The progressive farmer. [volume] (Winston, N.C.) 1886-1904, 1892-08-02

borne across the beautiful bosom of the
Swananoa, the mellow bray of Mar
guerite. She came with a famished
snort, and Sheridan some twenty odd
miles away was nowhere. The was a
rattle of hoofs on the gravel drive, a
little glad cry of recognition from the
mamma, and the clay bank mule Mar
guerite was monkeying with what is
called the maternal font.
The reader can readily understand
how the Mule Marguerite, by connect
ing herself with my palfray, had hurt
me socially at Kenilworth inn, and
how the young lady who came here to
try the balsam and the healing of the
North Carolina mountains for her
fathers asthma excused herself to get
a heavier wrap, thereby intimating
that there was a GOODNESS between us,
also that I needed a heavier rap. Any
way, [ have never seen her since.
To return to our national roads, it is
a wonder that we have, as Americans,
SO long submitted to the savage and
dangerous ruts over which we haul
u empty, wabbly, worn wagons.
The eason is, doubtless, that we gen
orally select our choicest and densest
ass to superintend the building and
repair of III roads, and in many cities
our streets also. He works on the
roads in summer and sits on the jury
In winter. He is generally a man who
is selected because he has never been
outside of the county. He is noted for
his gravity, gloom and the opacity of
his mind.
Another reason is the same that has
been fatal to most all former move
ments, though started with the most
holy and honest motives, viz: that we
farmers cannot, like the residents of
cities, e each other every twenty
four hours and plot againsts other
trades. When we have done over
nineteen hours of work and another
hours wholesome thought interchange
with our calf kindergarten, and then
mutton tallowed our bunion, we must
needs rest in order to be up and COM
batting with the early bird for the i'll
advised worm.
Stil somehow the foreign peasant
in the several European countries, far
inferior to ours otherwise, has a road
owe which he hauls a carload as COM
pared with the silly little convention
jag which we see so often here.
l am patriotic, l had almost said, to
a degree. I shot away two solid hours
of fireworks here this year, sent to me
by the manager of Pain, the inter
national pyrotechnicker and faller of
Sebastopol, Picking, Rome and other
cities that had formed the habit of
falling; did it, too, where the celebra-
ton of the Fouth of July has so long
remained unObserved that the best
bird dogs here tried this year to
retrieve the common crackers, and
looked thoroughly ashamed when they
thought they had flushed a three pound
rocket; and yet 1 say that, patriotic
and ente rprising as we r in other
things, in education for instance, and
the ambition to have about eight more
churches than we a support in each
village, together with other real evil
dences Of advancement, we have got
the worst country roads that have been
permitted since the days when the
earth was a vast hot, steaming ball of
mud, fit only for a mighty lizard
farm.
Some states have by nature a de-
lightful country road. Kentucky was
born with good roads. So were Col
orado and Wyoming. In the very
heart of the Rocky mountains these
last two states have a natural roadbed
wherever it is needed. Forty and fifty
miles per day, with an ordinary team,
is the rule rather than the exception,
while in the spring, when the frost is
coming out Of the ground and the new
milk COW is a burden in the land, the
rich, deep, black country road of Iowa
and Illinois cannot be passed even by
a two-thirds majority.
But what are we to do9
We may laugh at it if we choose.
Some people have a wonderful control
over themselves in their grief. Once
there was a young man on board our
steamer, coming from Queenstown
homeward bound, who was the life of the
party. When others were i'll and had
gastritis quite considerably he was
always bit of sunshine. He could
tell stories-funny stories-tell them,
too, so that they sounded like reading