PREFACE

In the summer of 1887, after having been three years in Boston and
six years absent from my old home in northern Iowa, I found
myself with money enough to pay my railway fare to Ordway,
South Dakota, where my father and mother were living, and as it
cost very little extra to go by way of Dubuque and Charles City, I
planned to visit Osage, Iowa, and the farm we had opened on Dry
Run prairie in 1871.

Up to this time I had written only a few poems and some articles
descriptive of boy life on the prairie, although I was doing a good
deal of thinking and lecturing on land reform, and was regarded as
a very intense -disciple of Herbert Spencer and Henry George a
singular combination, as I see it now. On my way westward, that
summer day in 1887, rural life presented itself from an entirely
new angle. The ugliness, the endless drudgery, and the loneliness
of the farmer's lot smote me with stern insistence. I was the
militant reformer.

The farther I got from Chicago the more depressing the landscape
became. It was bad enough in our former home in Mitchell
County, but my pity grew more intense as I passed from northwest
Iowa into southern Dakota. The houses, bare as boxes, dropped on
the treeless plains, the barbed-wire fences running at right angles,
and the towns mere assemblages of flimsy wooden sheds with
painted-pine battlement, produced on me the effect of an almost
helpless and sterile poverty.