198 
Wisconsin state agricultural society. 
vest, looks upon his home as a spot where he can eat, sleep and 
rule with an iron hand. Surly and sour, he growls if the house be 
not swept and garnished, and yet brooms must never wear out nor 
his wife be weary in well doing. He complains if the table is not 
supplied to his liking, but gnashes his teeth over the grocer’s bill, 
and his wdfe asks for the necessary tea, coffee and sugar, with the 
air of a criminal. He is cross if she does not present as attractive 
an appearance as his neighbor’s happy wife, but neglects to supply 
]ier v/ith the tonic of loving praise or appreciation. 
She has no library, no pictures or flowers, no papers — nothing 
but continuous labor. Her husband knows that his crops will not 
grow unless they have rain and sunshine, but he seldom brightens 
his own household with the warmth of a smile. He thwarts and 
nips in the bud every blossoming inspiration of his wife and daugh¬ 
ters, until their stunted, unambitious lives are sad monuments of 
his selfish tyranny. Such a man is meaner than the pigweeds that 
grow in his fields, “’meaner than pusley,” as old-fashioned people 
say. While his motto is “ economy,” he is worse than wasteful, 
neglecting and losing his best harvest. 
The narrow-minded farmers are, however, the exceptions. Their 
numbers decrease as churches, schools, newspapers and libraries 
increase. Conventions are the bane of the narrow-minded man; 
culture kills him as cultivation destroys w^eeds. The prudent and 
truly wise farmer makes the most of the world. By rearing culti¬ 
vated children he stores away wealth in its best form, and in his old 
age leaves the world indebted to him. From personal knowledge, 
I can say that there is no place more enjoyable than a happy farm- 
home, and no father’s memory can be more tenderly revered than 
is his who studied to make the home lives of his daughters happy. 
Who can repay the father and mother of George Washington 
for the priceless legacy they left us in an honest son. Poets and 
artists gather their harvests everywhere, from the flowers, the songs 
of birds, and the clouds above the wheat fields. The grain and 
vegetables gathered by the hands of Robert Burns were of little 
value, but his second harvest of immortal song is priceless! Thomas 
Moran gathered a rich harvest which will feed art lovers for ages, 
when he painted our Madison lakes. Especially may this be said 
of “ Sunset on Mendota.” Mr. Moran must have been a faithful 
student of nature, and have painted many studies of sunsets, and 
