Norwich bulletin., 1912-08-10
WHAT PETER BRAG DOES TOO EXCEPTIONAL
 TO BE PRACTICAL

with no stove and only water soaked wood, and nothing to grease the grid dle
 It may be mise tu dreem uv doin' erate things bian bi," saith the rural philosopher, but 1t pays better to do what you kin, now" It isn't what we farmers would like to do,-it isn't even what we know we might do with ample capital, that we want to be taught It is what we can do with our tools and our land and our equipment, such as we have, or can afford.
 We know that those stony back pastures with their swampy inter wales are mighty good land. We don't need an outsider, however expert, to tell us that. Peter Brag, if he finds them on his place, orders stone crusher and an engine and a gang of men, and a few carloads of tile. He clears off the rocks and drains the sWamps, and nonchalantly signs a check on his city banker to pay the bill Then he raises a whacking crop on the reclaimed acres and patronizingly remarks over his should CT to his neighbors: There, that's the way to farm it." He actually thinks he is showing the slow -witted country pumpkins some thing they didn't know before.
 If he would sayj That's one way to farm it" he would be right. More over, his methods would be interesting and informative,-to other gentlemen farmers with previously amassed capi- tai.
 But what he does on a suburban farm with unlimited funds to draw on IS not only useful, 1t isn't even in teresting to the average farmer in the remote country, who must first wiring from the reluctant acres the money to pay for them as well as to pay for all improvements upon them. It may be nice to dream about doing things that way; but day dreaming is poor business for the average farmer. He must do what he can, now. After all, I'm inclined to think that if we'd all do just that,-do what we can, when we can,-Pm inclined to think some of us would be a shade better off at the end of the year than we usually are. Do any of you re- member that quaint old English phrase I once quoted,-"Doe ye nexte | thyngge?" There's always some next thing" to be done. It's the one that
 
 | putting the hoe away and points to the hammer and the shingle pile and the hole in the barn roof. When that's patched it trots right over to the | clogged drain which needs cleaning out. And on the way back it rubbs up against a fence-post where a couple of staples have pulled out. It | isn't till the sun has long set and the evening shadows are dimly merging into the all-pervading shade of night that the next thing ceases its calls upon us
 It's slow, tiresome work following that next thing around a New Eng land farm. But the most of us have to do it. Moreover, it's frequently irri- tating, being often pitiably trivial, seeming scarcely worth the effort it demands. Yet 1t is still true that many a nickle makes a muckle." !" The continual and faithful doing of small things often results in great things. It may in my case; it may in yours.
 l Our conditions prohibit us from do- ing great things, all at once Very well; we can do the little things that are before us, as well as we know how, i as faithfully as if they really were great things, and as cheerfully as the state of our flyers will permit.
 If we all do just that, the Big Boss of the Universe isn't going to dock us in wages nor give us our time.
 If we don't do just that, who shall charge Him with injustice in doing either, or both? THE FARMER.