Stable  Manure’s  Mishap. 
CHEM.  FERTILIZER  AND  MISS  ROSA  CLOVER. 
Old  Stable  Manure  was  an  Impudent  fellow, 
He  claimed  a  monopoly  corner  on  worth; 
He  thought  that  Dame  Nature  must  get  down  and  bellow, 
If  he  should  refuse  to  replenish  the  earth. 
He  got  to  be  arrogant,  boasting  unduly 
That  he  alone  carried  the  world  on  his  back. 
That  but  for  him.  progress,  now  really  and  truly, 
Would  slink  out  of  sight  in  some  opening  crack. 
He  was  a  stout  fellow,  for  years  he  had  carried, 
A  load  on  his  back  that  a  giant  might  drop. 
For  years  he  had  led  in  the  battle  and  parried 
The  blows  that  Starvation  aimed  at  the  food's  prop. 
And  yet  he  was  clumsy,  fat,  lazy  and  bulky, 
His  strength  was  enormous,  but  so  was  his  weight, 
A  big,  ugly  bully,  just  born  to  look  sulky. 
So  fat  that  he  walked  with  a  slow  waddling  gait. 
You've  seen  some  big  fellow  crush  out  opposition 
With  big  voice  and  bluster;  so  few  could  endure 
To  stand  up  and  argue  a  fair  proposition. 
Now  that  was  the  way  of  our  friend  S.  Manure, 
A  sort  of  a  Bourbon,  he  couldn’t  forget  things, 
No'matter  how  science  drove  them  oil  the  track, 
He  said:  “  Trust  to  me,  I  will  certainly  set  things 
To  rights!  Desert  me  and  I’ll  give  you  a  whack!  ” 
And  most  farmers  liked  him;  at  first  it  seemed  certain 
That  such  a  big  fellow  must  do  lots  of  work, 
For  none  of  them  cared  to  go  back  of  the  curtain, 
And  see  if  the  fellow  was  really  a  shirk. 
But  one  day  S.  Farmer;  his  name  “  Scientific,” 
Had  made  him  the  butt  of  the  whole  district  school, 
Got  scared  at  the  waste  and  the  labor  terrific 
Involved  in  old  Stable  Manure’s  iron  rule, 
“  ’Tis  true  ”  he  admitted,  “  He  does  work  a-plenty, 
But  why  should  I  carry  his  water  and  fat? 
He  eats  enough  food  to  provide  for  full  twenty, 
Do  I  get  the  cost  of  his  board  out  of  that? 
Now  some  of  these  fellows  with  lots  of  cheap  forage, 
May  keep  his  big  stomach  well  lined  with  good  meat, 
But  I’ll  have  to  feed  him  on  cod-fish  and  porridge, 
Or  else  the  two  ends  of  my  ledger  won’t  meet; 
My  produce  Is  worth  more  to  sell  in  the  village 
Than  keep  up  the  fat  of  a  hulking  hired  man; 
While  I  must  have  something  to  help  out  my  tillage, 
I’ll  squeeze  out  what  waste  and  what  water  I  can.” 
Then  Stable  Manure  with  an  impudent  swagger, 
Marched  up  and  demanded  a  raise  in  his  pay, 
That  made  the  farm  profits  grow  dizzy  and  stagger. 
He  “woke  the  wrong  passenger”  though  that  bright  day. 
For  Farmer  got  angry,  “  I’m  tired  of  your  way,  sir, 
Of  talking  to  me  as  though  you  were  the  boss, 
Your  money  is  ready  for  you  any  day,  sir. 
I’ve  stood  your  complaining  too  long  at  a  loss!  ” 
Then  Stable  Manure  grinned  in  ugly  defiance. 
As  much  as  to  say— “Go  ahead!  I  don't  care! 
You  can't  fill  my  place  here  with  any  appliance, 
Just  bring  on  another  hired  man  if  you  dare!  ” 
That  night  after  supper  as  Farmer  was  seated  , 
Out  on  the  piazza,  at  rest  in  his  chair. 
While  Stable  Manure  had  not  quarter  completed 
His  supper — there  came  a  remarkable  pair 
Of  folks  down  the  roadside— good  fortune  prevailed  them 
In  front  of  the  farm  house,  to  make  a  short  wait, 
Then  Farmer  stood  on  the  piazza  and  hailed  them, 
And  beckoned  them  In  as  he  walked  to  the  gate. 
A  lusty  young  fellow  as  brown  as  a  berry, 
With  muscles  that  stood  out  like  cords  over  him, 
A  trim  little  maiden  whose  black  eyes  so  merry 
Danced  mischief  from  under  her  sun-bonnet's  rim. 
“  Do  you  want  a  job?  ”  said  old  Farmer!  “  Well  yes,  sir!  ” 
The  young  fellow  said  looking  straight  in  his  face. 
“  Although  from  the  way  people  talk  here,  I  guess,  sir, 
They  mostly  rank  size  above  strength  in  this  place. 
My  name  sir,  is  Chem.  Fertilizer  and  this,  sir, 
Is  Miss  Rosie  Clover— my  sister,  so  good. 
She's  not  very  big,  but  I’d  certainly  tnlss,  sir, 
The  “  organic  matter”  she  serves  for  my  food. 
The  folks  think  because  I’ve  no  bulk  to  my  body 
That  I  have  no  stomach  for  ivork,  when  I  know 
That  all  that  I  lack  to  make  size  Is  mere  shoddy, 
'Twould  only  cost  food  just  to  keep  up  a  show. 
I've  no  surplus  fat,  but  my  muscles  are  tough,  sir, 
I’m  not  half  so  big  as  old  Stable  Manure, 
But  try  us  and  see  which  will  first  cry  enough,  sir, 
And  which  one  the  more  solid  work  can  endure.” 
Then  out  of  the  kitchen,  his  supper  devoured, 
Came  Stable  Manure  with  a  leer  on  his  face. 
But  Chem.  Fertilizer  was  surely  no  coward, 
Though  little  Miss  Clover  turned  red  in  the  face. 
“  See  here  now  young  feller,”  the  big  bully  grumbled, 
“  My  job  is  too  big  for  a  boy— take  the  road ! 
Walk  on!  If  you  stay  here  your  pride  will  be  humbled, 
I’ll  pick  up  and  carry  both  you  and  your  load.” 
Chem.  said  not  a  word  though  he  smiled  at  Miss  Clover, 
He  opened  his  shirt  and  he  pulled  off  his  coat, 
They  saw  how  the  big  steel-like  muscles  ran  over 
His  shoulders  and  back  and  bunched  up  at  his  throat. 
Imagine  the  picture— the  two  men  stood  facing 
Each  other!  One  springy  and  firm  as  a  hound, 
One  fat  as  a  hog  with  a  big  bloat  displacing, 
His  shape,  and  his  muscles  hid  ’neath  a  fat  mound; 
Nearby  the  hay  stack  stood  two  hay  wagons  loaded, 
Said  Stable  Manure,  “  You  must  work  'ere  you  sup, 
I’ll  pitchfork  you  on  if  you  have  to  be  goaded. 
Just  mount  that  hay  stack  and  I’ll  bury  you  up!  ” 
Agreed !  On  the  hay  stack  he  soon  stood  there  ready 
Then  Stable  Manure  from  the  wagon  sent  hay, 
In  forkfuls  as  big  as  a  house,  but  as  steady 
As  clock-work  Chem.  caught  them  and  stowed  them  away. 
The  water  ran  off  the  big  man  in  a  puddle, 
While  Chem.  worked  away  without  turning  a  hair, 
The  heat  sent  the  fat,  heavy-head  in  a  muddle. 
Before  he  was  done.  Manure  puffed  in  despair; 
But  Chem.  had  no  mercy — “Get  up  on  the  stack,  sir,” 
He  said,  “  and  I’ll  try  my  luck  pitching  to  you. 
You’ll  find  that  big  belly's  not  equal  to  back,  sir, 
We'll  see  who  Is  buried  before  we  get  through.” 
Those  muscles  of  Iron— they  sent  the  hay  flying, 
While  Stable  Manure  at  the  top  of  the  stack 
Just  puffed  like  a  furnace— his  heated  fat  trying 
The  starch  and  the  stiffness  all  out  of  his  back, 
He  looked  through  his  sweat  down  at  pretty  Miss  Clover, 
And  then  gave  it  up  and  sunk  down  on  the  hay, 
Then  Chem.  Fertilizer  just  covered  him  over, 
And  packed  the  whole  wagon-load  on  him  to  stay. 
The  effect  of  the  job  was  quite  instantaneous. 
Black  smoke  from  the  hay  stack  began  to  aspire, 
For  S.  Manure  had  combustion  spontaneous. 
The  heat  of  his  own  fat  had  set  him  on  fire. 
They  soon  had  him  out  of  the  hay  stack  an  1  threw  him 
All  smoking  and  steaming  right  into  the  brook, 
But  after  the  soaking,  his  friends  hardly  knew  him, 
But  rubbed  their  eyes  hard  for  a  good  second  look. 
As  true  as  you  live  now,  the  fat  and  the  water 
Had  all  burned  away  and  the  fellow  was  left 
Like  Chem.  Fertilizer  although  somewhat  shorter. 
He  surely  had  dropped  more  than  half  of  his  heft. 
His  clothes  flapped  like  bags  as  he  slunk  away,  tired. 
A  fraud  he  had  been  with  his  bluster  and  bluff, 
His  big  size  and  weight  couldn’t  stand  being  fired; 
At  trial’s  sharp  prick  they  went  out  with  a  puff. 
And  little  Miss  Clover  could  not  help  remarking 
“  Like  all  other  blowhards  old  Stable  Man  you'er 
A  failure  at  biting  in  spite  of  your  barking, 
You  told  a  most  fertile  lie,  sir,  I  am  sure!  ” 
Now  here  Is  yourilesson— just  ponder  it  over; 
Old  Stable’Manure  is  no  longer  your  king, 
For  Chem.  Fertilizer  and  Miss  Rosie  Clover 
Are  after  a  job  and  will  certainly  bring 
To  your  farm  a  complete,  economical  ration, 
And  work  patiently  and  not  stand  by  and  scoff, 
And  try  to  climb  up  to  the  top  of  your  station, 
Like  Stable  Manure  ’ere  his  fat  was  burned  off. 
And  as  for  that  fellow— he  makes  a  good  servant. 
Since  learning  his  place— he’s  a  tyrant  no  more, 
And  yet  his  employer  must  be  quite  observant 
Or  else  he’ll  eat  profit  and  not  leave  the  core. 
Don’t  take  his  own  figures  for  his  valuation, 
He’ll  brag  of  his  size,  weight  and  strength  and  all  that, 
Remember  when  paying  the  bills  for  his  ration, 
He’s  only  Chem.’s  muscles,  plus  water  and  fat. 
So,  Farmer,  breath  easy,  one  trouble  is  over, 
No  longer  be  slave  to  old  Stable  Manure, 
For  Chem.  Fertilizer  and  little  Miss  Clover 
Will  save'you’lf.he  should  get  lazy— that’s  sure. 
