ANNUAL MEETING. 4i> 



crowding tho only method of growth. Whichever one, or whether all of them 

 were the cause, they are all thraldoms from which Columbia's shores Creed those 

 who reached them. Is it a wonder, then, that our fathers, those who created 

 as it were, the mould in which was cast the form of American habit, in the 

 rebound from their strictures about their former life, should come to feel that 

 any breadth of free land about them could but be a blessing. Thus, too, rose 

 that class of men, — a most useful one to us than more ease-loving followers, — 

 who, when population has become so dense that the smoke from a neighbor* £ 

 fires rises within sight of their doorstep, feel themselves uncomfortably crowded 

 and begin to think of ''pulling up stakes" and once more acting on their 

 favorite cue, the famous advice of Horace Greeley, even though they be no- 

 longer young, and by reason of age it has long since ceased to apply to them. 



In this way have we sprung from one extreme to an opposite which is hardly 

 less objectionable, and in seeking to escape the evils of crowded life we have too 

 nearly lost the blessings of social life. Man was created a social being. It is 

 not well for him to dwell apart from his fellows. Contact and friction with 

 other minds is needed to polish the rough corners of his nature and to preserve 

 it from assuming strange and distorted shapes. The mind corrodes or rusts 

 unless stirred by the healthy surging of social welcome. Occasionally we hear 

 a wonder expressed that in this representative government of ours, the largest 

 class of our population — the food producers — are rarely ever represented by one 

 of their own number. And it is true, for the Rip Van Winkle-like separation 

 to which a man generally dooms himself in accepting the life of a farmer, but 

 too surely leaves him behind in the march of ideas, lingering among the notions 

 of his early life. 



This is the chief drawback from rural life. All other instincts of man's be- 

 ing entice him to the country. In it he is in constant contact with unhidden 

 nature, and her varied charms are but his daily portion. Strength, vigor, 

 health and comfort, all await him. Childhood's sweet delightsome memories 

 of happiest hours spent in roaming through deep forests or eager watching over 

 silent pool, of joyous harvest and snug winter home, of swelling bud and open- 

 ing leaf, of the full bright livery of laughing summer ; these and much more 

 lure him on, — but whither? away from his kind, away from that generous 

 emulation which is as a constant spur to the maintenance of the form and 

 comeliness of life. 



That farmers feel this want, this void in their lives, is seen in many ways. 

 How is the most casual errand made the excuse for a lengthened visit, and trips 

 to town are made on the slightest pretext and often occupy the entire day. A 

 social friend, whose farm lay within easy walk of town, was joked about his 

 trouble with potato bugs, and it was suggested that if he brought but one each 

 visit to the town his farm would soon be free. Thus it is with the men, who in 

 these and other ways, and by the variety of this out of door life, succeed in 

 hiding to some extent the nakedness of their lives out of their sight. But how 

 is it with the farmers' wives? Let the melancholy statistics of insanity answer. 

 Of women, more recruits to the asylums of our country are drawn from among 

 farmers' wives and daughters than from any other class. Theirs is not the open 

 field and tho blue sky. Four walls enclose their field, and beyond these walls 

 stretch weary rods of muddy road to the nearest neighbors. Few farmers can 

 afford an extra horse to bridge this district, and the home can seldom spare its 

 mother for the length of time needed to make a distant visit. Is it strange that 

 young girls who see both sides, should hesitate to follow even the voice of love 



