The progressive farmer. [volume] (Winston, N.C.) 1886-1904, 1894-02-13

of natures God-creation's crown of
glory.
Thus 1 was musing as strolled along
the other night just about twilight
while the evening zephyrs were sigh
ing low and sweet and the timid angels
were just lighting the lamps of heaven
Just then I saw one of my pards sit
ting by the wayside looking as If he
had the weight of forty worlds upon
his soul. Yes, there he sat alone look
ing far out into the scarlet vaults OF
the sky, inlaid with a thousand stars.
And the world was moving On-mov-
ing on. Says I, well, pard, how's
tricks9 Seems to me like you are
kinder d~isconsolate this beautiful even
ing. What's up9 Reckon no old maid
has been after you with a broomstick9'
"Well," says he, there's lots the mat
ter. I've toiled and toiled for forty
years by day and prayed and prayed
forty years by night, and this is my
reward-only a tramp. Ican't under
stand it. 80" says ], lyon old farmer
wouldn't give you a square meal, that's
all. Cheer up, old boy, and remember
that to smile and the world smiles
with you, weep and you weep alone
And a tramp has no conscience, they
say, anyhow. AS long as one is on
the shady side of fortune all is fair and
lovely, but when the clouds come,
there's the rain. History does not even
give us a page for rememberance's
sake, poetry seldom mentions tramps,
the orator in their eloquent outbursts
forget to name us, and the lovers
thoughts are far from us, and the sol
der dreams not of the tramp In the
haystack as he marches to the wild,
grand music of Val.
But such is life. Only a few years
ago I was far from the borderland Of
tramphood. l was lone of the boys"
but my God I'm only a tramp to night.
Wonder if mother, far away among
the angel band, sees me to night" And
my pard was still looking far away
across the heath, and he never smiled
again. For want of something more
congenial to our tramp natures l told
my pard that I would give him a lee
ture. So l began. This is a tough old
world. Life at best Is anything else
but a dream of bliss, arainbow of love.
Consider it as you will you are bound
to conclude. after all your fancies and
theories, that life to day is a battle-a
dangerous, awful b tttle-frOm the
cradle to the grave. We have debts,
doubts, destruction, damnation, the
devil and a host Of other things to
fight every day, and it is very few who
can come out victorious. Ever and
anon we have faint chances of unsul
lied Joy, but, like the dewdrops before
the summers sun, they pass away
and leave the heart sad and discOnsO-
late There are thorns in every path
way flowers are rather scarce. Briers
grow without cultivation fruits scarce.
ly at all. Man rules the world; sorrow
rules man. 1t is natural to weep; to
smile requires an effort. Joy is the
hope of future blessings. To make a
requires u best thoughts, our
hardest efforts, our life. We are not
as becomes men of mind and
freedom; we are just staying here in
this roll Of tears because we have to.
The world is going to the devil at a
rate. Truth and character are
becoming obsolete. immortality is
rampant. 1t is often popular to do
wrong; it is considered a crime to al
ways do right. And the world wags
as it will. She has been wagging for
900 years-Wagging through war and
blood and trials and troubles-and l
suppose she will continue to wag away
for 5000 years more. We are here.
How we got here and why we were
put here and where we are going are
unanswerabIe questions. We love
sometimes and hate sometimes; welive
and we die and the world wags along.
This old world is full of splinters-
splinters in our thoughts, splinters in
our hopes, splinters in everything, Go
we will, do what we will, talk
as we will, we always find splinters.
Our dreams are even freckIed with
splinters. Everything is false and I'M
certain. There is nothing true but
Heaven" Faith is a dead issue. We
don't believe in anything these days.
There is no such thing as confidence
in God or man. Philan-
is restricted to a very narrow
Universal charity is not
known. Half the church members