SEPTEMBKK 33 



load of produce as the country yields." But 

 who lias yet written the complete poem of the corn, 

 with all its episodes — the field stripped by hail; 

 the contented cattle g-leaning- ; the crow perched at 

 summit of stalk; the wind-bent shock robed by 

 snow ? 



Some fields are already black from the fall 

 I)loughing-; in others the ploughman halted a 

 weary team, waving a crumpled hat and watching 

 us till w^e passed from sight, or bent steadily above 

 the furrow, disdaining to notice the indolent trav- 

 elers. These figures of man and team against the 

 broad, open landscape soo'n vanished, and we were 

 racing through some little village where half the 

 inhabitants seemed '^dowm to the depot," to w^atch 

 the limited pass, and where the browai pouch flung 

 from our mail-car leaped along the platform like 

 a tumble-weed across wdndy, fenceless prairies. 



Across the state — by slough, creek and river ; 

 by meadow^ and pasture, hedgerow^, garden, grove, 

 and orchard ; stubble-field, rich black loam ; weeds, 

 flowers; by red men, wdiite men, black men; by 

 country school and village church. Never for 

 many miles at a time is the land really level even 

 to the traveler's eyes; always soon appear the 

 long slopes, the low, rounded hills, or the steep 

 banks along a stream. Turning to the human in- 

 terest, wdiat suggestion of local history lies in such 

 ])lirases as ''Coon Rapids" and "Sioux City," 



