le.
Nothing was kept in order. Nothing was preserved. The wagons stood
in the sun and rain, and the plows rusted in the fields. There was
no leisure, no feeling that the work was done. It was all labor and
weariness and vexation of spirit. The crops were destroyed by wandering
herds, or they were put in too late, or too early, or they were blown
down, or caught by the frost, or devoured by bugs, or stung by flies,
or eaten by worms, or carried away by birds, or dug up by gophers, or
washed away by floods, or dried up by the sun, or rotted in the stack,
or heated in the crib, or they all run to vines, or tops, or straw, or
smut, or cobs. And when in spite of all these accidents that lie in wait
between the plow and the reaper, they did succeed in raising a good crop
and a high price was offered, then the roads would be impassable. And
when the roads got good, then the prices went down. Everything worked
together for evil.

Nearly every farmer's boy took an oath that he never would cultivate
the soil. The moment they arrived at the age of twenty-one they left
the desolate and dreary farms and rushed to the towns and cities. They
wanted to be bookkeepers, doctors, merchants, railroad men, insurance
agents, lawyers, even preachers, anything to avoid the drudgery of the
farm. Nearly every boy acquainted with the three R's--reading, writing,
and arithmetic--imagined that he had altogether more education than
ought to be wasted in raising potatoes and corn. They made haste to get
into some other business. Those who stayed upon the farm envied those
who went away.

A few years ago the times were prosperous, and the young men went to the
cities to enjoy the fortunes that were waiting for them. They wanted to
engage in something that promised quick returns. They built railways,
established banks and insurance companies. They speculated in stocks
in Wall Street, and gambled in grain at Chicago. They became rich.
They lived in palaces. They rode in carriages. They pitied their poor
brothers on the farms, and the poor brothers envied them.

But time has brought its revenge. The farmers have seen the railroad
president a bankrupt, and the road in the hands of a receiver. They have
seen the bank president abscond, and the insurance company a wrecked and
ruined fraud. The only solvent people, as a class, the only independent
people, are the tillers of the soil.

Farming must be made more attractive. The comforts of the town must be