LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.1

CHAPTER VIII.

Commencement of Sucker life-Our next neighbour-The mother Meg Merrilies-The house; its architecture-The grounds; how laid out and adorned-The children: their pastimes-The father; his political and social position-Another house: the spirit which reigned in it-Beauty of order and purity in domestic life.

Ar Prairie Lodge our acquaintance with Sucker life commenced. But it was not carried to any great intimacy here. My sister's home had been little visited, even in earlier days, by the primitive settlers. Their principal intercourse had consisted of business affairs between the men, and visits of mercy between the females in the times of sickness or death, so that we saw little of them excepting an occasional out-ofdoor call from some neighbour, or in passing their residences or wagons in our various excursions.

One family of this kind occupied the next house west from the Lodge. We often passed it, and the external appearance excited the most intense curiosity to have a peep at the internal. But I grieve to say that it could never be accomplished under any decent pretext whatever. All the showers were either too early or too late. No wagon ever broke down in the neighbourhood, though the road was at times bad enough to encourage hope for a long way on either side. It was too near home ever to stop for water. It is true there was an occasional illness, but this could not serve my purpose, for the wife had a mother, to whom the lively doctor of our village gave the name of Meg Merrilies (I fancy there was a little spite in it, for she was his rival in this branch of the medical profession), who would travel fifteen or twenty miles on foot in the morning, attend to her patient, and return in the evening. Meg then officiated, to the exclusion of all the curious gossips of the neighbourhood, and had things all her own way. The patient was generally out the next day, and all went on as before.

The house was one of the meanest description of cabins. It turned its back upon the road, and showed only a four-light window, or rather sash; for soon after I first saw it, the third was broken out, and the fourth so fractured that its continuance seemed extremely doubtful. A patchwork quilt of blue jeans and red flannel was hung across the aperture a few days after, and never removed while I remained in the country. Directly beneath this, against the wall, which was on a line with the fence, was a green pool of about the dimensions of the house. It was of artificial construction, and redounded not a little to the taste of some eight or ten large swine, who delighted their senses in its aromatic depths, at the same time that they regaled those of by-passers.

The entrance to the house was in the rear. A low kind of shantee projected from the door several feet back, which served for pantry, milk-house, pig-pen, poultry-house, and possibly stable in winter. In the

right angle between these was the well, just far enough from the corner to be visible in passing. The ground around this was the great theatre of action for mother and children. I never knew the exact number of the latter, but if called to testify in any matter concerning them, I should say the minimum was eight, the maximum double that number. I rarely saw less than the former, sporting away the morning of life, in their rags and filth, on the banks of the verdant pool, or the hard-trodden ground around the well. Their dress and complexions were so uniform that I could never distinguish but one of them, a girl of some twelve years, whose face was always a little dirtier, her hair a little stiffer, and her clothes a shade nearer the colour of the earth in which she burrowed. When any one approached the house, they all scampered like a herd of wild animals into the angle between the cabins, and peeped around the corners as long as the traveller was in sight. A general yell and shout announced his disappearance and their return to the several amusements from which they had fled.

The father of this family was a man of sense and much general information; his morals were unimpeachable, and his character commanded so much respect, that he was proposed for one of the highest offices in the county. His election was lost in consequence of some local division, not at all connected with the degraded condition of his family. He had a fine farm, valuable horses, and other property, and, away from home, appeared as well as any of his neighbours who lived more comfortably. His means would have enabled him to build a good house, surround it with cultivated grounds, and furnish it with every requisite for neatness and comfort. Had such physical degradation been the result of extreme poverty, the case would have excited compassion, instead of curiosity or disgust. But it was not so.

It may be asked, then, what was the cause? It was not that the parties were misers, and hoarded their gains; for their means were spent freely to procure whatever they deemed necessary to comfort. What, then, was it? Merely the incapacity of the mistress of this family to appreciate a better condition, or help to create one. I afterwards saw many cases of a like mode of living, and am bound, in fairness, to say, that the credit was due in nearly every one to the females.

I once entered a cabin of this description, on a cold November day. It had no window; all the light came down the wide chimney, or through the open door. There was a long shelf in one corner, on which two plates, two cups, and three saucers were arranged, in conjunction with an iron skillet, a small bake kettle, and a tin tea-pot. A broken table stood against the wall, on which the breakfast things yet remained, though it was eleven o'clock. In a back corner of the room was a bed, and the only thing that indicated the exercise of powers superior to the ingenuity of the beaver, was a wide shelf over it, on which some husks were deposited, and covered with a bit of filthy cotton cloth. This was constructed for the nocturnal

quarters of the blowsy little heir, who was then tumbling over and over on the ground. There was one dilapidated chair in the room, besides a single bench and a double one. The chair was standing back on the platform which had been laid for the bed, and, as I entered, escorted by the husband, the wife rose from her seat near the table, took her pipe from her mouth, and placing it near the edge of the hearth, invited me to sit. A second child was playing in the ashes. The door was wide open, and the raw wind swept in gusts through the miserable place, filling it with ashes and smoke. I have never seen more utter poverty or filth.

When I had gathered my skirts and seated myself as safely as the circumstances would permit, the woman returned to her pipe, and the employment which my entrance had interrupted. She had a large paper of coffee in her lap, from some of which she was selecting the foul kernels, et cet. preparatory to roasting. Never was there a more perfect picture of self-satisfaction. She had a fat figure, which seemed, when she seated herself, to settle away into a circular mass of matter, in which life and motion were barely manifest. Her children received but little attention; indeed, it was not easy to see how one could bestow more upon them. The elder was enjoying himself intensely; and the happiness of the younger was | abated only by the caution which the mother occasionally gave it, "not to swallow the rocks," which she threw from among the coffee.

It was impossible for me to contemplate this revolting scene, without endeavouring to ascertain the state of mind that could lead a human being to live willingly in the midst of it. I remarked, that it must be a serious inconvenience to live through the winter with the door open.

"Why, yes," see replied, "'tain't as warm hyur as it used to be in Kaintucky: 'twasn't of much account there."

"But we obviate the difficulty of a colder climate by windows, they admit the light without the cold." "Yes, I reckon they're mighty convenient, but we hain't had one yet.

"How long have you lived here?" "Four year."

"Have you never had a floor?"

"No, we hain't yit; but I reckon we shall git one afore long. It's mighty bad to have the old man to work around the house, so I don't say nothing about it: he wants to put it down, but I don't allow 'twould make much difference; I reckon that out thar," pointing to the little platform, "will do us yet."

It would weary the reader to give further details of a conversation that evinced only the most disgusting indifference to the common comforts of a more civilized condition. I rode several miles on the same day with the husband of this woman, and had an opportunity to learn that he would prefer a better manner of life, but that her aversion to change or action rendered so great an effort necessary on his part, that he had never undertaken it. He had ample

means for surrounding himself and his family with every comfort. Beside a fine farm, which he cultivated near a good market, he owned a valuable stock of cattle and other property, and had between a thousand and fifteen hundred dollars, in specie, lying in a black chest by the head of his bed. He had no disposition to hoard it; he would spend it the next day, for anything that they could agree on as conducive to happiness. He was likewise possessed of superior natural powers, which he had used in acquiring knowledge of various kinds, and was then capable of making himself a very pleasant companion, by the use of his varied information. His mode of living was never the subject of remark among people of his own class. No one thought it strange, or wondered whether it would ever improve. The women, who, with more household industry, lived better than " Miss Andrews," probably thought she lost a 'heap of comfort," in her windowless, floorless, dirty house, but so a smart Yankee woman would have thought of them.

These extreme cases, however, are fortunately rare. In the homes of most of the first settlers there is much more regard paid to cleanliness and comfort. In many of them the neatness and order are perfect. Of necessity they have fewer artificial luxuries than the inhabitants of older regions, but these are not evidences of talent or worth. The inherent virtues of cleanliness, order, and self-respect are often more manifest in a simple than a complicated style of living, and are not less productive of happiness in one than the other.

CHAPTER. IX.

Spring around Prairie Lodge-Showers--Thunder-storms at night -Their sublimity-Their effect on the landscape-Pleasures of the season-Strawberry-Quail-Scene from his domestic lifeGrouse; his habits-Spring Morning in the prairies-Bob-o-link -Woodpecker- Parroquet-Crow-Buzzard-Wild TurkeyCattle on the prairie-Hare-Deer-Whip-poor-Will.

THE beautiful progeny of spring began now to gather around Prairie Lodge. Animate and inanimate nature teemed with the loveliest creations. The showers that had been so emphatically foretold on our arrival did not disappoint us. They fell almost daily for several weeks, and were generally accompanied by lightning and thunder, such as the dwellers in the east have no conception of. Nothing of the kind can be more magnificent, unless it be the marshalling of the same storms on the vast plains farther west, where they are said to be even more terrific. They come more generally toward evening, and not unfrequently continue till near morning. Nothing can exceed the rapidity with which they gather after the first signal is given. A little cloud not larger than a man's hand rises on the horizon, and in fifteen minutes the earth is deluged, and the pealing heavens seem on fire. There are few showers here unaccompanied by the most striking electric phenomena: sometimes the whole arch is lighted by a continuous flickering glare, rent occasionally by a more intense vein. The thunder roll is ceaseless, with such lightning! The deep peals that accompany the brighter flashes only strike with a more

appalling tone. At other times the whole vault is filled with a darkness that seems ponderable, till a mighty flash rends the pall and searches the very soul. It is gone, and the solid earth trembles under the mighty concussion. Again darkness, as if eternal night had come, wraps the scene till the flame leaps forth with a more blinding glare than before, and a crash follows that seems to shatter the foundation of the world. The third or fourth signal is followed by the storm, which breaks through the sable rack as if half the ocean had been lifted from its bed and were wandering in the upper air. In an inconceivably short space of time the plains around you are deluged, so that every succeeding flash is reflected from innumerable little pools, as if you were in the midst of a shallow lake broken by islands of sedge and grass. I never appreciated the sublime power of the elements till I witnessed these storms. They are one of the most glorious features of the country.

Their effect was heightened too by contrast with the scenes which followed them. The vast expanse of country over which they ranged was in a few hours after as quiet and smiling as if the upper elements had dispensed only peace and sunshine from the first hour of creation. And beauty born of these awful warrings stole over every rolling height and into every green glade in our landscape. The swelling bud, the unfolding leaf and flower followed in the path of their majestic progress, making rich and beautiful what had before been desolate and wintry. The spirit that had all the night perhaps raved with such fearful and angry power, seemed, when the bright and peaceful morning came, to have borne a magician's wand after his wrath, and kindled life, beauty, and joy on the plains it had threatened to devastate. The trees around our lodge now began to put on their summer garb; the hazel copses unfolded their young leaves. The prairies spread their green carpets, and even went so far as to variegate the pattern with the violet and the scarlet-painted cup. The strawberry came out in her bridal flowers, and blushed herself into luscious maturity beneath the ardent sun. It was not confined to beds and patches such as delight the eyes of the urchin roving through forbidden meadows in the east, but reddened whole acres around the lodge. The pleasure of gathering it was surpassed only by its delicious flavour. When we came in heated, and just enough fatigued to make rest delightful, our blushing treasures were cleansed of the leaves and grass, sprinkled with sugar, and deluged with delicious cream fresh from the brimming pan. Oh what a feast! and while we were enjoying it the soft breeze floated in laden with the odours of the young world, and the music of its varied populace. The grove in the rear of the house was tenanted by many little songsters, busily employed in these days of universal industry in announcing their return and preparing for the duties of the season. My favourite was the Quail, the merriest, the happiest, and most business-like bird of them all. He rejoices in the showers, and so do I. The harder the rain, the livelier his cheering when it is over. He makes

the dripping wood ring with his shrill note. If you walk out while the drops hang upon the leaves, and the grass bends with the weight of its gems, you hear his merry greetings floating by as gaily as if a bevy of children had escaped to the woods and were playing hide and seek with an omnipresent "Bob White," who would only answer when called with a whistle. You hear it in every tone, the imperative, the plaintive, the querulous, the dignified, the entreating, the congratulatory. "Bob White!" soliloquizes one philosophic-looking fellow from the second story of a hazel clump. He looks about a moment, and repeats in a higher and more intense key, "Bob White!" Two or three more turns of the smooth little head and the sagacious little eye seem to raise his temper, and he adds the epithet "Old!" as if Bob White were rather sensitive on the score of his years, and would be drawn out to repel the injurious insinuation. "Old Bob White!" he exclaims, and it is responded to from below. Presently out trips a neat, industrious, thrifty-looking bird, who appears to be keeping house in some of the snug little apartments to which these clean paths lead, and exclaims, "Old Bob White!" He starts and looks smartly about for the individual who has perpetrated so unjust a slander. "Old Bob White!" And, as if the enormity grew with the repetition, he hops upon another branch, adjusts his plumage, and boldly as an eye can defy, he defies any libeller to prove his charge.

The altercation is becoming sharp, when presently a softer and entreating voice from below, cries out "Bob White!" His anger is dissipated in a moment. With a look of universal charity toward all quail slanderers, he alights from his post of defiance, and trips away up the leafy aisle. He runs along in haste, looking expectant but determined. He evidently anticipates some appeal to his feelings as a husband and father; but is resolved to yield to no indiscreet solicitation. He reaches a little nook near the edge of the thicket, where low herbage has crept in and woven a thick bed, soft and odorous. The branches are closely knotted above it, and two or three stems of the Geranium Maculatum droop gracefully over, looking with their meek pale eyes at the nestling little group which Mrs. Bob White is vainly endeavouring to keep in order during her husband's sally in defence of his youth. When he arrives, he finds a dozen callow Bob Whites tumbling about with the manifest intention of rebelling against parental authority. The mother entreats, the father remonstrates, but to no purpose. He finally changes his tone to that of instruction, and warns his inexperienced children against the many dangers which wait on the life of a quail, but more especially against traps. In due time order is again restored, and the exercise of the parental authority has so elevated Bob White's estimation of himself, that he can now forgive all that previously excited his indignation. He feels that respectability established on such a basis is not easily overthrown; and thus reconciled with himself and the world at large, he walks forth beneath the dripping boughs