Norwich bulletin., 1910-06-11

I when he quietly remarked that he was l going to fight it out on that line, if il 1 took all summer. Forward by the left | flank" was the order that went out ] ing his northern approaches, that left I flank suddenly pricked him from the east. Hurrying there to meet and re- | pei the attack hardly had the last shell exploded than the imperturbabIe Grant was repeating his order, For
 ward by the left flank" and next morning the assault was renewed from the southeast. So it went on, day after
 day, till at last the weak spot was found, the weary defenders driven from their intrenchments and started on the wild race which ended at Ap- pomattox.
 1t was "doeged as done it," you'll ob-
 serve. What was it but sheer dog gedness of purpose and determina ton which held Washington and his shiv-
 ering. starving army through that horrible winter at Valley Forge, when the blood from the sentries' unshod feet stained the snow on their beats The ''elan'' of the French soldier is admittedly wonderful. He springs to battle as a fox to a chicken coop. His charge is a whirlwind, a tornado, furi- ous while 1t lasts-but soon over. When Napoleon's Old Guard charged the thin red line" at Waterloo it was nothing but sheer British doggedness that saved Europe. The stolid, slow, uninspiring Britons didn't break out into any bombast about dying but never surrendering. They simply stood their ground gritted their teeth, bang ed away with their slow old muskets as fast as they could, and died-rnost of theu-without thinking it was any thing more than a part of the days work. The finest body of the finest soldiery in the then world dashed it. self to annihilation against their dog gedness.
 When business misfortune stripped Mark Twain of all his slowly accumu- lated money and left him not only penniless. but also deep in debt, he spent time whimpering. Instead, he stubbornly began the task of pay ing his creditors and repairing his own fortune He was already an old man. The work was slow and the end un- certain. But he kept at it, steadily, unf1inchingly, doggedly- Northing in all his life was more admirable than this chapter. He never wrote any thing so valuable as that which he then did.
 It's taken me a long time to get to my real point this morning, but I've got there now. What want to preach to my fellow farmers, this time, is the virtue and the necessity of dogged- ness in our work. There are lots of us who can lay out a brilliant years campaign. We can plan our farming operations so that they will figure out. beforehand. a great success and pleasant profit. But when we come to translate the plans into practice, we find trouble. Difficulties arise which we couldn't foresee; losses occur which we couldn't expect; the season is backward beyond precedent; one thing delays after another; our accomplish ment falls far short of our hopes; at mid-June we are not as we'll along as yxra VIl fn ha a+ tT1 o.,1 r,f Nav Our tendency is to grow discouraged. to throw up our hands in despair, to give up the struggle as hopeless. That's the time which really tests us. It's the time which calls for dogged- ness.
 Any man can work across a field when he sees ten dollar gold piece waiting at the end of the row. Any of Us can be jolly when things are coming our way. But when the cold, sour spring has yellowed and stunted our sickly corn; when our shivering garden looks about as cheerful as a graveyard; when the market drops out making; when the best horse picks up a rusty nail on the road and has to go into horse hospital for a month while we struggle along with the nervous, untrafned colt; when our fungOus and insect and weather enemies are all around us. and above and beneath us then we need something besides skill and science and faith or hope or char ity. We need the simple old Anglo Saxon virtue of doggedness.
 Beaten? "Who says so?" "Not on your IifeI" Delayed we may be, hin- dered we may be; checked we may be; hungry and cold and sore we may be. What then? We farmers are here to fight 1t out on this line" Am re- pelled at my first attack? Better luck next time; my part is to pick myself up and go at the enemy again, and again, and yet again. In this war there is no retreat. I have read of a farmer who with one hired man, work 800 bushels of pota toes a year. He lost a leg and couldn't handle blow or hoe. So he bought a, su1ky blow. a planting machine a riding cultivator and a horse digger Now with that same hired man, he raises about 5000 bushels a year. He's making money with one leg where he used to make only living with two.
 of Matthew Arnold's poems which are not addressed to us farmers at all. But they are addressed to finchers in an- other field, and the spirit they incuI- cate is the one we all need:
 They outhissed thee, pIucked thee.
 tore thee?
 Better men fared thus before thee: Fired their ringing shot and passed; Madly charged-and fell at last. Charge once more then and be dumb: Let the victors, when they come, When the forts of folly fall,
 Find thy body by the walli"