When there comes a year in which crops promise well, the farmer will buy anything that his family may want, if he can pay by giving his note of hand, to fall due after the yield of the year is sold. Makers of sewing-machines, organs, pianos, venders of furniture and bric-a-brac, agents of subscription-books, go first and most steadily to the farmers with their wares. The farmer will give his note, the vender will find some one who will discount it, and in the end it must be paid or compromised. If the crops go well everything is paid--perhaps. If not, the farmer is deeper than ever in the morass of debt. He has the consolation, apparently slight, though it is great to him, that his family has enjoyed some of the benefits of villagers whom they have envied, and that some day, somehow, he will get even with the world for it. Perhaps this apparent extravagance of his will keep his family together longer than the family of his neighbor A or B or C, from which the boys have drifted into village stores and shops, and the girls into domestic service in the town, or perhaps into factories, all to avoid the hard work, but still more, the loneliness and barrenness of the average farmer’s home.
How helpless and unpromising is the present condition of the American farmer can best be imagined by a glance at the farming interest as it exists at present in the New England States. Here, within the lifetime of the present generation, mills have dotted the sides of every river and brook that has sufficient power to turn a wheel. Thousands of people are gathered closely together every few miles along these water-courses, working in mills and factories, and absolutely dependant upon the surrounding country for their food supplies. Yet in no other section of the country are there so many abandoned farms. A short time ago the twelve best farms in the State of Vermont were practically abandoned because it seemed impossible to their owners to work them without a loss, and a bill was introduced in the Legislature to exempt these particular farms--which, again I repeat, were the best in the State--to exempt these farms from taxation so that some one might be persuaded to work them. It is not that the farmers have no market for what they produce, but that the finer farm products, or what in the larger cities are called the products of market-gardening, are of a nature so perishable that the profitable promise of a good soil may be speedily lost by the loss of the field itself after gathering.