{
  "schema": "tga.work.v1",
  "identifier": "dresden:vol-1:about-farming-in-illinois",
  "slug": "about-farming-in-illinois",
  "title": "About Farming in Illinois",
  "subtitle": "To Plow is to Pray — to Plant is to Prophesy, and the Harvest Answers and Fulfills.",
  "excerpt": "A warm, practical lecture to the farmers of Illinois on work, home, freedom, and the partnership between honest labor and intelligence.",
  "year": 1877,
  "volume": 1,
  "category": "Lecture",
  "author": {
    "name": "Robert G. Ingersoll",
    "wikidata": "Q360326",
    "viaf": "44331023"
  },
  "isPartOf": {
    "title": "The Works of Robert G. Ingersoll",
    "edition": "Dresden Edition",
    "publisher": "C. P. Farrell",
    "year": 1900
  },
  "license": "https://creativecommons.org/publicdomain/mark/1.0/",
  "url": "https://thegreatagnostic.com/works/about-farming-in-illinois/",
  "wordCount": 7384,
  "body": "I AM not an old and experienced farmer, nor a tiller of the soil, nor\none of the hard-handed sons of labor. I imagine, however, that I know\nsomething about cultivating the soil, and getting happiness out of the\nground.\n\nI know enough to know that agriculture is the basis of all wealth,\nprosperity and luxury. I know that in a country where the tillers of the\nfields are free, everybody is free and ought to be prosperous. Happy is\nthat country where those who cultivate the land own it. Patriotism is\nborn in the woods and fields—by lakes and streams—by crags and plains.\n\nThe old way of farming was a great mistake. Everything was done the\nwrong way. It was all work and waste, weariness and want. They used\nto fence a hundred and sixty acres of land with a couple of dogs.\nEverything was left to the protection of the blessed trinity of chance,\naccident and mistake.\n\nWhen I was a farmer they used to haul wheat two hundred miles in wagons\nand sell it for thirty-five cents a bushel. They would bring home about\nthree hundred feet of lumber, two bunches of shingles, a barrel of salt,\nand a cook-stove that never would draw and never did bake.\n\nIn those blessed days the people lived on corn and bacon. Cooking was\nan unknown art. Eating was a necessity, not a pleasure. It was hard work\nfor the cook to keep on good terms even with hunger.\n\nWe had poor houses. The rain held the roofs in perfect contempt, and\nthe snow drifted joyfully on the floors and beds. They had no barns. The\nhorses were kept in rail pens surrounded with straw. Long before spring\nthe sides would be eaten away and nothing but roofs would be left. Food\nis fuel. When the cattle were exposed to all the blasts of winter, it\ntook all the corn and oats that could be stuffed into them to prevent\nactual starvation.\n\nIn those times most farmers thought the best place for the pig-pen was\nimmediately in front of the house. There is nothing like sociability.\n\nWomen were supposed to know the art of making fires without fuel. The\nwood pile consisted, as a general thing, of one log upon which an axe or\ntwo had been worn out in vain. There was nothing to kindle a fire with.\nPickets were pulled from the garden fence, clap-boards taken from the\nhouse, and every stray plank was seized upon for kindling. Everything\nwas done in the hardest way. Everything about the farm was disagreeable.\nNothing was kept in order. Nothing was preserved. The wagons stood\nin the sun and rain, and the plows rusted in the fields. There was\nno leisure, no feeling that the work was done. It was all labor and\nweariness and vexation of spirit. The crops were destroyed by wandering\nherds, or they were put in too late, or too early, or they were blown\ndown, or caught by the frost, or devoured by bugs, or stung by flies,\nor eaten by worms, or carried away by birds, or dug up by gophers, or\nwashed away by floods, or dried up by the sun, or rotted in the stack,\nor heated in the crib, or they all run to vines, or tops, or straw, or\nsmut, or cobs. And when in spite of all these accidents that lie in wait\nbetween, the plow and the reaper, they did succeed in raising a good\ncrop and a high price was offered, then the roads would be impassable.\nAnd when the roads got good, then the prices went down. Everything\nworked together for evil.\n\nNearly every farmer's boy took an oath that he never would cultivate\nthe soil. The moment they arrived at the age of twenty-one they left\nthe desolate and dreary farms and rushed to the towns and cities. They\nwanted to be bookkeepers, doctors, merchants, railroad men, insurance\nagents, lawyers, even preachers, anything to avoid the drudgery of the\nfarm. Nearly every boy acquainted with the three R's—reading, writing,\nand arithmetic—imagined that he had altogether more education than\nought to be wasted in raising potatoes and corn. They made haste to get\ninto some other business. Those who stayed upon the farm envied those\nwho went away.\n\nA few years ago the times were prosperous, and the young men went to the\ncities to enjoy the fortunes that were waiting for them. They wanted to\nengage in something that promised quick returns. They built railways,\nestablished banks and insurance companies. They speculated in stocks\nin Wall Street, and gambled in grain at Chicago. They became rich.\nThey lived in palaces. They rode in carriages. They pitied their poor\nbrothers on the farms, and the poor brothers envied them.\n\nBut time has brought its revenge. The farmers have seen the railroad\npresident a bankrupt, and the road in the hands of a receiver. They have\nseen the bank president abscond, and the insurance company a wrecked and\nruined fraud. The only solvent people, as a class, the only independent\npeople, are the tillers of the soil.\n\nFarming must be made more attractive. The comforts of the town must be\nadded to the beauty of the fields. The sociability of the city must be\nrendered possible in the country.\n\nFarming has been made repulsive. The farmers have been unsociable and\ntheir homes have been lonely. They have been wasteful and careless. They\nhave not been proud of their business.\n\nIn the first place, farming ought to be reasonably profitable. The\nfarmers have not attended to their own interests. They have been robbed\nand plundered in a hundred ways.\n\nNo farmer can afford to raise corn and oats and hay to sell. He should\nsell horses, not oats; sheep, cattle and pork, not corn. He should make\nevery profit possible out of what he produces. So long as the farmers of\nIllinois ship their corn and oats, so long they will be poor,—just so\nlong will their farms be mortgaged to the insurance companies and banks\nof the East,—just so long will they do the work and others reap the\nbenefit,—just so long will they be poor, and the money lenders grow\nrich,—just so long will cunning avarice grasp and hold the net profits\nof honest toil. When the farmers of the West ship beef and pork instead\nof grain,—when we manufacture here,—when we cease paying tribute to\nothers, ours will be the most prosperous country in the world.\n\nAnother thing—It is just as cheap to raise a good as a poor breed of\ncattle. Scrubs will eat just as much as thoroughbreds. If you are not\nable to buy Durhams and Alderneys, you can raise the corn breed. By\n\"corn breed\" I mean the cattle that have, for several generations, had\nenough to eat, and have been treated with kindness. Every farmer who\nwill treat his cattle kindly, and feed them all they want, will, in a\nfew years, have blooded stock on his farm. All blooded stock has been\nproduced in this way. You can raise good cattle just as you can raise\ngood people. If you wish to raise a good boy you must give him plenty to\neat, and treat him with kindness. In this way, and in this way only, can\ngood cattle or good people be produced.\n\nAnother thing—You must beautify your homes.\n\nWhen I was a farmer it was not fashionable to set out trees, nor to\nplant vines.\n\nWhen you visited the farm you were not welcomed by flowers, and greeted\nby trees loaded with fruit. Yellow dogs came bounding over the tumbled\nfence like wild beasts. There is no sense—there is no profit in such a\nlife. It is not living. The farmers ought to beautify their homes. There\nshould be trees and grass and flowers and running vines. Everything\nshould be kept in order—gates should be on their hinges, and about all\nthere should be the pleasant air of thrift. In every house there should\nbe a bath-room. The bath is a civilizer, a refiner, a beautifier.\nWhen you come from the fields tired, covered with dust, nothing is so\nrefreshing. Above all things, keep clean. It is not necessary to be a\npig in order to raise one. In the cool of the evening, after a day in\nthe field, put on clean clothes, take a seat under the trees, 'mid the\nperfume of flowers, surrounded by your family, and you will know what it\nis to enjoy life like a gentleman.\n\nIn no part of the globe will farming pay better than in Illinois. You\nare in the best portion of the earth. From the Atlantic to the Pacific,\nthere is no such country as yours. The East is hard and stony; the\nsoil is stingy. The far West is a desert parched and barren, dreary and\ndesolate as perdition would be with the fires out. It is better to dig\nwheat and corn from the soil than gold. Only a few days ago, I was where\nthey wrench the precious metals from the miserly clutch of the rocks.\nWhen I saw the mountains, treeless, shrub-less, flowerless, without even\na spire of grass, it seemed to me that gold had the same effect upon\nthe country that holds it, as upon the man who lives and labors only for\nthat. It affects the land as it does the man. It leaves the heart barren\nwithout a flower of kindness—without a blossom of pity.\n\nThe farmer in Illinois has the best soil—the greatest return for the\nleast labor—more leisure—more time for enjoyment than any other\nfarmer in the world. His hard work ceases with autumn. He has the long\nwinters in which to become acquainted with his family—with his\nneighbors—in which to read and keep abreast with the advanced thought\nof his day. He has the time and means for self-culture. He has more time\nthan the mechanic, the merchant or the professional man. If the farmer\nis not well informed it is his own fault. Books are cheap, and every\nfarmer can have enough to give him the outline of every science, and an\nidea of all that has been accomplished by man.\n\nIn many respects the farmer has the advantage of the mechanic. In our\ntime we have plenty of mechanics but no tradesmen. In the sub-division\nof labor we have a thousand men working upon different parts of the same\nthing, each taught in one particular branch, and in only one. We have,\nsay, in a shoe factory, hundreds of men, but not one shoemaker. It takes\nthem all, assisted by a great number of machines, to make a shoe. Each\ndoes a particular part, and not one of them knows the entire trade. The\nresult is that the moment the factory shuts down these men are out of\nemployment. Out of employment means out of bread—out of bread means\nfamine and horror. The mechanic of to-day has but little independence.\nHis prosperity often depends upon the good will of one man. He is liable\nto be discharged for a look, for a word. He lays by but little for his\ndeclining years. He is, at the best, the slave of capital.\n\nIt is a thousand times better to be a whole farmer than part of a\nmechanic. It is better to till the ground and work for yourself than\nto be hired by corporations. Every man should endeavor to belong to\nhimself.\n\nAbout seven hundred years ago, Khayyam, a Persian, said: \"Why should a\nman who possesses a piece of bread securing life for two days, and who\nhas a cup of water—why should such a man be commanded by another, and\nwhy should such a man serve another?\"\n\nYoung men should not be satisfied with a salary. Do not mortgage the\npossibilities of your future. Have the courage to take life as it comes,\nfeast or famine. Think of hunting a gold mine for a dollar a day, and\nthink of finding one for another man. How would you feel then?\n\nWe are lacking in true courage, when, for fear of the future, we take\nthe crusts and scraps and niggardly salaries of the present. I had\na thousand times rather have a farm and be independent, than to be\nPresident of the United States without independence, filled with doubt\nand trembling, feeling of the popular pulse, resorting to art and\nartifice, enquiring about the wind of opinion, and succeeding at last in\nlosing my self-respect without gaining the respect of others.\n\nMan needs more manliness, more real independence. We must take care of\nourselves. This we can do by labor, and in this way we can preserve our\nindependence. We should try and choose that business or profession the\npursuit of which will give us the most happiness. Happiness is wealth.\nWe can be happy without being rich—without holding office—without\nbeing famous. I am not sure that we can be happy with wealth, with\noffice, or with fame.\n\nThere is a quiet about the life of a farmer, and the hope of a\nserene old age, that no other business or profession can promise. A\nprofessional man is doomed sometime to feel that his powers are waning.\nHe is doomed to see younger and stronger men pass him in the race of\nlife. He looks forward to an old age of intellectual mediocrity. He will\nbe last where once he was the first. But the farmer goes, as it were,\ninto partnership with nature—he lives with trees and flowers—he\nbreathes the sweet air of the fields. There is no constant and frightful\nstrain upon his mind. His nights are filled with sleep and rest. He\nwatches his flocks and herds as they feed upon the green and sunny\nslopes. He hears the pleasant rain falling upon the waving corn, and the\ntrees he planted in youth rustle above him as he plants others for the\nchildren yet to be.\n\nOur country is filled with the idle and unemployed, and the great\nquestion asking for an answer is: What shall be done with these men?\nWhat shall these men do? To this there is but one answer: They must\ncultivate the soil. Farming must be rendered more attractive. Those who\nwork the land must have an honest pride in their business. They must\neducate their children to cultivate the soil. They must make farming\neasier, so that their children will not hate it—so that they will not\nhate it themselves. The boys must not be taught that tilling the ground\nis a curse and almost a disgrace. They must not suppose that education\nis thrown away upon them unless they become ministers, merchants,\nlawyers, doctors, or statesmen. It must be understood that education\ncan be used to advantage on a farm. We must get rid of the idea that a\nlittle learning unfits one for work. There is no real conflict between\nLatin and labor. There are hundreds of graduates of Yale and Harvard\nand other colleges, who are agents of sewing machines, solicitors for\ninsurance, clerks, copyists, in short, performing a hundred varieties of\nmenial service. They seem willing to do anything that is not regarded as\nwork—anything that can be done in a town, in the house, in an office,\nbut they avoid farming as they would a leprosy. Nearly every young man\neducated in this way is simply ruined. Such an education ought to be\ncalled ignorance. It is a thousand times better to have common sense\nwithout education, than education without the sense. Boys and girls\nshould be educated to help themselves. They should be taught that it is\ndisgraceful to be idle, and dishonorable to be useless.\n\nI say again, if you want more men and women on the farms, something must\nbe done to make farm life pleasant. One great difficulty is that the\nfarm is lonely. People write about the pleasures of solitude, but they\nare found only in books. He who lives long alone becomes insane. A\nhermit is a madman. Without friends and wife and child, there is nothing\nleft worth living for. The unsocial are the enemies of joy. They are\nfilled with egotism and envy, with vanity and hatred. People who live\nmuch alone become narrow and suspicious. They are apt to be the property\nof one idea. They begin to think there is no use in anything. They look\nupon the happiness of others as a kind of folly. They hate joyous folks,\nbecause, way down in their hearts, they envy them.\n\nIn our country, farm-life is too lonely. The farms are large, and\nneighbors are too far apart. In these days, when the roads are filled\nwith \"tramps,\" the wives and children need protection. When the farmer\nleaves home and goes to some distant field to work, a shadow of fear is\nupon his heart all day, and a like shadow rests upon all at home.\n\nIn the early settlement of our country the pioneer was forced to take\nhis family, his axe, his dog and his gun, and go into the far wild\nforest, and build his cabin miles and miles from any neighbor. He saw\nthe smoke from his hearth go up alone in all the wide and lonely sky.\n\nBut this necessity has passed away, and now, instead of living so far\napart upon the lonely farms, you should live in villages. With the\nimproved machinery which you have—with your generous soil—with\nyour markets and means of transportation, you can now afford to live\ntogether.\n\nIt is not necessary in this age of the world for the farmer to rise in\nthe middle of the night and begin his work. This getting up so early in\nthe morning is a relic of barbarism. It has made hundreds and thousands\nof young men curse the business. There is no need of getting up at three\nor four o'clock in the winter morning. The farmer who persists in doing\nit and persists in dragging his wife and children from their beds ought\nto be visited by a missionary. It is time enough to rise after the sun\nhas set the example. For what purpose do you get up? To feed the cattle?\nWhy not feed them more the night before? It is a waste of life. In the\nold times they used to get up about three o'clock in the morning, and go\nto work long before the sun had risen with \"healing upon his wings,\" and\nas a just punishment they all had the ague; and they ought to have it\nnow. The man who cannot get a living upon Illinois soil without rising\nbefore daylight ought to starve. Eight hours a day is enough for any\nfarmer to work except in harvest time. When you rise at four and work\ntill dark what is life worth? Of what use are all the improvements in\nfarming? Of what use is all the improved machinery unless it tends to\ngive the farmer a little more leisure? What is harvesting now, compared\nwith what it was in the old time? Think of the days of reaping, of\ncradling, of raking and binding and mowing. Think of threshing with\nthe flail and winnowing with the wind. And now think of the reapers and\nmowers, the binders and threshing machines, the plows and cultivators,\nupon which the farmer rides protected from the sun. If, with all these\nadvantages, you cannot get a living without rising in the middle of the\nnight, go into some other business. You should not rob your families of\nsleep. Sleep is the best medicine in the world. It is the best doctor\nupon the earth. There is no such thing as health without plenty of\nsleep. Sleep until you are thoroughly rested and restored. When you\nwork, work; and when you get through take a good, long, and refreshing\nrest.\n\nYou should live in villages, so that you can have the benefits of social\nlife. You can have a reading-room—you can take the best papers and\nmagazines—you can have plenty of books, and each one can have the\nbenefit of them all. Some of the young men and women can cultivate\nmusic. You can have social gatherings—you can learn from each\nother—you can discuss all topics of interest, and in this way you can\nmake farming a delightful business. You must keep up with the age.\nThe way to make farming respectable is for farmers to become really\nintelligent. They must live intelligent and happy lives. They must know\nsomething of books and something of what is going on in the world.\nThey must not be satisfied with knowing something of the affairs of a\nneighborhood and nothing about the rest of the earth. The business must\nbe made attractive, and it never can be until the farmer has prosperity,\nintelligence and leisure.\n\nAnother thing—I am a believer in fashion. It is the duty of every woman\nto make herself as beautiful and attractive as she possibly can.\n\n\"Handsome is as handsome does,\" but she is much handsomer if well\ndressed. Every man should look his very best. I am a believer in good\nclothes. The time never ought to come in this country when you can tell\na farmer's wife or daughter simply by the garments she wears. I say to\nevery girl and woman, no matter what the material of your dress may be,\nno matter how cheap and coarse it is, cut it and make it in the fashion.\nI believe in jewelry. Some people look upon it as barbaric, but in my\njudgment, wearing jewelry is the first evidence the barbarian gives of\na wish to be civilized. To adorn ourselves seems to be a part of our\nnature, and this desire seems to be everywhere and in everything. I\nhave sometimes thought that the desire for beauty covers the earth with\nflowers. It is this desire that paints the wings of moths, tints the\nchamber of the shell, and gives the bird its plumage and its song. Oh\ndaughters and wives, if you would be loved, adorn yourselves—if you\nwould be adored, be beautiful!\n\nThere is another fault common with the farmers of our country—they want\ntoo much land. You cannot, at present, when taxes are high, afford to\nown land that you do not cultivate. Sell it and let others make farms\nand homes. In this way what you keep will be enhanced in value. Farmers\nought to own the land they cultivate, and cultivate what they own.\nRenters can hardly be called farmers. There can be no such thing in the\nhighest sense as a home unless you own it. There must be an incentive\nto plant trees, to beautify the grounds, to preserve and improve. It\nelevates a man to own a home. It gives a certain independence, a force\nof character that is obtained in no other way. A man without a home\nfeels like a passenger. There is in such a man a little of the vagrant.\nHomes make patriots. He who has sat by his own fireside with wife and\nchildren will defend it. When he hears the word country pronounced, he\nthinks of his home.\n\nFew men have been patriotic enough to shoulder a musket in defence of a\nboarding house.\n\nThe prosperity and glory of our country depend upon the number of our\npeople who are the owners of homes. Around the fireside cluster the\nprivate and the public virtues of our race. Raise your sons to be\nindependent through labor—to pursue some business for themselves\nand upon their own account—to be self-reliant—to act upon their own\nresponsibility, and to take the consequences like men. Teach them above\nall things to be good, true and tender husbands—winners of love and\nbuilders of homes.\n\nA great many farmers seem to think that they are the only laborers\nin the world. This is a very foolish thing. Farmers cannot get along\nwithout the mechanic. You are not independent of the man of genius.\nYour prosperity depends upon the inventor. The world advances by the\nassistance of all laborers; and all labor is under obligations to the\ninventions of genius. The inventor does as much for agriculture as he\nwho tills the soil. All laboring men should be brothers. You are in\npartnership with the mechanics who make your reapers, your mowers and\nyour plows; and you should take into your granges all the men who make\ntheir living by honest labor. The laboring people should unite and\nshould protect themselves against all idlers. You can divide mankind\ninto two classes: the laborers and the idlers, the supporters and the\nsupported, the honest and the dishonest. Every man is dishonest who\nlives upon the unpaid labor of others, no matter if he occupies a\nthrone. All laborers should be brothers. The laborers should have equal\nrights before the world and before the law. And I want every farmer to\nconsider every man who labors either with hand or brain as his brother.\nUntil genius and labor formed a partnership there was no such thing\nas prosperity among men. Every reaper and mower, every agricultural\nimplement, has elevated the work of the farmer, and his vocation grows\ngrander with every invention. In the olden time the agriculturist\nwas ignorant; he knew nothing of machinery, he was the slave of\nsuperstition. He was always trying to appease some imaginary power by\nfasting and prayer. He supposed that some being actuated by malice, sent\nthe untimely frost, or swept away with the wild wind his rude abode.\nTo him the seasons were mysteries. The thunder told him of an enraged\ngod—the barren fields of the vengeance of heaven. The tiller of the\nsoil lived in perpetual and abject fear. He knew nothing of mechanics,\nnothing of order, nothing of law, nothing of cause and effect. He was\na superstitious savage. He invented prayers instead of plows, creeds\ninstead of reapers and mowers. He was unable to devote all his time to\nthe gods, and so he hired others to assist him, and for their influence\nwith the gentlemen supposed to control the weather, he gave one-tenth of\nall he could produce.\n\nThe farmer has been elevated through science and he should not forget\nthe debt he owes to the mechanic, to the inventor, to the thinker. He\nshould remember that all laborers belong to the same grand family—that\nthey are the real kings and queens, the only true nobility.\n\nAnother idea entertained by most farmers is that they are in some\nmysterious way oppressed by every other kind of business—that they are\ndevoured by monopolies, especially by railroads.\n\nOf course, the railroads are indebted to the farmers for their\nprosperity, and the farmers are indebted to the railroads. Without them\nIllinois would be almost worthless.\n\nA few years ago you endeavored to regulate the charges of railroad\ncompanies. The principal complaint you had was that they charged too\nmuch for the transportation of corn and other cereals to the East. You\nshould remember that all freights are paid by the consumer; and that\nit made little difference to you what the railroad charged for\ntransportation to the East, as that transportation had to be paid by\nthe consumers of the grain. You were really interested in transportation\nfrom the East to the West and in local freights. The result is that\nwhile you have put down through freights you have not succeeded so well\nin local freights. The exact opposite should be the policy of Illinois.\nPut down local freights; put them down, if you can, to the lowest\npossible figure, and let through rates take care of themselves. If all\nthe corn raised in Illinois could be transported to New York absolutely\nfree, it would enhance but little the price that you would receive.\nWhat we want is the lowest possible local rate. Instead of this you have\nsimply succeeded in helping the East at the expense of the West. The\nrailroads are your friends. They are your partners. They can prosper\nonly where the country through which they run prospers. All intelligent\nrailroad men know this. They know that present robbery is future\nbankruptcy. They know that the interest of the farmer and of the\nrailroad is the same. We must have railroads. What can we do without\nthem?\n\nWhen we had no railroads, we drew, as I said before, our grain two\nhundred miles to market.\n\nIn those days the farmers did not stop at hotels. They slept under their\nwagons—took with them their food—fried their own bacon, made their\ncoffee, and ate their meals in the snow and rain. Those were the days\nwhen they received ten cents a bushel for corn—when they sold four\nbushels of potatoes for a quarter—thirty-three dozen eggs for a dollar,\nand a hundred pounds of pork for a dollar and a half.\n\nWhat has made the difference?\n\nThe railroads came to your door and they brought with them the markets\nof the world. They brought New York and Liverpool and London into\nIllinois, and the State has been clothed with prosperity as with a\nmantle. It is the interest of the farmer to protect every great interest\nin the State. You should feel proud that Illinois has more railroads\nthan any other State in this Union. Her main tracks and side tracks\nwould furnish iron enough to belt the globe. In Illinois there are\nten thousand miles of railways. In these iron highways more than three\nhundred million dollars have been invested—a sum equal to ten times\nthe original cost of all the land in the State. To make war upon the\nrailroads is a short-sighted and suicidal policy. They should be treated\nfairly and should be taxed by the same standard that farms are taxed,\nand in no other way. If we wish to prosper we must act together, and we\nmust see to it that every form of labor is protected.\n\nThere has been a long period of depression in all business. The farmers\nhave suffered least of all. Your land is just as rich and productive as\never. Prices have been reasonable. The towns and cities have suffered.\nStocks and bonds have shrunk from par to worthless paper. Princes have\nbecome paupers, and bankers, merchants and millionaires have passed into\nthe oblivion of bankruptcy. The period of depression is slowly passing\naway, and we are entering upon better times.\n\nA great many people say that a scarcity of money is our only difficulty.\nIn my opinion we have money enough, but we lack confidence in each other\nand in the future.\n\nThere has been so much dishonesty, there have been so many failures,\nthat the people are afraid to trust anybody. There is plenty of money,\nbut there seems to be a scarcity of business. If you were to go to the\nowner of a ferry, and, upon seeing his boat lying high and dry on the\nshore, should say, \"There is a superabundance of ferryboat,\" he would\nprobably reply, \"No, but there is a scarcity of water.\" So with us there\nis not a scarcity of money, but there is a scarcity of business. And\nthis scarcity springs from lack of confidence in one another. So many\npresidents of savings banks, even those belonging to the Young Men's\nChristian Association, run off with the funds; so many railroad and\ninsurance companies are in the hands of receivers; there is so much\nbankruptcy on every hand, that all capital is held in the nervous clutch\nof fear. Slowly, but surely we are coming back to honest methods in\nbusiness. Confidence will return, and then enterprise will unlock the\nsafe and money will again circulate as of yore; the dollars will leave\ntheir hiding places and every one will be seeking investment.\n\nFor my part, I do not ask any interference on the part of the Government\nexcept to undo the wrong it has done. I do not ask that money be made\nout of nothing. I do not ask for the prosperity born of paper. But I do\nask for the remonetization of silver. Silver was demonetized by fraud.\nIt was an imposition upon every solvent man; a fraud upon every honest\ndebtor in the United States. It assassinated labor. It was done in the\ninterest of avarice and greed, and should be undone by honest men.\n\nThe farmers should vote only for such men as are able and willing to\nguard and advance the interests of labor. We should know better than\nto vote for men who will deliberately put a tariff of three dollars\na thousand upon Canada lumber, when every farmer in Illinois is a\npurchaser of lumber. People who live upon the prairies ought to vote for\ncheap lumber. We should protect ourselves. We ought to have intelligence\nenough to know what we want and how to get it. The real laboring men of\nthis country can succeed if they are united. By laboring men, I do not\nmean only the farmers. I mean all who contribute in some way to the\ngeneral welfare. They should forget prejudices and party names, and\nremember only the best interests of the people. Let us see if we cannot,\nin Illinois, protect every department of industry. Let us see if all\nproperty cannot be protected alike and taxed alike, whether owned by\nindividuals or corporations.\n\nWhere industry creates and justice protects, prosperity dwells.\n\nLet me tell you something more about Illinois. We have fifty-six\nthousand square miles of land—nearly thirty-six million acres. Upon\nthese plains we can raise enough to feed and clothe twenty million\npeople. Beneath these prairies were hidden millions of ages ago, by\nthat old miser, the sun, thirty-six thousand square miles of coal. The\naggregate thickness of these veins is at least fifteen feet. Think of a\ncolumn of coal one mile square and one hundred miles high! All this\ncame from the sun. What a sunbeam such a column would be! Think of the\nengines and machines this coal will run and turn and whirl! Think of\nall this force, willed and left to us by the dead morning of the world!\nThink of the firesides of the future around which will sit the fathers,\nmothers and children of the years to be! Think of the sweet and happy\nfaces, the loving and tender eyes that will glow and gleam in the sacred\nlight of all these flames!\n\nWe have the best country in the world, and Illinois is the best State\nin that country. Is there any reason that our farmers should not be\nprosperous and happy men? They have every advantage, and within their\nreach are all the comforts and conveniences of life.\n\nDo not get the land fever and think you must buy all that joins you. Get\nout of debt as soon as you possibly can. A mortgage casts a shadow on\nthe sunniest field. There is no business under the sun that can pay ten\nper cent.\n\nInterest eats night and day, and the more it eats the hungrier it grows.\nThe farmer in debt, lying awake at night, can, if he listens, hear it\ngnaw. If he owes nothing, he can hear his corn grow. Get out of debt\nas soon as you possibly can. You have supported idle avarice and lazy\neconomy long enough.\n\nAbove all let every farmer treat his wife and children with infinite\nkindness. Give your sons and daughters every advantage within your\npower. In the air of kindness they will grow about you like flowers.\nThey will fill your homes with sunshine and all your years with joy.\nDo not try to rule by force. A blow from a parent leaves a scar on the\nsoul. I should feel ashamed to die surrounded by children I had whipped.\nThink of feeling upon your dying lips the kiss of a child you had\nstruck.\n\nSee to it that your wife has every convenience. Make her life worth\nliving. Never allow her to become a servant. Wives, weary and worn,\nmothers, wrinkled and bent before their time, fill homes with grief\nand shame. If you are not able to hire help for your wives, help them\nyourselves. See that they have the best utensils to work with.\n\nWomen cannot create things by magic. Have plenty of wood and coal—good\ncellars and plenty in them. Have cisterns, so that you can have plenty\nof rain water for washing. Do not rely on a barrel and a board. When the\nrain comes the board will be lost or the hoops will be off the barrel.\n\nFarmers should live like princes. Eat the best things you raise and sell\nthe rest. Have good things to cook and good things to cook with. Of all\npeople in our country, you should live the best. Throw your miserable\nlittle stoves out of the window. Get ranges, and have them so built that\nyour wife need not burn her face off to get you a breakfast. Do not make\nher cook in a kitchen hot as the orthodox perdition. The beef, not the\ncook, should be roasted. It is just as easy to have things convenient\nand right as to have them any other way.\n\nCooking is one of the fine arts. Give your wives and daughters things to\ncook, and things to cook with, and they will soon become most excellent\ncooks. Good cooking is the basis of civilization. The man whose arteries\nand veins are filled with rich blood made of good and well cooked food,\nhas pluck, courage, endurance and and noble impulses. The inventor of\na good soup did more for his race than the maker of any creed. The\ndoctrines of total depravity and endless punishment were born of bad\ncooking and dyspepsia. Remember that your wife should have the things to\ncook with.\n\nIn the good old days there would be eleven children in the family and\nonly one skillet. Everything was broken or cracked or loaned or lost.\n\nThere ought to be a law making it a crime, punishable by imprisonment,\nto fry beefsteak. Broil it; it is just as easy, and when broiled it is\ndelicious. Fried beefsteak is not fit for a wild beast.\n\nThere is no reason why farmers should not have fresh meat all the year\nround. There is certainly no sense in stuffing yourself full of salt\nmeat every morning, and making a well or a cistern of your stomach for\nthe rest of the day. Every farmer should have an ice house.\n\nMake your homes pleasant. Have your houses warm and comfortable for the\nwinter. Do not build a story-and-a-half house. The half story is simply\nan oven in which, during the summer, you will bake every night, and feel\nin the morning as though only the rind of yourself was left.\n\nDecorate your rooms, even if you do so with cheap engravings. The\ncheapest are far better than none. Have books—have papers, and read\nthem. You have more leisure than the dwellers in cities. Beautify your\ngrounds with plants and flowers and vines. Have good gardens. Remember\nthat everything of beauty tends to the elevation of man. Every little\nmorning-glory whose purple bosom is thrilled with the amorous kisses of\nthe sun, tends to put a blossom in your heart. Do not judge of the\nvalue of everything by the market reports. Every flower about a house\ncertifies to the refinement of somebody. Every vine climbing and\nblossoming, tells of love and joy.\n\nMake your houses comfortable. Do not huddle together in a little room\naround a red-hot stove, with every window fastened down. Do not live in\nthis poisoned atmosphere, and then, when one of your children dies, put\na piece in the papers commencing with, \"Whereas, it has pleased divine\nProvidence to remove from our midst—.\" Have plenty of air, and plenty\nof warmth. Comfort is health.\n\nLet your children sleep. Do not drag them from their beds in the\ndarkness of night. Do not compel them to associate all that is tiresome,\nirksome and dreadful with cultivating the soil. In this way you bring\nfarming into hatred and disrepute. Treat your children with infinite\nkindness—treat them as equals. There is no happiness in a home not\nfilled with love. Where the husband hates his wife—where the wife hates\nthe husband; where children hate their parents and each other—there is\na hell upon earth.\n\nThere is no reason why farmers should not be the kindest and most\ncultivated of men. There is nothing in plowing the fields to make men\ncross, cruel and crabbed. To look upon the sunny slopes covered with\ndaisies does not tend to make men unjust. Whoever labors for the\nhappiness of those he loves, elevates himself, no matter whether he\nworks in the dark and dreary shops, or in the perfumed fields. To work\nfor others is, in reality, the only way in which a man can work for\nhimself. Selfishness is ignorance. Speculators cannot make unless\nsomebody loses. In the realm of speculation, every success has at least\none victim. The harvest reaped by the farmer benefits all and injures\nnone. For him to succeed, it is not necessary that some one should fail.\nThe same is true of all producers—of all laborers.\n\nI can imagine no condition that carries with it such a promise of joy as\nthat of the farmer in the early winter. He has his cellar filled—he has\nmade every preparation for the days of snow and storm—he looks forward\nto three months of ease and rest; to three months of fireside-content;\nthree months with wife and children; three months of long, delightful\nevenings; three months of home; three months of solid comfort.\n\nWhen the life of the farmer is such as I have described, the cities and\ntowns will not be filled with want—the streets will not be crowded with\nwrecked rogues, broken bankers, and bankrupt speculators. The fields\nwill be tilled, and country villages, almost hidden by trees and vines\nand flowers, filled with industrious and happy people, will nestle in\nevery vale and gleam like gems on every plain.\n\nThe idea must be done away with that there is something intellectually\ndegrading in cultivating the soil. Nothing can be nobler than to be\nuseful. Idleness should not be respectable.\n\nIf farmers will cultivate well, and without waste; if they will so build\nthat their houses will be warm in winter and cool in summer; if they\nwill plant trees and beautify their homes; if they will occupy their\nleisure in reading, in thinking, in improving their minds and in\ndevising ways and means to make their business profitable and pleasant;\nif they will live nearer together and cultivate sociability; if they\nwill come together often; if they will have reading rooms and cultivate\nmusic; if they will have bath-rooms, ice-houses and good gardens; if\ntheir wives can have an easy time; if their sons and daughters can have\nan opportunity to keep in line with the thoughts and discoveries of\nthe world; if the nights can be taken for sleep and the evenings for\nenjoyment, everybody will be in love with the fields. Happiness should\nbe the object of life, and if life on the farm can be made really happy,\nthe children will grow up in love with the meadows, the streams, the\nwoods and the old home. Around the farm will cling and cluster the happy\nmemories of the delighful years.\n\nRemember, I pray you, that you are in partnership with all labor—that\nyou should join hands with all the sons and daughters of toil, and that\nall who work belong to the same noble family.\n\nFor my part, I envy the man who has lived on the same broad acres from\nhis boyhood, who cultivates the fields where in youth he played, and\nlives where his father lived and died.\n\nI can imagine no sweeter way to end one's life.\n"
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