Grant County herald. [volume] (Lancaster, Wis.) 1850-1968, 1880-09-23
DOES FARMING PAY ?

with the above title, by HEsaY s. GooDALE
in Hayper's Magazine for October.
Naow tell yew, T. flo whut farmin' pays,
Jest come clus hum; study yer neighbor'.
Look et--we wun't be prs'nal-call hin
Black:
Huntin an fshin vile things 60 . rack:
A sportin fsrmer'z baoun' t be-a shack,
An then there's White he's one o. yel
Study kin;
Looks sout ahead, an never runs benin;
Follers his plaough, perdooces corn n Eaters
He don't resk nothin' 18th them speckleaters
Gold up er daown, he hain't no call t worry
They wun't git red O. him in hurry.
No, no, Whites keeriul; Farms US suthin'
rally
Wun't drive boss t. death he hopes Z sci
But drives bargain pooty keen, tell We.
Green-wonder ef you know wut's ailin
Green
He works like blazes, fur ez hev seen;
No better farm n him in Saughconic,
En- savin'r wife from Kersnop TO Hustonic
Sober'z deacon on a Sabba'>day--
Can't tell rye from Jamaiker, SO they say;
Stays to his hum lives low. Wut hinders
naow,
Thet Green c-a-n-'t git Twin ct tn plaoughl
Wa'al, we've he'd dealin's some I'll tell ye
then
No Judgment, moren a settin' Brahmar hen
An thet's the nub ont. Eff ye plan ez be DOCS
Yer poor ez Laz'rus wuz-whoever he wuz
Don't know Brown much, ner mean ter
grumpy Teller
All his hard cider couldn't make him meler
But they du say he's savin' up at las,
Supplyin' village folks with gardin sass
He'd orter lay some by, fer yew may bet
He dom, fool much ont off T. pay debt
Owes me three shilin'. Wa'al, it amt no
greet
Les look ct Grey wust thing 'baout Grey is
books;
Grey reads t. much m keers t. much fer looks,
Believes in putin picturs up in haouses,
An puts on airs N dassn't wear patched
traouses
FL 'twan't fer money Leo him goodness knows
lie might be naow a>wearin' poor.'aouse
clo'es.
Wa'al, nut tibet I've gut anythin' agin i'm,
On'y du say they amt nothin IN i'm;
No dicker in i'm sartin hooter;
C-a>n-'t swop N make a cent--a cent O. poot.
err.
Sech farmers scarcely make the salt they're
eatin';
They pear T. think tibet haglin'sz bad ez
cheatin';
Mebby it is: eff thets the way t. fgger,
Wed ciphered aout aour Jail leetle bigger
High Sheriff Root he'd jist rejice t. du it.
App'nt more depooties, an put us thru it,
Ia, waa, wa'al, it takes all kin's O. folks,
abaout,
T make warld. I've guessed the reason
aont.
Time wuz wished some on 'em hadn't come
Till arter wuz horned, an dead, yum.
Ye see, these puzzliu' p'ints | understan'
Sence they made ch'ice O. me for Selecman
Can't all on US be ruers-sakes alive!
'Twun't work t hev all king bees in hive.
Dung 'em an cultivate 'em ez ye will,
The's alluz some small taters in a hill,
An, pint o. fac, yer smsl>p'tater men
Will kim O. work t tn bottom Nv the ben.
Naow les back T. Guilder farm once more
We worked ten year much like we did afore.
We gut family, not by no means small,
an crops an barns grew fatter ev'ry fall.
The wilder lef' us-kin' o. suddin shock.
She lef' poor Hammer all her Harlem stock.
1t went up Z one-ten, N then | sol' it,
One-thirty sence "a fool didn't hol' it.
Them Workers come in thick, n naow lam riz
They air some good. tell We wut it is
Rich sill t sech chaps amt no consequence,
Ner ain clean crops, ner amt nine rail fence,
Wut tickles them is traouts M shutn lots,
Nice air, red claouds, IN awful slightly spots
Yer poorest pastur' hill where wind is hash
More'n likely is the one that takes their ca sh.
But naow them days come on wut teched my
pride:
Hammer got off the hooks, an up an died.
Thet was a durn hard blow. jes clean lost
The smartest help ever come acrost.
| VOW I thought Ia ruther 'twould ha' ben
My twenty head O. fattin steer But then
She'd gut the young uns pooty well along;
The huse-work WANT a-pressin'quite sstrong;
Aour Jane could cook fer men, m wait upon
'em,
M Silas hoe his row 18th any on em
Might ha' ben wuss; but this ere loss We see,
Wuz suthin more AN money aout T. me.
| sot greet store by her; it's kin O. queer,
My framework KEEP some BACKYARD all tibet
year
I foun', too, long afore the grave was sodded
Jane couldn't make sech pudain's ez her ma
did.
Yes, MORN three months TUX on like all ma
tur';
But 'twa'n't no use; knew that soon er later
I'd gut t make the best ont. / did 80,
An merried Lyddy Runnels, ez ye know.
She amt like Hammer wuz, but hez good pints
An does her work up slick, but can't break
jints,
An stop up leaks; m so the farm don't pay
Not nigh SO strong ext did in Hammers dav
T. show ye,naow, she's he'd some posies come,
An wastes her val'able time a~tendin' EN-
Nacw blows tibet dons bring fruit, Z nay ideo
Air wuthless, even eff ye sit 'em free.
AM so tell her: don't du any good
She'd craowd my onions with ZEN. eff she could
| hain't daoubt she'd chuse a posy bed
Afore patch o. solid kebbege head
Wusst on it is, my gals Parn arter her
Cant 60 t meetin, N can't hardly stir
'Ithout admirin suttin, I declare,
Thet amt no airthly 'caount t eat r wear
Sech conduc's sinful, N thets wut say:
Live clss, an lay by fer a rainy day.
Yes brother farmers, its the good OF way
Workin' an savin' tibet makes farmin' pay.