While travelling from New York to Philadelphia I saw men at work in the fields for the first time in two weeks. I had been enjoying the great drama of business in one of the greatest cities of the world. But the sight of men at work in the fields suddenly reminded me that while walking the streets I was missing the annual production of "crops"--a drama as old as Time, that will run until the end of Time. As the significance of what was in progress dawned on me and gripped my imagination, I was puzzled to decide whether I should review this play as a tragedy or as a roaring farce. From one point of view it is pitiful to the point of tears; from another, it is broadly comic. Before deciding what treatment it shall be given, let us analyze the plot of the wonderful performance that will hold a world-wide stage through the spring, summer, and autumn. If we give it our undivided attention we shall find that it covers every form of human activity, and reveals in rapid action all the possibilities of human nature. It is the one play in all the world that deserves to be introduced by the greatest prologue ever written. "O for a Muse of fire, that would ascend The brightest heaven of invention, A kingdom for a stage, princes to act, And monarchs to behold the swelling scene." Having suggested the magnitude of the performance, I shall ask you to mark the performance, either in the theatre of your imagination, or by going out into the fields where it will be enacted; I am going to ask you to "Admit me Chorus to this history: Who, prologue-like, your humble patience pray Gently to hear, kindly to judge, our play."