tatoes, no matter much how obtained, with scant
credit for backaches.

We have farm ballads and farm arithmetics, but as yet no one has
written for us a book on farm pedagogy. I'd do it myself but for the
feeling that some Strayer, or McMurry, or O'Shea will get right at it
as soon as he has come upon this suggestion. That's my one great
trouble. The other fellow has the thing done before I can get around
to it. I would have written "The Message to Garcia," but Mr. Hubbard
anticipated me. Then, I was just ready to write a luminous
description of Yellowstone Falls when I happened upon the one that
DeWitt Talmage wrote, and I could see no reason for writing another.
So it is. I seem always to be just too late. I wish now that I had
written "Recessional" before Kipling got to it. No doubt, the same
thing will happen with my farm pedagogy. If one could only stake a
claim in all this matter of writing as they do in the mining regions,
the whole thing would be simplified. I'd stake my claim on farm
pedagogy and then go on hoeing my potatoes while thinking out what to
say on the subject.

Whoever writes the book will do well to show how catching a boy is
analogous to catching a colt out in the pasture. Both feats require
tact and, at the very least, horse-sense. The other day I wanted to
catch my colt and went out to the pasture for that purpose. There is
a hill in the pasture, and I went to the top of this and saw the colt
at the far side of the pasture in what we call the swale--low, wet
ground, where weeds abound. I didn't want to get my shoes soiled, so
I stood on the hill and called and called. The colt looked up now
and then and then went on with his own affairs. In my chagrin I was
just about ready to get angry when it occurred to me that the colt
wasn't angry, and that I ought to show as good sense as a mere horse.
That reflection relieved the tension somewhat, and I thought it wise
to meditate a bit. Here am I; yonder is the colt. I want him; he
doesn't want me. He will not come to me; so I must go to him. Then,
what? Oh, yes, native interests--that's it, native interests. I'm
much obliged to Professor James for reminding me. Now, just what are
the native interests of a colt? Why, oats, of course. So, I must
return to the barn and get a pail of oats. An empty pail might do
once, but never again. So I must have oats in my pail. Either a
colt or a boy becomes shy after he has once been dece