People's party paper. [volume] (Atlanta, Ga.) 1891-1898, 1892-10-07
THE AMERICAN PEASANT.

| =" W. VI ~nAN"5o3 NOAAS OAO VI viz
Ariel Library series. The introduce
ton is by Gen. Charles Fl. Vanwyck.
The story is of strange race, who
passed through political experiences
veryg like those of this country for
the last thirty years, but brought to
a final settlement by organization
among the farmers and producers.
The experience Of the heroine is
given by herself in an assembly en-
gagged in ascertaining the reason for
the degradation of the people:
I did not know that anything could
make me speak before SO many, she
said. Her tones were tense. Moth
ing but great sorrow could give
me voice. Tonight it has come to
me to see, as I have never seen be-
fore, the whole long road over which
I have travelled thus far in my life.
Usually It is almost as hard to see
distinctly that which has passed as
that which is to come. But tonight
I remember-I remember everything,
and [ see the Significance Of things.
Years ago 1 was very happy. [
thought work was a privilege. Rest
was only the spice of work. Life
seemed an opportunity for accom-
plishment. 1t seemed to me that I
had more energy and more happiness
in me than I could find time in the
short lease Of life to rightly expend.
When | married and went with my
husband to the piece of land which
we called our own, I felt as if life
could hold nothing more. 1t is true
that the ground was not really our
own, but felt that it soon would be.
l told myself that all we had to do
was to be patient for little while,
and to work. And it is easy to be
patient and to work when there is
hope in the heart. Besides, we loved
the ground. We liked the smell OF
It's fallowness. 1t was always mir
acle that the plants, the grains, the
fruits, came up out of the ground. 1t
was like having God speak to us. To
raise field of grain is almost like
creating it. You seem for time to
be in partnership with the Creator. |
did not mind rising very early in the
morning and going to bed late at
night. I did not mind when my
body ached and my head was dizzy
with fatigue. I continually saw in
my minds eye the beautiful field we
were rescuing from the wild. My
responsibilities grew year by year.
But [ subdued the body. thought
only of our independence. was will
ing to bear my full share of the bur-
den. [ have helped to pillow, to SOW,
to reap. But l could not stand it to
see him loved so bowed with labor,
and do nothing to help him. His
face seemed to me to be changing
every day. It was growing haggard.
Besides, it had look of being con-
quered. sometimes thought it look
ed like the face of a slave. That,
more than anything else, pierced my
heart. My happiness was gone. It
was not that | was tired of work, or
that I was afraid of the responsible
tiles that had come upon me. 1t
was that | could not see the end-it
was impossible to longer anticipate
any fortunate result was begin
ming to lose my hope. My hands,
when looked at them, l discovered
to be hard. They had lost their
shapeliness. And | had always so
loved beautiful forms. When | look
ed in the glass | had to confess that
my beauty was gone. No grace was
left me, only terrible capacity for
work. Sometimes feared my hus-
band would think of me no other
way than as a drudge. fused often to
think Of the children of my neighbors
who were growing up around me,
and to be thankful that I had none.
For what knowledge Of beauty, of
courtesy, could I have given them in
the midst of this incessant drudgery?
Life to them must have seemed moth
ing better than a servitude. They
would have seen the toll, but they
could not have seen the benefits
aarising from 81. Indeed, it was the
some with ourselves, 1t was not
strange that when, day after day, we
lived without pleasure, diversion or
luxury, our lives began to grow grim
and sad, and even devoid of gracious
ness. 1 have sometimes thought the
very tones of our voices changed.
The modulations are gone. That is
the result Of frightful monotony.
The vivacity also has vanished. We
do not laugh. We are old before
our time. And now, after these years
Of sacrifice, after having given our
selves up to continual labors, after
having gone without all that makes
life lovely-without travel, and music,
and books, and pictures; without
leisure for friendship, or even con-
temptation; without reserve of
strength, over and above our daily
tasks, even for worship face the
fact that we are no nearer the end of
our toll than the day our tasks begapo
Our wheat has grown to plenteous
harvests. 1t has found a ready