spell, and when my face is good and well, I'll spring a challenge good and hard, and whip him in his own back yard!" [Pg 108] [Pg 108] Luther Burbank The wizard of the garden, the scientist who found a way to raise a peartree with branches underground, who gave us boneless pumpkins and non-explosive peas, and gutta-percha lettuce, and beets that grow on trees—this wizard of the garden, with venom is assailed, by lesser lights of science, who tried his stunts and failed. And thus it was forever, and thus 'twill always be; the man who wins must suffer the shafts of calumny. We're mostly small potatoes, we critters here on earth; we kick at big achievements, we snarl at sterling worth; we view the greater triumphs of industry and art, and if we find no blemish, it nearly breaks our heart. Go on, O Luther Burbank, the Wizard of the West! Heed not the hoots of people by jealousy oppressed; send forth your sea-green roses, to scent a thousand Junes, produce your horseless radish, and double action prunes! [Pg 109] [Pg 109] Governed Too Much I love the sun and the gentle breeze, and the brook that winds through the pleasant vale; and I love the birds, and I love the trees, and I'm always glad when I'm out of jail. We are governed now by so many laws that liberty's dead, and we've heard its knell, and the wise man carries a set of saws, to cut his way from a prison cell. The grocer wails in a dungeon deep, for he sold an egg that was out of date; the baker's fetters won't let him sleep, a loaf of his bread was under weight. The butcher beats at his prison door, and fills the air with his doleful moan; they'll cut off his head when the night is o'er, for he sold a steak that was mostly bone. The milkman's there in the prison yard, and the jailers flog him and make him jump; it seems to me that his fate is hard, though he did draw milk from the old home pump. A sickly weed, that was lank and thin, embellished my lot, at the edge of town, and the peelers nabbed me and ran me in, because I neglected to cut it down. I dropped a can as I crossed the park, and that is a crime that's against the law; so they shut me up in a dungeon dark, with its rusty chains and its moldy straw. I love the brook and the summer breeze, and I'm rather mashed on the howling gale; and I'm fond of robins and bumblebees, and I'm always glad when I'm out of jail. [Pg 110]
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