. Country life reader . r the enemy. {To he continued.) This is a good time for the well-trained, farm-mindedyoung man or woman to go into agriculture; but oneshould be sure that he has the quahfications. There is noneed that farming provide only a narrow and deadeninglife. One may express there all the resources of a goodeducation. L. H. Bailey. 53 HOMESICK I want to go back to the orchard,The orchard that used to be mine; The apples are reddening and filhngThe air with their wine. I want to wake up in the morningTo the chirp of the birds in the eaves, I want the west wind through the cornfie
. Country life reader . r the enemy. {To he continued.) This is a good time for the well-trained, farm-mindedyoung man or woman to go into agriculture; but oneshould be sure that he has the quahfications. There is noneed that farming provide only a narrow and deadeninglife. One may express there all the resources of a goodeducation. L. H. Bailey. 53 HOMESICK I want to go back to the orchard,The orchard that used to be mine; The apples are reddening and filhngThe air with their wine. I want to wake up in the morningTo the chirp of the birds in the eaves, I want the west wind through the cornfields,The rustle of leaves. I want the old song of the river. The Uttle low laugh of the rills,I want the warm blue of September Again on the hills. I want to He down in the woodlandWhere the feathery clematis shines, Gods blue sky above, and about meThe peace of the pines. 0 nights, you are weary and dreary And days there is something you lack, To the farm in the little old valley I want to go back. Alice Cain. 54 WINTER. ^^g^:C^t>=S^=^^-^3iJ^-^^^%lU--<xSb^^=^ V^ BACK TO THE SOIL Every farmer boy wants to be a school-teacher, every school-teacher hopes to be aneditor, every editor hopes to be a banker,every banker hopes to be a trust magnate,and every trust magnate hopes some day toown a farm and have chickens and cows andpigs and horses to look end where we begin. JSfe^w^=^^ •^^^*=lSKa.^?^=«^^^^ JACK FROST The Frost looked forth one still, clear night,And whispered: Now I shall be out of sight;So, through the valley, and over the height, In silence Ill take my will not go on like that blustering wind and the snow, the hail and the rain,They make so much bustle and noise in vain; But Ill be as busy as they. Then he flew to the mountain, and powdered its crest,He lit on the trees, and their boughs he dressedIn diamond beads; and over the breast Of the quivering lake he spreadA coat of mail, that it need not fearThe downward point of many a spearT
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