The Knickerbocker, Vol. 22, No. 2, August 1843Various
General
The Knickerbocker, Vol. 22, No. 2, August 1843
Various
Periodicals
It is pretty well understood among farmers that no man can succeed
in their employment who hires his labor. The price of products is
so low that wages consume all the profits. And yet there is a great
deal of labor hired on the land by those who have lately begun to
cultivate it; and the farmer should know that these persons can
afford to lose five or six hundred dollars a year, and that they
expect to do so, while learning the art of country life, and still
be better off than they would had they continued in commerce at a
yearly loss of as many thousands.
Much surprise is often expressed by those unacquainted with the
facts, that the farm-houses of the country look so rough; that more
attention is not bestowed upon the cultivation of shade-trees and
pleasure-grounds. Why, they ask, are the houses unpainted? why is it
that the farmer's horse and cattle look as if they never felt the
curry-comb? His harness looks as if it were never washed, and the
owner himself only shaves on Sundays! Oh! farming must be a horrid
business! So dirty! such smells! and so slovenly! It will do well
enough in poetry and pictures, but Heaven preserve us from this
harrowing, dung-heaving life!
It must be confessed that the first business of the tiller of the
soil is to attend to his crops, his wheat-fields and corn-fields;
to think more of the fences around his pasture-lands than the
flower-garden before his house. He must think first of these, and
afterward of ornament. It must be confessed that the man who makes
money or who keeps his farm from running him in debt, 'in these
times,' must rise in the morning with his 'boys,' eat with them and
work with them. He must wear a coarse frock and thick boots, and
lead a rough but a healthful life. And we aver that the smell of the
barn-yard is like a bed of violets, when compared with the reeking
gutters of the city, and that the very gentlemen who take a pride
in eating cheese _all alive_, turn up their noses with a poor grace
of consistency at the earth-worms the plough-share turns up in the
furrow.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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