220 An American Fruit-Farm 



old, but usually the business within has changed 

 hands repeatedly. So too in the country : ' ' This is 

 the same fruit-farm, but the A-y-l-s no longer 

 own it; the children did not care for fruit-farming; 

 the girls got married; the boys went to Chicago.'* 

 In city or country the boys do not follow the 

 vocations of the fathers; farm-boys become bank- 

 ers; bankers' sons become fruit-farmers. The suc- 

 cession is as uncertain in the city as in the country. 

 In affairs of state we call it a revolution, when the 

 Bourbons cut off the young King of Rome from 

 the throne of Napoleon, or the Prince Imperial, 

 missing his seat in the saddle in Africa, is cut off 

 by a savage spear, and the Republic goes on. 

 There are like vicissitudes in private life; every 

 station runs the risk of exile. The parents would 

 prevent this but the young folks seemingly covet 

 it. The farmer's son hates the farm; the banker's 

 son hates the bank; the doctor's son hates the very 

 odor of his father's office. The mere mention of 

 orchard or vineyard brings up a picture in the farm- 

 boy's mind of February fingers fumbling to trim 

 interminable rows of interminable vines ; of ladders 

 of weary weight and height; of endless bushels of 

 apples swaying out of reach in a high wind, and 

 never a dollar for the boy himself. The boy was 

 thinking of how much pleasure that dollar would 

 give him; his father was thinking of how many 

 apples he was giving for a dollar, and quite forgot 

 the boy. What if the father had invested the 

 dollar in the boy by giving him a slight share in 



