THE FARMER.

THE FARMER.
489.6

“Land of our birth, our faith, our pride,
For whose dear sake our fathers died,
Oh, Motherland, we pledge to thee
Head, heart and hand through years to be!

It would seem as if the farmer of
New York had memorized the above, nailed it to the household mast-head and stood by with a shot-gun while the mad whirl of anarchists, the foreign- bred canaille, swept by in a mad dance, singing the praise of Hearst. And the farmer and the sentiment won out. Hail the farmer!