"What are you going to do with yourself, Gray, when your college course is ended?" asked Mr. Maxwell.
"I'm going to settle right down here," said Mr. Harry.
"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 enough for the good of the country. There is nothing like farming, to my mind. In no other employment have you a surer living. I do not like the cities. The heat and dust, and crowds of people, and buildings overtopping one another, and the rush of living, take my breath away. Suppose I did go to a city. I would sell out my share of the farm, and have a few thousand dollars. You know I am not an intellectual giant. I would never distinguish myself in any profession. I would be a poor lawyer or doctor, living in a back street all the days of my life, and never watch a tree or flower grow, Or tend an animal, or have a drive unless I paid for it. No, thank you. I agree with President Eliot, of Harvard. He says, scarcely one person in ten thousand betters himself permanently by leaving his rural home and settling in a city. If one is a millionaire, 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 more ways than one, to be a millionaire. I believe the safety of the country lies in the hands of the farmers; for they are seldom very poor or very rich. We stand between the two dangerous classes—the wealthy and the paupers."
"But most farmers lead such a dog's life," said Mr, Maxwell.
