The Bossier banner. [volume] (Bellevue, Bossier Parish, La.) 1859-1952, 1883-04-05
HOW | BECAME A FARMER.

1t wasgetting dark. But through the
bushes, along the muddy road | could
see house ahead, and limped toward
it, though | had little hope that the peo-
plethere would receive me. SH~t@
All! how discouraged, hungry and
footsore | was that night! Every step
was torture. If had had my choice to
live ordie, Honestly think / would have
preferred the latter.
1t was low, small, one story house,
weather-beaten and dilapidated. Two
Of the front windows were boarded up,
and the other two had half the glass
panes broken out. Off to the left was
still more dilapidated barn, the great
doors of which were propped up. Not
only the yard fence, but all the fencesin
sight, were shattered and falling down.
The place, saw at a second glance,
was uninhabited, and from the forest of
tall dry thistles before the house door,
judged that it had not been occupied for
along time, At tleast, I thought, shall
not be denied q nights lodging here.
There was fireplace in the rear of
the room, and after shouting to make
sure that no one was about to object, |
built prolligious fire, and going to the
barn, fetched in armfuls of old straw
there and made bed for myself.
was hEngry, yet still more tired, and
after time fell asleep.
wHEREsI CAME FROM.
In the spring of 1874, ! was as home
less and houseless as anybody in Boston.
was nineteen. My mother was dead,
aud my father, crippled sailor, was
an inmate of charitable institution.
The previous summer l had driven an
ice-cart, and had saved enough to carry
me partly through the winter. But |
could not get another job. If there is
anything in this whole world which will
Try ones soul, it is to hunt a job week
after week and month after month, and
oe met always by that one cold reply,
Not wanted.n
by February my money was all spent
upto that time had not the leastid
OF leaving the city and trying the coun-
tlry, for | knew nothing of it. But |
Knew brakeman named Leayett, on
the Boston & Maine Railroad, who had
an uncle living in the town of b, up
IN New Hampshire. This uncle, Leav-
et said, wanteda hand on his farm, and
he thought could get the place. He
gave me line TO him, and got me free
rae on the night freight with him to
Exeter. From Exeter walked to b.
cut when arrived the place was filed.
hardly showing what to do, I went
On inquifing for work, and had been
wandering two days when | came to the
ola deserted house. Here Istayed dur
ing the night.
nay waking was not very CHEEKY the
ne1t morning. | was wretchedly cold,
aaIAas had been faint and hungry the
nlgns before, was hungrier now. The
n' nnsaener' too, had turned foggy and wet.
D1earlly and not without some pain. I
sosep and looked about the inside of
she ola house. The bare, smoked and
Snpi SSnpiiastered rooms were the picture of
asssoiatlon. Ne No wonder, / thought, that
.a .Se previous inhabitants had abandoned
1ne place. Though there was little in
,aceihentto tarry longer, there was still
~ 70 go on seeking work where no
~ gahted to hire; and for the first time
~. rae idea OF staying here entered nv
;a ;aiaa' This was what thought: Here
S. 4 mouse and here is a farm. They are
WISE uIser'ed. Il nobody else wants them,
hoy ba cannot have them and make a
uome of them?
MI FIRST JOB IN THE COUNTRY.
,s!o na1 whether | lived here, or not.
ajoT" & something to eat, and set off
raa ,he road to farm-house, painted
.@a .eG, As drewvnear, a clatter Of forks
~oa uu spoons assured me that the folks
a;o..,' az breakfast. The outer door was
sa1 ssc stepped up and tapped at it.
oone IN, " some one called ont.
bat 'ered - ens and said, Good morningr'
astaS to you wish to hire any helpp, I
The house. = 'eH 70 tne man OF
Se you the chap that had a ire in