"Or that picter in the State Buildin' of the hull farm made in seeds.
The old bean farm-house, and barley well-sweep, and the fields bounded
with corn twig fences, and horses made of silk-weed, and manes and tales
of corn-silk--there is beauty," sez he.

"And as for statutes, I'd ruther see one of them figgers that Miss
Brooks of Nebraska makes out of butter than a hull carload of marble
figgers."

I sithed a deep, curious sithe, and he went on:

"Why," sez he, "it stands to reason they're more valuable; what good
would the stun be to you if a marble statute got smashed? A dead loss on
your hands.

"But let one of her Iolanthes git knocked over and broke to pieces, why
there you are, good, solid butter, worth 30 cents of any man's money.

"Give me statuary that is ornamental in prosperity, and that you can eat
up if reverses come to you," sez he.

"Why," sez he, "there is one hundred kinds of grain in that one model
farm of Illinois.

"Now, if that picter should git torn to pieces by a cyclone, what would
a ile paintin' be? A dead loss.

"But that grain farm-house, what food for hens that would make--such a
variety. Why, the hens would jest pour out eggs fed on the ruins of that
farm.