THE GENTLEMAN FARMER.

He owned the farm—at least 'twas thought He owned, since he lived upon it,— And when he came there, with him brought The men whom he had hired to run it. He had been bred to city life And had acquired a little money; But, strange conceit, himself and wife Thought farming must be something funny. He did not work himself at all, But spent his time in recreation— In pitching quoits and playing ball, And such mild forms of dissipation. He kept his "rods" and trolling spoons, His guns and dogs of various habits,— While in the fall he hunted coons, And in the winter skunks and rabbits. His hired help were quick to learn The liberties that might be taken, And through the season scarce would earn The salt it took to save their bacon. He knew no more than child unborn, One-half the time, what they were doing,— Whether they stuck to hoeing corn, Or had on hand some mischief brewing. His crops, although they were but few, With proper food were seldom nourished, While cockle instead of barley grew, And noxious weeds and thistles flourished. His cows in spring looked more like rails Set up on legs, than living cattle; And when they switched their dried-up tails The very bones in them would rattle. At length the sheriff came along, Who soon relieved him of his labors. While he became the jest and song Of his more enterprising neighbors. Back to the place where life began, Back to the home from whence he wandered, A sadder, if not a wiser man, He went with all his money squandered. MORAL. On any soil, be it loam or clay, Mellow and light, or rough and stony, Those men who best make farming pay Find use for brains as well as money. —Tribune and Farmer.