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THE 0 FREE TRADEHo TWO DOLLARS PER ANNUM, PAYABLE IN ADVANCE. BY IIISE & OS MAN. OTTAWA, ILLINOIS, FRIDAY, OCTOBER 10, Hill. VOL. V. NO. 18. From Tail's Magazine. The t'urntc) or, Ho pen. TiiissLn'to fkom rni:iir.uiK.v bukmsn's siiotit STOUIKS. I always 1) ail a peculiar method of trav elling with the least possible distress along the stony road of life ; although, in a physical as well as in a moral sense, I generally walked barefoot. I hoped ! hoped on from day to day, from morn to even, at evening for the next morning ; in autumn for spring, in spring for autumn ; from one year to another; and thus I had hoped away almost thirty years of my life's journey, without feeling severely any of my troubles, except I he want of good boots. I ronsoled myself under this calamity when in the open air; but when introduced to respectable company, I was tormented wii'n a deire f S.:lii;-,,r ;,;y heels foremost, because they were best covered with leather. I ought to confess, too, that I felt my poverty still more when, in the lints of misery, I could give no better comfort than friendly words. But I comforted myself, like thousands beside, with a hopeful glance at fortune's rolling wheel, and the philosophical ob servation, Time will bring good coun sel.' When I was curate under a country clergyman, with scanty pay and mean fare, morally languishing, with no socie ty but the ill-tempered wife of the tippling parson, the booby son, and the daughter who, with high shoulders and feet turned in, went prying about from morning lill night, I felt a sudden rapture of tender ness and delight when a letter, from one of my acquaintance?, gave me the infor mation that my uncle 1'., a merchant in Stockholm, personally unknown to me, lay at the point of death, and, under a sudden attack of family nlTeetion, had ex pressed a desire to behold his good-for-nothing nephew. And now see the thankful nephew, with a little lean bundle under his arm, and a million of rich hopes in his breast, seated upon a most uncomfortable still-necked market cart, jogging along, up hill and down hill, to the capital ! At the tavern where I alighted, I ven tured to order a little, only a very little, breakfast just a slice of bread and butter and two eggs. My landlord and a fat gentleman walked to and fro in the room, and chatted 'I must say,' said the fat gen tleman, 'this wholesale tradesman 1, who died yesterday, was a rascal.' Ila, lia,' thought I, 'but a rascal who had plenty of gold. Harkyc, friend, (to the waiter,) can yon bring me a slice of roast beef, or whatever meat you have, to make me more substantial fare here. A dish of soup would not be amiss ; but quick, if you please 1' 'Yes,' said my landlord, 'it is heavy thirty thousand dollars, ond bank-stock beside ! No one jn the town would have dreamed it thir ty thousand !' 'Thirty thousand !' I in wardly ejaculated in my joyous soul. 'Ilarkye, waiter ! give me, as soon as you can, thirty thousand no, no give mo a pint of wine, I mean ;' and all my pulses were beating merrily to the tune of 'thir ty thousand 1' Ah !' said tho fat gentleman, and would you believe that among his debts Is one of five thousand dollars for cham paigne ? There stand his creditors clench ing their fists; for all hi? furniture is worth but a few pence, and outside his door they find for their comfort his ca lash !' Aha, that's another thing!' said I to myself. 'Here, waiter ! take away the beef, tho soup and tho wine. I must not taste them : for what have I been doing all the morning but eating!' 'You have ordered them,' said the waiter. 'Friend!' said I, scratching out an apology just be hind my ear, ii was an error; I ordered them for a rich gentleman, as I supposed w-ho is now as poor as myself, 1 find, and will never be able to nay for them: but ------ ; ... - . you fcnall have the money fr me fa and bread and butter I have eaten, as vcll as something to drink for your trouble.' So saying, and slipping a tride more than tho charge into his hand, I left the tavern, with n wounded heart and unappeased stomach, o seek for cheap lodgings, and to 8V,idy means of raising money. This violent collision between my hopes and the reality had given me the headache; but when I met, during my etiect wandering, a gentleman decked with bands and stars, but with a faded face and wrinkled brow, and saw a young noble man whom I had known at the Universi ty of Upsal, walking as if the weight ol age And '(tedium vim;' would bring him down upon his nose, I lifted up my head, took a deep inspiration' of the air, (which, unfortunately for me, was just there strongly scented with sausages cooking,) and felt the happiness of poverty with h pure heart! In a remo(e street I found a little cham ber to let, which suited better my present condition ihau my hopes two hours be fore. 1 had gained have to spend the winter in Stockholm; 'And. now,' thought 1, 'what is to be dune !' To let my spirits sink was the worst way possible ; to put my hand in my bosom, and look up to heaven was not much better. 'The sun breaks out when we least expect him,' said I, while the heavy autumnal clouds were sinking down over the town. I re solved to do my utmost to gain some more comfortable prospects for tho future than my stay with the country pastor afforded me, and at last I fixed upon seeking em ployment as a copyist. Then I spent many days in fruitless en deavors to find ears that wcit: not deaf to my applications, and then in the breast burdening toil of c.-pyitig out the empty productions of empty heads. My din ners became more and more economical ; but my hopes continued to rise until an evening, fiom which, in my calendar, 1 date a new era with a cross. My land lord had just left m? to my meditations, with tho comfortable observation, as a text, that to-morrow I must pay down my quarter's rent, unless I preferred (quite French politeness!) making another tour of discovery about the streets. It was an indescribably cold Novem ber's evening, and I had just returned from visiting a house of sickness, where I had, perhaps imprudently, emptied my purse, when I was greeted with this amiable sal utation. I trimmed my sleepy, dim-burning lamp with my lingers, and then looked about my little dingy chamber for plans of money-making. 'Diogenes was ivorse accommodated,' I sighed, as I pulled my lame taMe away from the window, for the wind and rain seemed nnwilling to stay outside. At the same moment, my glance fell upon a cheerfully glowing fue in an opposite kitchen. 'O cooks! you have a glorious lot among mortals!' thought I, while with some secret pleasure I watched the will nourished dame, who stood like an empress amid the pots and stew-pans, surrounded with the glory of the fire, and swaying the tongs as a sceptic over her glowing dominions. 0:i a higher floor I had a view through the window, covered with no envious blind, of a gaily illuminated chamber, where a numerous family were assembled around a tea-table. I was stiff in every limb with cold and damp, and how emp ty that partofjny animal economy, which may he styled the magazine, was that evening, 1 will not say ; but 'Merciful Heaven !' thought I 'if that pretty mai den, who is just now reaching a cup of tea to the stout gentleman upon the sofa, who seems too heavily replenished to rise from his seat, would but put out her fair hand a little further this way, and could with a thousand thankful kisses how foolish ! The fat gentleman takes the cup, and dips his bun in the tea 6o deliberately 'tis enough to make one cry ! And now that pretty maiden is ca ressing him ! 1 wonder if he is her pa pa, or her uncle; or perhaps, enviable mortal '.but no, that cannot be ; he is at least forty years older than she ! 'That must bo his wifo surely ; that el derly lady who sits beside him on the so fa, and to whom the fair maiden just now offers a platter of cakes. 15ut to whom docs she offer them now ? One eur and a part of a shoulder is all that projects be yond the rim of the window, llow long he keeps the gentle girl waiting his plea sure ! but it must be a lady no gentle man would behave so ! or it may bo her brother. Ah! see his great fist thrust in to the biscuit-basket,-a rudo lout! but, perhaps, he was hungry. Now she turns to the two little girls, her sisters, most likely, am gives them all that Mr. One car has left behind. As for herself, she seems to lake no more of t!,u tea than I no, except its fragrance, lint what a movement suddenly takes place in the room ! Tho old gentleman starts up from the sofa; the one-eared gentleman rush es forward, and gives the gentle maiden a rude shock (a dromedary as he is !) that impeis nor r.gamst tlic tea-lable, and makes the old lady, who was just rising from (he sofa, sit down again. Thochif dren skip about and clan their hands thn door opens; in comes a young officer; the maiden throws herself into his nrms ! Aha? there 1 have it! I dashed to my window-shutters, so that it cracked ; and sat down, wet with the rain, and with trembling knees upon my stool. What had I to do staring through the window? This comes of curiosity !' Wight days before, (his family had re (urned from (ho country into (he fine house opposite, and all thU time I had never inquired who' they were. What business had I, (his evening, to be prying into their circle ! What good could it do to mo ! I was hi a lorry mood, and felt some- thing of heart-heaviness ; but, according to my resolution never to yield to despon dency, I set about a description of domes tic happiness, of that happiness whic h I had never lasted ! Said 1, as I breathed upon my stiffened fingers, 'Am I then the first who has sought in the hot-house of imagination a pleasing warmth which the hard world of realities denies us? Six dollars for a load of pine wood ; ay, you will not have them till December. ' I will write !' 'Happy, thrice hapny is the family in whose close and warm circle no heart feels lonely in its joys nor in its sorrows ; no glance, no smile remains unanswered ; where the members daily say to each r.ih--r, not in mere words, but in their actions, your cares, your joys, your fortunes, are also mine !' 'Ileautiful is the quiet, peaceful house, which closes its protecting walls around the pilgrim through life, which collects around its friendly, gleaming hearth, the old grandsire, leaning upon his stall, the manly husband, the amiable wife, and their happy children, who close tho day of sport and enjoyment with hearty thanksgiving, while the mother chant3 to them a little song, telling how, "AnrcU their vigils keep A ron tid the lied Ami oYr tin; head Of innocence asleep !' " Here I had to stop; for something like a drop of rain fell upon my cheek, and 1 could not sec my paper clearly. 'How many.' thought I, as my thoughts against my will, took a melancholy turn, how many are doomed to know inching of this happiness !' For a moment 1 con sidered myself in the only looking-glass 1 had in my chamber, that of truth, and then with gloomy feelings I wrote on, 'Unhappy surely is the desolate one who. hi the cold and dreary moments of life, (which come so often,) can rest on no faithful bosom, whose sighs arc unan swered, to whose complaint no voice re plies, 'I understand you ; 1 sympathize with you!' He is depressed; no one raises his drooping head! He weeps: no one regards it! He goes away: no one follows him! He sleeps: no one watches over lain ! He is alone! Why does he not die ? Ah ! who would mourn over him? llow cold tho grave which no warm tear of love bedews! He is lonely in the winter's night. For him earth has no flowers, and dimly burn (he lights of heaven. Why wanders he here alone ? Why docs he not flee as a shad ow to the land of shadows ? Ah ! he still hopes. A pauper, he begs for happiness, and hopes, in the eleventh hour, that some friendly hand will bestow it.' It was my own situation that I described. Early robbed of my parents, without brother, sister, friends or relatives, 1 stood so lonely and desolate in the world, that, but for a strong confidence in Hea ven, and a naturally cheerful disposition, I should have sought an escape from stnh an cxistance. Hitherto, more from in stinct than philosophy, I had habitually suppressed all earnest longings for a hap pier slate of life than that which surroun ded me; but lately other thoughts had been gaining power over me, and, espe cially this evening, I felt an unutterable desire for a friend, for one whom I might love ; in 6hort, for a bosom companion, a wifo, one with whom I might feel mjself a king, even in the meanest hut! Hut I remembered, as involuntarily I shuddered with cold, that all my love, in such circumstances as the present, could not prevent my wife, if 1 had one, from being frozen or 'starved to death. More depressed than ever, I arose from mv stool, and paced up and down in my little boundary. The oppressive feeling of my situation followed me like my shadow on the wall; and, for the first time in my life, I was quite disheartened, and cast a gloomy glance upon the future. Hut what in the world,' I exclaimed earnestly to myself, 'will all this dull pondering avail !' Again I tried to loosen myself 'from the anxious thoughts that plagued mo. 'If but one Christian soul would only como to see me, whoever it might be, friend or foe, any visiter would be welcome to break this dismal solitude. Yea, if one from the world of spirits would open the door, ne should be welcome. What was that? Three knocks at tho door ! I'll not believe- my senses. Threo knocks again !' I went and open ed the door. Nobody was there ; but the wind howled along the staircase. Hasti ly I closed the door, put my hands in my pockets, and continued my parade, hum ming to keep up my courage. In a few moments I heard something like a sigh. I stopped and listened. Again 1 heard distinctly a sigh, and that so deep and sorrowful tint, with considerable emotion, I called out, 'Who is there?' No an swer was returned. I stood for n moment lo study what all this could mean, when a frightful noise, as if a host of cats were coming screaming down stairs, ending wiih a heavy thump against my door, made me decided f ac'.hm. 1 took no my glimmering liht, but, i;i the moment that I opened the door, it expired, or was blown out. A gigantic v. bite figure ho vered before me, and 1 fell myself sudden ly grasped by two powerf.il arms. I cried out for help, and strujul' d so hard that my antagonist fi II to the ground with me; but I happened to be uppermost. hike an arrow I bounded up, and would have run, but stumbled over something Heaven knows what, 1 believe sum; body bad seized my feet : ae.iin.I fell to tli o ground, struck my hod ngainst the comer of the tab!:', an:! lost mv senses, with a sound like loud laughter ringing in my ears. When I opened my eyss again, they encountered a dazzling glare. I closed them again, and listened to a distracting noise that hovered around me. Again i opened t hem. and tried to distinguish and recognize some of the objects about me, which seemed so new and wonderful, that I suddenly feared I had lost my senses. I lav upon a sofa, and no, I was- not de luded the beautiful maiden who had ho vered before my imagination all the eve ning, now really stood beside me, with a heavenly expression of Sympathy, and batlied my head with vinegar! A young man, whose face seemed familiar lo me, stood and held my band. I saw also the fit old gentleman and another thin gen tleman, and next I discovered the lady, the children, and the paradise of the tea lable glimmering in a sort of twilight dis tance ; in short, by some inconceivable huinor of fortune, 1 found myself in the midst of the very family which I had, an hour befrc, contemplated with such in lerest ! As I recovered my faculties, the milita ry young man enfolded mo in his arms. 'Do you not know me again ?' said he, while I Rat still as if petrified. 'Have you forgotten Augustus, whose life yen saved not long ago at the risk of your ow n ? whom you fished out of the water, at the risk of remaining to keep company with fishes yourself ? Sec, here arc my father, my mother, and my sister Wilhelmina.' I pressed his hand. Then, with a smart blow with bis fist upon tho table, the fa ther exclaimed, 'And because you have saved my son's life, and you are an ho norable fellow, that can suffer hunger to afford food lo others, I declare you shall have tho benefice nt II .' 'I I have the patronage, you understand?' For a while 1 was bereft of the power of thought and speech; and, amid all the explana tions that were given, there was only one thing that impressed ili-elf (dearly on my mind that Wilhelmina was not that Wilhelmina was the sister of Augus tus ! He had, that evening, returned fiom a journey during which, in the preceding summer, I had enjoyed the happiness of saving his life. 1'revious to this accident, I had only drunk with him in the bro therhood of the university. He had re lated to his family, w ith all the enthusi asm of youth, my fjood service in bis he half, and all that he knew of me besides. His father, who had a benefice in his gift, and (as I afterwards learned) hail glanced with pity, sometimes, upon my scanty ta ble, had resolved, at the request of his son, to raise me from the lap of poverty to the summit of happiness. Augustus, in Ins delight, would make this resolution instantly known lo mo ; and, in his love of a praclicrl joke, he approached my chamber in tho style already described ; the consequence of which, for me, was my wound upon the temple and my trans lation across the street out of darkness into light ! A thousand limes has the good youth begged for forgiveness for his in discretion, ond as many times have I as sured hirii that the benefice of II. would prove a balsam strong enough to cure a deeper wound. Astonished was I lo find that the ear and shoulder of the gentleman who at tea lime was the subject of my splenetic observations belonged to no one less than my patron. The stout gentle man was Wilhelmina' s uncle. The kindness and cheerfulness of toy new friends made me soon feel Tit home and happy, The old people treated me as if I was their child, and the young peo ple admitted me to all the privileges of a brother. After I had received two cups of tea from tho hands of Wilhelmina, 1 arose lo lake my leave of the family for the night. All invited mo to stay : but 1 determined to spend my first happy night in my old lodging, mid there to oiler thanks lo ihc (.iuido of my destiny. Au gustus attended mo lo my resting place. There my landlord stood in the chamber, between the overthrown stool nnd table, with an aspect something between rain and sunshine. Ono sido of his month was screwed up lo his car with an attempt at a smile, while the other was drawn down ) his chin with suspicion ; hit eyes ' followed the same directions, ar.d his whole face seemed seized wish a cramp, until Augustus requested hiiu to h ave us alone, and then his countenance disoltd into a smile of the gunning speuus. Augustus was mo.-t earnestly indignant at the sight of my table, my stool, and my bed, and talked of whipping my land- lord fv.r his extortion. I was compelled ! t assure him that I would change my 1'dgings on the coming day. When my ! friend had h ft me, 1 spent sumo time i:i meditating upon this change of my for tunes, and thanked Uod heartily for it. Then my thoughts ran a way to my pasto ral charge, and Heaven onlv knows with how many fat oxen, with what flowers and fruit, and trees, I replenished my pa radiee, where I wandered with my Eve, ami how many richly edified souls I raw streaming out e.( my church. I baptized, I continued, I betrothed the dear children of my pasturage, and forgot none but the funeral ceremonies. At last, beyond midnight, I closed my eyes, and gaye up my thoughts to the wild powers of dreamery. Then I preach ed with aloud voice in my church ; while my congregation would persist in sleep ing. Afier divine service, my congrega tion came out of church transformed into sheep and oxch, bleating and lowing at me when I reproved them. 'I tried lo lead in y wife away ; but could not sepa rate her from a great turnip plant that grew and grew till it covered both our heads. Then I tried to climb up to bea ten upon a ladder; but potatoes, tares, and peas entangled my feel, and hindered every step. At last 1 saw myself walk ing upon my head, and as I wondered how this could be, I fell moro soundly asleep. Yet I must have continued my pastoral dream ; for in the morning 1 woke myself at tho end of a long sermon, by saying 'Amen !' I had some trouble to convince myself that ihe events of the preceding evening did not belong to my dreams, until Augustus made his appear ance, and invited mo to be with his fami ly at noon. The pastorale, Wilhelmina, the fanny into which I had entered ; the new hopes of the future that now glittered in the sun shine of tho present; all filled nie with a joy to be felt, not described ! From the depth of a thankful heart, 1 hailed the new hie dawning upon me with a resolution, whatever ioi;jlit come, to do the Lest, ami hope, for tin let in va ry case ! Two years after thai happy dinner, I sat, one autumn cvenin, u my snug par sonage, beside the (ire. I !..-o to i : i sat my dear wife, my Will,: hum a, and span. I was about to read to her the sermon 1 had prepared for the next Sunday, and which 1 h"jjl would prove very edifying to my congregation. As 1 turned over the manuscript, a loose leaf fell out. It was the very paper upon which, just two years previous lo that evening, 1 had writ ten (iowo my thoughts on domestic hap piness, in a situation, apparently, so far away from everything of the kind. 1 showed it lo my wife. She read it, and smiled through her tears ; then, with an arch expression which is, I believe, pe culiar to herself, she took up my pen and w rote on the oilier side of the leaf as fol lows : "'I'll i author run now, I hope, give a picture of his situation ijnilo a contrast to tli.it no tin- re. verse, JNoiv, lie is mi lom;er lonely, no moro for iikon and desolate J I is gentlest sii'Ji ia answer- i ll ; hi uiiisl i nt l mute norrow s me hliared iviili Ins wile. Ilu K'M's; tier hcait lollnwd lii'ii. lie emiies; she hii-tens l'i meet liim w'nli n smile. Hi tearn are uiped away liy lier liio.d, and his sinilt-H aro reflected iiinii Iter fire. Mio plucl, il nvcrs t i strew Ins lie lias a Hurl; dearl" liin ; s.-veral deviated fiietnU; and lie ronnts rw Ids rel.il i vi s all wlw lire destitute, lie luves ; lie is licloved. lie Inn the power to IliaUe men luiji 7 ; lie i.i happy." Truly has my Wilhelmina painted my present situation ; and, inspired with feel ings cheerful and bright as sunbeams in spring, I send forth my hopes lo delight themselves in the future. I hnpn that my sermon for next Sun day will bo useful to my people; and though some of the careless ones may be fast asleep, I hope that they will not be al lowed to disturb my temper. For my coming children, 1 have hopes prepared. If I have a son, I hope, be may prove my successor; if a daughter, oh, 1 have hopes for her ! I hope, in the course of a little time, lo find a publisher for my sermons. I hope lo live many years with my wife. We, that is Wilhelmina and myself, hope during ibis time to dry many tears, and for ourselves, to shed as few as may fall lo the lot of children of the earth such as we are. We hope that neither of us -will long siirvivo the other. Lastly, wo hope, that wo shall always be able to hope while here; and, when all iho hopes of ibis green earth must van ish away before tho light of eternal cm- lainties, then we hope our Good. Father will pronounce a mild judgment upon his humble and hopeful children. rr.iui the .ew Vurlc Sun. Ajji-Ic iiltnrr. Il is a little singular thai agrirulture, tli; natural pursuit or man rnd tho only jstiie ami reii.it do source lor toe bread he ' ov.is, is considered of less importance to oar country than w hat is called " produc tive labor." We. think the term is "really mi -applied "j te duciivo labor" lelonos t ) ihe husbandman, not to those who at tend the spinning ji r.nies. Asf-iras such labor affords the farmer a Im'itg for bis family, he is so fir an i;.''r pci'uh'U k;i!. His w heat (kid furnishes him biead ; hid garden and orchards produces him fruit and vegetables ; his pigs and poultry fur nish his table ; his cows supply him with milk and butler ho cannot starve. On the contrary ii may be said he lives well, bul he has no money becauso he cannot sell hisi surplus produce lo nny profitable market; he cannot afford tho expense of raising crops of wheat and potatoes (o ex change them at the store for lea, sugar, coffee, molasses, and other indispensable articles, which ho can only procure for cash, or barter nl a low price. A farmer has to pay cash lor seed, for labor, for lime and other manure, and for other ob jects connected with agriculture. He can not aflord to raise large crops because he cannot sell them lo any advantage, and ho contents himself wi'h raising a few acres of hay and oats, a few of wheat, of corn and potatoes, Lc, for his own family use, the outlay for his farm not yielding hint two per cent. Wc can protect woollens, cottons, and various other fabrics by an ad valorem duty the master or owner of the factory gets rich the farmer is under tho necessity of making his purchases of him and paying him cash, but there is no protection to farmers ; indeed, it is con tended from the very nature of his pursuit that he cannot bo protected. Mr. Tappan, Scnatorof Ohij, while the present Tariff law was under discussion, proposed to add to il tho following section : ''And ho itfurtlier enroled, Tl;ot whenever the President t' the United flutes tball receive satisfactory cudcncc that the RTnia, fleurj r.d .illed provn-ioiw exported from )he L. flute in vessels owi.ed hy ritiyen of the United Slates are admitted free of duty into the several portt ofany European state or kingdom, hesluill fiuika pi-oil million thereof to the people, of thn United Nates, ond thereupon, afier tin! expiration of three r.iolilhti from the date of mrh proclamation,, , the duties imposed hy this act upon oil articles the e.ro.vlh or manufacture of sueli stale orkinr;- 1 i so adiniltini; s tuli rr.iin, (lour, and taltcd provisions fn c (' duly, bo far as the same exceed tuenlv per cent ad x.ilerem, shall he theneefoi lh ch.ir.;iiMe villi a daty uf twenty j-er cent ud vu- ircio, and ii ) i.:eic. Il was said that we could not force nny country lo open its ports for ihe introduc tion of American produce, and the amend ment was rejected, as was also a propo sition to impose a duty of 15 or 20 per cent on the coar.-er kinds of wool. No possible harm could have arisen from passing the aboo section. Several na tions inisjlit have been induced on seeing tho above provision in the Tariff law to open their ports free for tho surplus pro duce of our farmers, and a cargo would have been sold here and there io a profit, ami a disposition evinced to enconraga and protect agriculture. How can'farm ers depend upon a homo market when New York alone produces ten times the wheat that all the manufacturers in tha country can consume ? As farmers aro the most numerous class of our citizens, have in a gieat measure to sustain (he burdens of (lovernnienl, their interest must positively be looked after and they must have, as they are fairly enlilled to, a just protection with other intciests. If we open the political journals of the day w e are met by discussions upon the rela tive value of high or low tariffs director incidental protection to manufacturers. The rich nabobs of ihe large factories aro to absorb the attention of (Jovcrnmenfr and Congress, but the man of the plough and harrow is to get on as well as he can, and ho gets on poor enough. Tho girl who attends the spinning jennies, can lav by I? 100 per annum in silver after paying all her expenses for huard, clothing, fec. eve; but the farmer, although he has plenty to cat and drink, has no market for his surplus, and stands in need of tho $100 at the end of the year. Supposo all under a high t.nid' quit farming and go lo manufacturing, how arc we to be pro vided for? The answer will be, "Get wheat from the Ilahic." The Distribution Scheme. No wri ter has ever described i. so admirably a PoiloU: "'I " With on tiund he put "A i'v. s r ii t!,e urn ifpuvrrti, ''And with the vtlirr tvl,k a iiu llixo out" . That is the way precisely the feds pro pose to benefit tho laboring ond produ cing clauses of this country, hy dislribu ting tho land proceeds to tho Stale. MlsHourian. , r v -v..