MAGNIFICENT WORK OF HISTORY. J Waholo -ibrary in Itself! Cost $11,000- 1207 Pages-70 TFaps-700 Engravingu. EVha T,\01and,'e r4 cad for oak b Sbyacri: A HISTORY OF ALL NATIONS, FROM THE EARLIEST PERIOD TO THE PRESENT TMME; OR, IN WHIcH TE HISTORY OF EVERY NATION, ANCIENT AND MODERN, ISSEPARATELY GIVEN. BY S. G. GOODRICHR Conr to Paris, awsd Athor of several Works of History, Parky's Tae, af It contains 1207 pages, royal octavo, and is illustrated by 70 Maps and TOO Engrav:ng bound in imitation Turkey morocco. Invariable retail price, $6,00 in one volume; $7,00 in two volumes. The same, full gilt edge and sides, $8,00 in one volume; $10,00 in two vols *** It is believed that the above work, by Mr. Goodrich, will be very acceptable to the American public. It is the result of years of toil and labor, assisted in his researches by several scholars of known ability, and has been gotten up at a great expense by the proprietors. No pains have been spared in the execution of the Illustrations and Maps, which are entirely new, and prepared by the distinguished author epressly for the work. Indeed, all the other historical writings of Mr. Goodrich sink into insignificance, when compared with this, the result of his riper and maturer years It is admitted that One Hundred Dolars could not purchase the same matter in any other shape: and the publishers confidently expect that, in oonsideration ofthe great literary value of the work, the large sum expended in preparing it for the press, and the exceedingly moderate price at which it is offered, that it will be favorably received by every lover of good books. DERBY & MILJER, Sod Pub/i', Awr,N., so - 3 W' ung, UEinAl XAglonT a i 11 SUBSCRIPTION BOOKS: BLAKE'S FARMIER'S EVERY DAY BOOK; Cr, Tow a Farn,er enay Becomue lich: Being Sketches of Life in the Country, with the Popular Elements of Practical and Theoretical Agriculture, and Twelve Itu lred Laconics and Apothegms, relating to Morals, Regimen, and General ltitera ture; also Five Ilundred Receipts on Health, Cookery, and Domestic Ecoiommy; with ten fine Illustrations, representing the various scenes attendant upon Farnilg, etc. By JoHN L. BLARE, D. D., author of "Biographical Dictionary," etc., etc. The publishers resp.ectftilly announce that they have undertaklen the publication of this large and beautiLful worlk, with a view to supply a desiderat/cm that has ong been felt-a book fer every Faraer's Libairy-believing that the venerable author has produced a work that will be worth its weight in gold to every Farlier's Family that thoroughly peruse it. The work contains 664 pages, large octavo,.with a motto surrounding each page. It is printed on fine paper, and bound in substantial imitation Turkey morocco, gilt back. Retail price $2,50. FROST AND DRAXE'S BOOK OF INIAN WARS AND CAPTIVITIES, BEDNG A COMPLETE mTORY OF THE INDIAN WARS OF THE UMTED STATES, Embracing the early Indian Wars of the Colonies and the American Revolution, ftl.g Philip's War, the French and Indian Wars, the North-Western War, Black Iawkl War, Seminole War, &c., &e., together with Indian Captivities-being true Narra tives of Captives who have been carried away by the Indians, from the Frontier settlemnents of the United States, from the earliest period to the present time. By JOHN FRosT, LL. D., and SAMUEL G. DPIAKE, M. D. Well printed, on good paper, and bouLnd in elegant red morocco binding, 684 pages, large octavo, and illustrated with 166 engffravings, from original designs by W. Croonme, and other distinguished artists. Retail price $2,50. Prof. Frost~s Rew IW'ork! GREAT MEN AND GREAT EVENTS IN HISTORY, From the Earliest Period to the Present Time, beginning with Egypt under the flr,t Pharaohs, and brought dovn to the Discovery of Gold in California. Illustratel with 300 beautiful wood Engravings, by Croome and other eminent artists. In o)ne large octavo volume of 802 pages; elegantly bound in,imitation Turlkey moro,co - gilt back and sides. Retail price $3,00. Frost and Stdney~a HISTORY OF OALIFORNIA AND AUSTRALIA, A ttistory ofthe State of Califoriia, from the period of Conquest by Spain, to the year 1S53, inclusive, containing an account of the discovery of the Gold Mines a,t: Placers, the large number of Gold Seekers, the quantity of Gold alreadly oft.i,lc(, a description of her Mineral anld Agricultural Resources, with thrilling ace(rinits.f Adventures among the Miners, with advice to Emigrants of best routes and )rc,I a rations necessary to get there. By Jomx F POST, LL. D. Also, A Complete History of the Colonies of Au.strIaico, Ners Soult7s Jfales, Victoria aoed Soitit Asistralia, from their first discovery until the year 1852, with a detailed ac count of their Pastures, Copper Mines and Gold Fields. By SAMUEL SIDNEY, Esq., author of "The Australian Hand Book." The whole making an octavo volume of 600 pages, illustrated by numerous Engravings, and bound in asubstantial scarlet cloth. Retail price, $2,50. (In press, and will be published during the Summer of 1853.) publist b- D"' trbg Villtr,'Jubut, R. E. DERBY AND MILLER'S P UBLICA TIONS WOMEN OF THE BIBLE, Being historical and descriptive Sketches of the Women of the Bible, fromi Ese of the Old, to the Miarys of the New Testament, by Rev. P. C. iIEADLEY, illustrated, 16mo. muslin,........................ ThIE SA-IE-gilt edge and fulrgilt sides,............................. POETS AND POETRY OF THE BIBLE, By GEOR.GE GILFILLIAN, 12mo. muslin,........................... 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TE AMERICA iORATOR'S OWN BOOK, Compiled by Jon AGAR, 12mo................................. FRESH LEAVES FROM WESTERN WOODS, By M[ETTA V. FULLER, 12mo. muslin............................. LIFE OF BENJAMIN FRANKLIN, Written by himself, fie portrait 12mo. muslin,................... Prica 1 00 2 00 1 00 2 00 75 1 50 75 1 50 75 1 50 75 1 50 T5 1 60 1 00 2 00 75 I 50 75 1 50 I 00 I 00 1 25 DERBY AND MILLER'S PUBLICATIO1S. LIFE OF GENERAL LAFAYETTE, By P. C. HEADLEY, 12mo. with a portrait, uniform with Headley's Josephine, muslin............................................ LIFE OF JOHN QUINCY ADAMS, Sixth President of the United States, by WILLIAM H. SEWARD, 12mo. muslin,.................................................. LIFE OF LOUIS KOSSUTH, Governor of Hungary, by P. C. HIEADLEY, with an Introduction by IHORACE GRPEELEY, one vol. 12mo. muslin........................ LIFE OF GENERAL ZACHARY TAYLOR, Twelfth President of the United States, by H. MONTrGOMERY, 12mo. muslin........................................................ LIFE OF WINFIELD SCOTT, By E. D. MANSFIELD, illustrated, 12mo. muslin,................... LIFE OF GENERAL FRANK PERCE, Fourteenth President of the United States, by D. W. BARTLETT, 12mo. muslin.................................................. GENERALS OF THE LAST WAR With Great Britain, with portraits of Generals Brown, Macomb, Scott, Jackson, Harrison and Gaines, by Jon S. JENKINS, muslin, 12mo........................................................... LIVES OF JAMES MADISON AND JAMES MONROE, By J. Q ADAMS, 12mo. muslin,.................................. E OF ANDREW JACKSON, President of the United States, by JoHN S. JmbNs, muslin 12mo. VOICE TO THE YOUNG, Or, Lectures for the Times, by W. W. PATrON. 12mo. muslin,.... MISSIONARY 0E G, A Memorial of Christ's Messengers in Heathen Lands, dedicated to Dr. Judson, 8 engravings, 12mo. muslin,.......................... PURE GOLD, Or, Truth in its Native Loveliness, by Rev. D. HoLmS, muslin, METHODIST PREACHER, Containing 28 Sermons upon Doctrinal Subjects, by Bishop Hed ding, Dr. Fisk, Dr. Bangs, Dr. Durbin, and other eminent preach ers of the AL E. Church, octavo................................. EPISCOPAL 1/ETHODISM AS IT WAS AND IS, Being a History of the M. E. Church in the United States, &L, by Rev. P. DOUGLASS GORRE, 12mo. muslin........................ LIVES OF EM[INENT METHODIST MINISTERS, By Rev. P. DOUGLASS GORRIE, 12mo. muslin.................... INCIDEITS AND NARRATIVES, For Christian Families, by Rev. A. RUSSEL BELDEN, 12mo. muslin, HISTORY AND CONDITION OF OREGON, Including a Voyage round the World, by Rev. G. HDs, of the Or egon Mission, 12mo. muslin..................................... .P 1 25 1 25 1 25 I 00 1 25 75 I 00 I 00 I 00 68 I 00 1 00 I 00 I 00 1 25 I 00 1 25 I ___ _k/ I'll HOME IN THE COUNTRY. lo//~~~~~~~~~~~~~~' THIRD THOUSAND. THiE MODERN FARMER; OR, llOE IN TllL COUNTRY: I I DESIGNED FOR..;''. * *' I INSTRUCTION AND AMUSEMENT ON RA-NY DAYS AND WINTER EVENINGS'. BY REV. JOHN L. BLAKE, D. D., AUTHOR OF FARMERS EVERY-DAY BOOK, THE FARMER AT HOMB, THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE, FAMILY ENCYCLOPEDIA, AND A GENERAL BIOGRAPHICAL DICTIONARY. AUBURN: DERBY AND MILLER. BUFFALO: DERBY, ORTON AND MULLIGAN. CINCINNATI: 'HENRY W. DERBY. 1854. Entered, according to the Act of C1)nrc8., in, thi. er S51, by JOHIN L. BLAKEl I. Ini the Clerk's Office of the District C)o't {,f t.'fitcd Stttfcs tothe District of o,,w' 1....;; L JP. JONES & CO., STEREOTYPERS, 183'William-street, N. Y. I IN T RO DUCTION. IT has sometimes been affirmed that a majoritf of people in lrural 2itricts are wanting in literary taste, and consequently in the conm.un elements of intellectual progress. It is undoubtedly a fact, that thei Io not spend so much time in reading the cheap publications of the dl.- t do their accusers. This, however, fiumnishes no evidence that they e deficient in mental vigor, or in a disposition advantageously to CLp)'.' their leisure time, whenever books ajapted to their habits of then,:: and to their circumstances, are presented to their consideration. If their minds have not received the tinsel embellishment, acqunied t, persons in some other occupations, it is no less true that they hI-:-e escaped that moral contamination which has sometimes resulte(l d'in such embellishment. If they are without such flippancy and per-t... it is equally true, that the simplicity of manners which attends:!. destitution is characteristic of their moral perceptions and their s,::ta! affinities. We have good opportunity of knowing the things whereof we i,i,: this alffirmation. It is a fact that the population of rural district-', more exempt from vicious tendencies and crime than a correspcne'(.":: number of individuals in a populous city. Of this there can be.i., doubt To deny it is a mere assumption in opposition to the wel authenticated records of clime. If any one doubts it, let him exan,'i;e the annals of our criminal courts and of our penitentiaries. They y.:1 testify, in favor of our position. They will show that an agricultu..at will rarely be found chronicled with the hordes of those suffering, e disreputable penalties of a violated law. However, it is not denied, that there is occasion to incite the inhu; - tants of rural localities, and especially the younger portions of them. So more systematic habits of mental improvement To make a succe-,s:.5:l effort for this, the means for dring it should be cast around them. ThL.:se means, to be available, must be in accordance with. the intellectmtd.!prehensions originating in the previous culture enjoyed by those ior whose benefit they are designed. They should be in accordance a~'.,, with the natural scenery the occupations, and the pecuniary considera tions'that exercise upon them an unvarying influence. It would be, perversion of the soundest maxims of philosophy. to disregard the agercy 414295 II of such auxiliaries. If we would secure the attention of the sailor to any course of teaching, whether mental, moral, or physical, we must picture before him the scenes of ocean life, the dashing of the mountain wave, the howling of the midnight tempest, and the incessant rolling of the ship. With such scenes vividly appearing in the perspective, he readily becomes our pupil and yields a homage to our instructions. It is delightful to witness the flash of his eye, and the beaming joy rising upon his care and weather worn vizage. To such preliminaries the honest tar will never turn a deaf ear. It is much the same in rural life. If we would awaken the mind of those who till the ground, we must show them that we are familiar with every thing pertaining to their mnode of life. Not indeed that they be dosed inwardly and outvwardly with the abstruse science of agriculture, without regard to their previous knowledge of it. The first lesson pre scribed for them is ordinarily to be predicated on knowledge ahlready attained. Then there will be a natural tendency to it firom past effort. Each lesson prepares the way for an additional lesson. Each step taken generates an impulse that w-ill quicken the succeeding one. Thus men tal progress will be like accelerated motion on an inclined plane, constant ly acquiring new power and velocity till it moves irresistibly onward firom its own impetus. With such modes of calling into action the dormant energies of the human intellect, labor will never be'pent in vain As much as has been said by those not acquainted with the facts to be considered in relation to their assuiinption.s, of the want of congeniality bet.ween rural influences anrd mental culture, it will be f)ound on more careful consideration, that such inferences are sadly deficient in logical deduction. In winning the ear and controlling the imagination of the farmer's family to a course of reading and study, we must spread before them graphic delineations of the husbandman's vocation; of the wonderful exhibitions in animal and vegetable physiology; of the most successful results from the improved modes of modern firming; and especially of the eminence to which the sons of farmers are not unwont to arrive both in agriculture and in the other pursuits to which ithey may be accidentally led. Well selected and well prepared topics of this character operate on the minds of persons living in the country similarly to the scenes of ocean life on the sailor. Accordingly we have endeavored to put into a popular form-one which cannot be repulsive-some of the fundamental principles of agricultural science. Here will be found the analogies between animal and vegetable organization, and animal and vegetable development and subsistence. In them will be seen the well stored cabinet of natilre's sublime and most cuious mysteries. In them may be read the wisdom of iv INTRODUCTION. I INTRODUCTION. nature's God. And in them is displayed a broad type of the marvelous perfection which pervades the wide creation-the earth and the heavens which encompass it. Connected with such principles will also be found the processes of amieliorating and fertilising the soil, the great secret of successful rural labor, whether on the farm, or in the garden. The latter cannot be made an enlightened service without an acquaint ance with the former; and, if it ever becomes a well remunerated one, from accident, or habit, or an imitation of others, it is purely mechani cal and physical, without one gleam of mental fervor or moral sympa thy. The scientific farmer may become an enthusiast in his labor, while the unlearned and ignorant one will pursue his toils with the heartless and sullen monotony of the ox, which receives no impulse but from the voice or lash of its master. Interspersed with the above are fragments and detached portions of rural literature, in prose and poetry. The country is full of the elements of poetry, and those who have no taste for it have drunk but moderately from her deep and pure fountains. But in this portion of the present volume the most interesting parts are selections from agricultural addresses, particularly at the annual fairs. These autumnal exhibitions are becoming more and more general, and are exerting on the agr'icultural community a most beneficial influence. In the addresses which characterize them, are found some of the finest specimens of a standard literature. The samples here furnished are designed to make the mass firom which they are culled more generally known and appreciated. Here are facts more interesting, and oftentimes more stirring and absorbing, than the best of fiction; and not rarely in a style of philological drapery that would do credit to our most polished writers. It is a fact, whether generally understood or not, that on these occasions, there is, in bold relief, a display of real greatness rarely witnessed elsewhere. In this country, as it has long been in Great Britain, there is a grouping, at our agriculturm-al fairs, of the highest grades of social and intellectual endowment, which even give type to our national character. It is well known that our university commencements have ever been the occasions on which scholars are accustomed to mingle their sympathies and mutually to impart to each other the stimulants to an enduring fame. Here are formed those bonds of fellowship which bind in undying friendship the full grown sons of genius and erudition from every part of the land. Here burn the ethereal fires which give warmth and renewed vigor to all meeting within the circle of their genial radiations. It is good for scholars to the end of life thus annually to congregate andA renew their early aspirations for mental renown The annual fair of the v It INTRODUCTION. aicultural society is to the farmer and to a whole rural community what the college commencement is to men of letters It is the season of rest and of triumph to the thousands, and the tens of tlhousands, on v, hose wisdom and muscular power, are suspended the destiny and the lhappiness of mankind. As face answers to face in the water, and as -ec heaut of man answers to man in the great realm of human brotherLood, so does the heart of the farmer swell with more vigorous pulsa+iGns when he beholds the face and when he grasps the hand of his unp-umbered brethren as they gather round him. Here the feeble, too t'come strong, the unlearned become wise, and the wavering become resolute, both in toil and in loyalty to their honorable vocation. The flair of the agricultural society is the great jubilee of the husbandman I It should be a jubilee of the nation. About one-third of this work consists of extracts from some of the best addresses delivered at recent agricultural fairs. No apology is necssaiT for this free use of them, either to the gentlemen who made them or to the public. The only difficulty experienced in making the extracts Sas in having so little space that could be devoted to such a purpose .vhen the mass of materials from which they were taken was so ample Indeed, firom some of the very best addresses that fell under the author's ubservation, nothing could be used, as the space was crowded before they w.ere received. Nor can it be presumed that even a tenth part of those w:;ich have been called folth on such occasions, in different parts of the c anti, can have been seen by him. Still he became so well satisfied with the permanent value possessed by a large number of these popular'pro.,.ctions, he resolved, that so far as able to collect them, on having them l,Lund up for his own use. And, it is believed, a very large collection of c;ch materials might advantageously be given to the public, were an i-terprising publisher induced to engage in it. Such a collection, judiciously made, would embody great merit. P;-reley can a volume be found possessing an equal amount of interest, specially to persons for whose benefit it would be mainly designed. Nor w4juld the general reader often find anything, on such subjects, more t -tiful in the English language, than the addresses of Lewis Cass, ,.iah Quincey, Jr., Edward Everett, H. G. 0. Colby, Alex. H. H. tu..rt, G R. Russeil, E. H. Derby, Marshall P. Wilder, Alex. H. Stevens, G. Bancroft, and several others. The present extracts are but a trifling ,-In_ple of what may be procured; yet it is firmly believed that they i co-nnection with the other portions of this volume, will do something least, in giving edification and amusement, on rainy days and winter - fnings, in the country more than in the city, calculated to engender the —:st gloomy and sluggish cogitations.. HOMIE IN THE COUNTRY. MORAL DIGNITY OF AMERICAN LABOR. IT is not a condescending effort of the high to exalt the low, nor of the peculiarly cultivated to elevate and benefit the less refined and privileged of men. But it is a mutual agreement, to honor that imperishable element in man, which the power of the Creator has implanted within him; and to excite and cultivate to the highest possible degree, by an honorable competition, the skill and effolbrt of man for the improve ment and elevation of his present condition of being-not for the mere attainment of the means of luxurious indulgence, but for the widest disposal of benefits upon mankind; for the utmost melioration of the difficulties, and enlargement of the advantages, which the wisdom of the Creator has appended to the human station. No object beneath the effort to secure and bless the future immortality of men can be considered greater or of more importance. The whole history of the prosperity of our country, vwhether general or sectional, will bear to a demonstration the assertion, that not to soil nor climate, nor sea nor land, nor zones nor temperatures, nor valleys, nor mountains, nor rivers, are we itidebted for the wonderful display of genius and skill, and industry and resulting wealth, by which our nation has been marked, but to the elevating influence of Christian educ n upon youthful minds, and upon the society in which the, have been trained, dig'nify i,g as the most honorable condition of man, free labor uponi a free soil; making the cunning artificer a perfect equal to the eloquent orator; exalting the he;-;d that has humbly bent, through nmany a toilsome day, over t! bench of industry, to preside wi h a dignlity which command:; aited reverence upon the bench of judgment, and l.-adiig the feet that have followed through many a weary tfurrow- in the field, to stand on a level with statesmen in the coumicis of the nation. MORAL DIGNITY OF AMERICAN LABOR. There is that, in all the influences and promises of this system of heavenly light, which is precisely adapted to excite man to stir up the gift that is in him-to make him feel that he was made to serve no master but God-to call him out to the utmost effort, in mental competition, for the improvement of his race-to make him deem himself inferior to no undertaking to which the line of his manifest right and duty shall lead him-to give him patience in effort, coolness in judg ment, skill in discernment, and determination in executionthe elements of indubitable and certain success: and whether the wilderness blossom like the rose under his skill in agriculture, or the works of his hands seem almost to live, and speak, and act, in the beauty of his mechanical invention, Christianity honors his effort, and commands men to honor and protect the claims which i originates. It prepares a state of public mind, which smiles encouragingly upon his attainments and productions, and which confesses the honor that the whole community justly feels in having in its bosom, and cherishing as its own, individuals who have so distinguished themselves and their race. This moral dignity of labor is purely an American scheme and thought. It has marked our country's history, from the earliest periods of its colonial establishment; not more arising from the first struggling condition of its original settlers, than frorrm the very principles with which they emigrated, and upon which they determined to erect the empire which they founded. It is undoubtedly true that labor was at first the necessity of their being. Hands and arms that had never toiled before, were required to toil unceasingly upon the rugged shores whlichi were selected as their future home. And, in this very fact, a dignity was given to human industry, which had never before been connected with it in modern times. The Winthrops, and Johnsons, and Endicotts of that day, would have dignified any station in life. And when they were seen, hewing out their future independence fromn the wilderness, and rearing their partial but honorable subsistence from a sterile and unwilling soil, never had the axe glittered with such light, nor the plough moved with such majesty before. Within the recollection of our oldest citizens instances were not unfrequent, where our most eminent Inen considered it no degradation to discharge with their own hands, if occasion 8 MORAL DIGNITY OF AMERICAN LABOR. required it, services usually esteemed menial in the extreme; the grooming horses and blacking boots, not only for themselves, but for their guests. No station could exalt men who would voluntarily and cheerfully do this; and boot-blacking, in their hands, rose to a dignity which, in this country, luxurious idleness, though charioted in wealth, can never command. In the spirit which was thus cultivated, an honor was affixed to labor, and in the general feeling of the people, there was transmitted a moral dignity as connected with industry, even ill the lowest shapes, in which the needs of man required it, which should be cherished by the present generation and made perpetual in the future. The extreme difference between this general feeling, an(mi the whole moral condition of the eastern continent, is a very remarkable fact. Throughout monarchical Europe the permanent distinctions of castes and classes snake labor disreputable, and give no encouragement to the general enlargement of the human mind, nor to the innate ambition of individual thought. Agriculture in the hands of a peasantry who must live and die in the rude hamlet in which they were born; whose ignorance must never be enlightened beyond the clumsy implements of culture which their forefathers have used; who must feel themselves marked and distinguished, as the mere tolerated denizens of a soil which can never be their own; whose fare is of the coarsest and meanest provision which can sustain the life of man, and the average wages of whose labor is, in Austria, less than one seventh, in France less than one third, and even in Englland, less than one half of the average of agricultural wages among the freemen of America. Attempts to rise above this state, to attain a position in which man may have his honor as a manl, and exercise a better influence upon the destiny of his own family, or his fellow-men, far from being considered a virtue which is to be encouraged, or a right which is to be acknowledged, is a crime for which men are to be shot. One beniieficent operation of the French Revolution, in the midst of all the horrors of its spirit, and its march, has been to break up this system of servile peasantry, and to multiply indefinitevly the owners of the soil. But even in the agriculture of France, the mildew of the past is still thickly coated upon the efforts and hopes of the present; and the miinds of men, cramped in infancy like the feet of Chinese 1* 9 10 MORAL DIGNITY OF AMERICAN LABORL women, by an unnatural and detestable pressure from without, are feeble and slow in all attempts to run into a new paih, however attractive and promising. In mechanical labor and skill, the absence of all honor as an habitual attendant, is in Europe equally manifest. It is known, that luxury purchases, often at a great price, the beautiful results of handicraft and skill. It is known, that individuals of boldness and energy-those irrepressible spirits whose elasticity no bounds can limit -have occasionally forced their way through all this downward pressure, and have compelled an acknowledgmelnt of their greatness, and a respect for their mighty developments of mental and moral power, from those titled tribes who habitually fancy their interest to be in widening the gulf of their separation, and insulating their own condition as completely as possible. But what are these among so many? Their class are tradesmen and tradespeople still. And the habitual fact in their history is, not only no encouragement to rise, but great discouragemerit and jealousy of their possible ability to break the shell of caste, whose accumulated scales ages have riveted upon them. I stood the other day by the bench of an English mechanic, whose remarkable skill I was admiring, and the iu of whose youthful son in his work I was noticing, we ihe father took from the drawer some beautiful crayon I'll pencil sketches. which this working boy had made. Ah' sir," said the father, "this is America. My boy was tanhtli all this for nothing, at your public school. Had I sta. yed at home, he would have lived and died unnoticed at the bench. Here he may take a stand, and be honored and e.,,ouraged." Yes, and this is but one of the multitude of illusiitrations, which a knowledge of facts would bring out, of the encouragement which Ameriean freedom gives to innate . ateh. I knew a poor English carpenter, who with the utmost di, (ulty gathered the needful bread for his family. His c'ildren were in the public sehool of a neighboring city. His el(lest son, having no chance of education before, laid hold of -.i.,oortunity greedily, passed with hobior through all the )f public education, at the. public expense; and on his ju!:bi';i'ff at the summit oi'the career of the city's provision, was immediately appointed teacher, and is now (1848) a pro MORAL DIGNITY OF AMERICAN LABOR. fessor of ancient languages in one of the highest institutions, and honored the more for the industry which had made hinm from neglected poverty, what he is. This is America. That boy might have lived and died a beggar in the streets of London, and no titled man have taken him by the hand, to bring out, in an elevating education, the noble powers his Creator had implanted within him. Let a man make a tour of the single state of Connecticut, with no other knowledge or observation upon this subject thant that which belongs to every intelligent American, he will never forget the impression of dignity, beauty, and power which will be made upon his mind. From the heading of a pin to the hammering of granite; from the polishing of the brass button to the beating of the brazen kettle; from tli:: India-rubber suspender to the variegated and beautiful Brussels carpet; in every possible variety and shape and beauty of machinery; upon every flowing river, and upon every little rocky rivulet; from the immense brick or stone edifice of many stories, to the rude shed of pine boards in the woods, upon tlhe margin of the hidden stream; he will see the effects of the American system, honoring, dignifying, prospering, anid protecting American labor and American skill. Human talent, industry, wisdom, and skill, under th,J favoring blessing of Heaven, must now go forth to sow and to gather in the harvest of the earth. We are teaching lessons of political economy which the world has never heard before. It is a noble dispensation for our country. Other nations may see us, but not with the vines or olives of Italy or France; nor with the oranges and grapes of Spain or Portugal; nor even the rich and glowing verdure, and the teeming harvests of England and lowland Scotland. The magnificence of their time-honored architecture we have not attained. And yet there are intelligence, prosperity, dignity, independence, and self-respect, marking the laboring classes of our population, which lift us far above all envy of the grandeur and glory of' European display. They see that we have a people, flourish ing and prosperous beyond comparison; but we have no rab ble but that which their own degradation has thrown upo:L our shores. It is the province of America to build, not palaces, but men; to exalt, not titled stations, but general humanity,; to dignify, not idle repose, but assiduous industry; to elevate, not the few, but the many; and to make herself known, not I I THE HARBINGER OF SPRING. so much in individuals, as in herself; spreading to the highest possible level, but striving to keep it level still, universal education, prosperity and honor. The great element of this whole plan of effort and instruction, is the moral, relative dignity of labor; an element which we are to exalt in public estimation in the hlighest possible degree, and transmit to our fanmlilies and to posterity, as the true greatness of the country and the world. We are to look at this enlarging elevation of the working classes of men -a fact which may be considered the main index of our age -not as a difficulty to be limited, but as an attainment in which we greatly rejoice. And if our heraldry is inii the hammer, and the axe, and the awl, and the needle, we are to feel it a far higher honor than, if in their place, we could have dragons and helmets, and cross-bones and skulls. Our country's greatness is to be the result, not of foreign war, but of domestic peace; not of the plunder of the weak, but of the fair and even principles of a just commerce, a thriving agriculture, and beautiful and industrious art. Let us glory in every thing that indicates this facti, as an index also of our desire for renown. This great lesson-honor to the working classes, in the proportion of their industry and merit the world will yet completely learn. And when the great exalting, leveling system of Christianity gains its universal reign, mountains will be brought down, and valleys will be filled; an highway shall be made for human prosperity and peace-for the elevation, and dignity, and security of man-over which no oppressor's foot shall pass; the poorest of the sons of Adam shall dwell unmolested and fearless beneath his. own vine and fig-tree; the united families of earth shall all compete, to acquire and encourage the arts of peace; nation shall not rise up against nation, and men shall learn war no more.-Address before Fair of American Instztute, 1848. By the Rev. STEPHEN H. TYNG, D. D. THE HARBINGER OF SPRING. The happiest bird of our spring, and one that rivals the European lark, in my estimation, is the Boblincon, or Bob. link, as he is commonly called. He arrives at that choice portion of the year, which, in this latitude, answers to the description of the month of May, so often given by the poets. 12 9 THE HARBINGER OF SPRING. With us, it begins about the middle of May, and lasts until nearly the middle of June. Earlier than this, winter is apt to return on its traces, and to blight the opening beauties of the year; and later than this, begin the parching, and panting, and dissolving heats of summer. But in this genial interval, Nature is in all her freshness and fragrance: "the rains are over and gone, the flowers appear upon the earth, the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in the land." The trees are now in their fullest foliage and brightest verdure; the woods are gay with the clustered flowers of the laurel; the air is perfumed by the sweet-briar and the wild rose; the meadows are enamelled with clover-blossoms; while the young apple, the peach, and thie plum, begin to swell, and the cherry to glow, among the green leaves. This is the chosen season of revelry of the Boblink. He comes amidst the pomp and fragrance of the season; his life seems all sensibility and enjoyment, all song and sunshine. He is to be found in the soft bosoms of the freshest and sweetest meadows; and is most in song when the clover is in blossom. He perches on the topmost twig of a tree, or on some long flaunting weed, and as he rises and sinks with the breeze, pours forth a succession of rich tinkling notes; crowding one upon another, like the outpouring mnelody of the skylark, and possessing the same rapturous character. Sometimes he pitches from the summit of a tree, begins his song as soon as he gets upon the wing, and flutters tremulously down to the earth, as if overcome with ecstacy at his own music. Sometimes he is in pursuit of his paramour; always in full song, as if he would win her by his melody; and always with the same appearance of intoxication and delight. Of all the birds of our groves and meadows, the Boblink was the envy of my boyhood. He crossed my path in the sweetest weather, and the sweetest season of the year, when all Nature called to the fields, and the rural feeling throbbed in every bosom; but when I, luckless urchin! was doomed to be mewed up, during the livelong day, in that purgatory of boyhood, a school-room, it seemed as if the little varlet mocked at me, as he flew by in full son., and sought to taunt me with his happier lot. 0 how I envied him! No lessons, no tasks, no hateful school; nothing but holiday, frolic, green fields, and fine weather. 13 .THE HARBINGER OF SPRING. Farther observation and experience have given me a dif. ferent idea of this little feathered voluptuary, which I will venture to impart, for the benefit of my school-boy readers, who may regard him with the same unqualified envy and admiration which I once indulged. I have-hown him only as I saw him at first, in what I may call the poetical part of his career, when he in a manner devoted himself to elegant pursuits and enjoyments, and was a bird of music, and song, and taste, and sensibility, and refinement. While this lasted, he was sacred from injury; the very school-boy would not fling a stone at him, and the merest rustic would pause to listen to his strain. But mark the difference. As the year advances, as the clover-blossoms disappear, and the spring fades into summer, his notes cease to vibrate on the ear. He gradually gives up his elegant tastes and habits, doffs his poetical and professional suit of black, assumes a russet or rather dusty garb, and enters into the gross enjoyments of common, vulgar birds. He becomes a bon vivaut. a mere gourmand; thinking of nothing but good cheer, and zorinandizing on the seeds of the long grasses on which he lately swung, and chanted so musically. He begins to think there is nothing like "the joys of the table," if I may be allowed to apply that convivial phrase to his indulgences. He now grows discontented with plain, every-day fare, and sets out on a gastronomical tour, in search of foreign luxuries. He is to be found in myriads among the reeds of the Delaware, banqueting on their seeds; grows corpulent with good feeding, and soon acquires the unlucky renown of the- ortolan. Wherever he goes, pop! pop! pop! the rusty firelocks of the country are cracking on every side; he sees his companions falling by thousands around him; he is the reed-bird, the much-sought-for tit-bit of the Pennsylvanian epicure. Does he take warning and reform? Not he! He wings his flight still farther south in search of other luxuries. We hear of him gorging himself in the rice swamps; filling himself with rice almost to bursting; he can hardly fly for corpulency. Last stage of his career, we hear of him spitted by dozens, and served up on the table of the gourmand, the most vaunted of southern dainties, the rice-bird of the Carolinas. Such is the story of the once musical and admired, but finally sensual and persecuted Boblink. It contains a moral, worthy the attention of all little birds and little boys; warn 14 THE OLD GRIST-MILL. ing them to keep to those refined and intellectual pursuits, which raised him to so high a pitch of popularity, during the early part of his career; but to eschew all tendency to that gross and dissipated indulgence, which brought this mistaken little bird to an untimely end.-WASIIINGTON IVTING. THE OLD GRIST-MILL. The grist-mill stands beside the stream, With bending roof and leaning wall; So old, that when the winds are wild, The miller trembles-lest it fall; But moss and ivy, never sere, Bedeck it o'er from year-to year. The dam is steep, and weeded green; The gates are raised, the waters pour, And tread the old wheel's slippery steps, The lowest round for evermore; Methinlks they have a sound of ire, Because they cannot climb it higher. From morn till night, in autumn time, When yellow harvests load the plains. Up drive the farmers to the mill, And back anon, with loaded wains; They bring a wealth of golden grain, And take it home in meal again. The mill inside is dim and dark; But peeping in the open door, You see the miller flitting round, And dusty bags along the floor; And by the shaft, and down the spout, The yellow meal comes pouring out. And all day long the winnowed chaff Floats round it on the sultry breeze, And shineth like a settling swarm Of golden winged and belted bees; Or sparks around a blacksmith's door, When bellows blow and forges roar. 15 THANKSGIVING DAY. I love our pleasant, quaint old mill! It minds me of my early prime; 'T is changed since then, but not so much As I am, by decay and time; Its wrecks are mossed from year to year, But mine all dark and bare appear. I stand beside the stream of life; The mighty current sweeps along, Drifting the flood-gates of my heart, It turns the magic wheel of song, And grinds the ripened harvest brought From out the golden field of Thought! STODDARD. THANKSGIVING DAY. Thus shines the present, safe from war's alarms — You till in peace your old ancestral farms; Blithe with the Spring the busy task begin, And feast at Autumn, when the harvest's in. Crowned is the board with all that man desires, Bright blush the ceilings with your ruddy firesBut brighter eyes are beaming round the board, With mirth and fun, with love and frolic stored. For who is sad when old Thanksgiving comes, With all its wealth of sweetmeats, pies, and plums? Behold the farm-house!-At the old farm gate A merry group in high expectance waitThe happy farmer, and the welcome guest, The city cousin-very nicely dressed! The village beauty, in her bran-new hood, The happy children-most discreetly good; The mother waiting for her eldest son, Who brings the bride he has but lately won; The village lovers, who have come to share The evening revel and the generous fare; The little boys, with collars white as snow, Who all the good things in the larder know; The little girls-their hair with ribbons tied, 16 SCIENTIFIC TERMS IN AGRICULTURE. Who wait to welcome the expected bride; ?he trusty house-dog, with his knowing face, Who seems to think that something will take place, 'though what that something is, he does not know, Walks gravely round, with steps serenely slow. But see, they come, the jingling bells are heard, Forth flies to meet them, many a welcome word; The mother holds within her warm embrace, The new found daughter, with her smiling face; The boys and girls around their brother crowd, With eyes all welcome, and with greetings loud. Oh! happy group! and oh! most happy day! Ne'er shall New-England see its fame decay: It still shall live-and all the future yetShall never once Thanksgiving Day forget. EUGENE BATCHELDER SCIENTIFIC TERMS IN AGRICULTURE. It is generally supposed, that in books on agriculture there is an array of scientific terms of which the common reader has no knowledge. -It is indeed true, that these books necessarily have more or less of such terms, and without a knowledge of the terms the books cannot be read to the best advantage. This is too evident to need proof. Nevertheless, the labor requisite in the acquisition of this knowledge is far less than would be imagined, even if the reader had previously known nothing of chemistry. A very sensible man, who wrote letters to a young lady on botany, said, to encourage his pupil, it was possible to be a very good botanist without knowing one plant by name. So it is possible to be a very good agricultural chemist without knowing much beyond the names of a very few substances. Suppose an author were to introduce a succession of Latin terms or phrases into a work on any common subject, no matter what it is, and that some one or more of these words or phrases were to be found on every page, it is evident that the reader, not understanding them, would lose much of the meaning in what he 1. With what is it supposed that agricultural books abound? 2. What is said of the labor of obtaining a knowledge of them? 3. What is said a,,bout learning botany? 4. What is said of Latin terms? 17 ,'j -'"1 SCIENTIFIC TERMS IN AGRICULTURE. read. But if there were a glossary of these terms and phrases, giving a translation of them, and he would spend a few hours in studying, it is clear he might read the entire book understandingly. It would be the same with agricultural books. If a very little time were spent in learning the few scientific terms as a preliminary exercise, the books would be read with interest and great profit. A vast amount of knowledge may be gathered up by every person, on various subjects, with small effort, and in a manner altogether miscellaneous; that is, without any systematic habits of research or study. How easily do persons from frequently in the evening glancing an eye upon the heavens learn the names of the principal stars, though they had never studied astronomy? How readily do they learn the names of the common plants and trees, from seeing them .so frequently, though they never studied botany? How soon do they become familiar with the names of new fabrics used in wearing apparel; or with new names in geographical science; or with new articles in domestic economy? In the same way we learn the names of the streets of a city, or the landmarks by the roadside in the country where we frequently sojourn; or the names of persons among whom we live, and think nothing of the labor of doing all this-indeed there is no labor in it. Yet this, if it were done at one time, as a matter of formal study, would require far more mental effort than to learn the chemical terms occurring in an ordinary book on agriculture. A person uneducated in chemical science opening a book on agriculture -perhaps in fifty places - and discovering wherever he opened it half a dozen scientific terms, would not reflect but what they were all new terms from their to him peculiar and unwonted formation, whereas they were the same terms occurring over and over again, and perhaps not fifty different ones in the whole book, and half of these derivatives from the other half. Hence he is, as it were, appalled at the first aspect, by a merely imaginary or fictitious obstacle which has but little reality. Thus in looking at the stars in a clear winter evening, from their perpetually twinkling ap 5. In what manner may a vast amount of knowledge be easily gained? 6. By what examples is this shown? 7. How is a person deceived in regard to the number of scientific terms in a book of chemistry? 8. How is a similar mistake made as to the number of the starBe I 18 SCIENTIFIC TERMS IN AGRICULTURE. pearance, he apprehends the number of them an hundred or a thousand times greater than it is. So with these chemical terms. It is necessary, therefore, to divest the subject of this scare-crow incident in the study. Accordingly we say, that by making ourselves perfectly familiar with twelve or fifteen of these terms and their philological modifications-only one half the number of letters in our alphabet-and the task is made comparatively light. Who ever thought of being frightened to death at the idea of learning the letters of the alphabet; or, of being accused of cruelty in having his children taught to learn them? If children can learn these letters, adults might certainly learn a corresponding number of the terms of which we are speaking. Again, suppose a person were to visit a menagerie and see there fifteen or twenty curious animals which he had never before seen, or of which he had not before heard, would he not in two or three hours learn the names of them all, and be able to give some general and appropriate description of each one of them? Or suppose he were to visit the Fair of the American Institute, or some similar Fair, and were to see a dozen or fifteen curious machines for the useful purposes of' life, would he have any difficulty, after inspecting them, to tell pretty much all about them? Or suppose there were to be sent to him, by a friend; from some distant country, a basket containing fifteen kinds of ripe and rich fruit,-of which he had never before heard, would he not speedily become familiar with the names and the distinctive attributes of each? Why should it then be thought a hardship to learn the names of the constituent elements of plants? The names and properties of these few elementary substances in plants might be as easily learned, if farmers and their sons would feel as much interested and apply themselves to it as in the other cases we have supposed. Desides, with most of the names of these fifteen substances most persons, with out the aid of chemical knowledge, have some familiarity. Let us now look at the list, and see if it is so formidable, as at first imagined. These fifteen terms which generally make the basis of scientific agriculture, or the names of the 9. What is said of learning, the letters of the alphabet? 10. How is the subject illustrate(l by the menagerie? 1 1. How is the subject illus trated t[y the Fair of the American Institute 12. Or by a basket of fruit 19 SCIENTIFIC TERMS IN AGRICULTURE. elementary substances that enter into the composition of plants, are carbon, hydrogen, oxygen, nitrogen-potash, soda, magnesia, silex, linme, phosphorus, alumina, oxide of iron, oxide of manganese, chlorine, and sulphuric acid. No one surely ought to consider it a great task to make himself familiar with these fifteen ternms, even if he felt no particular interest in the nature of the objects denoted by them-if they were simply names for objects in the moon; and especially, when he considers.they are the names of substances found in plants he is annually cultivating, and that no plant exists without containing more or less of them. Out of these every plant is made. Every part of every plant that grows, from the rose and the dahlia that delight the eye with their delicate hues, to the stately oak that spreads its broad branches in Nature's wildness, contains some or all of these. How then can a person, especially in the country, fail to feel a most lively interest in such a subject? A man building a house needs more than twice the number of materials wanted in raising his crops on the farm; but does he not make out a list of the whole-become familiar with it, and ascertain where each one is to be had? And a mason or a carpenter would not deserve the names by which they are designated, if they could not tell the names and the qualities of the materials used by them in all departments of their labor. Or, what would be thought of a professed artisan who could not enumerate and describe every article required in the construction of a steam-boat; a carriage factory, or a cotton mill? Would such a person be deemed competent for such labors, or receive patronage? Yet, it might be asked, how such a case differs from that of the farmer who is ignorant of the elementary substances of plants, and of the ingredients composing soils and manures which produce vegetable growth? Nor can it be said, in excuse for neglecting them, that they are all new and lock-jaw terms; or, in other words, terms of which the farmer has never heard; terms of great length and arbitrarily pronounced, like Russian and Polish 13. What are the scientific names of substances entering in vegetable composition? 14. Has the uneducated person no knowledge of them? 15. Why might it be supposed that every farmer would feel interested in them? 16. How is this explained by his building a house? 17. How is it explained by allusion to the professed artisan? 18. Are these terms particularly difficult to be remembered? 20 SCIE.TIFIC TERMS IN AGRICULTURE, names of men. This objection does not apply. He is familiar with several of them, although he may yet have to learn the agency they have in vegetable composition. Who, without any formal scientific instruction, is not familiar with the names of iron, sulphur, potash, soda, and lime? No one; for they are of every-day occurrence. And, who does not know that carbon is coal; or rather that coal is carbon? And, who has never heard that oxygen and nitrogen form the air we breathe; or that water is composed of oxygen and hydrogen? With alumina or alum all are familiar. Silex or silica is but the name of portions of hard stones. Most persons too are no strangers to what is called ammonia, which is a combination of nitrogen and hydrogen, and is sometimes called sal volatile, and is what gives the sharp smell in the smelling-bottle or the manure heap. It is the ammonia in manure which is so efficacious in agriculture. And, if the reader is less familiar with the name of chlorine, it is easy to give him some hints of it. This is the substance used in bleaching cotton goods, and for a long time on opening them the smell is very pungent. And what is still more in point, chlorine united with soda makes our common salt'; or, if united with ammonia, the product is what is called in the shops sal ammoniac. The circumstance that chlorine is a constituent of common salt is of itself sufficient to give it an interest in impressing it on the memory of every individual. Chlorine also is important from being used'to disinfect the air when impregnated with foul vapors, as in the case of cholera and other diseases. Here then is the whole catalogue of these obnoxious terms, save manganese, which is simply a dark colored metal used in the manufacture of glass as well as in agriculture. The list above, says Dr. Dana, may be divided as follows: First, the airy or volatile; secondly, the earths and metals; thirdly, the'alkalies; fourthly, the inflammables. Only the third and fourth divisions require to be explained or defined. 19. Which are the five with which every farmer is familiar? 20. What does he probably know of carbon? 21. What does he probably know of the combination of oxygen and nitrogen? 22. And of oxygen and hydrogen? 23. What is said of alumina and silex? 24. Of ammonia? 25. And of chlorine? 26. What forms common salt? 27. What is said of chlorine as a disinfecting agent? 28. Into what four classes does Dr. Dana divide these substances? 21 SCIENTIFIC TERMS IN AGRICULTURE. The substances called potash and soda are termed alkalies They are said to have alkaline properties. Touch the tongue with a bit of quicklime, it has a hot, burning, bitter taste. These are called alkaline properties. Besides these, they have the power of combining with and taking the acid out of all sour liquids, that is, the acid and the alkali neutralize each other. This word alkali is of Arabic origin; its very name shows one of the properties of alkalies. Kali is the Arabic word for bitter, and al is like our word super, we say fine and superfine; so kali, is bitter; alkali, superlatively bitter, or truly alkali means, the dregs of bit[erness. It is important that the reader should fix in his own mind what is here said about alkali and alkaline properties. Further. Alkali is a general term. It includes all those substances which have an action like the ley of wood ashes, which is used for soap making. If this ley is boiled down dry, it forms potash, as all know. Now lime, fresh slaked, has the alkaline properties of potash, but weaker, and so has the calcined magnesia of the shops, but in a less degree than lime. Here we have two substances, earthy in their look, having alkaline properties. They are called, therefore, alkaline earths. But what we understand chiefly by the term alkalies, means potash, soda, and ammonia. Potash is the alkali of land plants; soda is the alkali of sea plants; and ammonia is the alkali of animal substances. Potash and soda are fixed; that is, not easily raised in vapor by fire. Ammonia always exists as vapor, unless fixed by something else. Hence there is a distinction among alkalies which is easily remembered. This distinction is founded on the source from which they are procured, and upon their nature, when heated. Potash is a vegetable alkali, derived from land plants; soda is a marine alkali, derived from sea plants; ammonia is animal alkali, derived from animal substances. Potash and soda are fixed alkalies; ammonia is a volatile alkali. Potash makes soft soap, with grease, and soda forms hard soap. Ammonia forms neither hard nor soft; it makes, with oil, a kind of ointment, used to rub a sore throat with, 29. Which two are alkalies? 30. How is it shown that they have alkaline properties? 31. Of what is the term alkali composed, and how is itexplained? 32. How does lime as an alkali differ from potash 33. What do we understand chiefly by alkalies? 34. From what are the three obtained? 35. What is the difference between fixed and volatile alkalies ] 36. What is made from these three alkalies 22 SCIENTIFIC TERMS IN AGRICULTURE. under the name of volatile liniment. But though there be three alkalies, and two alkaline earths, it should on no account be forgotten, that they all have common properties, called alkaline, and which will enable a person to understand their action, without any thing being said about their chemistry. The inflammables, or the fourth division, are sulphur and phosphorus, both used in making friction matches. The phosphorus first takes fire by rubbing, and this sets the sulphur burning. Now, the smoke arising from these is only the sulphur and phosphorus united to the vital part of the common air. This compound of vital air, or oxygen, as it is called, and inflilammables, forms acids. called sulphuric and phosphoric acids. So it is well kinownA, that if coal or carbon is burned, carbonic acid or fixed air is produced. That is, by burning, the coal or carbon unites with the oxygen or vital part of' common air, and forms carbonic acid. The heavy, deadly air, which arises from burning charcoal, has all the properties of an acid. Now let us see what these properties are. All acids unite or combine with the alkalies, alkaline earths, and the metals. When acids and alkalies do thus unite, they each lose their distinguishing properties. They form a new substance, called a salt. It is very important that this definition of a salt should be clearly understood, and kept in memor. The idea of a salt is not to be confined to common salt. Cominon salt is a capital example of the whole class. It is soda, an alkali, united to an acid, or chlorine, or, to speak in the most intelligible terms, to muriatic acid. So saltpetre is a salt. It is potash united to aquabfortis. These have united, and their characters are neutralized by each other, so that in saltpetre one will not perceive either potash or aquafortis. They have formed a neutral salt. By the above analysis, the list of substances to be found in plants-which is the same to be found in manures and soils on which plants grow-is reduced from things not known to things that are known. In this way, persons may feel 3. AWhat makes the fourth division of Dr. Dana's classification? 38. How are friction matches made? 39. By what other name is fixed air called, and how is it produced? 40. How are salts formed 41. What s common salt? 42. What is saltpetre? 43. What said in the last paragraph tf this chapter 23 AGRICULTURAL CHEMISTRY. familiarized with them without further acquaintance with chemical science. And, by analogous processes, it will be seen that, in a multitude of cases, they understand the principles of the science, although ignorant of the terms which represent and explain these principles. Thus the house-wife proceeds in making bread on scientific principles, although she never saw a book on chemistry, or learned the meaning of a scientific term. AGRICULTURAL CHEMISTRY. What are we to understand by Agricultural Chemnistry, as the term is now used by scientific fa'rmers? Before answering that question, it is expedient to explain the meaning of chemistry, without reference to agriculture, it being one of the fundamental sciences, the study of which is interwoven with every branch of Natural History or material philosophy, as well as with agriculture. Before we can fully appreciate its importance, when relating to the latter, we -must understand its use in other departments of knowledge. What then is the prop)er definition of chemistry as a science? Perhaps no better definition can be given than that of Ure; to wit, that it investigates the composition of material substances, and the permanent changes of constitution which their mutual actions produce; or, that it treats of the mutual action of the integrant or constituent parts of a body. Brande gives a more copious definition, but the same in reality; to wit, that branch of natural knowledge which teaches us the properties of elementary substances, and of their mutual combinations; it inquires into the laws which effect, and into the powers which preside over, their union; it examines the proportions in which they combine, and the modes of separating them when combined; and endeavors to apply such knowledge to the explication of natural phenomena, and to useful purposes in the arts of life. What are some of the most obvious examples of the science, as thus defined? The detection of alloys in counterfeit coin; of poison mixed with otbr substances, either before being used, or when 24 "' N.EDHAM'S WITTE BLACrBERRY. The above is a good illustration of this luxuriant fruit, raised by J. S. Needham, of Danvers, Mas,sachusetts. The plant grows to the height of from six to ten feet. Ityields plentifully. The fruit is large, amber-colored, and is very sweet and rich; and the dew M d fox it eceeds the supply, although it is easily raised." I j, &GRICULTURAL CHEMISTRY. found in the stomiach; of the component parts of any medicine, an( hence its effect on the animal constitution or aly particular disease; of the materials used in dye-stuffs, and hence the measure of their durability; of the elementary constituents forming any particular description of food, and hence its adaptation and power for sustaining animal life and growth. Indeed, there is seemingly no end to the benefits derived from chemical knowledge. By it we learn that grease or oil will prevent friction in machinery, or rust on metals; that the contact of the atmosphere on certain liquids will produce vinegar-on butter will cause it to becoime rancid, and on eggs will hasten putrefaction; and that yeast mixed with kneaded flour will occasion fermentation. Hence it may readily be seen how chemistry may be made beneficial to agriculture. What are some of the cases thatfirst occur to you of tlhe benefcial effects of chemistry to agriculture? To remedy defects in soil. If the soil is too light to preserve fertilizing agents, mix with it clay or other substances to increase its power of retaining them. If it is too cold, mix with it' sand to render it warm. If clayey and impervious, mix with it substances that will cause it to be mellow ayid light. If sour, mix with it what will neutralize this property in it. Or, iffv tenting in some particular agent needfulto the growth of a particular crop, cast upon it that description of manure which contains this agent. So, if the soil is found to be naturally too moist, chemistry will admonish the farmer to resort to draining; or, if naturally too dry, to resort to irrigation. But most of this is probably known by mostfarmers, who never studied chemistry; how then do the cases named alply to the subject? True, some of these things may have been learned from one's own experience in agriculture; some from observing the practice of others, or from the exercise of mere common sense. Nevertheless, they involve chemical principles; and if portions of a science are thus learned, as it were, from necessity, it shows the importance of pursuing the study more systematically in other matters that will be found equally valuable, although less obvious, to the uneducated farmer. It is by no means the fact that chemistry is learned from books only at school; but the fact that portions of it are learned under such 2 25 disadvantageous circumstances, and by a slow process, shows the advantage, to farmers especially, of making it a part of elementary or common school education to their sons. How can the necessity for a rotation, of crops be explained on principles of agricultural chemistry? It is easily done. Here the knowledge imparted by the science is of immense value. It has ever been known that, in raising a succession of the same crop for a long course of years, there would be gradually and regularly a diminution in the amount of the product. The fact was apparent, because it was constantly observed by the most intelligent of uneducated farmers; but the reason of it was a perfect mystery. Now chemistry explains the mystery. It tells them that one crop requires mainly in its growth one particular fertilizing agent; that another crop in the same way requires mainly another fertilizing agent; and so of a third, and a fourth. Thus, for instance, potatoes being planted one year; then Indian corn; then oats; then wheat; and then grass -or any analogous rotation-there will be no lack or diminution of production: when the same, or a similar alternation of culture, may be followed to any indefinite extent, and with similar results. All this is made plain by chemistry, as the most familiar process with which one can be acquainted. How is it that chemistry is able to comprehend these facts, unless by a succession of experiments, like those of the conmon farmer? The chemist, in the first place, ascertains of what particular substance each particular vegetable to be raised is composed, or what material from the soil enters into its growth. He then ascertains of what elementary substances any particular portion of soil is composed. This being done, if the soil is deficient or destitute of any one elementary substance required in the growth of a particular vegetable, that vegetable cannot be produced on it. Thus four different vegetables being examined and found to require each mainly for itself a particular elementary substance; and that the soil contains these four substances, but only enough of each for one crop, it follows that either one of them planted more than one year in succession would fail of receiving nourishment, but if each one were planted one year only and in succession or rotation, there would be nourishment enough in the soil for all four of them, and there would be a good crop of each, At,AICULTURAL CHEMISTRY. 20 AGRICULTURAL CHEMISTRY. But is it a part of the theory in this supposition, that each of these vegetables in its own year and for its own crop extracts fron the soil all of the elementary substance nainly required in its growth? By no means. It is literally so in theory but not in fact. Portions of this substance may not be brought into contact with the roots of the vegetable, and hence not be absorbed. Consequently such portions of it will remain in the soil, and might be available for the same vegetable another year, but yielding a diminished crop; and, not only for one year but for a succession of years, but each one with diminished results. How is it that the chemist can ascertain the elementary substances entering into the composition of vegetables, and the component parts of the soil? An answer to this inquiry comes not properly into view in the present place. It would occupy too much space. It will receive attention elsewhere. Here it is assumed as a fact, to show the importance of chemical knowledge. All to be said at present is, that the chemist as much has the means at control for doing it, and doing it with accuracy, as the boy, on finding a bag of medals,-some gold, some silver, some copper; or a bag containing peas, beans, kernels of corn, and grains of wheat, is able to separate the mixture, putting each kind into a parcel by itself, and telling with accuracy how many of each kind there are. The one is as simple to the chemist, as the other is to the boy of ten years old. Of what benefit to the farmer in the preparation and use of manures is agricultural chemistry? It enables him to judge of the degrees of efficacy as fertilizing agents of the different kinds of manure; of the best modes of preserving and applying it; of the different substances that may advantageously be converted into it; and especially the most expeditious and certain process for the operation. The great secret of successful farming lies in the ability to provide manure of the best quality and in all needful measure; and the agricultural chemist has an advantage for this over all other persons. In what way can thefarmer be materially aided in feeding his stock by a knowledge of this science? The fact is too palpable to need reiteration, that different kinds of vegetables used for the feed of horses, cattle, swine, sheep, and poultry contain different degrees or different pro 27 THE CROP OF ACORNS portions according to their bulk of nutritive aliment. When, therefore, it is known how much it costs to produce these several kinds, it is easily ascertained which kind in the feed iligff of stock is most economical. If one farmer in this way is enabled to raise pork at four dollars per hundred, while it costs another five dollars per hundred; or if one is enabled to produce;nilk on his farm at one and a half cents per quart, wvhile it costs another two cents per quart, it is evident that te one in agricultural profit has a material advantage over the other.' Does a knowledge of agricultural chemistry enable the farmer the better to distribute the crops upon his farm? It truly does. What was said on the rotation of crops is applicable to the present question. And, in addition to that to the common observer it might be apparent that all soils are not alike adapted to every species of vegetable production. A deep soil is required by some, and a more light one by others. Some require great moisture and others less. Some admit of a more cool and shaded position, and others as much of a direct exposure to the sun as possible. The individual who would consider a piece of land that answers for buckwheat well adapted to the growth of carrots is an agricultural simpleton; and the same might be said in reference to many other similar ill-judged distributions of crops. Much on these matters is to be learnt by experience and observa tion; but, if experience is based on scientific knowledge much time and money are saved. Whnt are some of the cases that illustrate this position? On very light'lands, rye, of all grains, grows best; and of all food for cattle, says Professor Johnston, spurry grows best on light sandy soils. On loamy and gravelly soils, barley is a kind that grows best; and turnips and Indian corn will grow well on such soils. And he says barley could not grow on a stiff clay; while on heavy, clay lands, wheat, cld, ver, and grass grow most luxuriantly. THE CROP OF ACORNS. There came a man in days of old, To hire a piece of land for gold, 28 AME ERiCA! PLOUGMAN. And urged his suit in accents meek,"One crop alone, is all I seek; That harvest o'er, my claim I yield, And to its lord resign the field." The owner some misgivings felt, And coldly with the stranger dealt, And found his last objection fail, And honied eloquence prevail, So took the proffered price in hand, And for one crop leased out the land. The wily tenant sneer'd with pride, And sowed the spot with acorns wide; At first, like tiny shoots they grew, Then broad and wide their branches threw, But long before those oaks sublime Aspiring reach'd their forest prime, The cheated landlord mouldering lay Forsaken with his kindred clay. Oh ye, whose years unfolding fair, Are fresh with youth, and free from care, Should Vice or Indblence desire, The garden of your soul to hire, No parley hold, eject the suit, Nor let one seed the soil pollute. My child, their first approach beware, With firmness break the insidious snare, Lest as the acorns grew and throve Into a sun-excluding grove, Thy sins, a dark o'ershadowing tree, Shut out the light of Heaven from thee. MRs. SIGOURNEY., THE AMERICAN PLOUGHMAN. CLEAR the brown path to meet the coulter's gleam! Lo! on he comes behind his smoking team, With toil's bright dew-drops on his sun-burnt brow, The lord of earth, the hero of the plough! go THE AMERICAN PLOUGHIIMAN. First in the field before the reddening sun, Last in the shadows when the day is done. Line after line along the burning sod Marks the broad acres where his feet have trod; Still where he treads the stubborn clods divide, The smooth, fresh furrow opens deep and wide; Matted and dense tLe tangled turf upheaves, Mellow and dark the ridgy cornfield cleaves; Up the steep hill-side where the laboring train Slants the long track that scores the level plain; Through the moist valley clogged with oozing clay, The patient convoy breaks its destined way; At every turn the loosening chains resound, The swinging ploughshare circles glistening round, Till the wide field one billowy waste appears, And wearied hands unbind the panting steers. These are the hands whose sturdy labor brings The peasant's food, the golden pomp of kings; This is the page whose letters shall be seen Changed by the sun to words of living green; This is the scholar whose immortal pen Spells the first lesson hunger taught to men; These are the lines, 0 Heaven-commanded toil, That fill thy deed-the charter of the soil! O gracious Mother, whose benignant breast Wakes us to life, and lulls us all to rest, How sweet thy features, kind to every clime, Mock with their smile the wrinkled front of time! We stain thy flowers-they blossom o'er the dead; We rend thy bosom, and it gives us bread; O'er the red field that trampling strife has torn, Waves the green plumage of thy tasseled corn; Our maddening conflicts scar thy fairest plain, still thy soft answer is the growing grain, Yet, 0' our mother, while uncounted charms Round the fresh clasp of these embracing arms, Let not our virtues in thy love decay, And thy fond weakness waste our strength away No by these hills, whose banners, now displayed In blazing cohorts Autumn has arrayed; to PHYSIOLOGICAL REFLECTIONS ON WATER. By yon twin crest, amid the sinking sphere, Last to dissolve, and first to reappear; By these fair plains the mountain circle screens, And feeds in silence fiorn its dark ravines; True to their home, these faithful arms shall toil, To crown with peace their own untainted soil And true to God, to Freedom, to Mankind, If her chained bandogs Faction shall unbind, These stately forms, that bending even now, Bowed their strong manhood to the humble plough, Shall rise erect, the guardians of the land, The same stern iron in the same right hand, Till Greylock thunders to the parting sun The sword has rescued what the ploughshare won! DR. HOLMES. PHYSIOLOGICAL REFLECTIONS ON WATER. Absolutely pure water, fresh drawn of the chemist's still, or formed from its elements by burning a gallon of hydrogen gas in half a gallon of oxygen, seems as simple and inert a substance as one can well conceive-devoid as it is of color, taste, and smell. Yet in the whole range of material substances there is perhaps not one whose transformations are more surprisingly Protean, or whose relations are more ex tensive and intricate. A solid body, stone-hard, falls from the sky and breaks your window. You pick it up, and find it a dense angular crystal; which, while you examine it in the palm of your hand, changes to a transparent fluid; which again, dwindling gradually as you gaze at it, becomes invisible, and vanishes into thin air. If the weather be frosty, the vanished substance soon re-appears in dew drops, softly deposited on the cold window-which just before its momentum had power to break; and these drops, while you examine them, shoot into delicate ramifications, and resume their previous crystalline solidity. Nor is the hail stone less soluble on earth than in air. Placed under a glass bell with thrice its weight of lime, it gradually melts and disappears; and there remain four parts, instead of three, of perfectly dry earth under the glass. Of 31 82 PHYSIOLOGICAL EFLECTION5 ON WATEL a plaster of Paris statue weighing five pounds, more than one pound is solidified water. Even the iridescent opal is but a mass of fluid and water, combined in the proportion of nine grains of the earthy ingredient to one of the fluid. Of an acre of clay land a foot deep, weighing twelve hundred tons, at least four hundred tons are water; and, even of the great mountain chains with which the globe is ribbed, many mil lions of tons are water solidified in earth. Water, indeed, exists around us to an extent and under conditions which escape the notice of cursory observers. When the dyer buys of the drysalter one hundred pounds of alum, carbonate of soda, and soap, he obtains in exchange for his money, no less than forty-five pounds of water in the first lot, sixty-four pounds in the second, and a variable quantity, sometimes amounting to seventy-thiree and a half pounds, in the third. Even the transparent air we breathe contains in ordinary weather about five grains of water diffused through each cubic foot of its bulk, and this rarified water no more wets the air than the solidified water wets the lime or opal in which it is absorbed. But while water is thus capable of incorporating itself with earth and air, and of assuming alternately their respective conditions, it can, on the other hand, in its turn, dissolve both air and earth; giving to invisible gases its own palpable form, and liquifying, without chemically changing, the densest constituents of the crust of the globe. Of the absorptive power of water for gases we have a practical example in the frequent contamination of London water by the coal gas, which leaks from the gas pipes into the soil, and is sucked into the water pipes by the vacuum which the water creates in its secession towards the mains when turned off This pollution takes place to so great an extent in certain streets, where the ground is so saturated with escaped gas that the fire-plug boxes if covered over at night collect enough to take fire the next morning. So abundantly is this gas drawn into the service pipes that it has frequently been known to ignite at the water-taps; to the great consternation of those who, coming with their pitchers, have seen fire issue where water was wont to flow. Drain air and grave-yard gas must in some situations be pumped by this vacuum process into the pipes, and contribute to pollute the water. PHYSIOLOGICAL REFLECTIONS ON WATER. As for the solvent power of water on solids, the phenomenon is as familiar to us as it is profoundly marvellous. Every one has seen salt vanish in water; the particles, just now opaque and fixed, strangely acquiring mobility and translucence. Every one, however, is not aware how extensive the range of this power of water is. The glass we drink from seems insoluble; yet Lavoisier found that glass retorts used in distilling water lost weight, the water at the same time acquiring an equivalent impregnation of the elements (fluid and alkali) of glass. This erosive action of water and the gases it contains on glass, takes place also, though more slowly, at the ordinary temperature of the air; and its results become apparent in the lapse of time. The old stained glass windows at Westminster Abbey are honey-combed on the outside by the rain, and in many parts nearly eaten through. Comminution quickens the effect; if a common drinking tumbler be pounded and moistened, enough of the powder will be dissolved to give the water a powerful reaction on tur meric paper. Pure flint, which, as opal, we have seen solidi fiying water, may, in its turn, be converted by combinationt with water into transparent tremulous jelly-or even, in minuter portions, be taken up as clear aqueous solution of flint. Thus granite rock, of which silicates, such as form glass, are a main ingredient, is gradually disintegrated by water; and the hot springs of Iceland bring up from the deep Plutonic strata so much siliceous matter in solution that objects dipped in them become coated with a flinty deposit. The salubrity of earthy, alkaline, and metallic salts irn water used as beverage, is strenuously asserted and denied by authorities of equal eminence. Some physiologists con tend that lime, magnesia, iron, and the alkalies in combina tion with carbonic, sulphuric, phosphoric, and other acids, are essential constituents of the animal body, their presence in water is not only harmless, but positively beneficial, and their elimination from our beverage would, in particular, according to these writers, deprive our bones of the material necessary to their growth. In opposition to this view, the cogent fact is alleged that the citizens of Aberdeen, who drink the purest water in Great Britain, have also fully developed bones; whence it is inferred that the earthy and alkaline salts supplied to us in our solid food furnish the organism with a due proportion of mineral constituents. 2* 33 34 PHYSIOLOGICAL REFLECTIONS ON WATER This position is still more indisputably established by the fact that the ejected residue of the solid food contains a large proportion of superfluous mineral salts. On the whole, the weight of scientific evidence seems in favor of the salubrity of water free from earth; towards which, at all events, the instinct of mankind manifestly inclines. Such is our own experience, and such is the evidence furnished by obseryation from facts all around us. As for the inferiority of soft water, in point of freshness and sapidity, to the hard water drawn from wells and springs, this difference depends not on any pleasantness of savor inherent in the earthy salts, but on the superior coolness and more abundant Oration of newly drawn spring water. Let the pure water be cooled to forty-five degrees and the spring water warmed to sixty-five degrees, and deprived of its carbonic acid, and the former will be chosen in preference to the latter. Alexander knew this; who, at the siege of Petra, had thirty pits filled with snow to cool his water; and this also Mahomet knew, who describes, as one of the principal tortures of the damned, a quenchless thirst, with nothing to slake it but warm, filthy water. The subterranean tanks of Madrid, and the colossal cisterns of Constantinople, protected from the sunshine by groined coverings, argue the acquaintance of their ancient constructors with the value of coolness in water, and put to shame the London reservoirs-exposed, as they are, not only to the solar heat and light, with all the growths which they encourage, but also to the impure exhalations of two millions of people, and to the filthy droppings of the London air. But whatever differences of opinion may exist as to the palatability of hard or earthy water, its inferiority for detergent, culinary, and manufacturing purposes is admitted on all hands. Lime and magnesia in water spoil alkaline soaps, by combining with the fatty acids which give them their lubricity, and so reducing them to the state of insoluble earthsoaps, which are unpleasant to the skin in the bath, and injurious to linen in the wash-tub. The tannin of tea-its astringent part-is thrown down by the lime of hard water as a tannate, along with coloring, extractive, and aromatic matter; so that of the tea infused in spring water of average hardness, at least one third is wasted. Hard water, used for boiling meat and vegetables, extracts their juices less thor PHYSIOLOGICAL REFLECTIONS ON WATER. oughly than soft, and toughens their fibres, shriveling greens and peas, giving spinage and asparagus a yellow tinge, and seriously impairing the flavor of soups. Hard water is equally prejudicial, for like reasons, in many manufactures. The tannin of oak bark, like that of tea, is precipitated from solution by lime, to the great injury of leather. The valuable juices of certain dye-woods, of the brewer's malt and hops, and of apothecary's drugs, are, like those of meat and vegetables, less readily yielded to hard water than to soft; and, as the extra dose of carbonic acid, by which chalk is upheld in water, is driven off by heat, steam-engine boilers, in which hard water is used, become rapidly encrusted with an earthy deposit, which hinders the transmission of heat to the water; and thus not only occasions waste of fuel, but exposes the over-heated iron to burn and burst. Of organic bodies, whether vegetable or animal, water is also a large constituent during life, and a powerful solvent after death Potatoes for example, contain seventy-five per cent.-by weight-and turnips no less than ninety per cent. of water;-which explains, by the way, the smallinclination of turnip-fed cattle and sheep for drink. A beef-steak strongly pressed between blotting-paper yields nearly four-fifths of its weight of water. Of the human frame, bones included, only about four-fifths is solid matter-chiefly carbon and nitrogen; -the rest is water. If a man weighing 160 lbs. were squeezed flat under a hydraulic press, 120 lbs. of water would run out, and only 40 lbs. of dry residue would remain. A man is therefore, chemically speaking, a little more than fifty pounds of carbon and nitrogen diffused through six pailfuls of water. Berzelius, indeed, in recording the fact, justly remarks, "the living organism is to be regarded as a mass diffused in water;" and Dalton, by a series of experiments tried in his own person, found that of the food with which we daily repair this water-built fabric, five-sixths is also water. Thus amply does science confirm the popular saying that water is the " first necessary of life." Nor of life only. Of death, considered as the final predominance of chemical over vital forces, water is also the indispensable minister; taking as it does, an active part in the processes of fermentation, putrefaction, and decay-through which organized bodies pass in their gradual relapse to the inorganic condition. Thero changes deserve our p1tiula 85 PHYSIOLOGICAL REFLECTIONS ON WATER, att, -tion, for they go on in our ordinary rivers; and at a certain degree of activity they turn water into a deadly poison. Some years since the putrescent residuum of a starch factory at Nottingham was suffered to contaminate a brook containing fish and frogs, and resorted to by cattle for drink. The fish and frogs disappeared from the water, and the cattle suffered a series of symptoms of disease. Their muscles, their blood, and all the more putrefiable tissues of their bodies wasted; their coats became rough and staring; their yield of milk fell off rapidly; a bloody purging ensued; and they died in a state of extreme emaciation. After twenty-four cows and nine calves had thus miserably perished, the contamination of the water was stopped by an action at law upon which the fish and the frogs began to reappear, and the mortality of the cattle ceased. Advancing to a higher point of view, we note properties and functions of water, as it operates in the organism of plants and animals, and in the still wider laboratory of the world at large, we shall find it still the great solvent; the principal carrier of circulating substances and forces, and the universal medium of physical and vital transformations. The sap of plants is a solution of nutrient matters, saline and organic, in water, which distributes them so rapidly, that its upward course through the minute vessels looks like the rushing of a swift stream. A pailfiul of water suitably impregnated with salts is speedily sucked up by the root of a growing tree immersed in it; the salts are assimilated, as also is part of the water, the remainder being evaporated from the leaves. Food or poison may be thus artfully administered to plants, and timber is thus hardened in France, and even stained, while living, of divers different hues. As for the evaporation from foliage, it is so abundant that a sunflower perspires five gills per day, and a cabbage nearly as much; and, it appears from experiments, that a wheatplant, during the period of its growth, 172 days, exhales 100,000 grains of water; so that, taking the ultimate weight of the mature plant at one hundred grains, and its main weight at fifty grains, which is a full estimate, its mean daily transpiration actually exceeds ten times its own weight. At this rate an acre of growing wheat, weighing at least two tons at maturity, should exhale on an average fully ten tons of water per day.'However, it is calculated that the rain THE SUPERIORITY OF EDUCATE D LABOR. daily falling on an acre of land is not equal to this quantity. Hence the exhalations from the plant with which the experiment was made must have been above the average of those from plants growing in a wheat field.-ABSTRACT FROM LONDON QUARITERLY REVIEW. THE SUPERIORITY OF EDUCATED LABOR. The most abundant proof exists, derived from all departments of human industry, that uneducated labor is comparatively unprofitable. I have before me the statements of a number of the most intelligent gentlemen in Massachusetts, affirming this fact as the result of an experience extending over many years. In Massachusetts we have no native born child wholly without school instruction; but the degrees of attainment in mental development are various. Half a dozen years ago, the Massachusetts Board of Education obtained statements from large numbers of our master manufacturers, authenticated from the books of their respective establishments, and covering a series of years, the result of which was, that increased wages were found in connection with increased intelligence, just as certainly as increased heat raises the mercury in the thermometer. Foreigners, and those coming from other states, who made their marks when they receipted their bills, earned the least; those who had a moderate or limited education occupied a middle ground on the pay-roll; while the intelligent young women who worked in the mills in winter, and taught schools in summer crowned the list. The larger capital in the form of intelligence yielded the larger interest in the form of wages. This inquiry was not confined to manufacturers, but was extended to other departments of business, where the results of labor could be made the subject of exact measuremnent. This is universally so. The mechanic sees it, when he compares the work of a stupid with that of an awakened mind. The traveller sees it, when he passes from an educated into an uneducated nation. There are countries in Europe, lying side by side. where, without compass or chart, without bound or land-ruarks, I could un the line of demar 37 TRIBUTE TO GENIUS AND LABOL cation between the two, by the broad, legible characters which'gnorance has written on roads, fields, houses, and the persons of men, women, and children on one side, and which knowledge has inscribed on the other. This difference is most striking in the mechanic arts; but is clearly visible also in husbandry. Not the most fertile soil, not mines of silver and gold, can make a nation rich without intelligence. Who ever had a more fertile soil than the Egyptians? Who have handled more silver and gold than the Spaniards? The universal cultivation of the mind and heart is the only true source of opulence;-the cultivation of the mind, by which to lay hold on the treasures of nature; the cultivation of the heart, by which to devote those treasures to beneficent uses. Where this cultivation exists, no matter how barren the soil or ungenial the clime, there comfort and competence will abound; for it is the intellectual and moral condition of the cultivator that impoverishes the soil, or makes it teem with abundance. He who disobeys the law Of God in regard to the culture of the intellectual and spiritual nature, may live in the valley of the Nile, but he can rear only the "lean kine" of Pharoah; but he who obeys the highest law, may dwell in the cold and inhospitable regions of Scotland or of New England, and "well-formed and fat-fleshed kine" shall feed on all his meadows.-HORAcE MANN. TRIBUTE TO GENIUS AND LABOR. The camp has had its day of song; The sword, the bayonet, the plume Have crowded out of rhyme too long The plough, the anvil and the loom! 0, not upon our tented fields Are Freedom's heroes bred alone; The training of the workshop yields' More heroes true than War has known! Who drives the bolt, who shapes the steel, May, with the heart as valiant, smite, As he who sees a foeman reel In blood before his blow of might! 38 A PLEA FOR OUR PHYSICAL LrFE. The skill that conquers space and time, That graces life, that lightens toil, May spring from courage more sublime Than that which makes a realm its spoil. Let Labor, then, look up and see His craft no path of honor lacks; The soldier's rifle yet shall be Less honored than the woodman's axe? Let Art his own appointment prize, Nor deem that gold or outward height Can compensate the worth that lies In tastes that breed their own delight. And may the time draw nearer still When men this sacred truth shall heed, That from the thought and from the will Must all that raises man proceed! Though Pride should hold our call'ing low, For us shall duty make it good; And we from truth to truth shall go, Till life and death are understood. EPES SARGENT. A PLEA FOR OUR PHYSICAL LIFE. We do our nature wrong, Neglecting over long The bodily joys that help to make us wise; The ramble up the slope Of the high mountain copeThe long day's walk, the vigorous exercise, The fresh luxuriant bath, Far from the trodden path, Ot'mid the ocean waves, dashing with harmless roar, Lifting us off our feet upon the sandy shore. Kind Heaven! there is no end Of pleasures as we wend 39' ft. . ORGAM AND STRUCTURE OF PLANTS. Our pilgrimage in life's undevious way, If we but know the laws Of the Eternal Cause, And for His glory and our good obey, But intellectual pride Sets half these joys aside, And our perennial care absorbs the soul so much, That life burns cold and dim beneath its deadening touch. Welcome, ye plump green meads, Ye streams and sighing reeds! Welcome, ye corn-fields, waving like a sea! Welcome, the leafy bowers, And children gathering flowers? And farewell, for a while, sage drudgery! What! though we're growing old, Our blood is not yet cold! Come with me to the fields, thou man of many ills, And give thy limbs a chance among the daffodils Come with me to the woods, And let their solitudes Re-echo to our voices as we go,, Upon thy weary brain Let nature come again, Spite of thy wealth, thy learning, or thy woe! Stretch forth thy limbs and leap Thy life has been asleep; And though the wrinkles deep may furrow thy pale brow, Show me, if thou art wise, how like a child art thou! CHARLES MACKEY. ORGANS AND STRUCTURE OF PLANTS. What is the first step to be taken in understanding what may be termed vegetable physiology or the'process employed by nature in the growth of plants? It is to learn the organs possessed by each plant, and the functions for which they are designed in the development of the different parts of the vegetable structure. ORGANS AND STRUCTURE OF PLANTS What will be the consequence, if this is neglected? Without this knowledge, it will be impossible to under. stand how plants derive their nutriment from the air and the soil, and indeed it is and must be the basis of all ouI studies in relation to the subject. To what are the organs of the plants analagous? They are analagous to the organs of an animal. The one as much needs a specific structure, through the agency of which the aliments of vegetable life are maintained, as the other. An animal might as well live and grow without food; and might as well receive and assimilate the food when furnished, without mouth and teeth and stomach, and without veins and arteries as a plant can flourish without corresponding organs. The organs of a plant answer precisely the end that these organs do in the animal economy. What other similarity is there between the growth of animals and vegetables? A supply of fresh air is alike needed by both. Food and drink of some kind or other-that is, solid and fluid or gaseous substances, also. Without them animals and vegetables would both sicken and die. This fact should never be forgotten. What are the most obvious organs of plants? It is a general law in vegetable economy, that all plants consist of a root, a stem, and leaves; and these organs consist of distinct parts, each designed to answer a specific purpose, and is essentially necessary to the perfection of the whole. To what have the organs of a plant distinct reference? The production of a fruit, which being accomplished, the plant either dies entirely, or lies torpid for a season, until a succession of the same circumstances which gave it life in the first instance, shall again call its productive organs into action. What are the offices of the root? In the first place, the root keeps the plant fixed in a proper position; and, in this respect is therefore analagous to the limbs of an animal. In the second place, the plant receives most of its nourishment through the root; which is therefore analagous to the mouth of an animal. What is said of the form of the root? The form of the root is diversified to an unlimited extent; sometimes it is large; sometimes it is small; sometimes 41 ORGANS AND STRUCTURE OF PLANTS. straight; sometimes crooked; sometimes re-gh; sometimes smooth. The roots of plants are as much diversified as the tops or branches. What is said of the instincts of the root? The instincts of roots are truly wonderful. If there is in the vicinity a little spot of soil more rich than the rest, they are sure to find it as a mouse is sure to find a little crumb of cheese sunk into the crevice between the edges of two boards. Or, if there is a seam in a large stone obstructing their progress, they will be as sure to find and penetrate this avenue, as a man with a good lantern, in a dark night, would search out and pursue a small foot-path in a grass field. Of how many parts does a root consist? The body, the crown or collar, the branches, and the fibres; each of essential importance in its place-the fibres particularly; so also is the crown, being the portion of the plant between the stem or leaves and the body of the root. What is said of the importance of the crown? In many plants, of a hardy nature, nearly the whole of the body of the root may be cut away, and yet, if the crown be uninjured, still the plant will flourish; but, in the generality of plants, if the crown be injured, no matter how perfect so ever the body may be, the plant is usually destroyed. If the crown is slender what will be the consequence? If the crown of plants is slender, they dry up as the seeds ripen, and the plants soon die. Such plants are termed annuals, including wheat, barley, oats, and a multitude of others-but when the crown from any cause, such as the soil, climate, or culture, is rendered strong, such annuals are brought to grow two years, and then are called biennials; or for a succession of years, and then are called perennials. What is said of the fibres of a root? The fibres.are an essential part of each root, yet in most cases they may be removed without injury to the plant, provided the crown is sufficiently healthy and vigorous to push out new ones. What are the spongelets of a root and what is said of them? The spongelets are the tips or the extreme ends of the fibres; and they absorb the pabulum from the soil. In case the spongelet, from any cause, is removed from the point of the fibre, two lateral shoots are imnmediately thrown out, pro 42 ORGANS AND STRUCTURE OF PLANTS. vided the plant is sufficiently vigorous to bear the temporary loss it thus sustains,-each furnished with its spongelet, and thus the destruction of the one becomes a source of strength to the plant. How does tillage operate to make this power of the plant in reproducing spongelets advantageous? In ploughing between the rows of corn, if the small roots are cut, the number of spongelets will be increased and consequently the vigor of the plant will be promoted. The same may occur with other crops, particularly in garden culture., What is said of the duration of fibres on the root? .They are produced annually like leaves, in some cases, the old'ones having fallen off. The Dahlia is an instance of it. In other cases the fibres are constantly increasing in size, and becoming harder like the parent of the root, and subsequently throwing out new fibres themselves, as is the case with large trees. What general description is given of the stem of plants? The stem of all plants rises immediately from the crown of the root, and is, consequently, always above the ground. The same variety prevails in this part of the plant as in the root; for instance, the stems of wheat, barley, and the grasses, rise to some height, and are termed the straw; the stems of mushrooms, fungi, and the like, are termed the stalk; and the stem of the strawberry is termed the runner; all of them being appropriately described from the appearance each presents. Of w?hat several parts is the stem composed? The pith, the wood, and the bark. This will appear by cutting across a young twig of a common tree or shrub. This is readily seen in the Ash and Elder, because in them and some others the parts are more distinctly seen, yet where less apparent to the eye they exist. What is said of the pith? It is a soft spongy substance occupying the centre. If a slice of it be cut, either across or vertically, and magnified, it is seen to consist entirely of cellular tissue, the cells of which are mostly of a regular form. When young it contains a good deal of fluid; when the branch is old it becomes white and hard; and in an old stem or branch, it is often found to have shriveled up and almost entirely disappeared. What curiwus product is obtained from the pith? 43 ORGANS AND STRUCTUR] OF PLANTS. Generally the pith of trees is applied to no important use; but one curious product is obtained from the large pith which constitutes nearly the entire stem of a herbaceous plant. This is the substance known as Rice Paper, which is made by cutting the soft portion of the stem with a sharp knife in a spiral manner, so as to cause it to spread out, as if a sheet of paper were being unrolled from a round roller. It is then flattened out and made smooth by pressure. What is said of the formation of the wood? It surrounds the pith in rings or layers, theiumber an6 thickness of which depend upon the age of the branch ox stem. These rings or layers occupy the entire space between the pith and the bark. The number of them is.easily reckoned on cutting the stem or branch across; and they correspond exactly in this climate with the number of years which the part has existed; or in other words, a distinct ring or layer is formed each year, so that in this way the age of an5 tree is easily ascertained. How is it supposed that this takes place? There is reason to suppose, that on the falling of the leaves, which is annual in temperate climates, or in corres pondence with the formation and decay of each set of leaves, an additional layer or ring of wood is also produced. What exception is there to this? In tropical climates there are many kinds of trees having two or three successions of leaves in each year, and the presumption is a corresponding number of layers of wood is also formed. Unless this be the fact; the Boabab trees of Senegal, in many instances, have reached the age of 50QO years, their wood being composed of that number of layers. It is not credible that they have reached that age; and the appearance of supposed evidence for such a hypothesis, is explained by their having an additional layer with each succession of leaves. What changes are constantly taking place in the wood of trees, as they increase in age? In most trees, of which the wood is used as timber, the inner and older portion is much harder and dryer than the exterior. Sometimes there is an evident line of demarcation between the heart-wood or duramen, as it is called, and the sap-wood, or alburnum. This is seen in the lignumn vitae, d cocoa-wood. But in most cases, the exchange of 44 ORGANS AND STRUCTURE OF PLANTS. character is more gradual, and the lines of demarcation are less distinct. To what is this change owing? It is attributed to the consolidation of the interior wood, by the deposition in its tubes of resinous and other matter secreted by the plant. The portion of the stem in which this has taken place thus acquires great toughness and durability, but it is no longer fit to perform any office in the living system, save that of mechanically supporting the rest; since no fluid can now pass in any way through the now-filled-up channels. It is through the new layers, or sap-wood, therefore, that the sap entirely ascends; and these, in their turn, become enclosed by others, and are at last consolidated, like the more aged ones, into duramen. The heart-wood alone is used by the artisan; for the sap-wood soon splits and decays. How does it appear that sap does not ascend to nourish the plant through the heart-wood? It is well known, that the heart or duramen of an aged tree with some portions of the exterior stem sometimes entirely decays, leaving the remainder a mere shell or hollow trunk. Yet, vegetable life does not become extinct. The sap continues to ascend as before. New layers of alburnum are annually made. Annually there is a new succession of leaves; and the process of throwing out new branches continues without change. What account is given of Iheformation of bark? It is obvious to the sight that the wood is enclosed by the bark; and the latter, like the former, is composed of regular layers, although they cannot be so plainly seen. The layers of the bark are formed from the interior. So that the older are on the outside. These are generally lost, either by decay, or falling off; so that it is very seldom that the same number can be traced in the bark as in the wood, although an additional one is formed in each at the same time. As the new layer of wood is formed on the outside of the previous one,-at the point, therefore, at which it is in contact with the bark, and as the new layer of bark is added to the inside of the previous one; at the point, therefore, at which it was in contact with the wood, it is obvious they are produced at the same spot, and that the newest layers of both will be always in contact with each other. Wha is said of the bark from which cork is obt iej? 45 46 ORGANS AND STRUCTURE OF PLANTS. It contains a great quantity of cellular tissues, and is therefore thick and spongy, and may be regarded as a sort of external pith. The tree producing this bark is a species of the oak, found in the southern part of Europe, and mostly in Spain and Portugal. Why is the inner coat of some bark called LIBER? Liber, in the Latin language, is the name of a book; and before the invention of paper, the Romans used these inner coats of certain bark, which were very fine and delicate, for the purposes of writing. Thus the inner coat of bark and a book had the same name. For what other purposes has the inner coat of bark sometinzes been used? In the Polynesian Islands especially it is wrought into cloth, mats, sails, and cordage. It is said that a very beautiful kind of this substance is obtained from the VegetableLace tree of Jamaica. When its layers are unfolded, it has the appearance of a delicate lace. What is the most obvious agency of leaves in the growth of vegetation? Leaves perform in the vegetable kingdom, the same offices as the lungs in the animal kingdom. Through them, from the pores covering their surface, the respiration of the plant is carried on; and, more than this, for at the same time that the respiration is going on, through the pores, a constant assimilation of one of the gases of the atmosphere is taking place. From this source to a considerable extent, the plant derives its nourishment. What other agency is performed by the leaves? A constant chemical action is always in operation in the leaves, in the formation of the resinous, and oleaginous, and acid matters they contain. These processes of the leaves are constantly in operation, from the first formation of the leaf until the seed is perfected, and they only cease when from the ripening of the fruit, their assistance is no longer required. How is it known that plants do absorb water, and other nourishment from the ground in their growth? It may be known from their being dried and burnt, and found to contain the same elementary substances existing in the ground. It may be known also from placing certain plants in a vessel of water, the water disappearing at a much more rapid rate, than it would evaporate if there were no plants immaersed in it, .W ORGANS AND BCTURE OF PLAM What experiments of this have been made? An experiment has been made with four plants of spearmint. They had been placed with the roots in water for the period of fifty-six days. During this time, they had taken up 64,000 grains of water, or about seven pints of the fluid, although their own united weight was but 403 grains, showing also that the remainder had been evaporated, or cast off by the leaves. How can it be proved that the sap ascends through the al4num or the new layers of wood? By coloring the water provided for the nourishment of the plant, it will be found that this part of the stem is tinged with the coloring matter. It may also be known by making an incision or boring a hole into this wood, from which the sap will ooze out. In this way the sap is procured for maple sugar. What singularfact has been related to show that every succeedingnew layer of wood is on the outside? Adamson relates, that, in visiting Cape Verd in the year 1748, he was struck by the venerable appearance of a tree, 50 feet in circumference. He recollected having read in some old voyages an account of an inscription made on a tree thus situated. No traces of such an inscription remained, but the position having been accurately described, Adamson was induced to search for it by cutting into the tree, when, to his great satisfaction, he discovered the inscription entire under no less a covering than three hundred layers of wood, proving that each new layer is formed on the outside of the last preceding one, and that the inscription had been made 300 years. If the sap in its ascent meets with any obstruction what will be the consequence? When this happens, there is an accumulation of the sap at this point which causes a protuberance or wart on the tree, and sometimes a new shoot for the formation of an additional branch. What is said of the size to which leaves sometimes attain? Leaves are of every imaginable form, and their size varies almost as much as their forms. In the mosses which abound in cold climates, they are extremely minute; and the forest trees of the North are adorned with leaves which appear very diminu tive, when compared or rather when contrasted with the foliage of equatorial plants. There we find the leaves of the Banana, 3 47 PATRIOT FARMERS OF NEW-YORK. perhaps the same which were employed by our first parents, to supply the want of more artificial dress; they being in the opinion of many writers, the "Fig leaves" of sacred history. In Ceylon, a country alternately exposed, for many months in succession, to the rays of the vertical sun, and the inclemencies of an unceasing storm, is found the singular Talipot, a single leaf of which is sufficiently large to shelter twenty men from the vicissitudes of the climate in which they dwell. This tree is venerated by those who find beneath its branches so kind a shelter, and travellers consider it the greatest blessing which Heaven has bestowed on the country. And when we regard its subserviency, to the wants of the human race, it is not surprising that by the ancients, the wide spreading tree, decorated with leaves, and occasionally beautified with flowers, should have been held sacred as the very temple of the Deities they worshipped. PATRIOT FARMERS OF NEW-YORK. * Farmers of New-York-the hour of separation for this dazzling array of beauty, this vast multitude of men, is at hand. Fruits richer than ever graced the gardens of Pomona -a paradise of flowers-needle-work the most exact, delicate and even-ingenious farming implements and manufactures of all sorts, cloths of the finest quality, from your own looms, and from looms in Massachusetts-horses fit to win prizes at Olympia-cattle such as never fell in a Hecatomb to Jove, and never were dreamed of by the highest of the Dutch painters-all these and more have arrested our gaze and filled us with wonder and delight. And now I am commissioned to summon you, and through you the population of this mighty commoniwealth, to come up and join us, as, under the auspices of the State, honor and distinction are awarded to agricultural industry and genius. But thie farners of New-York are not content with improvements in the material world alone. From their generous impulses spring your system of free schools. They have proved them-selvs te liberal benefactors of academies and colleges. They too have been careful for the means of their own special cuilture, and have founded and nurtured societies for promoting agriculture. For an example of the virtues of 48 PATRIOT FARMERS OF lEW-YORK. private life, I name to you the farmer of Westchester county, the pure and spotless Jay,' who assisted to frame our first treaty of peace, which added Ohio and the lovely West to our agriculture. Side by side with him, I name the friend of his youth, Robert R. Livingston, the younger, the enlight ened statesman of our Revolution, whose expansive mind succeeded in negotiating for our country a world beyond the Mississippi, and gained access for our flag to the gulf of Mexico. Here, on the banks of the Hudson he is celebrated as it were by every steamboat, and remembered on your farms through his experimental zeal. On this day be remembered the virtues of Stephen Van Rensselaer, who first brought Durham cattle to this State, and liberally diffused the breed. Join with me also in a tribute to Mitchill, the faithful advocate, and perhaps institutor, of one of the earliest agri cultural societies.; to Jesse Buel, who connected science with fact, taught how the most barren soil may be. made vastly productive, diffused his acquisitions by the press, and by life and by precept was the farmer's friend; to Willis Gaylord, whose agricultural essays are standard authorities, honorable to the man and the State; to Le Ray de Chaumont, who kept alive an agricultural society in Jefferson county, when all others had expired, and gave the impulse to the formation of the State Society, of which he was the first president; to James Wadsworth, for his skill as a cultivator, and still more for his liberal exertions, pouring out thousands after thousands, at the impulse of a generous mind, as if from a well-spring of good will, to promote agricultural science in primary schools. And I should be wanting on this occasion, did I not ten der the expression of your regard to the present president of the State Society, to the influence of that institution of which he is the honored head; to its Journal of Agriculture, to its annual fairs. But let me also entreat its friendly wishes to its purpose of establishing an agricultural school; and to that other more diffusive design of introducing through its secre tary, scientific works on agriculture into school libraries. I am happy also to announce that eflforts are now making to constitute agriculture, as it deserves to be, a branch of in struction in one, at least, of your universities. I have named to you some of the benefactors of agricul'ture; New-York. Their benefits endure. The pusuits 6 0 PATRIOT FARMERS OF NEW-YORK. of the farmer bind him to home. Others may cross continents and vex oceans; the farmer must dwell near the soil which he subdues and fertilizes. His fortunes are fixed and immovable. The scene of his youthful labors is the scene of his declining years; he enjoys his own plantations, and takes his rest beneath his cotemporary trees. But the farmer is not limited to the narrow circumference of his own domain; he stands in relation with all ages and all times. Your Society has done wisely to urge on those who bear the Gospel to untaught nations, to study their agriculture, and report for comparison every variety of tillage. All ages and all climes contribute to your improvement. For you are gathered the fruits and seeds which centuries of the existence of the human race have discovered and rendered useful. Tell me, if you can, in what age and in what land the cereal grasses were first found to produce bread? Who taught to employ the useful cow to furnish food for man? When was the horse first tamed to proud obedience? The pear, the apple, the cherry, where were these first improved from their wildness in the original fruit? And whose efforts led the way in changing the rough skin of the almond to the luscious sweetness of the peach? All ages have paid their tribute to your pursuit. And for you the sons of science are now scouring every heath and prairie and wilderness, to see if some new grass lies hidden in an unexplored glade; if some rude stock of the forests can offer a new fruit to the hand of culture. For you the earth reveals the innumerable beds of marl; its mineral wealth, the gypsum and the lime, have remained in store for your use from the days of creation. For you Africa and the isles of the Pacific open their magazines of guano; for you old Ocean heaves up its fertilizing weeds. And as the farmer receives aid from every part of the material world, so also his door is open to all intelligence. What truth is not welcomed as an inmate under his roof? To what pure and generous feeling\does he fail to give a home? The great poets and authors of all times are cherished as his guests. Milton and Shakspeare, and their noble peers, cross his threshhold to keep his company. For him, too, the harp of Israel's minstrel monarch was strung; for him the lips of Isaiah still move, all touched with fire; and the apostles of the new covenant are his dailY teachers. LNo C0 PATRIOT FARMERS OF NEW-YORK occupation is nearer heaven. The social angel, when he descended to converse with men, broke bread with the hus bandman beneath the tree. Thus the farmer's mind is exalted; his principles stand as firm as your own Highlands; his good seeds flow like self-moving waters. Yet in his connection with the human race, the farmer never loses his patriotism. He loves America-is the depository of her glory and the guardian of her freedom. He builds monuments to greatness, and when destiny permits, he also achieves heroic deeds in the eyes of his race. The soil of New-York, which he has beautified by his culture, is consecrated by the victories in which he has shared. Earth! I bow in reverence, for my eyes behold the ground wet with the blood of rustic martyrs, and hallowed by the tombs of former heroes! Where is the land to which their fame has not been borne? Who does not know the tale of the hundred battle fields of New-York? Not a rock juts out from the Highlands, but the mind's eye sees inscribed upon it a record of deeds of glory. Not a blade of grass springs at Saratoga, but takes to itself a tongue to proclaim the successful valor of patriot husbandmen. Here the name of Schuyler, the brave, the generous, the unshaken patriot, shall be remembered; the zealous, reliable George Clinton, a man of soundest heart, a soul of honesty and honor, a dear lover of his country and of freedom. Nor do we forget him-the gallant Montgomery-twin martyr with Warren-who left his farm on the Hudson, not, as it proved, to conquer Quebec, but to win a mightier victory over death. I renew the theme once more, to recount how the farmers of New-York have served their country and mankind. They were invested with sovereignty, and abdicated. Glorious example! Highest triumph of disinterested justice! They themselves peacefully and publicly renounced their exclusive authority, and transferred power in this republic from its territory to its men. May your institutions, under the spirit of improvement, be perpetual. May every pure influence gather round your legislation. May your illustrious example show to the world the dignity of labor; the shame that lights on idleness; the honor that belongs to toil. To the end of time, be happiness the companion of your busy homes, and the plough ever be found in the handsof its owner. 51 GOOD IN ALL SEASONS. The farmer is independent. With the mechanic and manufacturer as his allies, he makes our country safe against foreign foes, for it becomes perfect by its own resources. But why do I say this? To foster a spirit of defiance? Far otherwise. Let us rejoice in our strength, but temper it with gentleness and the spirit of love for all mankind-a love that shall perpetuate tranquility, and leave the boundless and rapidly increasing resources of the country at liberty for its further development. And has it occurred that this great commonwealth-the most numerous people ever united under a popular form of government-is emphatically a commonwealth of the living? Go to the Old World, and your daily walk is over catacombs, your travel among the tombs. Here the living of the present day outnumber the dead of all the generations since your land was discovered. All, all who sleep beneath the soil of New-York, are fewer in number than you who move above their graves. Look about you and see what the men of the past have accomplished. Concentrate in your-mind all that they have achieved; the'beauty of their farms, the length and grandeur of their canals and railroads, the countless fleets of canal boats they have constructed; their ships that have visited every continent and discovered a new one; their towns enlivening the public plains; their villages that gem the valleys; the imperial magnificence of their cities; and when you have collected all these things in your thoughts, then hear me when I say to you, that you of this living generation, as you outnumber all the dead-are bound before your eyes are sealed in death, to accomplish for New-York more than has been accomplished for New-York thus far in all time. Mighty commonwealth! lift up your heart; let your sun ascend with increasing splendor towards its zenith. You shall be a light to humanity; a joy to the nations-the glory of the world.-GEORGE BANCROFT, LL. D., Address, New-York State Fair, 1844. GOOD IN ALL SEASONS. I love to see a city street, With all its living swarm; Men, women, coaches, carts, to meet, 52 GOOD IN ALL SEASONS. Children with bright eyes and quick words, And infants that, like little birds, Sit perch'd upon the arm. Yet not the less I love to go, Leaving all these behind, To where the brooks and rivers flow, And where the wide sky may be seen, Where flowers are sweet and leaves are green, And stirring in the wind. 'T is merry, merry in the spring, And merry in the summer time, And merry when the great winds sing Through autumn's woodlands brown When from the tall trees scatter down, Ripe acorns fringed with rime. And in the winter, wild and cold, 'T is merry, merry too; Then man and boy are blithe and bold, Then rings the skate upon the ice; Then comes the hoar-frost in a trice, And everything is new. Free are the woods and hills! There dwell Creatures that serve not manGlad things, that neither buy nor sell, That want not aught we have to give, That ask us not for leave to live, But live just as they can. ro God who made and loves them all They hymn their praise serene; Things great, things wondrous, things so small Their very forms escape your sight Two worlds of beauty and delight The hidden and the seen. When first leaves cluster on the trees, And spring flowers star the ground, And birds come o'er the southern seas, 0 63 TTHE COUNTRY BURIAL-GROUND. And build their nests and sing aloud; And insects, a gay, shining crowd, Glitter and hum around. When winter comes, and beasts and men, Retreating from the field, Seek fire-lit house, and winter den; In town or country still the same, God's love all living things proclaim, Their good all seasons yield. Therefore, for us let seasons change; Let the sun shine, or tempests rage; Through street or forest still we'll range, And find God present in each spot, His guiding hand in every lot; His grace from age to age. WM. HOWITT. THE COUNTRY BURIAL-GROUND. I like that ancient Saxon phrase, which calls The burial-ground God's Acre! It is just; It consecrates each grave within its walls, And breathes a benison o'er the sleeping dust God's Acre! Yes, that blessed name imparts Comfort to those, who in the grave have sown The seed, that they have garnered in their hearts, Their bread of life, alas! no more their own. Into its furrow shall we all be cast, In the sure faith, that we shall rise again At the great harvest, when the archangel's blast Shall winnow, like a fan, the chaff and grain. Then shall the good stand in immortal bloom, In the fair garden of the second birth; And each bright blossom, mingle its perfuime With that of flowers, which never bloomed on earth. 54 THE RAINBOW. With thy rude ploughshare, Death, turn up the sod, And spread the furrow for the seed we sow; This is the field, and Acre of our God, This is the place, where human harvests grow! LONGFELLOW. THE RAINBOW. 1 sometimes have thoughts in my loneliest hours, That lie on my heart like the dew on the flowers, Of a ramble I took one bright afternoon When my heart was as light as a blossom in June; The green earth was moist with the late fallen showers, The breeze fluttered down and blew open the flowers, While a single white cloud, to its haven of rest On the white wing of peace, floated off in the west. As I threw back my tresses to catch the cool breeze, That scattered the rain drops and dimpled the seas, Far up the blue sky a fair rainbow unrolled Its soft tinted pinions of purple and gold. 'T was born in a moment, yet, quick as its birth It was stretched to the uttermost ends of the earth, And, fair as an angel, it floated as free, With a wing on the earth and a wing on the sea. How calm was the ocean! how gentle its swell! Like a woman's soft bosom it rose and it fell; While its light sparkling waves, stealing laughingly o'er, When they saw the fair rainbow knelt down on the shore, No sweet hymn ascended, no murmur of prayer, Yet I felt that the spirit of worship was there, And I bent my young head, in devotion and love, 'Neath the form of the angel, that floated above. How wide was the sweep of its beautiful wings! How boundless its circle! how radiant its rings! If I looked on the sky,'t was suspended in air; If I looked on the ocean, the rainbow was there; Thus forming a girdle, as brilliant and whole, As the thoughts of the rainbow, that circled my soul. 55 ELEMENTARY CONSTITUENTS OF PLANTS. Like the wings of the Deity, calmly unfurled, It bent from the cloud and encircled the world. There are moments, I think, when the spirit receives Whole volumes of thought on its unwritten leaves; When the folds of the heart in a moment unclose, Like the innermost leaves from the heart of the rose. And thus, when the rainbow had passed from the sky, The thoughts it awoke were too deep to pass by; It left my full soul, like the wing of a dove, All fluttering with pleasure, and fluttering with love. I know that each moment of rapture or pain But shortens the links in life's mystical chain; I know that my form, like that bow from the wave, Must pass from the earth and lie cold in the grave; Yet Oh! when death's shadows my bosom uncloud, When I shrink at the thought of the coffin and shroud, May hope, like the rainbow, my spirit unfold In her beautiful pinions of purple and gold. AMELIA B. WELBYo 4 ELEMENTARY CONSTITUENTS OF PLANTS. What is meant by an elementary constituent or substance entering into the composition of vegetables? It is a simple substance; that is, a substance not composed, or compounded, or made, of two or more other substances; or, which we have as yet no means of reducing to two or more other substances. How can the difference between a compound and a simple substance be explained? A measure or a bag of grain having portions of wheat, rye, barley, oats, rice, and maize, would be neither a simple nor a compound, but a mixture of different compound substances. But if these were reduced to flour and then kneaded into one mass of paste they would form a compound substance. Silver and gold, or any other metals, melted into a solid consistence, would be a compound substance. This is a process comprehended by the eye alone. The parts in a mixed body oan be separated by the hand or machinery; but the simple at S SHORT HORNED BULL, " LAMERTINE," owned by LEwIS G. MORRIS, of Fordham, N. Y., and which obtained the First Premium at the Fair of the American Institute, 1849. 0 I ELEMENTARY CONSTITUENTS OF PLANTS. substances in a compound one can be separated from the others only by the aid of chemical agents. But are the substances sp-ecifled, different kinds of grain and metals. simple substances? By no means. Each of them is a compound substance; and, they were selected simply to show in what manner a compound substance may be formed; that persons with the eye and without the aid of chemistry may understand the nature of the difference between the two things. What other illustration may be given of the diference between a compound and a simple substance? One of the most familiar examples is water. Formerly it was supposed that water is a simple substance; yet chemistry has demonstrated that it is a compound; completely reducing any quantity of water into two other substancescalled oxygen and hydrogen-two of the gases in our atmosphere. This analysis or separation of the constituents of water is rendered perfect and clear as would be the separation of gold and silver which had been melted together and made into a spurious coin. What inference should be drawn from such facts? It might be supposed that every person would desire a knowledge of chemistry; at least to understand the nature of the objects with whichwe are surrounded, and with which we are constantly coming in contact. Without this knowledge we may unconsciously use for food the most destructive poisons; or may cast away as worthless 6bjects of the greatest value. What opinion formerly prevailed on this subject? It was the doctrine of ancient philosophers, that the vegetable and the animal kingdom were composed, in various combinations and proportions, of four elementary principles, called earth, air, fire, and water. Later investigations show that neither of these is a simple substance; and, hence, that each of them is a compound of elementary principles or essences, which are now known to exist, and to form the basis of the whole mass of matter. What are the elementary constituents of vegetables? They are, according to some writers, ten in number others say fifteen-carbon, hydrogen, oxygen, and nitrogen, which are denominated the organic; and, potash, soda, mag nesia, silex, lime, phosphorus, alumina, oxide of iron, oxide of 3* 57 58 ELEMENTARY CONSTITUENTS OF PLANTS. manganese, chlorine, and -sulphuric acid, which are denomi'nated the inorganic. As one or more of these is a component part of every plant that exists, it may thence be fairly inferred that its presence is absolutely necessary. What further reason is there to affirm that all of these substances are indispensable to the perfection of vegetable life? Plants growing in situations where these substances cannot be had, are diminutive in size, their organs are not fully developed, and in many instances, they perish altogether, after having attained a certain growth. Besides, soda, lime, magnesia, and phosphorus enter largely into the structure of bones and teeth. Animals' are depending on vegetation for their support, either directly or indirectly, and as no other means naturally exist for supplying these necessaries to the animal frame, it is not too much, perhaps, to say that this property of plants was designed for that purpose. What is the foundation for the distinction between the organic and the inorganic parts of vegetables? The organic portions of a plant are gases, as will appear from the fact that in the combustion of wood or any other vegetable substance nothing of it remains, having passed of} in the atmosphere; whereas the inorganic portions of wood or other vegetables, on being decomposed by combustion, will remain in the form of ashes. What is the relative proportion of the organic and the inorganic parts of a plant? It varies in different plants, from one-tenth to one-hundreth part of the weight. This may be ascertained by weighing a piece of wood, and of other vegetable formations, before combustion, and the ashes that afterwards remain. What account is given of carbon? Till reduced, by combustion, to gas, when it is called carbonic acid gas, it is a solid substance, usually of black color, without taste or smell, and burns more or less readily in the fire. Wood-charcoal, coke, black-lead, and the diamond, are varieties of carbon. The gas or air that is produced from their combustion, is likewise exhaled from the lungs of animals in breathing, and being unfit for respiration, is destructive of animal life. Where else is this gas to be found? It exists in coal-mines, and sometimes in caverns and deep ELEENTARY CONSTITUENTS OF PLANTS. wells, and is there called fixed air; and, it is used in cities and large towns for lighting houses and streets. When thus used, it is a combination of carbon and hydrogen. How does carbon effect the quality of wood? It is chiefly to the carbon which it contains that the hardness and solidity of wood is owing; and, in proportion as the tissues of the plant are deficient in carbon, do we find them deficient in firmness of structure. How is this great amount of carbon, needed in vegetable productions, furnished? The quantity of coal used, especially in cities, is immense. The gas proceeding from it, all returns in process of time, to its previous condition; that is, to the formation of new plants. In addition to this, no one can estimate how much gas is extricated by the respiration of the countless millions of animals on the globe. What is said of hydrogen? It is a kind of gas or air which burns as coal gas does, but in which a candle will not burn, nor an animal live, and which, after being mixed with common air, explodes when brought near the flame of a candle. Hydrogen is contained largely in plants; and in most substances into whose composition it enters, it is combined with oxygen nearly in the same proportion as in water. Being an important constituent of water, it passes readily by their roots into the substance of plants. What is said of oxygen? This gas enters largely into the organization of vegetable substances. It makes one-fifth part of the air we breathe; and without it, plants will no more flourish, than animals can live. A portion of this air is combined with water; and it is in this manner that fishes and other aquatic animals, as well as plants, are supplied with it. Without oxygen, combustion will not take place; and it is estimated that it forms the basis of one-third part of all solid substances. What are some of the most common effects of the combination of oxygen with other substances? By the aid of this gas, iron or steel may be burned. It is this gas, as existing in the atmosphere, which principally causes rust on metals, and hence this rust is called oxidation. It is the principal agent in producing acids; and hence, when an acid is to be produced, the substance with which, 69 60 ELEMENTARY CONSTITUENTS OF PLANTS. as for instance in the making of vinegar, it is to be combined, should receive the free and constant contact with the atmos phere. And it also causes rancidity in butter, lard, and oil. Hence they should be kept secluded from the atmosphere. What may be said of nitrogen? Nitrogen forms an important part in the growth of both animals and vegetables. It constitutes about four-fifths of the atmosphere. In vegetables it is the substance called gluten, which exists so largely in the seeds of various kinds of corn; and most of all in wheat. On this account in part, wheaten bread is the most nutritious of all vegetable substances ordinarily used as food. The value of wheat, and all grain, depends on the quantity of gluten it contains. If persons breathe for a few minutes the gas, they will be affected much the same as if they had drank an excess of fermented liquors. What becomes of the organic portions of a plant, on being liberated by combustion? It has been said that they pass off in the atmosphere, and are invisible. The carbon uniting with the oxygen, and some additional oxygen from the air, becomes carbonic acid. Hydrogen, uniting in the same manner with oxygen, becomes a watery vapor. Thus in connexion with the carbon and the hydrogen, the oxygen is entirely disengaged. And the nitrogen combining with what remains of the hydrogen, becomes ammonia. What is said of potash? The substance found in the shops, and used as merchandize, called potash, is prepared firom ashes deposited in the burning of vegetables. As the article is manufactured in iron pots, the name is a compound of the word pot, and the first syllable of the word ashes. The taste is extremely acrid; and it is so corrosive, it destroys the texture of the skin the moment they touch each other. On this account it is employed in surgery, for the purpose of opening abscesses, or for destroying excrescences, and is called a caustic. What is soda? This is an alkaline salt, much resembling potash, but is more fusible; and when it comes into the air, it crumbles into a fine powder. It is manufactured from marine plants; and plants growing upon the sea shore, as well as from sea water; and it may be found occasionally in its natural state. Common salt is the muriate of soda. ELEMENTARY CONSTITUENTS OF PLANTS. "What is said of limne? Lime or quick lime, is obtained by exposing limestone and shells to a very strong heat-usually in some kind of a furnace. After being subjected to this heat, if water be poured upon it, heat is evolved, and it slakes, or becomes a fine white powder. Quicklime is called calcareous earth, and the soils which abound in this substance are called calcareous soils. Most soft stones contain more or less of lime. What is the use of linme in agriculture? One of its most obvious purposes is to give stability and substance to those parts of the plant which otherwise would not, perhaps, have sufficient strength to perform the functions alloted them; but that it answers other purposes there is little doubt, as it is found not only in the stalk, but in the leaves fruit, and indeed in almost all parts of the plant. What is said of magnesia? Magnesia is called a primitive earth, having for its base a metallic substance, denominated magnesium. The name is said to be derived from the place where it was first found. It may be obtained from sea water, and from some kinds of limestone rock, known as mnagnesian rock. It is used for medicinal purposes, having the power to correct the acidity of the stomach. As an object of merchandise or medicine, it exists in the form of a white powder. What is said of silex? Silex and silica denote the same substance; or rather the latter is the scientific name of the former. It is one of the primitive earths, and is a constituent of all stones, being found in greatest abundance in agates, jasper, flints, quartz, and rock crystal. In the latter it exists nearly in a state of purity. When pure it is perfectly white or colorless, and without taste or smell. What is said of phosphorus? It is a combustible substance, not as yet decomposed, and classed among those that are elementary. It is of a yellowish color, and semitransparent, resembling fine wax. It burns in common air with great rapidity; and in oxygen gas, with the greatest vehemence. Even at the common temperature, it combines with oxygen, undergoing a slow combustion and emitting a luminous vapor. It was originally obtained from urine; but it is now manufactured from bones, which con sist of the phosphate of lime. 61 62 ELEMENTARY CONSTITUENTS OF PLANTS. What is the oxide of iron? The existence of iron is too abundant, and its use too com, mon, not to be well known by all. When polished and exposed to the air, it becomes gradually covered with rust. This rust, or oxide of iron, as it is called, is formed by por tions of the metal combining with the oxygen of the atmos phere. Of course between the iron and the oxygen there is an affinity. What is said of the oxide of manganese? Manganese is a metal of a dusky white, or whitish gray color, very hard and difficult to be fused. It neveroccurs as a natural product in a metallic state. The substance usually called manganese is an oxide of the metal, but not pure. It occurs in soils and vegetables only in very small quantities. What is the substance called chlorine? Chlorine is anew name given to what was formerly called oxymuriatic gas. It is a kind of air which has a greenish yellow color, and a strong suffocating smell, existing largely in common salt. Chlorine means green, and hence its new name. Hitherto, it has resisted all efforts to decompose it, and is now reputed to be a simple substance. What is said of the substance called sulphuric acid? It is sometimes called oil of vitriol. It derives its name from sulphur and a liquid, formed by sulphur saturated with oxygen. It exists in common gypsum or plaster of paris, in alum, and in glauber and epsom salts. Does every vegetable contain a portion of each of the four organic elementary substances? All vegetables do not contain the four; most plants contain only three of them-carbon, hydrogen, and oxygen. The more common ones which contain these three only, are oils, fats, starch, gum, sugar, and the fibre of wood. Are all the inorganic parts of plants above named to be found in the ashes of all plants? Generally in all the cultivated plants, but not in the same proportion, nor in the same amount. Some leave a larger quantity of ashes than others; and, there is also a manifest unequal proportion in different ones. For instance, in a ton of hay there are 180 lbs. of ashes, while in a ton of wheat there are but 40 lbs. of ashes. Then, the ashes of wheat contain more phosphoric acid than the ashes of hay; and in return the ashes of hay contain more lime than the SOURCES 6F NATIONAL WEALTH. ashes of wheat. Similar inequalities and disproportions will be found in the ashes of other plants. THE S$OURCES OF NATIONAL WEALTH. What is wealth? In what does it consist? Wealth is every thing that supplies human wants, natural or artificial. Here,is, of course, an end to its multiplication. The artificial wants of mankind have no limits, of course wealth has no bounds, but the productiveness of nature, and the capacities of human industry. And what are human wants? The first is food.' This can be procured only from the soil. Hence, the first and most universal of human pursuits is agriculture. The first item in a nation's wealth is cultivated land. Before this, every other species of property dwindles into insignificance, and strange as it may seem, the greatest investment in this country, the most costly production of humanr industry is the common fences which divide the fields from the highlands, and separate them from each other. No man dreams, that when compared with the outlay of these unpretending monuments of human art, our cities and our towns, with all their wealth are left far behind. You will scarce believe me, when I say that the fences of this country have cost more than twenty times the specie there is in it. In many of the counties in the northern states, the fences have cost more than the farms and the fences are worth. It is this enormous burden, there can be no doubt, which keeps down the agricultural interest of this country, and it is freedom from it which enables the north of Europe, with a worse climate and an indifferent system of cultivation, to undersell us in the markets of England. There, travellers tell us, fences are almost unknown. The herds and flocks are under the care of herdsmen and shepherds, and thus an untold expenditure is saved, besides the loss of the land which the fences occupy and the accumulation of soil, that, with the most careful management, is apt to be thrown'up around them by the plough. The farmer contributes to the weath of a country by his perpetual toil. Every thing begins with him. Every day in the year has its various and its continuous operations; all directed, however, to this one point-to bring the greatest 63 PI 5,, 1 1 SOURCES OF NATIONAL WEALTI. quantity of produce from a given number of acres. Such is the nature of his work, that little can be done to expedite or shorten the process. Every foot of every field must be passed over by the plough. There are no fire-horses yet invented to do this at the rate of twenty miles an hour. The ploughman, therefore must rise early and work late. His labors, too, must be generally confined to the hours when the sun is above the horizon. In autumn and winter these are few. He must work the harder during that part of the year when the days are long. Every industrious farmer is continually adding to the substantial and permanent wealth of a nation. He is continually adding to the productive power, which is the best species of wealth. His savings, if any he makes, go back into the soil, to increase its fertility, or they go into fixtures, which add comfort or diminish the labors of all coming years. The savings of the farmer, and he cannot make any thing only by the most assiduous industry, increase the fund that is most wanting, especially in such a country as this, i. e., agricultural capital. The farmers of this country can do nothing, they say, for the want of money. How are they ever to get it, but by the improvement of their farms? as things have been managed in this country hitherto, there has been a tendency to deterioration. The radical mistake has been committed, of supposing that the best investment for the farmer is the purchase of more land, whereas, in most instances the latter policy would have been the better cultivation of that which he already had. The plan has been to exhaust the soil of one field, and then turn to another. Such a plan can result in nothing but ruin. Nothing has been more neglected in this country than agriculture. The soil of the United States is capable of sustaining two hundred millions of inhabitants better than it sustains seventeen. Eighty years ago the population of England and Wales was only six millions, and a most miserable living did they get, black bread, barley cakes, and oatmeal porridge, were the main food of the rural population. Since that time, the population has more than doubled, and, in ordinary times, fare better than half the number did then. Their annual agricul tural productions have increased more than two hundred millions of dollars, and yet the productive powers of the whole island are scarcely as great as those of the single state of Illinois. 64 SOURCES OF- NATIONAL WEALTH. But arri(,ulture, to flourish, must have a market for its surplus productions. And what is a market? Does that magic word reside in any place? most people seem to think so. A market is every where. It is people, not a placepeople inot engaged in agriculture, but employed in the production of something which supplies humanai wants. And the nearer it is found to the farmer's door the better, the less of his productions are spent in getting them to market. Agriculture can flourish, then, only where there is a large population engaged in manufactures and commerce. The second source of national wealth is manufacturing industry. No nation ever became wealthy by raising the raw material, and then exchanging it for the manufactured article. The manufacturing people always have the advantage. They may work day and night, summer and winter, in fair and stormy weather. An agricultural population work only in the day time, when the earth is free from frosts, and when the clouds are not disburdening themselves upon the earth. A manufacturing population can avail themselves to any cx tent, of the aid of machinery. The fall of water in the town of Lowell is made to do the work of a million of human beings. Every thing the farmer raises must be brought out of the earth by main force, by hard worlk. The farmer's productions are bulky, and are often almost consumed in getting them to market. The manufactured article is usually comparatively light in proportion to its value. The farmer, moreover, is obliged to take the chances of unpropitious seasons, and occasionally a short crop. But no variation of the seasons has ever been known to produce a short crop of boots and shoes, and drought has never been so great as to blight the labors of the loom. With these advantagos, a manufacturing people will always continue to keep an agricultural people in debt. Towns and cities will spring up among them, and the very fact of a condensed population gives them great advantages. An exclusively agricultural people, in the present age of the world, will always be poor. They want a home market. They want cities and towns, they want a diversity of employment. They want that enterprise and activity, which is engendered merely by bringing masses of people to act upon each other by mutual stimulation and excitement. Why is the balance of trade continually in favor of the North? Because our labor is not sufficiently 63 SOURCES OF NATIONAL WEALTR. diversified, because the raw material goes from this very city to the North to be manufactured, and then comes back to be worn by our citizens, while we have among us thousands and thousands who might work it up, but who are lying here idle, and many of them supported by public charity! One of the postulates of national wealth, is education, universally diffused. It is this alone that can give skill to the hand, and wisdom in the general conduct of affairs. Without that, the physical power of a nation is like the strength of the sightless Cyclops, working in the dark. Physical strength is generally available in proportion to the intelligence by which it is guided. Most of our readers have heard of the Lowell Offering, a periodical written exclusively by the girls, who are engaged every day in carding, spinning, -and weaving. Mr. Dickens tells us that he carried home a number of that work, as one of the most wonderful phenomena of the western world. I was told myself, at that place, by one of the superintendants, that the principal writers in that publication were the most profitable operators in the several establishments, obtained the highest wages, and made the best use of their money. So, after all the sneers which are east on literary ladies, to them blue stockings is no disqualification for the most common employments of life. So it is, all the world over. The sehoolmaster's wages is an investment which yields, in an economical point of view, the highest per centum. It is to enlightened education that we must look for the extinction of that false sentiment, so adverse to the true prosperity of a nation-the degradation which sometimes attaches to personal toil. No community can ever grow rich, when it is thought to be more respectable to be a genteel loafer, than to get an honest living by the labor of the hands. No nation can be prosperous and rich without a good government. And what is a good government? It is one which protects, instead of making war upon property. It is one which hallows the marriage between capital and labor, two things, which God's providence has joined together, and nothing but human folly will ever put asunder,' a union from which proceeds the fair family of industry, wealth, contentment, harmony, peace. Once divide them, and the whole structure of society is broken up.-REv. MR. BURNAr, of Baltimore. 66 VALUE OF THE COCOA-NUT TREE. VALUE OF THE COCOA-NUT TREE. The cocoa-nut, one of the most profitable fruits that the earth produces, is turned to no account whatever by the Jamaicans, though it grows as luxuriantly there as in any quarter of the globe. I was told by a gentleman who had a large number of these trees growing, that he would esteem it the best property on his estate, if he could get one dollar a hundred for the nuts, but that there was but a very limited market for them at any price. And yet there is no part of this fruit that is ndt valuable. It thrives in a sandy soil, and bears in Jamaica within three or four years after it is planted. From its flowers the finest arrack in the world may be distilled, and the best of vinegar. A coarse brown sugar may also be prepared from the flower. The green fruit yields a nutritious and delightful drink, and a more substantial food in the pulp which contains the liquid. When ripe, the fruit is popular as an article of diet in all parts of the world. From that fruit a pure oil-may be extiacted, which may be manufactured into candles, soap, and used in a variety of other ways, in which vegetable oils are available, while the refuse, or oil cake, as it is called, is a most excellent food for cattle. A medicinal oil is extracted from the bark, which is used, I understand, in Ceylon as an efficacious remedy in cutaneous diseases; the root is also used for medicinal purposes; ;ts elastic fibres are sometimes woven into strainers for liquids, while the timber may be used in building, or converted into beautiful articles of furniture. The husk consists of a tough fibre, from which cordage and rigging of the best quality may be manufactured, and which furnishes the finest stuffing for mattresses that is used, not excepting hair. I saw some of this fibre manufactured at the Penitentiary in Kingston, for mattressstuffing. I satisfied myself that if its value was known in America, it would bring a higher price than any commodity now in use for bedding. The specimens that I saw were manufactured by the convicts, at a cost, I was told, of six cents a pound. Hair costs with us, I believe, about twenty-five cents. The process of manufacturing it is very simple-the husk shells are soaked:ll perfectly soft, and then are pounded out until the fibres are all separated. this was done in the prison by hand labor, and without the use of machinery, add yet the article could be produced by 67 $I THE FAMILY MEETING. them for six cents a pound. By the aid of a very simple ma. chine, something, for instance, like that to which rags in a paper mill are first subjected, it is very apparent that the cost of manufacturing it might be reduced at least one half. When I asked why machinery was not employed in this department of the prison, I was told that they had not work enough to occupy the convicts if machinery was employed. Of course I had nothing to say to a reason so conclusive as that. The supply of these husks would be almost inexhaustible. They have no more use or value than walnut shells have with us, and may be had by the ship-load for the mere expense of cartage. A cargo of a thousand tons could be manufactured for a thousand dollars, and be worth in the port of New-York not less than $4,000, as soon as the usefulness of the article became generally known.-SELECTED. THE FAMILY MEETING. We are all here! Father, mother, Sister, brotherAll who hold each other dear. Each chair is filled, we're all at home; To-night let no cold stranger come; It is not often thus around Our old familiar hearth we're found. Bless then the meeting and the spot, For once be every care forgot; Let gentle peace assert her power, And kind affection rule the hour We're all-all here. We're not all here! Some are away-the dead ones dear, Who thronged with us this ancient hearth, And gave the hour of guiltless mirth. Fate, with a stern, relentless hand, Looked in and thinned our little band. Some like a night-flash passed away, And some sank lingering day by day. 68 TIIE OLD ARM CHAIR. The quiet graveyard —some lie there, And cruel ocean has his share We're not all here. We are all here! Even they-the dead-though dead, so dear. Fond memory, to her duty true, Brings back their faded forms to view. How life-like, through the mist of years, Each well-remembered face appears; We see them as in times long past, From each to each kind looks are cast; We hear their words, their smiles behold, They're round us as they were of old We are all here. We are all here! Father, mother, Sister, brotherYou that I love with love so dear. This may not long of us be said: Soon must we join the gathered dead, And by the hearth we now sit round, Some other circle will be found. Oh, then, that wisdom may we know, That yields a life of peace below; So, in the world to follow this, May each repeat in words of bliss, We're all-all here. CHARLES SPRAGUE. THE OLD ARM CHAIR. I love it, I love it; and who shall dare To chide me for loving that old arm-chair? I have treasured it long as a sainted prize, I've bedewed it with tears, and embalmed it with sighs; 'Tis bound by a thousand bands to my heart: Not a tie will break, not a link will start. Would ye learn the spell? a mother sat there, And a sacred thing is that old arm-chair. 69 A THE FOOD OF VEGETABLES. In childhood's hour I lingered near The hallowed seat with listening ear; Ard gentle words that mother would give, To fit me to die and teach me to live. She told me shame would never betide, With truth for my creed and God for my guide; She taught me to lisp my earliest prayer, As I knelt beside that old arm-chair. I sat and watched her many a day, When her eye grew dim, and her locks were gray; And I almost worshipped her when she smiled And turned from her Bible to bless her child. Years rolled on, but the last one spedMy idol was shattered, my earth-star fled; I learned how much the heart can bear, When I saw her die in that old arm-chair. 'Tis past!'tis past! but I gaze on it now With quivering breath and throbbing brow: 'Twas there she nursed me,'twas there she died; And memory flows with a lava tide. Say it was folly, and deem me weak, While the scalding drops start down my cheek, But I love it, I love it, and cannot tear My soul from a mother's old arm-chair. ELIZA COOK. THE FOOD OF VEGETABLES. What is to be understood by the food of plants? All those substances which are derived from the soil and the atmosphere by plants, and are assimilated or changed into the several component parts of the vegetable structure, are called food. These substances are the elements or simple bodies, of which all vegetables are composed. What is the propriety of calling themfood? Because they subserve the same end in the vegetable kinffgdom that food does in the animal kingdom. Food is sominething that is used for nourishment and the support of life; and, this is as much needed by plants as by animals 70 M.OCORMICKIS REAPING MACHINE. A good Reaping Machine, by large farmers, is of the first importance; several have been constrncted possessing different degrees of merit. HUSSEY'S is, from common fame, of great excellence; still, from the favor, particularly at the late World's Fair, bestowed on MCoRMIcK s, popular feeling now seems to verge towards tie latter. It is drawn by two horses, to be relieved in due time by two others, and the four are thus to work alternately through the day. A boy, of sixteen years, cau drive them and a man is required to rake tus grain from the Machine into parcels on the ground, as it passes on, of a suitable size for sileaves. It will take six or seven hands to bind the sheaves and put them into shocks, as fist as they can be maile ready. It is also afflrmed, that in every acre of land, a bushel of wheat that would be lost from being trodden down, or shelled out by the use of the cradle, is saved by this Machine, which is equal to about three quarters of the cost of operating it. 9 THE FOOD OF VEGETABLES. We commonly say that the latter eat their food; and that the former assimilate theirs. This is the only difference. The food of plants is sometimes called pabulum. So is the food of animals. In what form should the food of plants be furnished? It is not very common to speak of cooking the food of plants; but it should undergo a process that is similar to cooking; it should be reduced to a state tht renders it sus ceptible of being taken up by the organs through which it is to be transmitted, and of being digested or assimilated to the different materials found in the full grown plant. How can the necessity for this preparation of vegetable food be further explained? Animal food must be divided into small parcels so as to be admitted into the mouth; then it must be masticated and converted into a kind of pulp, before being conveyed to the stomach. Otherwise the gastric juice cannot act upon the different particles, a process necessary to cause the sup port and growth of the animal. It is so with vegetable food. In the one case food might as well be forced into the stomach in half pound lumps, as to place in the ground for their nourishment the food of vegetables in a compact mass. The latter must be placed, not only within the reach of the spongelets of the plant, which are to it the same as the mouth is to the animal; but it must be made fine and pulp ish, and hence easily received and converted into vegetable matter. Into what vegetable matter is vegetable food converted? Plants consist chiefly of woody fibre, starch, and gluten; and, of course these are the substances for the production of which the food or nourishment of vegetables is mainly de signed, and into which it is converted or assimilated. What description is given of woody fibre? A woody fibre is defined to be a filament or slender thread in plants; or the slender root of a plant; and is the sub stance which forms the principal portion of trees, shrubs, the shells of nuts, bark, hay, flax, hemp, cotton; the straw of wheat, rye, oats, and barley; the vines of peas and beans; the stems of flowers, and all analagous vegetable productions. What description is given of starch? It is that portion of the flour of wheat and other grain, sometimes called fecula, which, when the flour is mixed 71 THE FOOD OF VEGETABLES. with water, settles to the bottom. It is then, on being dried, a white powder, and in weight about half the flour from which it was taken. It is also obtained from potatoes, of which it forms nearly the entire substance. What is said of the gluten of vegetables? It is the viscid or ropy and tenacious substance found in most plants, and particularly in the flour of wheat and other grain.' It contributes much to the nutritive quality of flour, and may be obtained in a separate state, by washing the flour wrapped in a coarse cloth, placed under a stream of water so as to carry off the starch and soluble matter. In what proportions are the different kinds of vegetable food required in the production of woody fibre, starch, sugar, hurmic acid, and gluten? Woody fibre consists of equal portions of carbon and water; dry starch consists of four-fifths of carbon and onefifth of water; sugar consists of about three-sevenths of carbon and four-sevenths of water; and humic acid consists of four-sevenths of carbon and three-sevenths of water; and as water is composed of oxygen and hydrogen, these vegetable substances are composed of carbon, oxygen and hydrogen. But in the composition of gluten may be found carbon, oxygen, hydrogen, and nitrogen. What are the constituents of air and water? Common air, or the air we breathe, consists of one-fifth oxygen or thereabouts and four-fifths nitrogen. And water consists of oxygen and hydrogen in the proportion of four parts of the former and one of the latter. Through what mnedium are these different kinds offood conveyed to the plants they are to nourish? The carbon, oxygen, and hydrogen are in part absorbed by the leaves of the plant from the air, and in part by the roots from the soil; but the nitrogen found in the gluten is supposed to be obtained directly from the soil by the roots of the plant. How is it that leaves are able to obtain so much of their food from the air? Leaves are furnished with vessels adapted to the office of this absorption. They are not visible to the naked eye, but are no less real. When we consider the countless number of leaves on a tree, and that each one has two surfaces exposed to the air, it is not surprising that they are able to take in an adequate amount of nourishment 72 0 THE FOOD OF VEGETABLES. What are some of the most incomprehensible facts in the science of vegetable physiology? We could not believe it did we not know it, that the brilliant diamond and the black charcoal are of the same nature; that water will extinguish fire, when the substances of which it is composed, oxygen and hydrogen, are both combustible; that the only ingredients of pure white starch are water and charcoal; and that gum and sugar are composed of the same substances that enter into the composition of starch and woody fibre. To what is the size of a plant owing? It has been affirmed that the size is in proportion to the surface of the organs destined to convey food to it. When the food is more abundant than the existing organs require, the superfluous nutriment is employed in the formation of new organs; so that at the side of a cell, a twig or a leaf, arises another. To what is the amount of food from the air proportioned? The nutriment received by plants from the air is evidently in proportion to the extent of the surface of the leaves; and new developments correspond with this amount. When new products are no longer employed, the nutriment they imbibe goes to the formation of woody fibre and other solid parts. What are the particular products of the food received through the agency of the leaves? After contributing to the woody fibre and other solid parts of the plant the. nourishment received in this way from the air goes to the production of suffgar, starch, and the acids; and also to the production of the blossoms and the maturing of the fruit. What is said of the amount of leaves on the globe? It has been estimated, that the superficies of leaves and other green parts of plants which absorb carbonic acid gas, are more than double the whole surface of the globe, yet are furnished adequately with all the carbon necessary for the support and growth of the vegetable creation. Such estiraates must indeed be quite indefinite and uncertain: nevertheless they serve to impress the mind with something like an approximation to the reality. What calculation has been made of the entire quantity of carbon in reserve for vegetable production? 73 THE FOOD OF VEGETABLES. The quantity is evidently sufficient for the support of the whole vegetable world. It is easily ascertained; that a col umn of air of about 2400 lbs. rests on every square foot of the earth's surface, the one thousandth part being carbonic acid, 27 per cent. of which is carbon. The whole atmos phere, then, contains 3,306 billion lbs. of carbon, a weight more than equal to all the plants and mineral surface of the earth. What is said of ammonia, as food for vegetables? Every part of vegetables contains ammonoia; the root, as beet-the tree stem, as maple-and in all blossoms and un ripe fruit. It forms the red and blue coloring matter of flowers. Ammonia is a gas, one part being nitrogen and three parts hydrogen. It has a peculiarly pungent smell, and is the same article known under the name of hartshorn used for smelling bottles. It forms the gas that rises from the vaults of privies, heaps of manure, and fermented urine. What curious fact exists in relattion to the extraction of nourishment from the food of vegetables by the different organs? Each organ extracts from its food that which is necessary for its own sustenance, and other parts, not assimilated, are separated, as excrements. This coming in contact with another organ in its circulation, affords nutriment to it, and so on with a third, and a fourth; and, when incapable of further transformation, it is separated from the system by appropriate organs. Each part or organ, therefore, is fitted for special functions and one may receive very different substances from another. To what is this analagous in the animal economy? Man may receive carbonic acid into the stomach with impunity, and even with advantage; but, to receive it into the lungs, might, as it often does, produce death. So also with other transformations in the animal economy; the kidneys, for example, separate from the body substances containing a large proportion of nitrogen, the liver those with an excess of carbon, and the lungs principally those composed of oxygen and hydrogen. Volatile oils and alcohol, which are incapable of being assimilated, are exhaled through the lungs. Superabundant nitrogen is excreted as a liquid excrement from the body and passes through the urinary duets; all gaseous matter passing through the lungs and all 74 THE FOOD OF VEGETABLES. incapable of further transformation, through the intestinal canai. T;Vlat i (t?aticiilar cases of this in the vegetable function are a??/zo.g the miost ]pronii.cnt? Transformatiois of the compounds of plants are constaitly taking place during their life; and, as a consequence, gaseous substances are eliminated by the leaves and blos soms. Solid excrement is deposited in the bark. Soluble substances containing carbon, are excreted by the roots and are absorbed by the soil, where they decay or putrify and become nutriment, as humus, for another generation of plants. Generally, what food in the soil is necessary for the growth of })lants? Such substances as contain carbon or nitrogen, or which are capable of yielding these two elements for its organiza tion; and, also water, or its two elements, oxygen and hy drogen; and finally a soil is required which will furnish the plant with the metallic oxides, or inorganic bases. How are the differ)ent kinds of food to be adapted to the dife?,ent kinds of plants? Each genus of plants requires special conditions for their life; and individuals require many conditions. They cannot be brought to maturity, even if but one of these be wanting. Their organs, like those of animals, contain substances of very different kinds; and in all are found metallic salts For the production of all their organs, therefore, the soil must contain all their elements. These may be united in one substance, or they may exist in several. What reciprocation, in the way of food, is there between vegetables and animals? The life of #-ants is evidently connected very closely with that of animals. Vegetation may exist without animal life, but the existence of animals depends on the life and growth of plants. These, therefore, afford both nutriment for the existence and growth of animals, and the essential gaseous element, oxygen, for their respiration. Animals expire car bon and plants inspire it; plants expire oxygen and animals inspire it. Thus, by this wonderful economy of nature, both are enabled to exist, and the due composition of the air is uniformly maintained. What besides food, in its more obvious signification, bas an influence on the growth of plants? Ir 75 It THI PRACTICAL USE OF LEAVES. They have habits strikingly illustrative of the harmony of nature. We see them adapted to the peculiarities of their situations. If indigenous to the tropical climate, they cainlot live in our temperate zone without the aid of art; if inhabitants of the valley, they cannot dwell on the mountain summit; nor, if the rugged tenants of the bleak and frosty mountain, can they endure the enervating dalliance of the luxurious vale; nor can either dwell with the aquatic plant immersed in a liquid element. HoW do plants become objects of peculiar interest when we administer to their growth? They almost seem emulous to administer to our pleasure as a reward for what we do for them. We call them inanimate; yet, it is no great effort of the imagination to endow them with attributes thai will respond to every kind administration to their wants. How are thleir numberless shoots and branches urging into life and action millions of buds that are expanded into light and being by the genial sun, rivalling one another in their efforts to produce the fairest flower and the choicest fruit! THE PRACTICAL USE OF LEAVES. There are two facts in the function of the leaf which are worth consideration on account of their practical bearings. The food of plants is, for the most part, taken in solution through the roots. Various minerals-silex, lime, alumina, magnesia, potash,-are passed into the tree in a dissolved state. The sap passes to the leaf, the superfluous water is given off, but not the substances which are'held in solution. These, in part, are distributed through the plant, and, in part, remain a deposit in the cells of the leaf. Gradually the leaf chokes up, its functions are impeded, and finally entirely stopped. When the leaf drops it contains a large per cent. of mineral matter. An autumnal or old leaf yields, upon analysis, a very much larger proportion of earthy matter than a vernal leaf, which, being yet youngf, has not received within its cells any considerable deposit. It will be found, also, that the leaves contain a very much higher per cent of mineral matter than the wood of the trunk. The dried leaves of the elm contain 76 THE PRACTICAL USE OF LEAVES. eleven per cent. of ashes, (earthy matter,) while the wood contains less than two per cent.; the leavc cf the willow eighteen times as much as the wood; the leaves e beech an excess over the wood a small fraction less; the leaves the European oak nineteen times as much as the wood;. those of the pitch pine twelve times as much as the wood. It is very plain from these facts, that, in forests, the mineral ingredients of the soil perform a sort of circulation entering the root, they are deposited in the leaf; then, with its fall to the earth, and by its decay, they are restored to the soil, again to travel their circuit. Forest soils, therefore, instead of being impoverished by the growth of trees, receive back annually the greatest proportion of those mineral elements necessary to the tree, and, besides, much organised matter received into the plant from the atmosphere; soils therefore are gaining instead of losing. If the owners of parks or groves, for the sake of neatness, or to obtain leaves for other purposes, gather the autumnal harvest of leaves, they will in time take away great quantities of mineral matter, by which the soil ultimately will be impoverished, unless it is restored by manures. Leaf manure has always been held in high estimation by gardeners. But many regard it as a purely vegetable substance; whereas, it is the best mineral manure that can be applied to the soil. WVhat are called vegetable loams, (not peat soils, made up principally of decomposed roots,) contain large quantities of earthy matter, being mineral-vegetable rather than vegetable soils. Every gardener should know that the best manure for any plant is the decomposed leaves and substances of its own species. This fact will suggest the proper course with reference to the leaves, tops, vines, haulm, and other vegetable of the garden. The other fact connected with the leaf, is its function of exhalation. The great proportion of crude sap which ascends the trunk, upon reaching the leaf is given forth again to the atmosphere by means of a particularly beautiful economy. The quantity of moisture produced by a plant is hardly dreamed of by those who have not specially informed themselves. The experiments of Hales have been often quoted. A sunflower, three and a half feet high, presenting a surface of 5,616 square inches exposed to the sun was found to perspire at the rate of twenty to thirty ounces 77 IP'l-4 TIHE DELIGHITS OF AUTUMN. avordupois every twelve hours, or seven times more than a man. A vine, with twelve square feet, exhaled at the rate of five or six ounces a day. A seedlingi apple tree, with twelve square feet of foliage, lost nine ounces a day. These are experiments upon very small plants. The vast amount of surface presented by a large tree must give off immense quantities of moisture. The practical bearings of this fact of vegetable exhalation are not a few. Wet forest lands, by being cleared of timber, become dry, and streams fed from such sources become almost extinct as civilization approaches on wild woods. The excessive dampness of crowded gardens is not singular, and still less is it strange that dwellings covered with vines, whose windows are choked with shrubs, and whose roof is overhung with branches of trees, should be intolerably damp, and when the good house wife is scrubbing and scouring, and nevertheless, marvelling that her house is so infested with mould, she hardly suspects that her troubles would be more easily removed by the axe or saw than by all her cloths and brushes. A house should never be surrounded closely with shrubs. A free circulation of air should be maintained all about it, and shade trees so disposed as to leave large openings for the light and sun to enter. The unusual rains that, some seasons produce great dampness in our residences, cannot but be noticed by all, both on account of the effect on the health of the occupants and upon the beauty and good condition of their household substance. Such facts should always be kept in mind, when locating houses, and when planting trees and shrubs about them.-REV. HENRY WARD BEECHER. THE DELIGHTS OF AUTUMN. With what a glory comes and goes the year! The buds of Spring, those beautiful harbingers Of sunny skies and cloudless times, enjoy Life's newness, and earth's garniture spread out; And when the silver habit of the clouds Comes down upon the autumn sun, and with A sober gladness the old year takes up 78 THE RAINY DAY. His brighi inheritance of golden fruits, A pomnp and pageant fill the splendid scene. There is a beautiful spirit breathing now Its mellow richness on the clustered trees, And, from a beaker full of richest dyes, Pouring new glories on the Autumn woods, And dipping in warm light the pillared clouds. Morn on the mountains, like a summer bird, Lifts up her purple wing, and in the vales The gentle wind, a sweet and passionate wooer, Kisses the blushing leaf, and stirs up life W~ithin the solemn woods of ash deep-crimsoned, And silver beech, and maple yellow-leaved, Where Autumn, like a faint old man, sits down By the way-side a-weary. Through the trees The golden robin moves. The purple finch That on wild cherry and red cedar feeds, A Winter bird, comes with its plaintive whistle, And pecks by the witch-hazel, whilst aloud From cottage roofs the warbling blue bird sings And merril, with oft-repeated stroke, Sounds from the threshing-floor the busy flail. Oh what a glory doth this world put on For him who, with a fervent heart, goes forth Under the bright and glorious sky, and looks On duties well perfornmed, and days well spent! For him the wind, ay, and the yellow leaves Shall have a voice, and give him eloquent teachings He shall so hear that solemn hymn, that Death Has lifted up for all, that he shall go To his long resting-place without a tear. LONGFELLOW THE RAINY DAY. The day is cold, and dark, and dreary; It rains, and the wind is never weary; The vine still clings to the moultiering wall, But at every gust the dead leaves fall, And the day is dark and dreary. 79 A DEFENCE OF AGRICULTURE. My life is cold, and dark, and dreary; It rains, and the wind is never weary; My thoughts still cling to the mouldering Past, But the hopes of growth fall thick in the blast And the days are dark and dreary. Be still, sad heart! and cease repining; Behind the clouds the sun is shining; Thy fate is the common fate of all, In each life some rain must fall Some days must be dark and dreary. LONGFELLOW. A DEFENCE OF AGRICULTURE. When harvests are exuberant, joy and health follow in their train; but let delusive prosperity draw industry from agriculture; let an insiduous disease attack one of its import. ant products; let an insect, or a parasite, fasten on a single esculent, and mark the effect upon commerce and human life. Upon such an event all business is deranged; the commercial marine of the world proves itself unequal to the crisis; sloops of war and frigates become carriers of grain; warehouses, canals, railroads, and ports, prove insufficient for the exigency; masses of specie flow from the guarded treasuries of the old world to the rude cabins of the prairies; manufactures and public improvements stop in their course, famine and pestilence invade provinces and states; and the pale survivors, reckless of those ties which bind man to his birth-place, brave storms and shipwreck, sickness and death, on the route to new and untried regions. Agriculture has become essential to life. The forest, the lake, and the ocean, cannot sustain the increasing family of man. Population declines with a declining cultivation, and nations have ceased to be with the extinction of their agriculture. In ancient times, agriculture was esteemed and honored. In classic Greece and Rome it was the theme of the popular poets of the age, and was not deemed unworthy of distinguished warriors and statesmen. We read of Cicero at his Tusculan villa, of Cato at his farm, of Cincinnatus saving his plough to command the armies of the republic; 80 A DEFENCE OF AGRICULTURE while the great naturalist, Pliny, in his beautiful letters, prides himself on his vineyards. The overflow of the Nile, the fertilizer of Egypt, has been celebrated for centuries as the great festival of the country; and in that "central flowery land," which claims such remote antiquity, the sovereign of three hundred millions, "the son of heaven, whose person is too sacred to be seen, whose imperial despatch is received amid burning incense and prostration, and in whose presence no one dares speak but in a whisper," annually exhibits himself to his subjects, holding a plough in honor of agriculture. In England, too, whose nobles shrink from all connection with trade, agriculture is highly honored. Earls, dukes, and princes, preside at agricultural festivals, compete for prizes, and do not disdain to write treatises on the culture of roots, the rotation of crops, and manufacture of composts. Sir Robert Peel, the great statesman of the age, is one'day bearing down by his eloquence the opposition of Parliament to his vigorous and enlightened policy, and another discussing the prospects of agriculture among the farmers of Tamworth. It is, too, with mingled pleasure and pride that we recur to the fact, that the hero and statesman, who led the armies of our Revolution, was himself a practical farmer. Amid all the excitement, harrassing duties, and embarrassments of a protracted war, he directed by letters the operations of his farm, and finally retired from the highest position to which talent and patriotism could aspire, followed by the love of his countrymen, to devote to agriculture the close of his life; and it is a little remarkable his example has been followed by nearly all who have succeeded to the office of President. Our fathers did not enjoy, as farmers, the privileges which we possess. The country, emerging from a long war, was deficient in capital. Implements and buildings were rude and defective; a few small seaports and fishing towns formed their principal markets; and access to these was by no means easy; for the bridle-path blazed through the forest, the ford and the ferry, were but a poor substitute for the country road, the turnpike, canal, and railroad. At a period, too, when the wars of Europe made us car riers of the world, it is not astonishing that talent and enter prise should have been drawn from the secluded home of the farmer to the perilous "march upon the deep;" to the un 81 I A DEFENCE OF AGRICULTURE. certain pursuits of trade, or to the sharp competition of prolessiocal life; growing with the growth of commerce, or be tempted to exchainge the rudeness of the country for the enervating refinements of the city. Besides, temperance, taste, and progressive art, education and the weekly press, had not yet gilded the home of the farmer; judicious enterprise had not yet drawn the daughters of New England from the distaff to the water-falls, and enlivened the adjacent districts by the creation of valuable markets. Contrast Massachusetts to-day (1847,) with Massachusetts half a century since. Counties checkered with factory villages, tied together by a fast spreading net-work of railroads, sparkling with school-houses, churches, and tasteful residences, and improving farms, and peopled by an intelligent and energetic race-compare these with all that preceded them, and we shall find much to cheer us in the contrast, without detracting in any degree from the courage and patriotism of our progenitors. If in addition to the progress of the country, we take into account the vast increase of wealth, the advance in the mechanic arts, the discoveries of chemistry, shall we not arrive at the conclusion that agriculture now presents a new aspect, assumes a new importance, and offers new attractions to all who engage in it? In estimating the importance of science and capital to agriculture, we learn, from the lessons of experience, that a fertile soil alone does not carry agriculture to perfection. Should we seek the spots where agriculture gives the largest and most remunerative returns for a given space, we should find them not on the fertile banks of the Nile or the Ganges, the rich plains and valleys of Sicily, or the prairies of the W,est, where a virgin soil and low prices attract so many youthful cultivators. Far otherwise. You must look to Flanders and Holland. There, science and capital combined, in a harsh climate, have rescued vast wastes from the ocean, and converted sterile marshes and barren sands into productive fields, the very garden of Europe; or look at England, our parent land, where the same powerful combination has transformed the sandy plains of Norfolk, for centuries abandoned to the rabbit, into luxuriant fields of wheat, clover, and turnips; and changed the fens of Lincolnshire, which encircle the old town of Boston-fens, for centuries, the resort of wild ducks, geese, and other birds of passage, into the granary of England. 82 A DFFENCE OF AGRICULTURE, The soil of Belgium was originally sand and clay alone. It has been enriched by ashes and composts, until it has become rich, black, loamy mould. Tanks are provided on the farms for liquids, and each cow is estimated to produce ten tons of solid, and twelve of liquidmanures. Every expedient is resorted to, both to increase their quantity, and to improve their quality. Rotations of crops are followed; and the result of these efforts is, that Belgium sustains a population of 350 people, 67 cattle, and 17 horses, to the square mile; usually raises her own bread stuffs, and exports wheat, madder, flax. wool, and bark, to other parts of Europe. In Holland, where the dike, steam engine, and wind mill are employed to prevent the incursion of the sea upon the land gained from its bosom, a population of 214 to the mile is sustained, and large exports are made of butter, cheese, and other agricultural products. The average value of land is nearly $300 per acre, although it is burdened with oppressive taxes. Does the farmer aim at a life useful and beneficial to his race?-let him remember that every acre that he reclaims, every blade of grass that he bids to grow where none grew before, ameliorates the condition of his fellows. Does he aspire to wealth?-let him reflect that his gains, if less brilliant and striking than those of trade and the professions, are more certain and uniform; and that gradual improvement of his estate, and the silent but continued rise of property, promise eventual prosperity. Is he tasteful?-he will here find a theatre for taste in woods, orchards, and flowers, and the desirgn of his buildings. Is he ambitious?-here are obstacles to be surmounted, objects to be controlled, races to be improved, a kingdom in miniature to be governed by wise and wholesome regulations. Or would the farmer make conquests and achieve victories?-here weeds and water are his enemies: here uncultivated plains are his Mexico, and deep fens and morasses his Texas and California; and no philanthropist or casuist, will complain of his conquests, should he subdue them. Let him guard against the ambush of the crow, the wire-worm, the squirrel, and the fox; and repel the invasion of the blight, the white weed, and the sorrel. He shall see his battle-fields not stained with blood, but blossoming with clover; and When, in his green old age, he points out to his children his 83 THE THEORY OF MANURES. Palo Alto, Buena Vista, Cerro Cordo, and Cherubusco, and recounts his bloodless achievements, he shall feel greater satisfaction than if his victories had been saddened by the sacrifices and tears of thousands'-From the address before the Mlfiddlesex County Agricultural Society, IIassachusetts, 1847, by E. H. DERBY, Esq. THE THEORY OF MANURES. What does the agriculturist understand by manures? Manures consist of the remains of organized bodies of every description, whether animal or vegetable, in a state of decomposition; that is to say, resolving themselves into those principles and elements which can re-enter into the vegetable system. Hence, they may be composed of animal or vegetable substances; or they may consist of mineral matter; or they may be derived partly from mineral and partly from animal and vegetable substances. What is the design of manures? It is to furnish the soil with those elementary substances that enter into the formation of vegetable structures; for if the soil do not contain an adequate quantity of these substances, the farmer would obtain only a feeble crop. Without this supply a vigorous vegetation cannot be produced. This is seemingly self-evident. In human art, if a machino is to be formed there must be a supply of the materials of which it is to be constructed. A man might be considered insane were he to talk of constructing a fence, or a plough, or a wagon, without the wood and the iron needed for them. And not less so in talking of raising plants without the requisite elements for them. Whence arises the necessity for this artificial supply of the soil with the substances in manure? The soil may be compared to a rain-water cistern which is successively filled with the falling liquid collected on the roofs of houses or otherwise, and from which. so long as thus replenished, the water may be daily drawn for the purposes of domestic economy. But if it ceases to rain, or if the fixtures for saving the water be destroyed, the supply will soon be exhausted, and the cistern will be of no daily use for household purposes. It is much so in obtaining plants from the ground. They can no more be produced from a soil 84 I SOUTIItEIN IIOUSE for a large ftrailvy, copied from W iiEELERE'S RUIURAL lo rs. r -7 . THE THEORY OF MANURES. destitute of the elements which compose them than water can be drawn from an empty cistern. How does this appear? The fertilizing substances in manure are mostly the same ones that in previous years had been drawn or taken from the soil in producing a crop of vegetables. The vegetables either decayed or were used for food by animals, from which. in the form of excrements they became manures. To be able to produce again a similar crop, the soil must be rmade by artificial means, or by manuring, to contain a sufficient amount of the same substances. If it does not contain them a new crop of vegetables cannot be raised; or if obtained, it will be a diminished one. Is it.true that nothing can be produced from the soil without manure? So long as there is water in the cistern one may draw -water from it though it be not replenished by the falling rain. So likewise a soil already supplied in ample quantity with the constituent elements for plants may yield a good crop without manure. The theory is, that to keep his crops from diminution the farmer must put as much into his soil as his crops take from it. And, if he desire to increase his crops, he must put more into it, than they take out of it. Whlat other illustration of this can be given? A man who takes money out of his pocket faster than he puts it in will soon have none to be taken out and will be a bankrupt. It is so with the farmer who takes away from his soil more than he returns to it. The woman who is constantly cooking up her provisions without replenishing the larder will soon have nothing remaining to be cooked. So it is with the husbandman who is all the time using up the very stamina of his land, and does nothing to fill the consequent vacuum. And the cloth dyer who is constantly extracting from his dye stuffs all the coloring agents for new fabrics without replenishing his vats, will soon run down, in his occupation. So it will be with the agriculturist who allows his fields to become impoverished from not causing them to be invigorated with successive new supplies of fertilizing substances. Must then the soil be manured in every case before a crop can be obtained? If the crop is permitted to remain and rot upon the soil; 85 TIE THEORY OF MANURES. or if it be ploughed in, as it is occasionally done, this becomes a manure, and none beside is requisite. In this way forest lands for ages retain and perhaps increase their powers for vegetable production by the annual decay of the fallen leaves. The necessity for other manures is only where the crops are removed from the soil. In what condition should be the substances used for manures before being cast into the ground? They should be reduced to their original state; not simply reduced to fine lumps or particles as meat is chopped up for sausages; but, be so decomposed that they may be assimilated and combined with all the other vegetable elements in the formation of new vegetable compounds. Till thus reduced, they cannot become fertilizing agents any more than would be a stone or a piece of solid metal. Let a stone, or a piece of iron, or a piece of hard wood be converted into small dust and they will readily mix with the soil and become subject to that chemical action connected with the formation of new compounds. Howc are the substances used for manures to be reduced to an elementary condition? The process employed by Nature in this work is fermentation. By this process the elementary parts of the substance fermented assume new forms of combination and become fitted to supply the matter for nutrition to plants in that form in which it can be received by the pores of the roots. This may be done by first mixing the matters to be fermented with the soil; as the process in this way is very slow, it is usual to collect them, previous to being mixed with the soil, in heaps or masses, where heat will be generated, which in connection with the moisture will hasten the process of fermentation. What are some other results fr-om fermentation, besides the decomposition of the primary-elements? In addition to the separation of these elements in vegetable substances from fermentation, the whole mass is reduced to fine particles, so as to mix readily with water and thus be speedily conveyed to the roots of the plants. It is mainly by being well mixed with water as it exists in the soil, that the fertilizing properties of manure are conveyed to the growing plant. To what has the process of fermenting decaying vege. tables been compared? 86 THE THEORY OF MANURES. To a slow mouldering fire. It is well known that fire reduces compound bodies to simple ones. For instance the inorganic portions of wood are reduced to ashes, while the organic or gaseous portions of it are at the same time disengaged and disappear. The result is the same as that which comes from the decay of bodies in the process of fermentation. What are the relative advantages and disadvantages between fermenting manures before being cast into the soil, or at fir)st mixing them with the soil? If at first mixed with the soil prior to fermentation and the disintegration of its parts, there may be and usually will be much delay before its effects will be fully manifest in the augmentation of the crops; but, then as an offset for the delay there will be less loss from the escape of the fertilizing gases when exposed to metereological influences. On the other hand, the beneficial effects will be sooner felt; but in the end the soil will be less enriched from it. The presumption is, that a field of clover or buckwheat ploughed in and completely buried up till well rotted will enrich the ground far more than it would if it were removed and used for feed or were reduced to putrefaction in a mass, and then cast upon the soil, for in the latter mode of preparing it much of its fertilizing properties would be lost. Do animal substances, particularly the solid excremeits as much require an accelerated process of fermentation as vegetable substances? They do not. Ordinarily the dung of animals will soon, if at first mixed with or buried up with the soil, combine in the formation of the vegetable structure. But if there is connected with it straw, which is usual in the barn-yard, it should previously be subjected to fermentation when in masses. The urine also especially, which is an important part of animal manure, should, before being applied to the soil, be well fermented. What injury results to manure, if exposed to the sun and air? The fertilizing gases are liable to escape and be lost. Hence manures should always be under cover to shield them from the action of the sun's rays, the rain, and the atmosphere. Provided a farm have no shelter for them thus to shield them fiom the metereological influences, they should 8? THE THEORY OF MANURE S. be carefully arranged in regular and solid heaps, and then be well covered with a thick coat of mould. This, in a measure, will prevent the escape of the gases. What amount of water is needed in fermentation? Only a moderate amount; barely sufficient for a slight moisture, similar to a sweat. If immersed in water the generation of heat is prevented; and, without heat fermentation is impracticable. It is known that wood, buried in water, will continue in an undecayed state for an indefinite length of time. Hence, a barn-yard should be so constructed as to avoid an excess as well as a deficiency of moisture. How long should vegetable substances, particularly in the barn-yard, in connection with animal manure, be continued in a state offermentation? Simply long enough to be made tender, so that one can take up a wisp of hay or straw of the size of his arm, and with his hands easily break it off; or so that a spade will readily pass through it lying in a mass, or that it will offer no adhesive resistance when removing it with a fork. When it has reached this period of decay, it will rather receive injury than benefit from protracted fermentation. What description of manures is ordinarily preferable? None for general use are equal to those of the barn-yard; for these are supposed to embrace, and do embrace, if there has been no waste of materials susceptible of conversion into fertilizing agents, every element of vegetable structure that had been removed from the soil the previous year; a far greater number of such elements than can be found in any other fertilizer. For particular crops indeed, other fertilizing agents may be applied with.augmented efficacy. What should be the great aim of every farmer in relation to the subject of manures? To understand the nature of soils, the physiology of vegetables, the theory of mauures; and, then by every possible means to increase his stock of manure to the greatest extent, letting no substance which can be converted into it be lost, and searching out wherever to be found every hitherto unobserved substance which can be discovered and reached. In this way a farmer will soon renovate his grounds and render them highly productive. In this way he will thrive anid become independent. What has the poor farmer to do who has only scanty means for the creation of manures? 88 LIGHTNING RODS, If a farmer is poor, there is so much more need of his having them. Without them, he is not half paid for his labor in tillage, and is constantly declining in his circumstances; with them he becomes thrifty by obtaining good remuneration for his labor. A prudent poor farmer should ordinarily shudder at the idea of running into debt, especially for victuals, clothing, or furniture; but, it is wise in him to do it for manures, if he cannot obtain them otherwise, because they will not only enable him to raise enough more on his farm to pay for them, but he gets doubly paid for his tillage, and greatly improves his farm for future. use and profit. LIGHTNING RODS. In erecting rods for the protection of buildings from the effects of lightning, a few things must always be kept in mind, in order to ensure efficiency and consequent safety. As to the point of erection, the most exposed and elevated part of the building should be chosen. If a dwelling house, the chimney is the point that will require protection; if there are several of them, the most elevated one, or the one most exposed to the general course of storms-as the westerly one; or if but one has a fire in it, that one will be found most liable to be struck by lightning, and will of course more require protection. Numberless recorded cases prove that all heated currents of vapor, whether rising from a chimney, or the masses of h'ay and grain in a barn, are excellent conductors of the electric fluid, and are to be considered as such in all arrangements for protection. The materials to be used as the conducting medium or rod, is another point that should be attended to. Iron is the most generally used for this purpose, but copper is preferable, as it possesses greater conducting powers, is not liable to rust or fusion, and, being tougher, is not broken to fragments by an electric discharge, as iron sometimes is. The greater cheapness of iron, however, will probably continue its use, and when well put up, it gives all reasonable security. No iron rod should be used of a less diameter than three-fourths o[ an inch, and an inch rod is still better; as it must be remembercd that the surface only has any effect in conducting electricity, and, therefore, the larger the surface over which 69 it passes, the less intense its action, and the less danger of breaking or fusion. A small quantity of metal, if of the right kind, and a large surface given to it, will make ta better conductor, than a larger quantity in an improper form. Thus a copper ribbon, two inches wide, and of the proper length, will be superior to a copper wire of the same weight, as the process of rolling and flattening it, gives a much larger surface; and the same remark will be true in regard to iron. A number of small iron or copper wires, twisted into a rod, is better than a solid rod of the same weight, for the same reason; that is, a greater surface is exposed by the small wire than by the solid one, and this would be the best man ner of constructing rods, were it not to be apprehended, that heavy discharges passing over wires would fuse and destroy them. Such have been recommended for ship conductors, as they would be entire and flexible, and perhaps it would be found that the distribution of the fluid over such an ex tenlt of surface as such a rod would afford, would prevent the danger of fusion in any case. In preparing the rod, the most essential thing is the making of the elevated points. These should be several in number, slightly diverging from the main rod, and the sharp points gilded or tipped with silver, so as to prevent their rusting, and losing, in a great degree, their conducting power. Perhaps the easiest mode of pointing them, is to make points of large silver wire an inch in length, turning a screw on one end, and insert this into an opening drilled in the tapered end of each branch of the conductor, to receive it. If wire of the proper size is not convenient, they may be made by cutting them from a half-dollar, and hammering them into the right form. If the rod is made in pieces, they should never be put up by turning hooks on the ends, and connecting them in that way; as interruption to the fluid in its descent is frequently attended with bad consequences. The several pieces should be put together with screws, the connecting-piece receiving the ends of two rods, and beingff as near the size of the conductor as strength and security will admit. The rod should never be secured to the building by metal staples or fastenings; or if such are necessary, the connection between the rod and these should be broken by pieces of glass, which is a non-conductor. Wood is the best for fastenings, and should always be used, except from necessity. It is not enough that LIGI-ITNING PODS. 90 MOUNTAIN SCENERY. the rod attract and receive the discharge; it must also conduct it to the earth, or no adequate security is afibforded. It has been estimated that a rod properly made, affords protection to a distance of five or six times its height above the roof; that is, a rod. standing six feet above a building, will protect the b'uilding for a distance of thirty feet. Instances have been known, however, in which a chimney having a column of heated vapor rising from it, has been struck, when within the limits usually considered safe, in a protected building. In such cases, the result must be as'cribed to the height and conducting power of the vapor. The foot of the conductor should gradually recede from the walls of the building, and enter the earth to such a depth as to reach moist earth, and if the bottom of the rod is pointed, or split and parted different ways in the earth, the passing off of the fluid will be facilitated. No paint should ever be allowed on a conductor.-ALBANY CULTIVATOR. MOUNTAIN SCENERY. Mountains! how one's heart leaps up at the very word' There is a charm connected with mountains so powerful, that the merest mention of them, the merest sketch of their magnificent features, kindles the imagination and carries the spirit at once into the bosom of their enchanted regions. How the mind is filled with their vast solitude! how the inward eye is fixed on their silent, their sublime, their everlasting peaks! How our heart bounds to the music of their solitary cries-to the tinkle of their gushing rills, to the sound of their cataracts. How inspiriting are the odors that breathe from the upland turf; from the rock-hung flower, from the hoary and solemn pine; how beautiful are those lights and shadows thrown abroad, and that fine, transparent haze which is diffused over the valleys and lower slopes as over a vast, inimitable picture. Whoever has not ascended mountains, knows little of the beauties of nature. Whoever has not climbed their long and healthy ascents, and seen the trembling mountainflowers, the glowing moss, the richly-tinted lichens at his feet; and scentedl the fresh aroma of the uncultivated sod, and of the spicy shrubs; and heard the bleat of the flock across their solitary expanses, and the wild cry of the mountain 91 MOUNTAIN SCENERY. plover, the raven, or the eagle; and seen the rich and russet hues of distant slopes and emninences, the livid gashes of ravines ai,d precipices, the wh-hite glittering line of falling waters, anid the cloud tumultuously whirling round the lofty summit; and then stood panting on that summit, and beheld the clouds alternately gather and break over a thousand giant peaks and ridges of every varied hue,-but all silent as images of eternity; and cast his gaze over lakes and forests, and smoking towns, and wide lands to the very ocean, in all .their gleaming and reposing beauty, knows nothing of the treasures of pictorial wealth in rural scenles. We delight to think of the people of mountainous regions; we please our imaginations with their picturesque and quiet abodes; with their peacefuil secluded lives. striking and unvaw-ing costumes, and primitive manners. M1e involuntarily give to the mountaineer heroic and elevated qualities. He lives amongst noble objects, and must imbibe some of their nobility; hlie lives amoiingst the elements of poetry, and must be poetical; lie lives where his fellow-beings are far, far separated fr'om their kind, and surrounded by the sternness and the perils of savage nature; his social affections must therefore be proportiolnally concentrated, his home-ties lively and strolng but, more than all, he lives within the barriers, the stron'-holds, the very last refuige which Nature herself has reared to preserve alive liberty in the earth, to preserve to manl his hioshest hopes. his noblest emotions, his dearest treasures, ]is faiti, his f reedom, his hearth, and home. ITov loiiolius do those miiountain rid es appear when we look upon taii tie unconquera-ble b.1odes of free hearts; as thie steri. T ee. l-ul,t wAlalls fiori whii(th the few, the feeble, the esectd, tie despised, the helpless child, the delicate womran, have from age to age, in their last perils, in all their w1ea iiesses and emergencies, when power and cruelty were ieed-y to swmallow them up, looked down, and belhek ihe million Maves of despotism break at their feet:have seet tie rote of murderous armies, and tyrants, the blastb, ~:irit o, aribiti'i,. fanatticisni, and crushing domination, recoil from teir lhues in desipir. ': Thk l<'e qto (foF S''r Oouui:ais a'i is ofpen the exclamnatintl of min lr.,art a: I ltrace t'e listirv of the world. Fro, aoe i X aae, tey he le eel the lac:t frien,ds of man. In at tholusand extiremi.ties they have saved him. What great 92 MOUNTAIN SCENERY. hearts have throbbed in their defiles, from the days of Leonidas to those of Andreas Hofer! WhIat lofty souls, what tender hearts, what poor said persecuted creatures, have they sheltered in their stony bosoms from the weapons and tortures of their fellow men. "Avenge, 0 Lord, thy slaughtered saints whose bones Lie scattered on the Alpine mountains cold!" was the burning exclamation of Milton's agonized and indignant spirit, as he beheld those sacred bulwarks of freedom for once violated by the disturbing demons of the earth; and the sound of his fiery and lamenting appeal to Heaven will be echoed in every generous soul to the end of time. Thanks be.to God for mountains! The variety which they impart to the glorious bosom of our planet were no small advantage; the beauty which they spread out to our vision in their woods and waters; their crags and slopes, their clouds and atmospheric hues were a splendid gift; the sublimity which they pour into our deepest souls from their majestic aspects; the poetry which breathes from their streams, and dells, and airy heights, from the sweet abodes, the garbs and mnannlers of their inhabitants, the songs and legends which have awoke in them, were a proud heritage to imaginative minds; but what are all these when the thought comes, that without mountains the spirit of man must have bowed to the brutal and the base, and probably have sunk to the monotonous level of the unvaried plain. When I turn my eyes upon the map of the world, and behold how wonderfully the oountries where our faith was nurtured, where our liberties were generated, where our philosophy and literature, the fountains of our intellectual grace and beauty, sprang up, were as distinctly walled out oy God's hand with mountain ramparts from the eruptions and interruptions of barbarism, as if at the especial prayer of the early fathers of man's destinies, I am lost in an exulting admiration. Look at the bold barriers of Palestine! see how the infant liberties of Greece were sheltered from the vast tribes of the uncivilized north by the heights of Hsemus and Rhodope! behold how the Alps describe their magnificent crescent, incliniligl their opposite extremities to the Adriatic and Tyrrhine Seas, locking up Italy from the Gallic and Teutonic hordes till the power and spirit of Rome had 93 SUNRISE ON THIE HILLS. reached their maturity, and she had opened the wide forest of Europe to the light, spread far her laws and language, and planted the seeds of many mighty nations! "Thanks to God for mountains! Their colossal firmness seems almost to break the current of time itself; the geologist in them searches for traces of the earlier world, and it is there too that man, resisting the revolutions of lower regions retains through innumerable years his habits and his rights. While a multitude of changes has remoulded the people of Europe, while languages, and laws, and dynasties, and creeds, have passed over it like shadows over the landscape, the children of the Celt and the Goth, who fled to the mountains a thousand years ago, are found there now, and show us in face and figure, in language and garb, what their fathers were; show us a fine contrast with the modern tribes dwelling below and around them m; and show us, moreover, how adverse is the spirit of the mountain to mutability, and that there the fiery heart of Freedom is found for ever. WILLIAM HOV"ITT. SUNRISE ON THE HILLS. I stood upon the hills, when heaven's wide arch Was glorious with the sun's returning march, And woods were brightened, and soft gales Went forth to kiss the sun-clad vales. The clouds were far beneath med;-bathed in light, They gathered mid-way round the wooded height, And, in their fading glory, shone Like hosts in battle overthrown, As many a pinnacle, with shifting glance, Through the gray mist thrust up its shattered lance, And rocking on the cliff was left The dark pine blasted, bare, and cleft. The veil of cloud was lifted, and below Glowed the-rich valley, and the river's flow Wa.s darkened by the forest's shade, Or glistened in the white cascade; Where upward, in the mellow blush of day, The noisy bittern wheeled his spiral way. I heard the distant waters dash, I saw the current whirl and flash, 94 A RELIGIGUS INFLUENCES IN THE COUNTRY And richly, by the blue lake's silver beach, The woods were bending with a silent reach. Then o'er the vale, with gentle swell, The music of the village bell Came sweetly to the echo-giving hills; And the wild horn, whose voice the woodland fills, Was singing to the merry shout, That faint and far the glen sent out, Where, answering to the sudden shot, thin smoke, Through thick-leaved branches, from the dingle broke. If thou art worn and hard beset With sorrows, that thou would'st forget, If thou wouldst read a lesson, that will keep Thy heart from fainting and thy soul from sleep, Go to the woods and hills!-No tears Dim the sweet look that Nature wears. LONGFELLOW. RELIGIOUS INFLUENCES IN THE COUNTRY. No situation in life is so favorable to established habits of virtue, and to powerful sentiments of devotion, as a residence in the country, and rural occupations. I am not speaking of a condition of peasantry, of which, in this country, we know little, who are mere vassals of an absent lord, or the hired laborers of an intendant, and who are, therefore, interested in nothing but the regular receipt of their daily wages; but I refer to the honorable character of an owner of the soil, whose comforts, whose weight in the community, and whose very existence depend upon his personal labors, and the regular returns of abundance from the soil which he cultivates. No man, one would think, would feel so sensibly his immediate dependence upon God, as the husbandman. For all his peculiar blessings, he is invited to look immediately to the bounty of heaven. No secondary cause stands between him and his maker. To him are essential the regular succession of the seasons, and the timely fall of the rain, the genial warmth of the sun, the sure productiveness of the soil, and the certain operations of those laws of nature, which must appear to him nothing less than the varied exertions of omnipresent energy. 95 96 PRELIGIOUS INFLUENCES IN THE cOrUN'RY, In the country we seem to stand in the midst of the !reat theatre of God's power, and we feel an unusual prox imnity to our Creator. His blue and tranquil sky spreads 'self over our heads, and we acknowledge the intrusion of secondary agent in unfolding this vast expanse. Nothing 'u.t omnipotence can work up the dark horrors of the tempest, dart the flashes of the lightning, and roll the longresounding rumor of the thunder. The breeze wafts to his senses the odors of God's beneficence; the voice of God's power is heard in the rustling of the ibrest; and the varied forms of life, activity and pleasure, which he observes at very step in the fields, lead him irresistibly, one would ;hink, to the source of being, and beauty, and joy. How auspicious such'a life to the noble sentiments of devotion! Besides, the situation of the husbandman is pequliarly fkavorable, it should seem, to purity and simplicity of moral sentiment. He is brought acquainted, chiefly, with the real aild native wants of mankind. Employed solely in bringing Sood out of the earth, he is not liable to be fascinated with the fictitious pleasures, the unnatural wants, the fashionable follies and tyrannical vices of a more busy and splendid life. Still more favorable to the religious character of the husbandman is the circumstance, that, finom the nature of agricultural pursuits, they do not so completely engross the attention, as other occupations. They leave much time for contemplation, for reading and intellectual pleasures; and these are peculiarly grateful to the resident of the country. Especially does the institution of the Sabbath discover all its value to the tiller of the earth, whose fatigue it solaces, whose hard labor it interrupts, and who feels, on that day, the worth of his moral nature, which cannot be understood by the busy man, who considers the repose of this day as interfering with his hopes of gain, or professional employments If, then, this institution is of any moral and religious value, it is to the country we must look for the continuance of that respect and observance which it merits. My friends, those of you, especially, who retire annually into the country, let these periodical retreats from business or dissipation bring you nearer to your God; let them restore the clearness of your judgment on the objects of human pursuits, invigorate your moral perceptions, exalt your sentiments, and regulate your habits of devotion; and if there be any virtue, or simr. " HOEGHTON'S SEEDLING GOOSEBERRY. This is a very superior goose berry for the dessert, and it is also excellent for cooking. The skin is thin reddish brown; and the flesh is fine, very tender, sweet, and of a fine de licious flavor. It is pronounced by competent judges the best kuow variety of that highly esteemed fruit." I 4 NATURE AND VARIETY OF SOILS. plicity remaining in rural life, let them never be impaired by the influence of your presence and example.-REV. Jos. S. BUCKMINSTER. NATURE AND VARIETY OF SOILS. What in agriculture is to be understood by soil? The soil is the portion of the ground in which plants are produced. It forms a stratum varying from a few inches to a foot or more in depth. It is usually somewhat dark in color, arising from its intermixture with decomposed stems, leaves, and other parts of plants, which have grown upon it, and, in part, often by the presence of animal substances. What else enters into the formation of the soil? Primary rocks, on their surface, are constantly undergoing a kind of decomposition, by the crumbling from them .of an infinite niumber of fine particles. These particles combine with the vegetable substances in the formation of the soil in an endless variety of proportions; and the entire process of disintegration and combination is effected by the mechanical and chemical action of the air and water, and the different degrees of temperature to which they are subjected. By what other names is soil sometimes called? The finer portions of it are called mold. It is also called loam. Both terms are derived from the fine and smooth quality of the substance denoted. What is marl? is defined by Webster, to be a species of calcareous earth, of different composition, being united with clay and fuller's earth-that is, a species of earth which absorbs grease? -What is the subsoil? The subsoil is the bed or stratum of earth lying between the surface soil and the base on which it rests. The name is derived from the prefix to the word soil. signifying under; and the definition is the same as under-soil. It is in part composed of the same materials that form the soil; but ordi narily only in a small degree. What is the zuse of the sub-soil? When loosened by the sub-soil ploughl or otherwise it becomes a broad reservoir or fountain for the rain not retained IP1-MI 97 NATURE AND VARIETY OF SOIILS Vy the surface soil. Hence here it remains to fertilize vege tion in seasons of drought. And the subsoil is also valu:e. when thus loosened, foi the roots of such plants as rcquire more space than is found in the surface soil. TVhat is the use of the soil?' It affords a place for vegetable life, by enabling the seed and plant there to become fixed, to receive nourishment in all stages of its development till reaching maturity, and thus furnishing a supply of food for man and animals. The aliment required for this nourishment is in the soil, to be imparted to the plant as wanted. WVhat are the fertilizing agents in the soil produced by te decomposition of rocks? Among others are potash, soda, phosphoric acid, magnesia, and silex. It is evident that the particles thus "'nished to the soil possess a fertilizing power from the fact It even lava from burning mountains is, after a while, covered with a rich loam that could come from no other source. To what is this fertility owing? Undoubtedly to the alkali contained in the lava, and which by exposure to the combined action of the air and moisture are reduced to a state capable of being absorbed by A'_nts. As the lava is formed of stony substances, it is ,,:?arent, that when reduced to small particles, whether ore or after having been melted, they enrich the soil and Income important agents in vegetable development. By what means does the soil become impoverished or exhausted? Ordinarily by removing from it the vegetables that grew upion it. They, it is obvious., are composed mostly of materials existing in the soil. If permitted to remain upon it, and jot where they grew, the particles would again mix with the soil, leaving it much as it was before. But, if they are carried away, the soil is as much exhausted, as though the materials composing them had been dug up by a spade and removed in a waggon to some other place. Hozv is this exhaustion of soil to be prevented? In agriculture the crops are ordinarily of course removed to the barn or granary of the farmer. Therefore to prevent the exhaustion thus occasioned, he must return to the soil in the form of manure the amount of fertilizing agents absorbed q8 NATURE AND VARIETY OF SOILS. by the growth of the crop taken away. If this be dorin, it may continue for any indefinite period capable of producing good crops. Wthat beside, this nmanure is needful in producing good crops? Good, thorough tillage. The soil is to be frequently loosened by the plough, spade, or some other instrument, so that all the different particles shall be well mixed together, and the -whole rendered mellow by an exposure to the action of the sun and the atmosphere. Crops are ordinarily abunidant as much in proportion to the degree of tillage as the amount of manure used in the culture. Without either, the benefit of the other will be comparatively small. Itow does it appear thlt t such tillage is needlf6l? In the first place, without it, the rain instead of sinking into the soil, will pass from it as if falling upon a board or stone, and of course there would be no moisture in it to nourish plants. In the second place, if in a hard uncultivated soil the seed were to germinate, the roots could not extend themselves to be brought into contact with fertilizing agents. It would cause a smile, to drill a hole into a stone to receive seed with a view to germination and vegetable development. But this is no more absurd than to cast seed into a hard and compact soil, like a public highway, for a like purpose. Yet, reduce the stone to powder, mix with it fertilizing agents, cast seed upon it, and a crop may be expected. The principle is the same for thorough tillage. Why is it that gardens are more productive than other cultivated lands? Simply because of better tillage and more ample manuring. If fields were in these respects made equal to well managed gardens, we should rarely hear of unproductive farms, or lost labor in agriculture. H-.c are the dieffrent kinds of soil denominated? Some of the more obvious and common distinctions of soil are the following-rich and poor soils-stiff and free or light soils-wet and dry soils-clayey and sandy soils-calcareous soils -peaty soils-gravelly soils, and some others. Though soils are thus distinguished by external characters, they pass into each other by such minute gradations, that it is difficult saying to what class they belong. And these intermediate soils are the most numerous in all countries. It may be said, 99 : 1. I NATURE AND VARIETY OF SOILS. therefore, that the greater portion of soils consists of inter. mediate classes, and that it is often difficult to bring them under any division, derived from their texture or any exter nal features. What is said of rich and poor soils? This classification would include all others of every variety, having reference to their powers of producing useful plants. Those that have this power in a good measure are called rich soils, and those which have it not are called poor, the distinction being based solely on their productive qualities. Their fertility, all other thilngrs being equal, is,indicated by the greater or smialler proportion of mold which enters into their composition. What is said of stiff and free, or light soils? The stiff soils are those which are tenacious and cohesive in their parts; the light or free soils are those which are of looser texture, and whose parts are easily separated. All soils which possess this tenacious or cohesive property in a considerable degree, are termed clayey; while all the looser ones are termed free or light soils. And all soils are more or less clayey, or more or less light, as they possess more or less of this tenacious or cohesive property, or of this looser texture. The transition from tre one to the other is by such imperceptible gradations, that it is often difficult to tell to which class a particular soil belongs. Whatris said of wet and dry soils? When water, from any particular cause, is generally abundant, the soils may be termed wet; and when there is habitual deficiency of water, they may be termed dry. The cultivator may very easily learn how to adapt his crops, and the season for their tillage, to these states of the soil. It will usually be found advantageous to have each on a farm. What is said of clayey and sandy soils? In the former of these, clay preponderates or forms the principal element, while the same may be said in reference to the latter of the preponderance of sand. The one is tenacious. stiff, very retentive of moisture, and can be worked only in favorable periods, and requires extra labor in its tillage. The other is loose, easily worked, but is not retentive of manure or moisture, owing to its porous texture. The former when well prepared, yields a heavy crop, and owing to the expense of tillage is usually appropriated to meadow 100 NATURE AND VARIETY OF SOILS. and pasture. The latter is better adapted to tap root plants, as carrots, turnips, clover, Indian corn, and alternate hus bandry. Whoat is said of rich sandy'soils? They are early inll maturing the cultivated plants, and are fit for the production of every kind of herbage and grain. They yield to the richer clays in the power of producing wheat, but they surpass them in the production of rye and barley. They are well suited to the growth of the cultivated grasses; and, when left in perennial pasture, they are quickly covered with the natural plants of the soil. But their distinguishing character is their peculiar adaptation to the raising of the plants cultivated for their roots and tubers. What is said of gravelly soils? The composition of a gravelly soil is indicated by its very name. It is even more porous than a sandy soil, and is easily exhausted, for the animal and vegetable matters which it receives not being attracted by earthy constituent parts of it, rarely sufficiently abundant for that purpose, are more liable to be decomposed by the action of the atmosphere, and carried off by the water. With gravelly soils should be mixed clay, chalk, marl, peat, and other earthy substances; and especially they should receive frequent applications of manure. Being easily heated they are the earliest crops. and most liable to sufer from the droughts of summer. What is said of peaty soils? These soils abound in swamps and marshes, where vegetable matter exists in excess, in consequence of their being habitually saturated with water, which prevents its decomposition. On being thoroughly drained, some of these soils, in which the vegetable has been reduced to something like soft black powder, or where the earths constitute a considerable portion of the surface stratum, have become very productive. But where the vegetable matters greatly preponderate, or are coarse and woody, it has been found necessary, in order to render them valuable, after draining, to bring on a decomposition by paring and burning the surface, or by the application of lime, or barn-yard manure; and sometimes a good dressing of sand, or loam, has induced fertility. The cause of sterility is not the want of vegetable food, but the want of this food in a soluble or cooked state, prepared for the mouths and nourishment of plants. -1 101 T01OW TO OBTAIN GOOD CROPS. What are alluvial soils? They are, first, those soils which have been formed by the action of the sea, and are composed principally of sand, with but little organic matter except marine shells, such as the great level sandy districts lying along the border of the Atlantic; and secondly, those which have been formed from the deposits of rivers, as upon the Mississippi, the Ohio, and most of the secondary and minor streams of our country. What is said of the teniperature of s)ils? The temperature of a soil depends much on its humidity. Damp, wet land is generally cold, whereas dry land is usually warm. And land which contains a considerable quantity of mold, or manure, which has been exhausted, or even other substances in a state of putrefaction, is much warmer than that which is not well supplied with them. And calcareous soils, or those partaking of chalk or lime, are always warmer than others. .What most impoverishes the soil? There is nothing which exhausts either the plant or the soil in which it grows, so much as the ripening of its fruit and seeds. No anim,l labors with greater effort to support its offspring than the poor plant to bring its seed to maturity. It pumps up sap with all its powers of suction; yet, if it has much seed to ripen, after having accomplished its task, it frequently perishes through exhaustion from the intensity of its efforts. HOW TO OBTAIN GDOOD CROPS. Practical agriculture is wholly indebted to science for a knowledge of the elements which nature must have to form each plant, seed and fruit grown on the farm or in the garden. We have known a kernel of corn in Georgia to produce one thousand kernels equal in weight to itself. The matter in the parent seed could form but one kernel, leaving that contained in the other nine hundred and ninety-nine. as well as'that which exists in stems, leaves, roots, and cobs to be derived from the substance of the earth, air, and water. Now, why should one kernel of seed corn give a harvest of one thousand kernels in one soil; and a harvest of only one hundred in another? The same degree of sunshine, e 102 H10W TO OBTAIN GOOD CROPS. dews, and rains; the same atmospheric gases and metereoric influences affect both corn plants alike. But if you analyze the soil critically, one will be found lo abound in the elements consumed in organizing a large yield of this important grain; and the other will show a lack of some one or more of the things which God has appointed for the formation of corn. For years we have labored to convince our readers and hearers not only that good crops of the fruits of the earth cannot be formed out of nothing; but that each plant must have its appropriate constituent elements within reach of its living germ, in due quantity and in available form. A wise farmer husbands all of these raw materials, out of which his grain, grass, roots, apples, and other fruit are literally made. He studies to accumulate in his soil the substances known to be indispensable to produce bread, meat, milk, wool, and cotton. To render land more and more fertile, is better than to deposit money in increasing sums in any bank in the world. A rich soil has an intrinsic value for hungry human beings that appertains neither to gold nor any other precious metal. The fertilizing of whole farms as a general practice will never obtain in the United States, till our children are taught a knowledge of those natural laws, by the operation of which poor soils may be transformed into fertile ones; and rich soils changed into sterile fields. The growth of plants is governed by laws as fixed and enduring as those which cause day and night, winter and summer, rain and snow. Why then will not American farmers believe this simple truth, and permit their sons to study tillage, the formation of crops, and the impnrovement of cultivated earth as a science? If plants must be well fed to be fat, as well as animals, and their food must come from somewhere, why not learn how to feed the germs of corn, wheat, potatoes, oats, and apples, with the highest attainable skill and economy? Experience demonstrates that bone earth, or bones themselves, sulphur and lime, or gypsum, chlorine and soda or common salt, and other elements of crops, serve to augment the harvest. There are millions of tons of the elements of bones and flesh wasted in this country, before they are organized in any living plant as food for man or beast. This waste accrues from a defective system of husbandry -one that permits no inconsiderable share of the dissolved 103 HOW TO OBTAIN GOOD CROPS. minerals and organic matter in good soils to run with the water that holds them in solution, into creeks, rivers, lakes, and the ocean. This loss, more than the removal of crops, often exhausts ploughed and hoed land. The loosened soil is washed and leached till the food of corn and wheat, potatoes and turnips, in an available shape, becomes scarce indeed. The substances in the earth which form crops are lime, potash, iron, soda, magnesia, silica, sulphur, phosphorous, chlorine, carbon, nitrogen, oxygen, and hydrogen. Every substance that grows takes up from the soil through the pores in the roots most, if not all these elementary bodies, and fixes them in its organized tissues. Cultivate a field and permit no plant whatever to grow therein, and both its vegetable mold and earthy salts of lime,' potash and soda for instance, will be slowly dissolved and washed away. Partial, if not complete sterility can be induced without cropping at all. Nature renovates poor soils by constantly augmenting the annual yield of vegetation. This she does without the aid of tillage or manure of any kind applied from abroad. The farmer should study nature while at work drawing the food of plants from the subsoil and the atmosphere, to be organized and decay to enrich the surface soil. This is one way to improve land. Another is to carry on, and spread over it just such things as are known to be indispensable in forming the crop. What are they? They are salts voided in the liquid and solid excretions of all animals, from man down to the bottom of the cast. These salts come from our daily food which took them from the soil. In cities and villages these elements of crops accumulate in stables and privies; because all tillers of the earth send something from the soil to market. Go then to the nearest city or village and take back on to your farm what will pay the debt you owe it. There are many soils in which an ounce of the voided elements of wheat, or corn, ierfectly dry, will give a gain of a pound of dry corn at the harvest, if skilfully applied. By greatly extending the roots of a plant at a proper season, it is able to draw a much larger quantity of nourishment from any given soil, in addition to all that the fertilizer yields to it. An exhausted horse may be within twenty miles of rich pasture, which one good feed of oats will enable him to 51 104 THE POSITION OF THE FARMER. reach. So there may be food for the hungry corn plant just beyond where its roots extend; and a little of the matter stored up in the kernels of corn to feed the germs when they begin to grow, if taken from the pig-sty or the privy and brought into contact with the roots, will cause them to grow into fresh pasture. It is the elements of the plant in this fresh pasture, not really the manure, that double the harvest. The way that a pound of guano or rich, light soil operates to produce sixteen pounds of grain, is what we want all young farmers to study. When they do this experimentally they will see that a, soils possess far more of the things necessary to feed and clothe mankind than is generally supposed. It is not necessary in the economy of Providence to give the earth a pound in order to get a like weight back again without detriment to the soil.-HON. ISAAC HILL. THE POSITION OF THE FARMER. The intelligent farmer who directs his energies with the zeal and spirit which begin to characterize his class-who looks at his profession with pride and pleasure, and considers agriculture an art to be associated with, and assisted by scientific inquiry, is as far superior to the silken dandy, who may think him a clod-hopper, as one class of beings can be to another. The one is the prop of the State-the other a trifling excrescence upon it. To the intelligent farmer nature unfolds her beauties as well as her bounties. His is the honest heart, the liberal soul, the ardent mind, the fresh imagination. He makes the best of parents and citizens, the most disinterested of patriots.-Between the well systeteniatized labors of his life are intervals of leisure for general leading and improvement, enough to give him all the information necessary for individual culture, and social enjoyment. Though every farmer should look first to the general fertility of his farm, as the foundation on which all improvements are to be laid, he would be utterly waiting in the true spirit of his profession, if he did not design, in due time, to crown his whole work, by every domestic comfort and appropriate rural ornament. The business of agriculture is not one of merely practical utility. The farmer is not noes 105 THE POSITION OF THE FARMER. sarily a dull swain. His pursuits are consistent with the keenest admiration of the beautiful in nature and art, with the most refined taste, and with all the graces of cultivated life. He owes it to himself as a rational being, gifted with all the capabilities of his race, to the obligations of domestic duty, and above all, to the devotion which we will acknowledge, to that gentle sex, whose smiles are the crowning bliss of life, to provide, for his own and his family's enjoyment, all the comforts and embellishments, which belong to a mature civilization. Amnong other high duties, is that of'properly educating his children. And to such of them as are destined to pursue his own profession, he should give much more than that teaching, which stops at a knowledge of the mere routine of farm-practice. A good agricultural education is both scientific and practical. The knowledge which is necessary to make a thoroughly intelligent farmer is to be drawn from a great variety of sources. Geology and mineralogy must instruct him as to the formation of the crust of the earth, the qualities and elements of the substances which compose it, and the character, nature, and properties of all the minerals imbedded in it. Chemistry will teach him to analyze the soil, to trace out every element of its fertility, and its just proportion-will develope to him the principles of its exhaustion and. replenishment, and guide him in every effort to improve and ameliorate. Indeed without analytic chemistry he can never know the money value of the ameliorators which he purchases. It will teach him also the properties and value of the different kinds of food for stock-what kind supplies the bone, what the muscle, and what lays on the fat. Botany will inform him of the nature and structure of plants, from the forest tree to the herb; of their uses, value, medicinal properties, and adaptation to the climate anrid soil of his residence. Entomology will teach him the habits of insects injurious to vegetation, and how to prevent or remedy as far as possible their attacks. Natural philosophy will explain to him the principles of mechanics, and from these he will know how to estimate the value of every mechanical contrivance employed or proposed in rural art. Much important knowledge may be gathered from this source. These principles, for example, regulate the construction of wheat threshers and horse powers-the forms of good ploughs and 106 . I THE POSITION OF THE FARMER. their use, making them easy of draught and efficient in turningl over the tough sward or crumbling the broken fallow. Even in the digging of a drain, the construction of a good axle tree, or the proper harnessing a horse, the principles of natural philosophy are involved. In all these branches of science, the highest genius and the most persevering research have long been devoted to the ascertainment of truths simple only when demonstrated, and of the greatest practical value to those who dream not of the learning and toil necessary for their discovery: and all these should be taught the agricultural pupil. It is gratifying to see the attention beginning to be paid to this kind of education in our country-to know that agricultural chemistry is becoming one of the branches of collegiate instruction, and that institutions are projected, and, indeed, in existence among us, where the best methods of rural art and every branch of farming Work will be taught experimentally, practically and scientifically. In such institutions, the labors of the field, the barn and the workshop, will be followed by the lessons of the school room. Thus practice and science will be combined, and the agricultural pupil will become the finished farmer. Let me commend such institutions to your favor, gentlemen, for the benefit of vour sons. I trust that I may be permitted, also, to recommend every farmer to subscribe and pay for at least one agricultural paper or periodical. Knowledge is power in agriculture, as well as in every other department and business of life. No man can keep up with the improvements of the times who does not thus avail himself of the experience and knowledge of the many active and practical minds which are annually condensed into the columns of these useful journals. What science applied to practical uses has done for other arts it is now beginning to do for agriculture. While no one thinks, or pretends to think, that it has explained all those mysteries which perplex the farmer, no well informed man can doubt that it has already solved many difficulties and ascertained truths of great practical benefit. As little can he question that in its further progress it will remove doubts, expose errors, and develop facts and principles of the highest practical utility. The process by which these results will be arrived at may not and need not be understood by the great 107 THE AMERICAN SCHOOLMASTER. body of farmers. But the fruits of such scientific inquiries will be found in our agricultural journals, not buried among technical terms in learned treatises, but made clear to the comprehension of the ordinarily intelligent farmer. The book farmer may be a thriftless theorist, but the practical man, while he avoids visionary speculations and hazardous experiments, knows how to turn to account the experience and the suggestions of others. He adopts what is consistent with reason and his own observation-tests what is doubtful, and rejects the inefficient or extravagant._ Such a man will read without either credulity or disdain, and, therefore will be benefited by what he reads. Indeed, the practical character of most of the agricultural periodicals of the present day is such as to make them entirely acceptable to practical men.-HON. JAMES A. PEARCE, Maryland. THE AMERICAN SCHOOLMASTER. It has been to me a source of pleasure, though a melan. eholly one, that in rendering this public tribute to the worth of one departed friend, the respectable members of two bodies, one of them the most devoted and efficient for philanthropy and learning, have met to do honor to the memory of a schoolmaster. There are prouder themes for the eulogist than this. The praise of the statesman, the warrior, or the orator, furnish more splendid topics for ambitious eloquence; but no theme can be more rich in desert, or more fruitful in public advantage. The enlightened liberality of many of our state governments, by extending the common school system over their whole population, has brought elementary education to the door of every family. In New York, it appears from the Annual Reports of the Secretary of the State, there are, besides the fifty incorporated academies and numerous private schools, about ten thousand school districts, in each of which instruction is regularly given. These contain at present half a million of children taught in that sinigle state. To these may be added nine or ten thousand more youth in the higher seminaries of learning, exclusive of the colleges. Of what incalculable influence, then, for good or for evil, upon the dearest interests of society, must be the estimate en 108 x THE AMERICAN SCHOOLMASTER. tertained for the character of this great body of teachers, and the consequent respectability of the individuals who compose it? At a recent general election in that state, the votes of above three hundred thousand persons were taken. In thirty years the great majority of these will have passed away; their rights will be exercised, and their duties assumed, by those very children, whose minds are now open to receive their earliest and most durable impressions from the ten thousand schoolmasters therein employed. What else is there in the whole of our social system of such extensive and powerful operation on the national character? There is one other influence more powerful, and but one. It is that of the MOTHER. The forms of a free government, the provisions of wise legislation, the schemes of the statesman, the sacrifices of the patriot, are as nothing compared with these. If the future citizens of our republic are to be worthy of their rich inheritance, they must be made so principally through the virtue and intelligence of their mothers. It is in the school of maternal tenderness that the kind affections must be first roused and made habitual-the early sentiment of piety awakened and rightly directed-the sense of duty and moral responsibility unfolded and enlightened. But next in rank and in efficacy to that pure and holy source of moral influence, is that of the schoolmaster. It is powerful already. What would it be if in every one of those school districts which we now count by annually increasing thousands, there were to be found one teacher well-informed without pedantry, religious without bigotry or fanaticism, proud and fond of his profession, and honored in the discharge of its duties! How wide would be the intellectual, the moral influence of such a body of men! Many such we already have amongst us-men humbly wise and obscurely useful, whom poverty cannot depress, nor neglect degrade. But to raise a body of such men, as numerous as the wants and dignity of the country demand, their labors must be fitly remunerated, and themselves and their calling cherished and honored. The schoolmaster's occupation is laborious and ungrateful; its rewards are scanty and precarious. He may indeed be, and he ought to be animated by the consciousness of doing good, that least of all consolations, that noblest of all motives. 109 THE AMERICAN SCHOOLMASTER. But that, too, must be often clouded by doubt and uncertainty. Obscure and inglorious as his daily occupation may appear to learned pride or worldly ambition, yet to be truly successful and happy, he must be animated by the spirit of the same great principles which inspired the most illustrious benefactors of mankind. If he bring to his task high talent and rich acquirements, he must be content to look into distant years for the proof that his labors have not been wastedthat the good seed which he daily scatters abroad does not fall on stong'round and wither away, or among thorns to be choked by the cares, the delusions, or the vices of the world. Indeed; such a schoolmaster must solace his toils with the same prophetic faith that enabled the greatest of modern philosophers, amidst the neglect or contempt of his times, to regard himself as sowing the seeds of truth for posterity and the care of Heaven. He must arm himself against disappointmenlt and mortification, with a portion of the same noble confidence which soothed the greatest of modern poets when weighed down by care and danger, by poverty, old age, and blindness, still 1" - in prophetic dream he saw The youth unborn, with pious awe, Imbibe each virtue from his sacred page." He must know and he must love to teach his pupils, not the meagre elements of knowledge, but the secret and the use of their own intellectual strength, exciting and enabling them hereafter to raise for themselves the veil which covers the majestic form of truth. He must feel deeply the reverence due to the youthful mind fraught with mighty, though undeveloped energies and affections, and mysterious and eternal destinies. Thence he must have learnt to reverence himself and his profession, and to look upon its otherwise ill-requited toils as their own exceeding great reward. If such are the difficulties and the discouragements-such the duties, the motives, and the consolations of teachers who are worthy of that name and trust, how imperious then the obligation upon every enlightened citizen who knows and feels the value of such men, to aid them, to cheer them, and to honor them' But let us not be content with barren honor to buried merit.' Let us prove our gratitude to the dead by faithfully endeavoring to elevate the station, to enlarge the 110 SEED TIME AND HARVEST. usefulness, and to raise the character of the schoolmaster amongst us. Thus shall we best testify our gratitude to the teachers and guides of our own youth, thus best serve our country, and thus, most effectually diffuse over our land light, and truth, and virtue.-VERPLANCK. SEED TIME AND HARVEST. As o'er his furrowed fields which lie Beneath a coldly-dropping sky, Yet chill with winter's melted snow, The husbandman goes forth to sow; Thus, Freedom, on the bitter blast The ventures of thy seed we cast, And trust to warmer sun and rain, To swell the germ, and fill the grain. Who calls thy glorious service hard? Who deems it not his own reward? Who for its trials, counts it less A cause of praise and thankfulness? It may not be our lot to wield The sickle in the ripened field; Nor ours to hear, on summer eves, The'reaper's song among the sheaves; Yet where our duty's task is wrought In unison with God's great thought, The near and future blend in one, And whatsoe'er is willed is done! And ours the grateful service whence Comes, day by day, the recompense; The hope, the trust, the purpose stayed, The fountain and the noonday shade. And were this life the utmost span, The only end and aim of man, Better the toil of fields like these Than waking dream and slothful eas ill VEGETABLE MANURES. But life, though falling like our grain, Like that revives and springs again; And, early called, how blessed are they Who wait in heaven their harvest-day! WITTIER. VEGETABLE MANURES. What may be affirmed generally of vegetable substances for manure? There is no plant that grows, but what contains the elements for its own reproduction at least, and when reduced to the simple substances of which it is composed, will subserve that end. And, there is so much similarity in the composition of the vegetable kingdom generally, that all plants may answer a good purpose, when in a decayed state for manures, although some are much better than others, both on account of the ingredients of which constructed, and the abundance in which they can be procured. Organic vegetable matters in various conditions, constitute the largest part of manure in use. What is said of hay, straw, and chaf, as manure? When they are ploughed into the soil, they are slow in decomposing, and act more slowly than when previously fermented. The question of applying straw without previous decomposition, is, in practice, only a question of time. It is doubtless true that it furnishes about the same amount oi manure in both cases; bult in the one case it has more speedy and powerful, and in the other a more prolonged effect. The more common way, and probably on the whole, the preferable one, is to mix these substances with animal excrements in the barn-yard What does chemical analysis show us? It shows us that all plants, and all the products of plants are resolvable into a small number of simple bodies in various states of combination; and, that these bodies when disintegrated may and will go into the composition of other plants. if mixed in the soil as a manure. What is said of saw dust for manure? Saw dust has been highly recommended, because it mixes readily with other substances, whether animal or vegetable. 112 I -~ A; ~ 44 cO~ I -~Y - - ~?- ~) — — ~ ; -- -- -- —: —- m~ - %~~~~- ~ - -— ~~ —, — -~ ~ - - -- ~~-~~~>~~-~ —:~ —-;? - tn~ ~#-~ —;~- - ~f~-~?% ~ - - ii -- -: ~ — ~ t#-~i - - -- - -~ - - -- r ~ - - - - ---- - ~?#-~-~~-)~7f:~-~~-44j~$ ~ )-~{)~`:~#?{1{{{-;{~{}?Y'~'-#}{~.{~~r~~44m~ ~~-j~~~ —~ ~?)~{i-;;-{ - - ii - - -- ~~~t~#N~~~~ -#~~~A~ ~~~ —~-;;~; ~ -`Y~- -` - - - - - - ~~~~`/ - - - - -- -- " - - -~ — — -~ --- - -` -~t —-~~%~-~'`~?~`~~~~~~~"` ~I $~f\\- kAY-' -` -` ]~~` \\t~'~~ )4~~'i~ —;-~:~` - -` --- -- - - Ii I - -.` Ii! 1: .`~`I ~i`~~\\- ~~~~~1$\~~~~}11~1}{{4~)Y~'f)/;;j/jt}(i( * VEGETABLE MANURES. It is a peculiarly good absorbent of the gases and of liquid manures; and, as serviceable in rendering stiff and clayey lands loose and mellow. The objection to it is, a long time is wanted for saw dust to ferment, and of course, is not felt by the soil as a fertilizing agent for a year or two. In wvhat respect is charcoal valuable for manure? Charcoal is not so useful to the soil on account of any element it may furnish the soil, as by an intermediate agency of absorbing gases and neutralizing offensive odors. As an absorbent it is especially valuable for holding and preserving those volatile matters, which plants require, and which might otherwise make tlir escape and be lost. However, it evolves carbonic acid in its decomposition, and is in this way directly useful to vegetable growth. And being also a powerful antiseptic it keeps the soil free from putrefying substances, that might bring disease on the spongelets, and hence it keeps the plant in a healthy and vigorous condition. Pulverized charcoal is frequently of great service about the trunks of fruit trees. Wh?at is said of wood ashes for manure? It is apparent that the ashes of vegetables consist of such elements as are always required for the perfect growth of plants, and, must hence furnish one of the best saline manures which can be had. They contain all the inorganic substances that enter into vegetable composition, and usually in the right proportion, being much the same to the nourishment of the plant, that milk is to the nourishment of an animal. They should never be wasted, and if purchased at fair prices are a cheap manure. What is said of leached ashes? They are indeed less valuable than before having been subjected to the process of being leached, yet contain all the elements of the unleached, having been deprived of only a part of their potash and soda. They may be drilled into the soil with roots and grain, sown broadcast on meadows or pas tures, or mixed with the muck-heap. They are good on all soils, varying from twenty to fifty bushels to the acre. Are coal ashes of value for manure? Some have esteemed them of no value; not worth the labor of preserving them; but it is now more generally ad mitted that the ashes of both anthracite and bituminous coal are of considerable value, although less so than those made 113 VE GETABLE MANURES. from wood and the smaller vegetables. They should, there. fore, be saved and applied to the soil. If they contain cinders from not having been thoroughly burned, they are more suitable to light, than to heavy soils. WVhat is said of the value of peat ashes? Sir Humphrey Davy did not consider soils as coming under the denomination of peat, unless consisting of vegetable fibre to one half their bulk. It is evident, therefore, that ashes of peat must be valuable from this fact, as well as from the mineral substances in the earthy parts of it. If it does not become perfectly reduced to ashes, it will make a benefi cial dressing to the soil. It is better to reduce peat to ashes, than to attempt mixing it with the soil without being burnt, especially if it be at a distance from the land that is to re ceive it. If not reduced to ashes, how should peat be used for manure? It may be decomposed by long exposure to the air, or by mixing it with quicklime. But it is better to carry it to the barn-yard, and cover it over with the dung; or to mix it with the dung in alternate layers. In this case it should be previously dried by the sun and wind, and then not be used in too large quantities. When the fermentation has arrived at blood heat, the mass should be turned oyer into another heap. How is sea-weed prized for manure? In places where it can be had it is esteemed of much importance, although transient in its effects. The most convenient method of using it, is to convey it directly to the land and apply it fresh, as a top dressing to the growing crops. If left in a heap by itself, its more soluble parts are exhaled, and a dry, fibrous matter'alone remains. If, therefore, it is not applied in its recent state, it should be formed into a compost with dung, or with a mixture of dung and earth. Seaweed may also be burned to ashes and applied to the soil like wood ashes. This is preferable if the weed is far distant from the land where it is to be used. How are green crop manures described? Sometimes a crop of clover is ploughed under and completely buried up, where fermentation soon succeeds, and the elements again mix with the soil. Buckwheat-and other seeds are sometimes sown, and ploughed under in the same manner. The period at which the plants are ploughed down, 114 VEGETABLE MANURES. is when they have come into flower, for then they contain the largest quantity of readily soluble matter, and have the least exhausted the nutrient substance of the soil. What is said of green crop manure? The practice of applying it has been long known and not a little used, and is pronounced of great service. Neverthe less, it is chiefly suited to the warmer countries where vege tation is very rapid. In colder countries where we are able to raise food of any kind, it is better that we apply it in the first place to the feeding of animals, for then it not only yields manure, but performs the no less important purpose of affording food. If persons have more clover than they need for hay, it is doubtless better to plough it under than to let it rot on the surface. iHow are leaves valued as a manure? The opinion of agriculturists is divided in regard to the utility of them. Some esteeming them scarcely worth the labor of collecting them, and others esteemring them of great value. Which of these opinions is most worthy of attention? They are evidently deserving more general regard thanr they receive. The prejudice by some entertained against them is based on the small amount of substance in a single leaf, or in a given volume without reference to the weight, not considering that a ton of leaves when reduced to their original elements, may contain as much fertilizing matter as a ton of other vegetable substances. How does it conclusively appear that leaves are valuable? From the fact that the soil is never impoverished by natural vegetation. What is there to enrich the soil in the dense forest where has been a successive growth of trees for thousands of years, except the leaves which annually fall and mix with it? In this way nature is constantly enriching the soil. The soil becomes impoverished only by cultivation and removing from it the plants which it had produced. And, it is known that nursery men prefer the mold from the forest, which is mainly the product of leaves, to any other soil. A farmer in the neighborhood of a forest never need fear a deficiency of manure, if he will apply himself to the collection of leaves. What is the best vzode of collecting and using leaves? They should be collected in the morning when a heavy 115 VEGETABLE MANURES. dew is on them, or immediately after a fall of rain; other. wise it will be difficult to confine them in a cart. For the purpose of gathering them up, a common rake may be used. An iron one is better. They make excellent litter for hogs; and in one week's time a single hog will so trample and tear them to pieces and mix them with his own excrements, that it would not be easy to tell of what the mass had been composed; so that in a week or ten days a new supply will be required. The process is hastened by throwing in daily upon them a few- handfuls of shelled corn. In this way a hog will make perhaps manure enough to pay for his feed. Leaves are also good for the litter of horses and cattle, absorbing the urine and mixing with the dung they soon ferment and decay. Or they may be at once mixed with the compost heap. What is said of muck? Muck, which is the black earthy substance obtained from swamps, and other low lands, is of incalculable richness for a fertilizing agent. It being composed of decayed leaves, roots, and branches of trees, and the saline substances washed upon it and mixed with it from the surrounding uplands, it is one of the best substances for manure a farmer can have. It is like a mine of gold or silver from which he may at pleasure extract the most unfailing elements of wealth. With such a mine within his reach and at his control, he need not be poor, His prosperity is in his own hands. IWhat is said of the mud of rivers and fords for com post manure? It has much the same to recommend it that muck has; and in addition to what has been collecting for ages from a drain of the adjacent uplands, there are in it the organic remains of fish, shells, reptiles, and water fowls. A moment of reflection must satisfy any one that here may be found, especially at the bottom of ponds having no deep outlet for the escape of what is thus deposited, substances of the richest material for improving the soil. It is generally easy in dry seasons, so to drain mill-ponds especially, as to make these substances available. What is said -of sods or turf for manure? It is clear that here may be found a large amount of the roots of grasses and other decayed vegetable substances; here, too, have been deposited animal excrements; so that the entire sod is capable of being converted, in a well pre 116 AGRICULTURE AND THE HOMESTEAD. pared compost heap, illto a manure of great energy. Oftentimes by the road side, or other waste places, particularly by fences which cannot be cultivated, large quantities of turf may be obtained. Instances might be named, where hlundreds of loads are annually collected, and then mixed with lime, making in the following season one of the best fertilizers. WThat is the desitn of compost man)zzues? Composts are an artificial mixture of'vegetable or animal matters, with earthy or mineral substances, and may be profitably resorted to in two contingencies-first, to arrest and detain, for useful purposes, fertilizing matters which might otherwise be wasted and lost, as the urine of animals, or the gaseous matters which are evolved from animal or vegetable substances while undergoing fermentation; and, secondly to render soluble, or available as the food of plants, matters which are not already so, as muck, woody fibre, and the like. AGRICULTURE AND TIlE HOMESTEAD. Let us say a word on the importance of the pursuits of the husbandman. What rank does agriculture hold, in the scale of usefulness among the pursuits of civilized communities? We shall arrive at a practical answer of the question by considering, that it is agriculture which spreads the great and bountiful table, at which the mighty family of civilized man receives his daily bread. Something is yielded by the chase, and much more by the fisheries; but the produce of the soil constitutes the great mass of the food of a civilized community, either directly in its native state, or through the medium of the animals fed by it, which become, in their turn, the food of man. In like manner, agriculture furnishes the material for our clothing. Wool, cotton, flax, silk, leather, are the materials, of which nearly all our clothing is composed; and these are furnished by agriculture. In producing the various articles of clothing, the manufacturing arts are largely concerned, and commerce, in the exchange of raw materials and fabrics. These, therefore, to a considerable degree, rest on agriculture, as their ultimate foundation; especially as it feeds all the other branches of industry. Agriculture seems to be the first pursuit of civilized man. It enables him to escape from the life of the savage, and the wandering shepherd, into that of social man, gathered into 117 118 AGRICULTURE AND THE HIOMESTEAD. fixed communities and surrounding himself with the comforts and blessings of neighborhood, country, and home. The savage lives by the chase,-a precarious and wretched indepenldeuce. The Arab and the Tartar roam, with their flocks and herds, over a vast region, destitute of all those refinemeints which require for their growth the features of a permaneut residence, and a community organized into the various professions, arts, and trades. They are found now, after a lapse of four thousand years, precisely in the same condition in which they existed in the days of Abraham. It is agriculture alone, that fixes men in stationary dwellings, in villages, towns, and cities, and enables the work of civilization, in all its branches to go on. Agriculture was held in honorable estimation, by the most enlightened nations of antiquity. In the infancy of commerce and manufactures, its relative rank among the occupations of melt was necessarily higher than now. The patriarchs of the ancient Scripture times cultivated the soil. Abraham was very rich in cattle. in gold, and in silver. Job farmed on a very large scale: he had seven thousand sheep, three thousand camels, five hundred yoke of oxen, and five hundred she-asses. In Greece, the various improvements in husbandry, the introduction of the nutritive grains, and the invention of convenient instruments for tilling the soil, were regarded as the immediate bounties of the gods. At a later period, land was almost the only article of property; and those who cultivated it, if they were freemen, were deemed a more respectable class than manufacturers or mechanics, who were mostly slaves. Among the Romans, agriculture was still more respected than among the Greeks. In the best and purest times of the republic, the most distinguished citizens the proudest patricians, lived on their farms, and labored with their own hands. Cato the censor was both a practical and a scientific farmer, and wrote a treatise on the art; and, who has not heard of Cincinnlatus? When the Sabines had advanced with a superior armriy to the walls of the city, at the earnest request of the people he left his plough, and was made dictator. And, after having raised an army and defeated the enemy, in sixteen days, laid down the dictatorship which he was authorised to jlo]ld for six months, and on the seventeenth day got back to his farm. AGRICULTURE AND THE HOMESTEAD. On the destruction of the Roman empire, the feudal sys tem arose in Europe, a singularly complicated plan of mrnili tary despotism. In this system, the possession of the land was made the basis of military defence of the country. The king was the ultimate proprietor; and apportioned the terri tory among the great lords, his retainers. Those who culti vated the soil were slaves, the property of their lord, and were bought and sold with the cattle which they tended. Sir Walter Scott, in describing, with his graphic pen, one of this class of the former population of England, after depict ing the other peculiarities of his costume, says, there was about his neck a brass ring, resembling a dog's collar, but without any opening, having been soldered fast; so loose as to form no impediment to his breathing; yet so tight as to be incapable of being removed, except by the use of the file. On the collar was engraved the name of the wearer, and a record denoting, that he was a born thrall, or slave. The first and lowest in the scale of those, by whom the soil is now cultivated in Europe, are the seifs of Russia. In the different provinces of this vast empire, about thirty millions of souls, nearly the entire population employed in husbandry, are found almost exactly in the state which has already been described, under the feudal system. Some ameliorations have been introduced in some provinces, and not in others; and in the south-western portions of the empire, as Courland and Livonia, principally settled by Germans, the system of actual slavery has been abolished by law. But with these local exceptions, the Russian peasantry continue the property of the land owner, and may be sold by him with or without the land, as he pleases. He has power to give or sell them their freedom, and power to keep them in slavery; the power to chastise them, and to imprison them; and in all respects to dispose of them, with the exception of taking life, or preventing their being enlisted in the army. But when a draft is ordered by the government, the landlord directs who shall march. The wealth of the great landholder is estimated by the number of his peasants; and individuals in the Russian empire are named, who possess a hundred thousand and even a hundred and twenty thousand slaves. Each individual peasant, of either sex, is bound from the age of fifteen to pay the avw'ock, or capitation tax, of about four dollars per 119 .120 AGRICULTURE AND TIlE HOMESTEAD. annum. This is taken in lieu of performing three day's, labor, in each week, to which the landlord is entitled by law. In addition to this, the serf has to account to his lord for a certain part of all his produce; and besides all, he is subject to the government taxes. If the peasant chooses to make an offer to rise above his condition, he must apply to his lord for permission to leave the spot where he was born, and pursue some other trade. If this occupation be a more lucrative one, his annual tax is proportionably increased. Such is the condition of the entire civilized portion of the Russian empire; and it is needless to state, that it places this portion far below the wild Tartars, who own a nominal subjection to the Russian sceptre, and pay a trifling tribute for the privilege of roaming their remote steppes, unmolested and free. On the continent of Europe, when the servitude of the feudal system was broken up, the peasants became tenants by the halves; and such are a considerable portion of the cultivators of the soil, at the present day. It was calculated that in France, before the revolution, seven eighths of the agricultural population were of this class. The revolution has greatly increased the number of small proprietors, in consequence of the sale of the estates of emigrants, and of the public domain; but one half of the cultivators of the soil, it is supposed, are still tenants at the halves. Such a tenancy is not wholly unheard of in this country. The estates in Lombardy, and in some parts of Italy, are cultivated in this way. The terms of the contract between the landlord and the tenant are not uniform; in some cases a third, and in others a half of the produce belongs to the landlord. In some cases, the tenant has a property in the lease, which descends to his children; in others, he is a tenant at will; in others, the leases are periodically renewed at short intervals. But, however the details may vary, the system resolves itself, in the main, into a general system of tenancy at the halves. It is considered highly unfavorable to the improvement of agriculture. There is a constant struggle, OIL the side of each party. to get as much as possible out of the land, with the least possible outlay. The tenant has no interest in using the stock with care and prudence, as this is to be re plenished by the landlord. In France, the effect of this AGRICULTURE AND THE HOMESTEAD. system is acknowledged by the best writers in that country to be pernicious. A better account of it is given in Lombardy. There the tenant has the whole of the clover, and divides only the wheat, Indian corn, flax, wine, and silk. The landlord advances nothing but the taxes. It has been a question much debated in England, whether a system of this kind, by which the land is princi. pally held in large farms belonging to the aristocracy of the country, and cultivated by the tenants on lease, is more favorable to the improvement of agriculture than the multiplication of small farms. It has been urged that the great and expensive improvements in farming, cannot take place without great capital, which can only be furnished by large proprietors. It is these alone, who reclaim wastes-convert sandy plains into fertile fields-drain extensive fens-or shut out the sea from large tracts of meadow. All this is true; but where great improvements are made by the application of large amounts of capital; the return is not to the tenant, but to the capitalist. A judicious operation upon a poor soil may turn it into a good one-the soil may produce twice as much as it did before; but the rent, in that case will be doubled. The landlord has doubled his capital; but it will depend on other circumstances, whether any beneficial change is produced in. the condition of the tenant. The neighborhood, it is true, will be improved by thie new creation of property-the population will increase-and, indirectly, every individual will be improved, by living in a larger community; but, directly, I cannot perceive that the tenant is benefited; inasmuch as it is plain, that precisely as the land is rendered more pro ductive, the rent increases. As the landed interest in England is the main interest of the country, and the accumulation of large estates in land is the most important element in their system, everything is made to favor this mode of cultivating the land, and the small proprietor labors under great disadvantages. Wlher ever he moves, he has a wealthy rival to contend with, able to overbid and undersell him; and as things now are in England, it is very possible that the condition of the tenant in that country is more desirable than the small farmer. But this, I conceive, proves nothing in the argument, whether the condition of the tenant or the proprietor of a 121 I I'll, 122 AGRICULTURE AND THE HOMESTEAD. small farm is to be preferred. It is, in fact, justly made a leading objection to the English system of tenancy, by a learned French writer, that it tends to the extermination of the small proprietors, and to reduce the cottagers, peasants, and all those by whom, under whatever name, the labor of cultivation is performed, to a state of abject and servile dependence. In a country like our own, where every man's capacity, industry, and good fortune, are left free, to work their way without prejudice, as far as possible; there will be among the agricultural, as well as among the commercial population, fortunes of all sizes; from that of the man who owns his thousand acres-his droves of cattle-his flocks of sheep -his range of pastures-his broad fields of mowing and tillage-down to the poor cottager who can scarce keep his cow over the winter. There will always be, in a population like ours, opportunities enough for those who cannot own a farm, to hire one; and for those who cannot hire one, to labor in the employment of their neighbors, who need their services; and when we maintain that it is for the welfare of the society, that the land should be cultivated by an independent yeomanry, who own the soil they till, we mean only that this should be the general state and condition of things, and not that there should be no such thing as a wealthy proprietor, whose lands, in the whole or in part, are cultivated by a tenant; no such thing as a prudent husbandman taking a farm on a lease; or an industrious young man, without any capital but his hands, laboring in the employ of his neighbor. There is no way in which a calm, orderly and intelligent exercise and control of political power can be assured to the people, but by a distribution among them, as equally as possible, of the property of the country; and I know no manner, in which distribution can be effected, legally, permanently, and peacefully, but by keeping the land in small farms, suitable to be cultivated by their owners. Under such a system, and under no other, the people will exercise their rights with independence. The assumption of a right to dictate, will be frowned at, if attempted; and even the small portion of the people who may be tenants, will possess the spirit and freedom of the proprietors. But when the great mass of the land is parcelled out into a few immense AGRICULTURE AND THE IHOMESTEAD. tracts, cultivated by a dependent tenantry, the unavoidable consequence is a sort of revival of the feudal ages, when the great barons took the field against each other at the head of their vassals. But, I own, it is not even on political grounds, that I think our system of independent rural freeholders is most strongly entitled to the preference. Its moral aspect; its connexion with the character and feelings of the yeomanry give it, after all, its greatest value. The man who stands upon his own soil; who fbels that the laws of the land in which he lives-by the law of civilized nations-he is the rightful and exclusive owner of the land which he tills, is, by the constitution of our nature, under a wholesome influence, not easily imbibed from any other source. He feels-other things being equal-more strongly than another, the character of man as the lord of the inanimate world. Of this great and wonderful sphere, which, fashioned by the hand of God, and upheld by his power, is rolling through the heavens, a portion is his:-his, from the centre to the sky. It is the space, on which the generation before him moved in its round of duties; and he feels himself connected by a visible link, with those who preceded him, as he is, also, to those who will follow him, and to whom he is to transmit a home Perhaps the farm of this man has come down to him from his fathers. They have gone to their last home; but he can trace their footsteps over the daily scene of his labors. The roof which shelters himn, was reared by those to whom he owes his being. Soine interesting domestic tradition is connected with every enclosure. The favorite fruit tree was planted by his father's hand. He sported, in his boyhood, by the side of the brook, which still winds through his meadow. Through the field, lies the path to the village school of his earliest days. He still hears from his window, the voice of the Sabbath bell, which called his father and his forefathers to the house of God; and near at hand is the spot where he laid his parents down to rest, and where he trusts, when his hour is come, he shall be dutifully laid by his children. These are the feelings of the owner of the soil. Words cannot paint them; gold cannot buy them; they flow out of the deepest feelings of the heart; tjhey are the life spring ot a fresh, healthy, generous national character. 123 i14 AGRICULTUIRE AND THE HOMESTEAD. The history and experience of the world illustrate this power. Who ever heard of an enlightened race of serfs, slaves, or vassals? How can we wonder at the forms of government which prevail in Europe, with such a system of monopoly in the land, as there exists? Nothing but this explains our own history; clears up the mystery of the Revolution; and makes us fully comprehend the secret of our own strength. Austria or France must fall, whenever Vienna or Paris is seized by a powerful army. But what was the loss of Boston or New York, in the Revolutionary war, to the people of New England? The moment the enemy set foot in the country, he was like the hunter going to the thicket, to rob the tigress of her young. The officers and soldiers of the Revolution were farmers and sons of farmers, who owned the soil for which they fought; and many of them, like the veteran Putnam, literally left their ploughs in the furrow, to hasten to the field. The attempt to conquer such a population, is as chimerical, as it would be to march an army down to the sea-shore, in the bay of Fundy, when the tide is rolling in seventy feet high, in order to beat back the waves with their bucklers. There are other countries that surpass us in wealth and power; in military strength; in magnificence, and the display of the expensive arts; but none, which can justly lay claim to that glorious character-a free and happy commonwealth; none in which the image of a state, sketched by tho fancy of the philosophic poet, is so beautifully realized "What constitutes a state? Not high-raised battlement, and labored mound, Thick wall on moated gate; Not cities proud, with spires and turrets crowned; Not bays and broad-armed ports, Where, laughing at the storm, proud navies ride; Not starred and spangled courts, Where low-browed baseness wafts perfumes to pride No! men! high-minded men, Men who their duties know, But know their rights; and knowing, dare maintain Prevent the long-aimed blow, And crush the tyrant while they rend the chain; These constitute a state, AGRICULTURE IN MARYLAND. And sovereign law, that state's collected will, O'er thrones and globes elate, Sits emrnpress, crowning good, repressing ill." Address, I/Iassachtsetts Agricultural Society, 1833, by Hon. EDWARD EVERETT, LL. D. AGRICULTURE IN MARYLAND. It has been very much the fashion of late, with a certain class of writers, whose views are readily adopted by the unthinking multitude, to decry the state of agriculture among us. Maryland and Virginia are usually selected, by way of illustration. A few half-observed facts are hastily collected, dignified with the name of statistics, and in defiance of the true principles of the Baconian philosophy, made the foundation of a comprehensive theory. A stranger, who has never visited our cheerful firesides, seen our well-tilled fields, or enjoyed the elegant hospitality of our refined and enlightened people, has no conception of our true condition. He has been taught to believe that poverty grass, broom straw and old field pines, constitute our chief productions. And because our population has not kept pace with that of the manufacturing States of the East, or the new and teeming West, we are supposed to have reached a premature decay, exhibiting a melancholy picture of homes abandoned, flocks dispersed, and lands desolate and uncultivated. Moral and political philosophers, eager to build a system, taking this to be our true condition, immediately set about to account for it. Some, with ready zeal in the cause of a sentimental philanthropy, find this blighting curse in our peculiar institutions, and the species of labor with which our fields are cultivated; others, who deem our labor the best and most productive in the world, trace, with certainty, our supposed decline to the grinding influence of Northern monopoly, and would find for it an effectual remedy in unlimited free trade; whilst a third class, at the head of which stands the Nestor of the agricultural press, attributes it, with equal confidence, to the dispersion of our population, and the separation of "the plough, the loom, and the anvil," and thinks we can be re lieved from our condition of degrading inferiority, only by an "efficient tariff of protection." 125 AGRICULTURE IN MARYLAND. It is true, our population has not rapidly increased. But can this be a subject of astonishment to any well-informed and reflecting mind? Should it not rather be a matter of wonder, that notwithstanding the adverse circumstances we have had to encounter, both our wealth and population have been steadily progressive? Ours are almost exclusively an agricultural people, of Anglo-Saxon descent, inheriting that strong desire for the possession of land, which distinguished our ancestors. The policy of the federal government, by throwing open for settlement, almost without money and with out price, our boundless public domain, has encouraged and gratified this desire. And those among us, without land or the means of purchasing it, have very naturally sought independence by settling on the public lands in the West; whilst many of our large farmers have been allured from their old homes and associations by promises, too often fallacious, of greater profits to be derived from the cultivation of the rich staples of the South. Nor is this all: "Westward the star of empire takes its way," and our young men of talent and education. deeming the field at home too narrow for their efforts, and burning with the strongl desire for political distinction, (which, unfortunately, is far too common in the South,) have rushed in countless numbers to the West. Many of them, after a brief and fitful struggle for distinction, fall under the pestilence, or that more terrible moral scourge, which annually slays its thousands; some, more fortunate, attain to eminence in their new homes; whilst others, after years of absence, return to the councils of the nation crowned with honor, and throw into the laps of their old mothers a garland of fame, which, although it may gratify a generous pride, repays none of the treasure expended in fitting them for success in the contests of life. The industry of a people who have not only sustained, without ruin, all these drains upon their resources, but, notwithstanding them, have steadily advanced in wealth and general improvement, cannot beganproductive. If other evidence of this fact be required, survey for a moment the crowded streets of this great city;* cast your eyes on the noble structures, public and private, that adorn it. Almost * Baltimore. 126 I A SOLILOQUY OF THE CLOUDS. within the memory of lnan it was a poor collection of wretched huts of fishermen; now, it is a great emporium, rivalling in enterprise the larger cities of the North, and pushing its commerce into every portion of the globe. What created, what sustains this noble city? It may be answered, its commerce, its manufactures, its arts. But what sustains them? Who are the customers of your merchants, manufacturers and artizans? If on any fine autumnal morning you will look from your heights on that beautiful expanse of water, as far as the eye can reach, you will see it studded with the white canvas of the moving messengers of trade, which, pressing onward, as they near their port, crowd upon each other, like trained coursers panting for their goal They come freighted with the products of agriculture, from the James, the York, the Rappahannock, the Potomac, and from the numerous rivers and tributaries of your own State, which with ours serve to swell the flood of this beautiful inland sea,' and to pour into your port the materials of a rich and profitable commerce.-HON. WILLOUGHBY NEWTON, of Virginia. A SOLILOQUY OF THE CLOUDS. I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers, From the seas and the streams; I bear light shade for the leaves when laid In their noon-day dreams. From my wings are shaken the dews that waker The sweet buds every one, When rocked to rest on their mother's breast, As she dances about the sun. I wield the flail of the lashing hail, And whiten the green plains under, And then again I dissolve it in rain, And laugh as I pass in thunder. I sift the snow on the mountains below, And their great pines groan aghast; And all the night'tis my pillow white, While I sleep in the arms of the blast; Sublime on the towers of my skyey bowers, Lightning my pilot sits, 127 In a cavern under is fettered the thunder, It struggles and howls at fits; Over earth and ocean with gentle motion, This pilot is guiding me, Lured by the love of the genii that move In the depths of the purple sea; Over the rills, and the crags, and the hills, Over the lakes and the plains, ' herever he dream, under mountain or stream, The spirit he loves remains; And I shall the while bask in heaven's blue smile, Whilst he is dissolving in rains. The sanguine sunrise, with his meteor-eyes, And his burning plumes outspread, Leaps on the back of my sailing rack, When the morning star shines dead. As on the jag of a mountain crag, Which an earthquake rocks and swings, An eagle alit one moment may sit In the light of its golden wings. And when sunset may breathe, from the lit sea beneath, Its ardors of rest and of love, And the crimson pall of eve may fall From the depth of heaven above, With wings folded I rest, on mine airy nest, As still as a brooding dove. That orbed maiden, with white fire laden, Whom mortals call the moon, Glides glimmering o'er my fleece-like floor, By the midnight breezes strewn; And wherever the beat of her unseen feet, Which only the angels hear, May have broken the woof of my tent's thin roof, The stars peep behind her and peer; And I laugh to see them whirl and flee, Like a swarm of golden bees, When I widen the rent in my wind-built tent, Till the calm rivers, lakes, and seas, Like strips of the sky fallen through me on high, Are each paved with the moon and these. A SOLILOO.UY OF THE CLOUDS. 128 THE VINE AND THE OAIL I bind the sun's throne with the burning zone, And the moon's with a girdle of pearl; The volcanioes are dim, and the stars reel and swim, When the whirlwinds my banner unfurl. From cape to cape, with a bridge.like shape, Over a torrent sea, Sunbeam proof, I hang like a roof, The mountains its columns be. The triumphal arch, through which I march, With hurricane, fire, and snow, When the powers of the air are chained to my chair, Is the million-colored bow; The sphere-tire above its soft colors wove, Whilst the moist earth was laughing below. I am the daughter of the earth and water, And the nursling of the sky: I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores, I change, but I cannot die. For after the rain when, with never a stain, The pavilion of heaven is bare, And the winds and sunbeams with their convex gleams, Build up the blue dome of air, I silently laugh at my own cenotaph, And out of the caverns of rain, Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from the tomb, I arise and'upbuild it again. SHELLEYN THE VINE AND THE OAK. A vine that hung to an oak in its pride And drank the nourishment drawn from its side, Grew strong and broad in its coiling height, But stronger still in its giddy sight, Broke from the oak in a* ill-starr'd hour, And toss'd its head to display its power; The storm-king gnashed his teeth at the sight, And swept it off in retributive might; For the thing that reaches too high and too wide, Shall draw the lightning's stroke to its side. 129 THE VINE AND THE OAK. It clung round each tree as it swept along, But it passed unheeded by all the throng; None cared to look at a false one so vile With bow, or nod, or with welcoming smile, And the vine was thrown in its early prime Amid nettles and weeds in filth and slime. But the oak stood still in its lonely glade With its furrowed sides that the vine had made, Like the bird that had given its own life's blood To cherish and feed its featherless brood, The deep winding grooves, like the serpent's track, Were pierced by the storm and the sap shrunk back (The mark of guile that it touched in its rise, Was the track of a fiend in Paradise;) And soon with a solemn and rustling sound The leaves fell withered and dead to the ground: The sun shone forth and the moistening rain Was shed upon hill, and dale and plain; The trees put forth their foliage green, Nature was dressed in her vernal sheen, But the oak stood shorn of its dark green dress, The victim cost of a faithless embrace! A beacon to warn a confiding one To trust in nought but a cold heart of stone. Thus upon earth when the heart's fondest tie Is severed by faithlessness, both must die; The union of hearts is the soul's deep well Where TRUTH in her purity loves to dwell, As clear and bright in the heart's faithful love As the crystal fountain that's floating above. When the well is broken the deep clear flood Runs bubbling and purpled with streams of blood, And TRUTH in agony shrinking flies To her sisters bright, the stars in the skies, (The glittering sentinels, night and day That watched in the well where their sisters lay.) The pledges of love we may never reclaim Without perjury, treachery, sin and shame; The bolt that strikes such true friendship apart 130 The above is a correct representation of an implement manufactured by EMrFy & Co., in hills or drills at any given distance; and also, for sowin turnips, carrots beets say~~~.v Th lar, n alofosoig tunps, cart bet 7ay. The largest of these implemients,with two horses and a man,will plant twenty acres Drse, about half as much. The latter are preferable for common farmers, because they le operator takes the handles as with a wheelbarrow, and walks erect. The Machine Tsurlng its own quantity of seed, deposits it in hills or drills at pleasure, covering the it after it is covered, by means of a roller, and doing the whole at one and the same w it can be more complete, unless one can impart to it the locomotive power of the at every firmer planting no more than six or eighlt acres, will save labor enough in a vever, should be free from stonies, and well prepared with the plough atiA harrow. ANIMAL MANURES. Comes back to the breast that directed the dart; The strong one may pull down the temple's proud walls, But its ruins shall cover them both when it falls. JUDGE LEWIS, Pennsylvania. ANIMAL MANURES. What is said generally of animal manures? Animal substances are better fertilizers than those of vegetable origin, on account of their chemical constitution and the facility with which they decompose; thus acting more promptly and rapidly; and they also furnish more ma nure in proportion to their bulk. What are the most comorno animal substances usedfor manures? The liquid and solid excrements of domestic animals; night soil, or human excrements usually manufactured into why is called poudrette; guano, or the excrements of sea fowls; the bones of all animals; all kinds of fish; and, also the flesh, blood, wool, hair, horns, and hoofs of animals. What is said of the excrements of horned cattle? They are generally esteemed more valuable than those of sheep and horses; fermenting more slowly on account of the smaller quantity of their nitrogen; but, on this account they retain their fertilizing energy longer, and produce more lasting effects on the soil. They also contain much less heat than the dung of the horse, which is in part owing to the greater amount of water in them. What is said of the excrements of the horse? They have more nitrogen than those of horned cattle, and consequently are liable to a rapid fermentation; and in a few weeks will lose half of their original weight. On this account they should as speedily as possible be mixed with charcoal, muck, or earth rich with vegetable matters. For the same reason, horse dung may to advantage be at once ploughed into the soil before fermentation occurs; and from its tendency to fermnent and develope heat, it is admirably adapted to enter into all composts. To what is the animnal body compared? To a furnace in which vegetable substances are burned, where every thing assumes a gaseous form, and escapes into 131 the atmosphere, with the exception of the inorganic or mineral constituents of the plants; these remain in the furnace in the form of ashes, whilst from the animal body they are evacuated in the feces and urine. The ashes of the furnace, and the fceces and urine of animals, consist of exactly the same ingredients. What is said of human excrements,.as a manure? They are very active, and differ essentially in composition from those of all domesticated animals. Their own quality probably varies according to the food from which they are produced. The excrements voided by human beings who live chiefly on animal food, are much more active and effi eient as manure, than those which proceed from persons whose food is principally composed of vegetables. What is said of the excrements of sheep? They are particularly beneficial to soils containing much vegetable matter. The dung placed in the soil, before de composition has taken place, or is voided over it, produces a speedy and energetic effect, but is soon exhausted. When used abundantly it often gives too much vigor to the first crop, and accelerates vegetation in too great a degree. It should, therefore, be used in smaller quantities, both as re gards weight and volume, than any of the other kinds of ma nure. In most cases its action does not extend beyond the second crop. What is said of the excrements of swine? Although there may be some difference of opinion on the subject, it is generally conceded that they form a rich manure. Having, however, a strong and unpleasant odor, and often imparting a rank taste to crops upon which they are used, it is advisable that other manure be used in the culture of roots designed for family food. The excrements of swine are colder and less inclined to ferment than those even of the cow, and should therefore be, combined with other manures, or made into composts. If hogs are kept supplied with vegetable substances with which to mix what falls from them, an amount of manure is formed far greater than would have been imagined-perhaps equal in value to their ibed-at least, till the period of being fattened. What circumstances operate to effect the value of dung from farm animals? It is effected first, by the season of the year; second, by 132 ANIMAL MANURE S. ANIMAL MANURES. the age of the animal; third, by the sex; fourth, by the mode of employmelt; and fifth, by the kind of food. Accordingly the dungi voided in- warm weather is better than that in winter; that from youtng animals is not as good as that firom older ones; that from males is better than that from females; that from animals at work less valuable than that firm those not laboring; and, that from those fed on grains and seeds better than those fed on straw or hay. TVhat is said of poud'ette? It is a preparation of night soil or human excrements, by being mixed with powdered charcoal, half burnt peat, or soil which is rich in vegetable matter. OQuicklime has sometimes been used for the same purpose; but, although it destroys the odor, it dissipates at the same time a large portion of its ammonia. During the decomposition of night soil, an evolution of carbonic acid, ammonia, sulphuretted and phosphuretted hydrogen takes place. After the escape of these gases, the odor ceases, and the remainder, when dried, constitutes what is sold under the name of poudrette. The odor of recent night soil may be destroyed, and the volatile elements retained, by adding to it gypsum or diluted sulphuric acid. What is said of the importance for manure of the human liquid excremnent? It has been calculated that the urine of one man will produce in a single year a sufficient supply of nitrogen for the formation of 800 pounds of wheat, or 900 pounds of barley; and, that if all this human excrement were applied to the purposes of agriculture, there would be no necessity for other animal manures. Of what value is the liquid excremnent of a cow? This is said to be of even more value than that of the human species. because it contains more solid soluble matter, Deing not less than 900 pounds in a year, and worth at least ten dollars, when guano is sold for twenty dollars per ton, being sufficient to manure one acre And a quarter of land. The value of the urine of a cow is nearly double that of the dung. tVhat does Squarry say of human excrements? That the liquid and solid excrement of man used together, forms, from its combinalion of ammonial salts with the phosphates of magnesia and soda, the most valuable compound that can be devised, and its extensive use, will confer a double 7 133 ANIMAL MANURES. bnefit to the farmer and to the public, as well by the reimoval of matter which is now considered as a nuisance, as l increa,sing the produce of the soil. Mtacaire says that 100 parts of huIni urine are equal -in their tertiliziig power, to l: o ) parts of fiesh dung of the horse, or 600 of those of the cow IVIei-e ge? cr(l y mJec jrbrers ncga'ecr oj' [eter ids, [ e.' c,'? In not having their stables, and cattle'stalls, and barn\'\4ds so constructed as to save the liquid as well as the solid excrements of their stock. If they did this in connection with othner available means for increasing the amount of fertilizing agents, rarely would they be under the necessity of purchasilug manure. In this way they would soon double the amount of their products. T,hat is said of thle excrements of birds? They are so valuable as fertilizers as to deserve the attentionI of every agricultuirist. The droppings in the poultry yard should never be permitted to be lost. They are worth far more than the labor of saviing them. And the exerer imeats of pigeons are particularly valuable. In some parts of Europe they are used to advantage for flax crops. The dung of birds owes its fertilizing power to the large amount of ammonia and phosphates which it contains. To be rendered in the highest degree efficacious, it should be mixed with other substances before undergoing fermentation. What account is given of guano? Guano consists principally of the dung of sea birds, and is found on islands of the Pacific and Atlantic oceans, in tropical latitudes. There are also mixed with it the remains of food and the carcasses of these birds, and seals; those islands having been their places of resort for rearing their young through unknown ages. Here there is but little rain, and of course there has been but little loss to the substances thus deposited; and, in some places it is found to the depth of fifty or sixty feet. The food of those animals being fish, their fceces are rich in nitrogen, and consequently of the first grade of fertilizing efficacy. For what properties are bones valuable? Both for the organiic and mineral matters they contain. The bones of different animals may differ in' their composition; but the phosphate of lime constitutes the greatest proportion of the matter of dry bones; the amount being from i134 I ANITMAL MANURE S. forty to sixty per cenit. of their weight. Eight pounds of bone dust are equal ill nhosphates to 1000 pounds of hay or wheat strw. Aid t ail e c of oes is additio.ally valuable on accoui,t o: the g-l'tie and other organic rmatters inll their cormpositior. -]Uoi ac (ac ao, 2) ct: e Jfor [ o se as maitzure? They rsiy be g.ountid or otherwise reduced to powder, or small lt"ments, anid then1 mixeu d with the soil. They are generally boiled before belg. ground, to extract from them thei_r oily substances. This, it has been, said, does not diminilish their fertilizing power beyond the weight of what was removed. In the neighborhood of large cities, where bones may be collected in large quantities, there are mills for grinding them.'Where nmills do not exist, bonoes might be crushed, and the fragments put in compost manure heaps. TAi/at is said o'f i,si t as at sztre? They become a powerful fertilizer. OQa the sea coast, and in some instances at the mouth of large rivers, where found in abundance, they are used for this purpose. The most common way is to spread the fish on the surface, and in a few days to plough them under. But the better mode is to cover them with quicklime, and subsequently to mix them with earth. In a short period they are decomposed. Or they may be strewed in layers, on compost beds, with peat, ashes, slacked lime, charcoal,'and vegetable matters. Any kind of fish that can be had, and is of but little or no value for food, is taken fbir manure. What other animal substances are good for manure? The blood, aild flesh that has become unfit for food; animals that Irave died from disease; the horns and hoofs; hair and wool; woolen rags, feathers, and old hats; old shoes and boots, anid the 4ramnelts of leather from the shops of those who work it, are all good for manure, and should be carefully preserved and mixYed in comnost+ heaps. Also the refuse of the shambles, filth and all, should be used in the same way. The same may also be said of the animal offal of tan-yards. English agricelilturists consider that five or six hundred pounds of the shaviings of' horn founid about the shops of turners and comb-makel-s, a-d of the hoofs when chopped fine, are sufificient for an acre of land; yet more would doubtless be better. VWhat is said f the action Am~on the soil of diefrent kinds of at-imal s?b..s:tces? 135 ANIMAL MANURE S. Animal substances containing much water, as with flesh and blood, decay rapidly, and operate immediately and powerfuillv; but those which are di'y, as horn, wool, and hair, decompose and act slowly, and last perhaps several seasons; while bone, like horn, may act for several years, as they are very productive of earthy matter. ltoz nay the value of some animal substances, very frequently lost by neglect, be estinmated? It is said that the dead body of a cow, ox, or horse, that has died from disease, if properly buried in a bed of peat, or other similar vegetable substance, will yield at least a dozen loads of rich manure. And butchers' offal, when thus preserved and used, will yield ten times its weight of more valuable manure than is found in the barn-yard. TJhat estimate has been placed on human excrements? If every human being voids annually enough urine to manure an acre of ground, then a family of ten persons, if so minded, could save enough to enrich ten acres; and. the inhabitants of the city of New York, provided there were 500,000, if means were provided to collect and convert their liquid evacuations into manure, would fertilize 600,000 acres of land; which if well cultivated would yield vegetable food double the amount for their own consumption; and enough also to rear and fat the farm animals required for their nourishment. The same estimate may be made of the inhabitants of all other localities. How fight the liquid excremnents be best preserved? In the country there should be for each barn, stable, and barn-yard, a large cistern or tank for the purpose, of dimensions to contain all that could be collected. To this there should be gutters from the stalls to convey whatever is voided from the horned cattle and horses. Into this cistern or tank might also be carried in slop pails whatever is taken from the chambers of the mansion. Here also, could be deposited the soap-suds formed in the various operations of the kitchen. The value of what would thus be saved in a single year would balance the cost of the fixtures. I-ni what other ica?y miJgt they be preserved? In the barn-yard and the cattle stables there might be successive coats of vegetable mold placed to receive them; and when sufficiently saturated, to be removed to a compost heap, that a now coat may succeed it. And in a retired 136 I LIGHTS AND SHADOWS OF AGRICULTURE. place at a convenient distance from the mansion, might be a heap of this mould, on which daily the chamber slops might be emptied; and, as frequent as needful, to receive on its upper surface, a fresh coat of this mold, so that by the end of the year it would contain many cords of the very best of manure. How might the human liquid excrements of the city be saved? If there were to each house two thirty gallon oil casks placed in the yard, to be alternately used for receiving them, the process would be simple. Let it be supposed that one cask would be filled in the first half of the month. At the middle of the month the teams from the neighboring farms would simultaneously appear, and in a single night would remove these casks from a whole city. From the middle of the month to the end of it, the alternate casks would be filled; when the same teams would return with the casks they before took, to be again filled, and at the same time taking away as before, the ones filled in the two preceding weeks. How much profit would this probably yield to each family? According to the above scheme, each family will have filled in the year twenty-four casks, which at five New-York shillings each, will be a saving of fifteen dollars to a family annually, and more than a million of dollars to the city of 500,000 inhabitants. At that low price, it is believed, there would be the greatest competition for the privilege of obtaining it, as it would be the cheapest manure to be had. What other gain would be derived from such a plan? In a few years, if it were fully carried into effect, the lands in the neighborhoods of large cities would become so fertile, there would at least double this sum be saved, in the reduction of the price of summer vegetables and milk, from being produced in so much greater quantities. LIGHTS AND SHADOWS OF AGRICULTURE. We live and move in a world of wonders. Every blade of grass, every leaf that flutters in the breeze, and every germ i an organized and living body. Every plant and vegetable 137 138 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS OF AGRICULTURE. is as capable as the human system of imbibing and digesting its appropriate food, and although it becomes me to speak with modesty on a subject in which I myself am but'x learner, yet allow me to say that the application of science to agriculture has already settled many of the laws that regulate the growth of trees and plants, with a certainty approximating that which attends the calculations of the astronomer. For instance, by an analysis of wheat, we ascertain the ingredients and the food it requires for growth and produetiveness. We know that it needs phosphate of lime, and that it' is useless to attempt its cultivation where the soil is wholly deficient in this element. Hence we are as competent to feed a crop of wheat, as a flock of sheep, or a brood of chickens; but without this knowledge, which science alone can furnish, we might apply a kind of manure which would be injurious, and perhaps destructive. But, suppose, however, such food be not administered, that the ground is prepared, and the grain sown; it may flourish for a season, because it may find its proper nutriment in the soil, but let it be sown year after year, and it will prove less and less productive, and ultimately fail. It has been the practice of countries producing wine, to bury the prunings of the vine at its root; and chemical analysis has lately discovered that it contains a large proportion of potash, which is essential to its growth and productiveness. Again, it has long been known, that a tree planted in a soil in which one of the same species has previously grown, will flourish but poorly. Why is this? If a chemist analyses both the tree and the soil, the former will be found to contain, and to require for its growth and -fruitfulness, elements of which the latter is deficient. Hence we learn with what kind of material that soil should be fertilized; We have seen instances also, in which barn-yard manure had been so abundantly applied, as to retard or prevent vegetationl, and where sand, gravel, virgin loam or clay, was worth more to that soil than these manures; and we have seen other instances in which mineral manures, as lime, had been so profusely applied as to lose all efficacy. Why was it?' Chemical analysis affords the reply, and discovers to us that the soil was surcharged with these elements, and makes known the materials and the proportion requisite to revive productive energy. LIGHTS AND) SHADOWS OF AGRICULTURE. If by the application of science to agriculture,'we can fathom the depths of nature, and bring up to the light, fOr the admiration and benefit of mankind, her previously hidden treasures, shall we hesitate to do it? Or, if others, fired wvith greater zeal, and endowed with more ample means, venture into the labyrinths of science, explore the springs of nature, learn how her curious machinery acts, and then returning, unfold and explain her various processes, and teach how te practise art more successfully, shall we refuise to avail ourselves of the benefits of their labor? What vast quantities of vegetable and mineral manures nIow lie buried in the earth, which might, by the application of these sciences, be appropriated to the fertilization of the soil By a natural law every tree, plant, and herb, from the cedar of Lebanon, to the flag on the Nile; from the loftiest oak of the forest, to the humblest daisy of the meadow; friom the fantastic parasite luxuriating in solstitial air, to the little flower that peeps from Alpine snows; every thing endowed with vegetable life, requires its own peculiar aliment to sustait its vigor, and propagate its growth. However varied the sustenance may be, and whether derived from earth, air or water, if it be withheld, or mixed with uncongenial elements, deterioration and decay are inevitable. One of the greatest embarrassments of the farmer is the want of proper education for his calling. In other arts and professions we employ only those who are properly trained for their business. The reason is evident. We do not expect others to succeed. But why do we not apply the same logic and practical sense to agriculture? We do not encourage an uneducated physician or a mechanic who is not master of his trade; why then do we expect men to succeed in farming who know no more of the nature of soils, nor of the adaptation of different species of manures to the various kinds of grain, grass, vegetables, and fruits,. than they do of the rotation of day and night, or the seasons in one of the newly discovered planets? Why have so many of our sons forsaken the farm, for the office, the counting-room, the warehouse, and the professions? Why such a rush by sea and land from the homes of their childhood, for the glittering dust of California? Why have they not retained 139 140 -- LIGHTS AND SHADOWS OF AGRICULTURE. "That fond attachment to the well known place, Where first they started into life's long race, Which keeps its hold with such unfailing sway, We feel it e'en in age at our last day?" Alas! what has driven them from the homestead over shadowed by the elms which their fathers planted, and under which in their boyhood, they wrought out so many youthful wonders? Nothing, save that lack of interest and skill in farming, which would have rendered it as lucrative and honorable as other pursuits, and which education alone can supply. Such examples which have fallen under our own observation, create a demand which I only reiterate, when I say that our farmers must be educated. Our fathers," it is said, "were not educated, yet they were successful farmers." True, but they possessed advantages which we cannot enjoy; then the soil was new, and of course more productive; now when its fertility has been diminished by successive crops, it must be restored and increased by artificial processes, to the success of which knowledge is indispensable. Besides, the progress of the other arts enables men to realize better profits than they then received, and corresponding improvements not having been made in agriculture, labor has here been less liberally rewarded. Others insist that common sense alone is needful to be a good farmer. Common sense, indeed, such as they recommend, is a very good thing; yet, if it were possessed by all, why not rely upon it to make skillful mechanics, artists and teachers, as well as farmers? When common sense can manufacture a steam engine, construct a rail road, or teach mathematics, without education, we may expect it will successfully conduct the operations of the farm. Till then, let us not rely upon common sense for miracles, nor offer it as an apology for ignorance or idleness. Common sense is as valuable as it is rare, but let us remember that it never yet made a plough or planted an orchard, till it was properly instructed. Our country boasts of men who have distinguished themselves in arts, letters, and morals; of men whose fame is our inheritance and glory. We are proud of the names of Rittenhouse in astronomy; of Franklin in philosophy; of West, LIGHTS AND SHADOWS OF AGRTCUtLTURE. 141 Allston and others in the fine arts, and in politics of John Haincock, of Patrick Henry, of Samuel Adams, of John Adams, and of his illustrious son John Quincy Adams, and not least of Fisher Ames, who gives to this town* an enviable distinction; whose hands planted many of the beautiful elms that adorn this village, and whose bounty distributed trees among his fellow-citizens, of the fruit of which its present inhabitants partake. But where are the men whose names will go down to posterity honorably associated with these in the art or science of agriculture? True. we might speak of the farmer of Mount Vernon, who first called the attention of Congress to this subject-of Washington, whose name awakens the most grateful sensations in all our hearts; of the farmer of Monticello, whose genius first gave proper curvature to the mold board of the plough, and whose taste for rural life sought gratification in the perusal of his favorite classics in the bowers of his garden, with the earliest songsters of the morning; of Charles Cotesworth Pinckney, and Madison, and of other worthies, distinguished in this art, whose names are embalmed in the memory of their grateful countrymen. At the present time we especially need young( men who will devote exclusively to agriculture their talents, their fortunes, and their lives, and will rely on posterity to appreciate their improvements and discoveries, and to honor their memory. And, here the aspirant for fame has a fairer prospect of distinction, than he can find in any kindred art or science; first, because less progress has been made, and secondly, because the successful farmer of New England must be well educated for his profession, or he can never compete with the cultivator on the prairies and intervals of the West. There the soil is new and productive, and nature does at present do for him, what education must accomplish for us and, it is capable of demonstration, that with the aid of science, the farmer of Massachusetts can compete successfully either inilh the southern planter or the western cultivator Nearly onQe thousand are added to the population of NeEntigland every week. And how are they to be fed? By the surplus products of the West? BEt how are the latter t(, be purchased? By the proceeds of the arts and manufac *Dedham, Mass. 42 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS OF AGRICULTTRE. tures? Highly as we prize these handmaids of this art; much as they have benefited the farmer in increasing the value of his land, and creating a ready home market for his productions; much as we think it the duty of our country to protect its own industry, and much as we believe that this has added to the independence, wealth, and importance of ,Alassachusetts; yet shall the descendants of the Puritans, of Brewster, of Endicott, of Winthrop, spurn the chief inheritance of their fathers, and leave the natural resources of wealth and power for the uncertain results of trade and manufactures? No! A remote remonstrance breaks on my ear! It comes from a thousand cottages and happy firesides! It rings through our valleys and echoes among the hills. No!! Our descendants shall range the hills which their fathers cultivated; they shall eat the fruits of their gardens and orchards, and shall fling on the passing zephyrs a melody in praise of agriculture, sweeter than any songs which Grecian or Roman bards ever suing in honor of Ceres. There is even in New England, much land to be possessed, but it consists not so much of forests to be converted into cultivated fields, as of deteriorated land, bogs, and meadows to be reclaimed, and of barren hills and plains to be fertilized, and covered with waving grass and grain. For such purposes, science alone is adequate and indispensable. Let, then, the immigrants who throng our shores, go and settle in the far West; but let the sons of New England, with their muscular frames, industrious habits, and generous hearts, divide among themselves the farms of their fathers; so that with less land and higher cultivation, they may be able to say with the poet, "Rough is her soil; yet blessed in fruitful stores; Strong are her sons, though rocky are her shores; And none, ah-'! none, so lovely to my sight, Of all the lands that heaven o'erspread with light." What wonders has science wrought in other departments wTithin the last half centur;? WVith a power and skill almost divine, man has seized on the very elements of nature,'and rnmade them subservient to his will. In obedience to established physical laws, he generates ani agent which works for him in air, earth, or water; and from the tips of his fingers, with as much ease as one plays on an instrument, he sends forth the " winged lightning" to do his bidding. AGRICL"TURE FAVORABLE TO MORALS. But why should not these agents wprk for the farmer, as well as for the mechanic, the manufacturer, or the navigator? Why should not steam aid in the production of manure, as well as in the manufacturing of acids and alkalies? Doubtless it would ere this, if thought, enterprise, and capital had sought its application here, with equal zeal and perseverance as in other departments of labor; and we should to-day have been driving our ploughs as well as our cars, filling our barns as well as our warerooms and storehouses, and expediting the various processes of agriculture, as well as those of the other arts, by its magic power. We may be deemed chimerical, but we have long ago ceased to wonder or be surprised at any discovery or invention. The improvement of to-day supersedes that of yesterday. No project, of whatever magnitude, whether the building of a rail road from the Atlantic to the Pacific; the tunnelling of the Rocky Mountains; the traversing of old ocean's bed with the mystic wires, or winding them round the globe, is too great for the enterprise of the nineteenth century.-Address beforg'e the Norfolk Agricultural Society, 1849, by HON. MARSHALL P. WILDER. AGRICULTURE FAVORABLE TO MORALS Agriculture, pursued as a mere branch of trade or commerce, or a mere instrument of wealth, will be found to have influences upon the mind, narrowing and restricting its operations and aspirations, corresponding with any other of the pursuits of mere avarice and acquisition, and which even those of the learned professions, when pursued wholly with such views, are sure to have. But when followed without exclusive views to mere gain or profit, it.is far from being incompatible with a high state of intellectual cultivation. Many of the sciences are the handmaids of agriculture, and serve, as well as ennoble it. Its practical pursuit, though'it occupies, yet it does not exhaust the mind; but, within certain limits, inspirits and invigorates all its faculties. A spiritual mind mray spiritualize all its operations; a religious mind sees, in its wonderful and curious processes, and their marvellous results, many of the adorable miracles of a beneficent Prc vidence. 143 144 AGRICULTURE FAVORABLE TO MiORALS. It is believed that the agricultural profession is highly favorable to good morals; I shall not presumne to say more so, than any other; but it will not be too much to say more so than many others. Perhaps it will be said, that the agri cultural districts of England and other countries yield their full proportion of crime. I will not peremptorily deny what is often confidently asserted; but I am not ready to concede to it until other proof than I have yet received, is furnished. As far as my own personal observation and experience go, my conviction is the reverse of this. Two fruitful sources of crime are to be found in excited passions and in powerful temptations. Agricultural occupations, so far from exciting, tend to exhaust and allay the passions; and the retirement and seclusion of the country present fewer temptations than the tumultuous life, the opportunities for vicious association, the disorderly hours, and the infinite variety of attractions and engagements of city life. Among, however, a degraded population, poor and half fed, without education, without any interest in the soil, without friends to take an interest in their welfare, without any sentiment of the value of character, without self-respect, accustomed to pass their unoccupied time in drinking-houses and in degrading pleasures, and treated and lodged without distinction of sex, and without any regard to the common decencies of life, it is not surprising to find a nursery and hot-bed of crime, where it shoots up in startling luxuriance. My acquaintance with many of the villages and rural districts of England and Scotland, satisfies me that the favorable moral influences which might be looked for from rural life and agricultural pursuits, are there found in full operation; and under a system of more general and improved education, and especially under institutions which would give those encouragements to labor which are the most powerful motives, as well as the proper rewards of industry and good conduct, these influences might be expected to be even more general. Let me speak of a district of country with which I have been many years familiar-I mean the State of Vermont;it is a purely agricultural district; it contains about three hundred thousand inhabitants; its climate is cold and severe; its soil, with some exceptions, of moderatelfertility, and requiring the brave and strong hand of toil to make it productive. It has public and free schools in every town and AGRICULTURE FAVORABLE TO MORALS. parish, and several seminaries of learning of a high character, and where the branches of a usefilJ anid literary education are taught, at an expense so moderate, that it is placed within the reach of persons even of the most humble means. It has everywhere places of religious worship, of such a variety, that every man may follow the dictates of his owni conscience, where religious services are always maintained with initelligence and decorum, sustained wholly by voluntary contributiolns; and sects of the most discordant opinions live in perfect harmony, recognizing in their mutual dependence the strongest grounds of mutual forbearance and lkindness. Takenl as a community, the people of Vermont are the best iniformed I have knowin; and they have numerous and well chosen circulatinu libraries in almost every town. They have no connection with any large market; and the produce which they have for sale goes through intermediate hands to the great marts. They have few or no poor, and those only the ilmmigrants who may stroll there from neighboring provinces. The sobriety of the people is remarkable; they are every where a well dressed people; their houses abound in all the substantial comforts and luxuries of life: and their hospitality is unbouided. Tley undlerstand their rights and their duties, and have often distinguished themselves by an extraordinary bravery and manliness, in their vindication and defence. No lwhere is il),l' i) order more maintained, or public peace better preservYe(i, tl iai in V,ermont; largoe portions of the inhabitanits Icieer b)oit a door, nor faisten a window, at night; and in a village el" some thousand inhabitants, I have known a garden st,ored with delicious firuit, with no other fence than one whichll servod as a protection againiist cattle, as entirely secure front intrusioni and plunder, as if it had been surrounded even with a prisoi w all In this State crimes are comparatively rare; coIu,ts cf penil j,istice have little occupation; the prisonis are oft ilc,lt, tenanit, and there has scarcely been a pulic exci-lion:ali'lf a century. From such an example of a commuiit, y. ist exclusively agricultural, I l'ave a rio'ht to c. i'n for a r,c,l'iure aid rural life, all the beneficial rioial aid sc'l i,fe141 -:: to which its enthusiastic admirers pretend. The present excited state of the civilized world ought more than ever to call the attention of philanthropic indi 145 146 AGRICULTURE FAVORABLE TO MORALS. viduals and of governments to the immense importance of agriculture. I have.een in France during the exciting scenes of political revolution, in which I have seen very many thousands of workmen without the means of support from their labor, and large bodies of them actually dependent onl public charity for their daily bread. It is not the danger to public liberty and order, growing out of such large unemployed and destitute multitudes, which so much disturbs me, as the actual suffering to which they are exposed, and the melancholy future that lies before them. In London I have encountered, with an extreme depression of heart, thousands of squalled, ragged, miserable poor, without resource but from crime or charity. A distinguished manufacturer in one of the most industrious counties in Enland, states that there are at least five hundred thousand operatives without employment, (1848), and many on the borders of starvation. Tradesmen and professional men will tell you that every trade and profession is over stocked; and one is daily saluted with the melancholy, not to say presumptuous exclamation, that there are too many people. This reminds one of the sad shipwreck of the French frigate, the Alceste, when many of the wretched survivors, who were floating upon a raft composed of fragments of the ship, deemed it necessary to their own safety to drive by force a large portion of their suffering companions into the sea-a sad and horrible alternative. Must we affirm, that there are too many people in the world? and that thousands and millions are born into it, for whom there is no place at the table of a beneficent Providence? Why, in France there are more than nineteen millions of untilled and unoccupied acres., and in England more than eight millions, all capable of yielding food and clothing to countless human beings; and here and in other lands there are millions of acres, for the want of labor which might be applied, that produce not a moiety of what they might be made to produce. In ancient Romrne, seven acres were the ordinary size of farms, on which a family might be sustained. In Flanders, on a soil which was once sterile, but which human labor made productive, two and a half acres will give ampre support for a man and wife, and three children, or what is considered equal to three grown up men and a half; and add to it three acres more, which this amount of labor AGRICULTURE FAVORABLE TO MORALS. is more than sufficient to cultivate, and you add a considerable surplus for other purposes. The great cause, then, of the evils complained of, is, that the cultivation of the earth is deserted; and that such innumerable multitudes pour into cities and towns, and, filling every profession and every mechanical art and trade, destroy each other by a competition in articles of which the demand is necessarily limited. There may be too many physicians, too many lawyers, and too many ministers, for them all to get a sufficient and honest living; and too many hatters, and too many printers and too many shop-keepers; for, besides that these persons furnish more of a particular article or service than the comm.unity require, their work is in general only formal; they only manufacture-they do not produce; they do not, like the grow-er of bread and clothing, create that which may be said to have a substantial and permanent value. For when was the time when there was too great an abundance of the materials-I mean particularly of those which can be kept fiom year to year-for food and clothing, for human susistence and comfort? As long as this state of things continues, there must be misery in the community; as the population increases, this misery lmust increase. In cities, money becomes the standard of prosperity. VWages are paid in money; money is the instrument of subsistence, of'ain, and of pleasure. Avarice, under these circumstances, becomes stimulated to excess, and often leads to crime. 5Ten's happiness becomes dependent upon that which has no intrinsic, but only an arbitrary value,-a value which is always capricious. and continually changing. If men could be induced to cultivate the earth, and, trained to simple habits of laborious and rural life, be satisfied with what that afords thiem; if they would measure their prosperity and wealthl, not by so many shining pieces of gold or silver which they hav e hoarded in thieir closets, but by the produce of their labor in bread and clothing, and the various and innumerable simpnle lixu-ries of life, with'which a kind Providence so often Ilesses the labors even of the most humble, how chaiied would be their condition. If men could be as well satisfied to breathe the fresh air of their native mountains and forests, as the corrupt and pestilential atmosphere of crowded streets and confined dwellings, from which both sun and light are shut out; as well 147 w 148 AGRICULTURE FAVORABLE TO MORALS. content to enjoy the simple and healthful sports of the count try, as the exciting and exhausting pleasures of city life; if their taste could be better satisfied to contemplate the verdant fields, waving with crops or enamelled with flowers, than carpeted and gilded halls; if they could be taught to prefer skies painted with clouds of brilliant hues, and studded with etars whose lustre never grows dim, to palaces blazing with artificial lustres and adorned with the far inferior magnificence of man's genius and taste; if, indeed, by any possible means, you could induce men and women, and, above all, the young, to love the country; if, in a word, you could keep them in the country by an attachment to its simple labors and recreations, and prevent their crowding cities to repletion, and thus destroying by competition the ordinary professions and trades which prevail there, where so many vigorous young men, and so many fair and blooming maidens rush in, like flies in a summer evening into a blazing taper, to find too often the grave of their health, hopes, happiness, and virtue,-what an immense gain would be achieved for morals and for humanity. But while matters continue otherwise, while such millions of acres remain unoccupied, while such thousands upon thousands crowd into the learned professions, and into the mechanic arts and trades, and fill cities to excess, under the. powerful stimulus of a vain ambition, an inordinate avarice, or a love of excitement, luxury, and pleasure as inordinate and unrestrained, we shall continue to complain of a superabundant population; and that superabundance, wherever the wave accumulates, will bring with it crime and misery. The decrees of Providence cannot be violated with impunity. Every inordinate and unrestrained passion will yield its bitter fruits. Every infraction of the laws of manl's moral constitution, will be followed with its just and inevitable penalty. Competition, which, when excessive, is so hurtful and serious in the mechanic arts and trades, is, in agriculture, always a good. Under proper management the earth cannot be made to produce too much. It is a generally received theory, that as yet there has been no surplus produce; and that one year's entire failure of the crops would cause the destruction of the human race. I shall not speculate upon this theory, which, possibly may be well founded, but which Heaven forbid that it should be put soon to experiment. In THE GLADNESS OF NATURE, some years there may be a surplus of some products, and then there may be a dearth of others. But I have never known too much grown. I have never known the great mass of mankind enjoyiing too much bread, or too much clothing, or too many of the substantial comforts of life. If they get the comiforts, or their substantial necessities are supplied, then certainly we should desire that they should have the luxuries of life in addition,-above all, those simple luxuries which are the produce of their own honest labor, and to which that circumstance alone will always give a peculiar zest.-REV. HIENRY COLMAN. THE GLADNESS OF NATURE. Is this a time to be cloudy and sad, W'hen our mother Nature laughs around; When even the deep blue heavens look glad, And gladness breathes from the blossoming ground? There are notes of joy from the hang-bird and wren, And the gossip of swallows through all the day; The ground-squirrel gaily chirps by his den, And the wilding bee hums merrily by. - The clouds are at play in the azure space, And their shadows at play on the bright green vale, And here they stretch to the frolic chase, And there they roll on the easy gale. There's a dance of leaves in that aspen bower, There's a titter of winds in that beechen tree, There's a smile on the fruit, and a smile on the flower, And a laugh from the brook that runs to the sea And look at the broad-faced sun, how he smiles On the dewy earth that smiles in his ray, On the leaping waters and gay young isles; Ah, look, and he'll smile thy gloom away. BRYANT. 149 TIHE VER.NAL SHOWEIL THE VERNAL SHOWER. In a valley that I kInow Happy scene! There are meadows sloping low, There the fairest flowers blow, And the brightest waters flow All serene; But the sweetest thiling to see, If you ask the dripping tree, Or the harvest hoping swain, Is the rain! Ah the dwellers of the town, How they sigh, How ungratefully they frown When the cloud king shakes hiis crown, And the pearls come pouring down From the sky! They descry no charm at all Where the sparkling jewels fall, And each moment of the shower, Seems an hour! Yet there's something very sweet In the sight, When the chrystal currents meet, In the dry and dusty street, And they wrestle with the heat, In their might! While they seem to hold a talk, With the stones along the walk, And remind them of the rule, To "keep cool!" But in that quiet dell Ever fair, Still the Lord doth all things well, When the clouds with blessings swell, And they break a brimming shiell On the air; There the shower hath its charms, Sweet and welcome to the farms, As they listen to its voice And rejoice! REV. RALPH HOYT 16c _______ ~/~~~4/ 4 ii; ~\A~~ y / 1//'4 ~~ V .6,6j ~jj// V ~~1,~ ~~ ~~>~~ ~~ ~'~ ~ ~~~., l CIIEVI,OT Lb!,'EED) OlStl'l $ILL. I MINERAL MASRES. MINERAL MANURES. What is said of mineral manures? It is well known that various substances belonging to the mineral kingdom are capable of promoting the growth of plants. These substances have been termed stimulating manure in contradistinction to manures derived from the animal and vegetable kingdoms, which are called nutritive manures. This distinction, however, was applied before it was known that mineral substances are nutritive; and the present theory is, that they act upon the soil by improving its texture, or by rendering soluble the parts of it which are insoluble,-or by otherwise fitting it to promote the growth of plants; and, that they act immediately upon the plant itself, by being received into its substance. Is the process.of this action understood? It may not be fully understood. Nevertheless, it is well ascertained, that certain earths, oxides, and alkalies, or earths, oxides, and alkalies, combined with acids, pass into the substance of the plant, absorbed it may be, in part, from the atmosphere, but chiefly, along with the aqueous portion of the sap, from the earth in which the roots are fixed. What mineral substance is said to be most prominent as a manure? Of all mineral substances known to us, lime is that which performs the most important part in improving the soil and promoting the growth of vegetables. It is found in nearly all soils that are capable of sustaining vegetation, and in combination with different acids, in nearly all vegetable substances. What is said of lime in its natural state? Limestone is the natural state of lime, or quicklime, and is by chemists called the carbonate of lime-that is quicklime and carbonic acid; 281bs of the former and 221bs ot the latter, making 50lbs. of limestone. In its natural state, limestone is too hard and compact to be diffused in the soil; and even quicklime would be too solid, were it not, that through its combination with water and carbonic acid from the atmosphere it splits and crumbles to powder. JHow is lim)nestone converted into quicklime? By exposing it to a very strong heat. The process is by first reducing or breaking the stone into lumps of the size of 151 a child's head, and then placing these in a kiln prepared for the purpose, so that a. fire being made at the bottom, the heat will ascend through the whole, and cause the carbonic acid to disappear, or to be disengaged from. it. What re mains is called quicklime, because it is of a caustic, burning Wture, having a strong affinity for water and carbonic acid, from which it has been thus forcibly separated. Are there dif,'7eibt kinds of limestone? There are. The most common is hard, and of a grayish white, and is the one most used for mason work as well as for manure. Then there is a soft limestone, of which chalk is a sample. There is also a yellow limestone, called magnesian limestone, from which magnesia is,obtained. And it is found in dark colors of numerous shades even to black, as may be seen in different kinds of marble. In what states is line most frequently known to exist? First, as a carbonate, that is, in the compact state of limerock, combined with water and carbonic acid; second, as hydrate of lime, that is, immediately after being slaked and when it retains its caustic properties; third, as the sulphate of lime, which is the same as plaster of Paris or gypsum; and, fourth, marl, which is the same as lime stone, or the carbonate of lime, reduced to a powder and mixed with earthy matter. By what names is limestone called after being burnt? Most frequently quicklime, because of its caustic, burning quality; and, it is also called burned lime, caustic lime, and hot lime; but, all these names denote the same thing; that is, limestone, or the carbonate of lime, from which the carbon is expelled by heat. VWhat is the slaking of burit lime? Its literal significatioi is to extinguish thirst. Hence, when the term slake is applied to burnt lime, it is to pour water upon it. The quicklime as it were drinks in, or absorbs the water, and immediately becomes hot, swells up, and gradually falls to powder, The heat thus generated is sufficient to ignite or set fire to any combustible substances contigious to it. In this way vessels freighted with lime are sometimes consumed when water accidentally gets admission to it. Wby does quicklime become slaked fromn exposure to the air? 152 TIINE RAL MANUR-E 3 MINERAL MANURES. Because of its power to absorb from the atmosphere both water and carbonic acid. The process is less rapid than when water is poured upon it; but, is equally complete, the largffe lumps all crumbling to fine powder. TVihere is lime foundl besides in limestone? Sea shells subjected to heat in a furnace or otherwise become quicklime of equal value, and some think of more value than that obtained from limestone. Shells also without the agency of heat, when lying on the gffround in masses or mixed with it, become broken and reduced to fine particles, and are then called shell sand. As such they make a valuable manure, either for top dressing or composts, essentially the same as the pulverized carbonate of lime, or slaked lime. WIhat is said of g'ypsum? It is the same as sulphate of lime, that is a salt formed from the oxidation of lime. It is reduced to powder by being pounded or ground in a mill, and then spread on the ground, when the leaves of clover and other plants begin to cover the surface; and the operation should be performed, if possible, during slightly showery weather, it being beneficial that the leaves should be somewhat moistened, so as to retain a portion of the dust. On clover crops gypsum is of most use. What is said of salt as a manure? Salt, or the muriate of'soda, as it is more correctly termed, is probably essential to the health of vegetables, as well as animals, and we may presume that a mineral thus widely diffused, performs important functions. It exists in all plants, is a constituent of almost every kind of animal and vegetable manure, and is found in most soils in sufficient quantity for the purposes of vegetation. - Yet experience has shown that the application of salt as a manure, save in a moderate measure, is attended with no advantage, and usuallywith injury. What is said of marl? Marl consists, as before stated, of a mixture of clay and calcareous earth or lime, in various proportions. The great advantage of marl is, that it dilates, cracks, and is reduced to powder by exposure to moisture and air. Mlarl in masses would be totally useless on the ground; yet it is necessary to begin by layiug it on the surface in heaps, for the more it io heaped the more it dilates, splits, and crumbles to dust; in which state it is fit to be spread upon the ground. 153 MINERAL MANURES. With iwhat substances should line be mixed? The best earthy materials for mixing with lime are those which contain a certain proportion of decomposing organic matter; such as the scouing of ditches, the sediments of pools, mud deposited by rivers and tides, and similar sub stances. The lime may be applied at the rate of two bushels to the cubic yard, and fifty cubic yards of this mixture to the acre, will form an efficient manuring for almost any soil. What would be the co2Lsequence if quicklimie were ap plied to plants? If quick lime were applied immediately to plants, it would be to them like poison; it would burn them up; but, when spread on the earth, it rapidly attracts water and carbonic acid from the atmosphere, and it is only when thus modified that it promotes vegetation. How can the greatest benefit be had fron lime? To do this, it must be kept as near the surface as possi ble. The reason is this; its weight and minuteness give it a tendency to sink; and after a few years of cultivation, a large portion of it will be found to have gone beyond the depth of its most efficient action. Hence it is advisable to spread it on the ground after ploughing; then harrow it well in; and allow it to remain in grass as long as good crops can be had. When the lime is settled down below the reach of a common plough, the subsoil plough will prolong its effect, by enabling the atmosphere and the roots of plants to pene trate the subsoil likewise. Hlow should lime be proportioned to different soils? The quantity of lime applied to soils is various, and is de pendent upon the nature of the soils, the climate, and other circumstances. In warm countries, a smaller quantity need be used than in those which are cold and humid. The stiff clays for the most part, require a larger proportion of it than the lighter soils; and in the case of such soils as contain much undecomposed vegetable matter, as peat, a quantity should be applied sufficient to decompose effectually the inert matter. How much lime is to be applied to the acre? On common soils the first dressing is ordinarily in the neighborhood of an hundred bushels; and, then in four or five years, half as much more. On some heavy clays abound ing in vegetable mold, there have been applied six hundred busels to the acre with decided beneficial results to the land; 154 MINERAL MANURES. yet, it is not impossible nor improbable that half that quailtity would have answered as well. Why (loes lime 9'eguire to be repeated? Partly for the same reason that other manures are to be repeated. And the reasons may be stated, as follows::ihst, because the crops eat up and carry off a portion of the lime; secon,d, because of its sinking into the subsoil; and, thirdly, because the rains are always washing a portion of it out of the land, and carrying it away to brooks and rivers, where it becomes mixed with the mud and decaying vegetables. In the ashes of what plants is linze found? Every plant that has been analysed, with one exception, contains a portion of lime in some form or other, which it must have derived from the soil in which it grew. Wheat in flower, when ripe, thle straw, the bran, all yield lime when analysed; so likewise do barley, oats, vetches, and the leaves of various trees, the bark, and the timber; indeed this substance is so universally present in all portions of the vegetable structure, that it may fairly be assumed to be an integral part of all, varying however, according to the quantity existing in the soil in which plants are cultivated. Hzow is it proved that lime invigorates plants? It is known that the roots of some plants actually penetrate rough limestone, and in a manner decompose it. This is particularly true of sainfoin, the tap root of which penetrates from ten to twenty feet deep in calcareous stones, and then puts forth new clusters of lateral roots which sender the stone loose and friable all around. The deeper the roots of this plant penetrate, the more vigorous does it shoot, even on calcareous rocks or stony places which are only covered by a very thin layer of poor soil. How have salt and soot been used for manure? Mr. Sinclair mixed six and a half bushels of salt with the same quantity of soot, and used the mixture on lands sowed with carrots. The result was, that unmanured land gave twenty-three tons of roots to the acre, and the manured yielded forty tons per acre; and Mr. Cartwright found that where unmanured soil gave 157 bushels of potatoes per acre, thirty bushels of soot and six bushels of salt made it produce 240 bushels per acre. In what manner are salt and lime mixed for manure? Dr. Dana directs that the proportions shall be at the rato 8 155 . THE OLD FARM HOUSE. of two bushels of lime to one of salt; that the salt shall be made into a brine, with which the lime is to be slaked, and then both well mixed together, and remain ten days. It is now to be mixed with peat or analagous vegetable substances, and shovelled well together, and after six weeks, is fit for use in the hills of corn, or otherwise. In such a compost, for every five bushels of salt and ten bushels of lime, there may be fifteen cords of peat. THE OLD FARM HOUSE. I love these gray and moss-grown walls, This ivied porch, this trellis'd vine, The lattice with its narrow pane, A relic of the olden time; The willow with its waving leaves, Through which the low winds murmuring glide, The gurgling ripple of the stream, That whispers softly at its side. The spring house in its shady nook, Like lady's bower is shadowed o'er With clustering trees and creeping plants, That cling around the rustic doorThe rough hewn steps, that lent their aid, To reach the shady, cool recess, Where humble duty spreads a scene That hourly comfort learns to bless. Upland and meadow lie around, Fair smiling in the sun's last beam; Beneath yon solitary tree The lazy cattle idly dream, After the reaper's stroke descends, While faintly on the listening ear The teamster's careless whistle floats, Or distant song or call I hear. And leaning on a broken stile, With woods behind and fields before, I watch the bee who homeward wends With laden wing-his labors o'er; 0 156 THE EVENING WIND. The happy birds are warbling round Or nestling in the rustling trees, 'Mid which the blue sky glimmers down When parted by the passing breeze. And slowly winding up the road, The wain has reached the old barn floor Where plenty's hand has firmly heaped The golden grain in richest store. This'mid the dream land of my thought, With smiling lip I own it real, .Yet fancy's fairest visions blend With all I see and all I feel. Then tell me not of worldly pride And wild ambition's hopes of fame, Or brilliant halls of wealth and pride, Where genius sighs to win a name; Give me this farm-house quaint and old, These fields of grain, the birds and flowers, With calm contentment, peace and health, And memories of my earlier hours. MARY A. LAWSON. THE EVENING WIND. Spirit that breathest through my lattice, thou That cool'st the twilight of the sultry day, Gratefully flows thy freshness round my brow; Thou hast been out upon the deep at play, Riding all day the wild blue waves till now, Roughening their crests, and scattering their spray And swelling the white sail. I welcome thee To the scorched land, thou wanderer of the sea. Nor I alone-a thousand bosoms round Inhale thee in the fulness of delight; And languid forms rise up, and pulses bound Livelier, at coming of the wind of night; And, laughing to hear thy grateful sound, Lies the vast inland stretched beyond the sight. Go forth into the gathering shade; go forth, God's blessing breathed upon the fainting earth. 157 A RILL FROM THE TOWN PUMP. Go, rock the little wood-bird in his nest, Curl the still waters, bright with stars, and rouse The wide old wood from his majestic rest, Summoning from the innumerable boughs The strange, deep harmonies that haunt his breast; Pleasant shall be thy way where meekly bows The shutting flower, and darkling waters pass, And where the o'ershadowing branches sweep the grass. The faint old man shall lean his silver head To feel thee; thou shalt kiss the child asleep,. And dry the moistened curls that overspread His temples, while his breathing grows more deep; And they who stand about the sick man's bed, Shall joy to listen to thy distant sweep, And softly part his curtains to allow Thy visit, grateful to his burning brow. Go-but the circle of eternal change, Which is the life of nature, shall restore, With sounds and scents from all thy mighty range Thee to thy birthplace of the deep once more; Sweet odors in the sea-air, sweet and strange, Shall tell the homesick mariner of the shore; And, listening to thy murmur, he shall deem He hears the rustling leaf and running stream. BRYANT. A RILL FROM THE TOWN PUMP. Noon, by the north clock! Noon, by the east! High noon, too, by these hot sunbeams, which fall, scarcely aslope, upon my head and almost make the water bubble and smoke in the trough under my nose. Truly we public characters have a tough time of it! And among all the town officers, chosen at March meeting, where is he that sustains, for a single year, the burden of such manifold duties as are imposed, in perpetuity, upon the Town Pump? To speak within bounds, I am the chief person of the municipality, and exhibit, moreover, an admirable pattern to my brother officers, by the cool, steady, upright, downright, and impartial discharge of my business, and the constancy with which I stand at my post. 158 A RILL FROMl THE TOWN PUMN1T. Summer or winter, nobody seeks me in vain; for, all day long. I am seen at the business corner, just above the markeh, stretching out my arms to rich and poor alike; and at nit, I hold a lantern over may head, both to show where i am,:r to keep people out of the gutters. At this sultry noontide I am cup-bearer to the parclhed populace, oibr whose benefit an iron goblet is chained to ny waist. Like a drami-seller on the mall, at muster day, I cry aloud to all and sundry in my plainest accents, and at the very tiptop of my voice-Here it is gentlemen! Here is the good liquor! Walk up, walk up, gentlemen, walk up, walk up! Here is the superior stuff! Here is the unadulterated ale of father Adam-better than Cognac, Hollands, Jamaica, strong beer, or wine of any price, here it is by the hogshead or the single glass, and not a cent to pay! Walk up, gentlemen, walk up, and help yourselves. It is a.pity if all this outcry should draw no customers. Here they come. A hot day, gentlemen' Quaff, and away again, so as to keep yourselves in a nice cool sweat. You, my friend, will need another cupful, to wash the dust out of your throat, if it be as thick there as it is on your cow-hide shoes. I see that you have trudged half a score of miles today; and, like a wise man, have passed by the taverns, and stopped at the running brooks and well-curbs. Otherwise, betwixt heat without and fire within, you would have been burnt to a cinder, or melted down to nothing at all, in the fashion of a jelly-fish. Drink, and make room for that other fellow, who seeks my aid to quench the fiery fever of last night's potations, which he drained from no cup of mine. Welcome, most rubicund sir! You and I have been great strangers hitherto; nor, to express the truth, will my nose be anxious for a closer intimacy, till the fumes of your breath be a little less potent. MIercy on you, man! the water absolutely hisses down your red hot gullet, and is converted into steam, in the miniature tophet which you mistake for a stomach. Fill again, and tell me, on the word of an honest toper, did you ever, in cellar, tavern, or any kind of dram shop, spend the price of your children's food for a swig half so delicious? Now for the first time these last ten years, you know the flavor of cold water. Good-by; and, whenever you are thirsty, remember that I keep ai constant supply at the old stand. 159 A RILL FROM THE TOWN PUMP. Who next? Oh, my little friend, you are let loose from school, and come hither to scrub your blooming face, and drown certain taps of the ferule, and other school-boy troubles, in a draught from the Town Pump. Take it, pure as the current of your young life. Take it, and may your heart and tongue never be scorched with a fiercer thirst than now! There, my dear child, put down the cup, and yield your place to this elderly gentleman, who treads so tenderly over the stones, that I suspect.he is afraid of breaking them. What! he limps by without so much as thanking me, as if' my hos pitable offers were meant only for people who have no wine cellars. Well, well, sir-no harm done, 1 hope! Go draw the cork, tip the decanter; but when your great toe shall set you a roaring, it will be no affair of mine. If gentlemen love the pleasant titillation of the gout, it is all one to the Town Pump. This thirsty dog, with his red tongue lolling out, does not scorn my hospitality, but stands on his hind legs, and laps eagerly out of the trough. See how lightly he capers away again! Jowler, did your worship ever have the gout? Are you all satisfied? Then wipe your months, my good friends; and while my spout has a moment of leisure, I will delight the town with a few historical reminiscences. In far antiquity, beneath a darksome shadow of venerable boughs, a spring bubbled out of the leaf-strown earth, in the very spot where you now behold me on the sunny pavement. The water was as bright and clear, and deemed as precious, as liquid diamonds. The Indian Sagamores drank of it from time immemorial, till the fearful deluge of fire-water burst upon the red men, and swept their whole race away from the cold fountains. Endicott and his followers came next, and often knelt down to drink, dipping their long beards in the spring. The richest goblet then was of birch bark. Governor Winthrop, after a journey afoot from Boston, drank here out of the hollow of his hand. The elder Higginson here wet his palm, and laid it on the brow of the first town-born child. For many years it was the watering place, and, as it were, the washbowl of the vicinity.-whither all decent folks resorted, to purify their visages and then gaze at them afterwards-at least the pretty maidens did-in the mirror which it made. On Sabbath days, whenever a babe was to be bap tized, the sexton filled his basin here, and placed it on the communion-table of the humble meeting-house, which partly 160 A RILL FROM THE TOWN PUMP. covered the site of yonder stately brick one. Thus one generation after another was consecrated to heaven by its waters, and cast its waxing and waning shadows into its glassy bosom, and vanished from the earth as if mortal life were but a flitting image in a fountain. Finally the fountain vanished. Cellars were dug on all sides, and cart loads of gravel flung upon its source, whence oozed a turbid stream, forming a mud-puddle at the corner of two streets. In the hot months, when its refreshment was most needed, the dust flew in clouds over the forgotten birthplace of the waters, now their grave. But, in the course of time, a town pump was sunk into the source of the ancient spring; and when the first decayed, another took its place-and then another, and still anothertill here stand I, gentlemen and ladies, to serve you with my iron goblet. Drink and be refreshed! The water is pure and cold as that which slaked the thirst of the red Sagamore beneath. the aged boughs, though now the gem of the wilderness is treasured under these hot stones, where no shadows fall but from the brick buildings. And be it the moral of my story, that, as the wasted and long lost fountain is known and prized again, so that the virtues of cold water, too little valued since your fathers' days, be recognized by all. Your pardon, good people! I must interrupt my stream of eloquence, and spout forth a stream of water, to replenish the trough of this teamster and his two yoke of oxen, who have come from Topsfield, or somewhere along' that way. No part of my business is pleasanter than that of watering cattle! Look! how rapidly they lower the water-mark on the sides of the trough, till their capacious stomachs are moistened with a gallon or two apiece, and they can afford to breathe it in, with signs of calm enjoyment. Now they roll their quiet eyes around the brim of their monstrous drinking vessel. An ox is your true toper. But I perceive, my dear auditors, that you are impatient for the remainder of my discourse. Impute it, I beseech you, to no defect of modesty, if I insist a little longer on so fruitful a topic as my own multifarious merits. It is altogether for your good. The better you think of me, the better men.and women you will be yourselves. I shall say nothing of my all important aid on washing days; though on that account alone, I might call myself the household god of a hundred families. Far be it from me also to hint, my respected friends, 161 at the show of dirty faces which you would present, without nmy pains to keep you clean. Nor will I remind you how often, when the nmidttig[t Iell makes you tremble for your combustible town, you have fled to thie Town Pump, and fou-iid me always at my post, firm amid the contfusion, and ready to drain nay vital current in your behalf. No; these are trifles comnipared with the merits which ';-ise men concede to mo-if not in my simple self, yet as the representative of a class-of being the grand reformer of the ag~e. From my spout, and suche spouts as mine, must flow tile stream that shall cleanse our earth of the vast portion of its crime and anguish, which has gushed from the fiery foun tains of the still. In this mighty enterprise the cow shall be my great confederate. Milk and water! The Tot,n Pump and the Cow!. Such is the glorious copartnership that shall tear down the distilleries and brew-houses, uproot the vineyards, shatter the cider presses, ruin the coffee and tea trade, and finally monopolise the whole business of quenching thirst. Blessed consummation! Then, poverty shall pass away firom the land, finding no hovel so wretched, where her squalid. form may shelter itself. Then disease, for lack of other vietims, shall gnaw its own vitals, and die. Then sin, if she do not die, shall lose half her strength. Until now the phrensy of hereditary fever has -raged in the human blood, transmitted from sire to son, and rekindled in every generation, by fresh draughts of liquid flame. When that inward fire shall be extinguished, the heat of passion cannot but grow cool, and war-the drunkenness of nationsperhaps will cease. At least, there will be no war of households. The husband and wife, drinking deep of peaceful joy-a calm bliss of temperate afbctions-shall pass hand in hand through life, and lie down, not reluctantly, at its protracted close. To them, the past will be no turmoil of mad dreams, nor the future an eternity of such moments as follow the delirium of the drunkard. Their dead faces shall express what their spirits were, and are to be, by a lingerifng smile of memory and hope. Ahem! Dry work, this speechifying; especially to an unpracticed orator. I liever conceived till now, what toil thd temperance lecturers undergo for my sake. Hereafter they shall have the business to themselves. And, my dear hearers, when the world shall have been regenerated through my A RI.LL FROM THE TOWN PUMP. 162 SUCCESSFUL RURAL ENTERPRISE. instrumentality, you will collect your useless vats and liquor casks into one great pile, and make a bonfire in honor of the Town Pump. And when I shall have decayed, like my predecessors, then, if you revere my memory, let a marble fountain, richly sculptured, take my place upon the spot. Such monuments should be erected everywhere, and inscribed with the names of the distinguished champions of my cause. One o'clock! Nay, then, if the dinner-bell begins to speak, I may as well hold my peace. Here comes a pretty young girl of my acquaintance, with a large stone pitcher for me to fill. May she draw a husband, while drawing water, as Rachel did of old. Hold your vessel, my dear! There it is, full to the brim; so now run home, peeping at your sweet image in the pitcher as you go; and forget not, in a glass of my own liquor, to drink-" Success to the Town Pump!" NATHANIEL HAWTHORINE. SUCCESSFUL RURAL ENTERPRISE. When the farmer has obtained the requisite information for his appropriate duties, his next step will be to provido himself with the most approved implements, the most profitable flocks and herds, the most commodious buildings for utility and comfort. Without regard to these particulars, successful results will be greatly impaired, if not wholly thwarted. In the manufacture of tools, the problem first to be solved, is to combine lightness with strength and efficiency. Every ounce, added to the weight of an implement, to be wielded by the hand or drawn by animals, beyond what is necessary to fulfil its appropriate functions, diminishes the productive industry of man and beast. The strength of the laborer is exhausted, by unnecessary weight in the instrument he uses; and, no advantage is gained by way of compensation. Within fifty years, the toils of the husbaindnman have been greatly relieved by the invention of light and convenient tools. The clumsy and heavy hoes, that were forged by our country smiths, but a few years ago, required nearly double the expenditure of strength which the light and shlarp instrument, now used, demands. The heavy oaken ploughs which our fathers used, with mold-boards sheathed with old ox shoes and bits of sheet iron, required, at least, a third more strength 163 SUCCESSFUL RURAL ENTERPRISE. to draw them and guide them, than the slender, keen-cutting implement now generally employed by farmers. It has been ascertained by experiment, that a rake that weighs two pounds, will do the service of one that weighs ten pounds; and, that the rapid execution of the horse-rake, is far preferable to the slow and toilsome labor of the hands. In every department of husbandry, the labors of the farmer have been lightened by the introduction of improved tools and machinery. It is also fast becoming the prevailing opinion, that cheap outbuildings, leaky and shattered barns, and open sheds, are not the most convenient or profitable shelters, either for crops or animals. It is demonstrable that a large part of the food which animals consume is directly employed in the production of animal heat, consequently, artificial warmth is equivalent to an additional supply of food. The greater the degree of cold to which the animal is subjected, the more nourishment he requires to supply internal heat. Hence some of the most scientific farmers, in England, not only warm their barns by artificial heat, but cook the esculent roots which their animals consume. They deem this the dictate of true economy. Another method of bettering our condition is the improvement of our domestic animals. When a farmer has once learned the value of the best breeds of animals, he will never tolerate the small, ugly, stunted, and contemptible races, which still linger about the barns of many of our husbandmen. There is a well authenticated account of a dairy in New-York State, of forty-one cows, which yields annually, in butter, cheese, and milk, a product of sixty-two dollars for each cow. The average income of cows, in the United States, does not, probably, exceed twenty dollars. Now supposing that the millions of cows, throughout the llnion, were so improved as to raise their average income from twenty dollars to thirty-one, only one half of the income of the best herds, what untold wealth it would add to our farmers' estates. NewYork alone would derive an annual revenue of $12,100,000 from this process. The outlays for the accomplishment of this result would be small; for the expense of keeping a good cow is but little more than is required for a poor one. There are thirty millions of sheep in the United States The best of them yield double the amount of wool produced by ordinary sheep. Now supposing the wool clip to be in 164 SUCCESSFUL RURAT ENTERPRISE. creased one half, by the substitution of the best blooded animnals for common breeds, this improvement would increase the annual income of fatrms, in our own country, at least fifteen millions of dollars, which would be equal to the creation of new capital to the amount of two hundred and fifty millions of dollars, yielding an annual interest of six per cent. General Washington, inone of his letters to Sir John Sinclair, says in substance, "that at the time he entered the public service in the war of the Revolution, his flock, of about one thousand, yielded five pounds of wool per fleece. Several years later, when he returned to his estate, his flock had so degenerated that it gave an average of only two and a half pounds per head." The deterioration of his flock was evidently the result of bad management on the part of his agent. There are more than six millions of horses and mules in our country. Let the value of these animals be increased to an average of twenty dollars a head, and the available property of the owners would be increased one hundred and twenty millions of dollars. Another method of increasing the value of our products is by introducing new varieties of seeds, roots, and fruits. In accordance with an admitted law of nature, cultivated fruits and plants, as well as domestic animals, are subject to constitutional deterioration, when reproduced for a long series of years, upon the same soil. Hence the importance of exchanging seeds and importing new breeds of animals. Where the true spirit of improvement has for some time been active, and agricultural fairs have yearly presented better animals and richer specimens of fruits and grains for premiums, agriculture has not only become more profitable to the farmer, but it has conferred upon him dignity and honor. The efTorts of wise and good men, in this department of industry, have been crowned with the most flattering success. Information has been disseminated, soils and grains have been analysed, the stock of the farm has been improved in value and utility; better implements of husbandry have been invented and adopted; arid, the rewards of labor have been materially ad vanced, while the labor itself has been greatly diminished. Indeed, every department of industry has been laid under contribution to secure these inestimable results. The me chanic has applied all his skill and ingenuity to the perfect ing of agricultural implements; the chemist and geologist 165 SUCCESSFUL RIURAL ENTERPRISE. have summoned the whole encyclopedia of the sciences to their aid, in ascertaining the composition of various soils, and in preparing manures to enrich them, the inquisitive traveller and commercial adventurer have brought to our doors the fruits and grains of foreign climes, while men of the highest professional eminence, have devoted their time and attention to the cultivation of grains, grasses, and roots, and have imported the best blooded cattle, sheep, and swine, to feed upon them. Our public halls have therefore been adorned with the portraits and statues of men who have been distinguished at the bar, in the senate, or on the battle-field; but we are fast changing all that. It is now becoming the common sentiment, that more true glory is won in providing honest labor with its appropriate implements, and increasing the fertility of the earth, the common mother of us all, than in improving the destructive engines of war, or in waging a profitless contest of words in the forum, or the halls of legislation. "The plough and the sickle shall shine bright in glory, W5hen the sword and the sceptre shall crumble and rust; And the farmer shall live both in song and in story, When warriors and kings are forgotten in dust." Another important method of bettering our condition, is by futrnishing local markets, by bringifng the plough, the loom, aid anvil, into proximity with each other. All branches of productive industry are mutually related, and mutually dependent. Every laborer who is employed at the forge, in the mill, or factory, must be provided with food and raiment. Every little village which springs up around a factory, furnishes a local market for a little circle of farms in the vicinity. In such cases the cost of transportation to a distant market is saved. The State of Connecticut illustrates the value of local markets as fully as any state in the Union. Her soil was oice fertile and highly productive. By continual cropping, vw.thout propeil- enriching the land, it became comparatively barrien. The people began to emigrate to the richer Western lands. Those who were left behind, sought to improve their conditionr at home. They resorted to manufactures for a livelihood. The town of Bristol, fiftein miles south-west of Hartford, forty years ago, was fast declining in population and wealth. Its soil was exhausted; its inhabitants were seek 166 SUCCESSFUL RURAL ENTERPRISE. ing new homes. There was then resident in that town, a single clock maker, who patiently wrought out his timepieces by hand, at an expense of sixty or seventy dollars each. About the year 1815, some individuals, stimulated by the industry of the solitary clockmaker,. set up the business of making wooden clocks. This article went all over the United States, and brought rich returns to the inventors. When the market was supplied with these, cheap brass clocks were made by machiniery, which could be afforded as low as two dollars each. The business of making clocks by machinery has been set ip in twenty other towns in Connecticut; and the whole world are now their customers. On the authority of Fraser's Magazine, it is asserted that "every hall and cottage in England is furnished with them." Every one of these towns has become a profitable market to the neighboring farmers, and has given a new stimulus and increased profits to.agriculture. Other towns in the same state, are eingaged in the manufacture of tin ware, cutlery, jewelry, hooks and eyes, pins and needles, and every kind of implement of brass and iron, used by our citizens. At Collinsville, fifteen miles west of Hartford, there is a manufactorv of axes, with a capital of three hundred thousand dollars, where six hundred axes are made in a day. One hundred and seveuty-five workmen are employed. These, with their families, must be fed from the products of the soil. The farmers are, therefore. directly interested in the prosperity of such manufactories, and in the consequent increase of population. By the introduction of these kinds of manu factures, emigratiotn has been arrested, and agriculture has become more profitable. The worn out lands have been recruited The soil that was deemed worthless, by right cul ture has becornee almost priceless. In some instances, the value has risen from two or three dollars to fifty or sixty dol lars per acre. The desert may be made a fruitful field, by patient industry; and, the unhealthy and unsightly swamp, may be coniverted into a rich garden. Such is the fact in some instances. The merest gravel beds, by skilful culture are changed into fruitful fields; and offensive bogs, which were made the receptacle of the loose stones from the higher lands, are now drained-the stones are taken out from their deposit, and the surfiace of the swamp converted into a rich 167 SUCCESSFUL RURIAL ENTERPRISE. meadow. The vicinity of the factory, the forge or the loom, produces such results. Our state abounds in water power, and in the materials for many valuable manufactures. But neither water power nor steam are essential to the introduction of certain kinds of manufactures. The man who made the first pair of pegged shoes, ever seen, in this or any other country, is still living. The trade in this article in Massachusetts alone, amounts to eighteen millions of dollars, employing sixty thousand hands. How are these men fed? Do not the farmers in the vicinity of Lynn and other towns, where this business is prosecuated, pocket the money which these sixty thousand laborers are annually earning-at least, a good portion of it? Massachusetts has a comparatively barren soil, yet her agriculture is advancing. Within fifty years, her population has increased one hundred per cent., while that of one of the other states of the Union has increased but two per cent. What makes the difference? The mystery is of easy solution. The answer is at hand. The former employs every species of power;-capital, machinery, labor, and intellect. She encourages manufactures and agriculture, by uniting them on her own soil. The latter, containining as much cultivated land as the whole of Great Britain, eschews those kinds of productive industry, which are employed in working up, at home, the heavy and bulky materials which the earth produces, pays tribute to England by importing her wares, and furnishes no stimulus to her farmers by the encouragment of local markets. And the little State of Rhode Island has one hundred and ninetyeight manufacturing establishments, engaged in working wool and cotton; and one hundred and sixty of them has each a distinct village, and of course a local market. One little, tortuous river, of twelve miles in length, twenty-five feet wide and three feet deep, drives nearly forty thousand spindles, in twelve different factories, employing nearly one thousand operatives. These laborers are fed from the produce of the adjacent farms. Here agriculture lives and thrives near to the newly-created markets.-Agricultural Addsress, Orford, N. H., 1550, by PROF. EDWIN D. SANfoRN, A.M., of Dar-tmouth College. 168 A SOUTH WESTERN PRAIRIE. A SOUTH WESTERN PRAIRIE. The world of prairie which lies at a distance of more than three hundred miles west of this inhabited portion of the United States, and south of the river Arkansas and its branches, has been rarely, and parts of it never, trodden by the foot, or beheld by the eye, of an Anglo-American. Rivers rise there, in the broad level waste, of which, mighty though they become in their course, the source is unexplored. Deserts are there, too barren of grass to support even the hardy buffalo, and in which water, except in here and there a hole, is never found. Imagine yourself standing in a plain to which your eye can see no bounds. Not a tree nor a bush, not a shrub nor a tall weed, lifts its head above the barren grandeur of the desert; not a stone is to be seen upon its hard beaten surface; no undulations, no abruptness, no break, to relieve the monotony-nothing, save here and there a deep narrow track, worn into the hard plain by the constant hoof of the buffalo. Imagine, then, countless herds of buffalo, showing their unwieldy, dark shapes, in every direction as far as the eye can reach, and approaching at times to within forty steps of you; or a herd of wild horses feeding in the distance, or hurrying away from the hateful smell of man, with their manes floatingQ, and a tramping like thunder. Imagine here and there a solitary antelope, or perhaps a whole herd, fleeting off in the distance, like the scattering of white clouds. Again, imagine bands of white. snow white wolves, prowling about, accompanied by the little gray collottes or prairie-w,olves, who are as rapacious and as noisy as their bigger brethren. Imagine, also, here and there a lonely tiger-cat, lying crouched in some little hollow, or bounding off in triumph, bearin, some luckless little prairie-dog, which it has caugh,t stra(ggling about at a distailce from his hole If to this you add a band of Camaiches. mounted on noble, swift horses, with their long lances, their quiver at the back, their bow, perhaps their gun, and their shield ornamented gaudily with feathiers antid red cloth, andi roLdl-d as Norval's, or as the full moon; and imagine them }iovering about in different places, chasing the buffTalo or attack;ing an enemy you have an image of the prairie, such as no book ever de scribed to me. 8 11111 169 A SOUTH WESTERN PRAIRIE. I have seen the prairie under all its diversities, and in all its appearances, from those which I have described, to the uneven, bushy prairies which lie south of the Red river, and to the illimitable Stake prairie, which lies from almost inder the shadows of the mountains to the heads of the Brazos and of Red river, and in which neither buffaloes nor horses are to be found. I have seen the prairie and lived in it, in summer and in winter. I have seen it with the sun rising calmly from its breast, like a suddeni fire kindled in the dim distance, and with the sunset flushing in the sky with quiet and sublime beauty. There is less of the gorgeous and grand character, however, belonging to it, than that which accompanies the rise and set of the sun upon the ocean, or upon the mountains; but here are beauty and sublimity enough to attract the attention and interest the mind. I have also seen the inirage, painting lakes, and fires, and groves, on the grassy ridges near the bounds of Missouri, in the still autumn afternoon, and cheating the traveller by its splendid deceptions. I have seen the prairie, and stood long and wearied guard in it, by moonlight and starlight, and in storm. It strikes me as the most magnificent, stern, and terribly grand scene on earth. A storm in the prairie is much like a storm at sea, except in one respect-and in that it seems to me'to be superiorthe stillness of the desert and illimitable plain, while the snow is raging over its surface, is always more,fearful to me than the wild roll of the waves; and it seems unnaturalthis dead quiet, while the upper elements are so fiercely disturbed! it seems as if there ought to be the roll and roar of the waves. The sea, the woods, the mountains, all suffer in comparison with the prairie-that is, on tihe whole; in particular circumstances either of them is superior. We may speak of the incessant motion and tumult of the waves of the ocean; the unbounded greenness and dimness, and the lonely music of the forests; and the high magnificeince, the precipitous grandeur, and the summer snow of the glittering cones of the mountains; but still the prairie has a stronger hold on the soul, and a more powerful, if not so vivid an impression upon the feelings. Its sublimity arises from its unbounded extent-its barren monotony anddesolation-its still, unmoved, calm, stern, and most impreb 170 THE FIRST FALL OF SNOW. sive grandeur-its strange power of deception-its want of echo-and, in fine, its power of throwing a man back on himself, and givir him a feeling of lone helplessness, strangely mingled at the sane time with a feeling of liberty and freedom from retrainit. It is particular]y sublime as you draw nigh to the RPccky Mountains, and see them shoot up in the west, with thL ir lofty tops looking like white clouds resting upon their summits. Nothing ever equalled the intense feeling of delight with which I at first saw them marking the western edge of the desert.-ALBERT PIKE. THE FIRST FALL OF SNOW. I love to watch the first soft snow, As it slowly saileth down, Putrer and whiter than the pearls That grace a monarch's crown. Though winter wears a freezing look, And many a surly frown. It lighteth like the feathery down Upon the naked trees, And on tle pale and withered flowers That swing in every breeze; And they are clothed in such bright robes As summer never sees. It bringeth pleasant memories, The falling, falling snow, Of neighing steeds, and jingling bells, In the happy long ago; When hopes were bright, and health was good, And the spirits were not low. And it giveth many jpromises Of quiet joys in store; Of bliss sound( the blazing hearth, When daylight is no mnoreSuch bliss as no where else hbath lived Since Edei-J&ays were o'er. .4 171 NIGHT MUSINGS. God bless the eye that views with mine The falling snow to-day; MDay truth her pure white mission spread Before its searching ray, And lead, with dazzlingc garments, towards "The strait and narrow way." JULIA H. SCOTT. NIGHT MUSINGS. Hushed like the o'erweary child too late at play, Who sobs to sleep upon its mother's breast, Lies the vast city. The perturbed day, With all its load of care and pain oppressed, Sinks softly into slumber-down the West Creeps the gray curtain of the peaceful night, And hearts which break by day, in dreams are blessedWhile with a spring of fierce and far delight, The soul unchained, resumes her heavenward flight. Now, like a mother's blessing, the rich dews Tears of Heaven's pity-kiss the gasping flower, Now every banished star its smile renews, And winds new fragrance shed upon the hour Now the tired brain regains its wonted power, And thoughts, like beauty bright, flash on the mind, Which, upborne above earth's clouds that lower, Seeks once more commune with her lofty kind, And spurns the grovelling things of earth far, far behind. Once more is nature beautiful. Once more The bitter dregs of life have passed away From my sick soul. Oh how Night's ministers pour Their incense over me! How dim the day Seems, with its dusty glare, to the soft ray Of yon fair-smiling Goddess beaming light And love and beauty o'er her starry way! E'en my dark fortunes catch some hues of bright And glowing radiance from the beauty-beaming night! Now playflil fancy from her world of dreams Looks out and smiles; and a bright host of forms 172 NIGHT MUSINGS. With love and beauty sparkling, like the gleams Youth sees of glory, on my vision swarms, And makes my heart beat as when youth was warm, And life one dream of rapture. Each bright hope Crushed to a fragrant ruin'mid the storms Of darksome life, feels its dry petals ope, And once more boldly dares with life's sad ills to cope. Now in this sweet and peaceful night, what fires On life's forgotten altars gleam anew! WVhat glowing visions and what high desires Like unsought spectres start upon my view! Young life's sweet garden, where my heart-flowers grew, Blooms freshly round mre-and the busy hum Of murmuring bees who not in vain pursue Life's toil, distils its music round me. Come Back to my weary heart, dreams of my childhood's home! My father blesses me again-and she Whose tears like heart-gems glistened on my hair Beneath her parting kisses, bends o'er me, As in that hour of hushed and solemn prayer! Mother! oh mother! since we gathered there Around the hearth-stone I shall see no more, Darkness and gloom and anguish and despair Have racked my soul to torture-but they bore No power to tear thee from my heart's deep core. Oh, bitter as the Dead Sea's hollow fruit, Which turns to ashes on the lips, has been The cup of life to me-and cold and mute The music dreams which sang to me between The pauses of thy blessing. I have seen The flowers of hope, leaf after leaf decay, And felt their canker-worm with poison keen, Eat to my soul, where on its altar lay My broken heart-strings, with their music passed away. Yet mother, in this bright and hallowed hour, My soul is once more with thee; and again The spells of love have o'er me their old power. Once more thine eyes beam into mine, as when Thy parting glance was on me; and again 173 APPROVED MODES OF TILLAGE. Thine arms encircle me. Oh bless me now, Ere yet my dream breaks up! -'Tis o'er! My pen Blots as with tears the page which I endow With the wild thoughts that swell beneath this aching brow G. G. FOSTER. APPROVED MODES OF TILLAGE. TVhat is to be understood by the term tillage? it is the operation, practice, or art of preparing the land for seed, and keeping the ground free from weeds which might impede the growth of crops. Tillage includes ploughing, manuring, harrowing, and rolling land, or whatever is done to bring it to a proper state to receive the seed; and, also, the operations of ploughing, harrowing, and hoeing the ground to destroy weeds and loosen the soil after it is planted. Every boy inz the couentry is fac)iliar with the operation of ploughing, but it Cizay be well that he be able to describe it; hence, it is asked-In what does the pirocess consist? It consists of cutting the ground into slices and turning them over. These slices usually vary in width from twelve to eighteen inches; and they are turned over in such a manner, that an entire new surface is presented to the atmosphere. To what depth sAhould these slices be caut? The medium depth of good ploughing may be estimated at seven inches. When the circumstances, arising from the. particular description of the crop and the nature of the soil, do not require deep ploughing, the depth may be less; but, in some cases where the upper soil has become enfeebled by long culture, or where the roots of the crop require more ample space, much deeper ploughing will be found expedient. How is the ploughmnan e^o6bled to regulate the width and the thickness of these slices? Much depends on the particular construction of the plough. All ploughs are designed to effect this object as far as possible. Yet, it is perhaps impossible so to construct them, as to accomplish this work, unless aided bv an experienced operator. As in the case of all implements ifbr manual operations, good instruments are required, and skillful agents to apply them in the proposed work. 174 ' i -'1,u,qjV'TZoIaMxJ('d'7 X(1 P~a.j'oUI.AT9u~'\(O CICAKt IO IOiIS I~~~~~~~~~~~_ APPROVED MODES OF TILLAGE. Jn what consists the application of the plozughman's skill? In this operation, the left hand or near-side horse, or ox, walks on the ground not yet plougffhed, the right hand or offside horse, or ox, walks il the furrow last made, and the workman follows, holding the handles. By means of these handles he guides the plough, and directs the animals of draught by the voice and the reins. If the plough cuts too deep, he is to press down the handles, so that the heel of the plough becomes a fulcrum, and the point of the share is raised upwards. If it does not cut sufficiently deep, this can be remedied by raising the handles and giving the point of the share a downward direction. And, if the plough inclines too much to the right or the left, in either case he is to give it a contrary pressure. How can the ploughman discover defects in regard to the width or the thickness of the slices? When the sods are considerably too wide in proportion to their depth, he will be admonished of it by their lying too flat, and too slightly overlapping each other. When their depth is considerably too great in proportion to their width, they will stand too upright, and be apt to fall back again into the furrow. Hot much land can ordinarily be ploughed in a day by one team? The common calculation, where good ploughing is practiced, is, that a pair of horses will plough an acre of grass land in nine hours. In very stiff soils less will be done; and in very light soils, more. When land is in a loose and pulverized state, from one-third to one-fourth part more may be done in the time mentioned. And it is very apparent that a pair of good horses well trained to the work, with an efficient man at the plough, will accomplish far more in the same time, than is performed by those of inferior quality. However, an acre a day, on average of different soils, different seasons in the year, and teams of varying quality, is a fair amount to be ploughed What should be a primary object in ploughing? In the first place, the ground should be well prepared for the plough by the removal of large stones ani other obstructions. In the second place, the farmer should use none but a first rate plough, and in prime order. And in the third place, 175 APPROVED MODES OF TILLAGE. he should employ a team well trained and well fed. With such appliances double the amount of labor will be performed, that could be effected by inferior instrumentalities; or where a miserable old plough is used, with a feeble or unmnanageable team, and the whole brought to a dead stand from encountering a large stone in the ground, every ten rods. For what purpose is ground p)loughed? To loosen or disintegrate the parts of which it is composed. This is necessary in order to enable the roots of the plants in the succeeding crop to extend themselves in every possible direction, downward and laterally, which they could not do, if the ground were hard and impenetrable. And, it is also necessary thai the soil be rendered mellow and light, that the fertilizing substances designed for the growth of the plants, be thoroughly mixed with it, and especially that it be thus rendered capable of receiving thie rain, which is to nourish the plants, instead of running off uponI the surface. Does any other be2iefit arise to the soil fromn ploughigng? There is. The lower strata are brought into a position to receive the influences of the sun and the atmosphere. If the soil is cold, it thus becomes warm. If too moist, it becomes drier; and, whether cold or warm-moist or diy, it is enabled to absorb from the atmosphere those gases which are so needful in the formation of vegetable substances. T4hat is szub-soil ploughing? It is ploughing in the sub-soil, that is, in the stratum or layer of earth lying beneath the upper soil, or surface of the ground. The process is performed by what is called a subsoil ploug(h, which is drawn by four or six oxen, following in the furrow of a common plough, and peniletrating this substratum, or sub-soil, to the depth of ten, twelve, fifteen, or even twenty inches. If the sub-soil is very hard, six oxen may be none too much. If not, four will answer. It is not designed to raise the sub-soil above the surface soil; but only to break it up and pulverize it, and to mix a portion of it with the lower portions of the surface soil. What are the supposecl advantages of suz-soil ploughing? The hard, sterile earth is thoroughly pulverized, thereby being exposed to the meliorating influenees of the atmosphere, and furnishin inereased supplies of food and moisture in dry seasons, for the roots of plants. These are the primary and general advantages of a deep wrought loam, and they are 176 APPROVED MODES OF TILLAGE. certainly such as to commend themselves to the attention of every reflecting farmer. How does it appear that sub-soil ploughing is conducive to the growth of plants? It has been said that it secures a better supply of heat and moisture, than where common ploughing only is performed. The fact is palpable, that in time of drought the vegetation of a garden will be much more vigorous than that in the adjacent field. This is mainly owing to the greater looseness of the soil.. IT7hat experimnent has been made to prove this? MIr. C. N. Bement, the distinguished agriculturist, some years since, sub-soiled several strips of a sandy knoll, which he planted with Indian corn. In the dry summer that followed, the corn of those strips was green and flourishing, while that on the other portions of the lot was almost burned up with the heat; and at the harvest, the difference in the yield was not less remarkable. TIV/at is a more permanent benefit fromt sub-soiling? The minute particles of the surface and sub-soils are gradually mixed together; the natural resources of the ground are wakened into life by the influence of the atmosphere; the thread-like web of roots with which it is filled decay when the plant dies, or is removed; and, in time, the sterile, unprofitable substratum becomes a valuable loam of great depth and fertility. Is sub-soil ploug7ig, always attended with profit? In some instances it has been found of decided injury. It is where the sub-soil plough breaks through a more retentive stratum, and turns up a thirsty sand or gravel, which absorbs ail the moisture and soluble manures of the surface soil. Land of this description ought to be kept in wood or permanent pasture, as under the most careful management it is always unprofitable for tillage. Hlow does the harrow contribute to the fertility of the soil? i The tendency of it, like the plough, the hoe, or the spade, is to reduce to fineness the large masses and hard lumps of earth that remain after ploughing. And, in preparing the soil for seed, it fills up caverns and brings down protuberances, thus better preparing it to receive the seed. By this means the seed is more uniformly scattered, and more likely to have a speedy and uniform germination. And, when the harrow 9 p n,- -l 177 APPRO'VED MIODES OF TILLAGE. is applied after the seed is sown, it is to mix it well with the soil, and to bury it at a moderate depth beneath the surface. By the use of what other implemente is the soil rendered fine and mnellow? The spade and the hoe have been most used; but of more recent origin the cultivator is applied to great advantage, especially as a time-saving implement. For deep action the spade answers admirably, both for the disintegration of the combined parts of the soil, and the removal of stones from it; but the process is extremely slow. Notwithstanding the invention of the sub-soil plough, in England, on some lease lands, the tenant is still required, in field culture, to upturn the soil with a spade. What is said of the use of the hoe and cultivator? The hoe has been so long used, and is so generally used for all purposes of the kind, that there is no occasion to speak of it. The cultivator is coming into general use for the extermination of weeds between the rows of Indian corn, and other crops in rows or drills; but, as it operates only on and near the surface, the plough, and subsequently the hoe, are more effectual for melioration. As a time-saving implement the cultivator is of great value; and every farmer may save the cost of it in a single year. Of zvhat ruinous neglect in regard to tillage are nmany farmers guilty? Particularly in allowing weeds to grow, which exhaust the strength firom the soil, and if allowed to mature, fill it with pernicious seeds, requiring years for their extermination. A farmer should no more allow weeds to remain on his lands, than burglars in his house, or wild animals to eat the grain wanted for his family, cattle, and swine. TJV7at are the benefits fro.t the use of the roller? The first and most obvious benefit is, to breal those clods or indurated masses of earth which have resisted the, action of the harrow; or, at all events, to bury them in the ground, so that at the next harrowing, which, when thus buried, they cannot well escape-they must of necessity be somewhat dmninished in size. It is for this reason that in countries where the soil is very tenacious. and tillage very carefully conducted, it is the custom, even after the preparatory ploughings, first to harrow, then to pass the roller over the ground, and then to harrow again. 1I78 THIE AMNIERTICAN FARMER. What is a second b;ene(t front the use of the roller? This is to give a somewhat greater degree of compactness to a soil which is too light and friable, and to unite its component parts. The roller is not employed for this purpose to so great an extent as it might be with advantage. This application of the roller is particularly resorted to on the spongy soils of valleys. In such situations it cannot, indeed, be well dispensed with. What is a third benefit arising.from the use of the roller? Again, the roller is used to press down and make firm the ground about newly sown seeds, and to cause the latter to adhere better to the soil. Sometimes, when very small seed is to be sown, it is found advantageous to pass the roller over the ground before the seed is sown, so as to level it thoroughly, and to facilitate a more equal distribution of the seed than could otherwise take place. Where the ground has been thus leveled, those seeds which happen to fall together, separate from each other; and it is seldom that two are found lying on the same spot. The harrow is then passed over the ground; and this operation is followed by repeated rollings, which obliterate the lines drawn by the harrow. What is a fourth be;efit from the use of the roller? This is to cover with mold, or press against or into the ground, the roots of those plan.ts sown in the preceding auturnn, which have been detached by the frost. Soils rich in humus, such as those found in valleys, sometimes swell up in the spring to such a degree, that the roots of the plants contained in them are forced up. In such cases, if a fall of rain does not speedily occur, the roller is the only means of restoring them to their proper position. Hence, a grass field cannot be too often rolled; and, it is not going too far to-assert, that the application of the roller in autumn to prepare the roots for resisting the winter frosts, and in spring to render them'firm after the frosts, every year whiile the field remains in grass, will amply repay the expense. THE AMERICAN FARLIER. What is the position of the American farmer, when compared with that of the merchant, the politician, the lawyer? Should he be content with his lot for himself and 179 . 11 TIlE AMERICAN FARMER. his children? Or should he leave his occupation and adopt some other? Like every other position, that of the farmer has its dark side as well as its bright one. And to decide on its comparative advantages, we must inquire what is the object of man's existence, and how he shall attain the end of his being? To these questions, history and revelation, the world around us, and the spirit within us, answer, that the object of man's existence is happiness. Happiness here, and happiness forever. And the condition of that happiness is the diligent and proper exercise of his affections and faculties. If this be the case,'does the situation of the American farmer offer a fair opportunity of insuring this happiness? To be happy is the object of life, and all that the world can give toward it, is health and competence. "Health of body is above all riches, and a strong body is above infinite wealth." And where is health'to be found? There is no need of an audible answer. Look around on an assembly from the rural districts of the country, and we shall see bright eyes and blooming cheeks, as well as strong arms and untiring strength, giving testimony that the earth's first blessing is bestowed upon those who labor upon her bosom. But health is often undervalued by its possessor, or only appreciated when lost. Wealth, the more obvious and immediate reward of labor, is the chief pursuit of the active. And here the farmer thinks he has a right to complain The merchant will sometimes make more in a year than he can make in a lifetime; and it is not wonderful that he sometimes asks, would it not be better to leave small rewards, though regular and certain, for the chance of obtainin(, (rreater? To decide this question, we must ask, What is the price he pays? What is the reward he obtains? What is the price he pays? To say nothing of his moral exposures, in the great majority of cases, health of body and serenity of mind. Follow such a one into' the crowded streets, or the close workshop. His strength for a time sust-ains him, but confinement and bad air soon deprive him of his healthful energy, and disease and premature decay become too often his portion. But supposing health can be preserved, where is his serenity of mind? The risks attendant on rapid accumulation are always in proportion to the chances of success. The farmer sows his 190 TIE AMEIICAN FARnMEr., seed, and has no doubt but that the harvest will repay him. But he who embarks in speculations that promise sudden and great wealth, knows that he may be "sowing the wind to reap the whirlwind." And the constant fear of such a result inlbitters his days and renders his nights restless. Alnd if attained, success gives but little satisfaction. The higher the rise, the wider the horizon the greater the accumrnulationI, the more exorbitant the desire. And this is not the extent of the evil. A total want of independence is too often the result. Few men in our community have those resources that will enable them to carry on extensive operations on their own means. Almost all depend on borrowing, and the borrower is the servant of the lender. But, even if success should be the portion of the aspirant for riches, when is he to attain it? Does it come i()rward to meet him? Years of anxiety may be repaid by wealth; but how seldom is this the case! More than ninety in every hundred, even in regular mercantile pursuits, fail. There are but few capital prizes in this lottery. The name of the fortunate holder may be seen at every corner, but where are the ninety and nine who draw blanks? And if attained, how uncertain its possession! Wealth "gotten by vanity," by which I suppose Solomon meant by speculation,' shall be diminished, but he that gathereth by labor shall increase," is a doctrine as true now as when first delivered, and is one which the experience of every age tends to corroborate. And after all, what is the advanrtage of great wealth, or what is ffgreat wealth itself? It exists only in comparison. A man is as well off," said the great capitalist of the United States, "who is only worth half a million of dollars, as he would be if he were rich." Arnd one of the satirical papers of the day tells us that when Baron Rothschild, the Jewish banker, read that the income of Louis Philippe was only fifty dollars a minute, his eyes filled with tears, for he was not aware of the txistance of sucti destitution. After the comforts of life are supplied, wealth becomes merely an imaginary advantagte. and its possession does not confer any material for happiness, which an industrious and forehanded farmner does not possess. " We will conquer all Italy," said Pyrrhus, to his prime minister, " and then we will pass into Asia; we will overrun her kingl-doms, and then we will wage war upon Africa, and w.hen we have conquered all, we will sit 181 THE AMERICAN FARAIER. down quietly and enjoy ourselves." "And why," replied the minister, "should we not sit down and enjoy ourselves without taking all this trouble?" And why may not you, it may be said to many an aspirant after health, enjoy in reality all you seek, in your present condition. "Give me neither poverty nor riches," was the prayer of one of the sages of antiquity. And Lord Bacon, the wisest man of modern times, says, "Seek not proud riches, but rather such as thou mayest get justly, use soberly, distribute cheerfully, and leave contentedly." And cani thiere be a truer description of a farmer's fortune? There is no greater independence than that possessed by the contented, forehai'ded farmer. " Tell your master," said a Roman general, to the ambassador of the King of Persia, who came to bribe him with great wealth, and found him washing the vegetables that were to constitute his dinner with his own hands, ' tell your master that all the gold in Persia can never bribe the man who can contentedly live upon turnips." The answer was as true in philosophy, as it was elevated in patriotism. To be happy man must limit his desires. And when he has sufficient for his needs, he should remember that the temptations and perplexities incident to overgrown wealth more than counterbalance its seeming advantages. Health of body and competence of estate are all the requisites for organic happiness that the world can bestow. And to say that agricultural pursuits are eminently calculated to insure these, is only to reiterate the language of past ages, and to repeat the testimony of our own. If you'leave such pursuits, the hazard increases as the profit augments. The amount of the premium is always proportioned to the greatness of the risk. But health and the conveniences of life are not all that a man requires to make him happy. He desires to be useful, he wishes to be esteemed. And what profession can boast of a higher claim to utility than that of the farmer? The greater part of mankind must be agriculturists, and on their characters the well-being of every state must depend. Our free institutions are valued, but how shall they be preserved? By the virtue of the people. History, gives no other answer. No truth is more clearly emblazoned on her pages than that if a nation would be free, they must be intelligently virtuous. And here the agricultural class becomes of the first impor. 182 THE AMIERICAN FARMER. tance to the state. The influence of a virtuous yeomanry on her character, like that of the air on the individual, is seen in the strength of those who are unconscious of its presence. The agricultural life is one eminently calculated for human happiness and human virtue. But let no other calling or pursuit of honest industry be despised or envied. One cannot say unto another, "I have no need of thee; " and to every one there are compensations made that render all, in a great degree, satisfied with their lot. Envy not the wealth of the merchant; it has been won by anxieties that you never knew, and is held by so frail a tenure as to deprive its pos sessor of perfect security and perfect peace. While your slumbers have been sound, his have been disturbed by calculating chances, by fearful anticipations, by uncertainty of results. The reward of your labor is sure. He feels that an hour may strip him of his possessions, and turn him and his family on the world in debt and penury. Envy not the learning of the student. The hue on his cheek testifies of the vigils by which it has been attained. He has grown pale over the midnight lamp. He has been shut up from the prospect of nature, while sound sleep and refreshing breezes have been your portion and your health. Envy not the successful statesman. His name may be in every one's mouth. His reputation may be the property of his country, but envy and detraction have marked him. His plans are thwarted, his principles attacked, his ends misrepresented. And if he attain to the highest station, it is to feel that his power only enables him to make one ungrateful, and hundreds his enemies, for every favor he can bestow. Envy no one. The situation of an independent farmer stands among the first, for happiness and virtue. It is the one to which statesmen and warriors have retired, to find, in the contemplation of the works of nature, that serenity which more conspicuous stations could not impart. It is the situation in which God placed his peculiar people in the land of Judea, and to which all the laws and institutions of his great lawgiver had immediate reference. And when, in the fullness of time, the privileges of the chosen seed were to be extended to all his children, it was to shepherds, abiding in the field, that the glad tidings of great joy were first antounced. Health of body, serenity of mind, and comnpe 183 4 184 PERSEVERING LABOR AND WEAILTI. tence of estate, wait upon this honorable calling; and itl giving these, it gives all that the present can bestow, while it opens, through its influence, the path to Heaven.-Ad. before New- Yorkc State Ag. S'ociety, by HON. JOSIAI QUINcY, JR., of.lIassachusotts. PERSEVERING LABOR AND WEALTH. If there be any aristocracy of wealth in our country, it is a genuine, a native growth. It has been produced by the labor, enterprise, and persevering economy of the people themselves. Who, that has lived so long as I have lived, has not seen the progress of wealth in almost every departmnent of acquisition? I can recollect a ship-bo), whose whole paternal wealth was a warmi, and anxious parental blessing. What voction can be more toilsome, wvhat more perilous? Sleep, which in other callings seals the weary eye of labor on something like a bed of repose, weighs his eyelids down, and steeps his senses in forgetfulness, with no better pillow, it may be, than the head of the "high and giddy mast, when the wind takes the ruffian billows by the tops, curling their heads, and hanging them with deafenling clamor in the slippery shrouds." Yet hlie, by perpetual toil, continued enterprise, and untiring economy, comes at last to be a wealthy and extensive ship-owner. The vocation of the school-master is a life of toil, humble acquisition, and honest obscurity. His capital is altogether of the mind. There he is rich, in science, integrity, and habits of persevering labor and economy. How miany of these men in our country, after toiling years, in this employmnent, gather up the earnings and saviing of those years, and turning their attention to commerce or other industrial pursuits, become, by the practice of the.same process of integrity, labor, and economy, men of wealth and eminence? And, how many, after a devotion in early life to these unpretendiug labors, have adopted one of the learned professions, and thence rising from one point of distinction to another, till ranked with the leading men of the nation? I have seen the young mechanic, at the age of twentyone, standing on the threshold of his father's humble dwelling. He was just about to step out into the world, and to bTuin life for himself; with no other earthly wealth than his PERSEVERING LABOR AND WEALTII. Iwn summer frock, trowsers, and straw hat. His whole capital was his hands, and his skill int the use of them. Notwithstanding all these discouragements, this samre man, by perpetual toil and perpetual economy, became a wealthy and egtensive manufacturer. Such instances are bv no means rare. They are confined to no particular locality. They may be bfound in every part of our land. There are thousands, and tens of thousands of them. The plough-boy belongs to another class of humble and toilsome employment; and who, that has ever shared in the toils or the sports of that vocation, can look back upon it, from any point in after life, without feelings of complacency and regret? The plough-boy drives his team across the field, when the first sunbeams of morning are spreading over the earth; when the world is bursting into life, and song, and action; and, buoyant with youth, and health, and hope; he, "as he turns over the furrowed land," joins the rude notes of his own voice to the jocund sounds of the merry morning. This laborious lad, by years of continual toil and continual economy, does at last become the owner of fields, and is himself rich in farms and plantations. He belongs, moreover, to that class of citizens, more numerous than all others, constituting the bulwark of the nation, and giving sustenance to the whole world. The wealth of a nation is its labor, its skill, its machinery, its abundant control of all the great agents of nature employed in production. Wealth is power; and the defence of every nation depends on its wealth. Nevertheless, a large store of goods laid up for many years, was the wealth of a fool; but such a store is the poverty of a nation. A great annual consumption, alone, can ensure an augmented annual reproduction. The labor of a nation can no otherwise be sustained, than by the consumption of its products. The products of human labor inll food.and clothing, like the fruits of the earth, are annual; and God, in his wisdom, has adjusted human wants to the powers of production. Like the bread from heaven, that the Giver might not be forgotten. the dew of every nigcht produced the crop; and the labors of every day gathered in the harvest. What but a mighty phalanx of labor, an almost boundless power of consumption and reproduction, has defended and tow sustains England in all the athletic vigor of the most 185 186 PERSEVERiING LABOR AND VWEALTH. glorious days of thlat extraordinary nation? Men who specu late on the durationi of nations, seem to assign to them the several periods of human life; youth, manhood, and old age, and final dissolution. They draw their conclusions from the nations of antiquity, and apply them to those of modern times. They forget that those ancient nations were like beasts of prey, which find an enemy in every living thing; and must be, sooner or later, circumvented by stratagem, or overpowered and destroyed by force. Producing nothing by their own labor, and consuming all which, by violence. they could plund(ler from the labors of others, their whole existence was' a burden to the human race, and they were finally destroyed as a common nuisance to mankind. Not so with England; she is a glorious example of the self-subsisting, the all producing, and all defrbulindi( powers oi' labor. WTith a valor purely Spartan,' shle builds no walls against the wars of the world. Her little island, accessible at a thousand points, and often within gunshot of the embattled fleets of her enemies, has not, for more than seven hundred years, been stept upon by a hostile foot. NAVhat has enabled her to do this'? Her untiriu.,g liabor; her unrivalled skill her une(flalled machiiery; her exhaustless capital, and unboutided control over all the agents of production. Her goods, her wares, and merchandise, are in all the markets of the world; and wherever she wants a tongue to speak in her cause, or a sword to be drawn in her quarrel, if such things can be found in those markets, she can command them. But, if there can be no wealth without labor, the former isually gives impulse and successful direction to the latter. Dowe hear the sound of the axe, see the forests fall around. and the.clearing extended over new regions. The idea of money in prospect, or in actual possession, gave energy to the first blow. Is the plough in motion on a thousand fields, and carrying culture to the very hill tops of our country? It is no hyperbole to say, that the idea of money sharpens the shar e, and feeds and invigorates the team. Do the sounds of ouLr spindles and looms make music with the sound of our waterfalls; and are our fabrics sent into all parts of our COunitlv, antd to foreign nations? The accumulated wealth of the people from previous labor was the great agent moving all this machinery. Are the saw and the hammer heard over the whole country, bulilding work shops, warehouses, GOD'S FIRST TEMPLES. mansions, temples, villages, cities? What but a store of wealth, collected and laid up, by the labor and economy of the people, has called into activity the skill and the strength of mechanical labor, and thereby ornamented, as if by enchantment, the whole face of our country? Nor is this all! What sea is left unvexed, by the oars or the keels of our fisheries or commerce? Let it be remembered, that not a line is drawn; not a harpoon thrown; not an oar-blade glitters in the sun; nor a sail whitens above the wave, without that invigorating current of vitality, the money of our country, which feeding and sustaining every department of labor, putg it all into animated and productive motion; and which, for that great purpose, has in former years, by so much toil, care, and economy, been earned, saved, and then made available in developing an increased and combined human industry throughout every member and limb, of the whole vast and gigantic body of our national labor. There is, therefore, a beautiful reciprocity between labor and wealth; if the latter is produced by the former, the former is invigorated and sustained by the latter. Thus it is with the husbandman in tilling the ground. His labor causes the fruits of the earth to spring up, and without it they would not be made to exist; yet without them for food the farmer could not live and toil.-TrIsTAM, BURGESS, LL. D. GOD'S FIRST TEMPLES. The groves were God's first temples. Ere man learned To hew the shaft, and lay the architrave, And spread the roof above them,-ere he framed The lofty vault, to gather and roll back The sound of anthems,-in the darkling'wood, Amidst the cool and silence, he' knelt down And offered to the Mightiest solemn thanks And supplication. For his simple heart Might not resist-the sacred influences, That, from the stilly twilight of the place, And from the gray old trunks, that, high in heaven, Mingled their mossy boughs, and from the sound Of the invisible breath, that swayed at once All their green tops, stole over him, and towed 187 His spirit with the thought of boundless Power And inaccessible Majesty. Ah! why Should we, in the world's riper years, neglect God's ancient sanctuaries, and adore Only among the crowd, and under roofs That our frail hands have raised? Let me, at least, Here, in +he shadow of this aged wood, Offer one hymn; thrice happy, if it find Acceptance in his ear. Father, thy hand Hath reared these venerable columns; thou Didst weave this verdant roof. Thou didst look down Upon the naked earth, and, forthwith, rose All these fair ranks of trees. They in thy sun Budded, and shook their green leaves in thy breeze, And shot towards heaven. The century-living crow, Whose birth was in their tops, grew old and died Among their branches; till, at last, they stood, As now they stand, massy, and tall, and dark, Fit shrine for humble worshipper to hold Communion with his Maker. Here are seen No traces of man's pomp or pride; no silks Rustle, no jewels shine, nor envious eyes Encounter; no fantastic carvings show The boast of our vain race to change the form Of thy fair works. But thou art here; thou fill'st The solitude. Thou art in the soft winds That run along the summits of these trees In music; thou art in the cooler breath, That, from the inmost darkness of the place, Comes, scarcely felt; the barky trunks, the ground, The fresh, moist ground, are all instinct with thee. Here is continual worship; nature, here, In the tranquility that thou dost love, Enjoys thy presence. Noiselessly, around, From perch to perch, the solitary bird Passes; and yon clear spring, that, midst its herbs, Wells softly forth, and visits the strong roots Of half the mighty forest, tells no tale Of all the good it does. Thou hast not left Thyself without a witness, in these shades, Of thy perfections. Grandeur, strength and grace, 188 GOD'S FIRST TEMPLES. GOD'S FIRST TEMPLES. Are here to speak of thee. This mighty oakBy whose immovable stem I stand, and seem Almost annihilated-not a prince, In all the proud old world beyond the deep, E'er wore his crown as loftily as he WTears the green coronal of leaves, with which Thy hand has graced him. Nestled at his root Is beauty, such as blooms not inl the glare Of the broad sun. That delicate forest flower, With scented breath,.and look so like a smile, Seems, as it issues from the shapeless mold, An emanation of the indwelling Life, A visible token of the upholding Love, That are the soul of this wide universe. Mly heart is awed within me, when I think Of the great miracle that still goes on, In silence, round me-the perpetual work Of thy creation, finished, yet renewed Forever. BWritten on thy works, I reattl The lesson of thy own eternity. Lo! all grow old and die: but see, again, How, on the faltering footsteps of decay, Youth presses-ever gay and beautiful youth-, In all its beautiful forms. These lofty trees Wave not less proudly that their ancestors MIolder beneath them. Oh there is not lost One of earth's charmns: upon her bosom yet, After the flight of untold centuries, The freshness of her far beginning lies, And yet shall lie. Life mocks the idle hate Of his arch enemy Death; yea, seats himself 'Upon the sepulchre, and blooms and smiles, And of the triumphs of his ghastly foe Alakes his own nourishment. For he came forth From thine own bosom, and shall have no end. There have been holy men, who hid themselves Deep in the woody wilderness, and gave Their lives to thought and prayer, till they outlived The generation born with them, nor seemed Less aged than the hoary trees and rocks Around them; and there have been holy men, Who deemed it were not well to pass life thus. 0 189 f THE WINTER NIGHT. But let me often to these solitudes Retire, and, in thy presence, reassure My feeble virtue. Here, its enemies, The passions, at thy plainer footsteps, shrink, And tremble, and are still. 0 God! when thou Dost scare the world with tempests, set on fire The heavens with falling thunderbolts, or fill, With all the waters of the firmament, The swift, dark whirlwind, that uproots the woods, And drowns the villages; when, at thy call, Uprises the great deep, and throws himself Upon the continent, and overwhelms Its cities;-who forgets not, at the sight Of these tremendous tokens of thy power, His pride, and lays his strifes and follies by!, Oh! from the sterner aspects of thy face Spare me and mine; nor let us need the wrath Of the mad, unchained elements, to teach Who rules them. Be it ours to meditate, In these calm shades, thy milder majesty, And to the beautiful order of thy works Learn to conform the order of our lives. BRtYANT, THE WINTER NIGHT. 'Tis the high festival of night! The earth is radiant with delight; And, fast as weary day retires, The heaven unfolds its secret fires, Bright,-as when first the firmament Around the new made world was bent, And infant seraphs pierced the blue, Till rays of heaven came shining through. And mark the heaveni's reflected glow On many an icy plain below; And where the streams with tinkling clash Against their frozen barriers dash, Like fairy lances fleetly cast The glittering ripples hurry past, 196 AGRICULTURAL IMPLEMENTS. And floating sparkles glance afar Like rivals of some upper star. And see, beyond, how sweetly still The snowy moonlight wraps the hill, And many an aged pine receives The steady brightness on its leaves, Contrasting with those giant forms Which, rifled by the winter storms, With naked branches broad and high, Are darkly painted on the sky. From every mounltain's towering head A white and glistening robe is spread, As if a melted silver tide Were gushinig down its lofty side The clear cold lustre of the moon Is purer than the burning noon, And day hath never known the charm That dwells amid this evening calm. The idler on his silken bed MIay talk of nature cold and dead; But we will gaze upon this scene, Where some transcendent power hath been, And made these streams of beauty flow In g-ladness on the world below, Till nature breathes fiom every part The rapture of her mighty heart. PEABODY. AGRPICULTURAL IMPLEMENTS. What are the most i)mportan;t agricultural implemnents? The plough, the harrow, the spade, the hoe, the roller, the fork, the scythe, the rake, the cultivator, the cradle, the seedsovwer. the corn-sheller, the straw-cutter, the fanning-mill, the cart, the wagon, and many others of an unknown number. What is said( of the history of the plough? It is the most valuable, and probably the most ancient of all agricultural implements. There are traces of it in the 191 AGRICULTURAL IMPLEMENTS. earliest written authorities; and Hesiod advised the Greek farmers to have a spare plough, so that in case of accident the work might not be interrupted. The ploughs of Rome were of the most simple construction, much resembling in form the ainchor of a ship. Rivaling these in simplicity and rudeness of form, are the never-altered or improved ploughs of the Hindoos and Chinese, from wh6se implements it is probable the shape of those of Rome were borrowed. The plouglis of the early Saxons and Normans were furnished with wheels; and, it is supposed that the ploughs of the ftrmer were drawn by being fastened to the tails of their horses. The same practice also was known to exist in Ireland. IVhen aond by w'hon did Iglotgh s receive inmproventents igzdzccating, the present vtode of construction? Soimewhere about the year 1730, the Dutchl got up a plough whichi had some general resemblance to that now in use. It was constructed chiefly of wood; the draught-irons, share, and coulter, with the additional plating of iron to the mold-board and sole, being the only parts made of iron. Thirty years afterwards, in Scotland, ploughs were further :-npiroved by an iron mold-board and otherwise, so that inll )ost respects, we now use much the same model, with less importaLt variations. TlVhat acldvatnage have the ploughs now in use over those tc7hich preceded theem? The wood plough, as generally made, had many objectionable points and properties. It was very liable to get out of order fiom exposure to the soil and weather, and contilnually required repair. For w-ant of a correct principle or guide, it would frequently happen that iftwo ploughs were made by the same maker, they would not work exactly alike; and it was a matter more of chance than certainty whether either would perform its work properly. Besides, it was so unwieldy and occasioned so much resistance, that double the draught power was required, now necessary; that is, with our present ploughs one yoke of oxen will perform about the same amount of work that two did with the old wood ploughs. -obzv are ploughs nowt made? They are composed principally of cast iron; and this is not only much the cheapest, but fobr ordinary use it is much the best. The point being of cast iron, is easily replaced at a moment's notice, and with a trifling expense, when either 192 EMERY'S THJRASHIN~G MACHlINE. By tbe -Lse of this or ay similar Machine, from fifty to one hundred bushels may b thyaslied in a day; tlins saving mtccli in tie cost of that oucration' Besides, w hercit is left to be done in Fitormy days throg tile winter, ordinarily the rats and mnice will destroy as much of it as w ould pay for it done hy a Machine. lb AGRICULTURAT IPLExieNTP E S. broken or worn out; and, in consequence of beingf made from a mixture of several kinds of the best metat, it has the tenacity, stre-Lngth, and durability of steel. ltof: jizca2y?,lozg'As are probably manufactured annually i the U, iitced States? It is inpossible to tell the exact number, or a near approximatioil to it. There are, however, about two millions of farmners, or persons who cultivate farms on their own account. Three ploughs are supposed to be the average number owned by each one; some have five or six, and no one can be expectedc to do with less than two, and rarely less than three. Thie w-ear on the whole cannot be less than one entire plough, so that each ifarmer, ont an average, purchases a 1new one each year. This is a moderate estimate; and assuminig it as a fact, two millions of new ploufghs are demanded annually in the whole country. In the city of New-York there is one establishment which maniufactures annually ten thousand ploughs. There may be others still larger. If they average five dollars eaceh, it is seen that the farmers inl the TUniited States, every year, pay ten millions of dollars fbr the siio'le article of ploughs. T /hat is said of the construction of harrows? They are of various sizes and shapes. The more common ones, triangular, square, or paralellogram, with unequal angles. The part;icular shape is not very material; but it is important that thie teeth be so arranged that no two are on the same line as the harrow is carried forward; and that they form lines within two or three inches of each other, and at equal distances. Harrows that are made of two equal parts, and connected with hinges are best, because they work better on uneven ground, and when the teeth are required to be cleared of vines or any refuse vegetables with which they may become entangled, they may be cleared without lifting the whole weight of the harrow. Jfoic are the best rollers consti'ticted? The most approved rollers are constructed wholly of iron, except the tonigue, which is of wood. These rollers are usually made either eighteen or twenty-four inches in diameter, in separate sectionis, each one a foot long, turning on a wrought iron arbor, independent of each other, and without much fric tion. They can be of any weight, and used by hand, or so heavy as to require one or two horses. A roller of four see 193 16 r 4 zl tions only, thills or shafts being applied instead of a tongue, can be operated by one horse; but if it consist of six sections, two horses are necessary. It is a modern invention, but is coming into general use with the best farmers. SVtat is sai(d of the cultivators? They are designed to stir the earth and to destroy the weeds between the rows of corn, and other crops in rows or drills, and are among the most important labor-saving implements in modern husbandry, inasmuch as one man and horse, with one, will accomplish as much work as four mne, at least. In form they much resemble the triangular harrow, with fixtures to expand and contract, according to the distance between the rows where they are to be used. They have teeth, but variously constructed; some to penetrate deep into the soil, and others resembling small ploughshares, so as the better to cut up weeds, and to change the position of the soil. No farmer, once acquainted with its use, would willingly do without one. They are also good for being passed over a field after the sowing of wheat, to mix the seed with the soil, instead of doing it with a plough, as often done. loze is the cradle described? It is a broad scythe and sneath, with long bending teeth in a frame, to be used in cutting and laying in a syvath, oats, wheat, and other grain, instead of doing it, as formerly done, by a sickle. It performs the labor with so much expedition, that the common sickle is almost wholly supersedea. If the grain has not- been blown down by storms or otherwise, a hand with the cradle will cut from two to four acres in a day. TVhat is the constrz'ctioi of reafping nmachines for horse pozcer? There are machines of this description which will reap, it is said, fifteen acres of wheat in a day, and will cut the grain as smooth and clean as it can be done with a sickle, or scyethe. The machine has low wheels, and is drawn by a pair of horses, and cuts a swath five feet wide with twenty knives working horizontally, which require sharpening only once a day. A man sitting on the side of the platform with a rake, pushes off the grain as fast as it is cut. A field of oats or barley may be cut as neatly and expeditiously, as one of wheat or rye. They are of course designed for those extensively engaged in agriculture. towi are rakzes constructed? WVith the common hand farm rakes all are familiar; b-t 194 AGRICULTURAL IIPLEME-,NTS. AGRICULTURAL IMPLEMENTS. these will soon fall into disuse, except on small rough farms, or where the owners have not learned how much may be gained in raking hay by the use of horse-power. Horse-rakes are made of different patterns; and, what is called the revolving rake, is probably the best. With this, a man, a boy, and a horse, can rake over, from fifteen to twenty-five acres in a day-a saving of immense imrportance, at a season of the year when labor commands a high price, and cannot always be had. It is easy for any one to estimate in how short a time the cost of it would be saved. Besides, its importance is increased from the fact that sudden showers and storms are constantly liable to arise in the season of hay-making. It is of simple and durable construction, and is not expensive. TTthat is said of the gnodern inventions for sowing and planting di ~reeet ki?,ds of sed? The machine for sowing garden seeds, and all small seeds in field culture, such as carrots, turnips, parsnips, and beets, is moved by hand. The operator pushes it before him, and by a single operation, the furrow or drill is opened, the seed is deposited, and the earth turned over it and compressed. The seeds are dropped with the greatest precision, at any desired distance from each other, whether in hills or drills. The horse-drill is for planting wheat, rye, Indian corn, oafs, peas, beans, or any thing else, in large fields. A man with two horses and this machine, can put in from ten to twelve acres of lvheat in a day; and with one horse he can plant twenty acres of Indian corn in a day. The drill is so arranged that it can be used on rough and hilly land; and, will deposit any desired quantity of seed to the acre. UTTiat account is given of st'aw, hay, and corn-stalk ctttc)'s? There are several different instruments in use coming under this denomination, more or less expensive, and varying in excellence for the purpose designed. Ordinarily, they have a crank, and are operated by hand; but can be made so firm as to be used by horse-power, cutting a ton in an hour and a quarter. There is a great saving in the cutting of corn-stalks, hay, and straw, in two ways. The animals do not waste it bv drawilng it out of the mangers, and trampling it under theier feet, and time and labor are saved them in masticating. They obtain their supply of food readily, and then lie down to digest it. Fermentation also developes the nutritive mat pq 195 4p AGRICULTURAL IMPLEMENTS. ter, and requires less work for thie stomach, and this, by saving muscular exertion, leaves more strelngth with the animal to be expended on ordinary work. Both hay and straw should be slightly wet; aid if' sea-soied with a little meal and salt, is the better. The best machines are those with spiral knives and cutting against a roller of raw hide, being self-feeders, and without any complicated fixtures. Some feed their horses altogether with cut hay and straw. mixed with ground provender. Hozc are vegetable cutters Tracle, and what is the benefit fro~i thebl? The cutting wheel of this implement is made of cast iron, faced on one side, through which are inserted three or more knives, like plane-irons. These cut the vegetables into thin slices with great rapidity, and thien, by cross knives they are cut into slips of convenient form and size for cattle or sheep, without danger of choking. The pieces after cutting lie loosely, and can easily be taken up by the animal. One of these machines in good order, will cut fifty bushels of turnips or carrots in an hour. Itow is the corn and cob crusher inade? In such a machine the cobs are first cut in short pieces by means of a strolig spiral knife attached to the axle, and then pass between two griidigff plates made of composition metal, that will last two or three years, when they are replaced by new ones. They are of sizes to be workied by horse-power, or with a wheel and crank by hand. This machine, where it is deemed an object to use the cobs for feed, and where other means of reduc(ing them to small atoms are not within convenient dist,ance, are of great value to the farmer. There are also grain mills of somewhat similar construction; one of which, with one horse-power, will grind four bushels of fine meal in an hour; if the meal is coarse, a greater quantity. In seasons of drought, when the common gristmills are deficient in water, one of the above grain mills would be of great convenience. WV/a,t accozunt is given of thit fanning gnill? It is a contrivance employed for separating, by an artificial current of air, the chaeff from the grain, after it has been threshed out of the straw. Yarious accounts are given of the introduction of this machine into England and Scotland, and of the many claimants for the credit of having been the first 196 10 AGRICULTbRAL IMPLEMENTS. mtakers of this ingenious piece of mechanism. All, however, agree that the idea, model, or design was first furnished from Holland. Different patents have been taken out for those of different construction; but either, probably, of those now ill use, will answer the purpose. Tie presumption is, that those are to be preferred which are the least complicated in their machinery. Of the utility of corn shellers, what mnay be said? The large quantities of corn raised in this country, render it, as it were, indispensable that there should be machines for shellingi it from the cob in some expeditious manner. Formerly, to shell the corn by hand, growing on a farm, was a winter's occupation for one man at least. No wonder then that so many efforts have been made to supply this desideratum. Two men with one of the best, having a double hop — per, can shell two hundred bushels of corn a day. So the venders of it affirm; but, if only half of that quantity were shelled, the inducements for possessing one would be amnple. A sheller with a single hopper will be sufficient for all moderate corn growers. Of the different patents each purchaser can be guided by his own fancy anrid judgment, keeping in mind the amount of labor to be performed by it. TVIhat is said of the relative value of wagons and carts for use on a farm? It would be well for farmers to own both, if able, and their labors are extensive and of diversified character. For heavy burdens and for going long distances, especially on public roads, wagons are doubless preferable. The weight resting on two axles instead of one, the wheels press less heavily on the ground, and there is of course less friction on the axles, as the wheels turn round. The load also is kept, in ascending hills, from settling backward and thus tending to choke the animals upon draught; and in descending hills, settling forward and thus pressing too onerously upon them. But from the more convenient facility with which carts are turned round, much time will be saved in using them in doing most of the work on the farm, particularly the removal of manure and other objects for short distances only. Whlat is said of the imnp,ortance of thle rindstone? It is surprisilng that any farmer should neglect to be furnished with a good grindstone, as it is found most necessary every few days. The individual that depends on his neigh 197 AGRICULTURAL IMPLEMENTS. bor, if only a fourth of a mile distant, for this useful implement every time his edge tools require being sharpened, will be likely to lose the cost of two or three stones in time wasted in going back and forth. And, if nmoluted on friction rollers, which cost but a mere trifle, more than half of the toil in turning it will be saved; and, in addition to this, when putting an edge to small tools, and others requiring but little grinding, the labor of a person at the crank is saved altogether. What may be said of the i1mpor-tance of being amply supplied with the imlplewents generally needed in doing the different labors of the fizr2? There is no economy or saving in not being furnished abundantly with them. It is better to have too many than not enough. The catalogue required would be too long for enumeration here. Suffice it to say, that in the saving of time they all pay for themselves many times over. The farmer who is destitute of the more constantly needful of them, would make a slow progress in hlis work, like that of the shoemaker Flio should attempt to manufacture shoes by using the tine of a table fork instead of an awl, or like that of the tailor who attempts to sew by fastening his thread to the head of a pill, instead of using a needle. And, zthat is said of the explediency of using the mzore expensive kinds of a:,ricultral iajllements? It is very evident, that in all cases where they would lead fo a saving of labor, varying from a hundred to a thousand per cent., the neglect to have them is an absurdity. This is especially true, where horse-power canl be substituted for human labor. It is similar to a man, not owning a horse, spending a whiole day in carrying to the grist-mill a bag of corn on his back, when he might hire a horse to do it, and pay for it in his owun labor in one-fourth part of the time; or, like carrying to market in his own wagon a load of produce, when he might send it on the rail road, or some other public conveyance, ior half the amount paid for tolls and other incidental expenses in the journey. T]Jhat is said of takinzg good care offarn imp)lenients? Thq aggregatee amount of loss to farmers who are inattentive to this subject, is incredibly great. A slight yielding of an implement is cheaply'v repaired, and then it answers the same as a new one; but, if neglected, it soon goes to ruin, and another is wanted. It is not unlike neglecting to close 198 I ROMANCE IN REAL LIFE. a small rent in our garments, wvhl'ch is almost sure to catch upon something that will further rend them, till completely worthless. All farm implements should be kept in perfect repair, every now and then as needed, receiving a coat of paint; and above all, when not in use, should be kept sheltered firom the sun and weather, and well packed away. By such precautions a farmer well supplied with them will save annually one hundred dollars This is a fair calculation. ROMANCE IN REAL LIFE. We have assembled here to-day to commune together, upon one of the great departments-the greatest indeed-of human employment. In the task assigned to me, I shall not enter into the practical details, which belong to this vast subject; interesting to all, however diversified their avocations in life. I feel my incompetence to perform the part of a teacher in the great art of agriculture; the art of directing and aiding nature in the performance of those functions, which were designed by Providence for the comfort and subsistence of man. A large portion of this intelligent assembly unite experience with observation, an intimate knowledge of practical operations, with a just theory of their application, and a full appreciation of the value of combining personal experience with those enlarged views; which are essential to progressive improvement. But omitting those practical details, which a familiar knowledge of the subject can alone furnish, there are still many general and important considerations, as well moral and statistical, as historical, which are neither inappropriate to the occasion, nor unworthy of your attention, and some of these I propose to present to you. The more active portion of my life has been devoted to other and harsher duties; and much of it to ranging the forests in the pursuit of the red man in time of war, and to counsel with and restrain him in time of peace. And this is not the first time I have been here.. I have been here, when he who now speaks. if he had spoken then, would have found no hearers. When the sileu.Lce of the forest was unbroken by the cheerful hum of human industry, and its solitude uninterrupted, but by the wandering Indian, and the animals that mninistered to his wants —when a world ot 1o 199 primitive, gigantic vegetation extended its sway across our ownv beautiful Peninsula, and on to the very shores of the Pacific, where our fathers' flag and our own now waves in the breeze, that comes from the continent of Asia. Hle alone, who has traversed these regions, day after day, ill the freshness indeed, but in the silence and solitude of nature, almost appalled by a sense of loneliness and insignifi cance, amid these wonders of creative power, can justly appreciate the efforts of man in subduing and reclaiming the prairie and the forest, and preparing them for those scenes of improvement and cultivation, which cheer the eye and gladden the heart of the traveller; and, above all, of the traveller, who preceded the march of civilization, and now follows it in its glorous progress. Never has human industry achieved a prouder triumph, than in this conflict between nature and man. As in the exodus from Eden, he has been "sent forth to till the ground," and in the "sweat of his face" has he thus far filfilled his mission. And a proud one it was; aye, and yet is; for, though it has done much, it has still much to do. It began at the beach of Jamestown, and the rock of Plymouth, where its first labors were broken by no sound but the surges of the Atlantic, and they will finish only, when the last echo of the woodman's axe shall mingfle with the surges of the Pacific. Do not these miracles of enterprise resemble the fictions of an Eastern imagination, rather than the sober realities of human experience? Do they not speak to us in trumpet tones of the value and dignity of labor, for by labor have they been wrought-persevering, unyielding, triumphant labor. There is no lesson more important to be taught to our young countrymen than that, which is taught by this great characteristic feature of American history; the immense conquest, which man has achieved, over the world of matter, that opposed his progress, and the scanty resources he brought to the work. His own exertions, and the axe and plough, have accomplished this mighty task; always indeed with toil and exposure, and sometimes under circumstances of privation and suffering, before which the stoutest resolution might give way. But if time brought its trials, it brought also its reward; it converted the wilderness into a garden, and spread over the face of the country, those beautiful habitations, and those fertile and productive fields, such RO'LNIANCE IN REAL LIFE, 200 ROM0ANCE IN REAL LAFE. as this region offers to view, and which are at once, the evidence and the recompense of that industry and enterprise, which quail not before toil or danger, but still go on preparing this goodly heritage, as well for ourselves, as those, who are to follow us, when our task is done. And how would this great work of subduing nature and preparing the forest for the residence of man have been accomplished in the older regions of the globe, so long the theatre of human exertions? The answer to this pregnant question describes by a single trait the great marked difference between the condition of agricultural labor in the Eastern and in the Western hemispheres; between the laborer for others, and the laborer for himself. Across the water, which does not separate us more widely in space, than do the position and prospects of the people in their condition, great enterprises are never concerted, and conducted by the mass of the inhabitants. Counsel and capital are furnished by the few and fortunate; "the sweat of the face" by the many and the wretched. And the profitable results belong to the former; while the latter eke out a scanty and precarious subsistence, as poor and depressed at the termination of the most successful and gigantic undertaking, as at its commencement. Here it needs not that any one should tell you the difference. He, who runs, may read it in the his'tory of our whole progress, individual and national. The forest has fallen before those, who established their habitations in its dark recesses; dark till their toil made way for the light of Heaven to shine upon them. They labored themselves, and for themselves. No taskmaster directed their work, and no speculator garnered the profits. And thus exertion was stimulated by the most powerful mo tives, which can operate upon human nature; by the neces sity of present subsistence, and the hope-the certainty, I should say, of future competence and comfort; and therefore it is, that upon the immense domain from Lake Erie, almost to the shadow of the Rocky Mountains, a vigorous, intelli gent, and enterprising people have fixed their residence, and by their own labor, and for their own advantage, have pre parelit for all the purposes of civilized life. And the time. within which this has been done, is not the least extraor dinary feature in this great national migration-a migration going forth to invade the forest, and to fulfil the first corn 201 ROMANCE IN REAL LIFE. mand of the Creator, "to replenish the earth and subdue it," anil( not, as in the history of human conquest, to lay waste, aldl destroy, having before it fertile and flourishing regions, and behind it ruin and desolation. The man yet lives, who was living, when almost the first tree fell before the pioneer's stroke in this magnificent region, and the man is now living, who will live to see it contain one hundred millions of people. I have myself known it for half a century, and in that space, long indeed in the life of man, but brief in the life of communities, our own region of the Northwest, marked with its distinct boundaries upon the map of nature, by the Lakes, the Mississippi and the Ohio, has risen from infancy to manhood, from weakness to strength, from a population of a few thousands, to five millions of people; of freemen, owning the soil they occupy, and which they won by their industry, and will defend by their blood. Where, in the long( annals of the human race, can you find such an augrmentation of the resources and numbers of a country, gained in so short a period, and under such circumstances of trial in its progress, and of prosperity in its issue? - And may we not well say, that the mighty agent, which has built up this monument pf productive power, deserves the gratitude and the fostering care of the American people? And that agelit is labor, and our duty is to elevate it in the scale of employment. To show what it has done, and is doing, and is destined, I trust, yet to do. It has not founded a monarchy indeed, whose burthens are for the rejected, and its benefits for the chosen; whose splendor dazzles the eye, while its oppression sickens the heart. But it has laid the foundation of a Republic, broadly and deeply in the rights of man; whose equal protection covers all, as its equal honors are open to all; and whose career, if nriot checkced by our own folly, or by the just judgment of God, promises a glorious and encouraging spectacle to the lovers of freedom through the world-aye, and an example too for loang aes to come. THumial occupation should be measured by its useful consequtences arid byT its moral tendencies, andby the principles and conduct of'those, who are devoted to it, andc whose character is formed by its pursuit. Tried by this standard, where shall we find an employment more worthy of honor and regard, than that which drew from Sir William Jones 202 ROMANCE IN REAL LIFE. the eloquent panegyric, that " he who makes two spears of grass grow, where but one grew before, is a public belefactor, rar in advance of the noblest chieftains, who, aided by armies and the engiuery of war, sack cities, carry coiinquest oiw ard, only to conquer, and subjugate and desolate killngr dols? " And yet so wayward is human nature, and so uiijustly are its honors distributed, that the temple of MIars is thron,e'd with the votaries of fame, while silent are the altars of Ceres, and those, who worship there must find their reward, not in public renown, but in the consciousness of a duty, self-imposed and faithfully performed. But a better day has begun to dawn. Many old things are passing away, and with them is waning that military glory, which has so long led captive the best affections of our nature. The time is coming when the supporter of human life will find his station far higher in the world's estimation, than the destroyer. We are beginning to learn, that the splendor of victory is a fearful pageant, while conquest over the earth, and the multiplication of its products are acceptable sights in the eyes of God and man. Hle, who puts his hand to the plough, and does not look back upon more brilliant, but less useful employments, will not fail to find his reward in a happy and honorable life. What a perversion of terms, or rather what a perversion of moral sentiment does it exhibit to talk of the dignity of indolence, the dignity of doing nothing, and the unworthiness of useful, honest labor! Whatever of this feeling there is among us, and there is some, is exotic, not indigenous; imported whence many other notions, equally unreasonable and injurious, have come, to exercise a baneful influence upon our social system. Mly own experience may not be without profit to some who hear me; certainly not, if it furnishes motives for encouragement or hopes to stimulate to exertion. It is fifty years and more, since I crossed the mountains on foot, a young adventurer, seeking that land of promise, which has been to me, as to so many others, a land of performance. I had many difficulties to contend with, many obstacles to encounter. aind many privations, in peace and in war, to eC dure;' aiud I have probably undergone as large a share of fatigue and exposure, in the early part of my l:v, as often falls to the lot of our countrymen. But thanks to the nature of our institutions, to their glorious equality, and thanks 203 ROMANCE IN REAL LIFE. above all to the favor of my countrymen, I have had a meas uire of political prosperity, far beyond what I merited, or even dared to anticipate. The youthful emigrant, now in the decline of life, communicating to his youthful hearers the result of his experience, that they may go and do likewisein all but the errors he committed-has been borne onward by his generous fellow-citize,ns to the high posts of the nation, and has represented his country at the court of kings. And he has returned with the conviction, as abiding as his life, that the sun never snone upon as happy a region as this confederation embraces; nor one where human freedom meets less opposition, or the human intellect less restraint; nor where there are such powerful motives for exertion, or such distinctions for its reward. Our history'furnishes many striking examples of this progress from unprotected self-dependence to public confidence, and to the highest honors. The Father of his country commenced life as a land surveyor, and he died, leaving the brightest name that mere man has left in all the long annals that record the days and deeds of the human race. Greene, his friend, and undoubtedly his most confidential general, a distinction he well merited by his courage and conduct, was a blacksmith, and laid down the hammer, when he girded on the sword. Putnam, the very impersonation of hardihood and intrepidity, was driving his plough, when the musketry at Lexington aroused a continent. He left that plough in the furrow, and mounting his horse, repaired to Boston, and joined the throng of patriots who, with a'devotion to freedom as true and holy, as ever animated the human breast, entered into a contest more unequal, perhaps, than any which oppression has ever waged against power. And we learn from the Holy Scriptures, that the chosen champion of a higher warfare, the prophet Elisha, when summoned to his mission, was found by Elijah in his field, "ploughing with twelve yoke of oxen before him, and he with the twelfth." Morgan, the most enterprising partisan of our revolution, was a wagoner; Starke, whose memorable defeat of the British at Bennington, prepared the way for the capture of Burgoyne and his army, was, in early life, a field laborer. Roger Sherman, equally renowned for the power of his intellect, and his active and efficient exertions in the councils of the nation, was a shoemaker; and Franklin, 204 SAGACITY OF THE SPIDER. whose name recalls his world-wide reputation, and the deeds in the Arts, in Science, and in the service of his country, which he did to acquire, and to deserve it, was a printer, laboring assiduously at his work, during many years of his life. But I need not add to these illustrious names. It would be easy to do so, were more examples of success required. But sufficient are these for all, who desire to profit by this characteristic and encouraging chapter of our history. Young men, whom I see around me, ponder over the lives of these great men of the past generation. Follow their course with probity and perseverance, and you will follow them also in their useful career. You cannot all, indeed, attain the highest stations, but you may all attain respectability and prosperity, and enough of both to satisfy the measure of a reasonable ambition.-Fromn Address of LEWIS CASS, LL. D., -lichigan. SAGACITY OF THE SPIDER. Animals in general are sagacious, in proportion as they cultivate society. The elephant and the beaver show the greatest signs of this, when united; but when man intrudes into their communities, they lose all their spirit of industry, and testify but a very small share of sagacity for which, when in a social state, they are so remarkable. Among insects, the labors of the bee and ant have employed the attention and admiration of the naturalist; but their whole sagacity is lost upon separation, and a single bee or ant seems destitute of every degree of industry, is the most stupid insect imaginable, languishes for a time in solitude, and soon dies. Of all the solitary insects I have ever remarked, the spider is the most sagacious, and its actions, to me, who have attentively considered them, seem almost to exceed belief. This insect is formed by nature for a state of war, not only upon other insects, but upon each other. For this state, nature seems perfectly well to have formed it. Its head and breast are covered with a strong coat of mail, which is impenetrable to the attempts of every other insect, and its belly is enveloped in a soft, pliant skin, which eludes the sting even of a wasp. Its legs are terminated by strong 205 SAGACITY OF THE SPIDER claws, not unlike those of a lobster; and their vast length, like spears, serve to keep every assailant at a distance. Not worse furnished for observation than for attack or defence, it has several eyes, large, transparent, and covered with a horny substance, which, however, does not impede its vision. Besides this, it is furnished with forceps above the mouth, which serves to kill or secure the prey already caught ill its claws or its net. Such are the implements of war with which the body is immediately furnished; but its net to entangle the enemy seems what it chiefly trusts to, and what it takes most pains to render as complete as possible. Nature has furnished the body of this little creature with a glutinous liquid, which, proceeding from the anus, it spins into thread, coarser or finer as it chooses to contract or dilate its sphincter. In order to fix its threads, whein it begins to weave, it emits a small drop of its liquid against the wall, which, hardening by de grees, serves to hold the thread very firmly. Then recediing from the first point, as it recedes, the thread lengthens; and when the spider has come to the place where the o, her end of the thread should be fixed, gathering up with its claws the thread, which would otherwise be too slack, it is stretched tightly and fixed in the same manner to the wall as before. In this manner it spins and fixes several threads parallel to each other, which, so to speak, serve as the warp to the intended web. To form the woof, it spins in the same manner its thread, transversely fixing one end to the first thread that was spun, and which is always the strongest of the whole web, and the other to the wall. All these threads, being newly spun, are glutinous, and therefore stick to each other, wherever they happen to touch; and in those parts of the web most exposed to be torn, our natural artist strengthens them, by doubling the threads sometimes sixfold. Thus far, our naturalists have gone in the description of this animal: what follows is the result of our own observation upon that species of the insect called the house-spider. I perceived, about four years ago, a large spider in one corner of my room, making its web, and though the maid frequently levelled her fatal broom against the labors of the little animal, I had the good fortune then to prevent its destruction, and, I mIay say, it more than paid me by the entertainment it afforded. 206 SAGACITY OF THE SPIDER. In three days the web was with incredible diligence completed; nor could I avoid thinking that the insect seemed to exult in its new abode. It firequently traversed its round, and examined the strength of every part of it, retired into its hole, and came out very frequently. The first enemy, however, it had to encounter, was another and much larger spider. which, having no web of its own, and having probably exhausted all its stock in former labors of this kind, came to invade the property of its neighbor. Soon,.then, a terrible encounter ensued' in which the invader seemed to have the victory, and the laborious spider was obliged to take refuge in its hole. UTJpon this I perceived the victor using every art to draw the enemy from his stronghold. He seemed to go oLIN but quickly returned, and when he found all arts vain, began to demolish the new web without mercy. This brought on another battle, and, contrary to my expectations, the laborious spider became conqueror, and fairly killed his antagonist. Now then, in peaceable possession of what was justly its own, it waited three days with the utmost impatience, repairi(ng the breaches of its web, and taking no sustenance that I could perceive. At last, however, a large blue fly fell into the snare, an(l stri(uggled hard to get loose. The spider gave it leave to entangle itself, as much as possible, but it seemed to be too strong for the cobweb. I must own I was greatly surprised when I saw the spider immediately sally out, and in less than a minute weave a new web around its captive, by which the motion of its wings was stopped, and when it was fairly hampered in this manner, it was seized and dragged into the hole. In this manner it lived, in a precarious state, and nature seemed to have fitted it for such a life; for upon a single fly it subsisted for more than a week. I once put a wasp into the net, but when the spider came out in order to seize it as usual, upon perceiving what kind of an enemy it had to deal with, it instantly broke all the bands that held it fast, and contributed all that lay in its power to disengage so for midable an antagonist. When the wasp was at liberty, I expected the spider would have set about repairing the breaches that were made in its net; but tlose, it seems, were irreparable, wherefore the cobweb was now entirely forsaken, and a new one begun, which was completed in the usual time. 207 11, , SAGACITY OF THE SPIDER. I had now a mind to try how many cobwebs a single spider could furnish; wherefore I destroyed this and the insect set about another. When I destroyed the other also, its whole stock seemed entirely exhausted, and it could spin no more. The arts it made use of to support itself, now deprived of its great means of subsistence, were indeed surprising. I have seen it roll up its legs like a ball, and lie motionless for hours together, but cautiously watching all the time; when a fly happened to approach sufficiently near, it would dart out at once, and often seize its prey. Of this, however, it soon began to grow weary, and resolved to invade the possession of some other spider, since it could not make a web of its own. It formed an attack upon a neighboring fortification, with great vigor, and at first was as vigorously repulsed. Not daunted, however, with one de. feat, it continued to lay siege to another's web for three days, and at length having killed the defendant, actually took possession. When smaller flies happened to fall into the snare, the spider does not sally out at once, but very patiently waits till it is sure of them; for upon his immediately approaching, the terror of his appearance might give the captive strength sufficient to get loose: the manner then is to wait patiently till, by ineffectual and impotent struggles, the captive has wasted all his strength, and then he becomes a certain and easy conquest. The insect I am now describing lived three years; every year it changed its skin, and got a new set of legs. I have sometimes plucked off a leg, which grew again in two or three days. At first it dreaded my approach to its web; but at last it became so familiar as to take a fly out of my hand, and upon my touching any part of the web, would immediately leave its hole, prepared for defence or attack. To complete this description, it may be observed, that the male spiders are much less than the female, and that the latter are oviparous. WVhen they come to lay, they spread a part of the web under their eggs, and then roll them up carefully, as we roll up things in a cloth, and thus watch them in their hole. If disturbed in their holes, they never attempt to escape without carrying their young brood in their forceps away with them, and thus frequently are sacrificed to their paternal affections. As soon as the young ones leave their artificial covering, 208 PHYSICAL BENEFITS OF WINTERI they begin to spin, and almost sensibly seem to grow bigger. If they have the good fortune, when even but a day old, to catch a fly, they fall too with a good appetite; but they live sometimes three or four days without any sort of sustenance, and still continue to grow larger, so as every day to double their former size. As they grow old, however, they do not still continue to increase, but their legs only continue to grow longer; and when a spider becomes entirely stiff with age and unable to seize its prey, it dies at length of hunger. OLIVER GOLDSMTIT. PHYSICAL BENEFITS OF WINTER. Winter has its physical benefits and its moral lessons. First in order we shall notice the physical advantages of winter. One of the most prominent of these is the repose which it secures to the earth after the productiveness of summer. It has been beautifully said, "The days of winter are the days of nature's rest. In the preceding months she has been exhausted with incessant labor for the good of man. How rich has the spring been in flowers; how the seeds have expanded and the foliage sprouted. What abundance of fruits the summer prepares for the autumn's maturing hand. Every month, every day, we receive some fresh gift from nature. As the tender mother provides for her young with anxious care, so nature is busied from morn to evening in supplying our wants, and in procuring us a succession of comforts and blessings to make life's fleeting moments smile with joy and with delight. Food, raiment, and the chief sources of our pleasures, are all derived from her fostering bosom. For us she makes the seeds to open and expand, the herbs to bud, the trees to look gay with foliage, beautifiul with blessoms, and to pour forth their riches in fruit of every kind that can please the eye or gratify the taste. For us the golden grain waves over the fields, the vine offers her varied treas ures, and the whole creation is clothed in verdure, and pre sents to the delighted observer an infinitely varied and beau tiful field of attractions. Wearied by so many labors, nature, for a space, reposes, in order to acquire new force, that she may again be equally fruitful, and agrain be able to assume her wonted resplendency." The farmer well understands 209 PHYSICAL BENEFITS OF WINTER. that land, to be made most highly and permanently produc tive, must have occasional rest. It must not be sown with grass or grain year after year, lest the strength and goodness of the soil should soon be exhausted, but it must be favored with a change of crops. The Jewish law required that every seventh year the land should rest and lie still; and farmers who have made the experiment testify that they find this to be good economy. On the same principle the temporary re. pose of the earth in winter, like rest in sleep, is favorable for augmenting the vigor and productiveness of the soil. But winter is not to be regarded as the mere repose of nature; it is also a preparatory season-the seed-time of the coming year. Even when the ground is stiffened and covered with snow, secret processes are at work in the laboratory of nature, preserving and elaborating " the seeds, buds and roots of future plants and flowers," and unfolding the germs of the future harvest. The fall-sown grain, subjected to these pro cesses, slowly developed till it just peers above the surface, and then covered with its warm blanket of snow to await the return of the sun, attains a fuillness, vigor and maturity never reached by that which is sown in spring. One of the most beautiful sights in nature is that of a fresh green field of grain shooting up, when all around it is desolate, to indicate that nature's life is not extinct, and that seed-time and harvest shall not fail. Under the cold hard surface of winter lie hidden in the yet warm and nutritous earth, the spring, the summer, the autumn of the coming year. A new harvest is germinating there, to be quickened into life and fruitfulness by the warm summer's sun. Moreover there are plants and trees that preserve their verdure through the winter; flowers that spring up under the snow and bloom with a delicious fragrance; shrubs, herbs, and vegetables that come to maturity amid frosts and ice; showing that nature, though in comparative repose, is not dead-that winter is not all a waste. Some of the most kindly processes of nature in the preservation and development of the various species of grains and grasses, plants and vegetables, are carried forward in the dark recesses of winter. But this is not the full extent of the physical operations of winter. The diversity of climate is one of the chief advantages of the present constitution of our earth, and of its relation to the solar system. Let us suppose. that there was 210 PHYSICAL BENEFITS OF WINTER. throughout the globe "an equal distribution of heat and cold, the same degree of fertility, and the same division of day and nlight." In the opinion of some, that would be to make the earth a Paradise. But the immediate effbet 6f such a state of things would be the loss of that diversity in the appearance and the productions of the earth which is now so pleasing and so beneficial. A vast variety of the productions of the earth now so nicely adjusted to certain degrees of temperature, must perish by such a change, and men have everywhere the same limited and uniform means of subsistence. As a consequence of this, conmmerce must almost entirely cease; for neither the natural productions nor tile artificial fabrics of one country would be needed in another, —each country affording a full supply of the same articles, and having nothing else to offer in exchange. There being no Ilecessity for commercial intercourse, many of the arts and also of the physical sciences which have been developed or stimulated by commerce, would remain hidden in the secrets of nature, and the entire race would be far below its present position in cultivation and enjoyment. A uniformity of temperature would be a serious disadvantage. - The withdrawal of winter from the earth, would render the heat intolerablefor even the heat of the torrid zone is now mitigated by the prevalence of cold in the polar regions. And though the temperature were moderate and endurable, but still uniform, we should be deprived of the benefit of winds,-those salu tary disturbances in the equilibrium of the atmosphere which are owing to changes of temperature,-and should soon be transformed into a race of grovelling Cretins at the bottom of the sea of stagnation. One of the prime offices of winter with its storms is ventilation; the purifying of the atmos phere on a great scale, from the damps and noxious gases of the summer Nor should we overlook the effbet of winter on the humait system. This in general is invigorating. While some by reckless exposure, and others by excessive caution, make the season one of physical discomfort and ailing, most persons find -he cold, clear, bracing air.of winter a welcome tonic, after the lassitude and debility of the summer months. In general, winter is a season of health and physical vigor; when we breathe freer, and the blood, stimulated by our increased ac tivity, courses more warmly and brislly through our veins. 211 THE TWILIGHT OF THE HEART. Welcome then winter, its cold and storms; for amid its darkness and desolation, it keeps alive our vital energy, and rejuvenates the earth exhausted by the labors of spring and the fruniits of autumn; it multiplies our comforts, by varying the products of the earth, and stimulates our commerce with the vast brotherhood of man; it sweeps away the pestilence, and nerves us for that hardihood and toil which produce the best physical development and the purest physical enjoyment. Thou, the beneficent Father of all, "hast made WINTER" for the good of thy creatures.-NEW-YORK INDEPENDENT. THE TWILIGHT OF THE HEART. There is an evening twilight of the heart, When its wild passion waves are lulled to rest, And the eye sees life's fairy scenes depart, As fades the day-beam in the rosy west. 'Tis with a nameless feeling of regret We gaze upon them as they melt away, And fondly would we bid them linger yet, But Hope is round us with her angel lay, Hailing afar some happier moonlight hour; Dear are her whispers still, though lost their early power. In youth the cheek was crimsoned with her glow; Her smile was loveliest then; her matin song Was heaven's own music, and the note of wo Was all unheard her sunny bowers among. Life's little world of bliss was newly born; WVe knew not, cared not, it was born to die. Flushed with the cool breeze and the dews of morn, With dancing heart we gazed on the pure sky, And mocked the passing clouds that dimmed its blue, Like our own sorrows then-as fleeting and as few. And manhood felt her sway too,-on the eye, Half realizpd, her early dreams burst bright, Her promised bower of happiness seemed nigh, Its days of joy, its vigils of delight; And though at times might lower the thunder storm, And the red lightnings threaten, still the air 212 AN EVENING SKETCH. Was balmy with her breath, and her loved form, The rainbow of the heart, was hovering there. 'Tis in life's noontide she is nearest seen, Her wreath the summer flower, her robe of summer green. But though less dazzling in her twilight dress, There's more of heaven's pure beam about her now; That angel-smile of tranquil loveliness, WVhich the heart worships, glowing on her brow; Tight smile shall brighten the dim evening star That points our destined tomb, nor e'er depart Till the faint light of life is fled afar, And hushed the last deep beating of the heart; The meteor-bearer of our parting breath, A moon-beam in the midnight cloud of death. HALLECK. AN EVENING SKETCH. 'Tis twilight now; The sovereign sun behind his western hills In glory hath declined. The mighty clouds, Kissed by his warm effulgence, hang around In all their congregated hues of pride, Like pillars of some tabernacle grand, Worthy his glowing presence; while the sky, Illumined to its centre, glows intense, Changing its sapphire majesty to gold. How deep is the tranquility! the trees Are slumbering through their multitude of boughs, Even to the leaflet on the frailest twig! A twilight gloom pervades the distant hills; An azure softness mingling with the sky. The fisherman drags to the yellow shore, His laden nets; and, in the sheltering cove, Behind yon rocky point, his shallop moors, To tempt again the perilous deep at dawn. The sea is waveless, as a lake ingulfed 'Mid sheltering hills-without a ripple spreads Its bosom, silent, and immense-the hues Of flickering day have from its surface died, 213 ROTATION OF CROPS. Leaving it garbed in sunless majesty. With bosoming branches round, you village hangs Its row of lofty elm trees; silently Towering in spiral wreaths to the soft sky, The smoke from nuany a cheerful hearth ascends, iMelting in ether. As I gaze, behold The evening star illumines the blue south, Twinkling in loveliness. 0! holy star, Thou bright dispenser of the twilight dews, Thou herald of Night's glowing galaxy, And harbinger of social bliss! how oft, Amid the twilights of departed years, Resting beside the river's mirror clear, On trunks of' massy oak, with eyes upturned To thee in admiration, have I sat Dreamitng sweet dreams till earth-born turbulence Wras all forgot; and thinking that in thee, Far from the rudeness of this jarring world, There miight be realms of quiet happiness! BLACOKWOOD'S MAGAZINE. ROTATION OF CROPS. What is to be uyndlerstood(Z by rotation of crops? The word rotation signifies a turniing round, as a wheel or any other body revolves on a real or imaginary axis, till a complete revolution is mnade; that is, till each part is brought to the poiniit or place occupied by it before the revolution commenced. And, such revolutions may be continued to any fixed or indefinite length of time. When the term is applied to agriculture, it signiifies a succession of different crops, instead of a succession of the same crops; no two years in the period assigned for a rotation or cycle, to have the same crop. Toiv mzay this be explained? In garden culture, should early potatoes be planted on any given tract one year, sweet corn the second year, cabbage the third year, carrots the fourth year, peas the fifth year, beans the sixth year, and melons the seventh year, this would be called a rotation. And when completed, the same order of change might be observed, if judffged best, for a second Bo 214 a ~~-;~) 3srs. CAPEHEART, of Merry Hill, North Carolina, and which obtained a premium at the Fair of the American Institute, 1849. I ROTATION OF CROPS. tation; or for another period of seven years. This is the principle of the rotation of crops in agriculture, as well as in horticulture. T{,hat is thie reason for a rotation of crop?s? It is known that the proportion of elementary substances that enters into the composition of plants, is not the same in all. Probably it is not precisely the same in any two plants. The soil containing the substances for the growth of plants imparts them as needed till inothing remains, when the plants will cease to grow. Supposing a particular ingredient for a particular plant were lime, it is evident that when the lime is all exhausted, or drained from the soil, that plant can no longer be produced on it. So also of all other plants and all other substances which compose them. How did this become mnanifest? The rotation of crops grew out of experience. The practical farmer observed that, in most cases, when the same plants were grown for two, three, or more years consecutively upon the same soil, it did not yield the same abundant harvest; whilst, when another crop was tried upon that soil, the production was satisfactory. Observation and experience subsequently and gradually established for different parts a different alternation of crops. In this, at first, science had no agency. The reason for it was wholly unknown. In what way was the reason of it unfolded? Whilst the practical farmer was content to rest simply on the facts supplied by experience, and remained satisfied with believing that some plants exhaust the soil, while others do not, the theorist endeavored to discover the key to this remarkable phenomenon, as it then appeared. Different theories were suggested, but it was a long time before one was adopted that seemed exempt from objection. What is this theory? The same as has been intimated; that the utility of the rotation of crops depends exclusively upon the circumstance that cultivated plants withdraw from the soil unequal amounts of certain ingredients for their nutrition. Assuming this as the hypothesis, all the known facts relating to it are satisfactorily explained. Thus science comes to the aid of experience, demonstrating what was before a mere matter of fact, without a knowledge of the reasons for it. BBut if any one crop is sought successively every year will there be an entire failure? 215 ROTATION OF CROPS. There may not be an entire failure the second, third, ol even the fourth year; but each succeeding year, all other thing(s being equal, there will be a diminished crop. Bul other things may not always-be equal. Drought or cold may destroy or greatly injure a crop of Indian corn one year, and the next year, being no drought and abundance of heat, the crop of corn may be far better than the preceding year. The soil too, may be so amply furnished with a particular elemen tary substance for vegetable growth, that several crops of the same plant may be raised in succession, before material dimi nution will be perceived; but this makes no exception to the principles for a general rotation. Sooner or later this sub stance will be exhausted, and there would then be a complete failure. How may the theory for rotation be further illust'ated? If we take a field, the soil of which contains the mineral and saline materials required to produce wheat, and yet only in a quantity exactly sufficient to produce a single crop, it follows, of course, that a second crop of wheat cannot be reared on the same field. The soil is completely exhausted for the moment, and will remain so forever, if it does not con tain substances which may, by disintegration and decomposi tioni furnish a new supIly of the ingredients necessary to the growth of plants, or if these essential matters are not artifi cially supplied. Is such a complete exhaustion of soil commnon? It is not. The case supposed is for illustration, and is not likely ever to happen in fact. But what really happens, and common enough, is, that although all the salts are not exhausted, yet being present in the soil in relative proportions very different to the amounts required by various plants, a single crop of wheat may deprive the soil so completely of one of its mineral constituents, that another crop of wheat would not grow upon it, and yet this soil may still contain abundant mineral constituents for the production of a good crop of clover or turnips. Tlhiat pericol is generally assigned by agriculturists for a complete rotation? There is no fixed period followed by all. It depends upon the particular crops that constitute the rotation. Different individuals vary it according to fancy or to the results of their past experience, or the productions of which they have most ROTATION OF CROPQ. need. Five, six, or seven years, is the usual time, unless it be for lands that may advantageously remain a long period in grass. In that case, as long as a good grass crop is yielded, they are permitted to remain. In what case is the necessity for rotation prevented? By keeping up an annual supply, by artificial means, of the fertilizing agents of the soil equal to what is taken away by the plants. Th,ts gardens are usually kept so highly manured as to require no rotation; and, it might not be necessary on the farm, if it were as highly enriched in the same-way. Alzs rotation of crops always been practiced? It has not. Farms were formerly divided into meadow, plough or tillage land, and pasture; and each section was permanently used for these specific purposes, till the meadows were covered with moss, and the tillage ground was so impoverished as to yield inferior crops. Under this systen how wvere farms restored? IMeadows might have been, and frequently were restored by what is called a top-dressingo, which is a scattering upon the surface a coat of fine manure of some kind or other. The tillage land was restored by what was called a fallow, which meant a suspension of cropping, letting the soil remain inactive or uncultivated, till nature should restore the equilibrium. What is the objection to this niode of farmi,ng? The objection is a serious one. For during the continuance of it the use of the land is lost, the same as the use of money is lost if permitted to lie idle without drawing interest. The very idea of a fallow is, the ground is let alone, to produce just what sprilngs up spontaneously, or nothing at all; and whatever does thus spring up, is permitted to remain and decav where it grew. Vhlo first resorted to the rotation system for keeping the soil in a proper state? The Flemings are the first known to have made it a fixed part of their system of agriculture. They insisted that where it was practiced, the land did not need rest; and, it was this system which gave their husbandry a pre-eminence over that of'every other country at that period. They relied so much upon it, that in some instances they were able to obtain two crops in the same vear. TWhere else has it beenfoitid signally beneficial? In Scotland it has been scrupulously pursued with the very 217, I 11'i ROTATION OF CROPS. best results. The improvements in their agriculture were incredible. It was also introduced into England, and is become general there; and, it is now constantly gaining advocates in this country. From what species of alternation in crops is the greatest benefit received? It is that which is made between culi?~eirous and leguminous crops. The former include wheat, oats, barley, rye, Indian corn, tobacco, and most of the grasses. The latter include peas, beans, other pulse, potatoes, turnips, carrots, beets, cabbage, and clover. Accordingly it has by some been adopted, that good husbandry requires that these two classes should follow each other uninterruptedly, unless where grass is made to intervene; the farmer, however. selecting whatever particular ones from each of these classes he may think best. What is the basis of this classification of plants? Culmiferous plants are termed robbers or exhausters of the soil. They are particularly so during the process of maturing their seeds. Hence, if cut green, or when in blossom, they are far less exhausting. Leguminous plants, as a class, are less exhausting; in the first place, because only a few of them mature their seeds-and, in the second place, all of them having broad leaves, draw more moisture from the atmosphere than the narrow-leaved plants which compose the culmiferous class. What is the difference of the roots inr the two classes? The roots of culmiferous plants are generally more fibrous and more divided, spreading themselves near the surface, and draw their nourishment principally from the upper stratum of the soil. Leguminous roots are generally spindle formed, having what is called a tap-root, with few radicals, and consequently draw most of their nourishment from the lower stratum of the soil, and through the lower extremities of their roots. How does this difference in the roots effect the theory? An eminent chemist says that plants exhaust only that portion of the soil which comes in contact with their roots; and a spindle root may be able to draw an abundance of nourishment from land, the surface of which has been exhausted by short, or creeping roots. The same writer remarks, that the roots of plants of the same or analagous species, always take a like direction, if situated in a soil 218 ROTATION OF CROPS which allows them a free development; and thus they pass through, and are supported by, the same layers of earth. IWhat fact tmay be given in confirmation of this theory? It is proverbial that trees of the same species will not flourish in succession in the same place. Hence, if a worn out peach orchard is to be removed, and youiing trees of the same species are to occupy the same ground, instead of being planted in the holes from which the old ones were taken, they must be arranged in rows intermediate to the old ones. So likewise in regard to all fruit trees, unless a suitable period has been allowed for producing the decomposition of the roots of the removed trees, and thus supplying the earth with fresh manure. What argument in favor of alternations in crops can be drawn from the natural course of vegetable growth? In forest lands the new growth seldom resembles altogether that which has been felled. Hard wood frequently succeeds the pine and hemlock, while the pine and cedar, in innumerable instances, succeed the primitive growth of hard wood. In agreement with this tendency, we may see the strawberry and raspberry, and some other plants, sending out their roots or stollens to establish a new progeny in a soil they had not previously exhausted; thus by their own instincts changing their locality. Whlat may be said of the natural adaptation of particular soils to particular crops? As a general thing it may be considered that calcareous and stony loams are better adapted to wheat than silicious gravels and sands; while the latter are better fitted for Indian corn, turnips, clover, and other tap roots, than clayey soils. What are the plants raised in this country on a large scale? The cereal grasses, including wheat, barley, oats, and partially rye, cultivated chiefly for the farina of their seeds; certain leguminous plants, as the bean and the pea; the turnip, the cabbage, and the potato, cultivated for their leaves, roots, and tubers; hemp and flax, cultivated for their fibres; and the plants cultivated mainly for their forage, of whatever name or description. 219 r, WEALTH AND LABOiR. WEALTH AND LABOR. There are instances in this country of enormous indi. vidual wea]th-firequent instances of independent individual fortunes. But who are they that possess, and whence did they derive thel? From some old ancestors, who won broad lands and proud titles in the field of battle-or inri the senate-at the bar-or the counting house? If you look for such inherited fortunes as these, you will discover that they were long since dismembered-that with every revolution of the seasons, they are diminishing —and in a very few instances can one of their descendants call the roof-tree of his father's house his own. No! These are the firuits of individual industry, skill, or enterprise. And you can seldom trace their history farther back than to find them commanding a trading sloop to the Aest Indies, purchasing fur in small quantities on the frontier, or selling excellent groceries at a first-rate stand for business. They are self-made men-the architects of their own fortu-L,es; and I yield a thousand fold more respect to such as they, than I can ever feel for one who owes his wealth and his standing in the world to the mniere accident of birth; and when their names are uttered in the marts of commerce, and the country rings from side to side with the story of their success, I feel that this, of all countries, is the best for human labor and enterprise. A very important and striking feature in our political and social system, which indeed is the inevitable result of our institutions and laws, is, that there is no aristocracy amoiigst us-not even an aristocracy of wealth. An aristocracy cannot exist without peculiar and exclusive privileges and rights, recognized, sanctioned, and upheld by law. There cannot be, in this country, even a confederacy or combination amongff the rich men to acquire peculiar privileges. They have none to defend. There is no clanship, no esprit du corps amongr them. They are not like the hereditary nobles of Europe, whose names are enrolled in a heraldic college, set apart from the rest of mankind, designated by titles, marked by badges of honor, bound together by intermarriages, by a community of interests and of feelings, a distinct order in the state; nothingi of all this, and they are as mutable besides as the motes that float in the summer air. 220 WEALTH AND LABOR. Death is ever busily at work in dismembering all overgrown fortunes. Misfortunes too-and, alas they occasionally rain thick and fast, and do their part in the ceaseless work of distribution. The rich man of to-day is the poor man of tomorrow. And, while from these causes, multitudes are passing out, thousands are, in the land, passing into this charmed circle; for, those who commenced life with no inheritance but poverty, are usually the individuals that rise to affluence. If a line could be drawn between the two classes, at any given moment, and then five years pass away, I doubt whether the smaller portion could be recognized as the same. Hundreds on hundreds would be found to have changed places. And to speak of a clan of men thus constituted as an aristocracy, is as sound and sensible philosophy as to point to the insects of summer as the emblems of eternity. The condition of the laboring classes in the United States is universally admitted to be better than in any other country in the world. They are already in that position which the laborers of other countries are struggling to attain. The rate of wages is incomparably higher than in any other country-the means of comfort, not to say wealth, more easily accessible. Owing to their vast numbers, and to the possession of all political rights, their influence in the government is controlling and resistless, and all legislation is shaped in promotion to their interests rather than to those of any other class. Without having examined the laws of all the states, which would be a Herculean task, I dare to affirm, that not a statute can be found in force, in any one of the states, which establishes or recognizes any inequality of right or privileges between them and other persons; or if such a statute can be found, it is their fault that it remains on the statute book a single year. They have but to speak the word and it is done-to command, and it is repealed. Nay, the universal sentiment among American states men is that the legislationi and policy of the government should be such as to lend aid and encouragement to the poorer classes, and leave the rich to take care of themselves. They have accordingly been extremely liberal in granting acts of incorporation, by which men of small means may combine and compete with the richest capitalists in any branch of inlustiry. WVith the laws of this state I profess to 11 221 2WEALTHI AND LABOR. have some acquaintance, and in their general bearing and character I suppose them to be similar t6 those of other states. And I challenge any man to put his finger upon a statute there, that gives a man of a million one jot or tittle more of right or privilege than to the laborer that ploughs his field, or the needy knife grinder, that spins his wheel at his door. What magffic words were those which have been for years upon the lips of statesmen, to which the people have responded, as deep calleth unto deep? Not the protection of American wealth, but the "protection of American industry." And what are all the Societies and Institutes, that are established in almost every state, and sustained at great expense, but the voluntary efforts of the people, who can afford it, to stimulate American industry? This great and splendid Institution, which I have the honor to address, is of itself a noble practical illustration of American policy. Here are the "merchant princes," the capitalists, nay, the very "aristocrats" of New-York, giving freely of their time, of their influence, of their wealth, not to obtain special privileges for themselves, but to stimulate and encourage art and industry, and to spread through the length and breadth of the Union, broadcast, those improvements in agriculture and the arts, which skill, thus stimulated, has made. There is not a laboring man, in the most distant and sequestered nook of this far spreading country, who is not, or may not be benefited by its patriotic efforts. Yes, ye laborers, there is no land like yours. It is yours to possess, to enjoy. Here is a fair field for all to labor, in whatever vocation they please, and the rewards of diligence are ample and secure. There is not an avenue to wealth or distinction which is closed-not a post unattainable. There is no ground for any hostility or unkindness of feeling between the rich and thle laboring classes, but the strongest reason, on the contrary, for mutual friendship and the most cordial union. It may well be questioned, whether they should ever be spoken of as classes, since the term presupposes a line of demareation, which cannot be drawn. Both are striving with the same eagerness for the same object-some portion of wealth-and both are interested in the protection of property. If instead of spending time in mutual jealousies and recriminationls, they would join heart and hand in all 222 WEALTH AND LABORL great and good undertakings, the one contributing the means, the other the'skill and labor, they would accomplish more for themselves and their country in one year than by fifty years of dissension. WVe should not forget that there are those who grace and gladden our festivities by their presence; who do not mingle with us, indeed, in the walks of business, but exert a more potent influence upon the affairs of men than we are always willing to acknowledge; whose empire is absolute over the world of fashion; whose appearance in the midst of dissensions is like the radiant bow that spans the storm. If their smiles do sometimes kindle dissension, they oftener allay it, and I would invoke their gentle influence in the work of reforming the national manners. If they would bestow more of their kind regards upon those athletic and manly forms that make our hill sides and valleys laugh and ring with the wealth of golden harvests, and less upon those whiskered and bedizened apes that infest the drawing room, we should love them better, and our country would regard them as her jewels. What honest vocation can be named that does not contribute, in a greater or less degree, to the enjoyment of man? It may be humble, indeed, but it goes to swell the mighty aggregate; it may be the rill that trickles from the mountain side, but it diffuses fertility through the valley, and mingles its drops at last with the ocean. The true American motto is and must be-marked upon our foreheads, written upon our door-posts-channelled in the earth, and wafted upon the waves-INDUSTRY-LABOR IS HONORABLE, and idleness is dishonorable,-and I care not if it be labor, whether it be of the head or the hands. Whitney, whose cotton gin doubled the value of every acre of land in the South. raised more cotton with his head than any twenty men ever raised with their hands. Let me exhort those of you who are devoted to intellectual pursuits, to cherish, on your part, an exalted and just idea of the dignity and value of manual labor, and to make that opinion known in your works and seen in the earnest of your actions. The laboring men of this country are vast in number and respectable in character. We owe to them, under Providence, the most gladsome spectacle the sun beholds in its course-a land of cultivated and fertile fields, an ocean white with canvass. 223 EXHAUSTION OF THE SOIL. We owe to them the annual spectacle of golden harvests, which carries plenty and happiness alike to the palace and the cottage. We owe to them the fortresses that guard our coasts-the ships that have borne our flag( to every clime, and carried the thunder of our cannon triumphant over the w-aters of the deep. Sir Walter Scott, a mere writer of poetry and romrnance, has given employment to ten thousand paper makers, type founders, printers, tanners, book-binders; and beyond that, has awakened the love of elegant literature in millions of minds. Sir Isaac Newton spent his days partly in sleep, and his nights in watching the stars in the midnight sky: and yet his discoveries have enabled the mariner to pursue his foaming pathway in the deep, as safely as on the land, and thus poured the products of every clime into the lap of labor. The benefactions of these men were indeed great and illustrious; but there are men in our midst engaged in similar pursuits every day of their lives, bestowing the same kind of benefits upon mankind. The merchant's life is a life of excitement and care, of risk and uncertainty, but of the first importance to every community; as indispensable to the laborer as the laborer is to him. The village school master, who devotes the years of his youth or his manhood to the exhausting drudgery of instruction; who moulds the character and fixes the principles of an advancing generation-is as eminently useful, though he sink at last into the grave unhonored and unsung, as the demagogue whose presence is greeted in caucuses, or whose voice is heard in the halls of legislation, discussing the constitutional power of congress to buy a penknife.-Address, Annziversary Am. Inst., 1842, by HoN. H. G. O. COLBY of New Bedford, Massachusetts. EXHAUSTION OF THE SOIL. WVhen will our statesmen awake to the necessity ofviewing agriculture as a fundamental source of our national prosperity? So long as we have more land in the far West to cultivate, the wearing out of that in the older States seems to be looked upon as a matter of little consequence. The older States, with all their best land in cultivation, do not at this 224 EXIHAUSTION OF THE SOII, time raise half the quantity of wheat they raised a few years ago; and the consumers in the Atlantic States are payillig nearly as much for transportation on a large proportion of theiir breadstuff-s, as the farmers who grow it receive for tlheir ~ain. The wheat crops of New-York are less than half I, r acre what they were thirty years ago, and still no effort is made to disseminate the necessary information for arresti,:7 the evil. Stern necessity has rendered such action as we sl.al soon require in this country, imperative in Europe. Ohio no longer surprises the seaboard farmers by large crops, anl the same course of cropping and modes of tillage which have impoverished the lands of the older States, are daily producing similar results in the far West. Many farmers ar still living and carting manures upon their poor farms, who in the Mohawk and Genesee Valleys threw their manures into the river when younger-this removal of manures from the vicinity of their stables and throwing it into the river, was called a Bee, and the winter time was chosen for this suicidal frolic. Whole neighborhoods would get together with their teams and sleds for this purpose, and the same practices are now followed in the Wabash Valley: the tributaries of the Mississippi and other rivers, are suffered to drain the very essence of our future prosperity, and to convey it to the ocean. Nature's laws tell us that the decay of the crops of one year furnishes the raw materials for the creation of those of the next year; but we must retain the results of this decay, and not suffer them to part from us-present individual enterprise being answered, must not cause us to forget the debt we owe to posterity-and that we have no moral right to permit the ultimate constituents of plants, the agricultural capital of our country, to find its way to the ocean, or into the ocean of atmosphere, by sheer ignorance and negligence. It may be answered that Europe, when necessity demanded, found the means of restoring her worn out soils to fertilitythis is true; but how will the same means continue through all time? If it had not been for the importation from our Continent of breadstuffs, raw materials of all sorts, guanlo, saltpetre, cubical nitre of Peru, and other materials, the results of which, by decay and by direct application to their soils, recovered their lost ultimate constituents of plants, they would long ere this have suffered from famine. Every bushel 10* ,25 EXHAUSTION OF THE SOIL of corn, bale of cotton, barrel of'resin or other commodity we now send to Europe, and which are consumed there, places just so much of the ultimate constituents of plants in their soil for continued and repeated reproduction, and removes it from ours. If the importations were at all equal to the exportations, or if we took the same care as they do of what we have, or import, our exhaustion would be slower; but as it is we are rapidly parting with our capital, never to return. The ul timate constituents of vegetables pay at least one hundred per cent. profit when re-used for producing new growths, and this may be repeated almost yearly; but part with them to the ocean through our rivers, and they are lost forever. All this may appear very farcical to the casual observer, but nevertheless it is true; and the falling off of our crops is only unobserved from our great area of territory and consequent continuance of supplies. Should we be contented to render it necessary each year to bring our supplies further from the seaboard? Or should we adopt the proper means to produce an excess by keeping our Eastern lands in their present or in an improved condition? and thus, by cheaper products, be able to compete with Europe as manufacturers. Individual farmers may continue to move West as they wear out their lands; but as a nation, what effect must this have on our general prosperity? It may be answered, that as our enterprising farmers look for better lands, the tide of emigration, composed of European agriculturists, will take their places, and thus restore the old lands by European styles of farming. If the best farmers of Europe were among those who come, this might be true; but those who understand their business seldom migrate; it is the laborers only who come to us; the more intelligent and better educated remain at home. We have but one remedy, and that is entirely within our reach. Let our legislators spend part of the nine-tenths of the whole national income which is now paid by farmers in placing proper instructions within the reach of those who till the land-and that, too, in a way to be immediately effective. We must not wait to remedy the difficulty by educating the rising generation; we must inform the many what is doing by the few who are successful as agriculturists. Some farmers raise a hundred bushels of shelled corn to the acre, 226 EXHAUSTION OF TIIE SOIL. and some raise fifty bushels of wheat to the acre, but these are the one in ten thousand. Send competent persons among the ten thousand to tell them how the one manages his crops; let any well educated practical man be called from his plough, and employed solely in collecting and disseminating information, and instead of raising large crops himself he can cause a thousand others to do so. Every farmer should hear such a lecture at least once in each year; and should have an opportunity of propounding questions for his examination-such teachers would soon know what the farmers required, and could obtain the information for them from other and more successful practitioners. It need not be urged that farmers will not listen to accredited teachers; we have lectured in many counties in New Jersey for three years, and in those where we first lectured most evident improvement has ensued. Farmers cannot leave home, and hence do not learn of the improvements of the day, unless they occur in their own immediate neighborhoods-nor will they have confidence in the recipes of mere book-makers; they must see those who would teach them, and have an opportunity by listening, and questioning, to form their own estimate of their capacity to teach; and, if they approve of the teacher, no set of men are more ready to be instructed. The improvements in agriculture in Europe are greater than at any former time-the free trade system, by lowering the prices of farm products, has rendered it im perative on Governments to enable the farmers to produce proportionate increased quantities to compete with foreign prices; and did they not pursue this course, revolutions would be inevitable, or their farm products must be protected by high duties; and while our ratio of crops have been yearly decreasing, those of England have as steadily increased, until the opponents of their new school of politics are daily becom ing converts to the new system. Every county in England now receives per annum more benefit in the form of agricul tural information, disseminated at the public expense, than the total amount paid for similar purposes since the forma tion of our Government. Our politicians at Washington say that the powers of the general Government do not reach the case, and that it should be d(lone by the States-if so, the States should not be inae tive. New-York does much by publishing large editions of t27 the Transactions of her State Society and of the American Institute, but not half so much as she should and could do by the appointment of a few lecturers to visit each county, collecting and disseminating information. Maryland has appointed a State Agriculturist, and already the good results have rendered both the office and the incumbent popular. No other State has acted as yet in any way to improve their greatest source of wealth. Two men might exchange their hats once per hour for a year, and neither of them would be improved in fortune at the end of the time, but if each of them could produce new merchandise, as does the farmer, not only themselves, but the body politic of which they form a part, would be benefited; and as one per cent. increase of crops would be more than equal in value to the whole of the present receipts of the Government, it is at least proper that less than a one-thousandth part of that receipt should be spent to produce a probable gain of many times one per cent. PROF. MAPES.. A SIBERIAN WINTER. The traveller in Siberia, during the winter, is so enveloped in furs that he can scarcely move, and under the thick fur hood, which is fastened to the bear skin collar and covers the whole face, one can only draw in, as it were by stealth, a little of the external air, which is so keen that it causes a very peculiar feeling to the throat and lungs. The distance from one halting place to another takes about ten hours, during which time the traveller must always continue on horseback, as the cumbrous dress makes it insupportable to wade through the snow. The poor horses suffer at least as much as their riders, for besides the general effect of the cold, they are tormented by ice forming in their nostrils, and stopping their breathing. When they intimate this by a distressed snort and convulsive shake of the head, the drivers relieve them by taking out the pieces of ice, to save them from being suffocated. When the icy ground is not covered by snow, their hoofs often burst from the effects of the cold. The caravan is always surrounded by a thick cloud of vapor; it is iot only living bodies which produce this effect, but even the snow -229 A SMERIAN WINTER. THE LEAFLESS TREE. smokes. These evaporations are instantly changed into millions of needles of ice, which fill the air, and cause a constant slight noise, resembling the sound of torn satin or thick silk. Even the reindeer seeks the forest to protect himself from the intensity of the cold. In the tundras where there is no shelter to be found, the whole herd crowd together as close as possible to gain a little warmth from each other, and may be seen standing in this way quite motionless. Only the dark bird of winter, the raven, still cleaves the icy air with slow and heavy wing, leaving behind him a long line of thin vapor, marking the track of his solitary flight. The influence of the cold extends even to inanimate natures. The thickest trunks of trees are rent asunder with a loud sound, which, in these deserts, fall on the ear like a signal shot at sea; large masses of rock are torn from their ancient sites; the ground in the tundras and in the rocky valleys crack, forming wide yawning fissures from which the waters which were beneath the surface rise, giving off a cloud of vapor, and become immediately changed into ice. The effect of this degree of cold extends even beyond the earth. The beauty of the deep polar star, so often and so justly praised, disappears in the dense atmosphere which the intensity of cold produces. The stars still glisten in the firmament, but their brilliancy is dimmed.- Travels i. the NVorth. THE LEAFLESS TREE. Poor cheerless tree! how desolate! Bereft of all thy beauty now, Which decked thy stately form so late, And crowned thy lofty, sunny brow. Each leaf breathed forth a kindly air, In native strains most sweetly sung, When gentle zephyrs wantoned there, With harps so delicately strung. The birds too sang melodiously, Among those boughs once wreathed so gay, 229 4 F - , Iq l THE LEAFLESS TREE. With softest notes of minstrelsy,' Oft ushered in the rising day. When first I saw thy verdure fade, I turned my tearful eye away, Lest sorrow should my mind pervade, To see thy loveliness decay. But ah! the rude winds did not spare, Thy verdant robe-but reckless tore, That lovely mantle-wrought with care, By vernal beauty, seen no more. Thy leaves were scattered by the blast, And borne upon the eddying stream, To mingle with the earth at last, The grave for all which ere hath been The freshest, fairest, coronal, Which nature in its pride could boar, Is shrouded in a funeral pall, To humble beauty in the dust. The leafless tree, and faded bower, In silent eloquence declare, That man too has a dying hour, And must the parting anguish share. While I now their requiem sing, I see my own approaching doom, Sealed fast on time's expanded wing, To bear me onward to the tomb. The sullen wail which strikes my ear Sweeps o'er the lyre's responsive string, As if the mournful bier was near, Where beauty lies all withering. But that is all that Death can claim The fragile form which must decay, The nobler powers of mind remain, To shine in virtue's sunny ray. Then cease my troubling heart-be still, And mourn no more o'er autumn's gloom,' &so -t THE SEASONS OF THE YEAR. A clime there is which has no chill, Or blight of death-beyond the tomb. There friendship shall her wreath entwine, Composed of never fading flowers, And bind it round love's sacred shrine, In Heaven's own bright perennial bowers. Miss BREWER. THE SEASONS OF THE YEAR. These, as they change, ALMIGHTY FATHER, these Are but the varied God. The rolling year Is full of thee. Forth in the pleasant Spring Thy beauty walks, thy tenderness and love. Wide flush the fields-the softening air is balmEcho the mountains round-the forests smile; And every sense, and every heart is joy. Then comes thy glory in the Summer months, With light and heat refulgent. Then thy sun Shoots full perfection through the swelling year; And oft thy voice in dreadful thunder speaks; And oft, at dawn, deep noon, or falling eve, By brooks and groves and hollow whispering gales, Thy bounty shines in Autumn uneonfined, And spreads a common feast for all that live. In Winter, awful thou! with clouds and storms Around thee thrown-tempest o'er tempest rolled: Majestic darkness! on the whirlwind's wing Riding sublime, thou bidst the world adore, And humblest nature with thy northern blast. Mysterious round! what skill, what force divine, Deep felt, in these appear! a simple train Yet so delightful mixed, with such kind art, Such beauty and beneficence combined Shade, unperceived, so softening into shade And all so forming a harmonious whole That, as they still succeed, they ravish still. But, wandering oft with brute unconscious gaze, Man marks not thee, marks not the mighty hand, That, ever busy, wheels the silent spheres 231 THE SEASONS OF THE YEAR. WVorks in the secret deep-shoots, streaming, thence The fair profusion that o'erspreads the springFlings from the sun direct the flaming day: Feeds every creature-hurls the tempest forth: And, as on earth this grateful change revolves, With transport touches all the springs of life. Nature, attend join every livingff soul, Beneath the spacious temple of the sky, In adoration join-and, ardent, raise One general song! To him, ye vocal gales, Breathe soft, whose Spirit in your freshness breathes O talk of him in solitary glooms! Where, o'er the rock, the scarcely waving pine Fills the brown shade with a religious awe. And ye, whose bolder note is heard afar, Who shake the astonished world, lift high to heaven The impetuous song, and say from whom you rage. His praise, ye brooks, attune, ye trembling rillsAnd let me catch it as I muse along. Ye headlong torrents, rapid and profoundYe softer floods, that lead the humid maze Along the vale-and thou majestic main, A secret world of wonders in thyselfSound his stupendous praise, whose greater voice Or bids you roar, or bids your roarings fall. Soft roll your incense, herbs, and fruits, and flowers, In mingled clouds to him, whose sun exalts, Wvhose breath perfumes you, and whose pencil paints Ye forests bend, ye harvests wave to him: Breathe your still song into the reaper's heart, As home he goes beneath the joyous moon. Ye that keep watch in heaven, as earth asleep Unconscious lies, effuse your mildest beams, Ye constellations, while your angels strike, Amid the spangled sky, the silver lyre. Great source of day! best image here below, Of thy Creator, ever pouring wide, From world to world, the vital ocean round, On nature write with every beam his praise. Ye thunders roll; be hushed the prostrate world, While cloud to cloud returns the solemn hymn. Bleat out afresh, ye hills; ye mossy rocks 232 0t it THE SEASONS OF THE YEAR. Retain the sound: the broad responsive low, Ye valleys raise; for the great Shepherd reigns, And his unsuffering kingdom yet will come. Ye woodlands all, awake: a boundless song Burst from the groves: and when the restless day, Expiring, lays the warbling world asleep, Sweetest of birds! sweet Philomela, charm The list'ning shades, and teach the night his praise. Yet chief, for whom the whole creation smiles; At once the head, the heart, the tongue of all: Crown the great hymn! In swarming cities vast, Assembled men, to the deep organ join The long resounding voice, oft breaking clear, At solemn pauses, through the swelling base; And as each mingling flame increases each, In one united ardor rise to heaven. Or if you rather choose the rural shade, And find a fane in every sacred groveThere let the shepherd's flute, the virgin's lay, The prompting seraph, and the poet's lyre, Still sing the God of Seasons as they roll. For me, when I forget the darling theme, Whether the blossom blows, the Summer ray Russets the plain, inspiring Autumn gleams, Or Winter rises in the blackening east; Be my tongue mute, my fancy paint no more, And, dead to joy, forget my heart to beat! Should fate command me to the farthest verge Of the green earth, to distant barb'rous climes, Rivers unknown to song; where first the sun Gilds Indian mountains, or his setting beam Flames on the Atlantic isles;'tis nought to me; Since GOD is ever present, ever felt, In the void waste as in the city full; And where He vital spreads, there must be joy. When even at last the solemn hour shall come, And wing my mystic flight to future worlds, I cheerful will obey; there, with new powers, Will rising wonders sing-I cannot go, Where UNIVERSAL LOVE smiles not around. Sustaining all yon orbs, and all their suns: From seeming evil still adducing good, 233 Am 234. THE DISTRIBUTION OF PLANTS. And better thence again, and better still, In infinite progression but I lose Myself in HIM, in LIGHT INEFFABLE! Come then, expressive Silence, muse His praise. THOMSON. THE DISTRIBUTION OF PLANTS. In what proportion are plants distributed in diCerent latitudes? Botanists compute that, at Spitzbergen, which lies near the eightieth degree of north latitude, there are only about thirty species of plants; in Lapland, which lies under the seventieth degree, about five hundred and thirty; in Iceland, under the sixty-fifth parallel, about five hundred and fifty; in Sweden, from the southern parts of Lapland to the fiftyfifth degree, about thirteen hundred; in Brandenburg, between the fifty-second and the fifty-fourth parallel, two thousand; in Piedmont, between the forty-third and forty-sixth, two thousand eight hundred; nearly four thousand in the Island of Jamaica, which is between the seventeenth and nineteenth degrees; and in Madagascar, situated under the tropic of Capricorn, between the thirteenth and fourteenth degrees, more than five thousand. What may be said of the same plant growing in diferent latitudes? Plants of the frigid zones, are also found in the torrid; but they occur only in situations where they find a temperature as low as that of the colder zones, viz., upon high mountains. Thus the plants of Greenland and Lapland are found not only on the Alps and Pyrenees, but even on the Cordilleras. Edwards says, that while no tropical fruits Wow upon the mountains of Jamaica, many European fruits thrive admirably; European Alpine plants occur on the cold mountains of Terra del Fuego; and the pine occupies the extreme limit of arborescent plants in the mountains of America, of Switzerland, and Lapland. The same physical climate, therefore, favors the growth of the same plant. Why are exceptions found to this principle? If under the same climate we do not observe the same plants produced, we must attribute the difference to local po 'TIE DTi5TRTBUTION OF PLANTS. culiaiitles, such as the qialify of soil, the degree of shade, the atmnoslphere, and other circumstances. lTTA(tt co-stit'itioztal diirien-we in ])lants in (g,ard to their?)oicer of'g'oti/2g in digerent climates, may be oh. served? Some plants are found universally distributed, and are consequeiLtly adapted to every climate; while others are confined to very limited districts, beyond which they cannot be cultivated. Mlany plants, particularly the most useful ones, may be successfully naturalised by judicious management, in countries far distant fiomn their original habitation, and under climates very diflferent from that in which they were originally found. Most of our fruits, our corns, and edible vegetables are of foreign extraction. By wehat wans are plants transferred to new localities? The migration of plants has beeni assisted by the wind, and graniverous birds and quadrupeds, as well as by the hand of man himself. Thus the seeds- are carried from their native soils, over rivers and mountains to distant countries, by the former means, as well as over oceans by the latter agency. Under what circzinzstances have men done it? Many of our choicest fruits and vegetables were brought into Italy by the ancient Greeks and Roma,ns, from territories they had subdued; were thence scattered over Europe; and finally transported to this continent by the first settlers. Others were brought from the East by the Crusaders on their return from the Holy Land. This is one of the means by which war has promoted civilization, and encouraged the arts of peace. And at the present day, it is our boast that the same blessings follow in the track of our navigators and missionaries, who. instead ofrinciting men to strife and bloodshed, teach the holy precepts of love and universal brotherhood. Has there 6cbeen any chI,ange in the character of these plants since their ftrst cultivation? The improvement in their appearance and quality has been surprisiingly great. Those which were of little value, now rank with our most important crops. This marked change has been the result of skill and care through a great numiber of years, and it is by no means certaini that these plants have yet reached their highest )point of perfection. Is the origin of these plants well ascertained? In )me cases it may.be so considered, but in general, any 235 1,;-'i THE DISTRIBUTION OF PLANTS attempt to fix upon their native countries is a mere mattel of speculation, or at best of strong probability. What plants, or classes of plants, are most widely diff?Zsed? The anti-scorbutic and edible plants seem to be most widely disseminated throughout the earth. Such are the different varieties of cresses, celery, parsley, and scurvey grass, which are found on every coast which has yet -been visited by navigators. Many plants bearing edible berries are als9 of very general distribution, and form an important article of food for man. These graminea also, which are of most valuable service to man and to inferior animals, are very widely spread, although different species of them appear to thrive best in certain climates. The mosses and lichens, however, are of widest distribution. They are found in every part of the world, and in every situation. What is known of the early history of Indian corn? America is commonly called the native country of this grain, where it was cultivated by the natives at the time of the discovery. It is certain that it was unknown to those ancient writers whose works have come down to us, and that it did not attract attention in the eastern hemisphere until after the voyage of Columbus. Yet, as it has not been found growing wild on this continent, its origin has been variously attributed to India, Persia, and the western coast of Africa. What is the early history of cotton? Cotton appears to have been known in the earliest ages of antiquity. The Egyptians were familiar with its use, and Herodotus, in speaking of the Indians, says, "They possess a kind of plant which, instead of fruit, produces a wool of a finer and better quality than that of sheep." It was found in this country when discovered. Within the past few years its culture has increased to an astonishing degree; and, although grown in the Indies and Egypt, as well as North and South America, two-thirds of the whole annual crop is the product of our own soil. What is known about the early history of tobacco? The discoverers of America noticed the free use of tobacco by the aborigines, who claimed for it several important medicinal properties. It was first known in Europe about the year 1660, when some of the seeds were carried from Portugal by the French Ambassador to that country The word 236 THE DISTRIBUTION OF PLANTS. tobacco in the Haytian~language signifies the pipe use.; by the natives in smoking, and it was very naturally transferred by the Spaniards to the plant itself' In 1586, it was introduced into England by the colonists who had returned from Virginia. Although the practice of smoking was everywhere met in Europe by ridicule and persecution, yet it spread itself rapidly through England, as it had previously done through Portugal, Spain, and France. Are we acquain/ted with the origin of wheat? This valuable cereal is supposed to have been brought from the central table land of Ttibet, where it is said that its original still exists as a wild grass. But, like the other grains, it has been so long and so extensively cultivated, that it is impossible to decide upon its native country. Travellers have found it growing spontaneously in many different regions, and it is doubtful whether the plant may not have been carried there at very distant periods, and have remained as an evidence of ancient civilization. It is now generally diffused, and as an article of food, maintains a high and undisputed rank. Do we know the native country of rye and buckwheat? Many have supposed that they originated in Northern Asia, because buckwheat was thence brought to Europe, and rye is said to be now growing there in its wild state. This is the most we know on the subject. What is known about the natural locality of barley? Barley has been cultivated from time immemorial, and its origin is altogether uncertain. It exists wild in the mountainous regions of central Asia, and is evidently a native of a warmn climate. We have the best authority for its having been raised in Syria more than three thousand years ago. Is any thing certainly known of the origin of the oat? There is not, except the single fact of its being the natural inhabitant of cold latitudes, where it is extensively cultivated, being used not only for the food of horses and other stock, but also in some countries for the food of man, and in others is distilled for beer and ardent spirits. The oat is said to grow wild in Northern Africa. WVhat is the history of rice? That it was carried from Africa to) India, whence it was I 237 THE DISTRIBUTION OF PLANTS. taken to Egypt and Greece. It is more probable, however, that it originated in Eastern Asia. It has formed the chief support of the people of China and India for centuries back, and to its successful cultivation has been frequently attributed their early civilization. It has been said to have altered the face of the globe, and to have changed the destiny of nations. It was introduced into this country about the year 1697, and is now raised in large quantities in all warm climates. Iu the east, a population so vast that it almost surpasses credibility, is dependent on the rice crops, and when they fail, thousands of human beings perish of hunger. What is the native country of the potato? We are indebted for tlis invaluable root to South America It has been found in the highlands of Chili and Peru. In the natural state the tubers are small and of very inferior quality; the excellence o. the varieties now in use is wholly owing to careful cultivation. It was first carried to Europe by John Hawkins, a slave trader, but did not attract much attention until its merits were proclaimed by Sir Walter Raleigh. He first raised it on his estate near Cork, in Ireland, from the seed brought from the colony of Virginia. Its progress in the favor of the people on the continent was slow, and not until the middle of the eighteenth century did it get into general use, nor until the beginning of the nineteenth century were the strong prejudices of the French overcome. TWhere did thze sugar cane originate? There are several varieties of the suffgar cane, but all of them appear to be natives of the eastern part of Asia. If not unknown to the ancient Egyptians, Greeks, or Romans, its value was only imperfectly understood by them. By the Chinese, however, it has been cultivated from remote antiquity, and their sugar occasionally found its way into Europe, in small quantities, by means of the Arabian merchants. Our term sugar is probably derived from the Bengalee shukur, the name by which it is still known in India. The cane was carried by the Saracens into Northern Africa, and thence into Southern Europe. It was taken by the Portuguese to the West India islands and the Brazils. Until the middle of the fifteenth century sugar was considered in Europe chiefly valuable as a medicine; but it has come into such general use that it now ranks next to wheat and rice among all the vegetable products of the world. 238 THE DISTRIBUTION OF PLANTS. TIthat Rs knowcn of the history offlax, or linseed? It has been cultivated from remote antiquity in Europe, Asia, and iorthern Africa; but its original locality is not known for a certainty. Olivier says it grows wil4 in Persia. The ancient Scanidinavians and other barbarous nations were clothed with linen. The mummies of Egypt are inveloped with it, and immense quantities are still raised in that country, and especially about the mouths of the Nile. Of wchat countries is hemp a native? Of India and Persia, whence it was transported to Europe and more recently to our own country. It is probably more cultivated in Russia than anywhere else. tVhat is the original locality of our most common fruits? The apple and pear trees are mostly from Europe. The currant and gooseberry came also from the south oi' Europe. The cherry, plum, olive and almond came from Asia Minor. The mulberry tree, walnut and peach from Persia. The citron firom Acedia; the quince from the Island of Crete; and the chesnut from Italy. The whortleberry is a native of Asia, Europe and America; and the cranberry is a native of the two latter countries. Whence are received our most valuable garden esculenzts? The turnip and mang(old wurtzel came firom the shores of the Mediterranean; but the white turnip is a native of Germany. Celery is a native of the same country. Jerusalem artichoke is a Brazilian product. The carrot is by some supposed to have been brought from Asia, and by others from Germany. Spinach is attributed to Arabia; okra, to Tartary; the cucumber, to the East Indies; the melon, to Kalmuck; parsley, to Sardinia; the onion, to Egypt; the radish, to China; and the horseradish, to the south of Europe. To what countries are to be referred our principal vegetables of the pulse sp)ecies? The origin of peas is unknown. The lentil grows wild on the shores of the Mediterranean. Vetches are natives of Germany. The chick pea was brought firom the south of Europe; the garden beal, from the East Indies; the horse bean, from the Caspian Sea; and the lupin, from the Levant. 239 WONDERS OF VEGETATION. Where were obtained our principal plants for condi. mnents, or for m9edicinal or ntarcotic ])urposes? Hops come to perfection as a wild plant in Germany. The same may be said of mustard and carra- way seed. Dill is an Eastern plant. Anise was brought from Egypt and the Grecian Archipelago. Koriander grows wild near the Mediterranean. Saffrion came from the Levant. The poppy was brought from the East; the sun-flower from Peru. Where is the natural locality of some other well known farm plants not yet named? The gourd is probably an Eastern plant; spurry is an European one; chickory grows wild in Germany; rape and cabbage wild in Sicily and Naples; one species of millet is a native of India, and another species is from Egypt and Abyssinia; white melilot is from Greece; most grasses are native plants; and so are clovers, except lucerne, which is a native of Sicily. WONDERS OF VEGETATION. The time, required to attain the magnitude that trees sometimes reach, is a subject of controversy among scientific botanists; but though actual precision cannot be expected, still we know, that the rate of increase diminishes as the size augments, and that many centuries are required to produce these wonderful monuments of the vegetable creation. And this power of longevity affords Isaiah an expressive illustration of the duration of God's chosen people. "As the days of a tree," says the prophet, repeating the promise of the Lord, "As the days of a tree shall be the days of my people." In Oregon, pines are found upwards of 300 feet high, and in other regions trees are produced not less remarkable for their prodigious circumference; like the plane tree in the valley of Bouyouderck near Constantinople, which measures 150 feet in girth. Some have attained historical celebrity, and have been associated with remarkable events in the progress of nations. In the Province of Oaxaea is a cypress 122 feet round, said to have been mentioned by Cortez in his despatches, and to have afforded shelter from the sun, to the whole of his Mexican army. To this class belong the Parliament Oak, in Clipstone Park, in England, under which a 240 WONDERS OF YEGETATIO'N. parliament was held in 1290, during the reign of Edward the First; the Anikernyke Yew, at Staines, which witnessed the conference between King John and the Barons, and in sight of which MAagna Charta was signed; and the Sycamore Maple in the Grisons, beneath whose branches their Grey League, the foundation of their freedom, was ratified in 1424. At Morat, in Switzerland, was fought the great battle where Helvetian patriotism triumphed over the oppressor, and secured that liberty, which makes its dwelling place in the fastnesses of the Alps. A Linden tree, contemporary of this desperate conflict still marks the site where it occurred, and is approached with reverence by the Swiss patriot, when .he performs his pilgrimage to this high place of his country, to recall the deeds and the dead, which gave her a station among the nations of the earth, and gave her also those equal rights, and a determination to defend them, in weal and in woe, which have made -the name of Switzerland a name of honor through the world. But the most interesting relic of the ancient vegetable creation is to be found upon one of the ridges of Lebanon, not far from the renowned temple of Baalbec. It consists oftwelve gigantic cedars, the remains of the primitive forest, which once covered that great mountain chain of Syria, and which yet rear their heads, prodigies of vegetation, and each surmounted with a dome of foliage overshadowing the spectator, as in the time of Biblical story. One of them is 45 feet in circumference, and all, both in size and height, tell of the long ages that have swept over them, leaving them the the most striking natural monuments that the eye can rest upon. What interesting associations cluster round them! They have been consecrated by history, religion and poetry. Their beauty has been recorded by Ezekiel, and their excellence and perfume by Solomoii, who placed them at the head of the vegetable creation, when he discoursed of trees "from the cedar, which are in Lebanon, even to the hyssop that springeth out of the wall." Could these mute memorials of bygone times tell of the scenes that have passed in the shadow of their foliage, what lessons of power and of instability might they not teach, in the long interval that has elapsed, since these hills resounded with the noise of the workman, preparing the timber for the Temple of Jerusalem, to the solitude, 241 WONDEPRS OF VEGETATION. which establishes its dwelling place wherever the Moslemn plants his standard. I have worslhipped in many of the high places of the old world; in the Cathedral of Christendom, the Basalic of St. Peter, vAihen the Sovereign Pontifr, the head of the Catholic Church, ministered at the altar; and though educated, as 1 have been, in the simplicity of the Presbyterian faith, yet I could not look upon the imposing solemnities without feeling a reverential awe pass over me, as though I were in the presence of Him, whose visible glory descended upon the Temple of Mount Moriah. And yet a naked Greek mass, for it happened to be an annual fete when I was there, celebrated under the patriarch cedar, before a rude altar of unwrought stones, by a poor priest, surrounded by a little band of worshippers, with the cliffs of Lebanon around them, and the canopy of heaven over them, this act of primitive devotion, in a temple not made with hands, has left traces upon my mind and memory more powerful than the most gorgeous ceremonies, and which no subsequent event can eradicate. And this power of association, which seems to make us almost contemporary with the earliest and the latest incidents of history, with Socrates and with Washington, is not confined to the giants of the forest, throwing out their broad branches for the sun to vivify, but it is connected with seeds, deposited in the dark recesses of the catacombs, companions of the bodies of the mummies of Egypt, which poor human nature attempted to rescue from destruction, and which for more than thirty centuries have found there a resting place. Seeds have been taken from these receptacles of the dead, with the power of germination yet existing, and have borne plants, the immediate descendants perhaps of those growing in the days of Abraham. This very season, it is said, a small plat of ground in Caithness, in Scotland, planted with wheat, thus resuscitated from its cemetry, produced a crop honorable to the character of Egyptian agriculture in the days of the Pharaohs, yielding, such is the report, a thousand fold; two seeds only having been planted upon every three feet square-a degree of fecundity heretofore unknown in modern husbandry. The human imagination loves to revel in facts like this. It is interesting, as illustrating one of the most wonderful laws of nature; and it calls' into action that beautiful and 242 VISIT TO AN ENGLISHI DAIRY. beneficent faculty of association, which enables us to withdraw ourselves from the present, by connecting it with the past, and seems to make us spectators of events in the earliest periods of recorded time. This Scottish wheat may be the offspring of grain, taken perhaps from the granaries of Joseph, where was gathered co)rn, as the sand of the sea, against the seven years of faninze. But this triumph of the intellect, by which time and space are annihilated, is rebuked at the very moment it is achieved. The efforts of man to preserve the body, when death had done its work, and thus to reverse the decree of Providence, have signally failed. The misshapen matter is but earth, more revolting to the feelings, than if left to its natural decomposition. It will awaken into being but at the sound of the last trumpet, which will gather together the scattered members of every human body, however separated and however changed, as easily as' it will rouse into life the mortal remains of Cheops, so long reposing in solitary magnificence, and guarded by the pyramids erected for that purpose. But the little seed obeys its law. Time passes harmlessly over it, and it is ready to start into life, whenever placed in a favorable position. The lesson is a pregnant one-may it prove a profitable one, teaching us to confine our operations to aiding the laws of nature, and not to endeavor to reverse them.-LEwIS CASS, LL. D., Michigan VISIT TO AN ENGLISH DAIRY. Let the reader accompany us half a dozen miles out of town. We pass through Camberwell, through Peckham, and Peckham Rye, and we presently find ourselves in a district that looks uncommonly like "the country," considering how short a time it is sinice we left the "old smoke behind us. WVe alight and walk onward, and certainly, if the sight of greeni fields, and cows, and hedges, and farmyards, denote the country, we are undoubtedly in some region of the kind. We pass down a winding road, between high hedges of bush and trees, then climb over a gate into a field; cross it, and then over another gate into a field, from which we commence a gradual ascent, field after field, till finally the green slope leads us to a considerable height. We are en the top of Friern HIill. 12 243 I 1-1 VISIT TO AN ENGLISH DAIRY. It is a bright sunny morningi in September, and we be. hold to perfection the most complete panorama that can be found in the suburban. vicinities of London. Step down with us to yonder hedge, a little below the spot where we have been stauding. We approach the hedge-we get over a gate, and we suddenly find ourselves on the upper part of an enormous green, sloping pasturage, covered all over with cows. The red cow, the white cow, the brown cow, the brindled cow, the colley cow, the dappled cow, the streaked cow, the spotted cow, the liver-and-white cow, the strawberry cow, the mulberry cow, the chestnut cow, the gray speckled cow, the clouded cow, the black cow-the shorthorned cow, the long-horned cow, the up-curling horn, the down-curling horn, the straight-horned cow, and the cow with the crumpled horn-all are here-between two and three hundred-spread all over the broad, downward-sloping pasture, feeding, ruminating, standing, lying, gazing with mild earnestness, reclining with characteristic thoughtfulness, sleeping, or wandering hither and thither. A soft gleam of golden sunshine spreads over the pasture, and falls upon many of the cows with a lovely, picturesque effect. And what cows they are, as we approach and pass amoIng them! Studies for a Morland, a Gainsborough, a Constable. Wve had never before thought there were any such cows out of their pictures. That they were highly useful. amiable, estimable creatures, who continually, at the best, appeared to be mumbling grass in a recumbent position, and composing a sonnet, we never doubted; but that they were ever likely to be admired for their beauty, especially when, belleld, as many of these were, from a disadvantageous point of view, as to their position, we never for a moment suspected. Such, however, is the case. We have lived to see beauty in the form ot a cow-a natural, modern, milch cow. and no descendant from any Ovidian metamorphosis. We will now descend this broad and populous slope, and pay a visit to Friern M3anor Dairy Farm, to which all these acres-some two hundred and fifty-belong, together with all these " horned beauties." WVe find them all very docile, and undisturbed by our presence, though their looks evidently deno.e that they recognize a stranger. But those who are reclining- do not rise, and none.of them decline to be caressed by the hand, or seem indifferent to the compliments addressed 244 VISIT TO AN ENGLIS DAIRY. VISIT TO AN ENGLiSII DAIRI'.4 to them. In passing through the cows we were specially presented to the cow queen, or "master cow," as she is called. This lady has been recognized during twelve years as the sovereign ruler over all the rest. No one, however large, disputes her supremacy. She is a short-horned, shortlegged cow, looking at first sight rather small, but on closer examination you will find that she is sturdily and solidly built, though graceful withal. "She is very sweet-temnpered," observed the head keeper, "but when a new-comer doubts about who is the master, her eye becomes dreadful. Don't signify how big the other cow is-she must give in to the master cow. It's not her size, nor strength, bless vou, it's her spirit. As soon as the question is once settled, she's as mild as a lamb again. Gives us eighteen quarts of milk a lay. " We were surprised to hear of so great a quantity, but this was something abated by a consideration of the rich, varied, and abundant supply of food afforded to these cows, besides the air, attendance, and other favorable circumstances. For their food they have mangold-wurzel, both the long red and the orange globe sorts, parsnips and turnips. But, besides these articles of food, there is the unlimited eat ing of grass in the pastures, so that the yield of a large quantity of milk seems only a matter of course, though we were not prepared to hear of its averaging from twelve to eighteen and twenty quarts of milk a day, from each of these two or three hundred cows. Four and twenty quarts a day is not an unusual occurrence from some of the cows; and one of them, we were assured by several of the keepers, once yielded the enormous quantity of twenty-eight quarts a day during six or seven weeks. The poor cow, however, suffered for this munificence, for she was taken very ill with a fever, and her life was given over by the doctor. Mr. Wright, the proprietor, told us that he set up two nights with her himself, he had such a respect for the cow; and in the morning of the second night after she was given over, when the butcher came for her, he couldn't find it in his heart to let him have her. " No, butcher," said he, "she's been a good friend to me, and I'll let her die a quiet, natural death." She hung her head, and her horns felt very cold, and so she lay for some time longer; but he nursed her, and was rewarded, for she recovered; and there she stands-the 245 VISIT TO AN ENGLISHI DAIRY. strawberry Durham short-horn-and yields him again from sixteen to eighteen quarts of milk a day. Instead of proceeding directly down the sloping fields toward the Dairy Farm, we made a detour of about half a mile, and passed through a field well inclosed, in which were about a dozen cows, attended by one man, who sat beneath a tree. This was the Quarantine ground. All newTly-purchased cows, however healthy they may appear, are first placed in this field during four or five weeks, and the man who milks or attends upon them is not permitted to touch, nor, indeed, to come near, any of the cows in the great pasture. Such is the susceptibility of a cow to the least contamination, that if one who had any slight disease were admitted among the herd, in a very short time the whole of them would be affected. Wvhen the proprietor has been to purchase fresh stock, and been much among strange cows, especially at Smithfield, he invariably changes all his clothes, and generally takes a bath-before he ventures among his own herd. From what has already been seen, the reader will not be astonished on his arrival with us at the Dairy Farm, to find every arrangement in accordance with the fine condition of tile cows, and the enviable (to all other cows) circumstances in which they live. The cow-sheds are divided into fifty stalls, each; and the appearance presented reminded one of the neatness and order of cavalry stations. Each stall is marked with a number; a corresponding number is marked on one horn of the cow to whom it belongs; and, in winter time, or any inclement season (for they all sleep out in fine weather) each cow deliberately finds out, and walks into her own stall. No. 173 once got into the stall of No. 15; but, in a few minutes, No. 15 arrived, and "showed her the difference." In winter, when the cows are kept very much in-doors, they are all regularly groomed with currycombs. By the side of one of these sheds there is a cottage where the keepers live-milkers and attendants-each with little iron bedsteads, and in orderly soldier fashion, the foreman's wife acting as the housekeeper. These men lead a comfortable life, but they work hard. The first "milking" begins at eleven o'clock at night; and the second, at half-past one in the morning. It takes a long time, for each cow insists upon being milked in her own pail, 246 THE GALWAY WOMEN. i. e., a pail to herself, containing no milk from any other cow-or, if she sees it, she is very likely to kick it over. She will not allow of any mixture. In this there would seem a strange instinct, accordant with her extreme susceptibility to contamination. The milk is all passed through several strainers, and then placed in great tin cans, barred across the top, and sealed. They are deposited in a van, which starts from the Farm about three in the morning, and arrives at the dairy, in Farring(don street, between three and four. The seals are then carefully examined, and taken off by a clerk. In come the carriers, commonly called "milkmen," all wearing the badge of Friern Farm Dairy; their tin pails are filled, fastened at the top, and sealed as before, and away they go on their early rounds, to be in time for the early-breakfast people. The late breakfasts are provided by a second set of men. Such are the facts we have ascertained with regard to one of the largest of the great dairy farms near London. DIcKENs' Household Words THE GALWAY WOMEN. A very large fair is held at Galway, Ireland, in the county of Galway, called the Fair of Rose Mount, at which I was present. This was chiefly for the sale of ponies, or horses of a small breed, with scome few cattle. On this occasion, the collection of people was surprisingly great; and I could then well understand what was intended by the public meetings in Ireland, called "monster meetings," in respect to which, until I saw this collection of people, I had always supposed the account of the numbers assembled had been much exaggerated. There were here, on this occasion, some cattle and sheep; but there were, also, four thousand ponies, the catching of which, for examination or sale, as they had, in general, neither bridle nor halter, was sufficiently amusing, and I was about to add, sufficiently Irish. The fair was held on the sea-shore, where the receding tide left a large bed of mud. The ponies, when required to be caught, were surrounded and driven into this muid; and here, in a very ignoble way, 247 THE GALWAY WOMEN. they were secured, though it was not always without some difficulty they were extracted after being caught. There was another circumstance, perfectly unique in its character, to which I shall be pardoned for alluding. There was another species of live stock exhibited at the fair, which I cannot say is never seen at such places, but which does not always present itself under the same frank circumstances. The kind nobleman who accompanied me, and who, like many others, noble and simple, whom it has been my good fortune to meet with on this side of the water, left no effort unessayed for my gratification, after looking at the various objects of the fair, asked me, at last, "if I would like to see the girls?" I confess my natural diffidence at once took the alarm; and my imagination cast a few furtive glances over the sea at some precious objects I had left behind. However, upon a voyage of discovery, why should I not see what was to be seen? I gave him an affirmative reply. Upon inquiring of one of the trustees, or masters of the fair, "if the girls had come," we were informed they would be there at twelve o'clock. At twelve o'clock we went, as directed, to a part of the ground higher than the rest of the field, where we found from sixty to an hundred young women, well dressed, with good looks and good manners, and presenting a spectacle quite worth any civil man's looking at, and in which, 1 can assure my readers, there was nothing to offend any civil or modest'man's feeling. These were the marriageable girls of the country, who had come to show themselves, on the occasion, to the young men and others of the fair. I am free to say that I saw in the custom no very great impropriety. It certainly did not imply that, though they were ready to be had, anybody could have them. It was not a Circassian slave market, where the richest purchaser could make his selection. They were in no sense of the term on sale; nor did they abandon their own right of choice; but that which is done constantly in more refilled society, under various covers and pretenlces,-at theatres, balls, and public exhibitions; I will say nothing about churches,-was done by these humble and unpretending peolfie in this straightforward way. Between the noble duchess, who presents a long train of daughters, rustling in silk, and glittering in diamonds, at the queen's drawing-room, or the ladies of rank and fashion, who 248 THE GALWAY WOMEN. appear at public places with all the beauty and splendor of dress and ornament which wealth, and taste, and art, and skill, can supply, meaning nothing else but "Admire me " and these honest Galway nymphs, with their fair complexions and their bright eyes, with their white frilled caps and their red cloaks and petticoats,-for this is the picturesque costume of that part of the country-all willing to endow some good man with the richest of the gifts of Heaven, a good and faithful wife, 1 can see no essential difference. "Let not ambition mock their useful toil, Their homely joys, and destiny obscure." I hope I shall be excused, if I say something more of these Galway women. I never saw a more handsome race of people. I have always been a great admirer of beautynatural beauty, personal beauty, mental beauty, moral beauity. For what did the Creator make things so beautiful as they are made, but to be admired? For what has he endowed man with an exquisite sense of beauty, but that he may cultivate it, and find in it a source of pleasure and delight? As I have grown older, this sense of beauty-and I deem it a great blessing from Heaven-has become more acute; and every day of my life, the world and nature, nature and art, the animal, the vegetable, and the mineral creation, the heavens and the earth, the fields and flowers, men, women, and children, wit, genius, and learning, moral purity and moral loveliness, deeds of humanity, fortitude, patience, heroism, disinterestedness, have seemed to me continually more and more beautiful. as, at the setting sun, man looks out upon a world made richer and more glorious by his lingering radiance, and skies lit up with an unwonted gorgeousness and splendor. But the human countenance seems in many cases to concentrate all of physical, of intellectual, and of moral beauty, which can be combined in one bright point. Why should it not, therefore, be admired? In the commingled beams of kindness and good humor brightening up the whole face, like heat-lightning in summer on the western sky; or the flashes of genius sparldingff in the eyes with t splendor which the fires of no diamond can rival; or in the whole soul of intelligence, and noble tlhougrhts, and heroic resolution, and strong and lofty passion glowing in the eouxten 11* 249 ance,-there is a manifestation of creative power, of divine skill, unrivalled in any spot or portion of' the works of God. The extraordinary personal beauty of these Galway women was not mere imagination on my part, nor the result of any undue susceptibility I said to the coachman, as we passed through this part of the country, that I never saw a handsomer people. "That," said he, "travellers always remark; " and when I left the country, in casting my eyes over a recent book of travels in Ireland, I found the author's impressions corresponded with my own. Tradition says that a colony of Milesians formerly settled in this part of the country, and the remains of this race, or the offspring of the intermixture of them with the native tribes, present these results. This is a remarkable fact, and not without its bearing, upon one great branch of agricultural improvement.-REv. HENRY COLMAN. MORNING HYMN. These are thy glorious works, Parent of good, Almighty! thine this universal frame, Thus wondrous fair! Thyself how wondrous, then! Unspeakable! who sitt'st above these heavens, To us invisible, or dimly seen In these thy lowest works: yet these declare Thy goodness beyond thought, and power divine. Speak ye, who best can tell, ye sons of light, Angels, for ye behold him, and with songs And choral symphonies, day without night, Circle his throne rejoicing. Ye in heaven: On earth, join, all ye creatures, to extol, Him first, him last, him midst, and without end! Fairest of stars, last in the train of night, If better thou belong not to thie dawn, Sure pledge of day, that crown'st the smiling morn WVith thy bright circlet, praise him in thy sphere, While day arises, that sweet hour of prime Thou Sun, of this great world both eye and soul, 250 MORNING HYI-ININ. MORNING HYMN. Acknowledge him thy greater; sound his praise In thy eternal course, both when thou climb'st, And when high noon hast gained, and when thou fall'st Moon, that now meet'st the orient sun, now fliest WTith the fixed stars, fixed in their orb, that flies; And ye five other wandering fires that move In mystic dance, not without song; resound; His praise, who out of darkness called up light. Air, and ye elements, the eldest birth Of iiature's womb, that in quaternion run Perpetual circle, multiform, and mix, And nourish all things; let your ceaseless change Vary to our great Maker still new praise. Ye mists and exhalations, that now rise From hill or steaming lake, dusky or gray, Till the sun paint your fleecy skirts with gold, In honor to the world's great Author rise, Whether to deck with clouds the uncolored sky, Or wet the thirsty earth with falling showers Rising or falling, still advance his praise. His praise, ye winds, that from four quarters blow Breathe soft or loud; and wave your tops, ye pines, With every plant, in sign of worship wave. Fountains, and ye that warble as ye flow, Melodious murmurs, warbling tune his praise. Join voices, all ye living souls! ye birds That, singing, up to heaven's gate ascend, Bear on your wings and in your notes his praise. Ye that in waters glide, and ye that walk The earth, and stately tread, or lowly creep, Witness if I be silent, morn or even, To hill or valley, fountain or fresh shade, Made vocal by my song, and taught his praise. Hail, universal Lord! be bounteous still To give us only good: and if the night Have gathered ought of evil, or concealed, Disperse it, as now light dispels the dark! MILToN. 251 4 THE MOTHER'S JEWEL. THE MOTHER'S JEWEL.~~~ Jewel most precious the mother to deck, Clinging so fast by the chain on my neck, Locking, thy little white fingers, to hold Closer, and closer, the circles of gold.Stronger than these are the links that confine Near my fond bosom this treasure of mine Gift from thy Maker, so pure and so dear, Almost I hold thee with trembling and fear. Whence is this gladness so holy and new, Felt as I clasp thee, or have thee in view? What is the noose that slips over my mind, Drawing it back, if I leave thee behind? Soft is the bondage, but strong is the knot, Oh! when the mother her babe has forgot Ceasing from joy in so sacred a trust, Dark should her eye be, and closed for the dust. Spirit immortal, with light firom above, Over this new-opened fountain of love, Forth from my heart as it gushes so free, Sparkling, and playing, and leaping to thee, Painting the rainbow of hopes till they seem Brighter than reason,-too true for a dream! What shall I call thee? My glory? My sun? These cannot name thee, thou Beautiful one'! Brilliant! celestial! so priceless in worth, Howshall I keep theeunspotted from earth? How shall I save thee from ruin by crime, Dimmed not by sorrow, untarnished by time'? Where, from the thief and the robber who stray Over life's path, shall I hide thee away? Fair is the setting, but richer the gem, Oh! thou'lt be coveted,-sought for by them! I must devote thee to One who is pure, Touched by whose brightness thine own will be sure; Borne in His bosom, no vapor can dim, Noting can win, or can pluck thee from Him; Seamless and holy the garment he folds Over his jewels, that closely he holds. Hence, unto him be my little one given! Yea, "for of such is the kingdqm of Heaven!" TI-IE MOTHERIS JEWEL. 252 I BEST LONG WOOLED BUCK AND EWE, over two years. Exhibited at the Fair of the New York State Agricultural Society, 1851, and owned by J. McDONALD and WILLIAM RwATBONE. ANIMAL PHYSIOLOGY. ANIMAL PHIIYSIOLOGY. Htrbat is to be understood by animal physiology? Physiology literally means the science of nature, and is synonymous with the term, physics or natural philosophy When applied to the vegetable creation, it is called vegetable physiology. WThen applied to the structure of man, it is called human anatomy. or human physiology. And when applied to the animal kingdom generally, it is called animal physiology. WVhty are vegetables and animals called organic bodies? Because they each possess the principle of life and certain organls or members active in the maintenance of this principle. For instance, plants possess roots and leaves which perform certain offices in collecting, assimilating, and perfecting the various elements of vegetable life. In like manier the heart and the stomach of an animal are called organs, because their fulnctions are to'circulate the blood and digest the food requisite in the animal economy. TVhat are called inorganic bodies? Those bodies without vitalitywhich are unable toperform the functions of living bodies, such as water, air, the various gases, rocks, and metallic substances. Jlow are living bodies described? They pass through a certain routine of existence, from what may be called their birth to their death. Being in the possession of the quality called life, they take in nourishment from food and air, by virtue of which they grow to maturity; are afterwards, by the same means, supported for a certain period; and, at last, when the purpose of their existence in the world is accomplished, they cease to live, and are resolved into the elements from which they were formed. This is true of vegetables as well as animals. How tin this )'espect do aniials (liferfrom vegetables? In addition to these peculiarities, common to animals and plants, animals possess properties which give them what is called sensibility, and which enables them to fulfil certain functions which do not belong to plants. In organic bodies, wherever there is sensation or voluntary motion, we have an animal; where these are wanting in a vegetable. In addition to this, animals have a will or a spiritual essence which gives them a measure of control over their physical 253 24 ANIMAL PHYSIOLOGY. organs, enabling them to move from place to place, to sup. ply themselves with the means of subsistence, and also to indulge themselves in what may be called the social habits of' org:aic liie; nriot the least important ill these habits is their own reproduction. TJVLy is antimal ph,ysioloy 1)(rticularly interesting? Because the animal structure is the most wonderliful pro ducLtion in tile whole range of the material creation; the complicated machinery of a watch or a steam engine bears but a faint resemblance, in contrivance, to the animal frame; but, the wisdom displayed in the mechanical perfection of an animal, scarcely deserves to be named-is a mere bagatelle-compared with that which is manifest in what is called animal sensibility or sensation-the mental attributes. whic h control the physical organs. Thlat braqzches of animal physiology aire most deserving our attention and critical study? Human physiology, or that which relates to man first deserves our regard. On a knowledge of the mechanism in the human structure; of the laws by which it is operated; of the agencies which may disturb its power of action; and, especially of the means for preserving and augmenting its vigor, depend what we esteem most valuable in this world. Physically as well as mentally the most valuable study is that which enables man to know himself-the mysteries of his own complex organization. Without this knowledge what mnight be the consequence? Suppose any intricate and complex machinery, for instance, an extensive factory for spinningl and weaving, or for any results of mechanical labor, was placed in the care and under the management of an individual wholly destitute of all mechanical skill and taste, would it not speedily become deranged and useless? So likewise, if we are ignorant of the curious mechanism in our own bodies, and of the means for preserving its efficiency, the chances are the whole will become deranged and inoperative, the same as would a watch if placed for repair in the hands of a stevedore or any other common laborer. But, independeint of any such 9)iotires of interest for acquiring a knowledge of 2u?nan?lhlysiology, what other rational motive is there jbor it? An ignorance of and an indiflference to this study, is not PHYSIOLOGY OF ANIMALS. very dissimilar to one's ignorance of his own local geography. With the existing instrumentalities for acquiringi geographical knowledge, we can scarcely realize how any one with the least pretension to mental endowment, can willingly remain destitute of this knowledge. But, for an individual to continue ignorant of the geography of his own country and state, and especially of his own town, denotes a degree of stupidity as well as ignorance, absolutely disgraceful, and almost giviing him rank among the brutes. The same may be said of the individual who is ignorant of himself; of the organization of his own body; and of the laws which control the preservation of his own life. TVhIat other motives are there, especially in nmoral life, for the thorough and critical study of animal physiology? It is apparent, that the animals upon a farm cannot be reared, fed, and fattened, to the best advantage, without a familiar acquaintance with their general habits, and particularly with the elements in their feed contributing most to a fiill and rapid development of their physical proportions and strength. Otherwise, the farmer can never make this branch of his business in the highest degree satisfactory or lucrative. A large proportion of his expenditure for feed will be essentially lost. How can this be nmade to appear? Some breeds of horses, horned cattle, swine, and sheep, it is well known, grow larger, acquire more symmetrical proportions, and in cows give more milk, on the same outlay in feed, than other breeds. So it is likewise in the labor of oxen. The husbandman must, therefore, by crossings and otherwise, procure the best kinds of farm animals, and be able to know the particular descriptions of nutriment for strength in those for work; also, for the production of fat in those designed for slaughter; and not less for milk in those onil which the dairy products depend. What other advantages to-the farnzer result from a particular and full knowledge of animal physio7ogy? A knowledge of the anatomy of farm animals enables one to judge better of their strength for labor. Besides, they are always liable more or less, to disease and broken or deranged limbs. If their owner has no knowledge of their physical organization how can he prescribe for fractured bones or for any diseased organs? A knowledge of the dis 255 PHYSIOLOGY OF ANIMALS. eases of animals, of the remedies for these diseases, and of the mode of treatment in case of severe accident, may frequently save the life of one of great value. This knowledge is as needful as skill in a medical practitioner when those of the human species are suffering from fever or dislocated joints, so far as restoration in both cases is of parallel importance. Without this knlowledge, many a profitable cow, many a noble horse, many a powerful ox has been lost to the owner. Are there any other motives for an acquaintance wvith the subject of animal physiology? There are; motives of a syrmpathetic character. There is certainly a great pleasure felt in understanding and being able to converse on the attributes and points of all objects constantly about us, and on the profits of which we depend for our prosperity and comfort. And to be able to relieve a distressed or sick dumb animal must be a pleasure to every person of humane and kind sensibilities. A person has but a frail claim to a kind and Christian heart who is indifferent to the sufferings of the brute creation. fow many bones are in the ]hu?an skeleton? In the body of an adult there are two hundred and eight principal bones, besides eight very small ones in the thumb and great toe, makingff in all two hundred and sixteen. And if the teeth be added, thirty-two, when the set is completed, the whole number will be two hundred and forty-eight. Some, by distinguishing parts of the same bones, have reckoned the whole at two hundred and fifty. Of wlzat elementary substawnce are the bones and teeth composed? Mostly of lime, which is received into the system from such articles of food as contain it. Hence, it is particularly needfuil that young animals, whose bones are maturing, should be liberally furnished with those articles. VWhat scientific advant,age results frSs, a knowledlge of the particular conforrmation, of bones? When some prominent bone of an animal is found imbedded in the earth, the articulations of it denote the species of animal to which it belonged. Thus, if the radius of the human skeleton were thus found, which is the large or principal bone of the arm below the elbow, it would be clear from its articulations that it belonged to a moveable organ 256 PIIYSIOLOGY OF ANIMALS. used for seizing objects. Such an one is called moveable, in distinction from those called fixed, which are to support the body, and are, instead of beiing connected with fingers or claws, connected with hoofs. If s,ch a priozineit bonoze befound having had connectioi icit/h hoofs, wheat infer)cnce is dracwn? The hoofs imply that the animal to which it belonged was a vegetable feeder, with grinding teeth, and a particular form of alimentary canal, and also a certain conformation of the spine. Hence, a pretty good idea would be had of the size, tobrm, and general habits of the animal, simply from this bone. Ifotc zvoztdd a naturalist reason in such a case? lie would conclude that the animal had been put together, as in all cases with which we are familiar, upon rational and philosophical principles. Hence he concludes that no organ stands isolated, but that each has intimate relations with the rest, always forming a harmonious andcl symmetrical whole; and that, whether we examine the structure of the individual parts, or their relations, we must equally feel that all has proceeded from the hand of a being infinitely wise and good. TFhat practical illustration of this have we? The following fact is stated by Dr. Buckland in his Bridgewater Treatise. Many years previous, a few bones of an extinct species of an animal were found. At that time nothing of the general form of the animal was known. But from these bones, Mr. Connybeare, a celebrated geologist, set himself to work to construct an animal, such as he supposed that to which these bones belonged. Some years afterwards, a complete skeleton of this singular animal, the Plesiosaurus, was discovered, with which Mr. Coniiybeare's drawing was found in a surprising degree to correspond. Into wthat three classes are anim2tals divided, when considered in relation to their food? Carnivorous, or those whioh feed on flesh; herbivorous, or those which feed on herbage or vegetables; and omni'vorous, or those which feed on flesh and herbage. How tv e these difcrent classes known by their teeth? It is said that the teeth give us decisive indications of an animal's habits, of his bodily conformation, and of his general attributes. The general distinctive classification of teeth is 257 PHYSIOLOGY OF ANIMALS. into those called cutting and grinding; or incisors and molars; the former thin and sharp edged, and the latter double. In the human species and in herbivorous animals, the molars, or double teeth, are essentially flat, so as to operate, in reducing food to a fine state, like the stones of a mill, while in carnivorous animals, the lion and all the cat tribe, all of them are sharp-pointed except two; the ferret and polecats have four not pointed, and'dogs have eight not pointed. What remark is mnade respecting the design of Providence in the variation of the structure of teeth in diferent aninmals? It is quite impossible that the sharp teeth of the tiger and the shark should ever be used for grinding food, like those of the horse and the ox, or that the teeth of the latter could be intended for seizing and tearing flesh; and this becomes still more striking, when we observe how the jaws in which the teeth are set have been articulated. In the carnivora, or carnivorous animals, as the teeth merely cut, the jaws are pointed like the blades of a pair of scissors, but the jaws of the herbivora, or herbivorous animals, and of man, allow of a grinding motion. This motion of the cow and horse is from side to side, or nearly circular, whereas in the rodential family this motion is rapidly performed in a longitudinal direction. Whhat is said of the provision in animals for teeth? So long as animals are young and subsist on milk or pulpy substances, the teeth, which would then be an inconvenience, do not appear; but, in the jaws even before birth, provision for them may be seen, so that, as the wants of the animal require, the teeth begin to develop themselves-not all at once, but those most needful first, and then, at varying intervals with different species, the others in due succession. In the human species the set of teeth is not completed till the individual arrives at maturity-say, eighteen years of age, or in that neighborhood., Of what are the teeth composed? The human teeth are composed principally of two substances, the eia'niel, and the i,ory, or bone. The enamel is placed externally and on the body of the tooth, and-fi)rnis only a thin layer, and is so hard as to strike fire with steel; but when any part of it is destroyed, it is never restored. The 258 PHIYSIOLOGY OF ANIMIALS. internal part of all teeth is much of the. nature of bone, and is produced by the lime contained in the food furnished for the animal. The teeth, bones, shells, fish-scales, cartilages, and coral are all compounds of the same elements combined in different proportions, and rendered harder or softer as they possess a larger or smaller quanitity of calcareous salts; ivory and the enamel of teeth possessing the largest quantity, and consisting almost exclusively of phosphate of lime, with a small proportion of animal matter. What is one of the mnost extraordinary facts in the aninmal economy that strikes the attention? It is the law of nature, that animals feed on each other, or onl vegetables, that seem to be produced for that end. This law applies to the greatest and to the least; the strongest and the weakest; in the sea and on the land. Whole species of animals apparently exist for nothing else, but to Secome food for other species. This is remarkably the case with marine animals. Who can imagine the millions of these smaller tribes that are annually consumed in this manner in nurturing a single whale, that in the end furnishes man with the means of dispelling from his abode the darkness of midnight? For what purpose do the clouds of insects fill our atmosphere but to become food for larger races of the animal kingdom, who in their turn serve the same end to others larger than themselves? Thro)z,o'h what processes does the food pass before answerig the purpose of aninmal nutrition? In the first place it is miasticated or reduced to a fine, pulpy consistence; then, it passes into the stomach, where it is subjected to the action of what is called the gastric juice; by this action, digestion, or the decomposition of its elementary constituents, ensues; and, finally the nutritious portions mingle with the blood. The parts of the food not nutritious pass of' through the alimentary canal, and are voided under the name of excrements. To what has the process oj digestion been compared? To the makiing of soap. The grease used for the purpose is mixed in ley from ashes, or with potash, which is Icy boiled down to a coinrete substance. By this means the grease is dissolved and combines with the ley. If, however, too much grease is used for the alkali, portions of it will remain solid, that will not become soap. In a similar way the 259 PHYSIOLOGY OF ANIMALS food is digested or dissolved by the gastric juice in tlis stomach; but, if a person eats too much for the gastric juice to dissolve, a portion of his food will remain in solid or undigested lumps, analagous to the lumps of undissolved grease in the soap barrel. This undigested food in the stomach not only produces the most disagreeable sensations, seemingly like what would be felt from having swallowed whole raw potatoes or small stones; but, it destroys the healthy action of the stomach, and leads to general derangement in the whole system. Hence intemperance in eating is nearly as detrimental to health as intemperance in the use of drink. Is the food of all animrals masticated in the mouth? There are some exceptions. Some animals swallow their food first and then comminute it afterwards. This is the case with the lobster, the grasshopper, and some others, which have their teeth immediately connected with the stomach. One species of the grasshopper has no fewer than two hundred and seventy teeth. The same purpose is served by the gizzards of granivorous birds, only that the grain is ground between two hard, horny surfaces, which act like millstones, their effect being increased by numerous small stones swallowed instinctively by the animal. As many as two thousand of these stones have been counted in the gizzard of a single goose. How is the sensation of hunger produced? When there is no food in the stomach on which the gastric juice can operate, it acts on the inward coats of the stomach; if not to their destruction, yet to the production of a most disagreeable and painful sensation. TWhat is said of the power of the gastric juice? In dogs it is so great that it is known to dissolve ivory and the enamel of teeth. In hens it will dissolve the hardest stones. And some years since, upon examining the stomach and intestinal tube of a man who had died in one of the hospitals of London, and who had in his lifetime out of hardihood swallowed quite a number of clasp-knives, their handles were found digested, and their blades blunted, though he had not been able to discharge them from the body. Wthat is said of the circdulation of the blood? The circulation of the blood is carried on by two distinct sets of vessels, the arteries and the veins. The arteries take the blood from the heart. loaded or impregnated with the 260 PHYSIOLOGY OF ANIMIALS. nutrition from the food, and of a bright scarlet color, and carry it to every part of the animal system. It then returns to the heart, in the veins, receiving, as it courses along, the impurities of the system, particularly the wasted carbon, so that before reachinig the lungs it has chlanged to a dark purple color. HIere, by being spread over the lungs, in a beautiful, fine net work of air vessels, every particle of it is brought in contact with the pure, fresh gases just inhaled. Here the carbon is thrown off, not only from the blood, but from the system, by respiration. The blood being again restored to its scarlet hue, passes again to the heart, and is again freighted with nutritious aliment, to perform a second circulation, and so on in perpetuity to the end of life. At what rate of time does the blood circulate? It moves in its circulation with astonishing rapidity. Did it flow at an equal rate in a straight line, it would run in one minute through one hundred and fifty feet, or thereaabouts. This swiftness, however, exists only in the larger vessels near the heart; the farther the blood recedes from the heart the slower its motion becomes. At the above rate, the blood rushes forward in its appointed channels more thanii forty miles in twenty-four hours, a greater distance than a horse should travel, or can travel for a protracted period. What is understood by animal heat? It is that property of all animals, by means of which they preserve a certain temperature, wholly independent of that of the medium by which they are surrounded, and appears rather to be in proportion to the degree of sensibility possessed by them. In birds it is the greatest. low is the study of animal heat important to the farmer? It is well known, that farm animals kept warm require less food and fatten better than those which are not sheltered in cold weather. It is supposed that their fat is consumed in generating, when exposed to the cold, the internal warmth necessary to preserve life, the same as the oil in a lamp is consumed in generating light and heat-or, as wood and coal are consumed in producing heat to warm our ordinary dwellings. 261 PROGRESS OF AGRICULTURE. PROGRESS OF AGRICULTURE. Why is it, that the subject of agricultural improvement commands such general attention? Why has it become a favorite topic with the statesman and the philanthropist?with the scientific man, as well as with the man of business? -with the deep-thinker, as well as the hardy operator? Is it alone for the pecuniary profits which may be secured? Or do more exalted considerations enter into the account? To increase the reward of honest labor-to ensure a just return for capital invested- are objects legitimate and worthy to be considered. But the spirit of the age is directed to higher and nobler ends! It aims at intellectual conquest-to elevate the immortal mind, and to establish its dominion over animate and inanimate matter! It is, then, a leading object of this enlightened effort, to improve not only the cultiv[atiot but the cultivators of the soil-to combine in their behalf the principles of science, with the strength and skill of labor; and so to direct their efforts as to secure a just elevation of character to the one, and a profitable return to the other. Agriculture has been termed the primitive art. To the savage the earth yields a spontaneous but precarious and inadequate support. Hunger, necessity-the mother of invention, lead him to that rude culture which alleviates, first, the cravings of appetite. The very act awakens within him the nobler spirit and properties of his nature. This is the dawn of civilization. With it agriculture commences. With civilization agriculture advances, and recedes with it wherever civilization recedes. Agriculture has flourished most in the most enlightened ages and nations of the world, and has been most elevated and prosperous where the people have been most free. Her true friend and disciple may therefore exclaim, with the American sage and patriot, "W here Liberty dwells, there is my country." In the palmy days of Greece and Rome, when originated those bright examples of patriotism and virtue which have been venerated, quoted, and deemed worthy of imitation, in all succeeding ages, the cultivation of the soil was held to )e the most honorable of pursuits. The sages and heroes of that period, not only directed the operations of farming, but 262 It PROGRESS OF AGRICULTURE. thought it no disparagement to till the soil with their own hands. From the plough they were called to deeds of valor and renown in the service and defence of their country; and after the performance of those deeds, they returned voluntarily to the peaceful walks of rural life. The names of some of the noblest famnilies of Rome were derived from products of the soil in the cultivation of which their ancestors excelled. It was deemed to be the highest praise of a good rian to call him "an agriculturist, and a good husbandman; and he was thought to be greatly honored (says Cato) who was thus praised." The writers upon the subject, of that era, the most eminent men of the day, both Greek and Roman, appear to have been well acquainted with the principles and practices of good tillage. The Romani conquest introduced into Great Britain a better system of husbandry than then existed there, and which has since been greatly improved. To that old and wealthy portion of the world, we have been in the habit of looking for examples, and although self-dependence is our true policy, we may still learn much from her experience and practice. Comparatively free, enlightened and enterprising, Great Britain has outstripped almost every other country of the old world in agricultural as well as manufacturing skill. Although she possesses an extensive commerce-although numerous colonies in all parts of the globe are tributary to her-the great truth is recognized by her statesmen and intelligent subjects, that the true wealth and power of a nation consists in its soil. And yet, while vast improvements have been there accomplished, in every branch of husbandry-while science and practice have brought forth abundant fruits of their united skill. doubling within the last twenty-five years the yield per acre of grain and hay; doubling in the same time the number of domestic animals, and enabling the farmers to keep twice as many on the same amount of food as they didwhile the finest of cattle, horses and sheep, of improved breeds, are sprinkled- in numerous herds over her fertile meadows-while the lordly and privileged owners of the soil, and the wealthy tenantry of large estates, have been greatly profited-the mass of the people, the actual operators -still labor in unrequited toil. It is not, however, to be defiod, that within the last half century, through the spirit of i 263 PROGGRESS OF AGRICULTURE. agricultural improvement and the philanthropic zeal which has been exerted in behalf of popular education, both in Great Britain and on the contiinent of Europe, the condition of the toiling millions has been greatly ameliorated. In France, the government has established experimental farms and agricultural schools in the various departments of husbandry,and is annually expending large amounts to promote agricultural improvement throughout its domains. One of the results of this policy,has been, to double the product of wheat in that kingdom, which now produces annually more wheat than is grown in Great Britain and the United States. Similar results have followed a similar policy in the German States. "Flemish husbandry" has long been acknowledged to surpass that of any other country of Europe. The soil of Flanders is naturally sterile; but by a systematic and skilful plan of cultivation, combining the plough with the spade husbandry, upon small farms of from forty to fifty acres each, nearly the whole face of that country has been made to present the features of garden cultivation. But it is not my intention to attempt a history of agriculture, ancient or modern, past or present. I have stated these facts by way of illustration, to show that, long centuries ago, great, patriotic and intelligent men appreciated the pursuit, and understood the essential theories and practices of the art, of cultivating the soil-that the spirit of improvemnent, which has lingered through ages, is now abroad and active in other lands, speakingff to us in the voice of instruction, of encouragement and admonition; and that, though much has been discovered and accomplished, much remains to be developed and matured, in this great and beneficial field of enterprise. And upon whom, let me ask, within the wide compass now occupied by civilized man, rest stronger and deeper obligations to come up to this great work with energy and effect. than upon the people of these United States of America? With advantages, such as no other people ever possessedwith a variety of soil and climate known to no other division of the habitable globe; with institutions more wise and more free than were ever enjoyed by man-we are under obligations, in gratitude to Providence, in justice to our fel. low men, to set an example not only of political but of moral greatness, and to excel all other nations in the arts and pur. 264 PROGRESS OF AGRICULTURE. suits of civilized life-in the production, the extension, and the enjoyment of' happiness. Proclaiming to the world the broad doctrines, that all men were created equal, and that man, even in the imperfection of his nature, is competent to self-government,-it becomes us to elevate, not only theoretically, but practically; not only politically, but morally-the laboring and productive classes. Honest labor, to be deemed honorable, should only be required to be virtuous and in. telligent. And, fellow-citizens, I lay it down as a position not to be controverted, that the cultivators of the soil, the agricultural class, constitute in this country the basis of societythe foundation of our social and political system. From this basis spring all other classes, productive or non-productive. On this broad and deep foundation rest the prosperity and liberties of our country. Trace the records of our history, past and present! Cast your eyes around, among the multitudes of men! Can you name a patriot, a hero, or a statesman, who could not or cannot trace his genealogy, directly or indirectly, to the cultivators of the soil? Can you name a man who is distinguished in ally profession,-on the bench, at the bar-in our halls of legislation-as a poet, as an orator, as a man of literature or science-who is not himself a farmer, the son of a farmer, or the son of a farmer's son? So with our merchants, proud and wealthy as they may have become-so with our mechanics, who constitute, with the farmers, the bone and sinew of our country. And so it must continue to be while our free institutions endure. In our own country the tillers are the owners of the land, or may become so by iidustry and economy. Here, all is diffusive. The elemenls of our social and political order are continually active: Freedom, enterprise, the equality of rights, and the equal protection of the laws, stir up and intermingle the masses of which it is composed. High and humble, rich and poor, are terms which distinguish but the position of a day. Wealth and honors, possessions and pursuits, undergo continual chances. The professional man, the merchant, the mechanic, deriving directly or remotely their existence from the tillers of the soil, return, themselves or their descendents, in whole or in part, to that pursuit with which their earliest and dearest associations are connected-thus filling the places of those whom the allurements cf fame or 13 265 PROGRESS OF AGRICULTURE. fortune have drawn from its peaceful paths Indeed, the bossiness of agriculture, ever productive, honorable, untrammrelled, open and free to all-furnishes a refuge to those who are driven, by the force of circumstances, by excessive competition, by the substitution of machinery for manual labor, and other callses, from other employments. It affords an asylum to disappointed hope, to exhausted energies and to satiated ambition, in all other pursuits. They return, like the dove to the ark, to that refuge where peace, where competence, and independence, are ever the fruits of honest toil and well-directed efforts! But, who can estimate the importance of agriculture, in a national point of view, as controlling the character, the prosperity and independence of our country? Upon it, all classes depend for subsistence. It furnishes the elements of commerce and the materials of manufactures. It aids in the development of those mineral resources which supply the useful arts, constitute the essentials of household goods and structures and the useful implements of trade, and which set the mighty power of steam in motion. Who can estimate, who conceive, the value in dollars and..cents of those uniiumbered acres which constitute the surface of this vast republic?-of this immense terra firma, which remains, with all its productive powers, while all things else perish?which now nourishes upon its bosom twenty millions of human beings, and is capable of sustaining innumerable millions yet unborn? Who can look forward, through the long vista of time to come, and foretell what vast improvements future ages are destined to witness-what, upon this great theatre of action, freedom, and enterprise, science and industry are yet to accomplish? Agriculture, while it offers reasonable inducements for the investment of capital, affords a competence, which is better than wealth, to all who pursue it with becoming skill and energy. But let no one hope for success in that pursuit, without labor, or at least without vigilant application and strict economy. The declaration made by God to man"by the sweat of thy brow shalt thou eat bread," was rather a gracious promise than a threat or denunciation. It was a guaranty to him, of a full reward for labor bestoweda sweet return for honest toil: and the abundant harvests which crown the labors of the industrious and skilful husbandman, are consummations of the Almighty promise! 266 MOGRESS of AGOltICTLTUR. The pursuit of agriculture, is as favorable to intellectual as to physical improvement. It promotes the strength of the mind, as well as that of the body. Surrounded by scenes the most beautiful and sublime in creation-'-" looking from Nature up to Nature's God,"-the mind of the intelligent farmner must become imbued with the most exalted conceptions. Men of genius, in every department of literature and science, have written amidst the scenes of rural life; and the best of poets, in all ages, have from thence derived their inspirations! Health, too, without whose presence there is no enjoyment, holds her favorite seat amidst fields and forests. She sports on the mountains and gambols in the valleys. She loves the grove and the fountain. She loves to inhale the fragranco of the new-mown hay! She loves to follow the ploughman, whistling at his plough; and listen at early dawn to the music of the birds: "Often by the sound of tabor, She the rustic's care beguiles, On the brow of honest labor Are bestowed her richest smiles." Woman, "Heaven's last, best gift to man," was placed by his side in Eden, to help him in dressing and tilling the garden. She is "at home" amidst the charms of rural life, and clusters around the farmer's fire side his choicest and richest blessings. Relieved by mechanical skill from the toil of carding and spinning and weaving,-exempt by the just estimate of civilization, from the labors of the field-woman finds her appropriate sphere in domestic duties-in cultivating the minds of her children-in the pursuits of household economy-in spreading the neat and frugal meal, and in cheering and softening the cares of labor to him upon whom its heaviest burtlhen falls. She finds, too, her delight, as in the days of primeval innocence, among the fruits and flowers: and for her sake, and for his own most rational and healthful enjoyment, the grateful husbandman will cherish the orchard and the garden!-An Address before the Tompkins County (N. Y.) Agricultural and Horticultural Society, by HON. EBENEZErn MACK. 10 267 THE FORMATION OF SOILS. THE FORMATION OF SOILS. The soils which now exist upon the face of our earth, have been produced by a variety of agencies; the chief of these have been the gradual decomposition and crumbling down of the rocks themselves, and deposition by water. We know that the external outline of the earth has undergone most extensive changes. In some places it has sunk, in others risen. Sometimes it is evident from the present conformation of surface, that violent currents of water have swept across strata of rocks, wearing away the uppermost, and transporting their ruins to fill up depressions elsewhere. We often find strata upheaved and dislocated by action from below, and in many cases see the inferior rock presenting itself on the surface, having burst upwards in a state of fusion, in despite of every obstacle. Scarcely a region can be found which does not present striking evidence of the throes, convulsions, and changes, which took place before man became an inhabitant of this planet. It is for geologists to decide, if they can, how long a time was occupied in these changes; suffice it for our present purpose that they have taken place, and that they seem to have been especially ordered for our benefit. Hlad the stratum last deposited or formed, continued unbroken and unchanged around the whole earth, we should have had none of the beautiful variety of scenery which now greets our eyes on every side; no alternation of hill and dale, mountain. plain and valley, with the attendant variations of climate and production, which now so often remind us of perfection itself. The soil would have been identical in composition over vast districts, if not over the whole earth, being all formed from at least allied species of rocks. Now as few rocks contain all the material for a good soil, this soil would doubtless have been imperfectly fitted to sustain most of the plants necessary for our existence and comfort. When exhausted too, we should have had no stores of mineral substances in forms convenient for supplying the deficiency. The convulsions of nature, however, have been directed for our good, and they seem to have continued in a very long series before this earth was deemed fit for the abode of man. Geological researches have shown us the existence of races of animals, that lived and died, and succeeded each 268 THE FORMATION OF SOILS. other in countless myriads, through long and indefinite periods of time. We find them all changed to stone, entombed in rocky sepulchres. Sometimes the appearance of the rock denotes that it was deposited from a calm and quiet sea, where the animals died naturally, and in consequence seldom remain whole or unharmed. In other cases life and its functions seem to have been suspended by some sudden change, so that we find large fish with smaller ones in their mouth, but half swallowed, and others with their thorny fins yet erect in the attitude of fear or rage with which they received their death shock, when that sudden mysterious destruction came upon them. In some of these periods also, upon that part of the land elevated above the water, there flourished a vegetation of exceeding luxuriance. Internal fires have borne a decided part in all of these changes, if they have not been the chief agents. It is well known that even now, as we go towards the centre of the earth, for each foot in depth the heat increases, indicating interior combustion still active. In the earlier history of our globe these fires must have burst forth many times. The masses of melted matter may be plainly seen, penetrating the stratified roceks, filling cracks in their substance, flowing over their surfaces, or upheaving and contorting them. But while some rocks were thrust upward, others sank into corresponding depressions; and vast currents of water produced by these convulsions, seas and lakes turned out of their beds, seem to have swept over the world; completing the scene of confusion by tearing away and grinding down strata, bearing the materials to other regions, there to form beds of sand, clay, or gravel, according to the nature of the original rock. The vegetation at such periods, seems to have been carried into hollows and buried deep by succeeding or continuing shocks, to form under enormous pressure and a high temperature, beds of coal for the advantage of beings yet to be created. Thus all of these tremendous revulsions and changes of surface, seem to have been made with the great end of preparing the earth for the habitation of man, making its resources more available to him. In such a view, the globe appears to have been a vast manufactory for our benefit. Its beds of limestone, of mark of gypsum, are dispersed in every direction, that they may be accessible to all; the various 269 II composition of its rocks, produces soils capable of growing every necessary plant; its ores are abundant in proportion as they are the more indispensable for the formation of necessary implements; while on the walls of our coal mines, we may still trace the forms of a gigantic vegetation which flourished long ages ago, and was then stored for our use. It is not to be supposed that the present surface assumed its present shape, in every place at the same time. Some regions, without doubt, became tranquil long before others, but all must at first have presented a strange naked aspect. There was of course no soil, except in the tract of some former current where matter in suspension had been deposited. This appearance of absolute ruggedness and sterility, could not have continued long unaltered. Atmospheric influences, heat and cold, moisture and dryness, worked surely then as now, and after a time the most enduring rocks began to crumble. As the decomposing fragments became minute, little patches of soil were formed here and there. If it were on the side of a hill, the fine particles had a tendency to descend into the hollows, being washed down by the rain. In ordinary circumstances, therefore, soil must have first appeared in the valleys, and in every little hollow of the hill sides. The durability of each particular species of rock, had of course much influence upon the readiness with which the soil formed. Thus most of the slates, many limestones and sand stones, soften and decay readily when exposed to theair; on these were to be seen soils at a comparatively early period, and such soils soon became deep. But the granites, and some of the harder limestones, remain almost unchanged for a long period of years, and we see even at this day that the soils upon those formations are thin, while at frequent intervals project masses of the naked rock, yet defying the influence of time. Almost all of the deep, and apparently inexhaustible soils which occasionally occur in our own and other countries, seem to have been originally formed by depositions from water, either as a stream or a lake. The distance to which finely divided particles are carried by a rapid stream, is truly astonishing. The fine clay found in the bottom of some lakes in Holland, is known from its composition to have been brought down by the Rhine from its upper waters, in the mountains of Switzerland and Germany. The deposit even from waters which flow tkrough a very inferior soil is of good 270 .THE FORMATION 01? SOIL& THE FORMATION OF SOILS. quality, or at least much better than would be expected. I have recently had an opportunity of seeing this fact exemplified in New Haven, Ct. The Farmington Canal, which terminated at that place, ran for nearly thirty miles from the city through a very light sand, so light that it was a long time after its completion before its banks could be made to hold water at all. This canal is now abandoned, and in cleaning out one or two basins near the city, a deposit of nearly a foot in depth was found, having quite a clayey character, baking hard, and cracking when dry. This deposit has proved worth nearly or quite as much as manure, on the light sandy soils of that neighborhood. Soils formed in this way by water, are common in every country, and there are also large tracts covered by some of those terrible ancient floods of which I have spoken. This may all have been done at the period of the deluge, but however that may be, the original formation'is covered sometimes to a vast depth by the debris of others. In all of these cases of superficial deposit, the character of the underlying rock has of course little or nothing to do with that of the soil: but in most situations it has a controlling influence, and a study of the one will give us a general idea of the other, beside leading to important practical results. The variations in the composition of different rocks, are far greater than is ordinarily supposed. It might be thought. by many, for instance, that the soils of limestone countries would, as a general rule, be nearly identical in composition, but this is by no means true. The pure limestones contain as high as ninety-five per cent. of carbonate of lime, but there are many which contain impurities to the amount of much more than half their weight. Then, too, there is a large class of limestones in which magnesia is found in greater or less proportion. The soils produced by these last, when the magnesia is in large quantity, are frequently very poor and cold; differing extremely from those formed by a limestone in which little or no magnesia is present. An unpracticed eye would be unable to distinguish between the two kinds of stone, and a farmer who had lived upon a good limestone soil, might be mrnrably deceived when he thought he had settled upon another of the same character.-Fron, an Address at the Annual Cattle Show of the Y. York State Agricultural Society, Buffalo, 1848, by PROF. JOHN P. NORTON, A. M., of Yale College. 271 272 AGRICULTURE FAVORABLE TO KNOWLEDGE. AGRICULTURE FAVORABLE TO KNOWLEDGE. There is a prevailing impression, especially among intel ligent young men, that the pursuit of agriculture is unfavora ble to the pursuit of knowledge, and the general cultivation of the mind-that the life of a farmer is a life of drudgery and toil, without any stimulus or opportunity for intellectual improvement-and that if a farmer is intelligent, he is so in spite of the earthly, degrading tendency of his occupation. We maintain just the opposite view —that the occupation of the farmer is favorable to the pursuit of knowledge-favorable to intellectual health, activity, and vigor of mind, so that if a young man has a taste for knowledge, he should for this very reason be a farmer, because he can thus gratify this taste for knowledge better thian in any other calling. The life of the farmer is favorable to the pursuit of knowledge, because if is favorable for health. The farmer, who breathes the fresh air, and listens to the songs of birds, and sees so much in nature to interest him, is seldom troubled with hypochondria, dyspepsia, and indigestion, which are as injurious to the pursuit of knowledge as to happiness and health. Can there be any doubt that the occupation which gives such health and cheer to the farmer, is favorable to the development of the mind, and the pursuit of knowledge, especially when we consider the intimate connection between health of body and health of mind, and how many minds are necessarily feeble, stinted, and sickly, because dwelling in a feeble and sickly body? The farmner has leisure for the pursuit of knowledge. Aside from the leisure which winter evenings, rainy days, and intervals between hurrying seasons of labor afford; he can, almost every day, snatch a few moments, or an hour for reading, if he hIas a desire for i.?provement. If the farmer chooses to spend his leisure at the stores and taverns, or in idle vacancy, dreaming and dozing away his life, working like his ox, and like his ox only eating and sleeping, he can do so-but let him not blame his occupation, for if he only has thirst for knowledge, he can gratify it. No laborer has more leisure for improvement than the farmer. And besides, the leisure of a farmer is worth more to him, in the pursuit of knowledge, than that of other laborers, not only because from his good health and spirits, he is better AGRICULTURE FAVORABLE TO KNOWLEDGE. prepared to improve this leisure, but because it will furnish him with food for thought, reflection, and inquiry, during the day; his work, much of it, being of such a nature as to afford opportunity for digesting what he has read, especially if it relates to agriculture. The reason many farmers are no more intelligent is, not because they have no leisure, but because they do not improve their leisure. The most ignorant farmers are by no means the most industrious. Some of the most industious, efficient farmers of my acquaintance, are the most intelligent also. Nor does their intelligence make them lazy, but rather stimulates them to labor. They take hold of labor, too, with more zeal and interest, and feel less tired at the close of the day, than the mere drudge, whose vacant mind is uninterested in what he sees and does. The man who is to work on a compost heap will not do less, but more work, if he spends a few moments ill reading an essay or lecture on manures, so that he may labor intelligently. Agricultural pursuits have a healthy influence on the mind, and thus favor the pursuit of knowledge. The farmer is free, on the one hand, from the tormenting excitement, anxiety, and perplexity of the merchant and trader, on the other hand, from the dullness and monotony of the day laborer, or the mechanic, who does one thing the year round. The influences that surround the farmer are as favorable to health of mind as health of body; hence, if a man has a taste for knowledge, he may choose the life of a farmer, as being well adapted to gratify his taste. The occupation of the farmer affords him an opportunity to cultivate an acquaintance with the natural sciences, and is thus favorable to the pursuit of knowledge. The shoemaker, or the blacksmith, may be interested in the study of meteorology, but his daily occupation does not, like that of the farmer, give him an opportunity to observe the weather, the wind, clouds and storms, and their influence on vegetable and animal life. The book of nature is constantly open before him, inviting him to read her laws. The investigation of the laws of nature affords a pure and exalted source of happiness; but who is so favorably situated to investigate these laws-while pursuing his appointed labor-as the farmer? Who can so well learn the laws of vegetable life, as he who is constantly experimenting on those laws? Who can so well observe fowers,.grasses, plants, grains, and 273 274 AGRICULTURE FAVORABLE TO KNOWLEDGE. trees, and their habits, as the farmer, whose business it is to cultivate them, and bring them to perfection? The practical advantage to be derived by the farmel from an acquaintance with science, renders his occupation favorable to the pursuit of knowledge. The natural sciences, botany, geology, chemistry, and many others, are not only interesting in themselves, but intimately connected with the cultivation of the firm. It is by the aid of these sciences that the great improvements in agriculture have been made the past few years, and that we may expect improvements hereafter. If the farmer will not study science because it is i.nteresting, he must study it because it is?tseful-because it is necessary to the successfiil cultivation of his land. However interestifng science may be, the great mass of laborers, havingi little leisure, and no particular taste for science, do not pursue it. Even professional men do not. They have no stimulus to pursue it, as the fairmer has. The farmer, on the contrary, has extraordinary facilities and motives to become acquainted with science, for almost every science aids him in his work, gives him skill and power, as well as pleasure and profit. He can read the theory, and theni test the theory by his observation and experiments. Science comes not only to please but to profit; not only to enrich his mind with kn.owledge, but to enrich his farm-to improve his fruit and stock-to fill his barns and granaries. Formerly, it was thought a farmer had no use for knowledge. Now it is found that no laborer has more use for knowledge. The pursuit of agriculture is favorable to the general development and cultivation of the mind. It'furnishes a home for the farmer and his family, a pleasant, rural home-one of the most essential means of moral, social, and intellectual improvement. The farmer an; his children are free from many temptations to vice, intemperance, idleness, and extravaganlce, which are the bane of iiitellectual improvement. His life is adapted to develop self-reliance, energy, manly independence, as well as habits of observation, comparison and reasoning. In the rotation of crops, the application of manures, the cultivation of fruit and raising stock, and in planning the work of a farm, as well as in buying and selling, there is abundant exercise for the judgment of the farmer. The business of the merchant is said to be favorable to de THE RICHES OF A POOR MAN. veloping the judgment, but we submit whether the occupation of the farmer does not afford a more enlarged and healthy sphere for the exercise of the judgment, than that of the merchant and mechanic. If the farmer, therefore, remains ignorant and stupid, it cannot be for want of opportunity for improvement. He is a workman, an experimenter in the great laboratory of Nature, where all he sees and hears invites him to observe, and inquire, and learn; where he can employ in his daily labors whatever knowledge he may possess, and find motives to obtain more knowledge. The means of knowledge, too, are within his reach, so that his life need not be a life of drudgery and toil, unless he chooses to make it so. To be sure, the farmer must work, and work hard, and therefore he needs the stimulus of knowledge; for knowledge will stimulate and encourage him to work, so that he can not only do more work, but do it also to better advantage. Intelligent labor is the most successful labor. Many men who find no stimulus to labor, when it is a mere exercise of physical strength, will labor with zeal and enthusiasm, if the mnird is only interested, as it may be, in almost all the work of the farmer.-JAMES TUFTs, in the Albany Cultivator. THE RICHES OF A POOR MAN. Others in pompous wealth their thoughts may please, And I am rich in wishing none of these. For say, which happiness would you beg first, Still to have drink, or never to have thirst? No servants on my beck attendant stand, Yet are my passions all at my command; Reason within me shall sola ruler be, And every sense shall wear her livery, Lord of myself in chief; when they that have More wealth, make that their lord, which is my slave. Yet I as well as they, with more content, Have in myself a household government. My intellectual soul hath there possest The steward's place to govern all the rest, When I go forth, my eyes two ushers are, And dutifully walk before me bare. 275 My legs run footmen by me. Go or stand, My ready arms wait close on either hand; My lips are porters to the dangerous door: And either ear a trusty auditor. And when abroad I go, Fancy shall be My skilful coachman, and shall hurry me Through heaven and earth, and Neptune's watery plain, And in a moment drive me back again. The charge of all my cellar, Thirst, is thine; Thou butler art, and yeomen of my wine. Stomach the cook, whose dishes best delight, Because their only sauce is appetite; My other cook, Digestion, where to me, Teeth carve, and palate will the taster be. And the two eye-lids, when I go to sleep, Like careful grooms my silent chamber keep. Say then, thou man of wealth, in what degree May thy proud fortunes over-balance me? Thy many barks plough the rough ocean's back, And I am never frighted with a wreck. Thy flocks of sheep are numberless to tell, And with one fleece I can be cloth'd as well; Thou hast a thousand several farms to let, And I do feed on ne'er a tenant's sweat. Thou hast the commons to enclosure brought; And I have fixt a bound to rfly vast thought. Thou hast thy landscapes, and the painters try With all their skill to please thy wanton eye: Here shadowy groves, and craggy mountains there; Here rivers headlong fall, there springs run clear; The heaven's bright rays through clouds must azure show Circled about with Iris' gaudy bow. And what of this? I real heavens do see, True springs, true groves; whilst yours but shadows be. RANDOLPH. A COUNTRY CLERGYMAN. Near yonder copse, where once the garden smiled, And still where many a garden flower grows wild; There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose, 276 A COUNTRY CLERGYMAN. A COUNTRY CLERGYMAN. The village preacher's modest mansion rose. A man he was to all the country dear, And passing rich with forty pounds a year; Remote from towns he ran his godly race, Nor e'er had chang'd, nor wished to change his place; 'Unskiiful he to fawn, or seek for power, By doctrines fashion'd to the varying hour; Far other aims his heart had learn'd to prize, More skill'd to raise the wretched than to rise. His house was known to all the vagrant train, HIe chid their wand'rings, but reliev'd their pain: The long remember'd beggar was his guest, Whose beard descending swept his aged breast: The ruin'd spendthrift, now no longer proud, Claim'd kindred there, and had his claims allow'd: The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay, Sate by his fire, and talk'd the night away; Wept o'er his wounds; or, tales of sorrow done, Shoulder'd his crutch, and show'd how fields were won Pleas'd with his guests, the good man learn'd to glow, And quite forgot their vices in their woe; Careless their merits, or their faults to scan, His pity gave, ere charity began. Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride, And e'en his failings lean'd to virtue's side: But in his duty prompt at every call, He watch'd and wept, he pray'd and felt for all. And, as a bird each fond endearment tries, To tempt its new-fledg'd offspring to the skies; He tried each art, reproved each dull delay, Allur'd to brighter worlds, and led the way. Beside the bed, where parting life was laid, And sorrow, guilt, and pain by turns dismay'd, The rev'rend champion stood: at his control Despair and anguish fled the struggling soul; Comfort came down, the trembling wretch to raise, And his last faltering accents whisper'd praise. At church, with meek and unaffected grace, His looks adorn'd the venerable place; Truth from his lips prevail'd with double sway, And fools, who came to scoff, remain'd to pray. The service past, around the pious man 277 ODE TO THE GLOW-WORM, With ready zeal each honest rustic ran: Ev'nl children follow'd with endearing wile, And pluck'd his gown, to share the good man's smile. His ready smile a parent's warmth express'd, Their welfare pleas'd him, and their cares distress'd; To them his heart, his love, his griefs were giv'n, But all his serious thoughts had rest in heav'n: As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form, Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm, Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread, Eternal sunshine settles on its head. GOLDSMITII. ODE TO THE GLOW-WORM. Bright stranger, welcome to my field; Here feed in safety, here thy radiance yield; To me, oh! nightly be thy splendor given! 0, could a wish of mine the skies command, How would I gem thy leaf with lib'ral hand, With every sweetest dew of heav'n! Say, dost thou kindly light the fairy train, Amid their gambols on the stilly plain, Hanging thy lamp upon the moisten'd blade? What lamp so fit, so pure as thine, Amid the gentle elfin band to shine, And chase the horrors of the midnight shade? Oh! may no feather'd foe disturb thy bow'r, And with barbarian beak thy life devour! Oh! may no ruthless torrent of the sky, O'erwhelming, force thee from thy dewy seat; Nor tempest tear thee from thy green retreat, And bid thee'mid the humming myriads die! Queen of the insect world, what leaves delight? Of such these willing hands a bow'r shall form, To guard thee from the rushing rains of night, And hide thee from the wild wing of the storm.. Sweet child of stillness!'mid the awful calm Of pausing Nature thou art pleas'd to dwell; 278 HISTORY OF THE OX. In happy silence to enjoy thy balm, And shed through life a lustre round thy cell. How diff'rent man, the imp of noise and strife, Who courts the storm that tears and darkens life; Blest when the passions wild the soul invade! How nobler far to bid those whirlwinds cease; To taste, like thee, the luxury of peace, And silent shine in solitude and shade! WOLCOT. HISTORY OF THE OX. Hozv is the termz cattle used? In the United States it is commonly applied to the bovine family; or, quadrupeds that bellow, have teats and horns, and are employed by man for labor and for food. Primarily it included not only these, but horses, camels, asses, sheep of all kinds, goats, and perhaps hogs. In the latter sense it is always used in the Bible. In England it now includes horses. In Great Britain, also, farm animals are arranged in two general divisions-lack cattle, including bulls, oxen, cows and their young; and small cattle, including sheep of all kinds, and goats. What is said of the ox or bovine family? It is that class of animals to which naturalists have as signed this general name, comprehending eight species, the principal ones being the buffalo, the bison, and our domesticated ox. Of these three the last named is by far the most generally diffused, as well as the most important. Ho0'v wacs thte ox esteemed by the ancients? Their devotion to rural pursuits led them to consider him the most valuable of all domesticated animals. This animal constituted the chief wealth of the patriarchy, whose herds were so extensive that "the land could not bear them," and induced emigration to distant countries. So much dependence was placed upon his labors in the field, that Solomon says, "Where no oxen are, the crib is clean; but much increase is by the strength of the ox." The Egyptians regarded the cow with such respect and veneration, as to elevate her among their deities, and to this day she is worshipped by the 279 I I .,' " natives of India and Hindostan. By the Greeks and Ro mans, the breeding of cattle was ever thought one of the most dignified and profitable occupations. In fact, in all ages of the world, and in every climate, the ox has received the attention which his excellent qualities so richly merit. How are oxen now regarded in India and Africa? In southern Africa they are as much the associate of the Caffres as the horse is of the Arab. They share his toils, and assist him in tending his herds; they are even trained to battle, in which they become fierce and courageous. In central Africa the proudest ebony beauties are to be seen riding on their backs. They have drawn the plough in all ages; in Spain they still trample out the corn; and in India they raise the water from the deepest wells to irrigate the thirsty soils of Bengal. How long has the ox been known in England? From the earliest times, and Cwsar, upon his invasion of the island, found the riches of the people consisted in their large flocks and herds, which have contributed in no small degree to her opulence and position at the present period. They have been greatly improved by skilful breeding, and maintain an undisputed superiority over the cattle of all other countries. Are the varieties in England numerous? They are; the ox breeds freely, and his character is easily changed by the influence of climate, food, or cultivation. He always accommodates himself to the situation in which he may be placed. In some countries he attains an immense frame, while in others he barely exceeds the size of a large sheep. Thus in England, where the climate and soil are both favorable to his development, much credit is due to the breeder, who, by judicious crossings, has corrected faults and perpetuated the good qualities of the animal. Which are the most celebrated breeds of Great Britain? The Durham, the Devon, the Hereford, the W7est Highland, the Ayrshire, the Galloway, and the Alderney. There are others which maintain a good reputation in their native districts, but have not as yet been brought into general notice. What is said of Robert Bakewell? He was an eminent farmer who died in the year 1795. He distinguished himself by his success in the breeding of 280 HISTORY OF THE OX. 0 ilfi~ C_ .I tl 0i I;~j~( I t 1, i I IISTlORY OF TIE OX. cattle and sheep. One of the most noted of his efforts was the improvement of the Long-horned cattle of Yorkshire. By perseverance he established a disposition to fatten, together with an earlvy maturity, and corrected the other capital defects of the parent stock. At the time of his death no breed was in equal favor, but it has now lost its reputation, and is rapidly giving way to the later improved varieties. How long have the Durhams been known? The counties of York and Durham have for ages been celebrated for the possession of a most valuable race of cattle, noted for their extraordinary milking qualities. Somewhere about the year 1750, they were crossed with some fine stock from Holland, and the good points of the proeIIy thus obtained speedily attracted attention. Two brothers, Charles and Robert Colling, commenced the business of breeding, and prosecuted it with so much success that their names have become identified with the breed. At the sale of their stock, in 1810, forty-seven animals sold for over thirty-five thousand dollars,' and a famous bull by the name of Comet brought one thousand guineas, or about five thousand dollars. * For what are the Durhams distiz'guished? A large and symmetrical form; particularly agreeable to the eye; and their excellence for milkers is undisputed. They feed well, and mature at an early age. Their flesh is excellent, and always meets a ready sale. Of this breed was the noted ox, called Spottiswoode, probably the largest ever exhibited, which in 1812 measured as follows-height of shoulder six feet and ten inches; girth behind the shoulder, ten feet and two inches; and was computed to weigh 4480 pounds. It is certain,-however, that the Durhams are inferior to some others for use as working cattle, as well as in the richness of the milk. Durhams are frequently called Shorthorns. To what are the Deyons indebted for their popularity? A beautiful form, strength of limb, hardihood -of constitution, the richness of their milk, together with the superior flavor of their flesh. The oxen are the best known for agricultural purposes, and the milk of the cows, when compared with that from Durham cows, makes up in richness for any deficiency in quantity. Both sexes are gentle, intelligent and docile; and no animnals afford a better retuni for the attenttion bestowed on them. The breed is a very ancient one, although largely indebted to the skill of the modern breeder. 281 HISTORY OF THE OX. What is the character of the Herefords? They are peculiarly adapted to the wants of the grazier, but are not much used in husbandry, although their size and strength fit them for heavy work-and they have all the honesty and docility of the Devon, if not his activity. The cows have generally been considered inferior to other breeds for the dairy, but from the statements of such men as Corning and Sotham of our own country, it would seem that this opinion is not well founded. Tf'Vhat is said of the TVest Highlanders? They are small black cattle, bred in the highlands of Scotland, and on the northern islands of Great Britain. They are very hardy, and will thrive in almost any locality. Al though of moderate size, they will attain a very respectable weight, and their meat is of such superior quality that it commands the highest price in the markets. They are brought annually in immense droves to the southern part of the kingdom, and there fattened for sale. They are thought to afford a better profit than any other breed. Ilotv is the Ayrshire breed esteemed? This stock prevails principally in Ayrshire, Scotland, and are thought by many good judges to be indebted for some of their good traits to a remote intermixture with the Durham breed. They are highly esteemed in their native haunts for the dairy. The milk is abundant, and noted for its richness. But when intended for the butcher, the Ayrshires are not considered equal to the Herefords or Durhams. There is not, however, entire uniformity of opinion in regard to this breed. Mr. Tennant, of Scotland, says that these cows, in the best part of the season, will yield fifteen quarts of milk on an average per day; and, that the annual average for butter is one hundred and seventy pounds. Another person says that a good cow of this breed, on the best pasture, will yield four thousand quarts of milk in the year. But Mr. Cushing, of Massachusetts, is of the opinion that the Ayrshires are not better than our own native breeds, unless crossed with the Durhams. TJ/h/y are the Galloways esteemed? They have some excellent points-such as a compact body, aptitude to fatten, and docility of disposition. They are mostly black, and without horns. The cows are indifferent milkers; but large numbers of this breed are annually fattened for market. 282 HISTORY OF TIIE OX. For what in partictular are the Alderneys valuable? They are chiefly valuable for their dairy qualities. The quantity of their milk is small, but it has an extraordinary degree of richness, affording a large proportion of cream, and butter of a beautiful color and fine flavor. The reputation of the breed is so well established, that a few of the cows are kept by nearly all the nobility of England, and even by friends of the other varieties. Apart from this, they do not possess a high rank in the estimation of farmers; yet, it has been nmade evident that they are susceptible of improvement. TVhy is it that these English breeds of cattle deserve such particular notice? Because the breeding of cattle has for centuries been a principal department of English husbandry, and, owing to a variety of causes, has been prosecuted with unparalleled success. In no other country have such results been obtained. The history of these improvements is important to American farmers, for the reason that our stock has been derived from England, and that from England must we make our future importations, whenever they become necessary. At what period was the domesticated ox brought to this country? At the time of its settlement. The greatest number of animals was brought by the Engfflish colonists, and they have been most extensively diffused. In certain sections, we can perceive traces of the stock brought by the French, Dutch, and Spanish emigrants. Ilave these animals been bred with care? They have not, except in a few instances. Little or no effort has been made for perpetuating valuable points, or the peculiar characteristics of a breed. Within the past few years, however, a great change has taken place; and, partly in consequence of the formation of Agricultural Societies, an increased interest has been manifest in the improvement of horned stock. In what part of our country do we find the best native stock? Probably in New England. The cattle here are supposed to have been brought from Devonshire, England, as the early settlers were mostly emigrants from that district. We can thus account for the remarkable similarity in the best native animals to the Devons of the present day. 283 IlSTORY OF TI]3 OM Their general characters are alike; having much the same features, the same ready disposition to acquire flesh, the same excellence for labor, and the same value for the dairy. Without doubt, the mixture of some good English Devons with the best of this native stock, would be attended with the happiest results. Have the Short-horns been introduced into the United States? They are said to have laid the foundation of the fine stock, known as the milk, or beef, breed, which existed in Virginia about the close of the last century. The first authentic importations, however, were made by Mr. Heaton of New-York state, in the years 1791 and 1796. Many subsequent importations have been made from time to time, and the Shorthorns appear to be more extensively diffused than any other breed. Are the Durhams much esteemed in the United States? They are in certain localities, as in the fertile regions of the west. It is generally well understood, that they cannot flourish on poor lands. Thus far they have been mostly used for breeding, and only a small number fattened for the shambles, yet their merits in this respect are fully appreciated. At one time, they sold for extraordinary pricessometimes for a thousand dollars a piece,-and now they have not recovered fiom the reduction in'value, which was occasioned by the commercial revulsion that passed over the country a few years since. WVhat other breeds have been introduced into the United States? The Devon, the Hereford, the Ayrshire, the Alderney, together with many others of less note. In some instances these importations have been made by societies, but as a general thing. by the enterprise of a few spirited individuals. IHave these importations been of much benefit? Occasionally we come across herds where the blood has been preserved puire and uncontaminated by mixture with animals of different breeds, but the greatest good has been efiected by crosses upon our native stock. The grade animals thus produced have become very popular among farmers, and are evidently considered as possessing superior qualifications. In the course of a few years, when the number of high-blooded cattle is much increased, the improvement of the native breeds will be more decided. t84 HISTORY OF THE OX. Why have cattle in so many instances deteriorated in value? It appears to be a law of nature, that progress, improvement, or advancement in excellence, is the result of care and labor, and not of neglect. Hence, in addition to necessary tillage, vegetables flourish best, if seeds are changed every few years; so also, animals must change their locality or be crossed, every now and then, to maintain their vigor and full development. If this is neglected, they will usually degenerate in character. What other cause has led to a deterioration in American cattle? In numerous cases farmers have raised their poorest, and not their best calves. The latter would be sold for the shambles, because they would command a high price; and, for a contrary reason, or because not fit for the shambles, or would only bring a low price, the former would be kept alive to perpetuate the stock. As absurd as this is, it has often been done. The best calves and the best only should be raised. Inferior ones should not be suffered to remain on a farm any more than the seeds of pernicious weeds should be sown in company with wheat. Why should so much interest be cherished in regard to the improvement of the breeds of cattle? Because no small portion of the farmer's available property is in them. He depends on them and his crops for his ready cash. Hence, if his cows eat more than the milk is worth; if his oxen eat more than their labor is worth; and if both eat more than their flesh is worth for slaughter, it is evident they impoverish rather than enrich him. They are like shares in a bank or railroad which pays no dividend. But, if his cows give milk annually double in value of their feed; if the labor of his oxen is annually worth double of their feed; and if the flesh of both is worth double in the shambles of what it cost to raise and fatten them, it is clear that he is enriched by his cattle. For what different purposes is the ox family valuable? The male is used for draught, and, in some countries as a beast of burden. The female supplies us with milk, that affords cream, butter, and cheese. Their flesh is a favorite article of food; their tallow is made into candles and soap; their skins are tanned for leather; their hair enters into the composition of mortar; their horns are mamnufactured into 285 HIISTORY OF THE OX. various ornamental articles; the bones make cheap substitutes for ivory, and are used as a manure; their blood is employed in the manufacture of Prussian blue; and the refuse of the skin, hoofs and shanks, is made into glue. Hozv wany horned cattle eay there be in the United States? Although a census is made once in ten years, it is impossible to tell, for the number is subject to constant variation. With the increase of our population the number necessarily increases too. It is fair to conclude that there are three cows, two working oxen, and five young or beef cattle to each family. Then, if we have at the present time three millions of families, there will be in all thirty millions of horned cattle, which, at twenty dollars per head, will make this department of our national wealth amouniit to six hundred millions of dollars-an amount showing its importance and the occasion for improving our breeds as well as our general culture in rearing them. tI.at is said of the buffalo? Although by naturalists, from some general resemblance, assigned to the ox family, it is evident that the alliance is more fanciful than real. For if the two species are kept under the same roof and fed on the same meadows, they manifest no sympathy for each other and refuse to couple togetlier. And such is the antipathy between tl-hem, that the cows of neither will suckle the calves of the other. Besides, the period of gestation with the buffalo is twelve months, whereas with our cow but nine. The buffalo is a native of India, but is found in various hot countries. In what consists the value of the bfatlo? In hot countries almost all the cheese is made from the buffalo's milk, which is more abundant than from our cow, although not so good. As these animals are in general much larger and stronger than our oxen, when domesticated, they are very serviceable in the plough; they draw well, but do not carry burdens; they are led by a ringll drawn through their nose. Two buffalos, harnessed, or rather chained, to a wagon, will draw as much as four strong horses. Their hides are valuable, and their tong(ues are saved to be eaten, but the other flesh is not. In Africa and India great numbers of them run wild. What is said of the bison? The bison, or the Americau bison, usually called the 286 CIIANGE OF MATERIAL SUBSTANCES. American buffalo, wanders constantly from place to plao - 5; food. He is particularly fond of the tender grass or out western prairies, which springs up after a fire has been over them. The bulls and cows live in separate herds, for the greater part of the year, but at all seasons, one or two old bulls generally accompany a herd of cows. The flesh of the bison, in good condition, is very juicy and well flavored; much resembling that of well-fed beef. And the tongme is considered a delicacy, and may be cured so as to surpass in flavor the tongue of an English cow. WIhat is said of the form and size of the bison? The form is better perceived from a p;cture of the animal than any verbal description. The head, shoulders, and upper part of the anterior extremities, are covered with a lone, brownish, woolly hair. The tail is tufted and black. iL-L.e horns are black, and turned laterally upwards. His length is abot eight feet. CHANGE OF MATERIAL SUBSTANCES. It will be seen that a vast series of changes of position and form termed physical; of composition termed chemical; and if in connection with vegetable or animal life, termed vital, is incessantly going on; all concurring and harmonizing with one another, to bring about the great result-the final end of creation-the fitting of the earth to yield subsistence to man in return for labor; allowing the agrieu1nrl laborer, like the strong man, "to rejoice in his strei.-:_ p" the intellectual farmer to find his happiness in the sear' after truth, and impress upon all a deep conviction of te: wise and benevolent arrangement of creation. Neither the written word of God, or the material - verse, his created revelation, affords any ground for the belie that there ever has Feen any second creation of matter, om that even a single particle of new matter has ever been cated into existence since the beginning, when all was made. Co this matter when created, it is equally certain that not an atom has been lost or destroyed. What we see going on around us is change, incessant change; change.of place or combination, and change only. Besides the myriads of worlds in the firmament, visible to 14 F q CI-ANGE OF MIATERIAL SUBSTANCES. e naked eye, the telescope brings into view numberless ohers, all moving on their axes and in their orbits, with a r: 1-idity that defies conception, and in perfect harmony. The loss of a single atom would destroy the harmony of their iovements. On the other hand, the microscope reveals niovements in small masses of matter equally astonishing. The transparent web of a frog's foot, small enough to be covered by the cut end of a fine hair, exhibits in its circulati:ig particles a degree of intestine movement which may be compared to that within the Exchange room in Wall-street at its busiest hour, to that of a legislative hall at the time of edividing the house, or to a bee-hive preparatory to swarming. These are physical movements; changes of place merely. Changes in the composition of the bodies called chemical Ganges, are going on, alike wonderful both in manner and (degree. Limestone, for instance, is quarried to be burned, to build houses and to enrich fields. In this process an air is s,parated which is food for plants. Besides this source of c.rbonic acid, for so this air is called, millions of tons of coal ,are raised from mines, and being burned for steam engines, r culinary purposes, and our social hearths, and also for artificial light; are thus fitted to become a component part of plants and next of animals. Large masses of wood and other vegetable matters are rotting on the surface of the earth. Animal substances are also undergoing decompositon, and rocks and earths are being dissolved. Thus carbonic acid, the wood gas, and ammonia, or the animal gas, as it mnay be termed, and the mineral earths, are supplied to become again parts of plants and animals, and each kingdom of nature gets back what it has given up. A tree is burned; is particles are either dissipated in the form of air, or remain lehind as ashes. The ashes return to the earth from which they were extracted; the rest of the wood has been dissolved into gases, and both are fitted to become the food of future forests. The grazing animal while yet alive, supplies food to the herbage he feeds on; when he perishes, plants and .nimals alike feed upon his body. W hen Major Andre was disinterred, nearly half a century after his execution and burial, "the roots of a peach tree," so says the official aceouilt of the British Consul, "were found entwined among the bones of his skull." Of those here present, there may be some who have eaten of the fruit of CHANGE OF MATERIAL UBSTANCES. that tree, and in whose bodies have thus become incorporated particles of matter that once formed a portion of the living frame of that gallant and accomplished soldier. Thousands of tons of bones from the battle-fields of Europe, have teen used to enrich the soil of England; and in our own country, many hundred Germans are employed in gathering bones for our corn lands. The cast-off bark and leaves of trees become decomposed, and afbford nourishment to their roots. Every part of the animal body is in a state of perpetual change. The organic and mineral excretions an individual casts off, even his breath, may return to him no less than to others, and again become a part of his living body. The same matter forms the bodies of successive, and even of the same generations and individuals of the animal and vegetable kingdoms. WTere it otherwise, the existence here of all living things would be limited. The materials necessary to their support would ultimately be all consumed. The results of vital chemistry are yet more wonderful. We inspire vital air, one source of which is the leaves of plants under the influence of the sun; we expire another air, carbonic acid, which is their food. Animals are kept warm by a fire ever burning within them. The fat of their bodies is burned by the air inhaled into their lungs. The product of this combustion is the same as that of fat burned in a candle, viz., carbonic acid and water. If a man is struck down by a blow, or a poison, or an apoplexy, so that he hardly breathes. his body becomes cold; the fire is almost extinguished. If he exercises or contracts a fever, he breathes more rapidly than usual, he becomes heated; the internal fire is increased. If an animal is kept cold, it gets poor; its fat is consumed to keep it warm. You all know, gentlemen, the advantares of warm stables for your stock, in winter. Perhaps some of you may not know the reason why large lunged animals are fattened with difficulty. It is that they burn up their fat. Yet they are capable, with proper feeding, of becoming even fatter than others, because they keep their health and good digestion loinger. All living things are compounds of four elements. FIRST, oxy,gen, or vital air, a part of the atmosphere which supports combustion, rots wood, rusts metals, arid turns cider roui 13 2 8D 290 CHANGE OF MATERIAL SUBSTANCES. SEcoxND, hydro-'en, which with some of its compounds, with carbon, is a gas, and which burns with a flame, explodes in micros, forms buLrning springs, and with oxygen becomes water. TiiirnD, 9zit)-ogen, a part of the atmosphere, and a principal constituent of manure, and with hydrogen forming ammonia, otherwise called hartshorn. This is the product of animal decomposition, whether by burning or putrefaction, and it holds a relation to animal decomposition, not unlike that which carbonic acid does to vegetable decomposition. FoUnvTH, carbon, the residuum of wood where the hydrogen gas and its compounds have been burned away. Carbonic acid, carbon and oxygen, is the gas which gives briskness to cider and to water, kills those who descend into wells in limestone localities, who sleep in close rooms where charcoal fire is burning. Mineral springs and hundreds of volcanoes, some of them apparently extinct, and all breathing animals, are constantly casting forth carbonic acid gas. It enters largely into the composition-of plants, and is discharged from them in the process of fermentation, of rotting, and of combustion. Inl fine, it is wood dissolved in air. But there are some parts of wood and some parts of animals, which will not dissolve in air. There are what are termned mnineral portions, in contradistinction to the former, which are called the organic portions. A log of wood is burned, some of it is dissipated in air, chiefly into carbonic acid gas; a smaller portion, the ash, remains, differing somewhat in its nature according to the species of wood or vegetable consumed. When an animal substance is burned, or left to decay, the organic portion in like manner is dissipated in the air, in the form of hartshlornl, together with hydrogen, holding in solution sulphur and phosphorus. The other mineral or earthy parts remain. These are the bones, which are formed chiefly of lime and phosphoric acid, the same which we smell after burning a loco-fbco match. The composition of plants and animals is the food they receive, deducting that which they cast off. No plant or animal creates any element that enter into its structures. It only combines them into new forms. There is, however this great difference between plants and animals: plants collect unorganized atoms, matter not arranged in definite regular forms, and build up from them their beautiful struc CHANGE OF MATERIAL SUBSTANCES. tures. Animals, on the contrary, receive their food from matter already organized; the herbivorous animials directly, the carnivorous through the nmediumr of the herbivorous. The sea furnishes fish and giuano, aind thus renders back some of the nutriment washed into it, in rain water falling upon it. What immense quantities must be washed into the sea by the Nile, the Ganges, the Mississippi, and the great rivers of South America, not of vegetable matters only, but of animal and mineral. These are the food of the animal and vegetable inhabitants of the sea. Some of these matters come back. In a certain sense, fishing boats and whale ships are manure boats, no less truly than those which bring guano. Coal mines, volcanoes, and limestone quarries, are immense manure beds. Thus the sea and the earth give back what they have received. The changes of matter are three-fold: first, from earth ald air to the condition of plants; next, to the animal creation; and lastly, back again to earth and air. In the various processes by which these materials are rendered available, there is a striking analogy. The rotting of manure in the ground may be described as a low, smothered, imnperfect burning, much of the smoke or coal remaining behind. The smothered fire of a charcoal bed leaves still more of the coal unconsumed. In the burning of peat in smothered fires, some ash is formed, and the quantity of coal-like residuum is still less. When oil is burned, or rapidly rotted (if I may so say,) in a clear burning lamp, no soot, smoke or larnpblack, (which is powdered carbon,) is left; all is consumed-that is-all is converted into carbonic acid gas and water. The blacksmith sprinkles water on his coal fire, and stirs it up to make the coal rot faster. So, too, the farmer stirs 'p the earth to promote decomposition. The ship carpenter keeps his timber under water until he wants to use it, to prevent it from decay by securing it from the air, or he puts it under cover to keep it dry. The presence of both air and water is necessary for the rotting or slow combustion. When the old London bridge was being constructed, the remains of a former wooden structure, built by the ancient Romans, were found unrotted. The farmer wets his manure heap, and turns it over to make it rot; if it rots too fast, hlie puts on more water to moderate the combustion, and prevent the carbonic acid gas, ammonia, sulphur, and phosphorus from 291 '.92 CHANGE OF MATERIAL SUBSTANCES. escapiijg. Deeply buried manure rots slowly, so do compact bodies of mal re. The more slowly vegetable substances are decoipsced, the greater the carbonaceous, coaly, or sooty residuum. In preparing manure, heating and rapid decomposition should be carefully avoided, for by it is lost not only carbonic acid, the wood-forming gas; but also ammonia, sulphur, and phosphorus, essential elements of animals and vegetables. The aim of the agriculturist in the application of manure, should be, to make the period of its rotting coincide with the period when the crop wants the nutriment it furnishes in the act of rotting. Thus half rotted manure is preferred for potatoes, its greatest action being wanted for the tubers and not for the haulem. Our social fires, whether of wood or coal, manure the atmosphere; but it is wasteful to keep burning when no one is present to enjoy them. It is equally wasteful to let manure rot in the ground, or be washed away, when there is no crop to feed upon its gases or its salts. As manure begins to decompose the first moment it is dropped from the a-imal, so of course it immediately begins to lose some of its valuable qualities. It might be supposed, therefore, and Sir II. Davy inclined to the opinion that it should be used immnediately, either by putting under the earth, or on the surface. But general experience is rather against the practice, at any rate the rule is not absolute. It is a question to be settled by careful observation, and not by scientific reasoning. As the subject has been discussed theoretically, it may be proper to remark, that dung is valuable as manure: first, fiom the mineral ingredients contained in it; second, from the ammoniacal cornpoui(ds. Now these are mostly formed in the manure by fermentation, and so far as respects them, the droppings of animals are no more manure, than an apple is cider, or barley is beer. Certain chemical changes must first take place before the organic portion of the droppings is available. The case seems to stand thus:-If a farmer keep lis manure, ammonia is escaping, and he suffers a loss; the rain is washing away the mineral salts from it. If he put it on the surface of his ground fresh, it dries, and the chemical chang(re on which the formation of ammonia depends, is partly prevented, and of the ammonia that is formed, much escapes in atmosphere, instead of combining with the soil CHANGE OF MATERIAL SUBSTANCES. If he ploughs it in fresh, it may be so separated that fermentation does not take place, for want of the requisite warmth, before the rain washes away the urea or principle upon which the formation of ammonia depends. The mineral food, or ash of plants, comes from the eart i, rocks and stones; which are only solid earth, as earth is only crumbled, crushed or dissolved rocks and stones, and all arc rusty metals, chiefly distinguished from metals properly so called, in the facility with which they rust. They are slightlr soluble in rain water, which combining with carbonic acid and ammonia, in its descent first purifies the atmosphere, ainl then enriches the soil. Who among us has not been struck with the grateful purity of the air after a fall of rain or snow. This is another striking illustration of the ordering of all things for our well being. The presence of organic matter undergoing decomposition, constitutes the difference between soil and earth. Earth, when first brought to the surface, is barren, incapable of supporting vegetation. A large portion of the globe was originally, or in remote periods, in this conldition. In removing rocks from his fields, the farmer often brings to the surface, masses of earth. These are barren, and remain so for years, unless manure is applied, and that, too, liberally. Such earth is said to be hungry; hungry it is, for. the organic food of plants; for left to itself, its first act, if I may so express it, is to acquire carbonic acid from rain water, and ammonia from the same source, and from the atmosphere. These are the organic food of plants. It combines also witlh feetid gases. These gases often contain phosphorus and sulphur, which are mineral food. Thus, if old clothes are fcetid with ammonia, sulphur, and phosphorus, are buried in the earth, they are sweetened. The earth combines with these substances. So, too, if foul water from a wash tub is passed through earth, (and still more through charcoal,) it is purified, and the earth is enriched. Here is now another kind provision for the purification of the air we breathe, and the water we drink. As many animals live entirely upon plants, the material, of flesh and bone and whatever enters into the composition.ot their bodies, must be contained in such food. How do plants get the materials by which they form flesh, bones, and fat. When an animal dies, and is left on the ground, if not con 293 F":, I as? t CHANGE OF MATERIAL SUBSTANCES. ".e!id by other animals, and the air be not (as in some parts fl South America) so dry as to convert it into a mummy, the :, parts of the body rise in the form of certain offensive 'es, consisting of hartshorn with phosphorus and sulphur dissolved in hydrogen. It is this combination which gives to stale eggss and decaying teeth, their intolerable fetQr, and lwhich blackens silver. All these matters are capable of, and -rually do combine with water, and of course come back to earth in rain water. The bones remain, and after a :. length of time crumble into dust. This is in fact, ani mal ashes, the residuum after slow combustion, and like the r/ of vegetables, came originally from the earth. i-.ie property in earth to combine with gases, is exhibited .-.:e fact that animals buried therein are no longer offensive lked e senses. The gases evolved from them (and into which, eept the mineral part, they are resolved,) are not im prisoned, but combined with the earth. But the earth may become saturated, and then the gases escape, some portions go down with the water, rendering springs foul, and others rise and mixing with common air, render it unhealthy, unless plants are present to appropriate them. Hence the propriety he havilng grass or trees in grave-yards. A tree and a foun tain are also appropriately placed in connection, the fountain re.oirishies the tree, and the tree purifies the fountain. During a season of unusual health, a valued connection of ??e lost his life by a fever, contracted in overlooking a ;.,:Cpy field, long cleared, but then for the first time ploughed u?. The coarse grasses had before been sufficient to com'- with the gases which the mass of vegetable matter e~ —-:d by it, and protected from the sun and rain, had afforded. But under the double influence of the destruction of the herbage, and the increased supply of gases consequent to tillage, the stirring up of the slow fire and closing the chimney flue, the noxious gases or malaria, as they are termed, being diffused in the atmosphere and respired, a fatal fever followed. These gases, when they rise from the earth, combine with water in whatever form they meet with it. Hence the pro-,,,rbial fatality of inhaling the moist air of the night in un;ealthy localities, especially at the period of the first dew, cbr ~Le heat of the sun by increasing the exhalation of the is - from the surface, renders that more highly chared. If yt~~~~~~~~~~~~1 ~~~~~~It II__________9 ~~~~~~~ I~~~~~~~~~~1 /1! I:11/Il,\\ __ ki s~~~~~~~~~~~~~~P :I:I mg mm RURAL LIFE IN ENGLAND. we could suppose plants to be imitable like animals when they are taking their repast. one would imagine they would warn us to keep out of their way, to stay within doors, not to interrupt or rob them of any portion of their supper, after they had borne the heat and burden of the day, and were thirsting for the rich dew of the evening. —From an Address before the State Agricultural Society, menzbers of the Legislature, and of the Yl/edical Society of the State of Nrei- York, at the Capitol in Albany, 1848, by ALEX. H. STEVENS, M.D. RURAL LIFE iN ENGLAND. "Oh! friendly to the best pursuits of man, Friendly to thought, to virtue, and to peace, Domestic life in rural pleasures past! "-CowPER. The stranger who would form a correct opinion of the English character must not confine his observations to the metropolis. He must go forth into the country; he must sojourn in villages and hamlets; he must visit castles, villas, farm-houses, cottages; he must wander through parks and gardens, along hedges and green lanes; he must loiter about country churches; attend wakes and fairs, and other rural festivals; and cope with the people in all their conditions, and all their habits and humors. In sonme countries the large cities absorb the wealth and fashion of the nation; they are the only fixed abodes of elegant and intelligent society, and the country is inhabited almost entirely by boorish peasantry. In England, on the contrary, the metropolis is a mere gathering-place, or general rendezvous, of the polite classes, where they devote a small portion of the year to a hurry of gaiety and dissipation, and, having indulged this kind of carnival, return again to the apparently more congenial habits of rural life. The various orders of society are therefore diffused c ~er the whole surface of the kingdom, and the most retired neighborhoods afford specimens of the different ranks. The English, in fact, are strongly gifted with the rural feeling. They possess a quick sensibility to the beauties of nature, and a keen relish for the pleasures and employments 295 RURAL LIFE IN ENGLAND. of the country. This passion seems inherent in them. Even the inhabitants of cities, born and brought up among brick walls and bustling streets, enter with facility into rural habits, and evince a tact for rural occupation. The merchant has his snug retreat in the vicinity of the metropolis, where he often displays as much pride and zeal in the cultivation of his flower-gardeii, and the maturilig of his fruits, as he does in the conduct of his business, and the success of a coinmnercial enterprise. Even those less fortunate individuals, who are doomed to pass their lives in the midst of din and traffic, contrive to have somiething that shall remind them of the green aspect of nature. In the most (lark and dingy quarters of the city, the dratwing-room wildow resembles fiequently a bank of flowers; every spot capable of vegetatioii has its grass-plat and flower-bed; and every square its mimic park, laid out with picturesque taste, and gleaming with refreshing verdure. Those who see the Englishman e,ily in town are apt to form an unfavorable opinion of his social character. He is either absorbed in business, or distracted by tlhe thousand engagements that dissipate time, though,t and feeiiug, in thiis huge metropolis. He has, therefore, oo commonly a look of hurry and abstraction. Wherever he happens to be, he is on the point of gettirng somewhere else; at the moment he is talking on one subject, his mind is wandering to another and while paying a l'iendly visit, he is calculating how he shall economize time so as to pav the other visits allotted in the morning. An immense metropolis, like London, is calculated to make men selfish and uninteresting. In their casual and transient meetingis, i-hey can but deal briefly in commonplaces. They present buit the cold superficies of character-i s rich and genial qualities have no time to be warmed into a flow. It is in the country that the Englishman gives scope to his natural feelings. He breaks loose g]aldly from the cold formalities and neg(ative civilities- of town; throws off his habits of shy reserve, and becomes joyous and free-hearted. He manages to collect round him all the conveniences and elegLancies of polite life, and to banish its restraints. His country-seat abounds with every requisite, either for studious retiremnent, tasteful gratification, or rural exercise. Books, paintilings, music, horses, dogs, and sporting implements of all 296 RURAL LIFE IN ENGLAND. kinds are at hand. He puts no constraint either upon his guests or himself, but in the true spirit of hospitality provides the means of enjoyment, and leaves every one to partake according to his inclination. The taste of the English in the cultivation of land, and in what is called landscape gardening, is unrivaled. They have studied nature intently, and discover an exquisite sense of her beautiful forms and harmonious combinations. Those charms, which in other countries she lavishes in wild solitudes, are here assembled round the haunts of domestic life. They seem to have caught her coy and furtive graces, and spread them, like witchery, about their rural abodes. Nothing can be more imposing than the magnificence of English park scenery. Vast lawns that extend like sheets of vivid green, with here and there clumps of gigantic trees, heaping up rich piles of foliage: the solemn pomp of groves and woodland glades, with the deer trooping in silent herds across them; the hare bounding away to the covert; or tIl3 pheasant, suddenly bursting upon the wing; the brook, taught to wind in natural meanderings, or expand into glassy lake: the sequestered pool, reflecting the quiverin'g trees, with the yellow leaf sleeping on its bosom, and the trout roaming fearlessly about its limpid waters; while some rustic temple or sylvan statue, grown green and dank with age, gives an air of classic sanctity to the seclusion. These are but a few of'the features of park scenery; but what most delights me, is the creative talent with whici the English decorate the unostentatious abodes of middle life. The rudest habitation, the most unpromising and! scanty portion of land, in the hands of an Englishman of taste, becomes a little paradise. With a nicely discriminlating eye, he seizes at once upon its capabilities, and pictures in his mind the future landscape. The sterile spot grows into loveliness under his hand; and yet the operations of art which produce the effect are scarcely to be perceived. Thte cherishing and training of some tree; the cautious prurLng of others; the nice distribution of flowers and plants of tend r and graceful foliage; the introduction of a green slope Of velvet turf; the partial opening to a peep of blue distance, or silver gleam of water: all these are managed with, delicate tact, a pervading yet quiet assiduity, like the magic touchings with which a painter finishes up a favorite picture. 13' '.'9 7 RURAL LIFE IN ENGLAND. :,.e residence of people of fortune and refinement in the *;,:,y has diffused a degree of taste and elegance in rural ... Any, that descends to the lowest class. The very la borer, with his thatched cottage and narrow slip of ground, attends to their embellishment. The trim hedge, the grass p]ot before the door, the little flower-bed bordered with snug box, the woodbine trained against the tall, and hanging its blossornis about the lattice, the pot of flowers in the window, the holly, providentially planted about the house, to cheat vwi: i::r of its dreariness, and to throw in a semblance of green ~?un-er to cheer the fireside: all these bespeak the influence :f:.e flowing down from high sources, and pervading the !.:t levels of the public mind. If ever Love, as poets sing, ' eights to visit a cottage, it must be the cottage of an EnglIsh peasant. The fondness for rural life among the higher classes of the English has had a great and salutary effect upon the national character. I do not know a finer race of men than the E,ng.lish gentlemen. Instead of the softness and effeminacy Mhich characterize the men of rank in most countries, they c!'it a union of elegance and strength, a robustness of :a..- and freshness of complexion, which I am inclined to to their living so much in the open air, and pursu:o eagerly the invigorating recreations of the country. ;-it -I- lardy exercises produce also a healthful tone of mind . -;-9iits, and a manliness and simplicity of manners, which :r, She follies and dissipations of the town cannot easily i -:fit, and can never entirely destroy. In the country, too, the dit,rent orders of society seem to approach more freely, to be more disposed to blend and operate favorably upon each othler. The distinctions between them do not appear to be so marked and impassable as in the cities. The manner in wlih property has been distributed into small estates and f: has established a regular gradation from the nobler al. vTrough the classes of gentry, small landed proprietors, i.id substantial farmers, down to the laboring peasantry; 'id while it has thus banded the extremes of society to ther, has infused into each intermediate rank a spirit of i dependence. This, it must be confessed, is not so uni.rsally the case at present as it was formerly; the larger tates having, in late years of distress, absorbed the smaller 'a, ii some parts of the country, almost annihilated the RURAL LIFE IN ENGLAND. sturdy race of small farmers. These, however, I believe, are but casual breaks in the general system I have men tioned. In rural occupation there is nothing mean and debasing. It leads a man forth among scenes of natural grandeur and beauty; it leaves him to the workings of his own mind, operated upon by the surest and most elevating of external influences. Such a man may be simple and rough, but he cannot be vulgar. The man of refinemnent, therefore, finds nothingf revolting in an intercourse with the lower orders in rural life, as he does when he casually mingles with the lower orders of cities. He lays aside his distance and reserve, and is glad to waive the distinctions of rank, and to enter into the honest, heartfelt enjoyments' of common life. Indeed the very amusements of the country bring men more and more together; and the sound of hound and horn blend all feelings into harmony. I believe this is one great reason why the nobility and gentry are more popular among the inferior orders in England than they are in any other country; and why the latter have endured so many excessive pressures and extremities, without repiningff more generally at the unequal distribution of fortune and privilege. To this mingling of cultivated and rustic society may also be attributed the rural feeling that runs through British literature; the frequent use of illustrations from rural life those incomparable descriptions of nature that abound in the British poets, that have continued down from "the Flower and the Leaf" of Chaucer, and have brought into our closets all the freshness and fragrance of the dewy landscape. The pastoral writers of other countries appear as if they had paid nature an occasional visit, and become acquainted with her general charms; but the British poets have lived and resided with her, they have wooed her in her most secret haunts, they have watched her minutest caprices. A spray could not tremble in the bre6eze-a leaf could not rustle to the ground-a diamond drop could not patter in the stream-a fragrance could not exhale from the humble violet-nor a daisy unfold its crimson tints to the morning, but it has been noticed by these impassioned and delicate obFervers, and wrought up into some beautiful morality. The effect of this devotion of elegant minds to rural occupations fas been wonderful on the face of the coun 299 RURAL LIFE IN ENGLAND. try. A great part of the island is rather level, and would be monotonous, were it not for the charms of culture; but it is studded and gemmed, as it were, with castles and palaces, and embroidered with parks and gardens It does not abound in grand and sublime prospects, but rather in little home scenes of rural repose and sheltered quiet. Every antique farm-house and moss-grown cottage is a picture: and as the roads are continually winding, and the view is shut in by groves and hedges, the eye is delighted by a continual succession of small landscapes of captivating loveliness. The great charm, however, of English scenery, is the moral feeling that seems to pervade it. It is associated in the mind with ideas of order, of quiet, of sober well-established principles, of hoary usage and reverend custom. Everything seems to be the growth of ages of regular and peaceful existence. The old church of remote architecture, with its low, massive portal; its gothic tower; its windows rich with tracery and painted glass, in scrupulous preservation; its stately monuments of warriors and worthies of the olden time, ancestors of the present lords of the soil; its tombstones, recording successive generations of sturdy yeomanry, whose progeny still plough the same fields, and kneel at the same altar-the parsonage, a quaint irregular pile, partly antiquated, but repaired and altered in the tastes of various ages and occupants-the stile and footpath leading from the church-yard, across pleasant fields, and along shady hedgerows, according to an immemorial right of way-the neighboring village, with its venerable cottages, its public green, sheltered by trees, under which the forefathers of the present race have sported-the antique fanmily mansion, standing apart in some little rural domain, but looking down with a protecting air on the surrounding scene: all these common features of English landscape evince a calm and settled security, and hereditary transmission of homebred virtues and local attachments, that speak deeply and touchingly for the moral character of the nation. It is a pleasing sight of a Sunday morning, when the bell is sending its sober melody across the quiet fields, to behold the peasantry in their best finery, with ruddy faces and modest cheerfulness, thronging tranquilly along the green lanes to church; but it is still more pleasing to see them in the evenings, gathering about their cottage doors, and ap. 300 THE DEER'S INSTINCT. pearing to exult in the humble comforts and embellishments which their own hands have spread around them. It is this sweet home-ieeling, this settled repose of affection in the domestic scene, that is, after all, the parent of the steadiest virtues and purest enjoyments; and I cannot close these desultory remarks better, than by quoting the words of a modern English poet, who has depicted it with remarkable felicity Through each gradation, from the castled hall, The city dome, the villa crown'd with shade, But chief from modest mansions numberless, In town or hamlet, shelt'ring middle life, Down to the cottaged vale, and straw-roof'd shed; This western isle hath long been famed for scenes Where bliss domestic finds a dwelling-place; Domestic bliss, that, like a harmless dove, (Honor and sweet endearment keeping guard,) Can centre in a little quiet nest All that desire would fly for through the earth; That can, the world eluding, be itself A world enjoy'd; that wants no witnesses But its own sharers, and approving heaven; That, like a flower deep hid in rocky cleft, Smiles, though'tis looking only at the sky. WASHINGTON IRVING. THE DEER'S INSTINCT. A large deer was running at full speed, closely pursued by a panther. The chase had already been a long one, for, as they came nearer, I could perceive both their long parched tongues hanging out of their mouths, and their bounding, though powerful, was no longer so elastic as usual. The deer having discovered in the distance a large black bear, playing with her cubs, stopped a moment to snuff the air; then coming nearer he made a bound, with his head extended, to ascertain if Bruin kept her position. As the panther was closing with him, the deer wheeled sharp around, and turning backlmost upon his own trail, passed within thirty yards of his pursuer, who, not being able at once to stop his 301 Fl. 11 THE DEER'S INSTINCT. career, gave an angry growl, and followed the deer again, but at the distance of some hundred yards. Hearing the growl, the bear drew her body half out of the bushes, remain n'g quietly onil the look out. Soon the deer again appeared, but his speed was mnuch reduced-and as he approached to w-ards the spot where the bear lay concealed, it was evident that the animal was calculating the distance with admirable preci.Sion. The panther, now expecting easily to seize his prey, fol lowed about thirty yards behind, his eyes so intently fixed on the deer, that he did not see Bruin at all. Not so the bear. She was aware of the close vicinity of her wicked enemy, and she cleared the briars, and squared herself for action. when the deer, with a beautiful and powerful spring, passed clean over the bear's head and disappeared. At the moment Ihe took the leap, the panther was just balancingi himself for a spring, when he perceived, to his astonishment, that he was faced by a formidable adversary. Not the least disposed to fly-, he crouched, lashing his flanks with his long tail, while the bear about five yards from him, remained like a statue, looking at the panther with her fierce, glaring eyes. For a minute they remained thus-the panther's sides heaving with exertion, agitated, and apparently undecidedthe bear perfectly calm and motionless. Gradually the panther crawled backwards till at the right distance for a spring, when, throwing all his weight upon his hind parts, to increase his power, he darted upon the bear like lightning, and forced his claws into her back. The bear, with irresistible force, seized the panther with her two fore paws, pressing him with the weight of her body, and rolling over it. I heard a heavy grunt, a plaintive howl, a crashing. of bones,- and the panther was dead. The cub of the bear came to ascertain what was going on, and after a few minutes' examination of the victim, it strutted down the slope of the hill, followed by its mother, who was apparently unhurt. I did not attempt to prevent their retreat, for among real hunters in the wilds there is a feelin.g which restrains them from attacking an animal which has just undergone a deadly strife. This is a common practice of the deer, when chased by the panther-that of leadingi himl to the haunt of the bear; I have often witnessed it, although I never kline the deer to return as in this instance.-From Tnii REFORMErn. 302 TO THE WILD BROOK. TO THE WILD BROOK. Unheeded emblem of the mind! When weeping twilight's shadows close, I wander where thy mazes wind, And watch thy current as it flows: Now dimpling, silent, calm, and even; Now brawling, as in anger driven; Now ruffled, foaming, madly wild; Like the vex'd sense of Sorrow's hopeless child! Beside thy surface now I see, Reflected in thy placid breast, Hush'd summer's painted progeny In smiles and sweets redundant drest; They flaunt their forms of varying dye, To greet thee as thou passest by; And bending up thy ample wave, They in its lucid lap their bosoms lave. While on thy tranquil breast appears No fretting gale, no passing storm, The sun-beam's vivid lustre cheers, And seems thy silvery bed to warm: The thronging birds with am'rous play, Sweep with their wings thy glittering way; And o'er thy banks fond zephyr blows, To dress with sweets the smallest flower that grows. But when destroying blasts arise, And clouds o'ershade thy withering bounds, When swift the eddying foliage flies, And loud the ruthless torrent sounds, Thy dimpling charms are seen no more, Thy minstrel's caroll'd praise is o'er; While not a flow'ret, sunny drest, Courts the chill current of thy alter'd breast. Such is the human mind! Serene When Fortune's gloomy hour appears! And lovely, as thy margin green, Are buds of Hope, which Fancy rears 303 4 THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. Then adulation, like the flow'r, Benids as it greets us on our way; But, in the dark and stormy hour, Leaves us unmark'd, to trace our troubled way. MRS. ROBINSO.. THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. Here, unmolested, through whatever sign The sun proceeds, I wander. Neither mist, NQr freezing sky nor sultry, checking me, Nor stranger intermeddling with my joy. Ev'n in the spring and play-time of the year, That calls th' unwonted villager abroad With all her little ones, a sportive train, To gather king-cups in the yellow mead, And prink their hair with daisies, or to pick A cheap and wholesome salad from the brook: These shades are all my own. The tim'rous hare, Grown so familiar with her frequent guest, Scarce shuns me: and the stock-dove, unalarrn'd, Sits cooing in the pine-tree, nor suspends His long love-ditty for my near approach. Drawn from his refugffe in some lonely elm That age or injury has hollow'd deep, Where, on his bed of wool and matted leaves, He has outslept the winter, ventures forth To frisk awhile, and bask in the warm sun, The squirrel, flippant, pert, and full of play: He sees me, and at once, swift as a bird, Ascends the neighb'ring beech; there whisks his brush, And perks his ears, and stamps and scolds aloud, With all the prettiness of feign'd alarm, And anger insignificantly fierce. The heart is hard in Nature, and unfit For human fellowship, as being void Of sympathy, and therefore dead alike To love and friendship both, that is not pleas'd With sight of animals enjoying life, Nor feels their happiness augment his own. The bounding fawn that darts across the glade 304 MIILK, BUTTER: A?:D CIiLEESE. WMhen none pursues, through mere delight of heart, Anid spirits buoyaint with e-xcess of glee; The hliorse as wainton, au-d almost as fleet, That skims the spacious meadow at full speed, Then stops and snorts, and throwing high his heels, Starts to the voluntary race againThese, and a thousand images of bliss, Juith which kind Nature graces every scene, 5\Vhere cruel man defeats not her design, Impart to the benevolent, who wish All that are capable of pleasure, pleas'd, A far superior happiness to theirs, The comfort of a reasonable joy. C OWPER. MIILK, BUTTER, AND CHEESE. 0n iwhat accoutOUt is the cowv p)artictularly interesting? Because of the importance of her products in domestic economy. Her milk is of great commercial value; and it is so uecessary as an article of food in every family that we could not well do without it. To the poor it may so far becoinfe a substitute for other food, that half the meat and bread will suffice that would be requisite without it. The butter made from it is both a luxury and an ordinary ingredient in the culinary process; and, with many there would be the greatest reluctance in relinquishing the use of cheese. By wthat chiracteristics is onilk scientifically known? It is well known that the milk of most animals is nearly white and opaque. Its specific gravity is about three per cent. heavier than water, having an agreeable sweetish taste, bult a somewhat peculiar odor, especially when it is warmed. The milk of the cow is slightly alkaline, when newly taken from the anirnal, but in a short time, if exposed to the atmosphere, this property becomes imperceptible. I,'to?(h(. t substances 9nzaty min be converted? \Then left at rest a few hours, it separates into two portions, the lighter part rising to the surface and is called cream. If the entire milk, or the cream alone, be put into a churn and successively agitated, the temperature of the 305 0 .40 F I i,:; !,I I\MILK, BUTTER, AND CIIEESE. liquid is moderately increased, the liquid becoming sour, and the fatty matter separates from the remainder in the form of butter. If a little acid, such as vinegar, diluted muriatie acid, or rennet, be difiused in the milk, raised to the temnperature of one hundred degrees, it immediately coagulates and separates into two parts, a solid and a liquid-the curd and the whey. Hlow is the quality of milk changed by the age of the cou? Dairymen think that milk of the best quality is yielded by cows that have had three or four calves. Such cows will continue to give excellent milk till ten or twelve years of age, and Slave had eight or ten calves. Some will remain as profitable milkers till fifteen years old, provided their teeth do not become impaired. TVthat effect does the season of the year have on the czuality of the milk? In the spring the milk is not only more abundant, but of finer quality than in other seasons. Moist and temperate climates are favorable to the production of milk in a large quaintity. In hot countries and in dry seasons, the quantity is less, but the quality is richer. Cool weather favors the production of cheese, and also of sugar, which is a component of milk; while hot weather increases the oily substance of which butter is to be made. How is the milk changed by the time of milking? If the cow is milked only once a day, the milk will yield a seventh part more butter than an equal quantity of that which is obtained by two milkings in a day. When the milk is drawn three times a day, it is more abundant, but less rich. It is also universally remarked, that the morning's milk is of better quality than that obtained in the evening. How do different portions of the mnilk drawn at the sname milking compare in quality? That which is drawn off first is thin and poor, and gives little cream. That which is drawn last —sometimes by dairyw%omen called "strippings"-is rich in quality and yields much cream. Compared with the first milk, the same measure of the last will give at least eight times, and even more, as much cream. The quality of the cream also, and of the milk when skimmed, is much better in the latter than in the earlier drawn portions of the milk. 306 MIILK, BUTTERt, AN CHES. lotc is the qnilk changed y the indlz of food given the t is familiar to every dairy farmer that the taste and of his milkl and cream are materially aflected by the s on which his cows feed, and by the food he gives them e stall. The taste of the wild onion and of the turnip, eaten by the cow is often perceptible, both in the milk ni the butter. If madder is given to cows, the milkl is d with red: if they eat saffrion, it becomes yellow. Hence, s an object to increase the quantity of butter, feed cows substances rich in oily matter; and, if the milk is to be into cheese, let them be fed with substances containing materials for curd-as peas and beans. Ioe does the gnil1 of sheep) coezpare with that of the coe? 1 appearance they are much alike; but the milk of the s generally more dense, and yields a pale yellow butter, h is soft, and soon becomes rancid. The curd is sepafrom this milk with greater difficulty than fiom the milk coW. ioe does the 9zilk of the goat comnpare with that of the t is richer in butter and sugar; is considered to be very some; and is often recommended to invalids. The r is white and hard, and keeps long fresh. Yet the of the goat generally possesses a characteristic unpleasant and taste, which is said to be less palpable in animals ite color, or that are destitute of horns. Ior does the nzil/c of the ass co)izarce with that of the cowt? The milk of the ass has less of butter or cheese in it, than that of the cow, goat, or ewe; but, in sugar is more rich than that of either of them, ranking next in this respect to the milk of the human species. On account of such peculiarity, it is often recommended to invalids, as a light and easily digested drink. The little butter that can be made from it, is white, and soon becomes rancid; and, from the large amount of sugar in it, the process of fermentation soon begins. ]T'hat is there in the form of a coie to show that she will be good for,milk? AIr. Youatt says the milk cow should have a long and thin head, with a brisk but placid eye; should be thin and hollow in the neck, narrow in the breast and point of the I 307 MILK, BUTTER, AND CHEES]. shoulder, and altogether ligTht in the fore quarter; but wide in the loins, with little dewlap, and neither too full fleshed along tie cie, nor shoi in ainy part an.incelination to put on much fta+. The udder should especially be large, round, and full, with the mil1k veins protruding, yet thin slkiuned, but not hangingf loose or tending far. behind. The teats should also stand square, all pointing out at equal distances, and of the same size, though neither very large nor thick towards the udder, yet long and tapering towards a point. tI-ow should the size of the cow be regarded( in reference to her valuefor milk? The smaller breeds of cattle yield, as is to be expected, a smaller daily produce of milk, though from the same weight of food. they occasionally give even a greater volume of milk than the larger breeds. Simply, therefore, for the profit of the milk after deducting the cost of keeping, a large cow is not always to be chosen in preference of one of moderate size. The profits of a cow depend on other characteristics, rather than her size. How mnuch mzill ozt$'ht a farmer to expect ifrom his cows? It is impossible to fix on any number of quarts that a cow should yield at any specified time, or for the year; for it will cost fifty per cent. more to keep some cows than others No cow, however, deserves to be kept for milk or dairy purposes, unless she yields milk in the year, double the value, at wholesale prices, or up6n the premises, that will pay the cost of feeding her; for instance, if it cost twenty-five dollars to keep a cow for the year, and milk is worth two cents per quart, she ought at least to yield twenty-five hundred quarts, which is only ten quarts per day on an average, for two hundred and fifty days. Prime cowvs, if well fed, will do far more than this. TVhiat is the early history of butter? Beckman, in his history of inventions, comes to the conclusion that butter is not of Grecian or Roman origin; but, thait the Greeks received it firom the Scythians, Thracians, and Phrygians, and the Romaus derived it from the people of Germany, and used it as a medicine rather than as a culinary luxury. The ancients appear to have been wholly de ficient in the art of giving it consistency. The word chamneah, translated butter, in the English version of the Bible, means some liquid preparation of milk or crea,,. 308 MILK, BUTTER, AND CHEESE. iAc what places is buttcr mostly used for culinary JurPoses? The European couLtries, in wl-hich oil and butter is used, says Mnaite Bruni, mriy be separated by a line extending along the Pyrenees, the Cevennes, the Alps, and Mounlt Hiemus. Accordingly in warm countries, the place of butter, for the most part, is supplied by oil. In Italy, Spain, Portuygal, and the south of France, butter is to be purchased in the shops of apothecaries. Here the olive-groves supersede the use of butter by that of oil. Hiow do the HIindoos prepare butter? They make use of what they call ghee, which means butter clarified by boiling. They boil the milk two or three hours, which, when cool, is fermented with curdled milk, left to sour, churned, and when it is sufficiently rancid, is boiled with salt, or betel-leaf and neddle, to improve its taste and color. Bow does cream differ from Silk? Milk is a kind of natural emulsion, in which the fatty matter exists in the state of very minute globules, suspended in a solution of casein and sugar. Cream is a similar emulsion, differing from milk chiefly in containing a greater nurnber of oily globules, and a much smaller portion of water. In milk and cream these globules appear to be surrounded with a thin white shell or covering, probably of casein, by which they are prevented from running into one another, and col lected into larger oily drops. By zchat w,,eans is the fatty matter in these globules, of qvhich butter is gnade, separated fro-2n the other substances ,vith wchich it is united? When the cream is heated for a length of time, these giobules, by their lightness, rise to the surface, press nearer to each other, break through their coverings, and unite in a film of melted fat. In like manner,.when milk and cream are strongly agitated by any mechanical. means, the temperature is found to rise, the covering of the globules are broken or separated, and the fatty matter unites into small grains, and finally into lumps, which form our ordinary butter. IWhctt is said of the butter obtained by heating the creamn? The cream is to be heated nearly to boiling, and kept some time at that temperature, the butter will then gradually rise to the surface, where it may be collected in the form 309 m IMILI, BUTTER, AND CHErSE. of oil. On its beiing cooled, tils oil becomes solid. In this way the fatty substance of the milkl is procured in a purer state than by churning'i. It may hence be kept for a long period without salt, and withouIt beconmilg rancid, but it has neither the agreeable flavor, nor the consistence of churned butter. It is scarcely known in our climate as an article of food How is better pr)e]p)ae(Z by the Russian)s? They take common churned butter and melt it, and then pour off the transparent liquid which floats upon the-surface. This is the only form in which sweet butter is known in many parts of Russia. In warm weather it has the consistence of thick oil, is used instead of oil for many culinary purposes, and is denoted by the same Russian word as other oils. TWhei butter is to be proctred by churniz)g, how is the crea-ct,) prepared? It is usually allowed to become sour; and it ought to be at least one day old, and if the weather is cool it may be kept several days. If well freed from milk, it should be fiequently stirred to keep it from curdling. If new sweet cream be put into the churn, more time and labor is required for the operation of churning; for, usually even then, the cream becomes sour from the agitation, before the butter is distinctly formed. Fo- Schat leigth of time should cream be churned? The common idea is, that the quicker the butter is produced -the better. Accordingly, so many effolbrts have been made in getting up patent churns, giving the cream a rapid agitation, and thus constantly keeping every part of it in contact with the atmosphere, so as to produce butter in ten or fifteen minutes. It is, however, pretty well ascertained, that the quicker the butter is produced, the paler, softer, and less rich it will be. Wlhat is said of ct,rni2g the mzilk and ceream together? Butter in many places, particularly in Scotland and Ireland, is thus prepared; but this is by far a more laborious process, from the difficulty of keeping in motion such a quantity of fluid. It is said, however, to have the advantage of giving a larger amount of butter. There can be no objection therefore to it, provided the skimmed milk is not wanted, and especially provided some other than human power is ap. plied to the process of churning. How long should the operation of chturning continue? 310 MILK, BUTTER AND CHEESE. It is said that cream maybe safely churned from an hour to an hour and a half. while milk should be churned double that time. The a,itation of the milk or cream should be regular, slower ill warm weather, that the butter may not be soft and white, and quicker in winter, that the temperature may be kept up. It is not desirable that butter be produced in less than three quarters of an hour. Whtat are the best ctburns for general use? The old-fashioned upright barrel churns, to be operated by hand, for a single cow, or a very small number, will not probably be wholly superseded. The horizontal churns, or upright ones, operated with a crank by hand, are evidently a very considerable improvement on the other; but for a large number of cows, whether the entire milk or the cream only is churned, what is called the dog power applied to the churn is an important saving of manual labor. T,htat othler irmprovement has been made in churning? There has recently been invented by F. G. Simpson of New Jersey, a churn to be operated by machinery with a weightl, applied, sirnilar to the running of a clock. Nothirng is required but to put the milk or cream into the churn, and then wind up the machinery, when the moderate and uniform agitation of the liquid is begun and continued till butter is prod,iced, without the aid of any other power. Thus far this in vecation works well; and if no difficulty hereafter arises in its use, it will be generally adopted wherever the labor heretofore required in churningf has been found a great burden. TVha[t aquantity of butter is annually mnade in the United St(:;es? It is impossible to tell. There are no data from which anythlinc like an accurate estimate can be formed. It might be supposed, that, on an average, each individual will consuime tweaty-five- pounds in the year. If so, with our preseit l)o ulation, the entire consumption will be annually over five huIdrcd millions of pounds, the value of which cannot be fa-rl,i-s thani one hundred millions of dollars. And if each cowz miaes one hundred and fifty pounds, more than three millions of cows are required to furnish a supply. This shows the importance of this branch of rural economy. -Hoe is butter Iel)tf-fro becosning ranzcidc? It should, in the first place, be well washed and worked in cold water, so as to be entirely relieved firom the curd L5 15 311 EDUCATED FARTMERS. and watery substances with which it was combined. Then it should be sufficiently salted, and packed in a clean vessel. fo'on which the action of the atmosphere is wholly excluded, A little sugar well worked into the butter, by some, is thought to improve its flavor. TVhat is the process of making cheese? The common mode of separating the curd from the whey i milk is by the application of rennet, which is the stomach of young calves having been prepared for the purpose. Any acid combined with the milk will cause coagulation; but reinniiet is preferable. WVhen the curd is collected, the whey being sufficiently excluded, it is made as solid as possible by the application of a powerful press. O0 what does the quality of cheese depend? It is obvious that whatever gives rise to natural differences in the quality of the milk must affect also that of the cheese prepared from it. If the milk be poor in butter, so must the cheese be. If the pasture be such as to give a milk rich in cream, the cheese will partake of the same quality. If the herbage or other food affect the taste of the milk or cream, it will also modifythe flavor of the cheese. Hence the great difference in the price of different qualities of cheese. Hozv may the profits of cheese-making be estimated? It takes firom four to six quarts of milk, according to its quality, to make a pound of curd. Some cows are known to have yielded milk for four hundred weight of cheese in the year; but the average amount falls much below this. If cheese-making is to be rendered profitable, a first-rate a,rticle should be produced, which will always find a ready market ald command a high price. Besides a good article improves in value for years, whereas a poor one from age becomes worthless. EDUCATED FARMERS. ,'Nhy is it the fact-and a fact it is-that many of the beLt and most successful farmers in our country are those, who, bred to other pursuits, and toiled in them to middle age-and many far beyond it-till from inclination, or ne 312 EDUCATED FARME5ERS. cessitv, thev lClave embraced agriculture as an occupation, with a doet..mln..a...io to succeed? It is because investigatioii has b,cit the h!abit of' their lives. They do nothing without a good and satisfactory reason for doing it. They bend every ficulty of the mind to acquire success in this, as they did in their previous pursuits; and the application of the same intelligeice upon the farm that had there been exerted, produced the same results, although their early educationl and subsequent labors had kept them in profound ignorance of the simplest rules of practical agriculture. The most gratifying success has been thus accomplished, while he, who has from childhood tilled his paternal acres in obstinate and persevering ignorance of the true principles of his art, although scorning in the pride of his own fancied superiority-, the more timid efforts of his thoughtful neighbor, del-es on thliroh life, a w\retched and unsuccessfiil farmer, and in time leaves the world no better, so far as his own labors were concerned, than he found it; and is finally buiried beneath a soil over which hlie plodded for three score years, and never knew a single part of its.composition This, though perhaps an extreme, and certainly not a flattering picture, is still a type of agricultural life, in its vway, existing in every one of our IJnited States. In what profession thlrouhout the length and breadth of our land is there so little pro(ress naiy, such determined opposition to progress, as in tIle rauks of agriculturc? I would not assert thlat numerous em-leinit examples of improvement have not existed amongc those of purely agricultural occupation. Blt the,, are rareas conipaired with men of other pursuits ashen applied with all thcir research and intelligence to agriculture alone. Andc it may well be inquired, lwhy is this so? Agriculture occupies four-fifths of the laboring population of the land. From the agricultuiral ranks have sprulug many of the most illustrious names whose services have adorned and houored their country. Froiu its riankis, too, have perhaps a majority of the mrost successful among those engaged in the various other pursuits and occupations of life arisen. In short, there can be no class of oir population whichl affords so sure a basis on wh-ich to rely for art infusion into all other pursuits to the durable prosperity of a state as the agricultural. Such is the gratifyingff truth; and it is to the health-giving influ 313 ences of the soil itself; the free wild air of heaven that he breathes che rful exercise and occupation; contentment, and the full. ui etrained enjoyment of man's first estate bestowed bO Godl himself, that thus constitutes in him who till tile soil, tie f'ill development of his faculties in all the adlirble propor'tions of body and of mind that his Creator i ~t.ffN (l ,Notwithstandin. all this, the question still recurs, and may be variously answered. The very ease and contentmerit of condition in the farmer, is one probable cause of his inLactivity in improvement. The quietude of his avocations preveuts thlLt constant attrition of mind inseparable from the bustliit activgity of most other pursuits; and the certainty Vtih w',ich the soil yields its annual tribute to his labor, dispel s that spirit of iinvestigation common to classes the re slt of wihose l bors is contingenit or uncertain. Nor yet is thie l aer an illorant, or a slothful man. In the great respol)siilities of life-ini domestic duty-in love of countryill the or delelyt support of the institutions of the land-in stern w at4htal'-ss over the acts of those he has placed in aut!ority, andn in that exalted patriotism which is ever ready f i tit" heaviest sacrifice to the benefit of his race, he, as a c1ls. stw ls ithout a rival. And yet, possessed of all these qularlitiesl anid tjoying all these advantages the absence of tl': spirit of association, leaves him in effect the least benefi..d at the hands of those he elects to govern him, of all ohlers. AA,ho inveils, improves, and perfects the plough, and all the iiamelcs inein maents which alleviate his toil and acceleriate his labo'? AV:io analyzes his soils, instructs him in tll-'ir Various qualities, and teaches him how to mix and rYn uiitle item for the most profitable cultivation? The mechtil~lC-the chemist. Who, ascertaining that his seeds are i 1 pl'ee tt and ulnpofitable, searches foreign lands for new or L t ioitt es, aid introduces them to his notice? The com ercial adveitur(rl or the travelled man of inquiry and ob Wvti. Vho, on comiparingr the inferior domestic animals ~vhc e heI propagates alnd in whose growth and fattening he loses half his toil and the food they consume, sends abroad, recardless of expenise, and introduces the best breeds of lhorses, cattle, sheep and swine for his benefit? In nine caoes, out of ten these labors and benefactions-and their EDUCATED FAR,-,IERS. 314 EDUCATED FARME.RS. niame is leion-are pl-erformred by, thoe whlose occupations have been chiel-v iii other charm.nel(s, -'wh'ose agricultural tastes have led them into the spirit ic g it. Aml in how many examp les have we witnese,, e a pathy. ii not dcterrmiiied opposition with which the ror-~rm- r at least he -who claimed to be one-has set his fae like flint against their adoption, even after their,uperiority had beien demonstrated beyond a question! So, too, with the farmer's education. They Ia-,.ve'been coILtenlt that the resources and the bounity of tuie state should be lavished uponi the higher seats o.[ lernin, where tlie more aspiring of our youth should receive thie r ke iifit, not caring even to inquire whether such youtth hoeold ag.a- return amongt them to reflect back the knowvled, thus ac quiredl. They have failed to demand from the comnmon treasire of the state those necessary institutions which shll p1 orn(ote their ownl particular calling. and which everv other pursuit ai(il profession in the land has been most active to accomplish In all thlis the latter have progressed with railway spee;l while the farmitir interest has stood still with folded aros, and done comparatively nothilng; and what good has oee.ii forced upon it by others, even regarded with suspicicir. It is niiot because we as farmers, compared with others, are either ig norant or stupid. WVe onily neglect to assert our ights, and appropriate the share to which we are entitled it the corrmmon patronage of the state to the beiiefit of our ownr professions. It is for us to ask-to will-to do it. We hold the power of the state by our Ilumbrners. \We catii control 1he-o halls of legislation. We canl so direct the laws that we mray share equal advantages in our institutionis with others. WVe desire nothing exclusively to our own advanrtage, but we do deserve an equal participation in those institutions established for the commoni benefit of all.. These remarkls are uot miade ini a quer Iulous or faullt-Il(d img temper. It is rihlt that e have colleoes at(nd ai lenies for the few whlo aspire to the higher walhs aT Otf p1roffbssiiliolt! or sCietific life, as \wel as comilon schools for the nlllio. 2o state caL-Li be well. or wisely conistitutied without Jle, aiT, I woultll not ablte o1e jot or tittle firor tle w.'lohso s port whichl a broad a(nd liberal system of eduoetioi-,le,nails. But we shlould claimr, alLCd iisist, that dep,arltleits ddevoted to agricultural teaching,, or to the development of agricLdtural 31b EDI)TUA.TED FARM ERE. science, should Ub:set- blished, either as branches of our seats of letrnink, or ~ c n. e — nt institutions. WThy should not the itrnier bch d.te to the toD of his faculties, as well as thcse who select,'Y are termed the learned professions as th(-ir pu3rsuit?!f'ot: r sons cainot be tautilhit the education thl v seet il tE ecl'eces-and there are well grounded doubts of iacs ft i[ thi tre moral malaria too often existinlg within and around them —iinstitutions for their sole education should be aided or erected, and endowed by the state. V- e are a growing people; not in population alone, but in wealth, and in resources. Our whole country is com parat-ively new, and wealth is accumulated with us as with no other people of which history gives an example. I speak of substantial, enduring wealth; that which adds to the enjoyvment, the happiness, and the truly elevated condition of man. Of all this wealth and prosperity, agriculture is the basis-the indispensable support. Yet, in defiance of this reiterated truth, as an occupation, agriculture of itself, is degraded. Let politicians, or demagogues chant their pens to the tillers of the soil as they may, and tell them of the honor, and the dignity of their estate; yet, practically, sim-ple farming is considered by those who assume to give tone and opinion in social and political life, an inferior occupation, fit only for dull, unthinking, and uneducated men. WVere it not so, why are the agricultural ranks so continually deserted by our active and aspiring youth for the more worldly popular pursuits, under the belief that they are more advantageous? Look at our great, bustling cities, and towlns. See on all sides our professions crowded to excess; with. among the masses which throng them, but a comparatively few who are successful either in fame or fortune. Viecw our merchants, and shopkeepers, overrun and undermined in competition with one another; and clerks, and shopboys, plentier and cheaper on their hands than the wares they hold on sale; and all the motley cong(reg(rations which are drawn about them by the spirit of adventure and of novelty; while the petty political offices of the day are held up like lottery tickets, to an unscrupulous and indiscriminate scramble;-all for the possession of a fancied prize in the gireat raffling match of adventure; while the shop of the mnechlanic, or the artizan, which holds out a safe and durable reward to honorable labor, is hard pressed to find appren 316 EDUCATED FARMERS3 tices; and the broad, inviting acres of the farmer, are lying sterile or unproductive, for lack of cultivation. Amongf the benefits arising from well directed agricultural education, aside from spreading the requisite learning and intelli,gence applicable to the chief pursuit of our people, deep and broad among them, the retention of that portion of active capital, acquired by the industry of our agricultural population, among themselves, would be one important consequence. In place of the prevailing arLd mistaken notionl that monied capital invested in agriculture is either unproductive, or less so than in other pursuits, our farmers would be taught that, coupled with the knowledge to direct it, no branch of our national industry is so steadily remunerating as that connected with the soil-a fact now practically disbelieved; or why would such amounts of monied capital be continually drawn from the agricultural districts to your commercial cities, to be embarked in hazardous enterprises, or doubtful investments? The merchant or the speculator may fail-and fail ihe does, very often-and in his downfall are often buried the toils of a long life of patient industry. But who ever knew a good farmer, of prudent habits, to fail? Nay, who did not, with an exemption from extraordinary ills in life, ultimately grow rich, and discharge meantime, all the duties of a good citizen? I concede to you the many prominent cases which exist, of wealth rapidly accumulated by bold and successful speculation; of fortunate, perhaps accidental adventure; of hoards heaped up by a long course of perseverance in trade, directed by that intuitive sagacity of which but few among us are endowed, and which so dazzlingly invite our imitation. Yet these are but a few glaring instances, standing out in bold relief among the many who have sunk in the same career, perhaps with a ruined peace; happy afterwards to retire, were it in their power, upon the limited possession which they had thrown away, to commence their wasting strife upon the broad sea of adventure. A second advantage would be, that it would invite, an nually, a lar(ge class of educated men of capital from our cities, to invest a portion of their wealth in our farms, con vinced by the knowledge acquired in a course of agricultural education, that husbandry was a good business, and inteid ing to pursue it as the occupation of their lives, it would 317 F,4: EDUCATED FABNIERS cause a reflux of that capital and population which had been drawn away from agriculture. Nor would such associations among us detract from the industrious habits of our farmers by their example. They, by the possession of larger estates than we enjoy, might give more of their time to leisure than we are accustomed to spend; but they must, if good farmers, attend to the daily routine of their affairs, as well as we. They would diffuse intelligence among us; introduce im proved implements, seeds, and stock; and in time, surely exalt the character of our husbandry. They might not, indeed, work at the muck heap, nor guide the plough with theiroown hands; but they must be capable, from edu cation, to direct the labor of both; for we must not forget that the merchant who, from his luxurious countilig room, plans his voyages, and directs the course ofihis ships; or the engineer who projects the rail-way, or the ocean steamer, once performed the duties of a shop boy, or hammered at the anvil. And thus with the farmer: he should be capable of directing the cultivation of the soil to its greatest possible extent of production; and he will find that, in achieving such result, all the powers of his mind, and the knowledge with which it is stored, will be required. This thought will bear a little examination. The frmer is apt to think that the professional man, or the merchant, lives an easy and luxurious life. In many instances their families may do so; but with the eminent and Successful man of law, or science-the artizan, or merchant himself, such supposition is a great mistake. There are not, under heaven, a more laborious class of men than these. Labor of body, and of mind is theirs-and that incessant. See thema early, late; in season, and out of season-their whole energies devoted to their several callings, without rest, or intermnission-and far too frequently, to the premature wasting of life itself. It is no wonder that such industry, directed by god education, (and by this term I mean the entire training o tile boy to manhood in its most extended sense,) and stimulated by a laudable ambition, should lead to success. Yet with all these appliances, the labors of such men are often disastrous; and if not so, after a life of anxiety, their toils too frequently end with but the means of a slender support. Compared with these, the toils of the farmer are light. Physical labor he endures, it is true, and oftentirc.s severe 318 i. EDUCATED FARAIE RS. labor, but his mind is easy. He enjoys sound rest, and high health. He has much leisure; in many cases more than is for his good. He has abundant time to discuss politics, law, religioin-everythiug, in fact. but what relates to his own profession, on which subject, I lament to say, his mind seems less exercised than onl almost any other.. Now, let the same early education be given to the young farmer of an equally acute intellect that is given to him who chooses professional, mechanical; or mercantile pursuitseducation each in his own line. Let them start fair. Apply the same thought, investigation, energy, and toil, each in his particular sphere, and beyond all question agriculture will, in the aggregate, have the advantage-and for this reason, if no other: there are few coitingencies connected with agriculture. Its basis is the solid earth, stamped with the Divine promise, that while it remains, seed-time and harvest shall continue; while conmmerce, and trade; mechaliics, and arts are liable to extraordinary and continual accident. Look at the devastations by flood, and fire-of ship, and cargo, upon ocean, lake, and sea, and river; con flagratious in your towns and cities; and the thousand other casualties which almost daily occur-all which are a dead Sink upon labor and capital not agricultural, and the risks of the lhusbandrman are scarce one to ten, in the comparison. Rely upon it, farmers, you are on the safe side. But, I hear some one remark, " Why, if agriculture, throug;h the improved education proposed, holds out such al luring advantages, all our youlng men will rush into it, antd competition will destroy it." Not the slightest danger. Our young men are already running into the other trades and professions, where competition is ruinous; and all we ask, is the opportunity to get a share of them back again. Besides, there is no fear that the other avenues of industry will not be filled; for, in the constitution of our natures, there will always be enough unquiet spirits born into the world which the farm cannot hold, to keep the bustling part of it in motion. Another, and a prominent advantage which we should receive firom good agricultural education, would be, that of more stability of character in our farming population. It is proverbial among travelled foreigners in this country, and it would be a subject of wonder among our staid people at 319 home —if an American could wonder at any thing —that we are the most changingff people in the world. We, as a popu lationl, have few, scarce any, local attachments. This, to an extent, is a true, although a severe censure. It arises, no doubt-anid naturally enough, too-firom the wide extent of national domain of wlhiclh we are the possessors, and from the natural sterility of much of the soil in our older com munities, which cause an eHort, and a laudable one, too, to better their condition in oui' rural population. But more, I imaginie, from the low standard of agricultural improvement, and a mistaken estimate of the value of the soil, and its ap plication to the products whichl properly belong to it. But, no matter what the cause. The fact is so, and it is a defet in our national character. How many among us but will, with a slightly tempting oier, sell his homestead without remorse-break up the cherished association of his life turn his back upon the graves of his kindred, and his children -his birth-spot-the ol( hearth-stone of his boyhood-his family altar, evetn the brave old trees, which have life-long(, waved their branches over his childish sports, and shadowed his innoce.'it slumbers when wieary of his play, all —all, pass out of his hands, like a playthiii of yester(day, unwept and unreiretted, for the fancied advantage of a fresh spot in a strange and a newer land. I must, however, in justice, make some exceptions to this general propensity in American chaliacter. There are some amongri the descendan-ts of the early New Engiland Puritans, and the' ancient Dutch settlers of this state, who have, with a pious regard to the memories of their ancestors, and a wise attachment to the spots of their birth, retained, and through the influeilces of a correct education, and well settled principle, bit fair to retain, the paternal acres which they have inherited-homes of plenty, contentment, and genuine hospitality; where retired virtues, like those practised by their falthers, have longr hallowed them waith a local habitation and a name. Such, stand out as stroiin landmarks in the fitful changes of' place and name tliroulogout our country and redeem, to some extent, the caustic remark of the late John Randolph, of Roanoke, who once declared, on the floor of Congress, that he scarce knew an American but would Fell his very dog for money' We are not slow in finding out when we are well of', 3.,.Io EDUCA'T!,:D FAR.AIERS. THEORY AND PRACTICE OF FARMING. 321 althougoh all are not satisfied under such condition; but with these advantages around and among us, of which we feel the daily benefit, and of which, by removal, we should forever be deprived, their tendency would be to fix us more firmly to our homes, and lead us to examine the resources within our reach, which otherwise might never have been developed. Associations of an elevated character are among the most powerful in thus keeping us content; and institutions in which the farmer has a direct interest, would, more than almost any other, allay this tendency to change. Our resources, and our productive power, are thus retained, far beyond what can be acquired by the continued restlessness common to us. Such influences would certainly be iost wholesomne.-From Address before the New-York Statc Agricultural Society, delivered at Albany, by LEwis F, ALLEN, ESQ., of Black Rock. THEORY AND PRACTICE OF FARMING. The bearing of agriculture upon the future prosperity and destiny of our free country, must be apparent to every reflecting mind. The farmers comprise a very large majority of the population of this country-its bone and sinew. Their suffrages decide the character of our rulers-as a general rule, it may with safety be affirmed, that the higher the improvements in agriculture, the more intelligent and well informed will be the character of those who direct them-andc the more likely to maintain unsullied those principles which actuated our worthy forefathers, and secured through their agency the blessings of that free government and those liberal institutions we are permitted to enjoy. If then you would perpetuate the blessed institutions which are so highly prized and so richly enjoyed, if you would transmit them to your posterity unimpaired, do all irt your power to enlighten and elevate the farmer;-, to encourage his callingl-cherish it as the most important-for in it you have the palladium of freedom, and while the agriculturist continues enlighted, intelligent and virtuous, your liberties will be secure. In whatever aspect then we view agriculture whether as necessary +o provide for our wants, or as suited THEORY AND PRACTICE OF FARMING. to the development of our physical and mental resources, or in its influence upon our moral, social, and political relations, it presents itself, as entitled to our highest regard, and claims our most cordial support. How important, then, that we should be prepared rightly to improve in every respect this mrost noble employment. In all the pursuits of life, practical knowledge is abso lutely essential to perfection. It is quite a different thing to understand principles and to work them out; and he who is a good theoretical agriculturist, may be a very bad practical farmer. The two kinds of knowledge, theoretical and prac tical, require to a certain extent, somewhat of a different or der of mind; but the excellent practical farmer can under stand the principles on which his practice is founded, with very great advantage to his practical efforts. A knowledge of the principles of Agriculture, though not absolutely indis pensable to the cultivation of the land, cannot fail of being in the highest degree useful. A purely practical farmer repeats certain acts, and.necessarily follows the plans handed down to him by his forefathers; he tills his land at a certain sea, son; he sows his seed, fallows his land, rotates his crops, uses manures in the same manner as his father or grandfather; and provided he remains on the same farm and soil, he succeeds to the same extent. If you ask him why he does certain things, he answers that he had seen his father do so; but he can assign no better reason. Transport this excellent practical man to another locality, let him be placed on a different soil, and watch the result. Suppose, for example, such a man removesfrom a farm, the soil of which is a strong loam or clay, to one covered with a thin layer of sandy light soil, and not bei-ng acquainted with the difference of working such a soil, he may perchance, instead of looking around him, and observing what treatment is used by his neighbors, at once go on in his beaten track. Such a practice would inevitably destroy the fertility of his new farm. He would experience bitter disappointment, and have to recommence his education. Here, it will be perceived, the purely practical man. would be at fault; he would feel that mere practice, althlough excellent as regards one locality, will entirely fail in another; so that the necessity for some general principles will be forced on his mind. Hence the utility of such principles, and the 322 THEORY AND PRACTICE OF FARMING. necessity of such an education as will enable the farmer to comprehend and embrace principles, as well as mere practice, may be considered as demonstrated. A small portion however, of the principles which illustrate agriculture will answer the purpose of the practical farmer, and enable him to improve the processes he at present employs for the cultivation of the soil. WAe need not cross the Atlantic to find evidence of the advantages resulting from a right application of practical skill and science to the advancement of agriculture. Some of the once fertile portions of our own State have been exhausted by bad husbandry, and have been abandoned-while others, sterile by nature, have been made fruitful and have become among our most productive and valuable lands. It is one of the beneficial results of agricultural associations, that inmproveinents of this description have through them been fostered and encouraged. An impulse in many instances has been given which will not soon be forgotten. The pursuit which most of you have chosen is a noble one. The father of our country, the immortal WVashil(ngton, has left behind him an imperishable monument of his views on this pursuit, in his agricultural correspondence,-a work which should be in every farmer's dwelling, and which will be read around the fireside of the American farmer, with his farewell address to his countrymnen, to the latest period of time. Most of the eminent men who succeeded him in the Presidential chair, have as they retired from the cares of the office, entered upon agricultural pursuits-and somne of them still live to cheer on the farmer, by their precept and example in his noble pursuit. The late Governor of our state, whose sudden and unexpected death has cast a gloom over our nation, and whose talents were respected every whlere, whatever diversity of opinion there was as to his views on political questions, had retired from the cares of office, to the cultivation of his farm and I have the means of knowing, that in the active pur suits of the farmer, he enjoyed more satisfaction, than when clothed with the highest honors of the State, or when occu pying a seat in one of the most distinguished bodies the world has ever known, the Senate of the United States. Another distinguished statesman, still living to bless and adorn his country and the world by his superior talents, a 3"23 THE BOY AND THE RAINBOWV. few years since, when occupying a very important station, said, that the real luxury of life to him, was, when released from the duties and cares of office, and the toils of a most laborious profession, he was permitted to enjoy the sweet retreat at Marshfield, superintending his farm and attending to his herds, and enjoying for a season only those delights and blessings which may, and should ever cluster around the home of every American farmer.-Hon. B. P. JOHNSON, Albany. THE BOY AND THE RAINBOW. Declare, ye sages, if ye find 'Mongst animals of every kind, Of each condition, sort and size, From whales and elephants to flies, A creature that mistakes his plan, And errs so constantly as man? Each kind pursues his proper good, And seeks for pleasure, rest, and food, As Nature points, and never errs In what he chooses and prefers; Man only blunders, though possest Of talents, far above the rest. The happiness of human kind Consists in rectitude of mind, A will subdued to Reason's sway, And passions practis'd to obey An open and a generous heart Refin'd from selfishness and art; Patience, which mocks at Fortune's pow'r, And Wisdom, never sad nor sour. In these consists our proper bliss Else Plato reasons much amiss. But foolish mortals still pursue False happiness in place of true: Ambition serves us.for a guide, Or lust, or avarice, or pride; While reason no assent can gain, And Revelation warns in vain. Hence, thro' our lives, in ev'ry stage From infancy itself to age, 824 THE BOY AID ITHE PAINBOW. A happiness we toil to find, Which still avoids us like the wind; Ev'n when we think the prize our own At once'tis vanish'd, lost, and gone. You'll ask me why I thus rehearse All Epictetus ain my verse, And if I fondly hope to please With dry reflections such as these, So trite, so hackney'd, and so stale?I'll take the hint, and tell a tale. One ev'ning, as a simple swain His flock attended on the plain, The shining bow he chanced to spy That warns us when a show'r is nigh: With brightest rays it seem'd to glow, In distance eighty yards or so. This bumpkin had, it seems, been told The story of the cup of gold, Which Fame reports is to be found Just when the rainbow meets the grou He therefore felt a sudden itch To seize the goblet and be rich! Hoping (yet hopes are oft but vain) No more to toil thro' wind and rain, But sit indulgent by the fire, 'Midst ease and plenty, like a squire. He mark'd the very spot of land On which the rainbow seem'd to stand, And stepping forwards at his leisure, Expected to have found the treasure. But as he mov'd, the color'd ray Still chang'd his place, and slipt away As seemling his approach to shun From walkinog he began to run, But all in vain, it still withdrew As nimbly as he could pursue. At last thro' many a bog and lake, Rough craggy rock, and thorny brake, It led the easy fool, till night Approach'd, then vanish'd in his sight And left him to compute his gains, With nought but labor for his paius. WILxtt. 325 THE BENEFITS OF AGRICULTURE. THE BENEFITS OF AGRICULTURE Agriculture is the greatest among the arts, for it is first in supplying our necessities. It is the mother and nurse of all other arts. It favors and strengthens population; it creates and maintains manufactures; gives employment to naviga tion, and materials to commerce. It animates every species of industryv. and opens to nations the surest channels of opu lence. It is also the strongest bond of well-regulated society, the surest basis of internal peace, the natural associate of good morals. We ou(ght to count among the benefits of Agriculture the charm which the practice of it communicates to a country life. That charm which has made the country, in our own view the retreat of the hero. the asylum of the sage, and the temple of the historic muse. Tile strong desire, the longing after the country with which we find the bulk of mankind to be pene trated, points to it as the chosen abode of sublunary bliss. The sweet occupations of culture, with her varied products and attendant enjoyments are, at least, a relief from the stifling atmosphere of the city, the monotony of undivided employments, the anxious uncertainty of commerce, the vexations of ambition so often disappointed, of self-love so often mnortified, of factitious pleasures and unsubstantial vanities. Health, the first and best of all the blessings of life, is preserved and fortified by the practice of agriculture. That state)f well-being which we feel and cannot define; that self-satisfied disposition which depends, perhaps, on the perfect equilibrium and easy play of the vital forces, turns the slightest acts to pleasure, anid makes every exertion of our faculties a source of enjoyment; this inestimable state of our bodily functions is most vigorous in the country, and if lost elsewhere, it is in the country we expect to recover it. The very theatre of agricultural avocations, gives them a value that is peculiar: for who can contemplate, without emotion, the magnificent spectacle of nature when, arrayed in vernal hues, she renews the scenery of the world! All things revive at her powerful voice; the meadow resumes its fireshness and verdure; a living sap circulates through every budding tree; flowers spring to meet the warm caresses of Zephyr, and from their opening petals pour forth rich perfume. The songsters of the forest once more awake, and in tones of 326 WINTER AT COPEIN'HAGEN. melody again salute the coming dawn; and again they deliver to the evening echo their strains of tenderness and hymns of love. Can man-rational, sensitive man-can he remain unmoved by the surrounding presence! and where else than in the country can he behold, where else can he feel this jubilee of nature, this universal joy? Ennobled, indeed, must be the profession, whose proper abode is amidst the finest scenes of creation, and under the immediate influence of the celestial phenomena. The agriculturist stands in connexion with the agencies of the universe. The refreshing dews, the enriching rains, the winds, the snows, the frosts, all contribute to the results he prosecutes. When the sun shines, it is to ripen his harvests; when the clouds collect, it is to water his pastures; and. if, from time to time, destructive meteors excite his fears, or disappoint his expectation, they also recall him to a sense of his dependence on Heaven, and they give an increased value to what they spare. He is reminded every moment that all the occupations, all the labors of agriculture tend to the good of society. The hands he puts in motion, the poor he preserves from idleness; the products of the earth which he multiplies, are all so many benefits which he confers on his country and his kind. He naturally becomes a better man in a vocation which is composed of useful actions. And what better guarantee is there of happiness, here or hereafter, than the daily practice of good works - MAc NEvEN. VWINTER AT COPENHAGEN. From frozen climes and endless tracts of snow, From streams which northern\vinds forbid to flow; What present shall the muse to Dorset bring, Or, how, so near the pole, attempt to sing? The hoary winter here conceals firom sight All pleasing objects which to verse invite. The hills and dales, and the delightful woods. The flowery plains, and silver streaming floods, By snow disguis'd, in brig,ht confusion lie, And with one dazzling waste fatigue the eye. No gentle breathing breeze prepares the spring, No birds within the desert region sing. 327 .u PI I ,'I The ships, uurmov'd, the boisterous winds defy, WVhile rattling chariots o'er the ocean fly, The vast Leviathan wants room to play, And spouts his waters in the face of day. The starving wolves along the main sea prowl, And to the moon in icy valleys howl. O'er many a shining league the level main Here spreads itself into a gl] assy plain: There solid billows of enormous size, Alps of green ice, in wild disorder rise. And yet, but lately have I seen, ev'n here, The winter in a lovely dress appear. Ere yet the clouds let fall the treasur'd snow, Or winds began thro' hazy skies to blow; At evening a keen eastern breeze arose, And the descending rain unsullied froze. Soon as the silent shades of night withdrew, The ruddy morn disclos'd at once to view, The face of Nature in a rich disguise, And brighten'd every object to my eyes. For every shrub, and every blade of grass, And every pointed thorn seem'd wrought in glass; In pearls and rubies rich the hawthorns show, While through the ice the crimson berries glow. The thick sprung reeds, which watery marshes yield, Seem'd polished lances in a hostile field, The stag, in limpid currents, with surprise, Sees crystal branches on his forehead rise: The spreading oak, the beech, the towering pine, Glaz'd over, in the freezing ether shine. The frighted birds the rattlingff branches shun, Which wave and glitter in the distant sun. When, if a sudden gust of wind arise, The brittle forest into atoms flies; The crackling wood beneath the tempest bends, And in a spangled shower the prospect ends: Or, if a southern gale the region warm, - And by degrees unbind the wintry charm, The traveller a miry country sees, And journeys sad beneath the dropping trees. Like some deluded peasant, Merlin leads Thro' fragrant bowers and tliro' delicious meads, WINTER AT COPENAAGEn. 328 TIIFE IEAIIT'S CHIIARITY. While here eelnchated gardens to him rise, And airy l-ibhics tiere attract hi.,s eves, His waerin1 C; et t.he 4 ic paths pursue, Adle td h 1,11s thlte Iair illusion true, The tracklss sees disperse it fluid air, And w-\oods, ald wilds, and t-oriny ways appear, A tedious road the weaiy wretch returns, And, as he goes, the traiisieiit vision mourns. PHILLIPS. THE HEART'S CIHARITY. A rich man walked abroad one day, And a poor nian watlked the seltsame way, When a pale and starvin-g tace camre by, With a palTl.id( lip and a hopeless eye. And that stlarving face presunied to stand, And ask Ir bread fromin the rich man's hand; But the rich man sallenly looked askance, With a gatherlingff frown and doubtful glance. I have nothlint," said he, "to give to you, Nor any such rogue of a cantting crew Get work, Get work! I know full well The whiniiing lies that be(ggars can tell." And. he ifastened his pocket and on he went, Wvith his soul untouched and his conscience content. Now this great owner of golden store Had built a church not long before, As noble a fane as man could raise. And the world had given him thanks and praise, And all who beheld it lavished fame On his Christian gift and godly name. The poor man passed, and the'white lips dared To ask him if a mite could be spared; The poor man gazed on the beggar's cheek, And saw what the white lips could not speak. He stood for a moment, but not to pause On the truth of the talc, or the parish laws. He wvas seel k:Lw mil L des of t(,0em p r 5s Too t rneciomm e d i- I.o'l.,il afiection. an(d have io'1ieoated it as a patteorn ( f [u:OO('Ot.'('I", meelkness aund sutmission. fei-ce tlhe fiecuect all osit ts made to it by sacred writers. Thle destitute condition of the 359 Jews has been described as that of a flock "scattered upon the hills, as sheep that have not a shepherd." Our blessed Saviour was figuratively called "The Lamb of God," to sig ity his purity and quality as a sacrifice for the sins of the world; and in other places he is termed "The Good Shep herd, who gave his life for the sheep." And the sheep has been as much eulogised by profane writers, as by the Hebrew nation and ourselves. What efect has climate upon the sheep? It produces striking changes in the size and frame, and likewise affects the color and quality of the fleece. In cold regions we find the sheep protected by a heavy covering of wool, which is rather coarse upon the outside, but fine and soft near the skin. In the tropics, the wool gives place to hair, and it is in the temperate zones that the fleece is of that medium quality which is best adapted to manufacturing purposes. Under this wonderful ordinance of nature, when a soft-wooled sheep is carried to the equator, he speedily loses his unsuited coat, and it is replaced by a growth of coarse reddish hair. Is the quality of the fleece influenced by the manner in which the sheep may be kept? To a great degree-greater than would be generally supposed. Common sense indicates that the value of the wool, not only as regards its bulk but the price it will command in market-must be materially depreciated by the animal being exposed to inclement weather, when it should have the protection of warm, yet well ventilated buildings. No animal, and much less the tender sheep, thrives when exposed to the fury of the wind and storm. But, it is not so soon thought of, that there is a vast difference among articles of food in their wool-producing properties. This is a subject that has been as yet little investigated, and presents a wide field for experiment. Several trials have already been made, attended with astonishing results, but the matter is open to further research. -PI,tat is said of the Rocky BIountain sheep? They dwell upon and about the mountains from which thev receive their name. Although not found eastward of the declivity of these mountains, they frequent the elevated and craggy ridges with which the country is intersected between the great range and the Pacific. They collect ia HISTORY OF SHEEP. 360 HISTORY OF SHEEP. flocks, consisting of from three to thirty, the young rams andcl females herding together during the winter and spring, while the old rams form separate flocks. They are accustomed to pay daily visits to certain caves in the mountains, that are encrusted with a saline eflorescence. of which they are fonii(l. It is said that the horns of the old rams attain a size so enormous, and curve so much forwards and downwards, that they effectually prevent the animal from feeding on level ground. Its flesh is represented by those who have fed oi it, to be quite delicious when it is in season-far superior f,, that of any of the deer species which frequent the same quar ter, and even exceeding in flavor the finest English mutton, hlow is the Argali, or Wild Sheep, described? It is an inhabitant of rocky and mountainous regions, anal is principally found in the Alpine parts of Asia. These ani mals have large horns, arched semicirculaly backward, and divergent at their tips, wrinkled on the upper surface, and flattened beneath; on the neck are two pendant hairy dew laps. This creature is about the size of the fallow deer. It is of a grey ferruginous brown color above, and whitish bc neath. The horns in the adult, or full grown animal, have much the appearance of those of the common ram. This animal has hair instead of wool, thus greatly differing from the general aspect of sheep; and the hair, which is close in summer, like the deer, becomes somewhat wavy, a little curled, and rough, consisting of a kind of wool intermixed with hair, and its roots concealed by a fine woolly down. What description is given of the African sheep? In temper it is extremely mild; but it is an uncouth looking creature. It is high on the legs, narrow in the loins, and its coat is rough and shaggy. Its horns are remarkably small, and within their curve the ears are enclosed. When ever the ears escape from this seeming confinement, the ani mal exhibits much uneasiness; and difficult as it is for him to replace them, he never rests till it is accomplished. Ont his back and sides he is nearly black; the shoulders are red dish brown; the posterior parts of the body, the haunches, the hind legs, the tail, the nose, and also the ears, which are large, aro white. 361 p, 7 -1 PHILOSOPIIY OF PLOUGHING. PHILOSOPHY OF PLOUGHING. The chemist has ascertained, by analysis, what doubt. less you all knew before but did not seriously consider, that every particle of the bodies of domestic animals-the bones, the muscles, the skin, the horns, the hoofs and the hair-are formed from the food they consume. He finds all the same, elements in hay that he finds in any part of domestic animals, and in butter and cheese. It is impossible to calculate how much of the salts of the earth has been driven and carried from the country in cattle, and sheep, and horses, and hogs, and poultry, and not returned to the earth to preserve its fertility. But it is safe to say that if all that has gone from the county of Cheshire could be brought back into it and restored to our fields, every acre of our arable land would be made far more fertile than the richest fields of the WVest. And how much more of the salts of the earth, ab-. stracted from its surface and never restored, has, in process of time, been buried deep in the grave? Liebig, the German chemist, in his "Familiar Letters on Agricultural Chemistry," emphatically asks, "Can it be imagined that any country, however rich and fertile, with a flourishing commerce, which for centuries exports its prodnce in thie shape of grain and cattle, will maintain its fertility, if the same commerce does not restore, in some form of manure, those elements which have been removed from the soil, and which cannot be replaced by the atmosphere?" Must not the same fate await every such country, which has actually befallen the once prolific soil of Virginia, now in many parts no longer able to raise its former stable productions-wheat and tobacco. Elsewhere, Professor Liebig demonstrates the importance, if not necessity, of the use of manures containing phosphoric acid in combination with alkaline bases, such as potash and soda, and thence called phosphates. It has been well established that, without them, there can be neither blood, nor bones, nor brains. From the battle-field of Waterloo, bones enough have been transported to England to restore this essential element to the soil of many thousands of acres. Even twenty years ago, the estimated value of all the bones imported, in a single year, from the continent into England, was between half a million and a million of dollars. 362 PHILOSOPHY OF PLOUGHING May not the necessity that the phoso'",ztez, as well as other salts of the earth, should enter into the composition of the bfood of man, which chemistry demonstrates, accounit for many important revolutions or changes recorded in the history of the race? Existing in the smallest quantity, long and unskilful cultivation must inevitably exhaust them, so far at least as to render the supply at first deficient, and then more and more so, until the earth becomes unable to give perfection to its products. To what other cause can we attribute the decay of empires, and the depreciation in energy of the people of long inhabited countries? WVhy did Egypt, long ago, become less populous and less powerlul than she had been? -Why Assyria, Palestine, Greece and Rome? Why has eastern Virginia not only lost in population, but from the highest fell to the lowest rank among productive countries, and why has the rural population of New England become stationary? And why is it, on the other hand, that China, which has, according to her own annals, existed, as an industrious nation, many thousands of years, continues to be as populous and productive as ever, but because she exports nothing and wastes nothing that is derived from the earth? Of all the principal articles of food, Indian corn contains the greatest proportion of the phosphates; next to corn, rye, and next to rye, wheat-rice and potatoes containinig less than any others. Does not this remark lead you at once to contrast the tall and vigorous population of our owni country, just opened to the occupation of civilized man, and of course yet abounding in all the fertilizing salts-a population vigorous in mind as well as in body-with the thoughtless, unarnmbitious, imbecile people, who feed on rice and potatoes? The art of aricutlture consists in prolonging as well as in restoring the fertility of the soil. Ploughing, besides its utility for other purposes, is a mode of prolonging its fertility. The chemist tells us why it is beneficial; and to know the why'and wherefore is an advantage even to him who knows what the actual result will be. Premising that all soil is disintegrated rock, which perhaps he learnt from the geclo gist, he informs us that all rocks, or nearly all rocks, contain, in greater or less proportions, the salts which are essential to the growth of plants; that, being contained in rocks. they exist also in their finely divided parts-sand, earth and soil; 363 PIIILOSOPIY OF PLOUGHING. that the roots of living plants, by the power which the prin. cip)le of life gives them, can extract and imbibe whatever of these salts is near or adheres to the surfaces of these parti cles; that the plough, by its own operation, and by opening the earth to the operation of' the weather and the atmosphere, carries the disintegration still farther, and exposes new sur feaces to the roots. But it is not only by this farther disintegration of the earth that ploughing is of service. By the experiments of the chemists it has been ascertained that at least nine-tenths in bulk of a plant consists of the constituents of the atmosphere, which enter by the roots as well as the leaves. Ploughing not only permits the gases to enter the earth more freely, but the roots to spread far and wide in pursuit of the appropriate nourishment of the plant; and it also promotes, by the free adinmission of the oxygen of the atmosphere, the decomposition of such vegetable matter, containing all the gases and fertilizing salts, as by chance may lie, or by design be placed, as manure, beneath the surface; and this remark is especially applicable to the most common of all manures, that taken fi'romn the barn-yard. The salts which the chemist considers so important to agrlicullture exist, as he says, and as his analyses prove, in all earth as well as in all rock, even in the earth which lies far )below the surface; they exist, it is true, in some localities inll ?'eater quantities and in more fit proportions than in others and this is what constitutes the diflSereuce between good land and poor land; and when a primeval forest is first cut down and the land brought into use, they exist in greater quantity on the surface than below; for the trees have, by their roots, drawn these salts from a considerable depth; and when they die and decay the salts are left on the surface. But when the surface soil has been long in use, and the salts in it partly exhausted, the subsoil, as highly charged as ever, and perhaps imuore so, with similar salts, should be resorted to, and brought up by the plough. At first, it may seem to the eye unfavorable to vegetation; but if it be so, one year's exposure to the atmosphere will, in almost every instance, so change it as to render it fertile. The atmosphere and every thing with which it is charged, and all their influences, are favorable to the growth of plants. If to supply a sufficient quantity of manure has become, in this country, the first re 364 0 SCIENCE AND PRACTICE. quisite of good farming, to plough frequently and to plough deep, where the subsoil is not coarse sand, is the second, so far as good farming depends on the management of the soil. Froni an Address before the Cheshire County Agricultural Society, N. I., 1848, by the HON. SALMA HALE. SCIENCE AND PRACTICE. An agricultural life, as it tends to locate men in fixed abodes, and give them permanent interests and associations, tends likewise to elevate them in the scale of being-awakens the higher and more ennobling sentiments of the soul, and thus conduces to the better development of our social and moral nature. The shepherd, who has a permanent possession in his flocks and herds, who makes it his care to provide for them food and drink, (they furnishing him in return with food and clothing,) is far removed, in respect to civilization, from the savage. Indeed we often speak of the patriarchal simplicity of the pastoral life, as if it were something more beautiful and desirable even, than our present state of society. But this is only the enchantment which distance lends to the view. If we really study this pastoral state of society in reference to its principles, or if we go and look upon it as it is still to be seen in the East, we may soon learn at wheat an immeasurable remove we are above such a state of existence. Among these wandering shepherd tribes, there can be no settled institutions, except such as are of a very general nature. Men do not gather, and remain about any one point long enough to develop these institutions. The whole fGe of society is perpetually shifting so that you have no basis ot which to build any thing great and lasting. Not only d(ces such a state of things preclude the development of great pul)lic institutions, but how disastrous too is its influence'll respect to individual character. There is an immense moral power in the fact that, in an agricultural state of society, a man is so fixed, that he must confront day by day and year by year, those who are in like manner fixed about him, as neighbors and fellow-citizens. He is so placed that his conduet must be thoroughly known, and his character well uni 365 SCIENCE AND PRACTICE. derstoo~. He stands as in the presence of a permanent tribunal, before which he has the strongest motives to acquit himself well. A wandering Arab lies, steals and murders, at one place, and then shoots off into another part of the country; and though as an old Roman poet has said, "They who pass over the sea have a change of skies but not of character "-that is they carry their characters with them wherever they go, yet in such a mixed and moving state of society, a man seems almost to escape from himself, because he perpetually slips away, before he is really confronted by a tribunal, which would search him out and reveal him to himself. Permanence of abode, permanence of associations, permanence of interests, are requisite, in order to the highest and best institutions, in order to the purest and noblest society. Yet even in reference to these things, there may be many degrees of perfection. The tillers of the soil, in England, for instance, are perhaps more fixed to one spot, than in this country. Many of them hardly ever go out of sight of their own cottages, and such a thing as a removal from one part of the land to another, would in vast multitudes of cases, be deemed utterly impracticable, and almost impossible. England yet retains the traces of that great feudal system, which so long prevailed throughout central and northern Europe, and which gathered men in clusters around a central baron or lord, as his vassals or retainers. The great difficulty under this arrangement is, that only a few persons comparatively are the real owners of the land, while the great multitude of those who till the soil lack that stimulus-that principle of elevation, which comes from actual possession. They have not that sense of personal independence and responsibility, which is one of the grandest elements of progress and growth. In childhood and youth, we often have a burning desire to live in the city. Many of you, doubtless, have passed through this state of feeling and know its power. Many a boy at the age of twelve or fifteen, thinks there could be no higher bliss for him than to go and live in the city. The mind warms with the thought of being permitted to behold all its sights, and to catch all its sounds-to look upon its shows and processions-and mingle in its bustle and uproar But as we grow older we are very apt to get over that feel 366 SCIENCE AND PRACTICE. ing. Our tastes become more natural. The city grows old and uninteresting. We weary of its artificial monotonyand are sick of its noise. But nature is ever fresh and young. WTe drink in health, amid the scenes which are open around us. The works and the operations of her hand never grow old. With every return of spring, many a dweller in the city pines for the old haunts, which he once frequenteddwells with longing upon the woods, fields and streams about which he once wandered. There distant scenes visit him amid the noise and uproar of the metropolis, amid the confusions of his business, and he would give much if he could return again to them. But no such pining for the city is found among the full grown men in the country. Nature asserts her supremacy in this, and maintains a dominion over the mind, which no artifice can supplant. And the effect of this familiar and long continued converse with nature, amid the beauty and order of her works, is not lost upon the character. In whatever position of life we may be placed, we become indeed, after a a time, almost unconscious of the influence which is exerted upon us by surrounding scenes and objects. The dweller amid the Alps is not usually conscious of the effect which is wrought upon his mind by the presence of this grand and inspiring scenery. Nevertheless an influence is exerted, and if you take a people which have dwelt for generations amid such scenes, and compare them with another people, that have been living upon the open plains, and you perceive marked shades of difference which have been caused by the pressure of different outward objects. Precisely so with the husbandman who lives amid his fields, as compared with the manl dwelling amid the associations of a city. The former is surrounded by influences far more genial and healthymorally and physically healthy, and the result, looking at things on a wide scale, is visible in the characters of the two. Still, we all have a timely sense of the trials, difficulties and hardships of our owvn particular lot, and we are often apt to fancy that there are fewer evils in some other conditions in life than our own. The sailor, when he has been a little while upon the land, tires of its monotony, and longs again to feel the motion of the sea, and share again in its excitements. But wheif he has been a little while at sea, tossed about with storms, and facing danger, he sighs for the 367 F,, ') L,, SCIENCE AND PRACTICE. quiet of home, and the comfort of rest, and thinks if he can ever reach the shore of his own land again,. he shall be con. tent to remain there. The farmer weary with his toil, some times thinks, that to do the work of a merchant or a profes sional man, would be no labor at all-mere play. The professional man, sitting down to a piece of writing which must be done, perhaps with aching head and thoughts con fused, feels that if he had nothing to do but to go out in his garden or field, and use his hoe or spade-nothing to do but to work with his hands, it would be a very easy matter; but to work with his head is quite another thing. Allowing, however, for all these varieties of feeling-for this is a mat ter of feeling rather than of judgment-allowing for all these, we think it may safely be concluded, that no class of men occupy a more comfortable, desirable, and we may add, important place in society than the farmers. Still, much may yet be done, to make their employment more inviting, and their lot in life more desirable. Not to dwell upon the various points that might here be touched, let me call your attention to one which you will certainly appreciate, as it is in keeping with the very object of this association. I allude to a knowledge of agricultural scien,ce. I well remember that there was an early prejudice among farmers against what is called scientific farming. There was a feeling that all such farming was necessarily of a slipshod and unprofitable character-and that what the farmer wanted was practical knowledge simply-information such as had come down to him in the natural course of things, from generation to generation. Now this practical knowledge is doubtless of the utmost importance, and one thing which has tended to keep alive this prejudice against science is, that many men who have set out upon a course of scientifice farming, have been destitute of this kind of knowledge, and have accordingly failed. I well remember that there came to my native place, when I was a boy, a retired merchant, who bought a farm, with the purpose of having everything done in true scientific style. He designed to show the ignorant natives about there the wonders of science, and deeply impress upon their minds their exceeding ignorance. Well, the farmers round about used to make themselves merry at watching his operations. Things went queerly. There was a magnificent outlay, but 368 SCIENCE AND PRACTICE. small results —great expenditures but small profits. They came to the conclusion that they managed quite as well, and a little better than he dld. And so they did. The truth is, science and practical knowledge in this business, as in all others, must go hand in hand. Farmingff is, in a most important sense, a trade, in which a man must learn the use of his tools simply and only by practice. It is no more natural to a man to make a handsome hill of corn, than it is to make a nail for a horse-shoe-and ever so much instruction upon the point by mere words wilt not enable him to do it. He mrust come to the trial. He must arrive at the result step by step, and by slow degrees. And so on through all the details of agriculture. This practical knowledge of farming as a trade, which has been learned by years of experientce, is something which cannot be dispensed with. But in order to the highest pleasure, profit, and dignity of the farmer's life, he wants still another thing-and that is an accurate knowledge scientifically of the nature of plants and of soils-the uses of manure-the methods of vegetable growth-such information, in short, as will give him power to control the operations of his farm, and bring them into harmony with the laws of nature. Now here is a wide field, which has not yet, except in a few instances, comparatively, been entered upon, even by the intelligent farmers of New Englald. Indeed, it is but a little while since this field of study has really been rendered accessible to the common mind. But now the way is rapidly preparing, so that one can take up this branch of study without difficulty, and makle himself, to a considerable extent, master of it. Liebig's work on agricultural chemistry, has been for some years before the people. In the first place, science is always safe. It does not lie. It deals with fixed principles. It touches bottom at every point, so far as it goes. It does not send men off upon a wild goose chase after something that is not there. It does not simply leave them to arrive at results only after a long and expensive course of experimenting. It starts with fixed facts. It has analyzed things to their elements. Again, every branch of business becomes interesting and attractive to the mind, in proportion as we master its details and thoroughly understand it. That which is dry and barren on a mere superficial view, is full of life and meaning to him 369 who has penetrated and comprehended it. When a farmel canll penetrate the mere surface of agriculture, to the more hidden processes whichl are going on all about him, he dwells in a little world o'f his owl, a most interesting world too, one which has within it abundant sources of thought and delight. If farmers would thoroughly study the science of agri culture, and master it, they would by that very process, bring their minds in contact with many other sorts of knowledge, and the field of their intellifgelce would be greatly eLilarged. All knowledge is connected, and it matters little what branch of study you pursue. If you take up any one, and follow it out thoroughly, you inevitably come in contact, in a merely incidental way, with all sorts of knowledge. The whole intellectual nature is quickened and expanded. It can be made profitable. It can be turned to great account in reference to the actual income of a farm. There is no manure so cheap as a wholesome application of science. It pre-vents useless outgoes and secures an income. In reference to this matter, a recent writer savs: On the general subject of book-farming, we suppose that all the world knows there is a schism among farmers. The old conservative farmers don't believe in it. The young progressive farmers do. Here we have it, under shady orchards, along the forest furrows, among chattering birds, and in spring airs, the same controversies that are waged in politics and religionr. Now we are on both sides; we are for book-farmingl, and we are against book-farming. If the farmer applies the book to the soil instead of to his own head, we are sure that his farmifig will be poor enough. But if books and papers are used on the farmer's mind-to give it habits of reflection and observation; to possess it with the elements of Nature, with which he deals, and if then he directs that mind. thus stored and trained to his work, we are sure that he will benefit as much by education as any other man." There is of course at the present time much scientific in_ormation dif,used abroad through agricultural papers, to be picked up here and there bv piece meal. But this is not enough. Before the mind can be prepared to appropriate this so as to nialke it of much account, there must be the masters of the system, as a system, and the-r all these items will fall into their natural place, and help on the work.-From ar4Add'ess at FramringIza, Mass., 1860, by REV. MRt. TARBOX. 370 SCIENCE AND P.RACTICE. 'HE RISING OF THE WATERS. THE RISING OF THE WATERS. About daybreak it began to rain, and continued to pour with increasing violence all the morning; no one thought of stirring abroad who could keep within shelter. My boys and I had for a task only to keep the fire at the door of the shanty brisk and blazing, and to notice that the pools which began to form around us did not become too large; for sometimes, besides the accumulation of the rain, little streams would suddenly break out, and, rushing towards us, would have extinguished our fire, had we not been vigilant. The site I had chosen for the shanty was near to a little brook, on the top of the main river's bank. In fine weather, no situation could be more beautiful; the brook was as clear as crystal, and fell with a small cascade into the river, which, broad and deep, ran beneath the bank with a swift and smooth current. The forest up the river had not been explored above a mile or two; all beyond was the unknown wilderness. Some vague rumors of small lakes and beaver dams were circulated in the village, but no importance was attached to the information: save but for the occasional little torrents with which the rain sometimes hastily threatened to extinguish our fires, we had no cause to dread inundation. The rain still continued to fall incessantly: the pools it formed in the hollows of the ground began, towards noon, to overflow their banks and to become united. By and by something like a slight current was observed passing from one to another; but, thinking only of preserving our fire, we no sooner noticed this than by occasionally running out of the shanty into the shower, and scraping a channel to let the water run off into the brook or the river. It was hoped that about noon the rain would slacken; but in this we were disappointed. It continued to increase, and the ground began to be so flooded while the brook swelled to a river, that we thought it might become necessary to shift our tent to a higher part of the bank. To do this, however, we were reluctant, for it was impossible to encounter the deluge without being almnost instantly soaked to the skin; and we had put the shanty up with more care and pains than usual, intending it should serve us for a home until our house was comfortably furnished. 371 About three o'clock the skies were dreadfully darkened and overcast. I had never seen such darkness while the sun was above the horizon, and still the rain continued to de scend in cataracts, but at fits and intervals. No man, who had not seen the like, would credit the description. Suddenly a sharp flash of lightning, followed by an instantaneous thunder peal, lightened up all the forest; and almost in the same moment the rain came lavishing along as if the windows of heaven were opened; anon another flash, and a louder peal burst upon us, as if the whole forest was rending over and around us. I drew my helpless and poor trembling little boys under the skirts of my great coat. Then there was another frantic flash, and the roar of the thunder was augmented by the riven trees that fell, cloven on all sides, in a whirlwind of splinters. But though the lightning was more terrible than scimitars, and the thunder roared as if the vaults of heaven were shaken to pieces and tumbling in, the irresistible rain was still more appalling than either. I have said it was as if the windows of heaven were opened. About sunset, the ground floods were as if the fountains of the great deep were breaking up. I pressed my shivering children to my bosom, but I could not speak. At the common shanty, where there had been for some time an affectation of mirth and ribaldry, there was now silence; at last, as if with one accord, all the inhabitants rushed from beneath their miserable shed, tore it into pieces, and ran with the fragments to a higher ground, crying wildly, "The river is rising!" I had seen it swelling for some time, but our shanty stood so far above the stream, that I had no fear it would reach us. Scarcely, however, had the axemen escaped from theirs, and planted themselves on the crown of a rising ground nearer to us, where they were hastily constructing another shed, when a tremendous crash and roar were heard at some distance in the woods, higher up the stream. It was so awful, I had almost said so omnipotent, in the sound, that I started on my feet, and shook my treasures from me. For a moment the Niagara of the river seemed almost to pause-it was but for a moment-for, instantly after, the noise of the rending of weighty trees, the crashing and the tearing of the rooted forest, rose around. The waters of the river, troubled and 572 RISING OF THE WATERS. THE RISING OF THE WATERS raging, came hurling with the wreck of the woods, sweeping with inconceivable fury every thing that stood within its scope; a lake had burst its banks. The sudden rise of the waters soon, however, subsided; I saw it ebbingo fast, and comforted my terrified boys. The rain also began to abate. Instead of those dreaded sheets of waves which fell upon us as if some vast ocean behind the forest was heaving over its spray, a thick continued small rain came on; and, about an hour after sunset, streaks and breaks in the clouds gave some token that the worst was over;-it was not, however, so, for about the same time a stream appeared in the hollow, between the rising ground to which the axemen had retired, and the little knoll on which our shanty stood; at the same time tile waters in tne river began to swell again. There was oni this occasion no abrupt and bursting noise; but the night was fast closing upon us, and a hoarse muttering and angffry sound of many waters grew louder and louder on every side. The darkness and increasing rage of the river, which there was just twilight enough to show was rising above the brimn of the bank, smote me with inexpressible terror. I snatched my children by the hand, and rushed forward to join the axernen; but the torrent between us rolled so violently that to pass was impossible, and the waters still continued to rise. I called aloud to the axemen for assistance; and, when they heard my desperate cries, they came out of the shed, some with burning brands and others with their axes glittering in the flames; but they could render no help; at last, one man, a fearless back-woodsman, happened to observe, by the firelight, a tree on the bank of the torrent, which it in some degree overhung, and he called for others to join him in making a bridge. In the course of a few minutes the tree was laid across the stream. and we scrambled over, just as the river extinguished our fire and swept away our shanty. This rescue was in itself so wonderful, and the scene had been so terrible, that it was some time after we were safe before I could rouse myself to believe I was not in the fangs of the nightmare. My poor boys clung to me as if still not assured of their security, and I wept upon their necks in the ecstasy of an unspeakable passion of anguish and joy. 373 ANTIQUITY OF FREEDOM. About this time the mizzling rain began to fall softer; the dawn of the morning appeariing through the upper branches of the forest, and here and there the stars looked out from their windows in the clouds. The storm was gone, and the deluge assuaged; the floods all around us gradually ebbed away, and the insolent and unknown waters which had so swelled the river shrunk within their banks, arnd long before the morning, had retired from the scene. Need I say that anthems of deliverance were heard in our camp that night? Oh, surely no! The woods answered to our psalms, and waved their mighty arms; the green leaves clapped their hands; and the blessed mnoon, lifting the veil from her forehead, and looking down upon us through the boughs, gladdened our solemn rejoicing.-JOHN GALT, in Canadl&. ANTIQUITY OF FREEDOM. Here are old trees, tall oaks and gnarled pines, That stream with gray-green mosses; here the ground \Was never touched by spades, and flowers spring up Unsown, and die ungathered. It is sweet To linger here, among the flitting birds And leaping squirrels, wandering brooks, and winds That shake the leaves, and scatter as they pass A fragrance from the cedars thickly set With pale blue berries. In these peaceful shadesPeaceful, unpruned, immeasurably oldMy thoughts go up the long dim path of years, -Back to the earliest days of Liberty. O FREEDOM3! thou art not, as poets dream, A fair young girl, with light and delicate limbs, And wavy tresses gushing from the cap With which the Romnan master crowned his slave, When he took of l'the gyves. A bearded iiian, Armed to the teeth, art thou: one mailed hand Grasps the broad shield, and one the sword; thy brow, Glorious in beauty though it be, is scarred With tokens of old wars; thy massive limbs Are strong and struggling. Power at thee has launched 374 ANTIQUITY OF FREEDOM. His bolts, and with his lightnings smitten thee; They could not quench the life thou hast from Heaven. Merciless Power has dug thy dungeon deep, And his swart armorers, by a thousand fires, Have forged thy chain; yet, while he deems thee bound. The links are shivered, and the prison walls Fall outward; terribly thou springest forth, As springs the flame above a burning pile, And shoutest to the nations, who return Thy shoutings, while the pale oppressor flies. Thy birthright was not given by human hands. Thou wert twin-born with man. In pleasant fields, While yet our race was few, thou sat'st with him, To tend the quiet flock and watch the stars, And teach the reed to utter simple airs. Thou by his side, amid the tangled wood, Didst war upon the panther and the wolf, Thine only foes: and thou with him didst draw The earliest furrows on the mountain side, Soft with the Deluge. Tyranny himself, Thy enemy, although of reverend look, Hoary with many years, and far obeyed, Is later born than thou; and as he meets The grave defiance of thine elder eye, The usurper trembles in his fastnesses. Thou shalt wax stronger with the lapse of years, But he shall fade into a feebler a,e; Feebler, yet subtler. He shall weave his snares, And spring them on thy careless steps, and clap His withered hands, and firom their ambush call His hordes to fail upon thee. He shall send Quaint maskers, forms of fair and gallant mien, To catch thy gaze, and, uttering graceful words, To charm thy ear; while his sly imps, by stealth, Twine round thee threads of steel, light thread on thread, That grow to fetters; or bind down thy arms WTith chains concealed in chaplets. Oh! not yet May'st thou unbraee thy corslet, or lay by Thy sword! nor yet, 0, Freedom! close thy lids In slumber; for thino enemy never leeps; 375 401 r, 4,; 1' I, I.: l And thou must watch and combat, till the day Of the nlew Earth and Heaven. But wouldst thou rest A while from tumult and the frauds of men, These old and friendly solitudes invite Thy visit. They, while yet the forest trees Were young upon the inviolated Earth, And yet the moss-stains on the rock were new, Beheld thy glorious childhood and rejoiced. BRYANT. NATURE'S NOBLEMAN. Away with false fashion, so calm and so chill, Where pleasure itself cannot please; Away with cold breeding, that faithlessly still Affbets to be quite at its ease; For the deepest in feeling is highest in rank, The freest is first in the band, And Nature's own Nobleman, friendly and frank, Is a man with his heart in his hand! Fearless in honesty, gentle yet just, He warmly can love-and can hate, Nor will he bow down with his face in the dust To Fashion's intolerant state: For best in good breeding and highest in rank, Though lowly or poor iD the land, Is Nature's own Nobleman, friendly and frank, The man with his heart in his hand! His fashion is passion, sincere and intense, Hlis impulses, simple and true, Yet tempered by judgment, and taught by good sense, And cordial with me, and with you: For the finest in manners, as highest in rank, It is you, man! or you, man! who stand Nature's own nobleman, friendly and frank, A man with his heart in his hand! TUrPER. 376 NATUITE'S NOBLFMAN, p N . I I I ii ~-; __ ___ ~ _____ CHINESE HOGS, of the Hion. J. DF,LAFIr.LD, exhitited {It tie AinnLal Fair of the New York State Agiicultutral Soeiety, at AlbanLy, 1851. HIISTORY OF T1tE HO(. HISTORY OF THE HOG. TT7zia7 is Ate ccerly /hi.tor1 of athe ho,? This aiirnal appears to have beeii knovn i the rert ages, and yet its history, until withiii a febw ctur ies, is clotld in obscurity. The circumstance of' the Israelites beilg so strictly forbidden to eat its flesh, has been urged by some writers to show that they were familiar with its use. Ifoic twas the lhog, esteemed by tlte Israelites andi Jgyj)ttrt2zs? They both abstained from the flesh, regarding the animial as unclean. The Israelites held it in such detestation, that they would not even pronounce its name, alluding to it by sonle such title as " that beast," or " that thing." It is said that if an Egyptian touched a hog at any time, except on the feast-day of the moon, when he was allowed to eat of it, he was obliged to purify his person and clothing by pluligilig into the NIile. The swineherds formed an isolated race, considered as outcasts from society, being forbidden to enter a temple or marry into other families. Hoic te.as the hog, esteemzed by the Greeks and Pontans? Very highly by both nations, and with the latter the art of raislig it became a study. It was their design to render the flesh as delicate as possible, and, to eftect this, the poor beast was actually tormented to death, in various ways too liorrible to be described. A celebrated dish, consistin7g of' al entire cirease, stuffed with delicacies of every descriptio, and bathlied in wines and rich gravies, became so expeinsive that a sumptuary law was passed respecting it. Another great dish was a pig served whole, one side having been roasted while the other was boiled. ~ IlKeizce oriinated ozur dogiestic hog? It is supposed to have been derived firom the wild boar, which is a native of Asia, Africea, and Europe. The wild boar is not found in America, and the large herds of wil(l swine that roam over certain districts, are only descendants of the stock brought to the continent at the time of its settlement. The geiieral appearance of the wild boar and the domesticated animal are much alike. And it has been ascertained that the first named, when brought under the influence of man, gradually loses its peculiarities of form, and changes its habits of life. 18 377 ]Tow is the wild boar described? He is generally of a dusky brown color, of large size, and possessing a remarkable degree of strength. He is active and very fierce. He is partial to thick woods, in the vicinity of a swamp, or of water, and makes his living principally of herbs, fruits, and roots. The females and their young are accustomed to herd together, but he wanders through the forest alone, conscious of his power, and neither seeking nor avoiding an enemy. He is supposed to live about thirty years. Hunting the wild boar, it is well known, has in all ages been a favorite sport. In twhat vianner is he hunted? It is done by dogs, or else he is taken on surprise in the night by the light of the moon. As he runs slowly and leaves a strong scent behind him, he is easily pursued and overtaken. This is particularly the case with those which are old, the younger ones run swift and a great distance without stopping, so that they are taken with difficulty. During the day the wild boar usually hides himself in the thickest and nmost unfrequented part of the wood; and in the evening, and at night, he goes out to seek for food. Hoic long has the keeping, of swine prevailed in France and Spain? From time immemorial. By the accounts of ancient writers, it appears, that the people of those countries kept immense droves of swine, which supplied at one time nearly the whole of Italy with meat. iHoic long has it been practiced in England? Our earliest accounts of the country speak of the large herds of swine, that constituted the wealth of the inhabitants, and chiefly supplied their tables. According to legendary history, the business was conducted on an extensive scale as far back as the year 863 B. c. The hot springs of Bath, so celebrated for their medicinal qualities, are said to have been discovered in that year, in consequence of the following circumstance. A young prince who was afflicted with the leprosy, disguised himself, and, at a distance from his father's court, performed the humble duties of swineherd. He noticed that the animals in his care were cured of a disease of the sklin, by wallowing in a bed of warm mud; and, by adopting the same course of treatment, he was in a short time permanently restored to healtlh I-11STORY OF TIIE HOG. 37 8 HISTORY OF THE HOG. JHas the art of breeding been successfully cozduzcted in England? Under the care and skilful management of the English farmer, a very important change has taken place in the char acter of the swine of that country. The wild boar and tho old English hog have both given way to the improved breeds, each of.which has a character and a name. Nearly all of these improvements have been introduced to the American breeder. Tvhat is said of the Chinese hog? It appears to have produced all our modern improved breeds, by having been crossed either with the wild boar, or the old English hog. It was brought from China by shipmasters on their return voyages, although it has been af firmed that the choicest animals can be procured by the favor of some official only. In several instances it has been brought to this country, and here, as in England, its inltermixture with the old established breeds has been of great benefit. It is itself not so well adapted to the farmer's wants, as the crosses thus produced. Which have been distinguished in England as the best breeds? A few only of them can be named; for, to detail tlhe origin and good qualities of the whole number, would require a volume of no mean size. The most conspicuol;l within the last few years, are the Leicestershire, the KeJoilworth, the Woburn, the Essex, the Irmproved Suffolk, anit the Berkshire. The last named is generally considered tihe best on account of their smallness of bone, hardihood, fecundity, aptitude to fatten upon a little food, together with their early maturity. Some animals have attained the weight of over eight hundred and fifty pounds. When was the hogintroduced into Anmer-ica? Probably in one of the voyages of Columbus, but the first reliable account of its introduction upon the continent, is of its having been brought from Cuba to Florida, in the year 1538, by Ferdinand de Soto. In 1553, the Portuguese toock it to Nova Scotia and Newfoundland. The French carriec it with them to Acadia, or New France, in 1604; and, five years afterward, six hundred swine were brought to Jamestown in Virginia. From its domestic habits and wonderfil fecundity, it is an animal that was every way suited to the 379 ,, I HISTORY OF THE HOG. wants of the colonists, in their first years of toil and hardship. The hogs were turned into the woods to procure their owvr subsistence, and they multiplied with such rapidity, that in 1617, it became necessary to erect a palisade around James. town, in order to prevent their troublesome incursions. What was the character of the swine thus introduced? Of that nothing certain is known. The animal brought by the French and Spaniards was, probably, of the black Spanish breed, which possessed many good points, and which, it is thought, has had a perceptible influence upon the whole stock in the southern part of the United States. The old English breed was, without a doubt, the one introduced into the English settlements, and shows traces of its blood in the awkward, long-legged, long-nosed, small-bodied, unprofitable brutes that were more common a few years since, than at the present time. What was the first improved breed brought to the United States? In the latter part of the eighteenth century, a pair of Woburn pigs was sent to General Washington by the Duke of Bedford, under whose care they had originated. This breed is supposed to have sprung from a cross of the Chinese upon the best native stock of England. The messenger dishonestly sold the pigs in Maryland, where they laid the foundation of an extensive family, that has exercised a beneficial influence upon the old breeds throughout the northern states. The character of the Woburn breed stands high, but it is thought to have lost its original purity, in this country as well as in England. Where did the Byfield, or Grass, breed originate? In the town of Byfield, Massachusetts. About thirty years ago, a farmer one day picked up in market a fine looking pig, the progeny of which were distinguished for their handsome shape, and other good qualities The breed became very popular, and were widely disseminated; but, in the course of time they were superseded in the public favor by other varieties of greater pretensions. To whom does the Mackay breed owe its name? To Capt. John Mackay of Boston, Massachusetts. It originated somewhere about the year 1825, and was brought to its present perfection by successive crosses with some fine animals that, in his different voyages, he obtained in several 380 HISTORY OF THE HOG. parts of the world. It is now higfhly esteemed, and is bred by numbers of our best fairmers-the Hon. Daniel Webster among others. When tras the Berkshire breed introduced into the United States? As early as 1823, by the late John Brentnall, an Englishman settled in Canterbury, N. Y. Other importations have been made from time to time, and no reason exists why the blood should not be as pure as in England. The Berkshires were favorably received, and at one time sold at very high prices. Without doubt, it is one of the best-if not the very best,-breeds in the country, but its merits now appear to be greatly undervalued. Are these all the breeds that have attracted attention in the United States? By no means, and to enumerate them, as well as describe their respective characteristics, is altogether different from our plan in the present condensed summary. They have been produced by frequent, and, in many cases, injudicious crossings of the old varieties; hence a large proportion of the whole number find little to recommend them, excepting in the eyes of their original breeders. Among the foreign breeds, the Improved Suffolk, imported and bred by William Stickney, Esq., of Boston, stands conspicuous; while the Medley breed of C. N. Bement, of Albany, N. Y., deserves a favorable consideration among those that have originated on our own soil. How is the hog esteemed in the United States? It is raised extensively in every section-few persons being so poor that each one cannot maintain his pig-but the annual number produced in the western states is almost incredible. According to the census of 1850, the whole number in the country at the first of June was thus showing that they form an important item of our national wealth. What is the general character of the hog? It is generally considered stupid, intractable, rapacious, and filthy. But, with some persons it has been a question whether this character be not mainly owing to the mismanagement of the keeper, instead of being the animal's natural disp-sit.on. In its native state, it is not destitute of affection for others of its kind, herding with them for mutual safety. 381 IIISTORY OF THE ROG. Instances are not wvanting of its tractability, for it has been t.ught the tricks of a hunting dog, and in Italy to discover tlbt-es that are buried a few inches below the surface of the mround. Who has not seen or heard of various learned p, that show a degree of sagacity quite unusual in the b rute creation? Its voracity may be attributable to the exc.'1ence of its digestive organs furnished by nature; and may loot its fierceness and bad temper be frequently the result of rough treatment? Surely it is not so filthy as has been averred, for it loves a clean bed, and its habit of rolling in the mud is merely to cool its skin, as well as to protect itself against the attacks of insects. TVhat aore the good quaities of the hog? Although naturally the inhabitant of a warm climate, yet it adapts itself to almost every country. It comes soon to maturity, and increases rapidly, being more prolific than aiy other domestic animal, except the rabbit. It is easily susceptible of improvement, for no kind of live stock can be so quickly moulded to the fancy of the breeder. It thrives w,vith comparatively little attention, and will live —nay, grow -upon the refuse of the field and kitchen, consuming what would otherwise be wasted, or prove a nuisance upon the premises. We add, the value of its dung as a fertilizer. For what purpose is the hog valuable? The skin is used by the saddler, and the bristles are employed by the shoemaker and the manufacturer of brushes. The bones, when reduced to charcoal, are used by the sugar refiner. The excellence of the flesh is well known, and will be attested by every nation excepting the Jews, Egyptians, and Mahommedans. It takes salt more kindly than any other meat, and is, therefore, better capable of preservation for household use, naval and military stores, or exportation. The lard is highly esteemed by the cook in culinary preparations; it moreover yields, when subjected to pressure, a pure limpid oil, called oleine, which is used for illumination, wiool-dressing, and upon machinery, leaving a substance called stearine that resembles spermaceti, and is valuable for making candles. At the west, when pork is cheap, it has become the practice to extract the lard from the whole carcase, after the hams have been taken out, by means of a steam bath. In fact, every part of the animal-everl the head, feet, and intestines-is found useful, and contributing as well to social comfort as to public wealth. .1,P 2 HISTORY OF THITE ZOO. 'Vhat is said of the agzi;zal senses i), the hog? The sense of touch is very imperfet, owing probably to the thickness of the skin; but their other senses are good. and the huntsmen know that wild boars both see, hear, and siuell, at a Creat distar,ce since, in order to surprise them, they wait in silence during the night, and place themselves under the wind, to prevent the boars perceiving their smell, of which they are sensible at a great distance, and which always immediately makes them change their road. IV/tat is satid of the taste of the hog? In their taste hogs discover a strange degree of caprice for whilst they are singularly delicate in their choice of herbs, they will devour with voracity various kinds of animal substances, even the most nauseous and putrid carrion. oeow is the hog affected by metereological influences? He seems to be peculiarly affected by the approach of stormy weather. On such occasions, he runs about in a restless and excited mainner, sometimes uttering loud cries or taking up sticks and carrying them in its mouth? T,Vhat anecdote does.lir. Craven relate of an American sowZ? This animal, says he, passed her days in the woods, with a numerous litter of pigs, but returned regularly to the house in the evening, to share with the family a substantial supper. One of her pigs was, however, slipped away to be roasted; in a day or two afterwards another; and then a third. It would appear that this careful mother knew the number of her offspring, and missed those that were taken from her, for after this she came alone to her evening meal. This occurring repeatedly, she was watched out of the wood, and observed to drive back her pigs from its extremity, grunting, with much earnestness, in a manner so intelligible, that they retired at her command, and waited patiently for her return. T/7iat anecdote is reJated of a pig in the Naturalist's Library? Early in he month, it is said, a pig that had been kept several days a close prisoner to his sty, was let out for the purpose of its being cleaned and his bed replenished. Onopening the sty-door he anticipated the purpose of his liberation by running to the stable, from which he carried several sheaves of straw to his sty, holding them in his 383 884 IFLULEN'CE OF SCTIENCE ON AGRICULTURE. mouth by the band. The straw being intended for another ptrpose, it was carried back to the stable; but our porter, seiilzn a more favorable opportunity, regained it to the amalzemeint of several persons, who were pleased to observe the extraordinary instinct of this wonderful pig. IV/l(t anecdote is related of a pig belonging to MAr. Atine:horn? He says the pig became so attached to a bull-dog that it would follow and1 sport with him, and follow her master, when he was accompanied by this dog, for five or six miles. The dog was fond of swimming, and the pig imitated this propensity; and if any thing was thrown into the water for the dog to fetch out, the pigr would follow and dispute the prize with him very cleverly and energetically. These two animals invariably slept together. T/rItat anecdote is related by Mr. Henderson of a sow? I have a sow, says he, of a good breed, so docile that she will suffer my youngest son, three years of age, to climb upon her back and ride her about for an half hour at a time, and more; when she is tired of the fun, she lays herself down, carefully avoiding hurting her young jockey. He often shares his bread and meat with her. INFLUENCE OF SCIENCE ON AGRICULTURE. Famines have depopulated whole districts, and millions of the human race have died of starvation, and yet we have nio evidence that all this suffering and all the evils necessarily connected with them, have ever operated to the improvement of agriculture, or have been instrumental in causing two blades of grass to grow where only one grew before. The agtieultural world has jogged alonr as if nothing had happened, and as if nothing could be done to save men from these wide spreading calamities. When, however, the mind ha; been awakened by the light of science, wherediscoveries are a-nouinced whichl, if they illuminate only a small part of his field of labor, it usually happens that an impulse is given to his dormant powers which propels him forward in a career of improvement. What calamity, therefore, fails to produce, what tbe strongest incentives fail to do, is in trulith INFLUELNCE OF SCIENCE ON AGRICULTURE. effected by an agency the least expected, the gentle light of discovery beamingi from a kindred department of kntowledge. The same thiings happen in morals; earthquakes swallow up their thousands, and their continual shocks day by day startle the living, but they have never created or even improved the religious sentiment; their frequent alarms and the exposure to such imminent dangers and continual sufferings, have produced rather a recklessness of conduct than a life of religion and charity. It is not my purpose to stop here and inquire into the cause of such seeming anomalies in the human constitution it is sufficient to allude to the Iacts. I pass on to say that agriculture had made only a feeble effort to improve its mechanical modes of tillage until the period when chemistry had so far advanced that it was an established truth that its principles stood in very intimate relationship to it. So botany and geology wahich had been cultivated as independent systems, about the same time with chemistry begffan also to be studied in their relations to other sciences, andl hence these. together with physiology and other collateral branches, implanted clearer views of the wants of agriculture, as well as to furnish striking illustrations of the true nature and import of the principles which lie at the foundation of its system. It is true that practical agriculture is not deeply interested in questions relating to life in the abstract or essence; but certainly much more so to those powers which mnodify or control its developments. These powers belong to the deep and profound inquiries which in later times are destined to achieve triumphs for her, of a still more decided character than the world has yet witnessed. It is the peculiar province of the sciences to improve the outward condition of men. Literature had attained its highest state of excellence, and yet men were not discontented in hovels, nor with straw beds nor coarse food spread upon rough boards. Literature was brilliant as well as solid in Queen Elizabeth's day, and yet laboring men were more poorly fed and cared for, than the cattle in the period in which we are permitted to live. Times have therefore changed; the necessities of mene have increased-the value of time is felt-the supremacy of mind is acknowledged-the schemes of life are of a more ex alted character-the destiny of the race begins to assume its importance; and now awakened from slumber, man 385 386 INFLUENCE OF SCIENCE ON AGRICULTURE. tames the wildest elements and compels them to speed his progress towards an universal dominion over the powers of matter. Light paints for him pictures true to life. Lightning bears his commands. He imprisons the steam and compels it to roll his car over mountains and through vallies, and transport his products to the most distant parts, over water and over land. The mind once aroused, turns itself to find where it may still have something more to do. Agriculture could not be overlooked, the art which makes all other arts possible, and which perfected is civilization itself. Agriculture is civilizatio,z, and hence its progress is linked with the highest destiny of the race. But regarded in a subordinate light and in following out the practical requireinents of the age, that of drawing from the earth greater supplies of bread, it was soon found that it might be overtaxed. Such a result could not fail to open the whole field of inquiry relating to production and exhaustion, and the relatiofi inii which they stood to eaclh other. From exhaustion originated the analysis of soils and the more modern analysis of productions in which are locked up the elements they have drawn from this store-house; the first leads to a knowledge of what and how much the soil contains; the latter, of Vwhat and how much has been taken from it. So also the fact is brought out by inference what must be returned to maintain it at least in its present state of fertility, or increase it to an indefinite extent. The state of agricultural knowledge at the present time, is characterized by an accumulation of facts which are unclassified and unarranged. Tihev are like the brick and stone piled before and around the site of a great edifice about to be founded, and which are readly to be arranged in the walls of a spacious building. Mlany of these facts it is true, have a definite signification, or in other words their relations are well known, but a great majority of them have no known collocation, although they cleffrl\ belong to the edifice. So too, to keep up the simile, I may with truth remark that the master builder is yet to be found, whose sagacity and skill is equal to the task of putting together the discordant parts, and to construct fromn them a symmetrical whole. N,otwithstanding the illustration I have employed to show the view which I entertain of the state of agricultural science, it is still true, that it requires only a moderato INFLUENCE OF SCIENCE ON AGRICULTURE. amount of information of chemistry and the collateral sciences to understand many of the applications of the principles upon which the practices of husbandry are based. When I speak, therefore, of the accumulation of facts, I mean to be understood, that it is their relation to a system and not to the meaning which they may have as individual facts. For example, the good effects of draining may be explained on philosophical principles, though the theory of agriculture is yet to be put into form and shape. Draining operates beneficially in many ways; it may merely remove superfluous water by the construction of artificial underground channels, or it may, in addition to this, carry off water charged with astringent salts which are poisonous to the more valuable plants. In either case, the principal result upon which the good effects depend is, the permanent elevation of the temperature of the soil. Surfaces constantly bathed in water, and which are supplied with this element from living springs, cannot attain the temperature required for' the better grasses, cereals, or esculents, so long as it is in this condition. The principles of draining then are perfeetly understood, and this is the case with many other agricultural practices. The practice of hoeing or stirring the soil is far more general than draining, but the principles upon which the practice is founded-are not so well understood. (Generally farmers suppose that the object is to kill the weeds; so far it is good; but the effect of hoeing is not confined to this single result; for hoeing, when all the weeds are already extirpated is followed by the most decided advantage to the crop; hence something more than the destruction of weeds comes to pass. One result undoubtedly arises from the absorbent powers of a fresh surface. Nutritive matters, such as carbonic acid and ammonia dissolved in atmospheric air, are readily taken up in this state of the surface, but an old and indurated surface becomes inert and inactive. The power of surface alone is effectual in promoting absorption and decomposition of the most active bodies. The perfect combustion of vegetable and animal matter takes place first upon the surface, upon which they rest. There is probably no substance in use as a manure which as frequently disappoints the farmer as plaster. In the first place it may operate far more effectually than is expected, and again it may have no effect whatever; and, 387 p- -4 INFLUENCE OF SCIENCE ON AGRICULTURE. finally, when it has operated very beneficially for a tiIie, it ceases to do so. This is what is called plaster sickness. Now these facts ought to be explained. On what principle does plaster ever promote vegetation? Liebig says that it is by the absorption of ammonia; sulphate of ammonia being the product of change. Were this always true, I can see in it reasons why it should always benefit crops. Sulphate of ammonia always does, but plaster does not. But there is another reason why plaster is useful. Its sulphur is wanted in the nitrogenous bodies-the protein compounds. It may, too, operate well in virtue of its lime, which is an element of the highest importance to vegetables. There may be, therefore, three reasons why plaster promotes vegetation-the supply of ammonia for the nitrogenous bodies, the supply of sulphur for the same, and finally, the supply of lime. But why it should cease to do good, is a question which has been answered only hypothetically. We may suppose that in the first place the soil requires, at the time, no additional matter which- plaster itself can furnish; it is in this case a negative. When it ceases to do good at the end of a few years, it may be from exhaustion; that is, the soil originally light, may be deprived of phosphoric acid, of chlorine, of magnesia or soluble silica and the alkalies particularly, at a much earlier period than if plaster had not been used. It has aided in the removal of a larger quantity of inorganic matter, different from itself, in a less time than if it had not been employed. If a crop is increased one-third, it has taken up one-third more of the potash of the soil than would have been obtained without it. If this is true, we may see that the further use of plaster will be. worse than useless. There is nothing plainer than this, that every element which is found in a plant in analysis, is necessary to its constitution, and is liable to be removed in a series of croppings. This leads to the necessity of supplying it directly; but what element or elements may be wanting, can be known for a certainty only by analysis. In plaster sickness, therefore, our remedies need not be hypothetical, if we pursue the method proposed; analysis will reveal the cause of plaster sickness, and probably any other sickness which follows from constant cultivation. The application of science to agriculture, appears of the 388 DISTRICT SCHOOLS IN THE COUNTRY. highest importance when viewed in this light; as pointing out first, the composition of productive and barren soils, and afterward, the true method of maintaining and restoring them to fertility at the least possible expense in labor or cash. In the same line of investigation lies the business of determining the composition of the inorganic matter which vegetables remove from the soil; indeed, in one sense, this work should precede the other, for it is by the composition of the inorganic matter of plants that all that "is essential to a fertile soil is determined." But chemists went to work the other way, and determined first, the composition of the soil; and inferred from their results what they supposed on the one hand constituted its fertility, or what on the other its barrenness. This method was unquestiionably defective, and probably for that cause alone gave a doubtful importance to the value of the analysis of soils. The analysis of soils, and of the inorganic matter of plants, stood in very singular relations to each other; the elements of the former, which are in the smallest quantities, formned by far the largest in the latter; thus the alkalies and phosphates of soils are always inconsiderable in amount, and hence were not sought for, while in the parts of plants they formed by far the largest proportion. Fertility depends upon those elements of which only traces appear, where only one hundred grains of the soil are employed in analysis. When, therefore, an analysis of two soils, one a fertile one and the other known to be barren from experienceQ, were left unfinished, that is, those elements which were small in amount, were not sought for, it was impossible to see an essential difference in their composition; the barren soil looked as well on paper as the fertile one, and so it was said that no benefit could arise from the analysis of soils. This I believe is a fair statement of the case. I have now I believe said enough upon the points to enable you to form correct views of the subjects in question.-From an Adldress before the New York State Agricultural Society, at Albany, 1849, by PROF. E. EMMONS, M.D. DISTRICT SCHOOLS IN THE COUNTRY. Education is one of those indefinite terms which admit of almost any latitude. In its real and true signification, it is r - 389 0 10 390 DISTRICT SCHOOLS IN TIHE COUNTRY. a progressive, and never ending work. The whole life time of men is but a movement onward, and it is perhaps safest to believe the elevated and beautiful idea that, throughout all eternity, man will continue in knowledge and advance in wisdom. But it is not in this broad view that I now pro pose to regard the term education. I define it for present purposes as a disciplinary process, fitting the mind for the business of life; not only the accumulation of knowledge and intelligence, but the acquisition of habits of order, industry and economy in proportion for the active duties and responsi bilities of life. This work belongfrs to the school room; there the boy is to be prepared for manhood. In the process of time nature will develop the full capa city of the physical system, but the mind is not made of the same material, and cannot alone come to its full strength and capacity. Its food and nourishment are made of differ ent matter than that which feeds and in-vigorates the body; it must have the aid of other minds-must have facts and figures, arbitrary rules and distinct principles, and obtain them, not by instinct, but by hard study, severe thinking, and( the rigid application of.the mental faculties. The school-room, the school-book, and the school-master are these important requisites in training the mind and bringing out its powers and energy. Mind, like the body, is the work of the great Architect, it is the gift of God, and may and does exist in all its glory and majesty in the poor man as in the rich; it knows no distinction, only in its means of development and in its educational polish. Then how glorious to educate all the people-how high and solemn the duty to give all the advantages of mental culture. The district school belongs emphatically to the masses; they are the peoples' school; they know no caste, nor recognize any distinction, but broadly unfold their beautifull panoply and cover all alike, and say, without respect to person or condi tion, "come and partake of my benefits." God has given the mind; ours is the duty to unfold the power and prepare for systematic and useful action, this richest and mightiest of (God's gifts. It is the highest and proudest boast of the Empire State that she has thus provided a systemn for the education of her c4hildren. Rightly does she judge, and wisely act, when she thus provides for the safety of herself and the elevation of DISTRICT SCHOOLS IN THE COUNTRY. }eer people. And have the farmers no interest in this matter? Yes, they have most of all; for they are more numerous than all other classes. The district school is truly almost exclusively their owinT; it to most of themn their only school, and it behoves tlemi to look well to these seminaries, so peculiarly their oxil. Their children, nine out of ten, if not ninety-nine out of every hundred, will be educated in them, for thev have niowhere else to go. Then let the district school be elevated, improved and made what it should and may be. As one improvement almost indispensably necessary to the farmers, there should be, and must be, a department devoted to agriculture. I can discover no reason why it should not form a regular branch of common school education; nor why every college and academy in the state should not have their professorship department devoted to agriculture as a distinct branch of study and education. Is there any- thing in the subject which precludes this? is there any dificulty ill reducing to a regular science, and of so managiiing and elassifying its diflerent branches, as to permit it being made a part of the educational process of the young? I think.not; but on the contrary, agriculture is a science, possessing, in all its ramifications, distinctive features; is governied by fixed facts and unerring principles, which the young farmer should learn by study and close application of his mental faculties. They should be engraver on his mind hen it is young and plastic, and capable of receiving and retainiing impressions, anrid this subject may, I imagine, be introduced into every district school in the state, without any detririent to the branches now taught in those schools. and without interfering with the regular course of common school education. uIuchi reflection has satisfied my own mind of the great importance of the subject. I regard it as an essential step towards the elevation of the farming interests-a necessary ingredient in liftilln up to their real position the farmer of this country. The state has been beneficent in her school funds; but the farmer has not yet had his full share of the benefits accruing from them. He has been content to look on listlessly, aid. let other classes reap the harvest which his own industry has provided. Let himr now arise from his lethargy, and begin to cast about and see it there be no place where his sons can go and learn to become farmers, as well 391 6 ft 392 DOMESTIC EDUCATION OF FEMALES. as doctors, lawyers, and divines. It seems to me that the farmers have a right to use a portion of the money which r)elongs to them to advance their own calling-not, indeed, to tear down. or prejudice others, but to elevate their own business to the dignity of a science, to be taught and learned in the schools of the state.-D. A. OGDEN, in the Genesee Fri,Ver. DOMESTIC EDUCATION OF FEMALES. The greatest danger to females, at the present time, is the neglect of domestic education. Not only to themselves, but to husbands, families and the community at large, does this danger impend. By far the greatest amount of happi ness in civilized life is found in the domestic relations, and most of this depends on the domestic culture and habits of the wmife and mother. Let her be intellectually educated as highly as possible; let her moral and social nature receive the highest graces of vigor and refinement; but along with these let the domestic virtues find ample place. ATe cannot say much to our daughters about their being hereafter wives and mothers, but we ought to think much of it, and to give the thought prominence in our plans for their education. Good wives they cannot be, at least for men of intelligence, without mental culture; good mothers they certainly cannot be without it; and more than this, they cannot be such wives as men need, unless they are good housekeepers; they cannot be good housekeepers without a thorough and practical teaching to that end. Our daughters should be practically taught to bake, wash, sweep, cook. set table, make up beds, sew, knit, darn stockings, take care of children, nurse, and do every thing pertaining to the order, neatness, economy and happiness of the household. All this they can learn as well as not, and better than not. It need not interfere in the least with their intellectual education, nor with the highest style of refinlement. On the contrary, it shall greatly contribute thereto. Otily let that time, or even a portion of it, which is worse than wasted in idleness, sauntering. gossip, frivolous reading, and the various modern female dissipations which kill time and health, be THE BEAUJTY OF TREES. devoted to domestic duties and domestic education, and our daughters would soon be all that can be desired. A benigffn, regenerating influence would go forth through all the families of the land. Health and joy would sparkle in many a now lustreless eye; the bloom would return to grace many a faded cheek; and doctor's bills would fast give way to bills of wholesome fare. —REv. E. H. WINSLOW. THE BEAUTY OF TREES. What can be more beautiful than the trees?-their lofty trunks, august in their simplicity, asserting to the most inexperienced eye their infinite superiority over the imitative pillars of man's pride-their graceful play of wide-spreading branches, and all the delicate and glorious machinery of buds, leaves, flowers, and fruit, that with more than magical efforts burst from the naked and rigid twigs with all the rich and heaven-breathing, delectable odors, pure and animating essences, pouring out spices and medicinals, under brilliant and unimaginably varied colors, and making music from the softest and most melancholy under-tones to the full organpeal of the tempest! We wonder not that trees have been the admiration of men in all periods and nations of the world. What is the richest country without trees? What barren and monotonous spot can they not convert into paradise? Xerxes, in the midst of his most ambitious enterprise, stopped his vast army to contemplate the beauty of a tree. Cicero, from the throng, and exertion, and anxiety of the forum, was accustomed, Pliny tells us, to steal forth to a grove of plane-trees to refresh and invigorate his spirits. In the Scaptan Grove, the same author adds, Thucydides was supposed to have composed his noble histories. The Greek and Roman clas sics, indeed, abound with expressions of admiration; but above all, as the Bible surpasses, in the splendor and majesty of its poetry, all books in the world, so is its sylvan arbor escent imagery the most bold and beautiful. Beneath some spreading tree is the ancient patriarch revealed to us, sitting in contemplation, or receiving the visit of angels; and what a calm and dignified ptcture of primeva: 393 OUPR WOnNDROUS ATMTOSPHERE. life is presented to our imagination at the mention of Debo, rah thie -vife of Lapidoth, judgilcg the twelve tribes of Israel, betw\eeni Ra. 1 and Bet'.cet, in MJoinit Ephraim, beneath the palm-tree o LDeborah ] The oakl of Bashan and the cedar of Lebanon are but other and better names for glory and power. The vinie, the olive, and the fi-tree are imperishable emblems of peace, plenty and festivity. David, in his Psalms; Solomon, in his Son,i and Proverbs; the prophets, in the sublime outpourings of their awvful inspiration; and Chirist, in his parables-those most beautiful and perfect of all allegories-luxuriate in signs and similies drawn from the fair trees of the East.-'W:NI. HOWITT. OUR WTONDROUS ATMOSPHERE. Thie atmosphere rises above us with his cathedral dome, archile towards the heavens, of which it is the most familiar synonym and symbol. It floats about us like that grand object which the apostle John saw in his vision-" a sea of glass like unto crystal." So massive is it, that when it begills to stir, it tosses about great ships like playthings, and sweeps cities and forests, like snow-flakes, to destruction before it. Arid yet it is so mobile, that we have lived years in it before we can be persuaded that it exists at all, and the great bulk of mankind never realised the truth that they are bathed in an ocean of air. Its weight is so enormous that iron shivers before it like Class; yet a soap bubble sails through it with impunity, and the tiniest insect waves it aside with its wino-. The atmosphere ministers lavishly to all the sernses. We touch it not, biit it touches us. Its warm south winds bring back color to the p)ile face of the invalid(l-its cool west winds refresh the vered brow, and makelli the blood mantle in our chleeks; even its north blasts brace into new vigor the hardened childreni of our rugged climate. The eye is indebted to it for all the magnificence of sun-rise, the full brightness of mid-day, the chastened radiance of the gloaming, and the clouds that cradle near the setting sBu. Fut for it the rainbow woiild want its "triumphlal arch," and the winds would not send their fleecy Inesseltge s on errand. round the 394 THE RETURN OF SPRING. heavens. The cold would not either shed snow feathers on the earth, nor would drops of dew gather on the flowers. The kindly rain would never fall, nor hail storm, nor fog diversify the face of the sky. Our naked globe would tturit its tanned and unshadowed forehead to the sun. and one dreary, monotonous blaze of light and heat dazzle and bum up all things. Were there no atmosphere, the evening sun would in a momenit set, and, without warning, plunge the earth in darkness. But the air keeps in her hand a sheaf of his rays, and lets them slip but slowly through her fingers; so that the shadows of evening are gathered by degrees, and the flowers have time to bow their heads, and each creature space to find a place of rest, and to nestle to repose. In the morning, the garish sun would at one bound burst from the bosom of night, and blaze above the horizon; but the air watches for his coming, and sends at first but one little'ray to announce his approach, and then another, and by and by a handful, and so gently draws aside the curtain of night, and slowly lets the light fall on the face of the sleeping earth, till her eyelids open, and like man, she goeth forth againi to her la bor till the evening.-QUARTERLY REVIEW. THE RETURN OF SPRING. Dear as the dove, whose waiting wing The green leaf ransomed from the main, Thy genial glow, returning Sprinlg, Comes to our shore again; For thou hast been a wainderer long, On many a fair and foreign strand, In balm and beauty, sun and song, Passing from land to land. Thou bring'st the blossoms to the' bee, To earth a robe of emerald dye, The leaflet to the naked tree, And rainbow in the sky: I feel thy blest benigni control The pulses of my youth restore; Opening the spring of sense and SQUl, To love and joy once more. o '!, 1"; ii 395 THE KINGS OF THE SOIL. I will not people thy green bowers, With sorrow's pale and spectre band; Or blend with thine the faded flowers Of memory's distant land For thou wert surely never given To wake regret from pleasures gone; But like an angel sent from heaven, To soothe creatioii's groan. . Then, while the groves thy garlands Thy spirit breathes in flower and My heart shall kindle at thy shrine, And worship God in thee: And in some calm, sequestered spot, While listening to thy choral strai Past griefs shall be a while forgot, And pleasures bloom again. SELEcTED THE KINGS OF THE SOIL. Black sin may nestle below a crest, And crimes below a crown; As good hearts beat'neath a fustian vest, As uinder a silken gown. Shall tales be told of the chiefs who sold Their sinews to crush arid kill, And never a word be sung or heard Of the men who reap and till? I bow in thanks to the sturdy throng Who greet the young morn with toil; And the burden I give my earnest song Shall be this-The KiniLs of the Soil! Then sing for the Kings who have no crown But the blue sky o'er their headNevei Sultan nor Dey had such power as they, To withhold or offer bread. Proud ships may hold both silver and gold, The wealth of a distant strand; 296 A MOTHER'S GRAVE. B.t ships would rot, and be valued not, Were there none to till the land. The wildest heath, and the wildest brake, Are rich as the richest fleet; For they gladden the wild birds when they wake, Ant give them food to eat. And with willing hand, and spade and plough, The gladdening hour shatl come, When that which is called the "waste land" now, Shall ring with the "Harvest Home!" Then sing for the Kings who have no crown But the blue sky o'er their headNever Sultan nor Dey had such power as they 'o withhold or to offer bread. SELEC t'ED. A MOTHER'S GRAVE. The trembling dew-drops fall Upon the shutting flowers-like souls at rest The stars shine gloriously-and all, Save me, is blest. Mother!-I love thy grave! The violet, with its blossom blue and mild, Waves o'er thy head-when shall it wave Above thy child? 'Tis a sweet flower-yet must Its bright leaves to the coming tempest bow, Dear mother-'tis thine emblem-dust Is on thy brow! And I could love to dieTo leave untasted life's dark, bitter streams, By thee, as erst in childhood, lie, And share thy dreams. And must I linger here To stain the plumage of my sinless years, ,:S'l a 1 f I', l ,I t -t TIHEORY OF FEEDING ANIMIALS. And mourn the hopes of childhood dear With bitter tears. Aye-must I lingffer here, A lonely branch upon a blasted tree, Whose last frail leaf, untimely sere, Went down with thee? Oft from life's withered bower, In still communion with the past I turn, And muse on thee the only flower In memory's urn. And, when the evening pale, Bows like a mourner oil the dim, blue wave, I stray to hear the night-winds wail, Around thy grave. a Where is thy spirit flown? I gaze above-thy look is imaged there I listen, and thy gentle tone Is on the air., Oh come-whilst here I press My brow upon the grave-and, in those mild And thrilling tones of tenderness, Bless, bless thy child! Yes, bless thy weeping child, And o'er thy urn-religion's holiest shrine Oh give his spirit undefiled To blend with thine. BY GEORGE D. PRENTICE. THEORY OF FEEDING ANIMAIS. In the feeding of animals, is a knowledge of animnial and vegetable pohysiology of importance? It is; for without this knowledge, the food may not be adapted to the wants of the animal; it may consist more of 398 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ -kl~ "'!I(4{7~jj A~ 0 /~ ~