound watermelons, and ate of yaller 

 legged pullets, fryin' size. We plucked 

 the luscious Chinese clings and other sun 

 kissed, peachy cheeked dingers, to say 

 nothing of cantaloupes. 



We strolled down the meadow, late of 

 evenings, watched the whistling mower as 

 he mowed the Johnson grass, and tumbled 

 on the mounds of new mown hay, like 

 schoolboys, repeating, the meantime, 

 those beautiful lines of Alfred Austin's 

 "Maud Muller's brother Jake, raked the 

 meadow with a 2-mule rake." Afternoons 

 we strolled down to the river bridge and 

 saw the picture Mrs. Townsend so beau- 

 tifully paints of a summer day in the 

 country: 



The soft wandering gale fills a silvery sail 

 That idly floats by on yon far away stream; 



A frail- spirit boat 'neath the other doth float, 

 Faintly fair, like some beautiful dream of a 

 dream. 



It was a big thing, too, to see 



The bee from the bosom of the red clover 

 blossom, 

 As he hurried to sip of the buckwheat in 

 bloom; 

 While the down of the thistle and the blackbird's 

 clear whistle , s 

 Were blent with the summer day's light and 

 perfume. 



But th e swelling on my chin was big- 

 ger, where one of those same bumblebees 

 got in his work once, while I was tres- 

 passing on his fig preserves, which. he and 

 his were putting up for family use. 



Much has been said and sung of the 

 charms of pastoral life, and the milkmaid 

 in her dainty cap has been an ideal which 

 even queens have delighted to personate. 



Marie Antoinette didn't know a thing 

 about milkmaids; she ought to have seen 

 ours, out on King's ranch. She was a 

 big, fat fellow with a sun-hurter straw hat 

 and one gallus. To see him walk was 

 not an idyl; and we had more than a sus- 

 picion that the milk was sterilized, or fer- 

 tilized, by great drops of perspiration, 

 about the size of a biscuit, which gathered 

 on the old fellow's brow. 

 Mrs. Townsend sang of 



Brownie and Daisy, milk laden and lazy, 



And the gentle eyed heifer half standing aloof; 

 While the dew dimpled grass softly yields as they 

 pass 

 To the lingering print of each slowly raised 

 hoof. 



That's pretty isn't it? Our Brownie was 

 a white cow, a muley, and she was a 

 kicker from away back. When she kicked 

 the milkmaid with the gallus and the straw 

 hat he kicked her back. 



There was an alleged wag on the ranch, 

 who was of a poetic turn. With his corn- 

 cob pipe in his mouth, he'd saunter jdly 

 about, wishing something would happen; 

 and when it did happen, when the big 

 aerolite passed over one night, he dodged 

 and ran under the cowshed. He'd say, 



"Doctor, come; come into the deep 

 tangled wildwood, and let us see the 

 cornucopias cope and the honeysuckle 

 suck." 



Not much I wouldn't; too much exer- 

 tion. But I stooped to bandy words with 

 him, for which I despise myself. It were 

 pleasanter, I told him, to loll on the broad 

 veranda in a hammock, and listen to the 

 lilacs lie; or stroll into the meadow, and in 

 the gloaming hark to the cornstalk, and 

 hear the May pops pop; while the dear 

 little grasshoppers sang "In this Wheat 

 Bye and Bye." 



Alas that all things fair and bright must 

 fade. Summer has gone, and already are 

 the bumblebees humming of autumn days 

 coming. Soon the frost will be on the 

 pumpkins and they will cease to pump. 

 Back, now, to the harness and the mill, to 

 grind out the despised but indispensable 

 and ever elusive dollar, which no family 

 can afford to be without. 



"Jones is a man of remarkable foresight." 

 "How do you make that out?" 

 "He insisted on his relatives from 

 Buffalo visiting him last winter." 



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