552 Transactions ot the A^ierican Institute. 



apes ; for his f^enius and skill demonstrate the order of progi*ess and 

 the power of development to lie in the opposite direction to that which 

 obtains with them. Would these gentlemen but study fossils none 

 the less, and fact8 of the living world a great deal more, thej would 

 learn that it is through the farmer that inferior forms and qualities of 

 animal and vegetable life are developed into superior, and that instead 

 of their having the power inherent to carry it on, they invariably go 

 backward in the direction of their ancestral inferiority when his skill 

 and care are withdrawn. Every farm-yard, garden and orchard proves 

 • this. The eglantine is not adequate of itself to produce the profusion 

 of beauty and perfume displayed by its relatives of the garden ; the 

 ability is with the florist, because the power of development is in him 

 and not in it. There is no power in the bitter almond of the east to 

 become the luscious peach of the New York market. Things don't 

 lift themselves up, nor is organic life pushed up from below. The 

 source of development is intelligence ; primarily, Divine intelligence ; 

 proximately, human, which is an incarnation of the Divine ; and in 

 this, as made manifest by the farmer, lies the power of progress. 



The Farmer as a Poet and Pausttee. 

 The farmer, judged by his work, is a poet, a painter, a sculptor and 

 a philosopher. It will be his own fault if he fails to share the honors 

 due to these professions. His poem is infinitely more grand, and tlie 

 theme more sublime than tliat of Homer. Its words are things. Its 

 measure is not a mere jingling sound ; it is the harmony of beauty 

 and use. Its theme is not the war of Greek with Trojan ; it is the 

 conflict of intelligence with chaos. As a painter, his pictures live. 

 He hangs them in the summer air, and the birds love them and the 

 bee extracts their sweetness. As a sculptor, his statues breatlie. 

 They need no pedestal ; they are self-supporting. They adorn the 

 parks and avenues of cities,, and are to be found upon the hill-sides 

 which hide the abode of the unpretending artist, and shut out the 

 lionor and admiration which he has so justly earned. Let the world 

 be just. There is no monopoly of art; there should be none in its 

 rewards. There will be none when we become true critics. The 

 dapper citizen in scented gloves, lady on arm and glass in hand, 

 entering the academy of art exhibition, finds it necessary to mani- 

 fest a furor of admiration over a canvas landscape, a fruit-piece, or a 

 vase of flowers. He must know the artist, that he may honor him 

 with a dinner at Delmonico's. But that green meadow and field of 



