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THE PROGRESSIVE FARMER
Tuesday, September 15, 1903. THE HOME CIRCLE When I Heard the Great Astronomer. When I heard the learn'd astrono mer; When the proofs, the figures, were ranged in columns before me; When I was shown the charts and di agrams, to add, divide, and measure them; When I, sitting, heard -the astrono mer, where he lectured with much applause in the lecture room, How soon, unaccountable, I became tired and sick, Till rising and gliding out, I wander ed off by myself, In the mystical moist night-air, and from time to time, Look'd up in perfect silence at the stars. Walt Whitman. 0 Captain ! My Captain ! O captain, my captain! Our fearful trip is done, The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won, The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all "exulting, While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring; But, O heart! heart! heart! Oh, the bleeding drops of red, Where on the deck my captain lies, Fallen cold and dead! O captain, my captain! Rise up and hear the bells ! x Rise up ! For you the flag is flung, for you the bugle trills, For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths, for you the shores a-crowding, For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning. Here, captain, dear father! This arm beneath your head! It is some dream that on the deck You've fallen cold and dead. My captain does not answer; his dips are pale and still; My father does not feel my arm; he has no pulse nor will; The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won. Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells! But I with mournful tread Walk the deck ; my captain lies Fallen cold and dead! Walt Whitman. The Boss's Twenty-Five Per Cent. It costs over ninety million dollars a year to govern New York, and more than half of it is paid out in salaries and wages. No other city in the world can equal this showing. In other American municipalities the expenditures are large and the re turns are not commensurate with the outgo; but with the1 worst that the average American city can do it cannot begin to equal the pace set by New York. In the meanwhile the average taxpayer would like to get the worth of his money. At present rates his return is not over seventy-five cents on the dollar. The other twenty-five cents represents all sorts of things, including the sudden accessions of local bosses to great wealth. The Saturday Evening Post. Nos.140 andlUof oar series of the World's Best Poems, selected especially for The Pro gressive Farmer by the Editor. In this 6erles selections from the following authors have already appeared: Burns, Bryant, Mr. and Mrs. Browning, Byron, Goldsmith, Holmes, Kipling, Lanier, Longfellow, Lowell, Mark ham, Macaulay, Milton, Moore, Poe, Pope Tennyson, Flmrod, Riley, Ryan, Boott, Shakespeare, Shelley, and others. Mark Twain. We hear much in these days of Captains of Industry of men who have the art of so organizing and di recting the labor of others as to ab sorb the greater part of-its product for themselves. It may be worth while, for the sake of variety, to con sider the career of a man who is a captain of no industry but his own, who has no money except what he has personally earned, who neither gives nor takes orders, neither re ceives nor pays tribute, but .stands out beside our complicated industrial hierarchy that rare survival of an al most extinct breed an independent American citizen. Samuel Langhorne Clemens began earning his own living nearly fifty five years ago, at the age of thir teen, and he has continued to earn it to this day. His parents gave him blood, and great expectations from vast landed possessions that are now worth millions in the hands of other owners, but no ready money. The first literary work with which he was ever connected was a directory of Hannibal, Missouri, for which he helped to set the type in his brother's printing-office. At seventeen he was making his way, without friends or influence, as a compositor on daily newspapers in Philadelphia and New York. At twenty-two he was a pilot on the Mississippi, with hun dreds of lives depdendent upon his skill and vigilance. Just here is where his career di verges from that of the typical fin ancial hero. At this point he should have secured an interest in a steam boat, which should then have grown into a line, a combination of lines, and a transportation "system." But Mark Twain did not take this easy road to greatness did not, apparent ly, realize that it existed. He tried to dig fortune single-handed out of the Western hills, and came very near succeeding. Up to this time there had been nothing to indicate that he would become famous either as a humorist or as a philosopher. Until long past the age when most men have definitely settled themselves in their life-work, Samuel L. Clemens was still exploring blind trails. His early letters reveal hini as a young man of marked seriousness. He loved fun, of course, and the Tom Sawyer side of his character would crop up with or without provocation, but his mind was filled with plans for solid work, and ho expounded them with a shrewd business sense in which there was nothing frivolous. It takes a pretty well-balanced character to car ry a country boy of seventeen safely through a solitary exife in a great city a thousand miles from home, without a relative, a friend, or even an acquaintance to help him to keep on the right track. When the "sub" printer from Hannibal was setting type in the office of the Philadelphia Inquirer at that age, just fifty years ago, he was the only person in the composing room who did not drink. That was the result of a promise he had made to his mother, which he kept until she released him from it. The theatre used to be his favorite diversion in Philadelphia in New York his taste ran toward the Ap-. prentices' Library. There he would sit, day after day, congratulating himself upon the prospect that time would not 'drag while the four thou sand volumes in the collection held out. Samuel E. Moffett, in The Pil grim for September. Good Manners. Once upon a time,. Dr. Edward Bedloe, of Philadelphia, diplomatist, writer, raconteur, and several other attractions, was at a railroad res taurant table, across which sat a very elaborate gentleman who showed plainly that he was not pleased with the democracy of his surroundings. But even his kind are compelled to eat sometimes, and it was up to him to eat in that common place or go hollow for six hours at least. Dr. Bedloe was doing much better, and was almost enjoying the viands, not withstanding he had fed on Clover Club spreads and had intimate rela tions with a Boldt bill-of-fare. During the feast, the Doctor want ed one of the condiments which had wandered over to the other side of the table, and he asked the elaborate party to hand it to him. "I am not a waiter, sir," replied the E. P. with freezing hauteur. v "Oh, I know that," responded Bed loe breezily, reaching for what he had asked for. "A waiter has to have much better manners than you have." Selected. Lee and the College Student. Writing in Christendom of Gen. Lee's work as president of Washing ton University, Rev. J. Win. Jones says : A wild young fellow used to make his boast among his comrades that if the general summoned him to his of fice he meant to "talk back at him and make him laugh, and not allow him to get him to crying as he did so many other fellows." Soon this student received a summons to go to the president's office, and a number of his "friends gatheredon the out side to hear the result of the inter view. When he appeared there were evident signs of weeping on his face, and to their eager inquiries, "How did you get out, Harry? Did he scold you very severely?" he replied: "No; I wish he had scolded me. I wish hejiad whipped me. i3ut he talked to me so kindly and tenderly about mother, and how in her widow hood she was making such sacrifices to send me to college, and how I ought to appreciate her love, and prove myself worthy of her, and of my noble father who was a gallant Confederate soldier, and had fallen at the post of duty, that the first thing I knew I was blubbering like a baby. He made me promise that in the future I will behave myself better, and study well. And I tell you, boys, I am going to do it." That young fellow became one of the most or derly and best students in the col lege, and graduated among the first in his class. Strike Out Boston. The News and Observer says "the war for American Independence would not have been successfully in augurated if the people of Wilming ton and Boston had not thrown tea overboard," etc. We are surprised at a North Carolina newspaper paral lelling the occurrence at these two places. The Wilmington patriots did not in the night time and wear ing disguises board a vessel and de stroy private property, but in broad daylight, without any attempt at concealment they marched the British stamp agent to the market and there made him swear never again to sell a revenue stamp in the colony, after having destroyed all the stamps he had. The two cases are not at all alike and cannot be referred to as similar instances of patriotic resist ance to British oppression. Wil mington Messenger. Divided in Taste. One morning, as Judge C, of N. Co., Va., was starting for the town, he was approached by one of his ne groes, who, with more or less con fusion, asked: "Massa, when yo' goes to do Co't House will yo' git me a license ? I's gwine to be marked." "Married, are you, Sam ? All right,'' called the Judge as he hastily drove off. Arrived at the court-house, he spent a very busy day, and it was not until he was preparing to leave that he remembered Sam's license and realized that he had not told the name of the bride-elect. "The old idiot, he never told me who he wants to carry, but, of course, it's Lucinda; he's always making eyes at her." So saying he returned to the court-house and had the li cense made out in the names of Sain and Lucinda. Sam was the first to greet him upon his return with the inquiry: "Git my license, Massa!" "Yes, Samr you old fool. You didn't tell me who you want to mar y; but I remembered how you're al ways hanging around courting Lucin da and got the license in her name." "Lawd, Massa!" exclaimed Sam, "'taint Lucindy, it's Eyarline, What's I gwine ter do, Massa ?" "Well," said the Judge, "the only thing will be for me to get another license to-morrow." "Massa," said Sam, "did yo' pay anyt'ing fur dem license?" "Yes, Sam, a dollar and seventy five cents." - "Will anuther license cos' any t'ing?" asked Sam. "Yes, Sam, a dollar and seventy five cents more," replied the Judge. After scratching his woolly pate for a few minutes Sam Teplied: "Well, Massa, I done axed Kyar line an' she sed Yase,' but fo' de Lawd, dere ain't no dollar an' seventy-five cents' difference in dem two niggers, so 111 jus' take Lucindy." Prudence Baxter, in September Lip pincott's. Don't wait for great things; for while you wait the door to the little ones may close. Galax Leaf.