Literature, Modern -- 19th century -- Periodicals; Science -- Periodicals
The sunshine poured down hot upon them, and there was much dust, but
they were happy. There were crowds of people from all the surrounding
country; there were displays of vegetables, fruit, honey, butter, in
tents and sheds,--in short, all the products of a farming region; there
were cakes, loaves of bread, glasses of jelly, and jars of pickles and
preserves, made by farmers' wives; and in the department allotted to
needle-work there were quilts of various patterns and various claims to
public notice: one had three thousand five hundred and forty-four pieces
in it, and was made by a great-granddaughter of Daniel Boone, the
pioneer; another was pieced by an old lady of eighty-one without the aid
of glasses. Among the live-stock were fat cattle and prancing
three-year-old colts, with red or blue ribbons fastened to their manes,
indicating that they had received the first or second prize, and fat
hogs; there were various breeds of poultry in coops, and before each
stall or pen or coop stood a group of spectators, admiring, commenting,
or asking questions of the owner; there were agricultural machines and
implements, and patent pumps for stock-yards, and improved cross-cut
saws, each strongly recommended to the public by a glib-tongued agent.
Then there were stands for the sale of ice-cream, lemonade, and peanuts
and candy; and no rural beau felt that he had done the polite thing
unless he took his girl up to the counter and treated her. When he had
strolled all over the ground with her, and perhaps taken her into one or
two side-shows, where there were negro minstrels or the Wild Australian
Children, he went and sat in a buggy with her, and they talked, and
waited for the horse-race, or balloon-ascension, or wire-walking, which
was the especial attraction of the afternoon.
"Why, who's that with Tom Worth?" asked one Buck Creek belle of her
escort as they were thus sitting together. "I didn't know that he was
goin' with anybody?"
"I didn't, either," was the response; then, after a little pause, "I'll
swan, it's Miss Hill, the school-ma'am. Who'd 'a' thought they would be
here together? I didn't know they were acquainted."
And this remark was echoed by other Buck Creek people as they saw the
couple walking together. But there is a law of affinity by which people
are drawn together as lovers or as friends, which is like some of the
hidden forces of nature: we cannot see their operation, we can only see
their results. Some one has made the paradoxical remark that we are
acquainted with our friends before we ever see them; meaning that our
tastes for the same pursuits or subjects, traits of character that
harmonize, views that coincide, have been ripening apart, and, when at
last we meet, that is sufficient; it does not require a long
acquaintanceship to reveal one to the other.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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