The Kimball graphic. (Kimball, Brule County, Dakota [S.D.]) 1883-1905, 1883-08-24

One of our western friends thinks it
would be a curious problem for a wo-
man to find out from mankind what is
really expected of her. Man adores
helplessness and complains that it ruins
him. He talks about NON and
raves over spendthrifts. He desires
~frivollty, and runs away from brains.
He pines after his grandmother, who
used to make good pies, and falls in
white hands that can't. He mourns
over weakness, and ridicules strength.
He condemns fashion theoretically and
and goes for it practically. He longs for
sensible women and passes them by on
on the otherside. He worships saints
converts. He despises pink and white
He abuses silks and laces and takes
them into his heart. He glorities spir-
it and independence, but adores the lit
tie vines instead of the oaks. What
would the critical lords have if they
have it all their own way?-Christian at
Work.
Leaving the Country for a City Lif c
From the Rural New Yorker.
1t is a pitiful sight to see the youth of
our land leaving the green fields and
quiet homes, leaving health and hap
piness, father and mother, and rushing
into the dust and din of our crowded
cities, there to breathe the communicating
atmosphe re and expose themselves to
the thousand snares ofcity life. Many a
young man in the bloom of manhood,
full of of health and promise, becomes
tired of the duh routine of farm life, and
bidding goodbye to father and mother,
launches out into the great city. Often
it is the old tale of shipwreck; q few
months of struggle against the stream
dissipation; a pale face and emaciated
form stretched upon a death-bed, n
gray-haired father and tender mother
taking a last farewell Of their Maynard
son, and lite's drama is ended forever.
recall a quiet cottage upon a green
hillside, overlooking one ofthe most
picturesque valleys in the state Of New
York; a beautiful river, broad meadows
and green hillsides. the little red school
house at the foot of the hill, the golden
sunset that gilded the church spires Of
the dist ant village, the winter fireside
and the white haired, good old grandfa-
ther that used to sit by the fire and tell
stories. l recall a kind and loving moth
er, the old barn and the bay-mow, the
old dog that ran to meet me and whose
life seemed q part of mine. All these
things come before me and l see my hap
ply boyhood home, But years have
passed-years of toll and atfliction amid
the din and smoke of the city. The
white-haired grandfather has gone and
the k~ind-hearted father walks slowly
along with a cane; childhoo'ds happy
golden hours are zone forever.
Young man, stick to the farm! Look
at the thin features, pale faces and
dwarfed forms in the shops and behind
the desks in our crowded cities, and
then gaze at the rugged, robust farmer,
".Who finds in sleep the sweet repose.
the wearied merchant never knows"
He is the mainstay of the nation. You
who long for the glitter and hustle ofthe
city, go out upon the broad p~rairies and
rugged mountains, Natures grand gym
nasium. Breathe in: the pure air and
battle in the glorious sunlight, and you
will live longer, be happier and in after
wears thank God Won stuck fo the farm