254 Wisconsin state agricultural society . 
To keep strict account; to consult the advantages of climate,, 
soil and situation ; to manure abundantly; to plough deep; to 
select the earliest and plumpest for seed ; to save the best for 
breeders—these are among the economical duties which every 
farmer understands. If he fails, he fails through neglect or from 
inadequate means; too often the former. It is not to such duties 
as these that I would ask the attention of my superiors in practical 
knowledge. 
The farmer’s duty that I have in view is this: Let him magnify 
his office ; let him make much of his calling ; let him be proud of 
and happy in his avocation. 
As the world wags, it is easy to be proud, but itisdifficu.lt to be 
happy ; in every walk of life, this matter of happiness seems to de¬ 
pend on a ready digestion and a genial philosophy. But to the 
farmer, his surroundings and his healthful out-door exercise should 
yield both. 
Civilization has divided us into city livers and country livers. 
By city livers, I mean those that are aggregated together in greater 
or less numbers, who do not earn their livelihood directly from the 
fruits of the soil; and by country livers, I mean those that are 
scattered over the face of the land, who cling closer to mother 
earth, and draw, at first mouth, their sustenance from out her 
bounteous bosom. 
For a person living in the immediate vicinity of a city that is 
fast swelling to the proportions of a metropolis, and on a lonely 
road at that, it may not be prudent to make any comparisons be¬ 
tween the two, to the detriment of the former. However, these 
cities, these vast depots for the collection and distribution of ma¬ 
terial, shine with deceptive lustre. To the rural mind, they are as 
the cliffs of Mexico to the Spanish invaders; gold from afar off, 
mica when obtained. In these gather-alls the fag ends predomi¬ 
nate. Here damaged butter, doctored milk and debilitated vege¬ 
tables engage in dyspeptic rivalry. Here, rumbling wheels and 
the organ-grinder make music all the day. Here, disdaining the 
shirt-sleeve uniform of the rustic, a cockade is stuck in a man’s cap 
and called, not maccaroni, but a livery. Here, the fire of money 
making is blown to a white heat, and the white appears as the 
countenance of the money-maker, unless he dyes it at the next 
