The Indiana State sentinel. [volume] (Indianapolis) 1868-1895, 1889-04-24
THE FARMER Is AT FAULT.
PROTECTION cANKeR AT HIS WTALs.
Some Sober Words Upon the Present Stu.
ariOn-Other Information For the
Agriculturist-One Way To
Beat the Irvine Trust.

What ais the Western farmer? asks
the Chicago Herald Why does he OBJ
serve the denudation of his soil and the
desertion of his sons without striving to
know the cause? With the canker of pro-
lection knawing at his vitals, why does ne
not address himself to the disease? The
railway managers have had sordid reasons
for the maintenance Of a system which
hindered the usefulness of their roads.
But the farmer owns stock in no mill. He
makes no contract. He does not stock his
farm and then vote himself S25, 900 salary.
be does not consolidate with his neighbor
and water the two capitals tor twice their
value. Why should he uphold a reign of
false economy that reduces the value of
farms and products and deprives the agri-
culturists OF all the advantages accruing
from the benefits of twenty-five years OF
constant labor and wonderful invention?
Is it true that the farmer reads little
Has he ceased TO till his mind? Did he,
when he was a harness-maker in 1862,
read the daily paper with zest? Did he,
after he moved up on the farm, welcome
the visitor who brought the daily news?
| Does the same host now, in his old age.
! gaze indifferently on the same courtesy OF
his visitor? Have the years Of toll reduced
| that farmer to peasantry?
Is the farmer twenty years behind the
age? When Louis Napoleon was Ere
| elected" in 1870 it was said the French
| farmers thought they were voting for the
Little Corporal. Are American agricul-
| turists equally conservative? The tariff
| reformer laid the truth before our far
mers last fall. But the republican orator,
| familiar with the premises. dwelt on that
! last fond look the farmers eldest son gave
| the old place as he marched away to
! Shiloh. The farmers eye was on the
| dead past. Will he, at some decade in
the future. be growing angrier at the
wickedness of the present war tariff when
| the question shall be grown with sod, as
| is the hornets nest and the peach orch
ard?
Awake to-day, tillers of the great valley
Your house is on fire; your children will
| burn The third stage of an awful plague
sits on the brow of fair land. The gov
eminent swollen with pride and AFRO
| gance, winnows your entire wheat crop.
! Apparent idlers have set up scandalous
| pretensions of value for their services.
International trade is long abandoned.
American ships are rotted and gone.
Gigantic consultations of goods stolen
| from the labor of the nation mount 10
heaven and keep the bright sun away
from once happy and hopeful yeOmanry.
Reduce these odious and profigate ex
penses of S379,000,000 a year. Collect
only half as much, and collect it without
the robbery which has made American
methods the establishment of the world.
Reduce stock-waterers, lobbyists, monop-
olists and tariff-masters to the honest
ways of toll, such as are practiced in the
long and black burrows of Illinois. Do
| not be played upon like HGBslet's pipe,
discoursing most excellent music for
thieves-for human pride, rapacity and
false ambition.
Will the farmer be man or peasant?
Does he worship the son of the father,
| like any clout in Italy or Russia? Will
the farmer of Illinois presently walk to
the ballot-boX and vote intelhgently? If
he should do it but once the dishonest,
avaricious, aristocratic war tariff would
disappear like the airy fabric of vision.
Jingle OBJ De Cow Bell.
In spring. when de fields all kivered wild green,
An de clover bloom smells in de ar,
An de wet in de grass kinder tickles yet feet,
An de red bugs mex er Niger sw ar,
Den am de time dat de darby hubs de mos.
When dev comes erloug home hind der plOws,
In de cool OBJ de day, when dey hears all errOun'
De jingle OBJ de bells on de COWS.
When de jimpson weed pops up outen de groun
An de dog fennel runs il er race,
An when de lightnin'-bug do scatter roun' its
sparks,
An dabs em now an den in yer face,
Den comes de music dat am sveetes' an beS'-
At leasten dat's how dis darky lows,
As softly dar ripples froo pastures o green
De ringn oh de bells on de cows.
When de bluebird comes wild er straw In its beak
To de hole whar de woOdpecker bored,
When red-bTeasted robins hunts erroun' fer der
mud,
When de black swallow swings in de gOurd,
Deu f'om de- ole meadow way down by de eriek
Or de orchard neat young apple-boughs,
Steals gentle de musical sound dat we lub-
De tinkle oh de bells on de cows.
When de sun goes down in er thick clump o. pines
When de frawg in de swamp gins to croak,
An de whippoOrwill jines wild er doleful chune,
While de owl boots Ia de oak;
In de sol breeze dat comes loaded down vid its
sweets
F'om de meadow whar slick cattle browse,
Oar floats wild er freshness dat nebblr gifts ole,
De jingle oh de bells on de COWS.
Edward A. Oldham in the Century.
One Way to Beat the Irvine Trust.
[Chicago News
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