Newspaper Farming

Come, all ye lowly farmers. Come, a!l ye grauwer folk, Who in tho cultlvation Of wheat have gone dead broke; Since iii tlie rural precincts Yon cannot find your luek. Come here and learn the secret Of making garden truck. High up above the iygmies Who rush along the strect There toils a gifted worker Upon a morning sheet. All night he looks at copy; All night he handles news; All day he sweats hls thinker And mnch of wisdom brews. He grieves to think that farmer Bhould play a losing hand At plowing up the bosoin Of unresponsive land. And in hls grief he murmura, kWith crops diversified The farmer would be in it, With fortune for hls bride." So come, ye lowly plowmen, Who thirst for something good. And learn the golden secret, For be it understood That here we have a writer Who deftly does the trick Of making country butter By the paragraph or stick.