And jest to convince you, and have no disputes, How little he knowed, I'll tell you his "mode," As he called it, o' raisin' "the best that growed," In the way o' potatoes-- Cucumbers--tomatoes, And squashes as lengthy as young alligators. 'Twas allus a curious thing to me How big a fool a feller kin be When he gits on a farm after leavin' a town!-- Expectin' to raise himself up to renown, And reap fer himself agricultural fame, By growin' of squashes--WITHOUT ANY SHAME-- As useless and long as a technical name. To make the soil pure, And certainly sure, He plastered the ground with patent manure. He had cultivators, and double-hoss plows, And patent machines fer milkin' his cows; And patent hay-forks--patent measures and weights, And new patent back-action hinges fer gates, And barn locks and latches, and such little dribs, And patents to keep the rats out o' the cribs-- Reapers and mowers, And patent grain sowers; And drillers And tillers And cucumber hillers, And horries;--and had patent rollers and scrapers, And took about ten agricultural papers. So you can imagine how matters turned out: But BROWN didn't have not a shadder o' doubt That Smith didn't know what he was about When he said that "the OLD way to farm was played out." But Smith worked ahead, And when any one said That the OLD way o' workin' was better instead O' his "modern idees," he allus turned red, And wanted to know What made people so INFERNALLY anxious to hear theirselves crow? And guessed that he'd manage to hoe his own row. Brown he come onc't and leant over the fence, And told Smith that he couldn't see any sense In goin' to such a tremendous expense Fer the sake o' such no-account experiments "That'll never make corn! As shore's you're born It'll come out the leetlest end of the horn!" Says Brown, as he pulled off a big roastin'-ear From a stalk of his own That had tribble outgrown Smith's poor yaller shoots, and says he, "Looky here! THIS corn was raised in the old-fashioned way, And I rather imagine that THIS corn'll pay Expenses fer RAISIN' it!--What do you say?" Brown got him then to look over his crop.-- HIS luck that season had been tip-top! And you may surmise Smith opened his eyes And let out a look o' the wildest surprise When Brown showed him punkins as big as the lies He was stuffin' him with--about offers he's had Fer his farm: "I don't want to sell very bad," He says, but says he, "Mr. Smith, you kin see Fer yourself how matters is standin' with me, I UNDERSTAND FARMIN' and I'd better stay, You know, on my farm;--I'm a-makin' it pay-- I oughtn't to grumble!--I reckon I'll clear Away over four thousand dollars this year." And that was the reason, he made it appear, Why he didn't care about sellin' his farm, And hinted at his havin' done himself harm In sellin' the other, and wanted to know If Smith wouldn't sell back ag'in to him.--So Smith took the bait, and says he, "Mr. Brown, I wouldn't SELL out but we might swap aroun'--