At last I asked one man, who affected to know everything-- "Oh, yes, I know it." "What is it ?" I persisted.
"Well, I know it just as well, but can't just now get the name out." A pause, then, with great superiority: "I'd rather see a potato field in full bloom, than all the flowers in the world." Perhaps some of Tolstoi's disciples may yet solve the problem of New England's abandoned farms.

He believes that every able-bodied man should labor with his own hands and in "the sweat of his brow" to produce his own living direct from the soil.

He dignifies agriculture above all other means of earning a living, and would have artificial employments given up.

"Back to the land," he cries; and back he really goes, daily working with the peasants.

But 'tis a solemn, almost tragical experience, not much better than the fate of the Siberian exile.