The Indiana State sentinel. [volume] (Indianapolis) 1868-1895, 1893-07-19
40 FARM LIFE FOR HIM.

paul Quace" and His Ideas of Life in
the Country Hot Day.
ESTEEMED HAWARDS-I wish 1
owned all the poets and other idiots who
continually chirp about the glorious,
free, happy life of the farmer.
If l die, when some of these days mer-
curry crawls out of the tube and goes TO
hunt a fan 1 would waltz them out of
their esay chairs on the shady side of
he house and put them in the harvest
where old Sol could have a fair show al
them and fry them in their own fat as
they merrily tripped round a forty-acre
wheat field to the tune Of a six-foot
new tune. If they could get enough
sweat out of their eyes to restore vision
they would cast a Wistful glance at the
shade of the sugar tree just across the
fence and in that one glance they would
see more poetry in that little shade
than all the poets combined ever wrote
about the merry life of the farmer.
1t is nice TO sit in the pleasant shade
and talk about gathering in the golden
harvest, and drink ice water and wag a
palm leaf fan, but when you get out into
the golden grain and begin to gfrdIe il
up with itself and pour your perspiration
on each bundle till you think it will rot
in the shock. you will hold your hands
TO your throbbing brow and wonder If
the tune don't change keys somewhere.
On, ye warbling poets, try it. Come out
of your shady hooks, tie up your long
locks, don your overalls and try it for
one day.
Get up at early dawn and hustle. hus-
tie, hustle, till fair Luna is smiling down
upon you. Then seek your humble
couch. and as dead in spirit but alive
with chiggers you toss number Of
sleepless hours away, wonder how on
earth you are ever going to do all in
one day that is absolutely necessary to
De done on the morrow. Next morning,
instead OF pouring forth a song about
the jolly farmer who grows wheat at a
cost of so cents per bushel and sells for
30, you will sing Of the cramped up city
man who buys the farmgs wheat for
50 cents and sells it for IS
Life on the farm is not what it is
cracked up 10 be. The farmer is no
more a lord of creation than the black
smith. carpenter, merchant or anything
else OF the kind. He is not as much of
a lord Of creation, for for what he buys
he must pay the other fellows price,
and for what he sells he must take the
other fellows price. The millionaire,
who don't know corn from horseweeds
In the neld, Is the man who is indie
pendent and lives on his own resources.
He is fat and sleek. his stomach was
never punched by the pillow handles
and he never felt the heat of a midsum-
mer's sun, and, Notwithstanding all that
was ever written against him. I'd give
up every enchanting bliss and sweet
communion with nature that turks on
the farm where l stay. and throw In
my wages besides TO trade places with
him. Free and glorious indeed. when
viewed from afar by longshaired, roman
tic loafers, but IL these fellows will GO
onto a farm and make a practical anaIy-
sis they will find that all this concen-
trated extract OF bliss resolves itself
into work Of the genuine article
potice in the latter part Of ''Tuscurn-
bag communication ne mentions my
name. but. ALAS my dictionary was
thumbed to pieces long before / reached
that part, and / know not what he
means. 1t Is possible he was alluding
TO the erschenderwhenco-
whopperlite IN Schaffelooster's schan-
schandercooperoodle, yet know not, for
I know not "Tuscumbia" However. 7
dread TO think Of the dire consequences
should copy OF Schumsterwhacker-