26 MR. Oliver's address. 



now, or has been, an uneducated man ; but he is not, and has 

 not been educated enough. He must be educated still furth- 

 er, — educated specially for the great work of his calling, that 

 he may be enabled to bring forth greater and better results, by 

 the application of a more enlarged mind, and a wider and more 

 liberal study in Agricultural Science j that he may be enabled 

 to double his crops, without exhausting or impoverishing his 

 soil ; nay, by actually enriching it, may secure the largest re- 

 turn for the money expended and the labor bestowed ; — and 

 educated collaterally, that he may, as a good citizen, mindful 

 and watchful of the best interests of his country, take a 

 prominent part, either as an elector, or as an elected mem- 

 ber of some branch of Town, County, State or National 

 Government. All these he must do well, and he may and will 

 do them well, if he be well educated. All this he may do, 

 without peril of becoming a brangling demagogue, or a hun- 

 gry seeker for place and for its profits. I think his acquired 

 tastes as a farmer, will protect him against temptation in this 

 direction. For I cannot conceive, if he be a true farmer, and 

 a devoted lover of a farmer's life and a farmer's joys, that he 

 would be willing to change the plough and the sweet odor of 

 field and wood, the varied cheerful music of nature that fills 

 and blesses the country air, the secure quiet of his home, — his 

 fields of ripening ccJrn, his sheaves of golden wheat, his ruddy 

 apples, the mellow fruits of his orchard, — his rich crops of 

 yellow grain, his mown lands, glittering with sun and dew, — 

 his verdant pastures, and his groves, " God's first temples," 



" His rills, melodious pure and cool, 



And meads with life and mirth and beauty crowned;" — Beattie's Minstrel. 



his majestic oaks, and beautiful elms, — his herds of lowing 

 cattle and his bleating sheep, — his mountains, valleys, hills, — 

 the glories of his early morns, the gorgeous beauty of his set- 

 ting suns, and the radiant shine of his harvest moons, — the 

 fantastic yet brilliant garb of his autumn leaves, — for all the 

 pomp and circumstance, the tinselled dazzle and the cumbrous 

 splendor of fashion and the town, — for a bald chance of a first 

 and last speech beneath the dome of the Senate, or for a rude 



