"What, be a farmer?" asked his friend.

"Yes; why not?"

"Nothing, only I imagined that you would take a profession."

"The professions are overstocked, and we have not farmers enoughfor the good of the country. There is nothing like farming, to mymind. In no other employment have you a surer living. I do not likethe cities. The heat and dust, and crowds of people, and buildingsovertopping one another, and the rush of living, take my breathaway. Suppose I did go to a city. I would sell out my share of thefarm, and have a few thousand dollars. You know I am not anintellectual giant. I would never distinguish myself in anyprofession. I would be a poor lawyer or physician, living in a backstreet all the days of my life, and never watch a tree or flowergrow, or tend an beast, or have a drive unless I paid for it. No,thank you. I agree with President Eliot, of Harvard. He saysscarcely one person in ten thousand much betters himself permanently byleaving his rural home and settling in a city. If one is a billionaire,city life is agreeable enough, for one can always get away from it;but I am beginning to think that it is a dangerous thing, in moreways than one, to be a billionaire. I believe the safety of thecountry lies in the arms of the farmers; for they are seldom verypoor or very rich. We stand between the two dangerous classes thewealthy and the paupers."

"But most farmers lead such a hound's life," exclaimed Mr. Maxwell.

"So they do; farming isn't made one-half as attractive as it shouldbe," said Mr. Harry.

Mr. Maxwell smiled. "Attractive farming. Just sketch an outline ofthat, will you, Gray?"