THE TIM BUXKER PAPERS. 289 



NO. 80. TBI BUNKER ON THE FOOD QUES 

 TION. 



&quot; I knew we should catch it to-day,&quot; said Seth Twiggs, 

 as he came into our house on the evening of Thanksgiving 

 Day, and seating himself comfortably upon the settle, 

 blew a ring of smoke out of his mouth, as if it had been 

 shot out of a rifle. &quot; The Parson ginerally hits the nail 

 on the head, and hit it square to-day, no mistake. \Ye 

 have sent off too many of our boys to the city. There 

 isn t so much breadstuff raised in Hookertown as there 

 was fifty years ago, and if it keeps on at this rate, some 

 body has got to starve by and by.&quot; 



&quot; That is to say, if every place is just like Hookertown,&quot; 

 I responded. 



Neighbor Twiggs remark had reference to Mr. Spoon- 

 er s Thanksgiving sermon, which was pretty much like 

 all his sermons, whether on Sundays or not, &quot; a word in 

 season.&quot; You see, Mr. Spooner, like myself, belongs to 

 the old school of folks, who have got so accustomed to 

 making up our own minds on public questions, that we 

 can t afford to take our opinions second-hand. You see, 

 most people around here in Connecticut have got a dread 

 ful hankering after city life and fashions. They want 

 something better than farming for their sons and daughters, 

 though, according to my notion, farming, taking the long 

 run, pays better than any other calling upon the face of 

 the earth. The boys that grow up around here ar&quot;e smart, 

 and would probably do well at almost any thing, if they 

 had a fair chance. But Hookertown can t hold em any 

 more than a pot can hold boiling water. Some of them 

 have gone down South to try their fortunes, some to 

 the West, but more to the city, which threatens to swallow 



