838 
THE  RURAL  NEW-YORKER 
Dec.  17 
THE  HAWK  AND  THE  KING  BIRDS. 
[lie printed  by  Request.] 
You’ve  all  seen  a  hawk  firin'  over  a  medder, 
With  two  or  three  king  birds  a- pickin’  away 
At  his  back  ti'l  It  looks  like  a  good-sized  hay  tedder, 
Had  ruffled  hts  feathers  all  up  the  wrong  way. 
The  poor  feller  squawks  an’  keeps  Ilyin’  an’  flyln’. 
He’s  big  enough  surely  to  eat  up  his  foes. 
He’d  scatter  their  bones  without  ever  once  tryln’ 
If  he  only  could  get  them  down  under  his  nose. 
But  he’s  big  and  heavy  while  they’re  light  and  nimble, 
They  circle  about  him  and  torment  and  goad — 
With  toe  like  a  needle  an’  foot  like  a  thimble, 
They  make  life  the  very  worst  kind  of  a  load. 
Let  hawks  go  In  flocks  an’  the  king  birds  would 
scatter, 
They  couldn’t  stand  organization  at  all. 
If  hawks  were  good  neighbors  they  soon  would  grow 
fatter, 
While  stock  In  the  king  birds’  performance  would 
fall. 
1  once  see  an  act  that  was  played  In  our  village, 
That  favored  the  hawk  and  the  king  birds  I  thought. 
F  >ur  little  young  rascals  were  trvln’  to  pillage 
So  uo  apples  a  thrifty  old  farmer  had  brought 
Into  town ;  there  he  stood  with  his  barrels  beside  him, 
The  four  little  fellers  a-dancln’  around. 
To  mock  him,  torment  him,  Insult  and  deride  him 
And  tempt  him  to  chase  them  away  from  the 
grou  ,d. 
He’d  spanked  ’em  to  stay  spanked  If  he’d  a-got 
near  ’em, 
Ills  hands,  they  jest  ached  for  to  hit  ’em  a  lick, 
But  actually  they  made  the  old  feller  fear  ’em. 
For  he  was  too  clumsy  an’  they  were  too  quick. 
He  never  could  catch  ’em,  for  each  time  he  started 
Away  from  his  barrels,  the  little  scamps  knew, 
Their  game;  for  while  three  of  ’em  scattered  an’ 
parted, 
The  fourth  stole  an  apple  an’  oftentimes  two. 
The  apples  grew  less,  an’  the  farmer  grew  tired 
With  running  an’  shouting— his  anger  waxed  high. 
He  ought  to  have  organized-  ought  to  have  hired 
His  neighbor  to  help  him  wh’n  trouble  come  nigh. 
If  guard!  V  them  barrels  gave  work  for  one  feller. 
While  t’other  one  chased  off  the  thieves  with  c 
stick, 
You  d  so  in  heard  them  little  chaps  holler  and  beller. 
An’  then  start  up  street  at  a  smart  double-quick. 
It's  jess  so  with  farmers— ain’t  you  seen  ’em  dancin’, 
An’  wastin’  their  flghtln’  on  shadders  and  things, 
While  little  sneak  thieves  come  behind  ’em  a-prancln’ 
An’  gobble  a  handful  of  apples  an’  things? 
Tell  ye,  It’s  nuts  for  theso  smart  politicians 
To  get  us  to  tucker  ourselves  on  a  chase 
After  hobbles ;  an’  then  come  like  practical  magicians 
An’  change  our  good  apples  for  thinnest  air-space. 
As  long  us  we’re  scattered  without  organizin’, 
An’  one  calls  for  this  thing  an’  one  calls  for  that, 
An’  pull  every  wliich-way,  it  won’t  be  surprisin’ 
If  farmers  grow  thin  whilst  the  others  grow  fat. 
But,  back  up  together,  stout  brother  to  brother, 
An’  see  If  them  little  frauds  won’t  run  away. 
They’ll  give  up  their  job,  and  hunt  hard  for  another 
Where  stealing  and  rogulng  Is  nearer  like  play. 
THE  ANGEL  OF  PEACE. 
“  Dear  me  !  what  a  wild  day  it  is  going- 
to  be.  I  wish  I  hadn't  promised  that  lead 
of  hay  to  the  judge,”  thought  Farmer 
Brown  as  he  harnessed  his  horses  by  the 
faint  light  of  a  dirty  lantern,  while  off 
and  on  a  gust  of  wind  crept  in  through 
the  chinks  of  the  barn  and  made  the 
light  flicker  and  almost  go  out. 
Daylight  had  not  yet  appeared  when 
he  had  his  horses  hitched  to  the  large 
load  of  hay  and  was  on  his  way  to  town, 
15  miles  distant. 
“  Merry  Christmas,  mister !  ”  piped  the 
merry  voices  of  a  group  of  sturdy 
farmers’  boys  firing  crackers  on  the  pub¬ 
lic  highway. 
Farmer  Brown  looked  at  them  thought¬ 
fully  without  returning  the  greeting. 
“ 1  declare,”  he  muttered  to  himself,  “  I 
hadn’t  thought  of  this  as  Christmas  Day. 
Let  me  see :  yes,  this  must  be  the  25th. 
I  wonder  if  the  Judge  thought  about  its 
being  Christmas  when  he  wrote  to  me  to 
bring  him  the  hay  on  Saturday.  But  now 
I’ve  started,  I’ll  go  the  whole  distance, 
especially  as  I’m  over  half  way  there, 
but  I  wish  it  wouldn't  snow  until  I  get 
back  to-night  ” 
Mr.  Brown  had  but  lately  moved  on  to 
Why  can’t  I  die  and  forget  my  wife  and 
little  Mar  -ella.  The  little  golden-haired 
child  !  I  wonder  if  she  ever  thinks  of 
‘  papa'  and  why  did  I  take  her  mamma 
out  to  that  lonely,  treeless  prairie.  She 
who  had  always  been  the  spoiled  pet  of 
her  doting  parents.  Ah  !  she  was  so 
anxious  then  to  go  anywhere  with  me, 
but  we  were  fresh  from  college  and  little 
knew  the  hardships  and  privations  of  a 
prairie  farm  and  a  sod  house.  We  often 
talked  then  of  love  in  a  cottage.  We 
were  happy  for  a  while  !  yes,  until  little 
Marcella  was  two  years  old,  and  then 
her  mother  came  to  see  us  and  all  was 
changed.  What  business  had  that  woman 
to  come  and  make  my  wife  discontented 
and  unhappy  with  her  home  ?  Then 
there  was  that  fatal  mistake  which  they 
would  not  let  me  explain.  God  knows  I 
didn’t  commit  robbery  and  murder  on 
that  lonely  road  that  night.  Suspicion 
was  laid  on  me  and  evidence  was  pretty 
much  against  me,  but  to  think  they 
wouldn’t  even  take  my  word  of  honor 
that  I  was  innocent,  and  her  mother  took 
her  and  little  Marcella  away — away  and 
I’ve  never  seen  them  since.  Thank  God! 
I  proved  myself  innocent  in  court,  but  I 
couldn’t  longer  live  on  that  desolate, 
lonely  prairie  after  its  sunlight  and  life 
were  gone.  I  wonder  where  they  are  to¬ 
day  !  Who  would  have  thought  of  me 
tory  to  Christmas  services  that  night 
wondered  at  the  close  scrutiny  a  stranger 
gave  them.  But  the  look  of  disappoint¬ 
ment  on  his  face  when  he  found  not  what 
he  looked  for  caused  one  of  the  little 
girls  to  pause  and  say  “  A  merry  Christ¬ 
mas.  sir  !  and  if  you  will  come  to  our 
church  to-night  you  will  see  Santa 
Claus.” 
A  childish  invitation.  Who  knows  the 
good  a  child  can  do?  Mr.  Brown  asked 
not  the  Dame  or  situation  of  the  church 
where  “  Santa  Claus  ”  could  be  seen, 
but  that  night  after  supper  at  the  hotel 
he  started  out  to  find  the  “  church  ”  re¬ 
ferred  to. 
Up  street  and  down  he  wandered.  He 
passed  several  brightly-lighted  churches. 
Some  unseen  hand  kept  him  from  enter¬ 
ing  any  of  these.  At  last  and  at  a  late 
hour  he  came  to  a  magnificent  church. 
Lights  gleamed  from  the  colored  glass  of 
its  many  windows.  The  outside  door 
stood  ajar,  and  hesitatingly  he  entered 
the  outside  entry  and  passed  into  the 
church.  The  closing  scene  of  the  exer¬ 
cises  was  being  enacted. 
The  brightly  burning  lights  were 
turned  low.  A  jingling  of  bells  in  the 
gallery  caused  the  large  audience  to  turn 
their  heads  to  see  if  Santa  Claus  was  re¬ 
appearing  and  entering  the  church  that 
way,  when,  lo !  what  a  transformation. 
its  glittering  splendor,  but  without  life. 
The  audience  still  gazed  at  it  to  see  if 
the  lovely  angel  would  not  appear  again, 
but  the  benediction  was  said  and  the 
audience  dismissed.  All  were  gone:  no, 
Mr.  Brown  still  sat  in  the  seat  whore  he 
had  sunk  with  such  a  strained  yearning 
when  the  “  aDgel  of  peace”  had  ap¬ 
peared.  He  had  stretched  forth  his 
hands  and  in  a  husky  whisper  which  was 
almost  a  sob  had  said,  “  Marcella,  Oh 
my  little  Marcella  !  ” 
Shall  I  tell  any  more  ?  You  can  all 
guess  the  ending.  The  sorrow  and  suf¬ 
ferings  of  eight  long  years  were  that 
night  ended.  The  little  Marcella  and 
his  wife  were  again  returned  to  him. 
His  wife  had  just  returned  from  foreign 
lands  and  had  been  seeking  him  in  vain. 
She  had  visited  the  prairie  home  where 
the  sod  house  ceased  to  be.  She  had 
heard  of  his  innocence — but  why  say 
more?  They  are  now  happy  and  p  ospt  r- 
ous  and  have  a  good  farm  and  magnifi¬ 
cent  house,  and  Christmas  is  to  them  a 
time  of  happiness  and  thanksgiving. 
fakmeb's  girl. 
*  *  * 
A  year  at  any  agricultural,  mechan¬ 
ical,  musical  or  other  technical  school  or 
college,  may  be  won  by  any  bright  young 
man  or  young  woman,  by  canvassing  for 
The  Rural  New-Yorker  and  American 
Gardening. 
The  Hawk  and  the  King  Birds.  Fig.  317. 
•‘Four  Little  Fellers  a  Dancin’  Around.  ’ 
as  here  on  the  hilly  roads  of  Ohio,  on  my  The  majestic  Christmas  tree  which  had 
way  to  town!  I,  who  if  I  had  stuck  to  silently  stood  glittering  and  beautiful  in 
my  claim  in  the  West  would  now  own  all  its  fancy  baubles  was  now  animate 
one  of  the  nicest  Western  farms?  Her  with  life.  The  tree  had  parted,  and  in 
parents  bad  sold  out,  and  they  accom-  its  midst  had  stepped  a  lovely  golden- 
panied  by  their  daughter  and  Marcella,  haired  angel.  A  white  robe,  glittering 
are  traveling  in  Europe,  so  came  the  with  stars,  touched  the  dainty,  white- 
answer  to  my  letter  of  inquiry  and  ap-  slippered  feet.  The  right  hand,  ex- 
peal  to  her  birthplace.  Merry  Christ-  tended,  held  the  whitest  of  doves,  while 
mas,  indeed  !  It  has  had  no  happiness  for  a  sweet  voice  clearly  speaking,  said, 
me  since  then.  Let  me  see,  it’s  been  eight  “  Peace  on  earth,  good  will  towards  all 
years  this  spring  since  she  left  me.  Why  men.”  Colored  lights  were  burned  at 
little  Marcella  must  now  be  almost  10  the  foot  of  the  tree,  making  more  be  mti- 
years  old.  Should  I  know  her  if  I  saw  ful  the  lovely  angel  standing  there  and 
her?  Ah,  yes,  those  frank  blue  eyes  delivering,  as  it  seemed,  the  message  from 
and  golden  hair,  the  very  image  of  her  heaven.  The  large  audience  was  in  per- 
mother.  Oh  !  what  would  I  not  give  to  feet  silence.  Heads  were  bent  forward 
see  them.”  and  eyes  were  strained  to  see  the  lovely 
Thinking,  thinking — brooding  on  this  messenger. 
PiWllattWttjS 
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|The  Practical  Farmer 
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one  subject  all  that  lonely  ride  to  town 
and  this  was  merry  Christmas  too.  Can 
not  one  crumb  of  comfort  fall  to  the  lot 
the  farm  he  now  occupied.  A  widowed  of  this  lonely  man?  Surely  every  one 
sister  kept  house  for  him,  but  a  rumor  should  be  happy  on  that  day. 
had  spread  through  the  quiet  neighbor-  The  snow  fell  thicker  and  faster.  The 
hood  that  he  had  a  wife  and  child  living,  hay  was  duly  delivered  at  the  Judge’s 
Curious  neighbors  sought  his  acquaint-  spacious  barn,  but  one  of  the  faithful 
SPECIAL  COMBINATION  ™tm 
WE  HAVE  MADE  ARRANGEMENTS  TO  OFFER 
ance  to  pry  into  his  former  life,  but  upon 
this  topic  he  would  not  say  a  word. 
Slowly  and  softly  the  whPe  snow¬ 
flakes  began  to  cover  the  load  of  hay  and 
the  silent,  muffled  farmer. 
“Get  up,  Kittie!  walk  faster,  Susie! 
we  must  get  to  town  and  back  home  by 
night.”  The  farmer’s  voice  sounded 
strangely  hoarse,  and  a  trembling  hand 
picked  up  the  long  whip,  but  it  was  not 
used. 
“  Home  ”  !  he  soliloquized.  “  What  is 
home  to  me  any  more  since  they  left  it  ? 
horses  had  become  lame  and  to  compel 
her  to  travel  back  through  the  drifting 
THE  OHIO  FARMER 
snow  seemed  inhuman  to  the  tender¬ 
hearted  farmer.  The  horses  were,  there¬ 
fore,  warmly  stabled  and  left  to  rest  dur¬ 
ing  the  afternoon  and  night. 
A  stranger  in  a  strange  town!  Were 
you  ever  situated  so?  All  the  afternoon 
Mr.  Brown  traversed  the  town.  No 
familiar  face  greeted  him.  All  was 
THE  RURAL  NEW-YORKER 
FOR  1893  AT  THE  VERY  LOW  PRICE  OF  $2.00. 
__  bas.  been  established  45  years.  Is  a  20-pag;e  weekly,  giving  Its  readers  mure  sound 
1  KALI  iOAL  matter  tban  any  other  agricultural  or  stock  journal  published.  Its  publishers  ha ve  added 
several  very  costly  and  valuable  improvemen  3.  which  place  their  paper  at  ih^  head  of  Its  class  They 
employ  only  the  very  best  correspondents,  all  if  whom  are  directly  Interested  In  farming  and  stock  raising. 
1  he  addition  of  four  extra  pages  of  literary  matter  from  the  beet  writers  will  largely  Increase  their 
circulation.  As  a  SPECIAL  INLUCEMENT  to  new  readers,  both  papers  will  be  sent  from  time  subscrip¬ 
tion  is  received  until  January  1, 1894,  for  ONLY  00. 
gayety  and  mirth.  Several  golden-haired  Send  *  p08tal  card  t0  THE  0ni0  farmer,  Cleveland,  Ohio,  for  a  free  specimen  copy, 
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