The progressive farmer. [volume] (Winston, N.C.) 1886-1904, 1891-12-01

every seed lit up by a smile of love
ah, it could not but flourish under such
circumstances. The hand that guides
the plOw guides the world, and the girl
that watches from some farm house
near guides hat hand. What throne,
what kingdom the plOW- boy is mon
arch Of. The world, with all its faults
and fOllieS and Inconsistencies, still
recognizes worth when worth demands
its dues; but every bird must sing its
own song, and every star must shed its
own glory, and every plOW- boy must
plOw his own field, and show the world
that he was born for success. Failure
belongs not to a herO's dictionary.
This is a theme that would make some
novelist famous, as it did William
| Langley, who in the fourteenth cen
tury wrote "LiheS de PetTO PiO1Cnld3t,
a gem Of literature that is unexcelled.
All, like the music Of a lovers dream
seems the beauty of a plOw- boys life
This carries us back to the old farm
| house, to mOss-cOvered bucket that
| hangs in the well, to the old watch
| dog keeping sentinel by the old gate
| post, to the farmers daughters, and
! to q thousand ChOruses that memory
loves to sing aud viii ever love 10 muse
! upon.
| PIow. boys. O dear and smart are
! the echoes that hearken to that name.
! There's many a D. d, many an LII. d.
many a Governor, yea, many q PreSi
| dent, that can look back to the time
when they were plOw boys The pillow
! is the power behind the throne in this
! land Purity of purpose in any soul
ought to accomplish great deeds.
want to see the day when things will
not be judged by mOneyed influence,
by prejudice, by social economy, but
by merit. want to see the time when
a plOw-boy or factory operator, or a
clerk, shall be as honorable as a presi
dents son; that is if his integrity and
honor and worth is as great. 1t is not
so now. You say here Is a plOW-bOy
Though he is learned in all the S ;iences
and arts, though he can plead upon the
stage the equal with any, though he is
a genius-yOu lose sight of everything
in your opinion of him but the fact OF
his duties.
A profession does not make charac
ter. Can a farmer not be true to his
own interests and yet be educated? &c
to work, plow boys, night and day
and show the world that you can &c
something besides plow. Let the lamp
or fire torch find you by it's side in the
silent watches of the night, tOiling fot
wisdom to make the world better
Sleep not in idle dreams when there Is
such a destiny before you. OFT times
me thinks that man has not time tC
! live hardly. His duties are so count
! less, las Opp0r .unities 50 wide. Ans
/ then talk of resting; would that our
I natures did not require sleep, for We
. have no time to sleep There's toe
/ many paths to cross, too many furr0Ws
to plow, too many fields to harrow, tcC
/ many seed to SOW, too much grain tC
/ garner. All, life is too short for it.
| opportunities, It's battles are too
| fierce for the time iii battle OF course
we can lay our armOr down and lose
the battle, but is that the glory ot
| heroes?
Again, above all, the plow boys
| golden opportunities above all hi
natural advantages, Is the privilege oI
wOOlng the country girls. The glory OF
this thought is sweeter than an angels
dream, fairy song, a Cherublm
smile Only this and nothing more
except I, city chap, would like to bf
plOw boy for this reason, if no more
'Tis sweet, indeed, to sit amid the
zephyrs of q summers eve, near some
sparkling spring, and as the mockina
bird or nightingale sings their evening
lullabys listen to the words Of love
from some fair country queen. The
price of this privilege is above rubies
and emeralds" Or in winter months
when cold winds howl their dOlefu
sounds. and when every cloud has &
snowy lining, 'tis grand to sit beside
some country fireside and chat the
farmers daughters. All, this is as
near Heaven as mortal man can gel
without the use Of angel wings, and
then those wings would have to bt
tipped with brightest gold and linked
to the heart strings of music.
As a babe seeks its mothers breast
to weep away its tears, SO mankind
seeks the memories Of its childish fol
lies for comfort You may climb tC
the summit of fama-be the IDOL q
every cline, yet would you not cherish
your ploW-bOy days as the tendere-t
rose on Iife's bush The plow- boy works
and waits and weeps and goes before
his God and asks His blessings upOL
himself and others. He knows not the
philosophy, the theology of prayer
He believes the truths that he lisped al
his mothers knees and leaves the rest
with his Maker. @. ED. KESTLER.
LETTER FROM RAFT SWAMI
ALLIANCE, NO. A.