---

James Whitcomb Riley - What Smith Knew About Farming
Work rating: Low

There wasn`t two purtier farms in the state
Than the couple of which I`m about to relate;--
Jinin` each other--belongin` to Brown,
And jest at the edge of a flourishin` town.
Brown was a man, as I understand,
That allus had handled a good `eal o` land,
And was sharp as a tack in drivin` a trade--
For that`s the way most of his money was made.
And all the grounds and the orchards about
His two pet farms was all tricked out
With poppies and posies
And sweet-smellin` rosies;
And hundreds o` kinds
Of all sorts o` vines,
To tickle the most horticultural minds
And little dwarf trees not as thick as your wrist
With ripe apples on `em as big as your fist:
And peaches,--Siberian crabs and pears,
And quinces--Well! ANY fruit ANY tree bears;
And th purtiest stream--jest a-swimmin` with fish,
And--JEST O`MOST EVERYTHING HEART COULD WISH!
The purtiest orch`rds--I wish you could see
How purty they was, fer I know it `ud be
A regular treat!--but I`ll go ahead with
My story!  A man by the name o` Smith--
(A bad name to rhyme,
But I reckon that I`m
Not goin` back on a Smith! nary time!)
`At hadn`t a soul of kin nor kith,
And more money than he knowed what to do with,--
So he comes a-ridin` along one day,
And HE says to Brown, in his offhand way--
Who was trainin` some newfangled vines round a bay-
Winder--"Howdy-do--look-a-here--say:
What`ll you take fer this property here?--
I`m talkin` o` leavin` the city this year,
And I want to be
Where the air is free,
And I`ll BUY this place, if it ain`t too dear!"--
Well--they grumbled and jawed aroun`--
"I don`t like to part with the place," says Brown;
"Well," says Smith, a-jerkin` his head,
"That house yonder--bricks painted red--
Jest like this`n--a PURTIER VIEW--
Who is it owns it?"  "That`s mine too,"
Says Brown, as he winked at a hole in his shoe,
"But I`ll tell you right here jest what I KIN do:--
If you`ll pay the figgers I`ll sell IT to you.,"
Smith went over and looked at the place--
Badgered with Brown, and argied the case--
Thought that Brown`s figgers was rather too tall,
But, findin` that Brown wasn`t goin` to fall,
In final agreed,
So they drawed up the deed
Fer the farm and the fixtures--the live stock an` all.
And so Smith moved from the city as soon
As he possibly could--But "the man in the moon"
Knowed more`n Smith o` farmin` pursuits,
And jest to convince you, and have no disputes,
How little he knowed,
I`ll tell you his "mode,"
As he called it, o` raisin` "the best that growed,"
In the way o` potatoes--
Cucumbers--tomatoes,
And squashes as lengthy as young alligators.
`Twas allus a curious thing to me
How big a fool a feller kin be
When he gits on a farm after leavin` a town!--
Expectin` to raise himself up to renown,
And reap fer himself agricultural fame,
By growin` of squashes--WITHOUT ANY SHAME--
As useless and long as a technical name.
To make the soil pure,
And certainly sure,
He plastered the ground with patent manure.
He had cultivators, and double-hoss plows,
And patent machines fer milkin` his cows;
And patent hay-forks--patent measures and weights,
And new patent back-action hinges fer gates,
And barn locks and latches, and such little dribs,
And patents to keep the rats out o` the cribs--
Reapers and mowers,
And patent grain sowers;
And drillers
And tillers
And cucumber hillers,
And horries;--and had patent rollers and scrapers,
And took about ten agricultural papers.
So you can imagine how matters turned out:
But BROWN didn`t have not a shadder o` doubt
That Smith didn`t know what he was about
When he said that "the OLD way to farm was played out."
But Smith worked ahead,
And when any one said
That the OLD way o` workin` was better instead
O` his "modern idees," he allus turned red,
And wanted to know
What made people so
INFERNALLY anxious to hear theirselves crow?
And guessed that he`d manage to hoe his own row.
Brown he come onc`t and leant over the fence,
And told Smith that he couldn`t see any sense
In goin` to such a tremendous expense
Fer the sake o` such no-account experiments
"That`ll never make corn!
As shore`s you`re born
It`ll come out the leetlest end of the horn!"
Says Brown, as he pulled off a big roastin`-ear
From a stalk of his own
That had tribble outgrown
Smith`s poor yaller shoots, and says he, "Looky here!
THIS corn was raised in the old-fashioned way,
And I rather imagine that THIS corn`ll pay
Expenses fer RAISIN` it!--What do you say?"
Brown got him then to look over his crop.--
HIS luck that season had been tip-top!
And you may surmise
Smith opened his eyes
And let out a look o` the wildest surprise
When Brown showed him punkins as big as the lies
He was stuffin` him with--about offers he`s had
Fer his farm:  "I don`t want to sell very bad,"
He says, but says he,
"Mr. Smith, you kin see
Fer yourself how matters is standin` with me,
I UNDERSTAND FARMIN` and I`d better stay,
You know, on my farm;--I`m a-makin` it pay--
I oughtn`t to grumble!--I reckon I`ll clear
Away over four thousand dollars this year."
And that was the reason, he made it appear,
Why he didn`t care about sellin` his farm,
And hinted at his havin` done himself harm
In sellin` the other, and wanted to know
If Smith wouldn`t sell back ag`in to him.--So
Smith took the bait, and says he, "Mr. Brown,
I wouldn`t SELL out but we might swap aroun`--
How`ll you trade your place fer mine?"
(Purty sharp way o` comin` the shine
Over Smith!  Wasn`t it?) Well, sir, this Brown
Played out his hand and brought Smithy down--
Traded with him an`, workin` it cute,
Raked in two thousand dollars to boot
As slick as a whistle, an` that wasn`t all,--
He managed to trade back ag`in the next fall,--
And the next--and the next--as long as Smith stayed
He reaped with his harvests an annual trade.--
Why, I reckon that Brown must `a` easily made--
On an AVERAGE--nearly two thousand a year--
Together he made over seven thousand--clear.--
Till Mr. Smith found he was losin` his health
In as big a proportion, almost, as his wealth;
So at last he concluded to move back to town,
And sold back his farm to this same Mr. Brown
At very low figgers, by gittin` it down.
Further`n this I have nothin` to say
Than merely advisin` the Smiths fer to stay
In their grocery stores in flourishin` towns
And leave agriculture alone--and the Browns.
Source
The script ran 0.002 seconds.