254 MY FARM. 



peats again, mix strangely ; a horned beetle dashes 

 at his forehead, and makes him wakefiil for a mo 

 ment ; there is a frog droning in the near pond very 

 drowsily peats peats peats ; the drift of the 

 professor is lost ; Pat ruminates on the step ; a big 

 miller flaps out the flame of his candle ; it is no mat 

 ter our fine young fellow is in a sound snooze. 



So much for the working farmer ; and we cannot 

 have armies Avithout privates ; and privates are many 

 of them fine young fellows. 



Isolation of Farmers. 



I AM reminded that a farmer has no need to fag 

 himself with hard field work. To a certain 

 extent this is true ; but only &quot; A master s eye fattens 

 the horse, and only a master s foot the ground.&quot; 



If farming be undertaken as an amusement, ab 

 sence is possible ; indeed, the longer the absence, the 

 greater the amusement to the onlookers ; but if 

 farming be undertaken as a business, presence is im 

 perative presence, with its associations, and its com 

 parative isolation. 



Of the more familiar associations, a type may be 

 had in Pat, sitting on the doorstep at dusk, ruminat 

 ing and smoking a black-stemmed pipe. The isola 

 tion is less obvious, but more galling. Farms do not 



