76 Old Days on the Farm 



'er the red field that trampling strife has torn, 

 Waves the green plumage of thy tasselled corn; 

 Our maddening conflicts scar thy fairest plain, 

 Still thy soft answer is the growing grain." 



POETEY VERSUS CORN CULTIVATION 



Mention of poetry in connection with farm life 

 invites me to recall an incident at a rural home 

 that I know well: They were sons of the soil, 

 neighbours, and old, and that day had been attend- 

 ing a meeting of the Farmers' Parliament. Jo 

 had invited his old friend Jim, to linger a while 

 and take tea with him. 



As they ate in the comfortable farmhouse din- 

 ing-room they discussed the addresses they had 

 listened to that afternoon. 



''Did ye hear, Jo, what that chap said about 

 farmers givin' more attention to poetry 'stead o' 

 wearin' theirselves out cultivatin' corn an' other 

 crops?" said the visitor. 



"I did, Jim, an' I jest could hardly keep from 

 interruptin' er laughin' out loud. Dinged non- 

 sense, that's what it was. Think o' you an' me 

 Jim, makin' up verses, as well as readin' 'em, for 

 that's what he meant we should do." 



''Ever try yer hand at rhymin', er verse-makin ', 

 Jo?" 



"Not in recent years, Jim," replied the host 

 with a furtive glance at his aged wife. 



"But you did onc4. Grandpa," broke in the 

 young granddaughter who often visited the old 



