Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of tliis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924001125008 
 
TO IMPROVE THE SOIL AND THE MIND. 
 
 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE ; 
 
 THE ROMANCE OF AGRICULTURE. 
 
 HALF HOUR SKETCHES 
 
 LIFE IN THE COUNTRY. 
 
 BY THE REV. JOHN L. BLAKE, D. D., 
 
 ATTTHOn OF FAMILY ENCYCLOPEDIA ; GENERAL BIOG-RAPHICAL DICTIONARY ; FARMER'S 
 EVERY-DAY BOOK J AGRICULTURE FOR SCHOOLS ; AND THE FARMER AT HOME. 
 
 AUBURN : 
 ALDEN, BEARDSLEY & COMPANY. 
 ROCHESTER : 
 WANZER, BEARDSLEY & COMPANY. 
 
 1852. 
 
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1852, by 
 
 JOHN L. ELAKE, 
 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the 
 
 District of New Jersey. 
 
 i. p. JONES & Co., STEREOTYPERS, 
 ms WliaJAM-arBJEXT. 
 
INTEODUCTION. 
 
 Why did the gold of California remain Untouched towards six 
 thousand years, unless it ia admitted that King Solomon knew of it, 
 as the gold of Ophir, when building his memorable temple ? It is 
 simply because all the world, the Yankees as well as others, did not 
 know it was there. Supposing some visionary scholar had written 
 . a book, stating that probably in that region this precious metal existed 
 in profusion. Would such a book have put the whole creation agog 
 in search of it? But, as soon as a fe.w straggling soldiers and sailors 
 from the Mexican War discovered and gathered up by handfuls the 
 shining dust and the solid masses, then there was from every part of 
 the earth, not excepting the Empire of the Sun, an incessant scram- 
 ble to share in it. This is all consistent, because the subject now 
 became a matter of fact. Instead of theories and moonshine dreams, 
 here was exhibited to the human senses — vision and jeeling — the 
 very thing in all ages and in all • countries so much desired. Ordi- 
 narily, sensible men must know a thing exists and can be had, before 
 they embark in a stampede for its attainment, leaving every thing 
 else in neglect. 
 
 Why was it left to Sir Richard Arkwright to revolutionize the 
 labors of the fireside, by applying machinery to the production of 
 those fabrics in human apparel and domestic economy, hitherto made 
 by hand, thus resolving large portions of our race into new combina- 
 tions for all coming time, and leaving his heirs rich like princes ? 
 Why was this thing not done before ? Why were those tedious pro- 
 cesses continued down through the days of our grandmothers ? We 
 have had no new races of men in the world. We all have a common 
 pedigree up to creation's dawn, with the same natural capabilities 
 that were possessed thousands of years ago. Or, why was it left to 
 John Jacob Astor, in our own time, as it were, to roll himself in tb9 
 
6 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 furs of the Rocky Mountains, like tlie silk-worm in its cocoon, and 
 then die with his twenty millions of dollars ? Why did men not do 
 the same thing before him ? Furs were as plenty in the days of the 
 Plymouth Pilgrims and the Jamestown colony — nay, more— than at 
 any subsequent period. The reason is simply this. Age after age 
 was dreaming about something else. There was either a deathlike 
 slumber of the human intellect, or all aspirations were for renown in 
 the mitre or the crown — in feudalism or the crusades — or their equally 
 ignoble concomitants. Tlie thing was never thought of till these 
 men proved it could be done — till they placed the boon in the bright 
 light of heaven, and before a gazing, wondering world. 
 
 And why was it left to Professor Morse and his co-laborers to 
 convert the lightning's flash into one of the most beneficial and use- 
 ful agents of nature? annihilating space; regarding mountains and 
 rivers as fictions ; becoming a messenger of joy or grief from one side 
 of the continent to the other with the rapidity of thought ; at one 
 moment standing by the bedside of the dying or in view of the* 
 hearse at New Orleans, and the next moment at Boston, paralyzing 
 the relatives with the agonizing intelligence ; or, on the other hand, 
 at one moment in Charleston, near the banquet table, or some other 
 occasion for joy, and at the next moment at Cincinnati or St. Louis, 
 or Chicago, revealing to kindred spirits the sounds of exhileration 
 and conviviality ! Why was it left to him or his co-laborers to do 
 this ? Why was it left to Professor Morse in our own day to become 
 such a benefactor to mankind, and at the same time, it may be, to 
 enrich himself thereby, annually a million of dollars? The reason 
 is the same as in the other cases; because no one tliought it could be 
 done. But when it was done, how the way is crowded by competi- 
 tors ! How many now seek the golden prizes which glitter in their 
 imagination ! 
 
 Let us have the moral from the above prominent cases. It is 
 believed there is an important moral from thera that can be applied 
 to agriculture and rural economy. The opinion is very general 
 among farmers, that agriculture is a degrading occupation, and that 
 money cannot be made from it. The exceptions are so few and are 
 connected with circumstances so dissimilar to the general circum- 
 stances of the laboring yeomanry, that these exceptions are compara- 
 tively without influence. These masses have been led, and in many 
 cases taught to believe that such is the fact. They have never real- 
 
INTRODUCTION. 7 
 
 ized that there is tangible evidence to the contraiy. They have 
 never witnessed ocular demonstration that agriculture is not a de- 
 grading occupation, and that persons generally from it become rich, 
 or what is better, derive as much pecuniary interest from it. as from 
 other labors. Demonstrations to this effect, to be availing, must be 
 manifest to the human senses, as in the oases to which we have ad- 
 verted. There is to be nothing equivocal about them. They are to 
 be susceptible of no evasion. They are to be invulnerable to argu- 
 ment, or wit, or sarcasm. 
 
 Now we hazard the assertion, that if an array of facts in agricul- 
 ture and rural economy can be well spread before those engaged in 
 these pursuits, every way analogous to those mentioned of California 
 gold, of manufacturing by machinery, of the fur trade, and of mag- 
 netic communication, the result will be much the same with the 
 common sense of the farmer that it has been in relation to the latter 
 on the community at large. The question then arises, are such facts 
 tin existence ? If in existence, can they be found ? If found, can 
 they be so arrayed as to make the desired impression ? We know 
 they exist ; we think enough of thera can be found ; and we have 
 hope they can be so arrayed, as to be effective to the end in view. 
 Our present effort is to do this, and if we could labor with our pen, 
 as we can imagine how it can be done, or if we wielded a pen as apt 
 and as potent as that of some of our brethren, we know it would be 
 done. 
 
 We have many excellent books on agricultural chemistry and 
 the kindred branches of rural knowledge; no matter if as many 
 again, if they would be read and studied. We have annually a score 
 or two of annual addresses on these subjects ; some of which should 
 place their authors in the highest grade of mental accomplishment ; 
 they are learned and eloquent. But is it not a fact, that upon the 
 agricultural community at large, these books and these addresses 
 exert about as much influence as did the speculations respecting a 
 western continent on the masses of mankind, before the discovery of 
 Columbus ? Common people do not want to go through a course of 
 study before engaging in 'any new labor ; they want something that 
 can be seen by their eyes, and moved about by their hands. That 
 they understand without effort. That commends a thing to their 
 consideration. Thus an hundred boys will learn to swim, by plung- 
 ing into the water one after another, the untaught watching the 
 
8 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 movements of the skilful, while a single one will learn to do it by 
 studying the rules for swimming by Franklin and others, in books on 
 the subject. It is much so with many parts of good farming. One 
 practical farmer, in a. town, from having been penniless, and has be- 
 come rich, by the regular profits of agriculture ; one that actually 
 makes a hundred dollars annually from his poultry — or, from half a 
 dozen cows — or from the yield of his garden — or in manure from his 
 piggery — which everybody can see, and which all his neighbors do 
 see and know to be a fact— this farmer will do more towards stimu- 
 lating all his rural brethren of the town to eiforts that will end in 
 the same results, than thousands of didactic treatises on the subject. 
 Books of this kind are excellent in their places ; but ordinarily, farm- 
 ers will not study them till they become stimulated by such exam- 
 ples as are here indicated. It is not in our power to teach all the 
 world by examples of the sort under their own eye. We hence 
 collect a few of them to be read in the following work ; and we trust 
 they will not be without influence in leading all our readers to be- 
 lieve that all may make agriculture productive, and as not being a 
 degrading occupation. 
 
 All instances of a man's becoming rich from farming alone, and 
 of his becoming eminent for intelligence when laboring on his farm 
 with his own hands ; all instances of improvement in stock so as to 
 be the admiration of a whole county ; all instances of neatness and 
 elegance in and about the premises upon a farm ; all instances of 
 restoring worn out lands to great fertility ; all instances of extraordi- 
 nary crops on account of judicious tillage ; all instances of great 
 profit from poultry, the dairy, or fruit ; all instances of well ordered 
 households, combining personal accomplishments and well chosen and 
 well regulated furniture from the profits of the farm ; all instances of 
 assbciated taste and frugality, whether in fences, court-yards, shrubbery 
 or flowers ; all instances of pleasing natural scenery upon the farm, or 
 in view of the mansion ; and, above all, every labor-saving imple- 
 ment for the work on the farm, in the kitchen, or in the dairy depart- 
 ment, may be termed the gems of rural life, and being described and 
 ■written in books are the gems of rural literature. If they do not 
 deserve that name what does deserve it ? Compared with them, 
 what are the gems that glitter and dazzle the eye, in the ball-room? 
 Compared with them, what are the gems that decorate the crowns of 
 royalty ? These may be gems scarcely noticed by the masses j 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 neglected because they have received no polish, as precious stones in 
 their native beds are unnoticed and unadmired, till passing through 
 the hands of the lapidary. Facts of the character named, according 
 to Webs-ter, may be called the '• Romance of Agriculture." We 
 hope it will be our fortune to be successful in thus rendering them 
 worthy of occupying attention at the fireside of the farm mansion. 
 
 We believe, the fireside of the farmer, with his family about him, 
 is the proper place for contemplating the elements and productions of 
 the farm. Here, with the aid of experience, and agricultural books, 
 and agricultural papers, the members of the family may literally 
 every winter evening make an agricultural club; here they may 
 amuse and enlighten each other on every matter relating to the staple 
 interests to which they are allied, and on which they subsist. Here 
 too, they may make themselves familiar, not only with the literature 
 of rural economy, but all current literature — with history — with 
 biography — with poetry — with music — and with whatever else may 
 come within the range of their taste and fancy. 
 
 It is known and considered, that farmers have or should have 
 wives like other men ; that they may have sons rising to manhood 
 and daughters budding and swelling into womanhood. Neither of 
 them is supposed to be made up of cold abstractions, but all have 
 social affinities, requiring a mental element corresponding to the 
 development and nourishment of these affinities. Far be it from us 
 to stifle or starve these affinities. They should live under a genial 
 snn, be fed witli refreshing showers, and then receive the care of a 
 wise social culturist. A farm and a farm house without matri- 
 monial influences would be cheerless like an Arabian desert. With- 
 out tlie mental and physical tendencies that lead to wedlock, youth 
 would be less interesting than they now are. Accordingly, in pre- 
 paring a work for the fanner's fireside, for the young as well as the 
 old — for one sex as well as for the other — for each supposable junc- 
 ture in the family organization, we have collected some gems of the 
 upheavings of the young bosom, as well as of the soil ; of the flowers 
 that spring up in the heart, as well as those that cluster in the 
 garden and about the door-side. If these social germs are permitted 
 to .shoot up in their native glades, they will resemble the daisy and 
 the rose, that ilevelope not half their inherent elements of beanty and 
 fragrance, till transplanted to the flower garden ; and, the asparagus 
 and other rich esculents, that, till rccieviug the skilful supervision of 
 
jQ INTRODUCTION. 
 
 the gardener, were small austere plants, unfit for use, instead of 
 being the luscious components of a savory dinner, as they now are. 
 It is the especial duty of the mother in her own house, and of all 
 guardians of mental culture to watch over these uprising elements of 
 the human bosom. Here is a garden to be enriched, that may yield 
 flowers and balsams for the adornment and vigor of life, and, even 
 for the glory of the world. 
 
 It is left for the reader to judge how far the author has judiciously 
 adapted his present labor to a social exigency, for which no adequate 
 provision had been made. If any merit belong to him, it is in the 
 discovery of the exigency, rather than in the adequacy of his ability 
 to administer to it. And although this labor may have been impaired 
 by the limited time allowed for it, and by an unusual concurrent 
 pressure of other duties, it is, nevertheless, hoped, that it has some 
 little claim, at least, to the favorable consideration of those, for whom 
 it is designed. 
 
 " View them near 
 At home, "where all their worth and power ia placed ; 
 
 And there their hospitable fires burn clear, 
 And there the lowest farm-house hearth is graced 
 
 With manly hearts in piety sincere, 
 
 Paithful in love, in honor stern and chaste, 
 
 In friendship warm and true, in danger brave, 
 
 Beloved in life and sainted in the grave." 
 
AGRICULTURAL PARADOX. 
 
 It is verily a great paradox, that agriculture should ever be held 
 in low estimation. Such, nevertheless, is the fact. It is no 
 uncommon thing, that we hear that even those who are 
 engaged in it, and are dependant on it for a living, express a 
 great abhorrence of it. Did we not witness the ridiculous 
 absurdity of such conduct, we could not believe it true ; for it is 
 in opposition to the clearest evidence on which any hypothesis 
 can be predicated. Who may not see with his own eyes, that 
 on the products of agriculture, the entire life of the animal 
 world — of man and beast — is sustained ; and, that these pro- 
 ducts are the very elements of nearly every kind of business in 
 the whole range of society ? Were it not for them the animal 
 kingdom would be blotted out of existence ; and, the world itself 
 would become one wide field of solitude and desolation. Yet, it 
 often happens, that persons in other departments of labor, though 
 dependant therein on agriculture, speak of it in derision and with 
 assumed contempt ; and, that farmers themselves seem to feel 
 ashamed that they are farmers. 
 
 Let us look into the subject a little further, both in order to 
 find the origin of such false conceptions, and to make their 
 absurdity appear so palpable and ridiculous, that they may be 
 discarded. Who does not know, that when the harvest is abun- 
 dant, manufactures increase, and the whole country is pros- 
 perous ; that, from one extremity of the land to the other there 
 is an increasing hum of business, and on every countenance a 
 glow of animation and joy. But, if Heaven, for a single season, 
 frown upon the earth, with drawing its rain or its sunshine, or 
 sending mildew and blight, and all this round of prosperity is stop- 
 ped — machinery becomes motionless, vessels are laid up on their 
 moorings, the efforts of genius are paralyzed, and the distortions of 
 
12 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 want and despair fill the places of departed plenty and gladness. 
 It is but a few years since we saw famine, disease, and death 
 spread over, with frightful visage, one entire realm, only in con- 
 sequence of the failure of a single esculent. Nor were the effiicts 
 resulting from the failure of the potato crop confined to one 
 country. Heavy bankruptcies were occasioned by it in other 
 countries ; and, no small portion of the Christian world was 
 brought to a solemn pause in its career of enterprise and business, 
 and to engage in ministrations of charity. So important to 
 society are the products of agriculture I So interwoven are they 
 with all the interests of life ! 
 
 It might be supposed, that a thing so indispensable to the 
 existence as well as to the enjoyment of mankind, as the culti- 
 vation of the earth, would have received, in all time, the highest 
 honors and the highest place in the aflections of the people, as 
 well as all possible attention in rendering it- perfect. Such has 
 not been the case. In looking on the works of man, it is seen, 
 that agriculture has been strangely neglected ; and, that this 
 neglect has been most apparent in those most interested in its 
 results. Great and successful efforts have been made in devising 
 ingenious implements for working the soil, and machinery for 
 appropriating its products ; but little among the large body of the 
 farmers of this country, to improve the kind and quantity of 
 these products has been done ; nor cati this neglect be ascribed 
 to any deficiency in the development of science. Science has 
 shone forthwith peculiar lustre upon the pathway of the farmer, 
 but too often has it been wholly unheeded. A prejudice, pi'opa- 
 gated and handed down from one to another, and to which he 
 has adhered -with as much tenacity as to a choice relic of a 
 distinguished sire, has bound him hand and foot. Till within a 
 short period, rarely has there been found in the farmer's house a 
 book on scientific agriculture ; and, even at the present time, 
 where it may be found in one bouse, in fifty it will be wanting. 
 It would be difficult to account satisfactorily for this general 
 apathy on a subject of so much importance. At best, our 
 inquiries will reach no clear solution. This is about all we 
 
THE FARM AND .THE FIRESIDE. J3 
 
 know of it. The idea has been entertained, that any one can 
 be a farmer ; that a farmer is a mere spontaneous production ; 
 and that from instinct alone, and without the aid of science, he 
 can perform all that is necessary in that employment ; and, that 
 success depends, not upon his skill, but entirely on the amount 
 of physical labor he bestows. Hence it has been the practice, 
 that when an individual of ingenuity and fond of research, or a 
 youth of promise and fond of distinction, has appeared in the 
 ranks of farmers, his attention has been immediately turned 
 from the field of agriculture to some other, and, as has been 
 erroneously supposed, more favorable department for the exercise 
 of his faculties. The operation of such a policy is to deprive a 
 rural community of its best talents ; and, in doing this, to pre- 
 vent elevation of character, as well as success in the development 
 of its appropriate resources. This is inevitable. No other 
 inference in regard to it can be drawn. We need no other evi- 
 dence of this conclusion, than a hasty glance at the leading 
 features of the process. 
 
 Now let us suppose, that a farmer discovers in one of his 
 sons a taste for knowledge, and an inclination for reading and 
 study. Does he give this boy an education to render him 
 peculiarly useful on the farm, not only by applying to it scientific 
 agriculture, but also by enlightening his father and brothers in 
 this and other useful branches of learning 1 He does no such 
 thing. He forever exscinds him from the homestead, in giving 
 him an education for one of the learned professions. If he has 
 another son of superior address and enterprise, he is sent to the 
 city to become a clerk with a merchant. And, if he has one 
 that evinces unusual genius in the construction of curious things, 
 he is fitted to become an artisan. The remaining one, two, or 
 more, for- a supposed want of talents, are doomed without educa- 
 tion, saving knowing a little of arithmetic, and how to read and 
 write, to work on the farm. This course necessarily induces the 
 favored boys to despise the occupation of their father, and to feel 
 that it is an employment unworthy of their talents, while those 
 who are destined to it not only feel themselves degraded, but are 
 
14 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 taught thereby to helieve that nothing but muscular strength is 
 needed in the performance of their own duties. 
 
 It may be well to note the career of these neglected boys, 
 who are pronounced destitute of genius and competent only to 
 cultivate the ground. Is it possible they should not feel de- 
 graded ? Is it possible that whatever of talents are possessed 
 by them should not become paralyzed and stagnated. They 
 have been told, in a way that cannot be mistaken, that they are 
 inferior to their brothers, and that they must spend their life in 
 a service requiring no more thought than that of the ox who is 
 to toil in company with them. Nor does the mischief end on 
 the premises where this takes place. The tale is told to others ; 
 it spreads through the neighborhood ; it is known throughout 
 the town or the county ; it becomes an element of public 
 opinion, that agriculture is a servile employment, requiring only 
 the lowest grade of talent. With such dogmas in the com- 
 munity, so far as they have weight, is it strange that the mass 
 of agriculturists should place a low estimate on their vocation as 
 well as on themselves ? How could it be otherwise ? Not to 
 suppose it would indicate an entire ignorance of human sympa- 
 thy and metaphysical science. Human opinions are ordinarily 
 the result of some conventional influence ; ia this matter, espe- 
 cially, and in all others, to a great extent. 
 
 Under the influence of such prejudices and erroneous opinions, 
 the farmer begins to cultivate the ground. His aspirations rise 
 not above a comfortable subsistence. He dreams not of acquiring 
 reputation in society like that of men in other spheres of life ; or, 
 of acquiring property, unless by the most intense personal appli- 
 cation to toil, and by self deprivation. He views his own career 
 to be as monotonous as that of the traveler who traverses a South 
 American pampas, or one of our own western prairies, having 
 no diversification of scenery, and the immeasurable plain in every 
 direction uniting with the concave sky ; and, in unmitigated 
 and unvaried physical effort like that of the culprit doomed to 
 spend his days on a tread-mill. Apprehending no change, he 
 soon becomes attached to this very monotony, and to whatever 
 
■THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 15 
 
 in his labors have been associated with it. And after a while, 
 although he may look upon it with a kind of sullen abhorrence, 
 he would cleave to it, if from no other motive, because he would 
 imagine himself not at home elsewhere. 
 
 Those who commence an agricultural course of labor in the 
 manner we have supposed, ere long become firmly wedded to 
 their own forms and usages, and guarding them, as is natural, 
 with a jealous eye, delight in being able to look back and say 
 that they have not departed from the ways of their fathers. A 
 certain degree of reverence for antiquity, and the habits of a past 
 generation, is seemingly an instinct of man, and is not to be 
 treated with severity. Indeed, it might perhaps be well, if there 
 were more of it in our country than we usually witness. It is 
 almost exclusively in rural life that we are enabled to gaze upon 
 the evidences of this lovely attribute of human sympathy. 
 While in the city there is an universal impatience for change 
 and novelty, in the breast of the farmer is an unfailing deposi- 
 tory for reverence to things that come from and are associated 
 with those who sleep in dust. In this trait of rural character 
 we can readily find an apology for some of the evil incident to 
 it. Nevertheless they should not, as they frequently do, give it 
 scope to the hindrance of increasing knowledge. But we well 
 laiow that having formed an adherence to the time-honored 
 customs of their progenitors in tilling the ground sufficient to 
 give them a comfortable subsistence, they recognize no means 
 of increase other than an increase of toil ; and a labor-saving 
 machine for a long time is treated by them with suspicion, as 
 being merely an instrument for the encouragement of idleness. 
 
 The respectability and the amount of profits in agriculture 
 depend entirely upon the policy with which farmers pursue 
 their vocation. If they desire to see it duly honored in public 
 estimation, they must not dishonor it themselves. If they desire 
 to see those of other occupations engage in it, they must on no 
 account evince an aversion to it, or a desire to forsake it. And 
 if they would have their sons place a just appreciation upon 
 agriculture, give them a good education, and then it may be 
 
16 THE FARM AND THE FIRE SIDE. 
 
 presumed the vocation will be rendered additionally lucrative 
 and honorable. Let youth grow up with as much ambition to 
 excel in farming, and to make it profitable, as is requisite with 
 those of a corresponding age in mechanic trades, mercantile pur- 
 suits, and the learned professions, and We shall witness a new 
 era in rural economy, Let these directions be observed, and we 
 shall hear no more complaints among farmers, that they are not 
 properly remunerated for their labor, or that their vocation is 
 less desirable or less honorable than other branches of industry 
 and enterprise. Fathers and sons will both be satisfied with it, 
 and they will be among the most honorable and useful members 
 of the community. 
 
 It is an undeniable truth, that if apprentices and journeymen 
 in mechanic trades, or clerks and accountants in the mercantile 
 departments of society, or students and young men in the pro- 
 fessions, were as destitute of ambition and enterprise, and as 
 slovenly in their habits of attention to business, as boys and 
 young men usually are on the farm, not one in a thousand would 
 find success, and seven-eighthsof them would die paupers. With 
 all these there must be an unwearied vigilance to discover every 
 new avenue to patronage, to the acquisition of wealth, and to 
 honorable fame, or sad indeed will be the memoir of their life. 
 Without this vigilance who have ever reached a proud emi- 
 nence ? Without it, who have ever become the pride of their 
 country ? Without it, who have ever established a family 
 name that became a cherished legacy to a succeeding genera- 
 tion ? Rarely one may have done it ; rarely something like 
 irrepressible destiny may have led to such a result ; but it was 
 only an exception to a law that is nearly universal. No one can 
 calculate on this. No one should presume it within his own reach. 
 
 But, where is a corresponding ambition or vigilance with 
 young farmers 1 Allusion is not made here to severe manual 
 labor ; to an intense application to toil, ten or twelve, or four- 
 teen hours each day ; to great feats of physical power or endur- 
 ance I Something besides this is needful. Where, then, is 
 their ambition to improve the general appearance of the farm ? 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIUESIDE. 17 
 
 to cause the family mansion, the bams, the stables, the out- 
 buildings, the fences, the courtyards, the gardens, to present an 
 aspect of neatness, durability, and well-deflned beauty ? Where 
 is their vigilence to avail themselves of every implement for the 
 work of the farm that will save enough each season to pay for 
 itself? Where is their vigilance in collecting fertilizing agents 
 and improving their mode of tillage and their breeds of stock so 
 as to double the annual profits of their labor ! This is what 
 they ought to do. This is what can be done. When not occu- 
 pied in manual laboir, let them cultivate and improve their 
 minds in reference to higher attainments in agriculture, and 
 they will soon find that their heads are of more value than their 
 hands — that the usually unoccupied season of w.inter and stormy 
 weather can be made of more avail than that which is devoted 
 to the most severe and unremitting physical toil. 
 
 Agriculture is not only the means of supporting life, but it is 
 to be venerated for its antiquity. Its origin has priority over all 
 other arts. This fact alone should give it a deep place in our 
 affections. It might seem, therefore, that the individual which 
 casts reproach upon it is incapable of just appreciation and of 
 logical deduction ; and, that he is a stranger to refined moral 
 perception, as well as guilty of a species of impiety. It is an 
 attribute of our nature, and a dictate of revealed religion that 
 we reverence the institutions of Heaven. Is not agriculture one 
 of these institutions? Is it not the first of them ? Did not man 
 receive his commission to till the ground from the Deity himself? 
 Was it not, too, on the very completion of the material creation, 
 as if to constitute man his associate in a ministration of benefi- 
 cence, that God placed him in the garden of Paradise, to dress 
 it and keep it ? And, as if to make this labor of man a sacred 
 adjunct to the labor of Heaven while imparting life and joy to 
 God's rational creatures in all coming life, was not the commis- 
 sion for it bestowed the very day of nature's grand jubilee, when 
 the morning stars shouted and sang in a loud anthem of praise ? 
 Was it not granted beneath the delightful bowers of Eden, where 
 iia^grant odors and spicy aromas floated on every breeze ! 
 
J 8 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 To our apprehension, tlie circumstances attendant on the 
 institution of agriculture, should give it the same pre-eminence 
 in physical economy that the Christian ministi-y has in the moral 
 world ; a pre-eminence that should shield it from reproach and 
 desecration of every kind. These circumstances have an im- 
 pressive sanctity vi^hich cannot be resisted hy the well trained 
 mind. In order to see an object in the full splendor of its own 
 beauty, we are often constrained to place it in company with 
 other objects. Thus, how much more beautiful appears each 
 hue of the rainbow when placed in juxtaposition with the others, 
 than though it were seen alone 1 
 
 And thus many of the institutions of life derive much of their 
 overpowering suasion from the array of influences in which they 
 had birth. Is it not much the case in the institution and sol- 
 emnization of matrimony ? If the parties to this holy allegiance 
 make their vows in private, how little is there to cause deep 
 impressions on themselves or others ? But, when these vows 
 are made at the altar, before the congregation of the church, 
 amidst the ardent excitement of parents and friends, with all the 
 responsibilities and solicitudes of the future to overwhelm them, 
 how does the occasion gather pathos and undying sanctity, for a 
 seal to their plighted faith ? And, if we would conternplate 
 American Independence in all its inbred sublimity, we must, in 
 imagination, carry ourselves to the Hall where the fathers of the 
 Republic v/ere inscribing, amidst the ringing of bells and the 
 shouts of freemen, their names upon that chart of human liberty. 
 So our awe and reverence, in a multitude of cases, arise rather 
 from a magnificent display of attending circumstances, than 
 from any abstract convictions of a particular truth. Hence, as 
 much as we may love agriculture for its power to administer to 
 human wants, we cannot be unmindful of the moral grandeur 
 with which man was commissioned to be its minister. In the 
 one view, we experience a rational conviction. In the other, 
 we involuntarily yield ourselves up to a social impulse as sacred 
 as it is powerful. 
 
THE POULTRY YARD. 
 
 f 
 
 - - ■ *i >.-» 
 
 ■'V v'^O. 
 
 
 1 -^ <« 
 
 
 
 U 
 
 'to ^ 
 
 Among the novelties of the age is the excitement that has 
 been manifested within the last few years, particularly in some 
 of the New England States, on the subject of improved breeds 
 of poultry. The extravagances that have grown out of it have 
 afforded the lovers of fun not a few occasions for jest and merri- 
 ment ; for, not a few of our notable savans in business and pro- 
 fessional fame became as much absorbed with this branch of 
 
20 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 research, as they would have heen previously, in matters out of 
 whiyh fortunes were tu be made. Indeed v,'e have seen these 
 gentlemen as much galvanized with sleepless zeal to ascertain 
 whether a particular variety of fowls should have four toes or 
 five, as in collecting and adjusting the newly found bones of the no- 
 table sea-serpent, or of a mammoth, in a new locality. Positively it 
 was ungenerous to laugh at them for this new bind of mental 
 effervescence, It exhioits no new type of human character. 
 Thousands as notable as they are h.ive evinced, in relation to 
 other matters, similar gushing impulses. Rarely does a year 
 roll round and pass away, without leaving on its tomb-stone 
 some corresponding inscription of a new fledged zeal that mark- 
 ed its authors for unenviable notoriety. 
 
 The motive which led these gentlemen into such perils to 
 their reputation was excellent. The result to the community 
 will be good, without doubt. The chafl'from their harvest will 
 be blown away or burnt up, but there will be left a residue for 
 use equal to the best wheat. Improvement in the breeds of farm 
 animals is, undoubtedly, one of the most rational topics that has 
 claim oh the attention of the farmer. Individuals who have 
 distinguished themselves in it, and there are several in Great 
 Britain, have achieved a reputation for themselves as undying 
 and far more honorable than that of the greatest generals the 
 world ever had. The feasibility of such improvement has been 
 demonstrated to an extent that places it in the first class of ob- 
 jects on which successful enterprise, in rural economy, can be 
 promoted. The principles on which such improvement is pre- 
 dicated are pretty well defined ; but the philosophy of these 
 principles is among the unfathomable mysteries of nature. In 
 this matter, as in numerous other ones, human science may ad- 
 vance to certain points ; the facts discovered in the progress may 
 be as prominent and incontrovertible as mathematical problems ; 
 may stand forth like pillars in a magnificent temple, firm as 
 the ibundations of a gigantic mountain, and transparent , like 
 the clear light of noon ; but beyond these points human scienue 
 stands appalled — not a step onward can be made — not a gleam 
 
THE PARM AND THE FmESIBE. 
 
 21 
 
 of light dawns up on the untrodden path : in the perspective all 
 is dark and incomprehensible. 
 
 SHANGHiE FOWLS. 
 
 All this is literally and emphatically true in relation to ani- 
 mal and vegetable physiology. We know that the different 
 races of men, according to common received theories, have been 
 occasioned in a long succession of generations, by meteorological 
 influences. But who can tell why these influences in the 
 human species should have led to the difference in organization, 
 complexion, and mental endowment, obviously characterized in 
 the native American, the Asiatic-, the African, the Malay, and 
 European races ? No one can tell. Conjectures may be raised ; 
 hj'pothetical explanations may be propounded ; but the real 
 truth lies deeply hidden from human investigation. And who 
 
22 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 can tell, in the feathered tribes, why there is such an infinite 
 diversity in the plumage, for instance 1 We mean not different 
 species, but simply different varieties in a single species. Why 
 is there such an assemblage of varying hues, and such a silky 
 lustre in the vesture of the proud and exulting peacock, of the 
 delicate and matchless bird of paradise, or even of the beautiful 
 little humming bird, which seeks nourishment like the honey bee 
 from the flower garden. Man can no more explain this than he 
 can explain, why the same vegetable element whitens in the 
 lily and reddens in the rose ; or why in one plant it becomes 
 sweet, in another bitter, and in another acid. These things and 
 all similar ones are among the unrevealed canons of infinite 
 wisdom. In relation to them, the Author of them may and does 
 say to us, as He says to the waves of the sea — hitherto shalt 
 thou come, but no farther I 
 
 Let us look at the tenants of the poultry yard, and much in- 
 deed will be presented to our view as worthy the consideration 
 of the philosopher as the rural economist. The latter biay easily 
 estimate the pecuniary value of this branch of his investment 
 and care ; but, can the farmer as easily tell us why there is an 
 almost infinite diversification in the development of the charm- 
 ing birds that enliven the mansion and the surrounding enclos- 
 ures on the well disposed farm — diversification of form, of color, 
 of voice, and of social attribute 1 Here is a countless number of 
 mysteries in the animal kingdom, which a profound philosopher 
 can no more explain than the most unlettered peasant. These 
 things are beyond human comprehension. We can no more tell 
 why there is such a diversification and commingling of the co- 
 lors in the plumage of the poultry yard, and why there are such 
 deteriorations in the muscular organization and development 
 arising from successive reproductions, than we can tell by what 
 strange process a portion of the human family have become the 
 pigmies called Aztecs, now attracting so' much attention amonn- 
 the curious and the philosophical. We may indeed say it is from 
 the operation of the law of nature ; but, of the operative prin- 
 ciple of this law, we are as ignorant as we are of the law of 
 
THE FARM ANB THE FIRESIDE. 23 
 
 gravitation that causes the magnetic needle to point to the poles 
 of the earth. We know it is so — we know it must be so from 
 the tens of thousands of cases in which it has been demonstrated ; 
 but this is all v/e know, or all we can know on the subject. 
 
 With persons of taste, it is no matter of surprise that_ there 
 has been of late such an effort to improve the poultry yard. For 
 a much longer period there has been a systematic effort to im- 
 prove other farm animals, particularly cattle, horses, sheep, and 
 swine. In this case there has been an evident increased pecu- 
 niary profit from v/hat has already been accomplished. When 
 these improvements are more generally spread over the country, 
 that profit will be far greater. It is not irrational to suppose 
 that improvement in the breeds of the poultry yard tenants, will 
 be attended with corresponding pecuniary profit. It is believed 
 moreover, that in this case the profit will be greater than in the 
 other case ; that is, a greater percentage on the money invested 
 in the stock and fixtures. What may be denominated the pro- 
 fits of the poultry yard have generally, by farmers, been over- 
 looked. With a vast majority — perhaps with a thousand to 
 one — it has never been asked if there can be any profit from it. 
 But with the increase of better defined principles of political 
 economy, and particularly of that portion of them applying imme- 
 diately to agriculture and rural life, the world is not to move on in 
 this sluggish manner. If labor is now to be applied to any object, 
 it must be understood, as a preliminary, that the process is to be a 
 remunerating one. If mojiey is to be expended, it is now to be 
 soberly estimated whether or not it is again to return to its owner 
 with a fair amount of accumulation. The intelligent farmer 
 now wishes to know beforehand, whether there will be a net profit 
 from cows or sheep, or swine, before he attempts to rear them. 
 
 The same calculation is appropriate to the poultry yard. 
 It is therefore rational and commendable that, in this depart- 
 ment of rural interest, there should be the same enlightened 
 policy that has been extended to other branches of enterprise 
 on the farm. If poultry may be made profitable, let those va- 
 rieties be selected that are most profitable. In introducing 
 
24 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 improved breeds, there have indeed been occasional absurd 
 extravagances. The hen fever has now and then risen so 
 high, and been so violent, as to threaten the extinction of ration- 
 al pulsations. The sufferers have been the legitimate subjects of 
 ridicule and sarcasm. But after all, is it not as absurd to pay 
 five hundred dollars for a hog, or fifteen hundred for a sheep or 
 one of the ox tribe, as to pay one hundred and fifty for a pair of 
 Asiatic hens 1 Let the reader brush up his mnemonics, and he 
 will perceive that all this has been done. Such extravagances 
 are the mere incidents of ardent minds in new entei'prises. 
 
 Connected with every farm establishment there should be a 
 poultry yard. Without it the farm is as incomplete, as it would 
 be without a piggery. Indeed, every family in the country, 
 although not devoted to agriculture, should have one. To the 
 mechanic it is important, so is it to the professional man and to 
 the merchant. No direction or rule can be given, as to the size 
 of it ; whether it shall contain ten hens, fifty, or an hundred. If 
 it is partly designed to supply materials for a market, it may of 
 course be proportioned to the demand there is for its products. 
 If these products are wanted for home consumption only, the 
 size of the family should regulate the size of the poultry house 
 and the number of its tenants. And in each case, it is apparent, 
 that the amount of feed produced on the premises for the use 
 of the fowls, and the local conveniences which can be appro- 
 priated to their accommodation, should have an influence in 
 deciding how many should be kept. These are matters which 
 all can decide for themselves. What might be expedient for 
 one family would be inappropriate to others. Some, too, are 
 excessively fond of' eggs ; others care less about them. The 
 same is true in regard to the flesh of poultry. This also will 
 have its influence. 
 
 Nor can any general advice be given as to the expediency of 
 keeping other kinds of poultry. One may be disposed to keep 
 turkies, another geese, another guinea hens, and another ducks ; 
 and perhaps rarely the same family will keep them all. This 
 is mainly to be determined by taste and fancy, provided there 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 25 
 
 are adeq^uate conveniences for any or all the different kinds. 
 Rarely will the web-footed birds do well without ample supplies 
 of water, and running -water is best because it is fresh and clean. 
 If there is a river or a pond close by, most families would do 
 well to keep geese and ducks. Here, in the season of warm 
 weather, they would collect most of their food, and would keep 
 themselves clean and glossy. Sometimes both geese and ducks 
 do well without this natural supply of water. 
 
 The rearing and keeping of poultry has become an impor- 
 tant branch of rural economy. Books are becoming numerous 
 on the subject. Bird fanciers are devoting their whole time to 
 it ; studying the habits and the profit of each kind ; and, also 
 ascertaining the best modes of treatment for them. Their labors 
 may prove of great value to the community. The subject, in 
 this country, till very recently has attracted little or no atten- 
 tion. It may at first be viewed, as too insignificant to merit 
 serious consideration. This is natural. Little things are fre- 
 quently treated with contempt, although in the aggregate they 
 assume magnitude surpassing credibility. This is literally so 
 with poultry. Because a fair stock of hens can be bought for 
 two dollars or so, they are regarded as beneath the rank that 
 entitles them even to kind treatment, especially if viewed in 
 connection with expected remuneration. But, although the 
 winter stock of hens on a common farm may be estimated at 
 two dollars only, the fair valuation of all the hens in the country, 
 gives them a commercial importance ranging with some of our 
 best products. It is not the design of this article to anticipate 
 or supersede books exclusively on the culture of poultry. All 
 didactics on that branch of rural economy are by us purposely 
 omitted. Our readers are referred to them for instruction. The 
 present labor is to recommend the subject to all persons living 
 in the country. This we shall do, by setting forth, as well as 
 we can, the pecuniary profits of the poultry yard ; and, also, the 
 benignant influences that may arise from it, to the various resi- 
 dents of the contiguous mansion, both old and young — male and fe- 
 male, particularly the youthful and female members of the family. 
 2 
 
gg THE PARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 Our agricultural journals, it is well known, every now and 
 then, contain some detached account of the profits of hens ; but 
 rarely has there been any general collection of poultry statistics, 
 that would convey an adequate idea of the aggregate amount of 
 these profits in the country, or of the value of this branch of 
 rural investment. In the absence of general statistics, we must 
 take isolated ones, and from them, draw general conclusions. 
 Such conclusions, if not perfectly accurate, in this case will be 
 as likely to fall below the reality as to rise above it. It is be- 
 lieved that by this hypothetical process we shall be able te 
 satisfy the reader that the culture of poultry is of much more 
 importance than generally imagined ; and, that consequently it 
 should become one of the first objects of attention with every 
 family in the country. Let it therefore be supposed, that there 
 are in this country three millions of families that possess all the 
 conveniences for keeping poultry more or less. This calculation 
 cannot possibly be too high. The number is doubtless greater. 
 Then, let it be supposed, that to each of these families, belong 
 ten hens ; surely a moderate allowance ; but this will make 
 thirty millions for the entire country, which, at thirty cents each, 
 constitutes a permanent investment of nine millions of dollars. 
 Four chickens to each old hen is probably raised for the table ; 
 that is, one hundred and twenty millions of chickens raised every 
 year for the table, which at the same price, will yield thirty-six 
 millions of dollars ; or forty millions of dollars for both. Again, 
 if each of the stock hens lays only sixteen dozens of eggs in the 
 year ; less than one dozen in three weeks ; there will be a pro- 
 duct of eggs in the entire country of four hundred and eighty 
 millions of dozens. These eggs are worth at least, two dollars 
 for each hen. But allowing one half to go for feeding them, 
 there will be left a net profit from the eggs of thirty millions of 
 dollars annually ; that is, a net profit of sixty millions of dollars 
 annually in the country from hens' eggs and chickens raised. 
 
 Let this result be placed with some of the leading staples of 
 the country. The value of the flour of the country in 1847, has 
 been set down at $140,000,000. If one half of this is deducted 
 
THE yARM AND THE FIRESIBE. 27 
 
 for cost of production, and that is not enough, the value of the 
 poultry is worth more to the country than our wheat crop. And 
 taking similar data for comparison, it is worth double of our oat 
 crop, double of our potato crop, double of our cotton crop, and is 
 equal to our crop of hay. Indeed, taking the statistics of our agri- 
 cultural productions that year as a guide, there is but one of them 
 that yielded, according to most favorable calculation, so large a 
 net profit as the poultry. Or, if the poultry did not yield as 
 much as supposed, it is because the poultry yard is unduly 
 neglected, and its products are under-estimated. The value of 
 the Indian corn crop was but a little below four hundred mil- 
 lions of dollars, deducting nothing for production and sending it 
 to market. It is affirmed that with the exception of prime 
 cows, there is not on the farm a single article of produce, whether 
 animal or vegetable, that according to the value of the original 
 investment, and of the expense and labor of production, that 
 yields as much clear profit as will come from the poultry yard, 
 if properly regulated. The assertion is .made with confidence, 
 because it is sustained by our own experience, and by a careful 
 examination of the subject. What better occupation ; rather, 
 what better amusement can the young members of a family 
 have than to feed and watch over the poultry of a farm I In 
 this way they may clothe themselves, and pay for their books, 
 without interfering with the school exercises, or any reasonable 
 labors expected from them in other things ! If it should be 
 thought advisable let this be one of their standing perquisites. 
 
 However, it is not designed to treat the reader solely with 
 suppositions, or hypothetic calculations. We have a few solid 
 facts for a basis to our theory. The census of 1840 fixed the 
 value of the poultry of the country ; that is. as it is to be 
 presumed, the stock or brood poultry, at between twelve and 
 thirteen millions of dollars, a quarter higher than we have 
 placed it. And this was a dozen j-ears ago. The whole amout 
 of eggs yielded in a year we have supposed to be 480,000,000 
 dozens — that is, nineteen dozens for each individual in the 
 country to be used in a year, or a fraction more than four ep-<::s a 
 
28 
 
 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE, 
 
 week for each person, or in a family of six persons, an average 
 allowance of two dozen a week. This is a moderate allowance ; 
 for in France the annual consumption of eggs is 8,000,000,000, 
 heing about twenty dozen to each person ; and in Paris alone 
 the annual consumption is 140,000,000. We have no method 
 of ascertaining the quantity of eggs used in Boston, New- York, 
 or the other large cities of this country ; but as it is well under- 
 stood that the inhabitants are fond of s;ood fare, and will have 
 
 COCHIN CHINA HENS. 
 
 it when the means are at command. In evidence of it, statis- 
 tics show that in Boston the annual consumption, with a popu- 
 lation of less than 150,000, is to the amount of one million of 
 dollars for poultry alone, and that in New- York and its depen- 
 dencies three times the amount is expended for the same article. 
 The egg trade in Cincinnati a few years since was put down at 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 29 
 
 25,000,000, in a single year, which since, without doubt, has 
 much increased. 
 
 We have estimated the profits of the hen at one dollar each 
 in the year, in addition to paying for her food. But she must 
 have good accommodations, suitable food, and enough of it ; then 
 our estimate is a low one, provided, also, that she is of any good 
 common native breed. To show this, we will give a few sta- 
 tistics on that point. A correspondent in the " iNew England 
 Farmer," under date of March 3d, 1851, says that one of his 
 neighbors the j'ear previous kept 64 hens, three geese, and nine 
 turkeys, which he valued at S3 2 50. In the year they ate 90 
 bushels of corn, which cost $58 58. The money received from 
 eggs and the carcases sold was $174 59 ; or a clear profit of 
 $83 61. A correspondent of the " Genesee Farmer," who kept 
 twenty-five hens, says the profit on them, in a year, after paying 
 all expenses, was $26 92 — a trifle above our own estimate. 
 Col. M. Thayer has stated that he can make more profit from one 
 hundred good hens than from his farm of two hundred acres. 
 His farm is called a good one, and he has been accu.=tomed to 
 poultry for fifty years. J. H. Austin, of Canton, Conn., has 
 stated the net profits for one year on fifteen hens to have been 
 twenty dollars. Mr. Crocker, of Sunderland, N. H., had a net 
 profit of $16 97 on seventeen hens, in a year. The above are 
 taken almost at random from the different agricultural journals 
 at command, excluding such as gave a much higher rate of pro- 
 fit, preferring those in the range of our own estimate. Of this 
 class we might extend the number to almost any indefinite 
 extent. 
 
 To show how much a few hens will contribute to the sub- 
 sistence of a family in case of necessity, the following affecting 
 anecdote is given, which shows their value, and the ingenuity 
 and tact of the individual alluded to. A few days since we read 
 the account of a widow having six children to support. She 
 was, at the time in question, entirely without means to procure 
 them food save eight hens which laid daily. She did not feel 
 willino- to make known hernecessities, or to solicit any assistance. 
 
30 THE FAEM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 She resolved to try the experiment of sustaining herself and 
 children on these eight eggs. To eat them would do hut little 
 heyond maintaining life. To exchange them, therefore, for 
 other food was the plan adopted. Accordingly she daily ex- 
 changed six of her eggs for heans, and two of them for a small 
 piece of coarse meat, both of which were cooked together for 
 soup, which was, under those circumstances, quite palatable, 
 and in amount sufficient to satisfy hunger. In this way they 
 were all sustained, till more ample means were at control : an 
 instance of management rarely or never excelled. 
 
 A poultry establishment, connected with every country resi- 
 dence, has another claim to favorable consideration. As a 
 branch of rural productive investment it has been shown to de- 
 serve a place on every farm. It is also to be prized for the 
 facilities aflbrded by it, in case of sickness or any unexpected 
 occasion for a delicacy or luxury upon the table, when the 
 butcher's cart is not at hand. With fat chickens and fresh eggs 
 in abundance the cook is never at a loss in furnishing something 
 acceptable to the invalid or epicure. When in our life occasion- 
 ally making a sudden call on a country friend, in some secluded 
 locality, within thirty minutes of time we have usually been re- 
 freshed with as nice a naeal as ordinarily expected at a good 
 hotel. It is the pride and delight of the well bred wife and 
 daughters of the farmer to have at command such means for 
 entertaining a city relative and a distant friend honoring their 
 mansion with a visit. The treasures of a good country larder, 
 with what can be produced on a farm, seem to the stranger 
 almost inexhaustible ; and the skill and tact ever ready to deck 
 them off in a style of professional gastronomy seem incredible to 
 those who have had no opportunity for sharing in them. But 
 without the poultry-yard for such emergencies, there would be 
 an irreparable deficiency. Where could be found a fair substi- 
 tute for the roasted or boiled capon at dinner, or a broiled one 
 for an early breakfast ? Or where could be found an equally 
 acceptable equivalent for the omelet, or the boiled, or fried, or 
 poached egg, or for the ever- welcome custard ? "VMthout these 
 
THE FAEM AND THE FIRESIDE. 31 
 
 requisites for good living, epicures would nearly pine away, and 
 become as it were out of humor with life. 
 
 And there is yet another consideration to be offered in favor 
 of the poultry-yard. Is there nothing in the feathered tribes 
 that dwell there to gratify the eye or the ear of those who watch 
 over and nourish them ? Cannot the lover of natural beauty see 
 something for admiration in the well-rounded breast and the 
 gradually tapering and gracefully curved necks of these well- 
 chosen and well-fed birds 1 Is there no beauty in. their infinitely 
 variegated plumage ? Can human art successfully imitate the 
 silky fineness and lustre of their feathers ? There is in the 
 human bosomi an apprehension of what is comely and adapted 
 to a well-designed purpose, denoting wisdom and beneficence on 
 the part of its author ; and the human senses are modulated so 
 as to, convey to the mind the images of objects thus administer- 
 ing to its gratification. Where, it may be asked, is there in the 
 broad creation aught that contains so much to delight the eye as 
 in the poultry-yard filled with a choice collection of beautiful 
 fowls ? Burke, the well-known writer on natural beauty, 
 selected the neck and breast of certain birds, as well as the neck 
 and the fully developed breast of the youthful human figure, as 
 an illustration of his subject. And is it possible, with all the 
 dye stuffs on the land or in the sea, for human skill to produce 
 such an assemblage of delicate and brilliant colors, combined 
 and commingled in ten thousand aspects, as are every day dis- 
 playing themselves, in the poultry-yard, to the gaze of contem- 
 plation ? Can they be seen among the rich fabrics of Turkey or 
 Persia ? Can the artists of Prance, or Germany, or England 
 equal them ? If the mansion of the farmer is not ornamented 
 like the drawing-room and boudoir of the rich merchant, with 
 costly drapery and tapestry, he may have a poultry-yard exhi- 
 biting specimens of beauty that may be the envy of princes. 
 
 It is admitted, that in the want of artistic decorations, and 
 sometimes the want of polished society, the country, to those not 
 familiar with it, may seem cheerless and dull. Yet it seems to 
 us there is a sufficient counterpart for this, in the rich verdure 
 
32 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 of the meadow, the waving foliage of the forest, the buoyancy of 
 farm-yard animals, the singing of birds, and especially in the 
 gaiety and sprightliness of the feathered corps that surround 
 the neat cottage or cluster in the poultry yard, displaying to the 
 eye their gaudy plumage, and to the ear the melody of their 
 music. It might be thought, that to be dull and cheerless 
 amidst such constant exhibitions of animated nature, is equiva- 
 lent to being destitute of the amiable and lovely susceptibilities 
 of the human heart Even in the stillness of a thick darkness 
 that lulls to rest earth's wide realm, do we experience no plea- 
 sure at the unfailing notes of chanticleer announcing the hour of 
 midnight or of dawning day ? We never hear those notes with- 
 out an emotion of joy. They tell us there is to be a resurrec- 
 tion to the duties and the hopes of life. Does the rattle of the 
 watchman or the rumbling wheels, at that hour, on the city 
 pavement, create an emotion like this 1 We think not. The 
 one denotes the reign of order throughout earth's domain. The 
 other may and often does denote the discovery of burglars or 
 assassins, or the constant liability to their depredations. 
 
 And with the rising sun what an uninterrupted concert opens 
 among these feathered groups ! What a jubilee begins to greet 
 the new born energies of the world I With an hundred hens 
 constantly leaving their nests, there is an uninterrupted succes- 
 sion of their joyful notes. Their mouths do not appear to be 
 large enough to emit all the boisterous emotion that animates 
 them. In the midst of this ceaseless cackling, every now and 
 then their lordly mates cause the surrounding forests to echo 
 with their shrill crowing — as overpowering as the diapason of 
 the cathedral ; and rising above this at measured intervals, is 
 heard the pompous shout of the gobbler, almost causing the 
 ground, like the discharge of cannon, to tremble beneath him. 
 And, if the Guinea fowl belong to this community, as if to in- 
 crease this vocal jargon, or to make burlesque upon it, his harsh 
 voice, not unlike the filing in a machine shop, is heard for half 
 a mile. If there be not music in all this, there is life in it — 
 there is animation in it. Wherever witnessed there can be no 
 
THE FARM AKD THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 33 
 
 stupid languor ; no lugubrious dullness for want of objects to in- 
 spire a feeling of interest ; no painful sensation of solitude and 
 loneliness. The human being that gives no responsive emotion 
 to the sounds of this scene must have a heart as impenetrable as 
 adamant, afiections frigid like the ice of the poles, and is indeed 
 an outcast from Nature's temple. 
 
 GUINEA FOWL. 
 
 Yet far more important in a social or sympathetic view is the 
 pleasure experienced in feeding poultry, and thus making them, 
 as it were, companions. Animal nature is full of social impulses, 
 and these impulses are not confined iu their operation to the 
 particular species in which they severally originate. These 
 impulses belong' to other animals as well as to man. If pri- 
 marily exercised on the members of their own species, they may be 
 taught to have scope on others. The little chicks separated 
 from their mother, and the calf or the lamb from its dam, suf- 
 fers as does the unweaned child when separated from the object 
 2* 
 
34 
 
 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 that ministers to the preservation of its life. Each will then 
 seek companionship with those which helong to other species of 
 animals, wherever kindness and nourishment are to he had. The 
 wolf may again, as once in olden time, become the nurse of the 
 human infant, and there grow up between them a mutual and 
 strong friendship, unnatural as this may seem. And frequently 
 does the half-grown pullet, in want of society and protection 
 among its kindred, learn to seek for it at the kitchen hearth, in 
 the mistress who kindly feeds it. Under similar circumstances 
 of loneliness and destitution, the calf and the colt will herd 
 together; so will the dog and the goose; and, even the cat and 
 its legitimate victim of prey have been known to do the same. 
 Instances of analogous facts have been numerous. 
 
 If man were in solitary confinement like Baron Trenck, or 
 like La Fayette in the dungeons of Olmutz ; or cast away on an 
 uninhabited island, like Robinson Crusoe on Juan Fernandez, 
 how dear to him would become the companionship of a dog, a 
 goat, a bird of any kind, or even a mouse ! In all such cases 
 there would be mutual attachment ; and if the parties were to 
 be separated, the consequence would be mutually painful. It 
 is well known that the constant supervision of most farm 
 animals leads to affectionate familiarity, mutually cherished. 
 These animals well know their kind guardian from all others ; 
 when fed, they express their gratitude in grateful looks, and 
 wanting feed, their attitude, their motions, their beaming eyes, 
 are so many beseeching manifestations of hunger. It is not 
 indeed human speech ; it is not a written language ; but their 
 keeper understands them perfectly, and if he is a man of kind- 
 ness and Christian feeling, he fails not to administer to their 
 wants and to cultivate the exercise of their sympathies. Let it 
 be asked, if he experiences no pleasure in his intercourse with 
 them, and especially in his ministrations to their necessities ? 
 Does their seeming fondness for him inspire no corresponding 
 emotion in his own bosom ? Can he look upon them with the 
 heartless indifference that he surveys the stones beneath his 
 feet ? Does no reciprocity of feeling spring up between them ? 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 35 
 
 It is not possible. If it were, he would not deserve the name 
 of a man. 
 
 The greatest social pleasure felt from an intercourse with, 
 and a supervision of, dumb animals, is that which arises from a 
 supervision of the poultry yard. This is to be expected. The 
 intercourse is more constant than with any other farm animals. 
 In the time of rearing the young, it is seemingly every hour iu 
 the day. The ft-ebleness, and the recklessness of young birds, 
 render this indispensable. In all cases, the strength of mutual 
 attachments is proportioned to the degree and constancy of 
 intercourse kept up. This is true in human society. It is 
 equally true in the brute creation. It is also true, where they 
 exist between a human being and dumb animals. Let a young 
 lady illustrate the idea. We will suppose a young lady recently 
 removed from the city to the country, a young lady having little 
 or no society of her own species, age, and sex, and cut off from 
 the means of amusement to which she had been accustomed, 
 what a relief would she experience in becoming the guardian 
 and nurse of the poultry yard I Such an one, although not 
 having constantly before her the graceful flitting of female 
 youthful forms, although not animated for days and for months 
 with their cheerful conversation, and the buoyant melody of 
 their joyful hearts, yet, she will soon find objects claiming her 
 most ardent sympathies, and cheering her with their own com- 
 panionship and glee. Does she now feel lonely ? Do the paral- 
 ising vapors of solitude rise up before her and depress her spirits ? 
 Are there no animated forms before her, that in a measure sup- 
 ply the place of human forms ? Does she hear no accents of 
 joyous or affectionate breathing, to supply the place of human 
 speech and human melody 1 
 
 No one can affirm to the contrary. To her there will be no 
 dreariness, no tedious monotony, no impatience for change of 
 scenery or companions. The broad earth is spread out before 
 her in all its native loveliness ; the verdure and the flowers fill 
 the air with fagrance ; she inhales the rich odors ; the sky is 
 over her like a magnificent canopy ; and her ear and her heart 
 
38 THE FAEM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 ave open to the tones, whether of supplieation or jrratitude of the 
 dependant creatures that live on her miiu.-'tralions, and rejoice 
 in her smiles. In the midst of such iiifluent-es, the human bosom, 
 and especially the female bosom never fails to receive an im- 
 pressive culture ; the sterner passions are mollilied ; the amia- 
 ble afiections become deeper rooted, and throw ofFmore broadly 
 and hifrher, the aromas of kindness ; and above all, the heart, 
 the sanctuary of the divinity that presides over (he young spar- 
 row and the liUies of the field, becomes more and more expan- 
 sive with those sublimated breathings that connect mortals with 
 the throne of Heaven. 
 
 Less than fifteen years ago, in one of the most memorable 
 mercantile revulsions thaj; ever cast its paralizing wand over 
 our beloved country, hundreds of families, some reared in afflu- 
 ence and others in elegance, were reduced to poveity. We se- 
 lect one to show the benignant rural influence on human sensi- 
 bilities. Their pecuniary means were reduced to the lowest 
 point. There is a mildew that falls upon the human form as 
 ■well as on vegelation, that paralizes all vitality. Two of this 
 family in the two first succeeding years, from the effects of this 
 mildew, were consigned to the tomb. The others, in order to 
 live cheaper, and especially to avoid the daily mortification of 
 meeting their former associates, sought residence in the country. 
 Here was selected a cottage, humble in size and in external at- 
 traction ; and inwardly equally destitute of superfluities. In- 
 deed, the furniture was rigidly in accordance with the simplicity 
 of olden times ; nearly every article that had enriched their 
 spacious mansion in the city, and would command cash, had 
 been sent to the pawnbroker or auction room, to furnish 
 means to supply the table with food. This is the common 
 waning shadow of departing competence in a commercial em- 
 porium ; and, its reflections form the rising shadow of future 
 destitution and broken hearts. In such a cottage, midway be- 
 tween ])erfect solitude, at the mountain's base, and the full <rlare 
 of the country village, were they in poverty to meditate upon the 
 vanity of this world's glory. They had no taste for society ; but, 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 37 
 
 having a good conscience, they did not shun it, knowing that no 
 personal disgrace had fallen upon any of their numher. And, 
 the remains of tt former well filled wardrobe — 'true, much worn 
 and faded-^-enabled them with constancy to attend church. 
 This is as persons of sense, and Christians, always should do in 
 similar circumstances. If persons go to church to display new or 
 gay clothing ; or, stay away from it because their clothing is cheap, 
 much worn, or old fashioned, theconclusionis irresistible thatthey 
 have a religion of no value in this world or in the world to come. 
 For many a month their names were not known ; but, their 
 discreet appearance every Sunday soon attracted notice. The 
 reminiscence exhibited by them of better days, created sympa- 
 thy ; and, their good sense, and the cheerful acquiescence in 
 their destiny, showed that this sympathy was well deserved. 
 In this quiet retreat they eat and slept, mingling their congra- 
 tulations for what remained to them, and their sorrows for the 
 departed ones that once had place with them ; and, in it they 
 were not forgetful of the daily morning and evening oblation to 
 that Being whose Providence always provides for the motherless 
 and the destitute. What a comfort it is that there is One to 
 whom persons in such straits can always resort for help ; that 
 there is one deep fountain always full and always open for the 
 supply of their necessities ! In this poverty-stricken and excel- 
 lent family was a young lady of an age to feel most severely the 
 blight that had come over them. She had just seen the world 
 at a distance : she had not entered society, as it is called ; from 
 her the shackles of the boarding school had not wholly fallen off; 
 she had seen the prairie of life covered with gaudy flowers, but 
 had not been near enough to them to inhale their odors ; she 
 had simply heard the far away sounds of fashionable merriment, 
 but had never approached so near as to feel, in her own bosom, 
 the witchery of its delusion. The curtain dropped even before 
 she had opportunity to test its reality. Perhaps she was in the 
 neighborhood of fifteen years ; and had as lovely a spii-it as we 
 ever knew. The remembrance of her, to this day, cheers and 
 depresses us with a strangely pleasing sadness. 
 
38 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 In such an exigency there are two considerations that be- 
 come paramount to all others : the first is, how the table is to 
 be supplied ; and the second is, what occupation can be had to 
 prevent a feeling of ennui. In past times a check was to be 
 drawn on the bank, and money became as plenty as water. 
 Now all, old and young, were to be fed, like the young ravens, 
 from the rich stores of their Heavenly Father. Our dear young 
 friend had read something of the productiveness of the poultry 
 yard, and of the agreeable associations with it. She resolved 
 to procure a few dozen of hens. She did so — perhaps by the 
 sale of an article from the wardrobe — and, in a short season, 
 these prolific creatures superseded the table necessity for bank 
 checks. There seemed to be no end to the eggs, and in a few 
 months there was a fine new grown race of the parent stock. 
 What a luxury did they impart to a hitherto scanty repast ! 
 Once more the hour of midday was hailed with joy ! Even the 
 scent of dinner gave additional zest to life. The experiment 
 was one from which thousands, there is no doubt, will learn wis- 
 dom, when in conflict with adversity. 
 
 It was revealed to us, two thousand years since, that mortals 
 cannot " live on bread alone ;" the mind as well as the body is 
 to be nourished ; there are social instincts to be fed as well as 
 the gnawings of hunger. This was shown in the case of which 
 we are speaking. Ellen, the name of this self-taught guardian 
 of the poultry yard, here soon found a delightful panacea for the 
 want of society. These beautiful birds became to her like one's 
 own children. She would spend hour after hour with them, 
 feeding them and caressing them. Indeed their society was 
 never unwelcome to her. She would sometimes sit down on 
 her feet upon the grass, and they would all gather round her : 
 apparently striving each to get nearest to her : all looking her fully 
 in the face with their peculiarly expressive eyes : hopping up in 
 her lap, eating out of her hand, and occasionally flying upon her 
 shoulders, reaching out their graceful necks as if the better to 
 catch the full glance of her own eye. Oh, had they been gifted 
 with human speech, what enrapturing sounds of affection would 
 
THE FAUM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 39 
 
 they have uttered — making her very soul burn within her, as if 
 touched by a living coal from friendship's holy altar ! Did not 
 Ellen love these beautiful and prolific creatures ? She did love 
 them, and she nourished them better than their own mother had 
 nourished them ! 
 
 But, alas, Ellen's ministrations to the poultry yard, like 
 all her joys and her sorrows of earth, were hastening to a prem- 
 ature termination. That terrible mildew which had been so 
 destructive in her family, had left on her own delicate form 
 some indelible scars. They had been impregnating her system 
 with the virus of their poison till it reached her vitals, and 
 spreading upon the surface, like the leprosy, till the whole was 
 
 SPANGLED POLAND HENS. 
 
 covered. After a few years she became unable to visit in their 
 accustomed haunts the objects that had yielded to the family so 
 much sustenance, and to herself so much pleasure. But while 
 
40 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 confined to her room, if placed on a chair by her window where 
 the poultry could see her, they would gather round it, reaching 
 up their fair necks and greeting her with their bright eyes as if 
 to ask for food, to inspire her with hope of renewed health. 
 Such hope had become impossible ; for she already felt the seal 
 of her own destiny : she already felt that the light of her own life 
 was burning dimly in its socket, and would soon flicker away 
 and become extinct. All that she could do was to throw from 
 the window the few crumbs with which she had been furnished. 
 These, indeed, would be gathered up by the affectionate group — 
 but, they seemed to evince a premonition of the coming doom of 
 their kind mistress — as soon as eaten they would quietly retire, 
 one by one, in seeming sadness, as neighbors and friends at a 
 funeral retire from the cold grave that contains the object of 
 their love. Here are two of them ! 
 
 "Where disease had made such irrevocable havoc upon the 
 functions of an animal form, there could have been but few 
 opportunities, even at the window, for similar demonstrations of 
 mutual attachment. Long before such a crisis was imagined, 
 except it may have been in secret by herself, she suddenly 
 swooned away, and never again opened her eyes upon a world 
 that had raised hopes in her, only to be disappointed, and that 
 had opened upon her a dazzling effulgence so soon to be extin- 
 guished by the mantle of midnight darkness. If there is in 
 this vale of vicissitude and sorrow, any one thing that, above all 
 others, paralises bur firmest energies, and causes the heart to 
 melt in disappointment and woe, it is the death of a young lady, 
 beautiful in person, amiable in temper, accomplished in manners, 
 and adorned with Christian graces, before she is called to fulfil 
 the most important duties of her earthly mission. Why is such 
 an one so called away ? Why are not those called first that 
 have accomplished all the good they can do ? Is she no Ioniser 
 needed by agonized relatives ? Has the world no more occasion 
 for her kind offices? Are there'yet to be on earth, no more 
 hungry to be fed ; no more naked to be clothed ; no more tears 
 to be wiped away ; no more broken hearts to be bound up, by 
 
THE FARM AOT) THE FIRESIDE. 41 
 
 such a, lovely personification of Christian excellence? Infinite 
 wisdom ajorie ca.ii tell why it is so I 
 
 Delightful to us would be the thought that this sketch is a 
 work of fiction. Such is not the fact. We knew her ministra- 
 tions to the poultry yard ; and, when these ministrations be- 
 came impracticable, we oft saw her emaciated form, and her 
 long tiny fingers, colorless and almost transparent like a skeleton 
 hand which had been dipjjed in white wax. We oft saw her 
 sunken eye and her faded cheek. We oft heard her impaired 
 voice, and witnessed her utmost efforts to appear quiet amidst 
 pain, and cheerful amidst the withering joys of life. And, also, 
 we saw her lifeless remains, without a father or a mother to weep 
 for her, carried to the cold grave I There she still sleeps : and, 
 as .she died in the faith of the gospel, her few surviving relatives, 
 rejoice in the hope, that in the opening of another life, she will 
 receive the crowu of unfading glory. 
 
 A WIDOW WORTH HAV^G, 
 
 OR A SHOET CHAPTER OX FEMALE REPUTATION AND THE 
 RIGHTS OF WOMEN. 
 
 The recent discussion respectiiio; the relative rights and 
 talents of men and women has partaken more of comedv than 
 of tragedy. Some of the leaders in this diseu.ssion have .'sufTered 
 not a little from incipient fever, but we are not aware that the 
 terminalion has in any case been fatal. There have been two 
 or three conventions composed mainly of the feminine gender, 
 who, if they had been fortunate enough 1o have husbands, left 
 them at home to rock the cradles and dry-nurse the babies. 
 This seemed to us rather an awkward and unnatural transposition 
 in social economy ; and, not being furnished with statistics on 
 the subject, we are unable to say which succeeded best in their 
 
42 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 respective new occupations, pantaloons in the management of 
 Russia diaper, or petticoats in making speeches and passing fiery 
 resolutions for the recognization of the community. It would have 
 been unreasonable to expect, as long as the doctrine of innate 
 ideas, since the days of John Locke has been on the wane, that 
 either party could in their first essays acquire enviable success or 
 reputation. The last of these demonstrations was adjourned, it is 
 understood without day and without year, to speak in parlia- 
 mentary technicality ; that is, not to meet again ; and, the only 
 known remaining spasm of it is the occasional repetition of three 
 august lectures — one on manhood — one on womanhood — and 
 the other on something else. 
 
 It was thought in olden times, that much learning might 
 make one mad. In our own time, the more probable presump- 
 tion is, that the want of competent learning may make persons 
 appear like fools. No one acquainted with our views on this 
 subject, or the labors we have directed in relation to it, can sus- 
 pect we do not duly appreciate the female character, and the 
 mission woman is ordained by Providence to accomplish. Far 
 from it ! Let her agency become paralised, and the moral 
 ■world degenerates into a waste. place; sterility would spread 
 out before us her broad and uncomely bosom ; the most fertile 
 plants of earthly growth would wither and die ; and, there 
 would seemingly be left, nothing but a bleak desolation. Let 
 the fountain of woman's pity be dried up ; let the overflowing 
 of her kindness cease ; let her forever buoyant assiduities and 
 her heaven-inspired smiles fail in .their ministrations to the un- 
 fortunate, the sick, and the broken hearted, and where oh, 
 
 where, will the lords of creation find aught to render existence 
 desirable 1 "Where she is not, there may be drunkenness and 
 revelry and crime ; but, who in such a place, would seek for the 
 sunshine of the soul ! Without her presence, the fireside would 
 radiate no gleams of joy ; and without it, even the sanctuary 
 of religion would more resemble the sculptor's studio than a 
 temple of devout and sincere worshippers. Man seems to be 
 the mere bone and muscle of his species ; woman is compa- 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 43 
 
 ratively the soul of it — the genius which gives it life and 
 beauty. 
 
 When we look at the stations respectively filled hy the 
 two sexes, and the lahors of them respectively performed, in 
 the best conditions of human society ; the one devoted to the 
 sterner and more arduous occupations of life, tilling the soil, 
 bufieting the ocean storm, wielding the sword, or in the coun- 
 cils of'state, where everything is exciting and exhausting, while 
 the other is devoted to the gentler and more placid avocations 
 of»the domestic sanctuary ; both alike necessary — ^both alike 
 honorable ; we feel no disposition to break in upon, or to 
 disturb the present order of society on the subject. We ad- 
 mire the wisdom and beauty of this allotment. Man thus seems 
 so necessary to woman, and woman so necessary to man, 
 we cannot doubt it is in accordance with the divine wisdom 
 and benevolence. Hence, we think it as unnecessary and inap- 
 propriate, and we feel no more inclined to inquire whether 
 man is intellectually superior to woman, or woman is superior 
 to man, than to inquire if a horse can be made capable of teach- 
 ing algebra — a labor now performed by our college professors. 
 It is possible, that by a long .course of discipline, woman may 
 become large and muscular, and athletic, and brawny, as the 
 farmer and the blacksmith now are, and that her feelings may 
 become so correspondingly changed, that she may handle the 
 scapel as well as the surgeon, and the meat axe as well as the 
 butcher ; while, on the other hand, men may become as familiar 
 with mending old stockings and the care of children, nursing 
 only excepted, as women now are ; yet, it appears to us, that 
 a long time would be required for it. Moreover, if this can be 
 done, we are at a loss to perceive wherein will be the gain ; 
 and in what respect the world will be made better. Perhaps 
 some of our petticoat lecturers could tell. It is beyond our com- 
 prehension. 
 
 It is well known to those conversant with the laws that 
 govern in animal physiology ; the mind as well as the mus- 
 cular organization ; that development is the result of circum- 
 
44 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 stances. The brute creation is supplied with all necessary in- 
 stincts ; but, in the human species there is reason instead of 
 instinct, and this reasoning power is made available by culture. 
 We know little or nothing, unless we learn it. Ordinarily, we 
 are learning something the most of our life. We are taught by 
 others about us ; also, by the force of our own necessities. If left 
 in destitute, or cast under perilous circurnstances, we are thereby 
 straitened to make efforts for our own relief. This is a pro- 
 gressive work. Each step taken prepares the way for an addi- 
 tional step. Each object reached stimulates us to press forward 
 to an additional one. In this manner persons rise from poverty 
 to afEuence ; from obscurity to fame ; from ignorance to eminence 
 in knowledge. Those who have not studied the laws of mind 
 are perplexed to know how individuals do sometimes thus be- 
 come distinguished. The inference, is legitimate, from these 
 cases, that all might accomplish much more than they do ; and, 
 that there is no physical or mental necessity for the stationary 
 or non-progressive conditions of most persons. The serfs of 
 Russia and the peasants of all feudal countries, if removed 
 from the influences that now depress them, might rise, there 
 is reason to believe, to rank with the best of their fellow 
 men. 
 
 It is admitted that circumstances, we think not an evil, 
 restrain most women to what may be deemed a monotonous 
 course of life. There is little, and we think ordinarily there 
 should be nothing, to entice or drive them from the routine of 
 domestic avocations. The good of society demands this. Their 
 own ease and happiness are promoted by it. If it be any loss 
 to them not to be in a condition to enter into competition with 
 men for wealth or fame, this loss is more than counterbalanced 
 by the consequent exemption they enjoy frorti the hardships and 
 perils of men. Now and then a woman, most frequently a 
 widow, is left in such destitution and with such responsibilities 
 for the support of herself or children resting upon her. as to 
 break through the timidity of most women, and to make efforts 
 in some kind or other of business, till she becomes as much 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 45 
 
 distinguished as the best of men for enterprise and success. 
 Now and then under those circumstances a woman will become 
 rich by her own unaided eflbrts. 
 
 , Under our own observation, cases of the kind have occurred. 
 Were we to take time for brushing up our mnemonics, we could 
 name dozens of them. Without effort we can name a few. 
 Among those in cities who were obliged to resort to the busi- 
 ness of keeping boarders, some by good management became 
 rich, and in shrewdness would stand creditably by the side of 
 the best merchants. Of the number is Mrs. Ballard, of New- 
 York. She is indeed too wise to tell every one how much she 
 has made ; but, if she were to draw a check on her banker for 
 tea thousand dollars, hundreds would pronounce it good. The 
 same might be said of many others in the same business. Take 
 also the case of Mrs. Beman, nearly as well known in a large 
 circle as William B. Astor, doing an extensive business in the 
 City of New- York. Only a few years since, she was, we be- 
 lieve, a poor seamstress ; it may be, like thousands of poor 
 females in that city, earning in making shirts for the slop-shops, 
 only eighteen pence a day. Look at her now with k large 
 establishment for furnishing gentlemen with costly under gar- 
 ments, and giving employment and subsistence, to how many of 
 her own sex, no one but herself can tell. From the apparent extent 
 of her operations, one might fairly conclude, that the City Park 
 cannot conveniently accommodate with fresh air all that she 
 must necessarily employ. And, if she were desirous of purchas- 
 ing ten thousand dollars worth, on credit, of Irish linens, mus- 
 lin, and flannels, from a large jobbing house, her custom would 
 be much desired, or we are much mistaken in regard to her 
 means and known responsibility. 
 
 Take, too, the case of Mrs. Farnham, who, a few years since 
 went to California. The newspapers are frequently giving ac- 
 counts of her progress. Her first intention was to induce a few 
 hundred reputable single women to accompany her to that land 
 of gold : it might be to become the wives of the first lonely emi- 
 grants. This shows her enterprise and energy ; and there was 
 
46 THE FABM AND THE FIRESIDE. ' 
 
 nothing indelicate in the idea. The same thing has been done 
 before on a small scale. If our foreign missionaries lose their 
 wives, there has been no scruple with the most pure in mind, 
 to send out to them accomplished ladies, although the parties to 
 be united had, perhaps, never heard of each other before. And it 
 is no unusual thing that those of royal families are brought into 
 matrimonial alliances, who had never seen each other. In such 
 dilemmas matrimony is a matter of propriety, or of business, or 
 of taste. In such exigences, without any freaks of romantic 
 love, men, and women too, are glad to take such companions as 
 are at hand and have been deemed fit for them. Had father 
 Adam declined to receive and take to his bosom mother Eve, 
 because he did not fancy the color of her hair and eyes, it is 
 very problematical whether there would be one like ourself, in 
 the nineteenth century, to write for the amusement and the edi- 
 fication of the thousands who will read the Farm and the Fire- 
 side. 
 
 Mrs. Farnham, however, either because she could not pro- 
 cure an assorted cargo of petticoats equal to her estimate, or be- 
 cause some other project dawned upon her fertile imagination, 
 abandoned this enterprise. Nevertheless, ere long she was in 
 the land which had filled her mind with bright visions. Shortly 
 after her arrival, it was reported by a correspondent that she 
 was seen boarding and shingling the roof of a house that was to 
 be her own home. At short intervals we receive through the 
 newspapers fresh intelligence of the magnitude of her agricultural 
 achievements ; and we have had before us, when at our writing 
 table, hanging upon the wall, a few ears of the wheat she raised 
 in 1851. We obtained and retained them, as a curiosity of fe- 
 male enterprise, and as a sample of better grain than we had 
 before seen. Should Mrs. Farnham continue her present opera- 
 tions ten years longer with undiminished energy, Roswell R. 
 Colt, Esq., of Patterson, N. J., Col. J. M. Sherwood, of Auburn, 
 N. Y., and the Hon. John Delafield, the President of the New- 
 York State Agricultural Society, will be thrown into the shade 
 by her. And not less deserving of notice is the case of a poor 
 
THE FAEM AND THE FIKESIBE. 47 
 
 woman, mentioned in the papers not a month since, who went 
 to California, and had baked ten thousand dollars' worth of pies 
 for the gold diggers iii her vicinity ; the greater part of it, with- 
 out even a cooking stove, in a single open iron vessel, and col- 
 lecting with her own hands on the mountain side, the wood 
 used in the process. This is a fine illustration of Woman's 
 Rights. 
 
 It may be well to inquire, before we leave these instances of 
 female enterprise and success, by what development of human 
 destiny, or by what unprecedented concatenation of circumstances, 
 these achievements were perfected ? Did any unusual astrolo- 
 gical concomitants attend their birth 1 Were there seen in them 
 during infancy and childhood, any precocious indications of ex- 
 traordinary advancement ? Did they receive an impulse from 
 the stringent resolutions of some female convention for the eleva- 
 tion of the female character ? Did they become galvanized from 
 hearing lectures on manhood and womanhood ? Or have they 
 been stimulated onward in their novel career by the m^agical 
 and the overpowering influence of Bloomer unmentionables? If 
 such is the fact, at present it is not generally known. If such is 
 the fact, history will doubtless embody it on her pages, and 
 transmit it to coming generations. For one, we do not believe 
 it. Our own impression is that they have done what thousands 
 of other women might do, if disposed and straitened by poverty 
 as these were. It is doubtful if ever the members of one of those 
 conventions, or a baptized disciple of a half-yard long petticoat 
 ever will do it ; it may rather be expected that they would pre- 
 fer to live pensioners on their more fortunate relatives, or even 
 to die in an almshouse. 
 
 Some time last year, or in the year previous, there appeared 
 first in a G-reenfield paper, Massachusetts, then in a Troy paper, 
 N. Y., an article headed — " A Widow Worth Having." As 
 usual with such choice bits, it passed the circuit of the news- 
 paper press, and became a fragment of periodical literature. On 
 its first appearance, the editor sanctioned it with the seal of 
 authenticity, and furnished it with the above cognomen, indica- 
 
48 THE FARM AND THE FIHEaiBE. 
 
 tive of the merils of the writer. The article vi'as in the form of 
 a letter aJdressed to him, and signed by the widow aforesaid— 
 Marinda Hines. Extracts from the letter are as follow : — " I 
 have five cows, and have sold, the past season, thirteen hundred 
 pounds of butter, besides milk, cream, and butter for family use. 
 Our family will averag:e eight. I raised seven calves last Spring, 
 and some late ; two of them I got from my neighbors. I have 
 fatted seven hundred and sixty-eight pounds of pork, mostly on 
 sour milk. Now, let us leave one of the cows for family use, 
 and set the credit to the other four : say thirteen hundred, divided 
 by four, makes three hundred and twenty-five pounds, at sixteen 
 and a half cents per pound — the price at which it sold — fifty- 
 three dollars and sixty-two cents, to each cow. The calves 
 were worth, say thirty dollars ; twenty-five to four cows ; and 
 five hundred of the pork, at six dollars, will be thirty ; and the 
 twenty-five for the calves makes fifty-five dollars ; and divided 
 by four, leaves thirteen dollars and seventy-five cents to each 
 cow ; and this, added to what was received for the butter, will 
 make sixty-seven dollars and thirty-seven cents of receipts for 
 the produce of each cow; or two hundred and sixty-nine dollars 
 and fifty cents for the produce of the four." 
 
 Mrs. Hines afterwards stated that her cows were of the native 
 breed, and of medium size ; that they have good pasture in sum- 
 mer, and good hay in winter ; and no other feed, except a few 
 apples, small potatoes, apple parings, and the like, in the winter, 
 to Old Brindle, to make her milk holdout till some of the others 
 came in. Thirty dollars is a large allowance for the feed of 
 each of her cows. Now, suppose she were ambitious, and dis- 
 posed to keep fifty cows instead of her present numbei-, and there 
 would be a clear profit of that number, of $1,868 75 cents 
 annually. Who can say there is no profit in agriculture, under 
 proper management? Such a widow would indeed make a 
 wife, for a farmer, worth having. The dairy may, and should, 
 properly, be under the direction of the female head of the family. 
 Let all wives of farmers imitate the example of this widow, and 
 there will be a new aspect in rural communities. AU may do 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 49 
 
 it, if they will. Mrs. Hines may be taken as a model agricul- 
 turalist. She has connected the improvement of the mind with 
 the improvement of the farm. She has been accustomed to read 
 the periodicals. The editor of the paper which introduced her 
 to the public, said she had taken, and promptly paid him for, 
 his journal, twenty successive years. 
 
 Of such instances of female talent our agricultural societies 
 should take cognisance. The authors of them deserve publicity 
 and tokens of public appreciation. The community at large 
 would be stimulated by them. Hence we make record of them 
 wherever found ; and of the benefit that may be derived from 
 that of Mrs. Hines we think so highly, we would cheerfully 
 render her a more substantial tribute of regard. One thought 
 vi'e had was to procure her portrait for an illustration in the pre- 
 sent volume. The difficulty of procuring it seemed to present 
 an obstacle. Then it occurred to us, that instead of a kindness 
 to the worthy widow, it might prove an evil to her. It can 
 scarcely be supposed that a woman who- can take care of her- 
 self and her farm as well as she can, needs a husband. And, if 
 she were to try the experiment, and obtain one less competent 
 for these duties than herself, she might naturally despise him. 
 If so, the consequences would be the most inauspicious. Be- 
 sides, it occurred to us, that if she were a handsome woman, 
 she might be greatly annoyed from the crowds of rural widowers 
 and old bachelors that would be thronging her from every part 
 of the country where our book is. read. And, on the other hand, 
 it occurred to us, that possibly, notvi'ithstanding her skill in the 
 matters aforesaid, instead of being handsome, her features are 
 coarse and repulsive. If so, she would by no means indulge a 
 feeling of complacency in being paraded before the public. 'We 
 happen to know that two of our most distinguished li;er,iry 
 ludies have absolutely prohibited their publishers from prelixing 
 their portraits to their published works, simply because they are 
 notoriously ugly in their looks. We know not why a dairy wo- 
 man may not have some pride in such a" matter as well as a 
 writer of prxjse or poetry- 
 
50 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 The conclusion, therefore, is that, if any of the feminine 
 gender are not satisfied with in-door avocations, and the custom- 
 ary apparel for women, they go immediately to the tailor and 
 obtain a full equipment of clothing now customary for the male 
 sex. Then let them abandon their needles and their scissors, 
 their wash tubs and their scrubbing boards, their cook book and 
 their saucepans, — one taking in the place thereof the brick 
 mason's trowel or the stone mason's hammer, another the car- 
 penter's jack-plane or hand saw, another the farmer's spade or 
 dung fork, another the blacksmith's bellows or sledge hammer, 
 — each taking whatever occupation is most agreeable. Do this 
 without the delay of attending a convention for women's rights ; 
 all that is unnecessary ; and the regeneration of society will be 
 nicely under way. True, it may be, the use of the broad axe 
 and the sledge hammer will make your back ache and your arms 
 ache ; true, standing in the muck and water when digging 
 ditches, you may be assailed with chills and fever ; true, when 
 stepping astride of the nether leg of an unruly horse to repair his 
 understanding he may most ungallantly kick you over ; but no 
 matter for all that ; all that is not to be thought of in compari- 
 son with the degradation of wearing petticoats and chemisettes, 
 and performing the effeminate labors of domestic economy. Very 
 well I we yield the point I In matters of taste there can be no 
 argument ; all must have their own way. 
 
 But, say our fine muslin, silk, and lace female reformers, we 
 have no idea of any such servile occupation ; our aim is to take 
 the place of dandies cutting antics with ratans and cigarettes ; 
 or of gentlemen going to our Congress, or on national foreign 
 missions, or, at the most, giving directions in the counting-room 
 to nvale clerks, and drawing checks on the bank. This does, in- 
 deed, look better. Well, try this ! The equipment of the 
 dandy is quickly and cheaply provided ; and the elevation to 
 which he aspires is quickly reached, brains or no brains. 
 If you prefer political distinction devote yourselves to the reading 
 of political papers, visit porter houses in the city and taverns in 
 the country, proclaiming voursRlvp.s as oandiJuii'S (ov office, and 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESHIE. 5I 
 
 soliciting, for months in succession, the support of loafers and 
 rowdies ; and, prior to elections, traverse the State, and make 
 blackguard stump speeches. Possibly you will ob^in a majo- 
 rity of the public suflrage. If not, you can try again, as do 
 politicians of the other geader. Or, if mercantile attainments 
 are the boon you seek, become apprentices, for five or seven 
 years, like young men, to learn the mysteries of trade and 
 commerce ; and, for aught we know, you will stand one chance 
 in a hundred, like them, after a life of anxiety and fatigue, to 
 become rich. 
 
 Nevertheless, it seems to us, that if the pleasure and the 
 honor of being the chief objects of admiration in the domestic 
 and the social circle ; of being good wives and good mothers ; of 
 preparing the other sex as well as their own for eminent useful- 
 ness in the world ; of making the fireside the most endearing 
 and lovely place on earth — with its quietude and sanctified 
 affections, a type of heaven itself; is not sufficient to satisfy their 
 aspirations, there are other means within their reach more con- 
 genial to the taste and physical organization of women, than the 
 noise, and toil, and commotion in the routine of business or poli- 
 tics. An enviable and imperishable fame is by no means con- 
 fined to those hitherto masculine pursuits. There are gems 
 more precious than gold. There are laurels less prone to fade 
 than those of the statesman or the warrior. G-enius may weave 
 a crown that will be brilliant when the crowns of kings and 
 queens shall have become worthless. Are not the names of 
 Mrs. Montague, Mrs. Chapone, Mrs. Hemans, and Hannah More, 
 destined to live in freshness for centures to come ? What more 
 honorable distinction can a woman desire ? And is there not 
 room for others in the sanie pathway to reach the same dis- 
 tinction. 
 
 Nor is this the only pathway to honorable distinction, con- 
 genial to female instincts. If the female heart is not warm and 
 impulsive far beyond that of the other sex in philanthropy, as 
 yet we have never understood the female character. In minis- 
 trations of mercy, she shines with undying effulgence. In these 
 
53 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 tniinstrations she is surrounded with a halo surpassing- the 
 beams of the mid-day sun. Did not Mrs. Fry, in mitigating the 
 miseries of the female eonvicts of an hundred prisons experience' 
 a moral luxury, attained from no earthly pleasure ? If those 
 wretched creatures under her auspices became Christian peni- 
 tents, will not the anthems of heaven have a never ending in- 
 creased melody and pathos ? And will her name ever cease to 
 be resplendent in the annals of virtue? Surely not I Let our 
 female reformers give up their quixotic crusade and follow her 
 example. The world is full of wretchedness. Broken hearts 
 too are more agonising than broken limbs. Bind up those 
 wounds that medical science was never designed to heal. Probe 
 and mollify those depths of sorrow the surgical instrument was 
 never able to reach. Here should be a woman's glory. 
 
 There is now one living monument in our own country, of 
 the fame and moral exaltation to which woman can aspire, with- 
 out derogation to the gentleness of her nature ; it is in restoring 
 to its original symmetry and beauty the reins of the human 
 mind. Miss Dix, of Boston, has spent most of her time for 
 twenty years, in angel visits to ameliorate the physical suflering 
 and to soften the hearts in our eiiminal penitentiaries ; and 
 especially in founding asylums for the comfort and the restora- 
 tion of lunatics. In hundreds, and it may be, in thousands of 
 raving maniacs, she has been instrumental in causing, about 
 their own firesides, the irradiations of reason again to impart 
 pleasure to all that behold them. Let the gifted lecturer, to 
 whom allusion has been made, turn her attention to some kin- 
 dred work of Christian charity. Here she might labor to the 
 end of life ; and when dead, thousands would rise up and call 
 her blessed. In such an enterprise her deeds would follow 
 her — or, to the end of time would survive her, in the 
 plenitude of their freshness. There is still opportunity to 
 do it. The deep recesses of human woe have not yet all 
 been explored. 
 
 We close this chapter with the following anecdote of Miss 
 Dix. "When at Grreenville, S. C, a few years since, a lady said 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 53 
 
 to her : " Are j'ou not afraid to travel all over the country alone, 
 and have you not encountered dangers and been in perilous 
 situations?" " I ana naturally timid," said Miss Dix, " and diffi- 
 dent, like all my sex ; but in order to carry out my purposes, I 
 know, it is necessary to make sacrifices and encounter dangers. 
 It is true I have been in my travels through the different' States, 
 in perilous situations, 1 will mention one which occurred in the 
 State of Michigan. I had hired a carriage and drivei^o convey 
 me some distance through an uninhabited country. In starting, 
 I discovered that the driver, a young lad, had a pair of pistols 
 with him. Inquiring what he was doing with arms, he said 
 he carried them to protect us, as he had heard that robberies 
 had been committed on our road. I said to him. give me the 
 pistols, I will take care of them. He did so reluctantly. 
 
 " In pursuing our journey through a dismal looking forest, a 
 man rushed into the road, caught his horse by the bridle, and 
 demanded my purse. I said to him with as much self-posses- 
 sion as I could command, ' Are you not ashamed to rob a 
 woman ? I have but little money, and that I want to defray 
 my expenses in visiting prisons and poor-houses, and occasionly 
 in giving to objects of charity. If you havt been unfortunate, 
 are in'distress, and in want of money, I will give you some.' — 
 Whilst thus speaking to him, I discovered his countenance 
 changing, and he became deadly pale. ' My God,' he exclaimed, 
 ' that voice !' and immediately told me that he had been in the 
 Philadelphia Penitentiary, and had heard me lecturing some of 
 the prisoners in an adjoining cell, and that he now recognized 
 my voice. He then desired me to pass on, and expressed deep 
 sorrow at the outrage he had committed. But I drew out my 
 purse, and said to him, ' I will give you something to support 
 you until you can get into honest employment.' He declined at 
 first taking any thing, until I insisted on his doing so, for fear he 
 might be tempted to rob some one else before he could get into 
 honest employment." 
 
 Had not Miss Dix taken possession of the pistols, in all pro- 
 bability they would have been used by her driver, and perhaps 
 
5^ THE FAEM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 both of them been murJered. " That voice" was more powerful, 
 in subduing the heart of a robber than the sight of a brace of 
 pistols. Rarely is a human heart so hard, as to be unmoved by 
 accents of kindness. They will cause a listening ear, and wiU 
 secure a chastened homage when all other agents are powerless. 
 
 GOOD HUSBANDRY IN MASSACHUSETTS. 
 
 ♦ 
 
 In the fall of 1850, the Hon. F. Holbrook, of Brattleborough, 
 Vermont, visited some of the best farms in Massachusetts ; 
 among others, that of George Pearce, Esq., in West Cambridge, 
 a few miles west of Boston. The year previous to this visit, the 
 farm attracted particular notice from the large amount of its 
 net profits, as reported by a committee of the Middlesex Society 
 of Husbandmen and Manufacturers. These profits were stated 
 to be two thousand and thirty-seven dollars and seventy-nine 
 cents in that year ; a sum showing that according to the capital 
 invested, rarely can more money be made than from agriculture ; 
 for, if one person can do it, others may also. With such facts, 
 and many of them may be collected, it is difficult to account 
 for the general incredulity on the subject. 
 
 The committee awarded the first premium on farms to that 
 of Mr. Pearce. In their report they say, this farm consists of 
 about forty acres. The soil, except about four acres of swamp, 
 is of a sandy loam. Two acres of this swamp has been cul- 
 tivated for the first time the present season — the remsdnder is 
 thickly overgrown with white birch, sprung from the stumps of a 
 previous growth. The farm is cultivated for the express pur- 
 pose of supplying vegetables and firuits for the Boston market. 
 There are two peach orchards on the farm, one of which contains 
 about eight hundred trees on three acres and a half These 
 were all procured from New-Jersey, and were set out in the 
 spring of 1846. Many of them have borne fruit. The spaces 
 between the rows are planted with melons, beans, and cauli- 
 flowers. The beans had been gathered in before the examinatioa 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 55 
 
 of the committee, and the vines thrown around the roots of the 
 peach trees. The soil of this orchard was in a high state of cul- 
 tivation before the putting in of the trees in 1846, but has since 
 received no manure, except a shovelful placed in each of the 
 melon-hills, twelve feet apart, at the time of planting. Some 
 acres produced tomatoes, — on others are now growing celery, 
 cauliflowers, cabbages, spinach, corn, potatoes, and, what the 
 committee have nowhere else seen cultivated for the market, 
 dandelions. In the judgment of the committee, there were about 
 three acres covered with this latter vegetable, (which generally 
 passes for worthless weeds,) and which afibrds a rich return for 
 the labor and expense of cultivation. The following statement 
 of the expenses and value of the produce was given to the com- 
 mittee, viz : — 
 Hands employed from April to October, at an 
 
 average of $16 per month, . 
 Labor paid by the day. .... 
 Board of men at $10 per month, 
 Night soil from ten vaults, .... 
 Manure from one stable in Boston, 
 Teaming the same, ..... 
 Manure from one stable in Charlestown, the produce 
 
 of 44 horses, at $10 per horse, delivered at 
 
 the farm, ....... 
 
 Manure from Porter's stable in Cambridge, 30 cords 
 
 at $5 50 per cord, . ; . . . 
 
 $672 
 
 00 
 
 80 
 
 00 
 
 420 
 
 00 
 
 30 
 
 00 
 
 400 
 
 00 
 
 30 
 
 00 
 
 440 00 
 
 165 00 
 
 Proceeds of sales from March 23d, as rendered by 
 the market-men, of which a daily account is 
 kept, ........ 
 
 $2,507 00 
 
 $4,544 79 
 
 $2,037 00 
 Leaving a balance of $2,037 79 in favor of the farm, ex- 
 clusive of all the crops now on the land, probably worth as 
 much more. Mr. Pierce generally manages so as to have his 
 
5g THE FARM AND THE FIHESIDE. 
 
 manure from the stables brought at a time when it can be 
 spread and ploughed in. He makes no compost, but what is 
 manufactured by two hogs. His domestic animals are one or 
 two cows, three horses, used for ploughing and transporting his 
 fruit and vegetables to market. 
 
 A leading principle of culture on this farm is to get all kinds 
 of vegetables into market at the earliest possible period ; for 
 any article, appearing there a week or two before its usual time, 
 commands a very high price, which richly rewards any extra 
 labor or pains. The proprietor has extensive hot beds for for- 
 warding his various productions for an early market. He has 
 250 sashes, or some 1400 surface feet of glass, under which all 
 sorts of vegetables are started. As a novelty in gardening, in 
 this way he forces the growth of dandelions for greens. In 
 March and April of 1850, the receipts from this source alone, 
 amounted to three dollars per sash, or one shilling per surface 
 foot of ground. At one picking of tomatoes in the same season 
 he gathered thirty-two bushels, which, from being very early, 
 sold for one dollar and seventy-five cents per bushel. Pole beans 
 are produced early by digging large deep holes for the hiUs and 
 filling them partly with fresh hot horse manure ; over that a 
 suitable covering of earth is placed, and the beans are planted. 
 Early potatoes are first started either on manure heaps under- 
 going fermentation, or in hot beds ; and when the weather will 
 admit, and the sprouts are six to eight inches long, they are 
 transplanted in drills upon open flats. This process forwards 
 the crop from fifteen to twenty days. On one quarter of an acre, 
 the same season, eighty-one bushels of marketable potatoes were 
 dug, which sold at one dollar and seventy-five cents per bushel, 
 or at the rate of $567- per acre. 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIHESIDE. 
 
 ANECDOTES OF THE GOOSE. 
 
 f7 
 
 WILD GEESE. 
 
 The value and usefulness of geese is scarcely oalcuilai>l,e. 
 Had it not been for the quill of this bird much of the ignorance 
 of the dark ages would still overshadow the world. Is it not to 
 the agency of it that we are indebted for ninety nine hundredths 
 of all the books in existence 1 Were not the 500,000 volumes 
 in the Bodleian library of Oxford ; the 600,000 volumes in the 
 library of Lyons ; the 400,000 volumes in the royal library of 
 Paris ; the 300,000 volumes in the imperial library of St. Peters- 
 burg; the 300,000 volumes in the university library of Gottin- 
 gen ; and the 100,000 volumes in the library of Harvard college, 
 all, or nearly all written, by the quills of geese ? Let these, and 
 their kindred illuminations, become extinct, and whce would be 
 our literature and our science, as needful in the reahns of rnind 
 as the material sun in the material creation 1 True, the pre- 
 sent century, abounding in novelties, is now furnishing us witjh. 
 pens of steel, and silver, and gold, in no less profusion than were 
 the locusts of Egypt ; but, still, give me in preference to all such 
 trickery, the quill of an old white gander ; in the use of such aa 
 3* 
 
58 
 
 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 instrument, as firm as it is elastic, there is some pleasure in writ- 
 ing. To such, an one the reader is now indebted for this tribute 
 of respect to the much abused goose. Before our hand had be- 
 come so clumsy from more than fifty years of toil, it seems we 
 might have written a volume with one such, whereas it would 
 require a peck measure of these little stubborn, brittle, yellow 
 Ecratchers, to enable us to do it. 
 
 And the goose has other claims on our affectionate consider- 
 ation. Ask the gouty old man, and fidgety old woman, which 
 is the chief alleviation to their aching bones, and they will tell 
 you, it is an old fashioned bed filled with- the feathers and the 
 down of geese. How many millions of persons consider this one 
 of the greatest of human luxuries I Who can tell how many 
 midnight watchings it has lulled into the sweetest slumbers ? 
 Who can tell how many agonizing pains it has supplanted by its 
 bewitching sorcery ? Who can tell how many fretful crying in- 
 fants it has soothed into the sweet languor of a quiet repose ? 
 If there were not untold charms in the feather bed, would it 
 have so many votaries 1 Would such multitudes be clinging to 
 it twelve hours out of twenty-four, when two-thirds of that time 
 are "sufficient for rest, were there not a magical witchery about 
 it found no where else ? Could the feather bed write its own 
 annals how many reveries of its own creation would it unfold to 
 the world ? There we should see the solitaiy female beauty in 
 all her loveliness ; the ennui of young manhood in the enjoy- 
 ment of a rich inheritance ; and not less, the new made disciples 
 of Hymen's altar, all — all dreaming away their mortal existence, 
 as if it was to have no end. 
 
 Recently, however, there has been gotten up a crusade 
 against feather beds as well as against goose quills ; and, the 
 whole object seems to originate in a conspiracy to drive from 
 the pale of public favor the bird which produces them. It is 
 said that feather beds produce effeminacy ; that curled ■ hair 
 made into mattresses, only is compatible with health and vigor. 
 It is possible that there is some philosophy in this. So far 
 as there is, we hesitate not to make the admission. We are 
 
THE FARM AND THE FniESIBE. . 59 
 
 no enemies to rational progress. We rejoice in all valuable 
 improvements ; and we frankly admit that human health and 
 vigor are frequently impaired by a want of physical culture • 
 that long and habitual exemption from atmospherical influences 
 and muscular action will lead to feebleness of body and mind. 
 We see this exemplified in thousands of cases. The city is 
 crowded with them. The mansions of the rich are frequently 
 made desolate by them. Nevertheless, it is laughable, to hear 
 the lugubrious homilies against feather beds from persons who 
 sleep in rooms heated by furnaces to a degree to bake custards, 
 or to produce, in luxuriance, the most tender of tropical plants. 
 If it were true, which it probably is, that such persons might 
 advantageously sleep on a mattress, or even the soft side of a 
 pine board, farmers or the families of farmers are in no danger 
 of efleminancy from sleeping on feather beds. Till their plough- 
 ing is done by steam, and till their planting, and hoeing, and 
 mowing, and reaping, and thrashing is done by steam or horse 
 power, we recommend to them the softest feather bed they can 
 procure. We will be responsible for all injury from it. 
 
 The main profit, however, from the reading of geese, is in their 
 flesh. So highly prized is the meat of this bird that a Mr. Bag- 
 shaw, of Norwich, England, annually fattens thousands for the 
 London market. It is stated that occasionally he has as many 
 as two thousand, and on his extensive premises at the same time- 
 They are collected from all parts wherever to be obtained. Some 
 are raised in England, more are from Holland, but the greater 
 part procured even from Prussia. It would be a curious labor 
 to collect statistics of the goose tribe, particularly the number in 
 our large cities, where they are most sought, dressed for the 
 table. For ourself we prefer the flesh of the goose to that of the 
 turkey. Others may have a diSerent preference. In matters 
 of taste there can be no conclusive argument. All have a right 
 to their own fancy. 
 
 It has been supposed that geese can be raised with greater 
 profit, according to the cost of feeding them and the labor of 
 watching over them, than most other poultry. All the fears and 
 
60 THE FARM ANB THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 anxieties to rear the turkey and prepare it for making a proper 
 appearance at table, are with them unnecessary ; grass by day, 
 a dry shelter by night, and a tolerably assiduous mother, being 
 all that is required. They will thrive well, too, on grass that is 
 too short for any other animal. It is known that sheep will do 
 well on pasturage that has been cropped by cattle and horses as 
 closely as they are able to do it. Yet, after sheep have gone 
 over it, and with their sharp teeth have given it another trim- 
 ming, a flock of geese will find upon it luxuriant fare. The 
 little grass that is found upon the road side will afford them de-> 
 cent sustenance, although most other animals would not notice 
 it. A writer on the subject supposes that any common village 
 green, with the adjacent highway, would support fifty brood 
 geese. If from each one ten goslings were raised, which is not 
 a great estimate, there would be a produce to the inhabitants of 
 the village of five hundred geese, at a mere trifle of expense, 
 save what would otherwise be of no use to any one. How many 
 village greens, and how many verdant acres of highway sides 
 and public lands are there in our country, that would sustain 
 these valuable birds ? It is believed that thousands of farmers 
 would derive as much profits from such incidental appendages 
 to agriculture as they do from their staple crops. At any rate, 
 they would furnish the family mansion, as it were, without ma- 
 terial cost, with the materials for good living. It is indeed true 
 that geese will thrive best where they can have free access to 
 the shores of a pond or the margin of a river. Here they will 
 feast themselves on worms, and whatever is found by them in 
 the mud. It is amusing to see what havoc they will make on 
 the little fish, and no one can tell what it is that attracts their 
 notice. They dive and seize their prey, the young goslings as 
 well as the old ones, with the precision that a Cape-Coder will 
 harpoon the whale. Woe be to the finny and vermiculous 
 tribes, if an old white gander and his fifty associates can have a 
 fair chance at them. 
 
 It is a common opinion that geese are silly and stupid. 
 Hence, if a biped in pantaloons or petticoats is peculiarly defi- 
 
THE FARM AND THE PmESIDE. 61 
 
 cient in common sense, he or she is dubbed with the cognomen 
 of goose-head. According to the prevalent apprehensions of 
 gooseology, such designations, in numerous cases, would be very 
 appropriate ; but, oftentimes, when applied, we think the 
 feathered gentry, of the two races, is the more slandered. " We 
 once had," said the author of British Husbandry, " four geese for 
 our own use, which were constantly turned upon the neighboring 
 common, at the distance of a quarter of a mile, to which they 
 regularly walked, through the village, headed by the gander, 
 calling at every house, from which fragments of bread were 
 sometimes thrown, and returning at the usual hour in the even- 
 ing. Though also accused of dirty habits, because they grope 
 for food in any pond or ditch to which they may have access, 
 yet no bird is more careful of its plumage, or fonder of a clean 
 and dry bed. They are very capable of attachment to those who 
 treat them with kindness; extremely quiet in their habits, and 
 peaceable towards all the other poultry, but courageous in de- 
 fence of their young ; and the hiss of the gander in their protec- 
 tion is full of menace." "When riding, sometime ago," says the 
 same gentleman, " rather -sharply across the common, our mare 
 unheedingl}' trod upon a gosling, when, instantaneously, both 
 geese and gander flew upon her with such violence that it was 
 difficult to either restrain her from running away, or to beat 
 them off; and for a long time afterwards the mare, upon seeing 
 a flock of geese, snorted and started off with affright." 
 
 One of the most pleasing anecdotes illustrating the character 
 of the goose is given by the Rev. Mr. Ottway. He says " that at 
 the flour mills near Clonmel, in Ireland, while in the possession 
 of a Mrs. Newbold, there was a goose which, by some accidSht, 
 was left solitary, without mate or offspring, gander or gosling. 
 Now, it happened, as is common, that the miller's wife had set 
 a number of duck eggs under a hen, which in due course of time 
 incubated ; and, of course, the ducklings, as soon as they came 
 forth, ran with natural instinct to the water, and the hen was 
 in a sad pucker — her maternity urging her to follow the brood, 
 and her selfishness disposing her to keep on dry land. In the 
 
62 THE FARM AND THE PIRESIDE. 
 
 meanwhile up sailed the goose, and with a noisy gabble, which 
 certainly, being interpreted, meant, ' leave them to my care,' she 
 swam up and down with the ducklings ; and, when they were 
 tired with their acquatio excursion, she consigned them to the 
 care of the hen. The next morning, down came again the duck- 
 lings to the pond, and there was the goose waiting for them, and 
 there stood the hen in her great flustration. We are not at all 
 sure that the goose invited the hen, observing her maternal 
 trouble, but it is a fact", she being near the shore, the hen jumped 
 on her back, and there sat — the ducklings swimming, and the 
 goose and the hen after them, up and down the pond. And 
 this was not a solitary event. Day after day, the hen was seen 
 on board the goose, attending the ducklings up and down, in 
 perfect contentedness and good humor, numbers of people com- 
 ing to witness the circumstance, which continued until the duck- 
 lings, coming to the days of discretion, required no longer the 
 joint guardianship of the goose and hen." 
 
 Our own domestic goose is too common not to be familiarly 
 known to the reader. Among other varieties that have been do- 
 mesticated, and are the best known, are the African goose, the In- 
 dian goose, the Poland goose, the Toulouse goose, the Canada 
 goose, the Chinese goose, and the Bremen goose. Some beauti- 
 ful specimens of the Chinese goose are on the farm of the Hon. 
 Daniel Webster, having been obtamed by his son, Fletcher Web- 
 ster, Esq., a few years ago, when on a public mission to the 
 celestial empire. Col. Jaques, of Ten Hills Farm, has also fine 
 samples of them, and also of the Bremen geese. Of the latter, 
 Mi^James Sisson, of Warren, R. I., has a good stock. In a de- 
 scription of them, he says — " In the fall of 1826, 1 imported from 
 Bremen three full blooded perfectly white geese. I have sold 
 their progeny, for three successive seasons — the first year at $15 
 per pair, the two successive years at $12. > Their properties are 
 peculiar ; they lay in February, sit and hatch with more cer- 
 tainty than common barn-yard geese ; will weigh nearly, in 
 some instances quite, twice the weight ; have double the 
 quantity of feathers ; never fly, and are all of a beautiful snowy 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 63 
 
 "whiteness. I have sold them all over the interior of Nev^-York, 
 two or three pairs in Virginia, as naany in Baltimore, North 
 Carolina, and Connecticut, and in several towns in the vicinity 
 of Boston. I have one flock, half blooded, that weigh, on au 
 average, when fatted, thirteen pounds ; the full blooded weigh 
 twenty." The African or Guinea goose, is said to be the largest 
 of the varieties named. 
 
 A writer in the Farmer's Gazette makes the following cal- 
 culations on the profits of keeping geese. He says, let us esti- 
 mate the profit of ten old geese, kept in the manner usual. 
 Purchased in the spring of the year, before they commence lay- 
 ing, and they will cost, at most, but a dollar each. Two of the 
 ten should be ganders ; eight geese, that will have, on an ave- 
 rage, ten goslings each. But allowing one half for paper calcu- 
 lation, it will leave at the end of the season a flock of fifty, old 
 and young, worth, when dressed for the market, we will sup- 
 pose, only fifty cents a piece, or twenty-five dollars. In addi- 
 tion to this, every old goose will yield one pound of feathers, and 
 every young one three-fourths of a pound, making in all forty 
 pounds, which, added to the twenty-five dollars will give us 
 forty dollars. This may be called nett profit, for there is not 
 one goose keeper in ten that feeds his geese, either old or young, 
 after the grass has started in the spring, until fattening time in 
 the fall ; and then the large quills will more than pay for the 
 extra food. This is the common way farmers keep geese ; but 
 if they were to provide good warm houses for their accommoda- 
 tion, and attached to a good pasture with a small stream or 
 pond of water, the prospect of gain would be still better. 
 
 On the advantages of keeping geese, a writer in the Maine 
 Farmer says — " I once knew a couple of industrious sisters^ 
 who lived near a never-failing brook or stream in Massachusetts, 
 and they generally kept through the winter thirty geese, male 
 and female. They had erected some suitable but not costly 
 sheds, in which were apartments for them to lay, set and hatch. 
 Their food in the winter was meal of various kinds, to some ex- 
 tent, but principally apples and roots. In the summer they 
 
64 THE FAE.M AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 had a pasture enclosed with a stone wall or board fence which 
 embraced the water. Their wings were clipped so that they 
 could not fly over the fence. The owners well knew what we 
 all know, that live geese feathers are a cash article at a fair 
 price. They picked off the feathers three times in the season. 
 Those thirty geese wintered would raise from seventy-five to an 
 hundred goslings or young geese, and of course they had that 
 number to dispose of every fall, or in the beginning of winter, 
 when they were sent to market ; from these they obtained fea- 
 thers twice — from those wintered, four times. It would be easy 
 to be certified that there must be a handsome profit in such a 
 case. How many families there are, in all our towns, so situat- 
 ed that they may make the raising of geese an advantageous 
 business ? There is no mystery about it. The process is a very 
 simple one. It is scarcely possible under any circumstances 
 that it shc^uld be attended with loss, unless the stock is killed by 
 the foxes, a nuisance not very common now a days. 
 
 Having known something of the American Wild Goose from 
 childhood, and having, perhaps, seen tens of thousands of them, 
 we are tempted to give a few particulars respecting this variety 
 of the goose family. The first in order is from Col. M. Thayer, 
 of Braintree, Massachusetts, dated August 18th, 1848. " A few 
 years since," says he, " a neighbor of mine shot at a flock of wild 
 geese while passing to the south, wounded one in the wing, took 
 him alive, and very soon domesticated him. He soon became 
 very tame, and went with the other geese. I bought him, and 
 kept him three years, and then mated him with an old native 
 goose. The wild goose does not breed till four years old. They 
 had several broods of young ones, and the old goose became very 
 feeble ; so much so, that she could not sit long enough to hatch 
 out her eggs. Accordingly I put them under another goose 
 where they did very well. In the fall of the year I gave her 
 away, and mated the wild gander with another. In the spring 
 following, about six months after, I heard that the old goose had 
 got better, and was in good health. She was brought home and 
 put in the poultry yard. The wild gander and his new mate 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIBE. 65 
 
 were at a distance of about eighty rods, in another pasture, on a 
 high hill. As soon as the old goose was put into the yard, she 
 made a loud noise, which the wild gander heard. He imme- 
 diately left his new mate, and came down to the yard, recognis- 
 ed his old mate, entered into close conversation, and appeared 
 extremely happy in seeing her again. His other mate followed 
 him, and wished to join the party, hut he appeared much offend- 
 ed, treated her with the greatest indifference, and drove her from 
 him. 
 
 " The old goose soon began to lay ; and as soon as she set, I 
 put under her, besides her own eggs, three laid by another goose. 
 They all hatched out, and the goslings all looked precisely alike 
 — so no one could tell the difference ; but as soon as the wild 
 gander saw them, he appeared to take particular notice of three 
 of them, and looked at them for several minutes. He then be- 
 gan to peek and push them away. I thought nothing of this, 
 and lel't them. In the course of the day, I looked at them again. 
 He was then pecking and trying to kill them. I took a stick, 
 .and struck him several times on his wings, and drove him away. 
 The next morning I went to see them, and found him still peck- 
 ing them, and had almost killed them. I then whip]>ed him 
 more severely, when he soon left them, shaking his head several 
 times, a signal the wild goose always gives previous to migrat- 
 ing. I then left them till the next morning, when I found he 
 had gone and could not be found. 
 
 " About ten days afterwards, I heard that a wild goose had 
 been taken about two miles from my farm, while swimming 
 down the bay. I sent a man after him, and it proved to be my 
 gander. He was brought home, put with the old goose and 
 goslings, but took no notice of them, and would not go near 
 them, keeping at a distance of four or five rods from them, thus 
 continuing for about three months. I then killed the three gos- 
 lings, immediately after which he went to his old mate and gos- 
 lings, appeared to converse with them for several minutes, made all 
 up, and continued a faithful and affectionate husband and fath- 
 er, and remained with his mate till he was accidentally killed." 
 
66 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 The following account of the wild goose is taken from Wil- 
 son, " I have never visited any part of the country," says that 
 gentleman, " where the inhabitants are not familiarly acquainted 
 with the passing and repassing of the wild goose. The general 
 opinion, in Canada and the northern part of the States, is, that 
 they are on their way to the lakes to breed ; but the inhabitants 
 on the confines of the great lakes are equally ignorant with our- 
 selves of the particular breeding places of these birds. Their 
 north is there but commencing, and how far it extends it is impos- 
 sible for us at present to ascertain. They were seen by Hearne 
 in large flocks within the arctic circle, and were then pursuing 
 their way farther north. They have also been seen on the dreary 
 coast of Spitsbergen, feeding on the water's edge. It is highly 
 probable that they extend their migrations under the very pole 
 itself amid the silent desolation of unknown countries, shut out 
 from the eye of man by everlasting barriers of ice. That such 
 places abound with suitable food, we cannot for a moment doubt." 
 
 The flight of the wild goose is heavy and laborious, generally 
 in a straight line or in two, lines approximating a point like the 
 letter V. In both cases the van is led by an old gander, who every 
 now and then pipes his well known honk, as if to ask how they 
 come on ; and the honk of all's well is generally returned by 
 some of the party. When bewildered in foggy weather, they 
 appear sometimes to be in great distress, flying about in an irre- 
 gular manner, making great clamor. On these occasions, should 
 they alight on the ground, as they sometimes do, they are liable 
 to speedy death and destruction. The autumnal flight south lasts 
 from the middle of August to the middle of November ; and the 
 vernal flight north from the middle of April to the middle of May. 
 
 The wild goose breeds only at the north. Some of their fa- 
 vorite haunts are the shores of Labrador and Hudson's Bay. We 
 have been informed by fishermen and others who have visited 
 those regions, that they are found on the banks of creeks and 
 streams, during the breeding season, in immense numbers. The 
 fishing vessels sometimes send boats, and procure their eggs in. 
 large quantities. 
 
4 
 
 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 67 
 
 In becoming domesticated, the wild goose retains for a long 
 time, as already intimated, many of its original habits, and is 
 much disposed to return to its natural state. "An instance was 
 related to us," says a writer in the Albany Cultivator, "of a wild 
 gander having been wing-broken by a shot, and caught. His 
 wound healed, but he was so much disabled he could never fly. 
 He was kept with the domestic geese of the farm, with one of 
 which he finally mated. He remained on the farm many years, 
 and became very tamo ; yet as the migratory season returned, 
 he always manifested the greatest uneasiness. Impelled by an 
 instinctive desire to fly away, he would wander about, often 
 stretching his wings and pluming his feathers ; refusing food, 
 and even leaving unnoticed his domestic mate, to which he 
 seemed generally much attached. If a flock of his former asso- 
 ciates chanced to fly over, salutes were quickly interchanged ; 
 but the thrilling note of the free ones in the air, in the lan- 
 guage of our informant, seemed to set the poor creature crazy for 
 a time, and for a day or two after he would be mute and melan- 
 choly. Except during the flying season he was very contented." 
 
 The English at Hudson's Bay depend greatly on geese, and 
 in favorable seasons kill three or four thousand, and barrel them 
 up for use. They send out their servants, as well as Indians, to 
 kill them on their passage. They mimic the cackle of the geese 
 so well, that many of them are allured to the spot where they 
 are concealed,_ and are thus easily shot. The gunners sometimes 
 take one or two of the domesticated wild geese with them to 
 those places over which the wild ones are accustomed to fly, and 
 concealing themselves, wait for a flight, which is no sooner per- 
 ceived by the decoy geese, than they begin calling aloud, until 
 the flock approaches so near, that the gunners are enabled to 
 make great havoc among them with their musket shot. 
 
 The author of the Naturalist's Library mentions that Mr. 
 Piatt, a respectable farmer on Long Island, being out, several 
 years ago, in one of the bays which, in that part of the country, 
 abound with waterfowl, wounded a wild goose. Being unable 
 to fly, he caught it and brought it home alive. It proved to be 
 
68 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 a female, and turning it into his yard with a flock of tame geese, 
 it soon hecame quite familiar, and in a little time its wounded 
 wing hecame entirely healed. In the following spring, when 
 the wild geese migrate to the northward, a flock passed over 
 Mr. Piatt's bam yard, and just at that moment, ther leader hap- 
 pening to sound the bugle note, our goose, in whom its new 
 habits and enjoyments had not quite extinguished the love of 
 liberty, and remembering the well-known sound, spread its 
 wings, mounted into the air, joined the travellers, and soon dis- 
 appeared. In the succeeding autumn, the wild geese, as usual, 
 returned from the northward in great numbets, to pass the win- 
 ter in warmer climes. Mr. Piatt happened to be standing in 
 his yard, when the flock passed directly over his barn. At that 
 instant he observed three geese detach themselves from the rest, 
 and after wheeling several times, alight in the middle of the 
 yard. Imagine his surprise and pleasure, when, by certain well 
 remembered signs, he recognised in one of the three his long lost 
 fugitive. It was she indeed I She had travelled many hundred 
 miles to the lakes ; had there hatched and reared her offspring ; 
 and had now returned with her little family, to share with them 
 the sweets of civilized life. 
 
 In Willoughby's Ornithology, among others we find the an- 
 nexed curious anecdote. "It is well known," says he, "that 
 Canada geese are not fond of a poultry yard, but are of a ramb- 
 ling disposition. One of these birds, however, was observed to 
 attach itself in the strongest and most affectionate manner to the 
 house dog, and would never quit the kennel, except for the pur- 
 pose of feeding, when it would return again immediately. It 
 always sat by the dog, but never presumed to go into the kennel, 
 except in rainy weather. Whenever the dog harked, the goose 
 would cackle and run at the person she supposed the dog barked 
 at, and try to bite him by the heels. Sometimes she would at- 
 tempt to feed with the dog, but this the dog, who treated his 
 faithful companion rather with indifference, would not permit. 
 This bird would not go to roost with the others at night, unless 
 driven by main force ; and when in the morning she was turned 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 69 
 
 into the field: she would never stir from the yard gate, but Bit 
 there the whole day in sight of the dog. At last orders were given, 
 that she should be no longer molested, but suffered to accom- 
 pany it as she liked. Being thus left to herself, she ran about 
 the yard with him all the night ; and, what is particularly ex- 
 traordinary, and can be well authenticated, whenever the dog 
 went out of the yard and ran into the village, the goose always 
 accompanied him, contriving to keep with him by the assistance 
 of her wings ; and in this way of running and flying, followed 
 him all over the parish. 
 
 This extraordinary affection of the goose towards the dog, 
 which continued to his death, two years after it was first ob- 
 served, is supposed to have originated from his having accident- 
 ally saved her from a fox in the very moment of distress. While 
 the dog was ill, the goose never quitted him, day or night, not 
 even to feed ; and it was apprehended she would have been 
 starved to death had not order been given for a pan of corn to 
 be set every day close to the kennel. At this time the goose 
 generally Sat in the kennel, and would not suflxir any one to 
 approach, except the person who brought the dog's or her own 
 food. The end of this faithful bird was melancholy : for when 
 the dog died, she would still keep possession of the kennel, and a 
 new house dog being introduced, which in size and color resembled 
 the one lately lost, the poor goose was unhappily deceived, and 
 going into the kennel as usual, the new inhabitant siezed her by 
 the throat and killed her. 
 
 The goose has been supposed as long lived as the swan, and 
 numberless instances have been recorded of their having outlived 
 the age of man. Moubray indeed, mentions as an established 
 fact that there was, in 1824, a goose living in the possession of 
 a Mr. Hewson, in Lincolnshire, England, which was then up- 
 wards of a century old. It has been throughout that term, in 
 the constant possession of Mr. Hewson's forefathers and himself; 
 and, on quitting his farm, he with a feeling vi'hich does him 
 credit, would not suflisr it to be sold with the other stock, but 
 made a present of it to the incoming tenant — " that the vener- 
 
70 THE iPAUM AND THE FIRESIBE. 
 
 able fowl might terminate its career on the spot where its useful 
 life has been spent such a length of days." 
 
 The goose has for many ages been celebrated on account of 
 its vigilance. The story of the saving of Rome by the alarm 
 they gave, when the Gauls were attempting the Capitol, is well 
 known, and was probably the first time of their watchfulness 
 being recorded, and, on that account, they were afterwards held 
 ill the highest estimation by the Roman people. The story is 
 simply this ; that while the watch dogs and sentinels of the city, 
 at the hour of midnight, were either asleep, or were remiss, ia 
 duty, a few of the enemy scaled the precipitous and perilous 
 heights which led to the capitol. The geese, however, heard 
 the noise, commenced cackling, and awalcened the-consul, Mar- 
 cus Manlius. The alarm was immediately given, many of the 
 garrison were collected, and consequently the assailants were 
 repulsed with a fearful slaughter. And it is certain to all ac- 
 quainted with the habits of this bird, that nothing can stir at 
 night, nor the least or most distant noise can be made, but the 
 whole flock are roused, and begin to hold their cackling converse ; 
 and on the nearer approach of apprehended danger, they set up 
 their more shrill and clamorous cries. Even the cunning and 
 stealthy fox is almost always foiled in his schemes for a late sup- 
 per on goose. He is too wily to fail in making a sudden re- 
 treat whenever the old gander wakes up the dog or the wearied 
 farmer ; for he seems to have an imconquerable aversion to the 
 smell of gunpowder, or the sharp white teeth of that quadrup. 
 ed. On account of this trait in the character of the goose, it is 
 by many persons esteem§^ the best of all country protections 
 against the depredations of horse thieves and burglars. 
 
 HISTORICAL SKETCH OF THE TURKEY. 
 
 The domestic turkey, in some important respects, is the 
 most valuable bird that has place in the farmer's poultry yard. 
 
THE KARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 71 
 
 It is large, comely in appearance, and its flesh furnishes to the 
 epicure one of our richest dainties. To the careful observer its 
 habits are interesting, although somewhat eccentric ; and, what 
 is greatly in its favor, the more we study these habits, the more 
 we are pleased with it. There is one trait in the male that is 
 
 
 r. 
 
 ■a 
 
 
 \ 
 
 never unobserved. His shouts of exultation when surrounded by 
 his female companions, and when calling together their broods 
 of young, may sometimes be heard nearly a mile. It is wonder- 
 ful to observe, how the little progeny will respond to his voice, 
 if at a distance of twenty or thirty rods in the rear, as led by 
 him in their daily explorations for food, and especially at the 
 close of the day, when returning for repose at their usual place 
 of spending the night. It cannot be denied, however, that in 
 this latter respect, turkies are deficient in punctuality, and not 
 unfrequently are overtaken by night before reaching home. If 
 so they make an encampment wherever they may happen to he. 
 But this is not the result of indiiference to home, as in the case 
 of the tipler and the gambler, so much as to a defect in the 
 science of geometry, not remembering how far they have wand- 
 ered from it, or to a deficiency of astronomical observation, not 
 having observed how rapidly time had sped . 
 
72 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. . 
 
 The well fed male turkey, especially if rendered social by a 
 numerous family of female attendants, is a very important char- 
 acter about the homestead. Ko one attracts more notice than 
 his lordship. No one is more tenacious of his rights, or more 
 complacent in the enjoyment of them. He is an original char- 
 acter truly ; but has numerous imitators. The incessant pom- 
 pous display of his plumage has ever been deemed an appropri- 
 ate counterpart of the human being which struts and seeks, by 
 ostentatious exhibitions of exterior embellishment, to attract at- 
 tention beyond any claims founded on intrinsic merit. We can- 
 not fail to be amused on seeing either of these animals of the 
 masculine gender thus struggling for the ascendancy ; but we 
 cherish less respect for the one in broadcloth than his prototype 
 in feathers. Indeed, the latter, although not celebrated for his 
 mental endowments, possesses more intelligence than is usually 
 attributed to him ; and, moreoveT, as the representative of his 
 family, occupies no inferior rank in respectability or the elements 
 of being useful. He is led by instinct, if not by reason, to be a 
 pattern of devotion to the safety of the community of which he is 
 the legitimate head. He watches over the turkey chicks with 
 the assiduity of the most' faithful shepherd when guarding his 
 flocks. He will never leave them ; and is apparently unmind- 
 ful of his own wants, so long as they require his watchful care. 
 On one occasion a flock of forty odd, more than half grown 
 young turkies, with the old ones were overtaken by night before 
 reaching home. The consequence was they roosted on the fence 
 adjoining our corn field. In the night, eight of the young brood 
 were killed, by we know not what, and dropped on the ground. 
 For hours in the morning the living ones remained on the spot 
 around those that had been killed, the gobbler and his mates 
 making the most piteous lamentation, till we were thus drawn 
 thither. For a long period afterwards, they were not seen to go 
 near the place of this calamity ; but, daily went in an opposite 
 direction, which previously they had not done. 
 
 * It is frequently said thfit turkeys are very stupid. We for- 
 merly thought so; but on being more acquainted with them 
 
THE FAB.M AND THE FIRESIDE. 73 
 
 liave become somewhat sceptical in regard to such an opinion. 
 If they possess naught of what is usually termed reason, they 
 have a kind of cunning much resembling it. The hen turkies 
 are noted for stealing away their nests ; and, if they do it, no 
 little difficulty is experienced in finding the place of conceal- 
 ment. If you follow them, the probability is, should they per- 
 ceive your intentions, they will lead you in a wrong direction, or 
 will wander about for hours, till you become wearied out and 
 leave them, when they will immediately go and deposit their 
 eggs. On one occasion, it became apparent, that a favorite hen 
 of ours, daily left the yard by flying over the fence, to visit her 
 nest. It was usually about eleven o'clock in the mornirfg, and 
 after being absent an hour or two, would return and join the 
 flock. Her direction was through an adjacent wheat field in a 
 line apparently as straight as could be drawn by a land survey- 
 or. This we noticed for several days in succession. Her course 
 was always in the same beaten track. Every now and then she 
 would stop, reach upwards her head, and look round, to see if 
 she was observed. 'At length we concluded to follow her, at a, 
 distance of thirty rods or so, keeping behind the apple trees ; but 
 after a while she caught a glimpse of us, and although at such 
 a distance, and the wheat was more than two feet in height, she 
 turned about and came back nearly in the same path, and with- 
 out enabling us to be the wiser for our labor. This we did sev- 
 eral times with similar results, and at last gave up the attempt. 
 Those whose metaphysics will not allow them to credit this tur- 
 key with the possession of reason, will do us a favor by telling 
 us what we should call it. 
 
 We have made similar efforts in other cases, and usually with 
 no better success. In some instances, however, we attained our 
 object, yet, in others, the pursued, on discovering us, would turn 
 off in a right angular direction, or go to a distance evidently far 
 beyond the object of our search, in order to deceive us. What 
 was that but reason 1 In man it would be called so. And, 
 when they are setting, though in concealment, unless at a great 
 distance from home, they will daily, or once in two days, leave 
 
74 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 their nests, and return to the one accustomed to feed them, if to 
 be found, asking for their accustomed allowance, as plainly as 
 close and continued pursuit and beseeching looks will enable 
 them to do so. When they receive it, their departure will be 
 speedy ; but, if you follow them, especially in the early period 
 of their incubation, they will be likely to beguile you as they had 
 previously done. And, we have noticed another fact, allied to 
 the above, very curious indeed. We say fact, because it has the 
 appearance of fact. When the hens are laying in privacy, the 
 gobbler, every time he has a chance, will approach us to the 
 distance of a few feet only, reach out towards us his head, 
 as if he wanted to tell us something, making a peculiar noise, 
 and standing before us for some minutes. Perhaps we have 
 seen it hundreds of times. If it is not to make such a revela- 
 tion, the object is unknown to us. The same thing is not done 
 at other times. 
 
 Turkies, too, have a language known and understood among 
 themselves, as well as their owners understand written language. 
 It may not be Hebrew, or Greek, or Dutch, or Esquimaux, but 
 it answers their own purpose. It cannot be as extensive as that 
 of the Chinese, the whole of which cannot be learned in the 
 lifetime of man; but, by it, young and old of a turkey commu- 
 nity will learn to communicate their thoughts to each other in 
 far less time than small children in an infant school will learn 
 the elements of our vernacular dialect. By a particular word 
 — ^to them it is a word — or whistle, or sound uttered by one of 
 the elder members of the flock, particularly if by the gobbler, 
 should there be fifty of them, all will stop feeding and look up 
 to learn what is wanted. This will be invariably done, if the 
 old gentleman or one of the old ladies, should discover a hawk 
 a mile distant in the air. How do turkies know the character 
 of those Goths and Vandals of the feathered races, till they shall 
 have experienced their ravages 1 They apparently do know it 
 from instinct. Persons wiser than ourselves may answer the 
 question. We cannot. 
 
 We feed our poultry mostly on Indian corn. Two years 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 75 
 
 ago, some of our seed corn for soiling purposes, which had been 
 soaked, and was left in the barrel, became a little mouldy. One 
 morning we took a peck measure partly filled, and commenced 
 scattering it on the ground among the turkies, as we had fre- 
 quently done before with dry corn. All as usual seemed 
 delighted with their breakfast. There was a complete 
 scramble among them, old and young, apparently to see 
 who would get most. All at once the gobbler did not like the 
 taste of it. He suddenly suspended operations, first twisting his 
 head half way round to take a more careful view of it with his 
 right eye, then the other way to scrutinize the suspected grain 
 with the left eye. This was repeated several times with as 
 much naivete as the school boy will look through a piece of 
 smoked glass to observe the shadow of an approaching eclipse on 
 the sun's disc, duickly his gobblership became satisfied that 
 something was wrong about the corn ; this mould might be poison 
 from the apothecary shop for aught he knew ; it might have 
 been prepared to kill the villainous rats, and by accident given 
 to the honest turkies — possibly thought he ; at any rate he 
 deemed caution a primary canon in his code, and resolved to give 
 the alarm.- He did so by one of his peculiar sounds, or words, 
 which have not been translated into the English language, hold- 
 ing up his head, and looking as wise as a bronze statue of Con- 
 fucius.- Anon the old ladies, like other old ladies, rarely second 
 and ordinarily in advance of their lords temporal in espying mis- 
 chief stopped eating, held up their heads, and repeated the same 
 signal of danger. All then, old and young, stopped eating, and 
 held up their heads, apparently asking what was the matter. 
 Gobbler now again turned his head this way and that way, first 
 to inspect the corn with one eye and then with the other, for 
 them to see. They all did the same, with as much accuracy as 
 a battalion of soldiers will go through Steuben's Manual Exer- 
 cise, under the command of their colonel. In five or ten 
 minutes they all disappeared, without eating another atom. 
 Lucky would it be for parents, although unlucky for doctors and 
 grave-diggers, if our own children would as readily give heed to our 
 
76 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 cautions, when we tell them not to eat plum cake and sweet- 
 meats. 
 
 A few incidents may he related illustrative of the fidelity of 
 the gobbler in watching over the young brood. Our own prac- 
 tice is the common one, in a few days after the process of hatch- 
 ing is completed, to put the hens into a large coop or pen, of a 
 rod or two in extent, with one side at least like pale fence, to 
 admit egress and ingress of the chicks while their mothers, na- 
 turally great gossips, are restrained from long peregrinations too 
 toilsome and hazardous for the tender offspring. On the outside 
 and in the immediate vicinity of the pen, the gobbler spends his 
 days in becoming assiduities to the infant family, and his nights 
 in roosting upon it or close by it. Q,uickly does it happen, that 
 they become more fond of his society, than of their pent up 
 mothers. As soon as his supremacy over them is well under- 
 stood, and their strength admits of it, he will abduct them, no 
 one can guess how far, as stealthily as the unprincipled swain 
 runs off with his improvident lass for a clandestine marriage. 
 Search for the missing ones is usually as unsuccessful in one case 
 as in the other. However, gobbler is a far better protector of 
 his treasure than the speculating lover, who steals a wife from 
 her fond parents. The former never abandons his charge ; 
 whereas, the latter frequently does, leaving his deceived fair one, 
 after being robbed of all she possessed, to return in disgrace and 
 poverty to her broken-hearted family. It is amusing to see how 
 faithfully the male turkey, when thus the sole guardian of his 
 children, will seek to provide them with food, and to protect them 
 from injury. In the night and in stormy weather he spreads 
 over them his broad wings ; and if a hawk is seen, the same is 
 done to shelter them from his marauding descent upon them ; if 
 they have become too large to be thus sheltered, they collect 
 around him as close as possible, while his gorgeous crest rises 
 above them, not more captivating and alluring to an enemy than 
 the expressive banner which floats in the breeze over the well- 
 mounted and strongly manned fort. 
 
 We annex the following anecdote of a gobbler in Rhode 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 77 
 
 Island, of recent occurrence, not very dissimilar in character to 
 ■what we have often seen ourselves. The Providence Post is 
 voucher for the facts. ■ It appears that a male turkey kept in 
 1851 on the farm of Mr. Paris Mathewson, in Johnston, resolv- 
 ed on a revolution in turkeyisra. Accordingly, he drove from 
 the nest one of his better halves, where there were 21 eggs, and 
 performed the duties of incubation himself. The duties were so 
 well performed, that 18 young turkies duly made their appear- 
 ance. Nor was this all. He became so pleased with the fe- 
 male cares of domestic life, that he spurned all interference from 
 the gentler sex. When his own brood was fairly out of the shell, 
 and finding that others of the household had been occupied in 
 the same labor, so that there were in all 67 young turkies to be 
 taken care of, he determined to have undivided dominion in the 
 domestic realms ofturkeydom. This he did by turning the entire 
 female fraternity out of doors, and taking the entire care of the 
 nursery upon himself. The Post did not inform the reader whe- 
 ther this was a mere freak of oddity or eccentricity in his wor- 
 ship, or was designed to test the philosophy of the expurgated 
 members of the family, who might have had a convention in re- 
 gard to female rights, or had otherwise become tinctured with 
 Bloomerism. If the latter be true, the incident may be of use 
 to all turkey hens, whether in feathers or chemisettes. 
 
 To describe the domestic turkey is superfluous ; the voice of 
 the male, the changing colors of the skin of the head and neck, 
 his proud strut with expanded tail and lowered wings jarring on 
 the ground ; his irascibility, which is readily excited by red or 
 scarlet colors, are points with which all are conversant. Turkey 
 cocks are pugnacious and vindictive, and often ill-treat the 
 hens ; and they are known occasionally to attack children. If 
 there are two gobblers to the same family of hens, provided they 
 are equally matched, their contests will be incessant. One sea- 
 son from this cause, the effect was the same to our own turkey 
 profits as though we had had no gobbler ; instead of a young 
 progeny our eggs were all rotten. Between the turkey gobbler ' 
 and chanticleer, particularly the game-cock, there is a most in- 
 
78 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 vincible antipathy, and consequently they are in almost perpe- 
 tual collision. The pomposity of the one and the provoking in- 
 solence of the other, furnish ample occasion for testing their 
 gladiatorial skill. One has the advantage in size, but the dash- 
 ing activity of the other, aided as he is by a ready and efficient 
 application of his spurs, often oblige his bulky antagonist to re- 
 linquish the contest, second best, if not fairly subdued. Of 
 course, when a little rested, it requires no great provocation on 
 either part again to encounter the perils of vrar. 
 
 We do not imagine, that as a general thing, the raising of 
 turkeys is attended vi'ith great profit. Such profit vi'ould depend 
 on what might be termed good luck, and against this it cannot 
 be denied there are numerous contingencies, to obviate which no 
 foresight or caution can always be made efficacious. If one hap- 
 pens to have such luck, the profit is most satisfactory. How- 
 ever, other considerations may be taken into the account. They 
 are among the most highly prized luxuries, within the reach of 
 the farmer, and which he should not deny himself. Very soon 
 after their introduction into England, so essential were they 
 deemed, that Archbishop Cranmer recognised them as a consti- 
 tuent of the Christmas festival. From that time to this, these 
 birds have seemed almost canonically to constitute the fare of 
 the farmer, especially on that joyous anniversary. Our forefath- 
 ers assigned to them a corresponding dignity at the New Eng- 
 land Thanksgiving dinner-table. We raise turkies, therefore, 
 not simply for profit, but for a kind of conventional decency, as 
 we polish our boots ; or as we use sugar in our tea and coffee, 
 because thereby they become more palatable ; or, as we use an 
 hundred other things, simply to gratify the eye or the ear, or be- 
 cause we relish them. If no attention were paid to motives of 
 this kind, our cour,se would be retrograde — to a state of bar- 
 barism. 
 
 All domestic turkies had their origin in the Wild Turkey of 
 America. This is a noble bird, far exceeding its domestic relative 
 both in size and beauty. Crosses, however, in our owu country 
 occasionally take place between the wild and the tame race, and 
 
THE FAEM AND THE FIRESIDE. 79 
 
 are highly valued, both for external qualities and for the table. 
 Indeed, in districts where the wild turkey is common, such crosses 
 are frequent, the v/ild male driving away the domesticated rival, 
 and usurping the sultanship of the seraglio. Eggs of the wild 
 turkey have been frequently taken from their nests, and hatched 
 under the tame hen. The young preserve a portion of their un- 
 civilized nature, and exhibit some knowledge of the difference 
 between themselves and their foster mother, roosting apart from 
 the tame ones, and in other respects showing the force of here- 
 ditary disposition. There have also been instances where wild 
 turkies have been caught when so small, as to be domesticated ; 
 but, they always retained more or less of their original charac- 
 ter, roosting by themselves, and on the highest branches of trees, 
 above the tame birds. 
 
 The native country of the wild turkey extends from the 
 north western territory of the United States to the Isthmus of 
 Panama, south of which it is not found, notwithstanding the 
 statements of some authors to the contrary. In Canada and 
 the now densely populated portions of our country, wild turkies 
 were formerly very abundant, but like the American Bison, they 
 have been compelled to yield to the ingenuity of the settlers, and 
 seek refuge in the remotest parts of the wilderness. The wood- 
 ed parts of Arkansas, Louisiana, Tennessee, and Alabama, the 
 unsettled portions of Kentucky, Indiana, Illinois, the vast ex- 
 panse of territory north west of the States, on the Mississippi and 
 Missouri, as far as the forests extends, are more supplied than 
 any other parts of the Union with this valuable game, which 
 forms an important part of the subsistence of the hunter and 
 traveller in the wilderness. 
 
 GREAT PROFITS FROM A SMALL FARM. 
 
 One of the greatest mistakes made by most farmers is the 
 disposition to have large farms. This is mostly a matter of 
 
80 THE FAUlVt AND THE FiaESlOE. 
 
 pride, or it may be misapprehension in relation to the principles 
 of tillage. The fact is well proved, that a small farm, well cul- 
 tivated, will yield more than one double in size, if badly culti- 
 vated. Rich farmers naturally, have large onea— as large as they 
 are able to keep in good condition ; for if there is profit on small 
 ones there will be corresponding profits on large ones, provided 
 the culture be the same ; but poor farmers, or those of limited 
 pecuniary means, will always remain poor, and will have to toil 
 hard, if in this respect they undertake to follow the example of 
 such as have unlimited means. If the products oi'the soil can- 
 not be increased to any indefinite extent by progressively high 
 culture, it is known, because it has been demonstrated in thou- 
 sands of cases, that they may be increased far beyond what most 
 ruralists think possible. The common mode of impressing them 
 with this fact is a reference to the difference between the pro- 
 ducts on half an acre of land under ordinary garden culture, and 
 the products on the same quantity under ordinary farm culture. 
 This diflerence mast be entirely the result of difference in the 
 degree of manuring and in the quality of the tillage. 
 
 Allusion is also made for the same purpose to Flemish agri- 
 culture. In Flanders a family of six persons can be supported 
 on the products of about four acres ; that is, two-thirds of an 
 acre to each person ; and in the same proportion, whether the 
 family be larger or smaller. Upon this principle of apportion- 
 ment the land is arranged in farms ; and we have cases in our own 
 country which will show that in many localities the same can 
 be done here. Even more than this has been accomplished. In 
 1849, the editor of the Maine Cultivator published the products 
 of a single acre, in that State, which were sufEcient to support 
 the family occupying the little farm or garden, whichever it be 
 denominated. If one family can obtain a good living from one 
 acre, another family can do the same. If it can be done in the 
 State of Maine, it can be done in the State of New Jersey or 
 Connecticut. So it may be done elsewhere. On one-third of this 
 acre were raised thirty bushels of sound Indian corn, besides the 
 refuse. This was sufficient for the use of the family, and to fat- 
 
THE FARM AND THE PHIESIDE. 81 
 
 ten the pork. From the game ground, or in connection with the 
 corn, there were raised between two and three hundred 
 pumpkins, and a family supply of dry beans. From a 
 bed of six rods square, sixty bushels of onions were obtained. 
 These were sold at one dollar per bushel, and the proceeds con- 
 verted into flour. Thus from one-third of an acre and the onion 
 bed the breadstuSs were furnished. The rest of the ground was 
 used for vegetables ; potatoes, cabbage, parsnips, beets, sweet 
 corn, peas, beans, cucumbers, squashes, melons, with some fifty 
 or sixty bushels of sugar beets and carrots for the cow. Besides 
 there were on the acre strawberries, raspberries, currants, and 
 gooseberries, in great abundance, and a few choice apple, pear, 
 plum, cherry, peach and quince trees, and even a flower garden. 
 Would not a farmer become rich on a hundred — or fifty — twen- 
 ty-five acres, cultivated in the same way ? 
 
 There was an anecdote told, a few years since, in one of the 
 foreign magazines, of an English fai'mer, illustrating in a larger 
 way the same principle ; that is, of the advantage of small farms. 
 The individual in question, from inheritance probably, bad one 
 thousand acres of land, and a small cash capital, but was just 
 able to live comfortably, having no surplus income. He had 
 three daughters, and on the marriage of the eldest he gave her 
 two hundred and fifty acres of his land, cultivating the rest aa 
 previously. Not long after, he gave two hundred and fifty acres 
 more to the second daughter on her marriage, thus having left 
 but five hundred acres for cultivation. Next the third daugh- 
 ter married, and according to arrangement received one-half of 
 the five hundred acres, so that the father had left for his own 
 use but two hundred and fifty acres. To him the prospects ap- 
 peared disheartening. However, he adopted a higher mode of 
 tillage, increased his own diligence, and applied all his cash 
 capital to these two hundred and fifty acres. Greatly to his 
 surprise he soon found that he was able to raise double now to 
 what he had before raised on a thousand acres. The consequence 
 was, he was annually able to lay up in cash more than half of 
 his income ; and at his death lie was found to have become a 
 1» 
 
82 
 
 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 rich man. In the above facts there was every appearance of 
 authenticity. Moreover, they are so much in accordance 
 with those known to us, that we have no doubt of their 
 truth. 
 
 The following statement comes under the sanction of the 
 Hon. .James Tallmadge, President of the American Institute. 
 Connected with the Bloomingdale Asylum, within the northern 
 limits of the city of New- York, is a farm of forty acres ; ten of 
 it in woodland, and the other thirty occupied as a farm and gar- 
 den, and for the buildings of the establishment. It appears that 
 General Tallmadge, in 1848, had occasion to visit the pre- 
 mises, with which he was much pleased ; and he accordingly 
 highly commended the prudent and judicious management which 
 had led to the results annexed. It may accordingly be relied 
 upon that the following statement is a faithful account of the 
 expenditures on that farm, and the income from it in the year 
 named, showing also the net profits over and above the expendi- 
 ture ; being the pretty little sum of two thousand one hundred 
 and forty-two dollars, and forty-six cents, from thirty acres of 
 land, in a single year. 
 
 Income for the Garden. 
 
 370 bushels of Potatoes, at 50 cents, 
 
 . $185 00 
 
 260 
 
 IC 
 
 Sugar Beets, 
 
 at 
 
 37^ cents, . 97 50 
 
 95 
 
 " 
 
 Blood Beets, 
 
 " 
 
 50 ' 
 
 47 50 
 
 730 
 
 (( 
 
 Turnips 
 
 cc 
 
 311 
 
 ' . , 228 12 
 
 120 
 
 " 
 
 Parsnips,^ 
 
 ({ 
 
 50 
 
 '■ . . 60 00 
 
 30 
 
 (( 
 
 Carrots, 
 
 " 
 
 60 
 
 15 00 
 
 50 
 
 " 
 
 Onions, 
 
 (C 
 
 75 
 
 37 50 
 
 60 
 
 (( 
 
 Rhubarb, 
 
 ii 
 
 200 
 
 120 00 
 
 45 
 
 (( 
 
 Asparagus, 
 
 It 
 
 300 
 
 . 135 00 
 
 125 
 
 Cf 
 
 Radishes, 
 
 ii 
 
 100 
 
 125 00 
 
 150 
 
 " 
 
 Tomatoes, 
 
 a 
 
 50 
 
 75 00 
 
 96 
 
 (( 
 
 Cucumbers, 
 
 (C 
 
 75 
 
 72 00 
 
 150 
 
 (< 
 
 Green Corn, 
 
 " 
 
 m 
 
 56 25 
 
 30 
 
 (( 
 
 Egg Plants, 
 
 ", 
 
 50 
 
 15 00 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 83 
 
 130 bushels of Beans, 
 
 65 " Peas, 
 
 210 " Spinach, 
 
 125 " Squashes, 
 
 90 " Pumpkins, 
 
 1 " Nasturtions, 
 
 5 " Peppers, 
 
 80 Citron Melons, 
 
 3000 heads of Celery, 
 
 4000 " Cabbage, 
 
 4000 " Lettuce, 
 
 2500 " Salsify, 
 
 1000 " Leeks, 
 
 at 60 cents, 
 
 " 75 " 
 
 " 755 
 
 " 37| " 
 
 " 37| " 
 
 " 200 
 
 " 75 " 
 
 " 121 
 
 " 3 
 
 " 4 
 
 2 
 
 1 
 " 'i 
 
 2 
 
 each, 
 
 $65 00 
 48 75 
 
 157 50 
 46 87 
 33 75 
 
 2 00 
 
 3 75 
 10 00 
 90 00 
 
 160 00 
 
 80 00 
 
 25 00 
 
 5 00 
 
 
 
 
 $1996 49 
 
 Income from the Farm. 
 
 
 40 tons of Hay at 1260 cents, 
 
 . 
 
 $500 00 
 
 14 " Oats, in milk, at 1000 cents. 
 
 140 00 
 
 60 bushels ripe Oats, " 
 
 37i 
 
 ^i 
 
 22 50 
 
 1 156 bundles of Straw, " 
 
 4 
 
 (t 
 
 46 20 
 
 2730 pounds of Pork, 
 
 6 
 
 (( 
 
 163 80 
 
 601 " Butter, 
 
 22 
 
 (C 
 
 . 132 22 
 
 4409 gallons of milk, " 
 
 m 
 
 (C 
 
 826 62 
 
 322 dozens of Eggs, " 
 
 14 
 
 (( 
 
 45 08 
 
 165 pounds of Po ultry , " 
 
 8 
 
 (( 
 
 13 20 
 
 
 $1889 62 
 
 Income from the Orchard. 
 
 
 75 bushels of Apples, 
 
 at 150 cents, 
 
 $112 00 
 
 50 " Pears, 
 
 " 100 
 
 " 
 
 50 00 
 
 150 " Cherries, 
 
 " 100 
 
 
 160 00 
 
 25 " Currants, 
 
 " 100 
 
 • 
 
 25 00 
 
 10 " Peaches, 
 
 " 100 
 
 
 10 00 
 
 2 " Strawberries, 
 
 " 600 
 
 • 
 
 12 00 
 
 $359 50 
 
84 THE FAEM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 Recapitulation of Entire Income. 
 
 Income from the Garden $1996 49 
 
 Farm, 1889 62 
 
 Orchard, .... 359 50 
 
 " " Sale of Live Stock, . . . 97 60 
 
 $4,343 11 
 Expenses of the Bloomingdale Asylum Fund — 1848. 
 
 Farmer's Wages, including one man the vi'hole j'ear, 
 at $25 per month ; one teamster, who does the 
 ploughing and isemploj'ed the whole year, at $12 
 per month ; and four hands, employed about half 
 the year, at $10 per month. A woman is also 
 employed to take charge of the milk, and to assist 
 in other lahors of the establishment. 
 
 Board of persons thus employed, .... 
 
 Expenses upon Farm Implements, .... 
 
 Grain fed out by the Cows, .... 
 
 Hay and vegetables consumed by Cows, 
 
 Manure purchased, in addition to what was made on 
 premises, ....... 
 
 Live Stock purchased, 
 
 $2200 65 
 Thus it will be seen that when the expenses are taken from 
 the income, there will be remaining a net balance of two thou- 
 sand one hundred and forty-two dollars, and forty-six cents, for 
 the profits of these thirty acres of land ; or at the rate of seventy- 
 one dollars and forty-one cents per acre. Here is a case of the 
 profits of agriculture about which there can be no mistake. 
 True, the farm is close to a market ; but with our present rail 
 road facilities it matters little whether the farm is ten or thirty 
 miles from market, with most products. Besides, crops may be 
 regulated according to distance from market, and consequent 
 conveniences for reaching it. Indeed, many articles formerly 
 raised of necessity within a few miles of the market, are now 
 
 $773 90 
 
 520 
 
 GO 
 
 . 12 
 
 80 
 
 120 
 
 00 
 
 . 388 
 
 00 
 
 308 
 
 76 
 
 . 78 
 
 09 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 85 
 
 raised fifty or sixty miles from it ; and other articles, yielding as 
 good a profit, may be produced, contiguous to a rail road, one 
 hundred miles from market. 
 
 THE FAEMER'S BOY. 
 
 As the richest ore is sometimes hidden in the coarse rock, so 
 is genius often to be found beneath a rough and unpolished ex- 
 terior. Robert Bloorafield, the author of that celebrated poem 
 called " The Farmer's Boy," was born at Honington, a small 
 village in England, on the 3d of December, 1766. His parents 
 were very respectable people, although in humble circumstances. 
 His father, who worked as a tailor, died during Robert's infancy ; 
 and the widow, finding herself obliged to maintain a family of 
 six children, opened a small school. Under her instruction he 
 learned to read, but, at the age of six years, he was sent for some 
 two or three months to a writing master. From this school, he 
 was removed, at the time of his mother's second marriage, pro- 
 bably because the new husband did not feel inclined to educate 
 the offspring of his predecessor. 
 
 The accounts of Robert's childhood, are scant and meagre, 
 for we next hear of him as having been taken into the employ 
 of his uncle, a respectable farmer. This was when he was in 
 his twelfth year. It does not appear that any favor was shown 
 him on the ground of relationship, and he worked industriously 
 in the field like his cousins and the hired laborers. He, how- 
 ever, received good food and comfortable lodging, but all his 
 clothing was furnished by his inother. For a year or two he re- 
 mained on the farm, and, at the expiration of that time, his 
 frame was pronounced too diminutive, and his constitution quite 
 too delicate, for so arduous an occupation. This circumstance, 
 together with the difficulty which his mother experienced in 
 providing him with clothes, induced an offer from his brothers 
 who lived in London, to bring him up, provided he would come 
 there and learn the trade of a shoemaker. 
 
86 THE FARM AND THE FIEESIDE. 
 
 In 1781, when he was in his fifteenth year, his mother 
 brought him to London, and left him with many strict injunc- 
 tions to follow a pious and upright course through life. The 
 elder brother, George, says, " She charged me, as I valued a 
 mother's blessing, to watch over him, to set good examples for 
 him, and never to forget that he had lost his father.'' This good 
 brother is worthy of all praise for the strict fidelity with which 
 he executed his trust. 
 
 Robert was immediately taken into a shoemaker's garret, 
 where George and four others were at work. They appear to 
 have had a strong love of knowledge, as they were subscribers 
 to several works — such as a Geography, a History of England, 
 and the British Traveller, which were published weekly in six- 
 penny numbers. They also took a periodical by the name of 
 " The London Magazine," and the boy who came regularly from 
 the public-house to receive orders for porter, was in the habit of 
 bringing with him a newspaper of the previous day. Before 
 Robert came, the men were accustomed to take turns in reading 
 aloud, but, his time being considered least valuable, he was at 
 once appointed the reader. He seemed little pleased with the 
 duty, and performed it more as a task than as a relief from labor 
 on the bench. He also acted as errand boy, and daily brought 
 the men's dinners from the cook's shop. He was at all times 
 kindly treated, and the men were ever ready to assist, or in- 
 struct him about his work. 
 
 In his situation of reader, Robert found not a little difiicul- 
 ty in pronouncing words properly, as well as in understanding 
 their meanings. Accident, one evening, led him to a dissenting 
 meeting-house, where he was so much pleased with the elo- 
 quence and choice language of the preacher, that he attended 
 the service regularly on every succeeding Sabbath. He also de- 
 rived much benefit from an occasional visit to the room of a de- 
 bating-society and to the Covent Garden Theatre. His brother 
 purchased, at a book-stall, an old dictionaryrfor which, in conse- 
 quence of its being small and ill-used, he paid but four pence. 
 This proved a great treasure to Robert, and, by studying it care- 
 
THE FARM AND THE PIRESIDE. 87 
 
 fully, he soon became able to comprehend the parliamentary de- 
 bates, so that he read them with interest. He, however, took 
 most pleasure in the "Poet's Corner" of the Magazine, and its 
 notices of new publications and the movements of literary men. 
 
 George was one day much surprised to hear Robert repeat- 
 ing a little song, that he had composed to an old tune, and sug- 
 gested its being offered to the editor of the Magazine. Under 
 the title of " The Village Girl" it was sent, and duly accepted. 
 A second one, called " The Sailor's Return," met with like fav- 
 or, and the youthful poet was induced to make several other con- 
 tributions. We can well imagine his gratification at thus find- 
 ing himself in print, and that too in the very " Corner" which 
 he had regarded with such interest. 
 
 A very unfortunate occurrence for Robert, was his brother's 
 removal to another house, where one of the inmates had a good 
 many books. Among the number were Thompson's "Seasons" 
 and Milton's " Paradise Lost." The first of these two pleased 
 Robert exceedingly, and, perhaps, gave him the idea of a long 
 poem descriptive of rural employments. This appears probable 
 from other circumstances than that of " The Farmer's Boy" 
 being divided into four books — corresponding with the four sea- 
 sons of the year. But Bloomfield owes little or nothing more to 
 Thompson, for, while the latter contemplates nearly every phe- 
 nomenon of nature, he first restricts his muse to the humbler cir- 
 cuit of the farm. 
 
 In the year 1786, some trouble was occasioned by the jour- 
 neymen shoemakers of London about those workmen who had 
 not served a regular apprenticeship, and Robert, being of a quiet 
 and peaceable disposition, thought it prudent to leave the bench 
 for a season, and go to his uncle's house in the country. With 
 the idea of a great poem still uppermost in his mind, he was 
 pleased to have this opportunity of reviewing former scenes, and 
 reviving the recollections of his youthful labors. His stay was 
 not of long continuance, for George's landlord, a benevolent and 
 kind-hearted man, offered to take him as an apprentice, and at 
 the same time to allow him to work with his brother as hereto- 
 
88 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 fore. He, therefore, returned to London, and, before the expira- 
 tion of two years for which he was hound by the indentures, had 
 become an expert at his trade. 
 
 When twenty-four years old, he was married to a person in 
 his own humble rank of life, but the two had little more to de- 
 pend upon, than good health and a deep reliance on the protec- 
 tion of Providence. He sold his violin, on which he had become 
 a very respectable performer, and devoted himself even yet more 
 assiduously to his business. He had not forgotten his literary 
 project, and in all the noise of a shoemaker's garret, where six 
 or seven persons were at work, he actually composed near six 
 hundred lines — about half the whole poem, — before one was 
 committed to paper. The featof stamping them upon the me- 
 mory, sinks into utter insignificance beside the labor of compo- 
 sition under such extraordinary circumstances. 
 
 " The Farmer's Boy" is au attempt to depict the charms 
 which hang around rural life, by a connected account of the 
 varied labors of the husbandman. The theme is very humble, 
 and is not disfigured by any pretensions to ornament. The style 
 is smooth and flowing, while the versification is remarkably cor- 
 rect, but throughout the whole there is an evident lack of strength 
 and passion. Simplicity and harmony of numbers are its chief 
 merits as a work of art, while its apparent truthfulness and fidel- 
 ity to nature give it the impress of genius. Had it been the pro- 
 duction of one more favored by birth or education, its popularity 
 might have been ephemeral ; but, for its author's sake, if on no 
 other consideration, is it entitled to a prominent position among 
 the works of British poets. 
 
 The labor of composition proceeded slowly, and, when com- 
 pleted, the manuscript was shown to several leading publishers 
 of the metropolis. No one was disposed to undertake its publica- 
 tion, although the poet's hope of pecuniary advantage was small 
 enough to remove any objection on that score. In some places, 
 where common politeness should have dictated a kind word to 
 the humble aspirant for fame, he was turned away with ridicule. 
 By some means — we had almost said, accidentally, — a certain 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIKESIDE. gg 
 
 Mr. Capel LofTt was mentioned as a proper person to decide upon 
 the character of the poem, and it was, therefore, sent to him, in 
 company with a modest note from George Bloomfield. Mr. 
 LolTt possessed a taste for intellectual pursuits, and being a resi- 
 dent of the poet's native district, was induced to examine what 
 others had thrust aside with contempt. So much was he pleas- 
 ed with the beauties of the work, that he ventured to put it in 
 the hands of an intelligent friend, upon whose opinion he placed 
 reliance. The decision of this friend was equally favorable, 
 and then Mr. Lofft undertook to prepare the work for the press. 
 His alterations of the text were very few,- as he was willing to 
 collect little more than the bad orthography and occasional gram- 
 matical errors. He added some notes, and prefixed a short pre- 
 fatory notice of the author. 
 
 Mr. LofTt's kindness did not stop here, but he procured pub- 
 lishers, and read the proofs as they were taken. The book ap- 
 peared in the year 1800, and was almost immediately received 
 into favor. The critics were astonished at the beauty of the 
 poem, and the attention of the wisest and most eminent of the 
 land was drawn to the genius which ennobled this indigent shoe- 
 maker. The preface caused a rapid and extensive sale. Seven 
 editions, twenty-six thousand copies in all, were disposed of in 
 three years, and the publishers generously added £200, together 
 with an interest in the copyright, to the sum of 6650, which they 
 had at first given. A subscription for the author's benefit, was 
 commenced in the neighborhood of Hadleigh ; the Duke of York 
 made him a liberal present ; while the Duke of Grafton gave 
 him a small annuity, and a situation in the seal office. 
 
 This was the season of Bloomfield' s greatest prosperity. His 
 work was translated into French and Italian, and the first part 
 was rendered into Latin. He was the centre of general remark 
 and observation, while the sums paid hira by the publishers af- 
 forded him a very comfortable maintenance. This was so much 
 more than he had dared to anticipate, that he declared " his 
 good fortune appeared to him like a dream." But this unex- 
 pected success did not make him proud, nor forgetful of his 
 
.-90 THE FAKM AND THE FIRESIBE. 
 
 humble origin. He scorned to neglect those with whom he had 
 been associated, and felt happy to recognise and extftid a help- 
 ing hand to his relations and old friends. The only pride he 
 seemed to experience was in giving a copy of his book to his 
 dearly-beloved mother. All this must have been pecuharly gra- 
 tifying to that good brother, by whom his young intellect had 
 been trained and nurtured ; as well as to that prince of friends, 
 Mr. Capel Lofft, by whom his genius had been discovered and 
 made public. 
 
 His career of prosperity was, however, of short continuance. 
 Ill health forced him to resign the situation, in the seal office, 
 the duties of which had, perhaps, been all along irksome and 
 disagreeable. He was induced to engage in the book trade, but 
 he soon became bankrupt. He then returned to the work-bench, 
 and amused himself in leisure moments by the manufacture of 
 Molian harps, that he sold to friends. His subsequent literary 
 eiTorts — a collection of rural tales, Hazlewood Hall, &c., did not 
 add to his .reputation, although they were all well received. In 
 the latter part of his life, he was greatly troubled by headaches 
 and the gradual loss of eyesight. Being of a nervous tempera- 
 ment, he was in an almost constant state of excitement, so that 
 it was necessary for him to give up all mechanical labor. This 
 state of health continued so long that fears were, with good 
 cause, entertained of his becoming insane. Several warm- 
 hearted friends exerted themselves at this juncture to smooth the 
 downward path of life. In the hope of being benefited by a 
 removal to those fields from which he had been taken in eaily 
 years, he left the metropolis, and went to reside in a small 
 country town. The change was not attended with the desired 
 eflect ; his disease soon assumed a hopeless form, and terminated 
 by death on the 19th of August, 1823. 
 
 Bloomfield's character as a poet is respectable, but by no 
 means brilliant. For a person in his situation, having had few 
 advantages, and forced to work diligently for daily bread, the 
 production of such a work as " The Farmer's Boy " is extra- 
 ordinary. A valuable lesson may be drawn from his success. 
 
THE FAEM AND THE PIRESIBE. 91 
 
 He -was pious, and throughout life experienced the advantages 
 of early religious training. His character as a man was emi- 
 nently worthy of praise and imitation. In all the social relations 
 no one could be more exemplary. He was a good neighbor, a 
 devoted husband, and a kind, indulgent parent. We have here 
 an illustration of the old truth, that neither genius nor virtue is 
 peculiar to a single class of society, and that neither is to be 
 concealed by the untoward circumstances of humble birth and 
 defective education. 
 
 It is not easy to imagine a more interesting and impressive 
 scene than that of the farmer's son, at the age of fourteen or 
 fifteen, fired with an impressible ardor for some imperfectly con- 
 ceived idea of future greatness, forever leaving the place of his 
 birth. For months this idea, notwithstanding all remonstrance, 
 has pressed upon him like the nightmare. At length, he collects 
 together his entire substance, a few dollars in silver money, 
 saved, it may be, from the avails of poultry perquisites, and a 
 few articles of cheap apparel, manufactured from the raw ma- 
 terial by his mother and an elder sister. These are all com- 
 pressed into a package not larger than a peek measure. The 
 never-to-be-forgotten morning of his abscission from the family 
 arrives. To him and to them it forms a new era, as memorable 
 as that of the Hegira to the followers of the prophet of Arabia. 
 Father and mother, brothers and sisters, in sad silence, witness 
 his departure, upon a journey he knows not where, to seek his 
 fortune. The swelling of the big hearts left behind is known, 
 not by words, but by the big tears that fell from them, as they 
 gazed upon the young adventurer, till his image was lost to them 
 in the far away perspective. Then, in mute eloquence all re- 
 turned to their wonted cares and labors. Their first meals 
 afterwards were eaten sparingly, imaginings of the departed one 
 depriving them of appetite ; and, during the first night after- 
 wards, in their log hut, or cabin, or mansion, whichever it was, 
 there was, as it were, an almost unearthly stillness, as if the 
 messenger of the grave had there established his dominion. 
 
 In the early part of the present century, and in the last half 
 
gg THE FARM AND THE PIRESIBE, 
 
 of the previous one, scenes like this were of common occurrence 
 among our hardy yeomanry. It is under such circumstances 
 that the fond mother, however illiterate— however ignorant of 
 the world and of polished society, presents a spectacle of simple 
 dignity and natural affection that do honor to our nature. It is 
 under such circumstances that young bosoms, with quick and 
 strong pulsations, and with bright eyes dimmed by the crystal 
 fountains within ♦them, reveal to the spectator the hallowed 
 power of communion between kindred souls. It is under such 
 circumstances that natural affection, the undying symbol of that 
 love which binds mortals to their Father in Heaven, presents to 
 the world a chastened and purified passion, securing to itself a 
 homage, in comparison with which the conventional formalities 
 of modern high life sink into contempt and disgust. , It is to the 
 occasions which gave birth to these circumstances that our 
 country is mainly indebted for its present prosperity and glory. 
 Had they not arisen where are now Western farms, fruitful like 
 ancient Eden, and where are now Western cities filled with 
 living multitudes, and resounding with the rattling of machinery, 
 and the buzz of e^ery description of handy- work, the once dense 
 and magnificent wilderness would still cast her dark and chill- 
 ing shadows. 
 
 While the remaining inmates of his native residence were 
 toiling with their accustomed tasks, the youthful traveller pressed 
 onward, not even for miles looking backward. It was the broad 
 world before him, and not the few acres left behind him ; it was 
 the high pinnacle of fame, rising by successive gradations, like 
 distant mountains, raising, one by one, their craggy cliffs or 
 snow-clad summits, the most distant mingling with the blue 
 ether, and not the valley or its tenants in his rear, which ab- 
 sorbed his kindling thoughts. He pressed onward till hunger 
 and fatigue induced him, under the branches of a large tree, 
 and by a cool, clear streatn, to halt for rest and refreshment. 
 He had seen no human habitation, nor heard human voice, nor 
 human footsteps save his own, for hours. Upon a broad smooth 
 Btone here sat he down I At his feet the gushing fountain was 
 
THE PABM and the FIRESIDE. 93 
 
 ready to slake his rising thirst. Over his head the gentle breeze 
 was floating by to cool his heated body. Here he sat and mused ; 
 for the first time in his life he felt himself to be alone — a mere 
 unit in an immense expanse ; for the first time his own destiny 
 rested on himself, seemingly without any aid from mortal man ! 
 Till the present moment the rude outline of the self-made man 
 had never been pictured to his imagination. Had he been sole- 
 heir of the world — had he been the first and the only one of his 
 species, he could scarcely have been more deeply overwhelmed 
 with the responsibility resting upon him, and with the august 
 panorama opening to his view. 
 
 It might have been that he sighed I It might have been that 
 tears rolled down his cheek ! It might have been, that his 
 bosom, like a troubled sea, was experiencing some inward com- 
 motion ! Yet, his stern manhood, although in embryo, triumph- 
 ed over desponding thoughts. He opened his sack and took a 
 cold repast. He drank also from the gushing spring ; and, then 
 stretched himself upon the green turf, with his head on the stone 
 where he sat, for a pillow. Visions, however, of the future as 
 well as of the past interrupted his repose ; for while he slept, he 
 dreamed ; yes, dreamed, that he was in a spacious mansion, 
 filled with beautiful furniture, and abounding in the richest lux- 
 uries ; but, in the midst of such bursting joy, he also felt an im- 
 pulsive pressure about his neck, almost like the crushing folds of 
 a serpent, and a burning upon his face like that of scalding 
 water ; he dreamed, that the one was the embraces of his ab- 
 sent mother, and that the other was her feverish tears ! On 
 awaking from such a reverie, no one, who has had exciting 
 dreams, need be told, the tumult of emotion that must have agi- 
 tated him. Nevertheless, he was refreshed ; he arose, and on 
 he went. 
 
 It may be, that at the end of the second or third day, he 
 reaches the city and seeks humble occupation. No matter what 
 it is ; possibly, he becomes an office boy and sweeps the floor and 
 builds the fires ; possibly he. becomes an errand boy in a retail 
 store, and thus renders himself familiar with the streets and 
 
94 THE- FARM'AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 the signs of business men, and with the general contour of fa- 
 shionable society; possibly he becomes the youngest apprentice 
 to some mechanical employment/ arid is a kind of servant to all 
 his associates. Nevertheless the germs of his character take 
 root, and send their branches upward. If he has a taste for 
 mechanics, in a few years this lonely wandering boy becomes a 
 full man, and is making contracts with capitalists for the build- 
 ing of blocks of houses or steam ships. If led to mercantile 
 pursuits, in a few years he will be seen on Change, or in the 
 bank, controlling discounts. We" have known boys to start in 
 some way similar to this, and to die worth hundreds of thous- 
 ands of dollars, and a few even millions of dollars. Indeed, it 
 will be found that most of our rich men began life in some small, 
 humble way. 
 
 Or, it may be, that by accident, an old book, or the frag- 
 ment of a book, had fallen in the way of our young adventurer, 
 and that his mind thus became tinctured with scolastic aspira- 
 tions. If so, some literary institution ; first, the grammar school, 
 and then the university, was the object of his pursuit and the 
 place of his destination, on leaving in the manner described, the 
 home of his childhood. No sooner is this destination reached, 
 than the culture of the mind is in full process. There is no 
 slothfulness or indecision, there are no alternations between hope 
 and despair. His career is onward, as it was at the spring, 
 where he refreshed himself. It is immaterial whether his labors 
 are in the subtleties of a dead language ; in the tropes of belles- 
 lettres and the syllogisms of logic ; or, in the profound concep- 
 tions and the systematic demonstrations of deep science. Over 
 them all he obtains a mastery. In a few years the uncmith 
 farmer's son becomes a polished scholar, and may be seen and 
 heard and admired, in our legislative halls ; in our courts of law ; 
 and in the sanctuary of religion. Did not Henry Clay, and 
 Silas Wright, and Daniel Webster, and Millard Fillmore, and 
 Jared Sparks ; and, indeed a large proportion of our most emi- 
 nent divines, lawyers, and statesmen — the living as well as those 
 deceased — begin life much as here set forth ? Verily they did. 
 
THE FAUM AND THE FIRESIDE. 95 
 
 Was it not so with Franklin, Eoger Sherman, and Andrew 
 Jackson ? Where are the ancestral annals of Martin Van Bu- 
 ren, Abbott Lawrence, De Witt Clinton, Robert Fulton, Winfield 
 Scott, and Francis Wayland ? Are they found in books of Her- 
 aldry ? Our theory of human greatness is no dream life. The 
 prospective delineation of it to the faithful adventurer may ap- 
 pear like a romantic shadow ; but, when the vision becomes an 
 element of history, the successful candidate for renown will give 
 his testimony that his whole course was a stubborn reality. If 
 there is any one thing indelibly impressed upon our own mental 
 tablet, it is a three days' journey on foot nearly fifty years ago, 
 made by us, with similar musings and toils and anticipations. 
 The waves of oblivion may, like the waves of the sea, success- 
 ively sweep away the records of human thoughts and human 
 deeds till time shall be merged in the ocean of existence, but 
 this one shall continue in freshness, unless memory give up her 
 empire and the current of thought shall cease to flow in its ac- 
 customed channel. 
 
 It is a pleasure occasionally to review life, and to call to 
 mind the incidents attending the progress made in the highway 
 to eminence. It is not every one that reaches enviable distinc- 
 tion ; and those who do, encounter perils and sufier hai'dships 
 which require the most indomitable vigor. It has often seemed 
 to us, that the successful laborer for wealth and for fame resem- 
 bles in no small degree the traveller ascending the Alps or the 
 high and preoipituous mountains of our own country. When at 
 the base the projecting cliffs, and here and there the almost per- 
 pendicular pathway seem to render the ascent impossible. On 
 looking upward the mind is apt to become giddy, and the nerves 
 to become unbalanced. Where there is one to make the intre- 
 pid effort, a thousand will prefer the ease and the quiet upon the 
 rich bottoms below. The balmy fragrance and the rich verdure 
 there within reach, almost without toil, save such as may be ac- 
 counted a pastime, are more congenial to the taste and the men- 
 tal and physical powers of the timid and the indolent. Neither 
 felspar, or mica, or hornblende, or serpentine, or sienite, or por- 
 
96 THE FAEM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 phyry, staple components in these uprisings of the glohe, has 
 much attraction for minds of that character. If gold were one 
 of these components the inducement to examine them would he 
 greater. 
 
 Hence, it is evident, that the scientific mountain sojourner 
 must he a man of genius and enterprise, as well as of physical 
 strength and endurance, in the prosecution of his labors. At 
 first, he may experience less difficulty, the course being less pre- 
 cipitous, and winding around some small promontory ; by the aid 
 of small trees and shrubs on which he can lay hold, he advances 
 with encouraging success. But the higher he rises, the slower 
 is his progress, and the more hazardous is his position. On the 
 mountain side, in proportion to the elevation is the decrease of 
 vegetable substance ; trees and shrubs are constantly become 
 more sparse and individually more feeble, so that every now and 
 then he is without their aid. Yet, he seizes, by effort, upon one 
 after another ; sometimes so small as barely able to sustain his 
 weight ; clinging also to precipice above precipice till the de- 
 sired summit is more than half reached. Here, finding a table 
 of a few rods square, he stops and refreshes himself both with 
 food and sleep. This is not unlike the half-way stage of human 
 life ; a prominence in hold relief where the retrospect and the 
 future may be comprehended by a single glance ; the one giving 
 ability for the other. 
 
 Accordingly, our tourist here renews his strength, aiwi brings 
 into requisition his remaining energies. It is an occasion to par- 
 alise the feeble and to invigorate the powerful. He is ah-eady 
 advanced so far that the oxen and sheep in the valleys below 
 appear to him no larger than dogs and oats. The heights above 
 him assume a more perilous and forbidding aspect ; yet, he re- 
 solves to move onward. Slowly he does so. New inconven- 
 iences now begin to arise. The atmosphere changes as if mov- 
 ing toward the polar regions ; and, he fails not to experience 
 the frozen tempests of a northern winter. At one elevation the 
 snow covers him ; at another a shower of hail is scattered around 
 liim and upon him ; and at each the thunder and the lightning 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 97 
 
 display themselves in fearful grandeur. And his hands are so 
 chilled and become so numb, that to secure and maintain himself 
 holding to the stinted shrubs and projecting granite footsteps 
 seems almost impossible. However, he does it ; his strength and 
 ardor are proportioned to the emergency ; he reaches- an eleva- 
 tion, in a fevsf hours more, above the storm of elements ; then, 
 with indescribable sensations, it is difficult to tell, whether of 
 exulting complacency or of homage to the Supreme Being, he 
 literally looks down upon the clouds and the gathering tempests ; 
 and, at last, he stands erect upon one of the most sublime monu- 
 ments ever raised to the Almighty's power and wisdom in the 
 creation of the world. What a scene of magnificence is here 
 spread out before him I Whether east or west, north or south, 
 no obstruction intercepts his vision, till reaching that broad 
 circle, where the heavens and the earth appear to unite I The 
 men left in the nether distance appear to him like pigmies ; and, 
 the stones lying broadcast around them like the dust of his feet. 
 Who does not recognise in his own career to eminence very 
 much analogous to this sketch of the mountain sojourner I It is 
 by toil, and self-denial, and perseverance, that difficulties are 
 overcome, and that the boon of desire is attained. The effemi- 
 nancy from luxury, and the sluggish progress from indolence or 
 inefhciency, in both cases would be ruinous to success. The 
 path of the adventurer for . fame is often made rugged by pover- 
 ty. The struggling eflbrts to overcome it generate an energy 
 rarely found in the lap of ease. It is by labor we become ath- 
 letic ; and, it is by intellectual action, that the mind reaches its 
 full capacity. The history of literary men prove this to demon- 
 stration. Rarely is there an exception to it. We remember an 
 anecdote of the late Post Master General in the United States di- 
 rectly applicable to our purpose. It was related by Judge CoUa- 
 mer himself, at a commencement dinner ; and of course its authen- 
 ticity is not be doubted. It is the more valuable, because the 
 narrator, as in most similar cases, felt no disposition to disguise 
 a truth, once an occasion probably of humiliation, but by his 
 good sense converted into an occasion of pride and self-complar 
 5 
 
98 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 cency. When in college he was so poor, according to this State- 
 ment, he was induced habitually to go barefooted to the recita^ 
 tion room. The president of the institution probably not know- 
 ing it was the consequence of poverty, reproved him for it, as 
 being out of character for a young gentleman. Young Collamer 
 was both mortified and grieved at the censure, and by great 
 efFort obtained a pair of shoes ; but, to make them last as long 
 as possible, he still went barefoot, except when appearing before 
 his principal teacher. On these occasions, he would carry the 
 shoes in his hand till he arrived at the recitation room door, 
 when he would put them on ; and upon leaving it, as soon as 
 outside of the door, he would remove them from his feet and 
 carry them in his hand to his own room, as he had previously 
 left it. With such an incident of character in a young man it 
 required no prophetic acumen to predict the eminence to which 
 he has risen. Such traits of character will usually lead to sim- 
 ilar results. 
 
 It is proverbial, that a very large proportion of our distin- 
 guished men, like Webster and Van Buren, were born on a farm. 
 The country is the great hot bed of genius. It would be easy to 
 produce a long catalogue of those, who, like the boy above describ- 
 ed, have risen to the highest rank in deeds of renown. Among 
 the families of farmers in our country thus distinguished for pro- 
 ducing great scholars is that of Noah Worcester, of Hollis, N. H. 
 The facts annexed respecting him are collected from a memoir 
 of one of his sons just published, and from our own personal 
 knowledge. They are highly instructive ; and, it is cheering to 
 the intelligent ruralist to reflect upon them. 
 
 Noah Worcester, the Hollis farmer, had four sons who be- 
 came clergymen ; all four of reputable standing, and two of 
 them, Noah and Samuel, rose to the highest grade in their time, 
 both for professional talents, and as controversial writers. Sam- 
 uel, the youngest of the four, was educated at college ; the other 
 three, Thomas, Leonard, and Noah were literally self-made ; one 
 went directly from the plough to the pulpit ; another went from 
 the farm to the printing office, and from that to the pulpit ; and, 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESEDB. ,99 
 
 the other from the farm to the shoemaker's bench, and from that 
 to the pulpit. Samuel also worked on the farm till in the mid- 
 dle of his twenty-first year, when he purchased his time of his 
 father, fitted for college, and gratuated with the highest honors 
 paying the expenses himself by keeping school. Both Noah and 
 Samuel received the Honorary Degree of Doctor of Divinity ; the 
 former at Cambridge and the latter at Princeton. Seventeen of 
 the descendants of Noah Worcester of Hollis, have received a 
 collegiate education. Of these Joseph E. Worcester, LL. D., 
 the author of the Universal Dictionary and other valuable works, ■ 
 is one ; and besides these seventeen, six of his other descendants ■ 
 without receiving a collegiate education, have entered the min- 
 istry. It is delightful to muse on such instances of mental de- 
 velopment. They should in the family of the farmer be as fa-, 
 miliar as household words. The writings and the memoirs of 
 such men should become parts of all rural fireside literature. It 
 is to such sources that we are mainly indebted for our national 
 reputation. It is from them that we are mainly to receive im- 
 pulses for a high destiny. 
 
 MORAL INFLUENCE OF SPRING. 
 
 The vicissitudes of the seasons are among the most benefi- 
 cent allotments of Divine Wisdom. All our instincts tend to 
 harmonise with progressive development in material nature. 
 We shrink almost involuntarily from whatever is monotonous, 
 whether in the action of mental power, in the processes of hu- 
 man labor, or in the exhibitions of the material creation about, 
 us. Were we placed in a paradise, all in time would become 
 dull and insipid. The bowers of ancient Eden, perfect as it was 
 on coming from the hand of God, did not long satisfy our first 
 parents. Nor, probably would they for a long period satisfy our- 
 selves. No matter how rich might be the scenery ; no matter 
 how limpid and pure might be its perennial springs ; no matter. 
 
100 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 how odorous might be its medicinal plants and trees ; no mat- 
 ter how beautiful its foliage and its flowers ; no matter how pic- 
 turesque might be its landscapes ; speedily there would be an 
 oppressive satiety ; speedily there would be a yearning for change 
 — for some untried means to gratify the senses and to give buoy- 
 ancy to the mind. It is not affirmed that there is any thing 
 morally wrong in this feature of our nature. It probably leads 
 to a better accomplishment of the purposes of our existence ; to 
 a higher and more refined circle of virtuous enjoyment. It coun- 
 teracts a propensity to languor, and perhaps to indolence ; witli 
 which the wide world, the eartli and the heavens, are at var- 
 iance. If there is any one characteristic, that, above all others, 
 presents itself with ceaseless vigilance in the physical economy 
 of our globe, it is that of a ceaseless activity and progress. 
 
 Were an attempt made for it, how difficult should we find 
 it, to tell with which of the seasons of the year we should be 
 most pleased, in case it were to be perpetual. Shonld we be drop- 
 ped upon the earth, in mature existence, when autumn is bending 
 under its annual weight of well filled storehouses : when hunger 
 and thirst could be appeased without labor and anxiety ; when 
 the whole realm of earth's wide domain is teeming with desire 
 to impart her treasures to the children of men ; can it be imagin- 
 ed that we should evince no signs of discontent ; that we should 
 cherish no aspirations to witness the processes by which this 
 abundance is produced ! If we make observations upon the liv- 
 ing world, we may feel assured that such would not be the fact. 
 If we advert to the record of our thoughts, m'c may know, that 
 a dull and unchanged jjerpetuity of every thing however excel- 
 lent in itself, is not in accordance v/ith our taste if with our 
 reason. 
 
 So far as the seasons of the year are taken to illustrate this 
 attribute of the human mind, it is doubtless true, that in each one 
 there may be circumstances peculiarly adapted to fit man for 
 his duties and his destiny. Summer presents to his imagination 
 the wide world with all its vast designs and gigantic powers, 
 Pt'^ugglins &r great achievements, like man himself in the noon- 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE, 101 
 
 day of his existence ; autumn follows in its wake to teach him 
 gratitude, and to inspire him with a sublime homage to the 
 Author of his being ; nor is winter less important to hirn in 
 teaching him by her own colorless shroud, that there is to be a 
 crisis beyond which no one can advance. Thus, the revolving 
 year with its varying seasons, is man's great schoolmaster. In 
 her sublime teaching there is no heresy ; no false and delusive 
 adulation ; it is all eloquence and impressive truth ; and those 
 who follow it, with a willing heart, will reach a moral elevation 
 belonging only to the wise and the good. 
 
 In becoming the disciples of this great teacher, especially in 
 the spring season of the year, there is opened to our view a 
 temple most gorgeously filled with all that can delight the eye 
 and ear, and all that can impress the heart. Who can count 
 the number of ministering agents, that here inspire man with 
 joy and wisdom ? It would seem that the whole spirit world is 
 here in personification, speaking to the soul in every spire of grass, 
 that from the ground rises upward, in every majestic tree, in 
 every flower, and in every plant of this beautiful globe I They 
 steal upon him in every direction I They start out to meet him 
 frorii every fold in the rich drapery I They embrace him from 
 every niche and recess I They greet him from behind each lofty 
 column ! He hears their voice in every floating breeze ! In the 
 note of every songstress that fills with their melody the dense for- 
 est as well as each verdant bough around the family mansion I 
 And he is continually inhaling the odors of a balmy incense from 
 nature's high altar. Here is a magnificence compared with 
 which the halls of princes are tasteless and mean I Here is music 
 more sweet and suasive than in the grandest artistic orchestra I 
 Here is eloquence more overpowering than human speech, whe- 
 ther in the Church, or the Senate ! 
 
 Who feels no joy, no exultation, no renovated life, no new 
 aspirations after heaven, from the return of spring ! When the 
 green grass in some sunny nook first gives evidence of renewed 
 existence ; when the swelling and the opening buds of the tulip, 
 the apricot, the peach, the plum, and the cherry, present to our 
 
102 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 admiration their pure emblems of virtue, does the human soul 
 experience no kindling ecstacy ? Or, when a rich foliage, of a 
 thousand shades and forms, comes forth and clothes the earth 
 from every tree, and every shrub, and every plant, can the soul 
 remain dead to the celestial graces vi'hich are to live in amaran- 
 thine beauty ? Or, when the foliage is filled with the bright plu- 
 mage of the many feathered tribes — when evei'y leaf is quiver- 
 ing with an echo of their sweet anthems, shall no responsive 
 breathings of joyfulness and adoration rise from the human bo- 
 som I When we witness all this loveliness, beauty, and anima- 
 tion in the return of spring, we cannot refrain from the conclu- 
 sion that of all miracles, now and then, man is the greatest — a 
 miracle of heartless philosophy ; that of all paradoxes he is the 
 most incomprehensible I 
 
 But with all our stoicism ; with all our apathy to emotion, 
 ■we cannot wholly resist these cheering and enlivening influences. 
 Were we to do it, might it not be apprehended, that the purest 
 susceptibilities of our nature have become extinct 1 Who can 
 do it ? Who does not observe, with an involuntary pleasure, at 
 least, the first little rills of spring from the ice of a neighboring 
 hill-side 1 Who does not mark, day by day, with lively interest, 
 the gradual disappearance of the snow bank, on the cold aspect 
 of his garden fence ? Who does not listen to the first vernal 
 concerts of the robin, the blue bird, the meadow sparrow, and 
 the bobolink ? Who gives no heed to the increasing playfulness 
 of the lambs and calves, and the cheerful notes and pompous 
 strutting of the poultry yard tenants, in a warm day of April ? 
 Few will do it. We do these things impulsively. There is a 
 species of fellowship between man and other animals, and be- 
 tween them both and the vegetable kingdom. Man as well as 
 they, needs the renovating influences arising in the spring time 
 of this kingdom. The soul as well as the body becomes languid 
 and more or less inanimate ; and is restored to its appropriate 
 energies, like the face of the earth, by such instrumentalities as 
 we have here indicated. If animated by a spiritual essence, this 
 essence is reached through corporeal organs. 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 103 
 
 The inspirations of spring are of the most gentle character. 
 They are calculated to soothe as well as to enliven, rather than 
 to terrify and overpower by august exhibitions. In one respect 
 spring is like the Gospel dispensation, without terror, and teem- 
 ing with beneficence. The dispensation preceding that of the 
 Gospel was established by miracles of vindictive justice. Of 
 these miracles were the general deluge, the dispersion at Babel, 
 and the destruction of the army of Sennacherib. The latter 
 dispensation was established by miracles of mercy ; among them 
 were the feeding of the hungry, clothing the naked, giving health 
 to the sick, sight to the blind, hearing to the deaf and life to the 
 dead. Analagous to these are the vernal ministrations of na- 
 ture. We no longer witness the destruction of life from the 
 convulsed elements of winter. Her ice bound mantle and her 
 piercing blasts have disappeared. Her dominion has been sub- 
 dued. Nor is there a rising terror in the bosom, from the light- 
 ning, and the thunder, and the hurricane of mid-summer. The 
 season for their appearance is in the future. The rain of spring 
 is in delightful showers. Her sunshine is genial and not scorch- 
 ing, and her winds are gentle breezes, like the Divine influences 
 upon the soul. Or, if visited by a stiff north-easter, in or about 
 the March equinox, it lasts but a few days, and is not unlike a 
 box upon the ear of the heedless child from the petulant mother — 
 always succeeded by a shower of smiles and a bountiful piece of 
 bread and butter. 
 
 Even the hurry and commotion of spring in the country is 
 not wholly unpleasant. To prepare the soil for the crops of the 
 season does indeed leave the farmer little or no opportunity for 
 recreation, or for protracted moralising on the agencies connected 
 with his labors. Occasionally, till his seed is sown, he barely 
 allows himself time to sleep. All other matters are to be de- 
 ferred, aware that undue delays in this part of his rural duties 
 would be attended with hazard. If he fail to sow, he cannot 
 expect to reap. May not those who calculate on a spiritual 
 harvest, learn wisdom from this fact in agriculture ; may they 
 not see the necessity of attending in due time to that early cul- 
 
104 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 ture, which alone can render them sure of the rich fruits of eter- 
 nal life ? In both cases, most persons, occasionally at least, be- 
 come sluggish. Hence, they need excitement. In the former 
 case, the farmer is admonished to divest himself of rest and inac- 
 tivity ; to press forward ; to do with his might what he has to 
 do ; and, as if to forget every thing else. In the latter case, all 
 may and should be instructed by his example. This is one of 
 the lessons inculcated when we reflect on the spring-time labors 
 of the husbandman. 
 
 But there is another moral truth illustrated and enforced by 
 the return of spring. In the winter all nature seems clothed in 
 sadness. The beauties of vegetation have disappeared. The 
 earth is hung in a drapery of bleak desolation. Had the change 
 to be wrought by the return of spring never have been witnessed 
 by us, who could realise or even believe such a change possible. 
 And the seed we cast into the ground is apparently without vi- 
 tality. Had it never been seen, who could imagine that in a 
 few weeks, it would send forth a waving sea of verdure, contain- 
 ing all the elements of continued existence. St. Paul takes this 
 fact to illustrate, not only the possibility but the reason to ex- 
 pect a similar resurrection of the human body from the grave. 
 That doctrine is no more at variance with the soundest princi- 
 ples of philosophy than the resurrection of nature in the season 
 of spring. If the hard kernel of corn is made to assume its origi- 
 nal green vesture, why may not the human body that has once 
 lain in the grave, be again clothed with all the characteristics 
 of its first state ; bone be joined with bone ; muscle with mus- 
 cle ; vein with vein ; and artery with artery ? Why may not 
 the body again become erect, and again be endowed with loco- 
 motive power, as well as the new grown corn again be enabled 
 to unfold its leaves and its flowers to the sun and the air ? Why 
 not the human eye again be enabled to sparkle with intelligence 
 and joy, as well as the new formed ear of corn again be permit- 
 ted to adorn the stem which produces it ? 
 
 As no hope can be more precious than that of the general 
 resurrection of our race from the grave, how interesting and de- 
 
TIiK FARM AND THE FIRESIBK. IQ§ 
 
 lightful must be any instrumentality that can nourish and give 
 stability to this hope I The spring of the year is such an in- 
 strumentality. The assurance of this truth is indeed unfolded 
 to us in the Word of Life ; but the conception of a truth so glo- 
 rious, so congenial with our inherent sensibilities, and yet sur- 
 );ounded by so many obstacles to its recognition, requires all the 
 adventitious aid, in any way to be had, to render it th^'Knchor 
 to the soul, so much needed by us. Let the doctrine of the gen- 
 eral resurrection be discarded, and life itself is but an idle dream I 
 Where else than in this doctrine is a destiny to be sought com- 
 patible with our mental endowments, and with our mental as- 
 pirations ? Without it man sinks almost to a level, with the 
 brutes. With it he has fellowship with angels, and with all 
 ethereal beings. Without it man is comparatively like the in- 
 sect which glitters in the sunshine but a few hours^or a few 
 days. With it, there will be no end to his existence, and no 
 limit to the expansion of his powers or the measure flf his bliss. 
 
 THE PRINCIPAL VARIETIES OF SHEEP. 
 
 In the earliest records of the world, it is apparent that the 
 value of the sheep was understood, and, that the care of it was 
 among the first of human labors. In the life time of Cain and 
 Abel, we are informed by the sacred penman, that this animal 
 had an important relation to the primeval institutions of that 
 period. The ofl'erings of gratitude made by the first human fa- 
 mily to the Author of their being, consisted of the first fruit of 
 the ground, and the firstlings of the flock ; and we are specifi- 
 cally told that the former of these brothers was a tiller of the 
 ground and the latter a keeper of sheep. Nor is it an unnatural 
 presumotion, that this animal so soon became an object of such 
 prominence ', for the lises to be made of it were so manifold, its 
 utijiity could not have escaped the attention of the most casual*' 
 observer. 
 
106 
 
 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 It is well known that the most extraordinary results are pro- 
 duced in the form and covering of sheep by the climate, soil and 
 food, which have influence upon it in different localities. Did 
 we not know the fact we could scarcely realize that such results 
 were possible. A distinguished writer* appropriately observes, 
 that no animal varies more than the sheep, and none adapts it- 
 self so speedily to climate. It would almost appear that nature, 
 convinced of its great utility, had bestowed upon it a constitu- 
 tion so pliant, as to enable it to accommodate itself to any point, 
 in a wide scale of temperature. For though its natural situa- 
 tion as a wool bearing animal, like that of man, appears to be 
 the wine countries, yet with him it has spread to every quarter of 
 the globe, being impressed at every change with some peculiar- 
 ity, alterable only by a change of situation, and varying, we 
 might affirm, with the weather. Changes, occasioned by cli- 
 mates, are always limited to the fleece, horns, and disposal of 
 the fat, and never extend to those parts on the permanence of 
 which the animal depends for its station in the scale of being, 
 as the teeth, the feet, and the digestive organs. 
 
 Under such circumstances, says Canfield, it cannot be ex- 
 pected that we can trace the origin of the different breeds of 
 sheep. And as to the qualities and management of any of the 
 ancient breeds, we know only what is furnished by the Bible, 
 and by Greek and Roman writers ; and so meagre are the ac- 
 counts which they furnish of the different breeds, that any 
 thing like a regular history of the sheep is entirely out of the 
 question. But as th^ sheep has been widely disseminated 
 throughout Europe, Asia, and Africa ; as its young are easily 
 tamed, and its milk, flesh, and pelts were extremely valuable to 
 man in all ages, we may well suppose that it was one of the 
 first quadrupeds which was domesticated. And as there is no 
 animal which contributes more to the welfare and comfort of 
 man than sheep, so, also, there is no one which requires more 
 care and attention from him. 
 
 ' Blaoklook. 
 
THE FAEM AND THE FIRESIDE, 107 
 
 The sheep, in a state of complete domestication, appears 
 equally stupid as it is harmless, and seems nearly to justify the 
 observations of Buffon, who describes it as one of the most timid, 
 imbecile, and contemptible of quadrupeds. When sheep, how- 
 ever, have an extensive range of pasture, and are left in a con- 
 siderable degree to depend on themselves /or food and protection, 
 they exhibit more respectability of character. This is analagous 
 to what we may observe in the human species. By domestica- 
 tion and tender care of the sheep it is rendered imbecile. So 
 our children can be made eSeminate and ineiEcient, by keeping 
 them from occasions to develop their mental and physical pow- 
 ers ; whereas, if allowed to derive the benefit resulting from 
 such occasions, they become vigorous, able to take care of them- 
 selves, and even become distinguished among their fellow men- 
 Is it not much so with the sheep ? When trained to take care 
 of themselves, a ram has been seen to attack and beat off a 
 large and formidable dog, and even a bull has been felled to the 
 ground by a stroke received between his eyes, as he was lower- 
 ing his head to receive his adversary on his horns and toss him 
 into the air. And when individual efforts are unequal to the 
 danger, sheep will unite their exertions, placing the females and 
 their young in the middle of an irregular square, the rams will 
 station themselves so as to present an armed front on every side 
 to the enemy, and will support their ranks in the crisis of an at- 
 tack, harassing the foe by the most formidable and sometimes 
 fatal blows. Such sheep too especially display considerable sa- 
 gacity in the selection of their food ; and in the approach of 
 storms they perceive the indications with accurate precision, and 
 retire for shelter always to the spot which is best able to 
 afford it. 
 
 The elevated steppes of southern Siberia, and the mountain 
 chains of central Asia, produce an animal, described by Pallas, 
 under the name of Argali. According to a statement in the 
 Farmer's Library, a few years since, two fine specimens of this 
 animal, a male and a female, were placed in the British Museum, 
 and may be regarded as among the most valuable and interest- 
 
108 
 
 THE FARM AND THE FmESIBB. 
 
 
 ASIATIC ARGALIC SHEEP. 
 
 ing of its zoological treasures. " Till we saw them," says Mr. 
 Youatt, " we had no idea of so gigantic a sheep. Huge, massive, 
 heavy, and powerful, is the Argali of Siberia ! an. ox, as it were 
 in stature, hut a wild sheep in form and characters. The male 
 stands four feet in height at the back ; and, measured from the 
 nose to the end of the short little tail over the head and neck, is 
 seven feet nine inches ; the circumference of the horns at the 
 base is nineteen inches, and each horn, measured from its base 
 along the curve to the tip, is three feet eleven inches. The horns 
 are furrowed with deep transverse wrinkles, and are boldly spiral, 
 diverging somewhat laterally. The limbs of the sheep are com- 
 pact and well turned, the tail is short, and the ears are small. 
 The female specimen is smaller in stature than the male, and 
 the horns are considerably less, both as to length and weight. 
 The horns of the male are triangular, and convex on the upper 
 apex — ^hoae of the female are more compressed. 
 
 " The pelt is deep, close, and full. Its tint is a grisly brown. 
 The limbs below the kneo arc whitish ; the lips arc grayish ; 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 109 
 
 and the tail is also grayish. Probably the color varies at differ- 
 ent seasons of the year, as is generally the case among wild 
 sheep. The argali lives in troops, and is extremely active and 
 vigorous, bold and resolute. In spring and autumn the rivalry 
 of the males is excited, and they engage in desperate conflicts, 
 striking each other on the head with such violence, that they 
 often break off each other' s.horns, massive as these weapons are, 
 and solidly as they- are fixed on the skull. It is said that even 
 foxes and other small animals may take shelter in the hollow of 
 these horns, on their being separated from the dead animal, as 
 they are scattered about." 
 
 In the valuable work from which the above is obtained, the 
 same writer says, that upon the elevated plain of Pamir, east- 
 ward of Bokhara;, which is 16,000 feet above the sea level, wild 
 animals are met with in great numbers, particularly sheep of a 
 large size, having horns three, four, and even six palms in 
 length. The Roman palm was eight and a half inches. The 
 shepherds, he remarked, form ladles and vessels of them for 
 holding victuals. They are also used in the construction of 
 fences to protect the sheep against wolves. These fences are 
 peculiarly repulsive in their appearance. Col. H. Smith speaks, 
 of the Caucasian argali as having horns three feet in length, 
 and so heavy and unmanageable, when lying on the ground, 
 that he found it difficult to place them in such a position as to 
 give a correct idea of their appearance when on the skull. Mr. 
 Kotsbue says the Kamtohatkan sheep, which is supposed to be 
 a diminished variety of the argali, is amazingly fleet and active, 
 exhibiting itself on the loftiest pinnacles, and achieving, like the 
 chamois, prodigious springs among the rocks and precipices, and 
 consequently is not killed or taken without difficulty. In pre- 
 paring for these leaps, its eye measures the distance with sur- 
 prising accuracy. The animal then contracts its legs and darts 
 forward, head-foremost, to the destined spot, where it alights 
 upon its feet ; nor is it ever seen to miss, though the point may 
 be BO small as to admit its four feet only by their being close 
 together. 
 
J 10 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 The Rooky Mountain sheep inhabit the lofty chain of moun- 
 tains from whence they derive their name ; from its northern 
 termination, in latitude sixty-eight, to about latitude forty de- 
 
 ROCKY MOUNTAIN SHEEP. 
 
 grees, and perhaps farther south. They also frequent the ele- 
 vated and cragged ridges with which the country between the 
 great mountain range and the Pacific is intersected ; but they do 
 not appear to have advanced further eastward than the declivity 
 of the Kocky Mountains, nor are they found in any of the hilly 
 tracts near Hudson's Bay. They collect in flocks, consisting 
 of from thirty to forty young rams and females, herding to- 
 gether during the winter and spring, while the old rams form 
 separate flocks. Mr. Driimmond informs us, that in the retired 
 parts of the mountains, where the hunters had seldom penetrat- 
 ed, he found no difficulty in approaching the Rocky Mountain 
 sheep, where they exhibited the simplicity of character so re- 
 markable in the domestic species ; but that where they had been 
 often fired at, they were exceedingly wild, alarmed their com- 
 panions on the approach of danger by a hissing noise, and scaled 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. HI 
 
 Xhe rocks with a speed and agility that baffled pursuit. He lost 
 several that he had wounded mortally, by their retiring to die 
 among the secluded precipices. 
 
 Their favorite feeding places, are grassy knolls, skirted by 
 craggy rocks, to which they can retreat when pursued by dogs 
 or wolves. They are accustomed to pay dailj' visits to certain 
 caves in the mountains, that are encrusted with a saline efflor- 
 escence, of which they are fond, Mr. Drummond says 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 said by those 
 who have fed on it, to be quite delicious when it is in season, 
 far superior to that of any of the deer species which frequent 
 that quarter, and even exceeding in flavor the finest English 
 mutton. Some naturalists have supposed that this variety of 
 the sheep family is substantially the same as the Asiatic Argali, 
 but of diminished stature. Others dissent from this opinion, not 
 only on account of its size, but of a difference in the curvature 
 of the horns. Those, who maintain it, imagine that some of the 
 Argali originally passed Bhering's Straits on the ice to the Ameri- 
 can continent. 
 
 Captain Bonneville seems to imagine that there is a kind of 
 congruity between the characteristics of the Rocky Mountain 
 Sheep and the regions inhabited by them, they giving romantic 
 effect to the natural scenery. Thus they bound like goats from 
 crag to crag, often trooping along the lofty shelves of the moun- 
 tains, under the guidance of some venerable patriarch, with horna 
 twisted lower than his muzzle, and sometimes peering over the 
 edge of the precipice, so high that they appear from the valleys 
 to be no larger than crows. Indeed, it appears a pleasure to 
 them to seek the most rugged and frightful situations, doubtless 
 from a feeling of security rather than of contempt for their ene- 
 mies prevented from approaching them. 
 
 In the early ages of the world flocks of sheep constituted a 
 large proportion of the wealth of the people. In Palestine they 
 were very numerous. It is stated that Job had twelve thousand 
 
112 THE KAEM AND THE PlRESlTlE. 
 
 sheep, besides oxen and camels. When the twelve thousand 
 Israelites made an excursion into Midian, they brought away 
 six hundred and seventy-five thousand sheep. When the tribes 
 of Reuben and Gad made war with the Hagarites, their spoils 
 amounted to two hundred and fifty thousand of that animal. 
 The king of Moab rendered a yearly tribute of two hundred 
 thousand sheep to the Jews ; and at the dedication of the temple 
 Solomon offered one hundred and twenty thousand. Travellers 
 have seen immense flocks of sheep in the neighborhood of Aleppo ; 
 and, Dr. Shaw states that several of the Arabian tribes, who can 
 bring no more than three or four hundred horses into the field, 
 are possessed of more than as many thousand oxen and camels, 
 and treble that number of sheep and goats. 
 
 Hair is an appendage of the skm of the mammalia. It con- 
 sists of fine filaments growing from beneath the skin, to which 
 it serves as a covering ; it is nearly the same in its chemical 
 composition as horn and feathers; it is kept flexible and moist 
 by an oily secretion from the skin ; it is furnished with blood 
 vessels, like all the other organs of animals. Gluadrupeds are 
 more or less covered with it, and for the most part in the great- 
 est degree where the cold is greatest. Man is slightly supplied 
 with this universal defence ; but he is enabled, by his reason, to 
 adapt the hair of other animals to his use. When the hair of 
 animals is very thick and strong, it forms bristles ; when more 
 fine, forms the commonly so called hair ; when it is fine, and at 
 the same time curled, it is termed wool. It is this curling pro- 
 perty of the wool which renders it more suitable than any other 
 species of hair for being woven into cloth. The fur of animals 
 consists of a mixture of hair and wool, but the latter is often in 
 a very small quantity. 
 
 The wool principally used for the purpose of forming clothes, 
 is that of the domestic sheep ; and we know that this substance 
 has been employed from the earliest records of the human race. 
 But the wool of various other animals is applied to the same 
 purpose, as the camel, the lama, and the goat. Wool frequently 
 loses its curling property, and passes into hair. In the warmer 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 113 
 
 regions the fur of sheep is more hairy than in the colder, appa- 
 rently because a less thick and matted covering is required for 
 the protection of the animals. Hair is also found, and sometimes 
 in large quantity, intermixed with the wool of sheep in cold and 
 temperate countries. This intermixture of hair unfits tha wool 
 for many manufactures ; and it is a process of art to separate it 
 from the. wool. By neglect in the treatment of the animal, the 
 proportiorL of the hair increases ; by care and more complete 
 domestication, tbe quantity of hair diminishes. 
 
 The wool of sheep, like the hair of other animals, is periodi- 
 cally renewed, the older hair falling off, and a new growth 
 taking its place. In the case of the sheep, this renewal of the 
 wool usually occurs once in the year, and at the beginning of 
 the warm season. It is at this period that we anticipate the 
 natural process by shearing or cutting off the external part of the 
 fleece. In some countries the fleece is not shorn, but is pulled 
 off; and in certain conditions of climate and the animal, the' 
 wool remains for more than one year. Wool, like every kind 
 of hair, grows quickly when cut. The wool of sheep is some- 
 times black or brown, and the wool of all the less cultivated 
 animals tends more or less to a dark color. Some sheep, even 
 of superior breeds, have black faces and legs, as in the English 
 Southdown ; and in all such breeds, there is a tendency to a 
 mixture of black wool with the white. This is deemed an im- 
 perfection in wool ; for the pure white wool receives a hetter 
 color than that which is black or brown. Accordingly in attempts 
 to improve the breeds of sheep one important object to be at- 
 tained is the production of a white fleece, Some idea may be 
 had of the magnitude and importance of the interest in the 
 domestic sheep, that even in our'own country the annual pro- 
 duce of wool now amounts to fifty millions of pounds ; an'l ihat 
 in Grreat Britain it is nearly three times that quantity. McOul- 
 loch says the value of woolen goods annually manufactured in 
 that country is more than a hundred millions of dollars. 
 
 The cut connected with this paragraph is a correct portrait 
 of a fat rumped Persian ram, wliich belonged to the Zoological 
 
114 
 
 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 -J" 
 
 FAT RUMPED SHEEP. 
 
 Society in London. There are several varieties of this sheep, 
 but they are substantially alike. The flocks of all the Tartar 
 hordes, says Dr. Anderson, resemble one another, by having, 
 particularly the males, a solid mass of fat formed on the rump, 
 divided, . as it were into two hemispheres, which take the form 
 of the hips, with a little knob of a tail in the middle. Some of 
 them have horns but other? do not. Its covering is a mixture 
 of hair and wool. Some of the breed weigh as much as two 
 hundred pounds ; and the mass of fat formed on the rump varies 
 from a tenth to a fifth part of the entire weight. In the neigh- 
 borhood of Caucasus and Taurida, the hind quarters are salted 
 as hams and sent in large quantities to the northern parts of 
 Turkey. It has been supposed by some writers, that this breed 
 may be the same as that wliich was bred by the patriarchs in 
 the days of Abraham and Moses. The sacred penman men- 
 tions that Moses took the fat, and tlie rump, and all the fat 
 
TJiE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. JI5 
 
 which was upon the inwards, and burnt them upon the altar for 
 a burnt offering. 
 
 The sheep of Thibet, which are very numerous, are chiefly 
 a small variety of the fat-rumped Persian and Abyssinian, with 
 black heads and necks. Some are hairy, with short wool under- 
 neath, while others bear a lonjr, soft, and fine wool. It is from 
 the latter that many of the costly Indian shawls are made. Not 
 a little of this peculiar wool finds its way to British India, and 
 is there manufactured. This breed is found in its purest state, 
 in the deserts of Great Tartary ; no other variety being near to 
 contaminate its blood. It reaches far into the interior, and 
 northern parts of Russia, and is much disseminated in China, 
 Persia, Hindostan, Asia Minor, and Eastern Africa, as well as in. 
 Thibet. In Palestine- it is more numerous than any other breed ; 
 indeed the largest proportion of the sheep of Northern Asia being 
 of this description. 
 
 The causes of the peculiar disposition of fat upon the tail 
 and rump of different breeds of sheep, will probably ever be a 
 mystery. Fat is a seci^eted tissue which intermingles with, andg'', 
 surrounds the muscular parts, and envelopes the viscera within, 
 the body. Ordinarily, it is dispersed throughout the body ; but 
 in many of the sheep of the above mentioned countries, it accu- 
 mulates principally upon the rump and tail. Professor Pallas 
 conjectures thiit this character arises, in the fat rumped sheep, 
 from their feeding upon the bitter and saline plants, found upon 
 the borders of the Caspian and Black seas. And he asserts, 
 that when they are removed from the places where these plants 
 grow, the fatty excrescence becomes less. But says Canfield, as 
 the fat-tailed and fat rumped sheep are varieties which are 
 widely dispersed, it seems more probable that they may have 
 been produced by accident, and may also have been perpetuated 
 by accident, design, or fancy. 
 
 The fat-tailed sheep is very extensively diffused ; it is found 
 throughout Asia and a great part of Africa, as well as through 
 the north-eastern parts of Europe. They differ like other sheep 
 in the nature of their covering. In Madagascar, and in some 
 
Ill 
 
 THE FARM AND THE FrHESIDE. 
 
 
 f,\ <: 
 
 \\, 
 
 ,«).^, 
 
 J^-^? 
 
 i>^? 
 
 -J*. 
 
 f »* *?r 
 
 
 ^"S^ 
 
 F A T-T AILED SHEEP. 
 
 Other hot climates, they are hairy ; at the cape of Good Hope, 
 they are covered with coarse, hard ^I'ool ; in the Levant, their 
 ■wool is extremely fine. The proportion which the weight of 
 the tail in some of'these sheep bears to the whole carcase, is 
 quite remarltablc. The usual dressed M'eight of the sheep is 
 from fifty to sixty pounds, of v/hich the tail is said to make more 
 than one-fourth part, Some of the largest of these sheep which 
 have been tiittened with great care are said to weigli one 
 hundred and fifty pounds, the tail making oiie-lhird of the whole 
 weight. The tail is described as being composed of a suhslance 
 between marrow and fat, serving very often, in the countries to 
 which the animal belongs, instead of butter, and is used as an 
 ingredient in various dishes. While the animal is young it is 
 deemed to be little inferior to marrow. 
 
 Russell describes two breeds of fat-tailed sheep about Aleppo ; 
 in one the deposit of caudal fat is moderate, iu the other sort 
 
THE FAIIM AND THE FIRESIDE. 117 
 
 the tail is much larger, and it is this kind to which travellers 
 allude in their descriptions-of sheep with enormous caudal ap- 
 pendages. The sheep of this breed, which are fatted and attain 
 the large size mentioned, are kept in yards, in order to prevent 
 injury to their tails. He farther informs us that when these 
 sheep are fed in the fields, the shepherds in several places of 
 Syria fix by way of protection a thin board to the under part of 
 the tail, and to this board are sometimes attached small wheels. 
 Hence, with a little exaggeration, we have the story of the 
 oriental sheep being under the necessity of having carts to carry 
 their tails. True, there are writers of accredited veracity, who 
 have so far endorsed such inflated statements, as to say they have 
 seen the tails of these sheep weighing from seventy to eighty 
 pounds ; but if such were in rare cases the fact, it must have 
 been the result of high feeding. 
 
 This tendency to fat in the prevailing sheep of oriental 
 countries seems to adapt them in a peculiar manner to the use 
 for which they are mainly designed. In Syria little meat ex- 
 cepting mutton is eaten, and excepting during a few weeks in 
 the spring it is fat and well flavored. The lamb in the Spring 
 is excellent. As mutton is almost the only animal food consumed 
 in that country, a regular and abundant supply, especially for 
 the large towns, is very requisite. It is calculated that sixty 
 thousand sheep are annually consumed m Aleppo, the popula- 
 tion of which amounts to about the same, thus making the 
 consumption of one sheep a year for each person ; that is, as it 
 regards sheep alone, what the same population in an Engli'sh 
 town is calculated to consume. But as in England and our own 
 country other meats are used to perhaps three times the quantity 
 of mutton, the consumption of animal food in Aleppo is only 
 about one-fourth part what it is in these countries. 
 
 The unctuous fat of the tails of these sheep is accounted a 
 great delicacy, alike by the boors and the Hottentots of Southern 
 Africa. In their primitive condition, while yet they claimed 
 the country as their own, the Hottentots possessed immense 
 flocks as well as herds, and pursued the pastoral arts with great 
 
118 THB FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 success. Nor are they now, in their changed and fallen state, 
 less excellent as shepherds and herdsmen. Those entrusted with 
 the flocks of their masters know each individual sheep, and have 
 their attention so sharpened by practice, that if one out of seve- 
 ral hundred sheep be missing its loss is immediately perceived. 
 This faculty appeared to surprise Burchell, who paints a caval- 
 cade of flocks returning home at evening, which must indeed 
 have been a pleasing spectacle. It was, says he, an interesting 
 sight to behold, a little before sunset, the numerous flocks 
 streaming like an inundation over the ridges and low hills, or 
 moving in a compact body, like an army invading a country, and 
 driven forwards only by two or three Hottentots and a few dogs. 
 At a great distance, the confused sound of their bleating began 
 to be heard ; but as they approached nearer and nearer the noise 
 gradually increased, till the various cries of the multitude mingled 
 with the whole air and deadened every other sound. 
 
 Russia is a great sheep country. In 1837 she exported more 
 than six million pounds of wool to the British empire alone. 
 This is mostly from the south part of Russia. In the Crimea 
 there are immense flocks of coarse woolled sheep, with fat tails, 
 the wool of which is white, black, or gray. A rich Tartar will 
 frequently possess fifty thousand sheep, of which the wool is 
 more or less valuable. It is well known that many of the Rus- 
 sian nobles derive a^onsiderable portion of their revenue from 
 their herds of horses ; but their sheep are a still greater source 
 of riches, a fact intimated by the circumstance that when the 
 wealth of a noble is mentioned it is often estimated by the 
 number of sheep which he possesses ; some individuals are said 
 to possess no fewer than a hundred thousand. These sheep are 
 mostly of the ordinary Wallachian breed, noted for the huge 
 size of the tail ; with others of the Kalmuo variety, which carries 
 a load of fat on each side of the croup, which even hides their 
 short tail. 
 
 The Cretan sheep is said to prevail in Wallaohia, Hungary, 
 Austria, and the Western parts of Asia ; but along the Danube 
 it is, or rather was, the principal habitat. It is of the long tailed 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 119 
 
 variety, though -without any great tendency to a fatty enlarge- 
 ment of the tail. On the face, the hair is short and of a rusty 
 black. On the body, the wool is white and long, perfectly straight 
 — ^that is, has no spiral curve — thick set, and wiry, and is much 
 mixed with hair. -Its horns are very large, adding greatly to its 
 striking and picturesque appearance. The horns of the male 
 
 CRETAN SHEEP. 
 
 rise almost perpendicularly from the skull, making a series of 
 spiral curves in their ascent, while in the female they diverge, 
 taking a lateral direction, and then ascending. But there is 
 probably some little variation in the horns of this breed, as in 
 those of most other breeds. This variety of sheep is said to be 
 vicious and unruly, and of great strength. In certain character- 
 istics it has considerable resemblance to one variety of the Per- 
 sian sheep, and to the Black faced heath breed of Scotland. 
 The pure Cretan breed of sheep at present is not very common 
 
120 THE FARM AND THE FiaESIDE. 
 
 even in the above countries, as it has been mixed, or partially 
 superseded, by the introduction into them of the Merino. 
 
 The Iceland sheep, of which specimens have at different 
 times, says Youatt, come under our personal observation, are of 
 tolerable large size and strongly built. Their fleece consists of 
 coarse hair externally with an under layer of close wool. Their 
 horns are generally four in number, sometimes six or even eight, 
 and this is the more remarkable as the Iceland cows and oxen 
 are mostly polled. Many are the casualties" to which the sheep 
 of Iceland are exposed in their dreary country ; they have to en- 
 dure the storms of winter ; they are exposed to the rushing 
 descent of terrible avalanches, and to the overwhelming force of 
 volcanic eruptions, to Say nothing of the destruction of lambs by 
 eagles, and occasionally by polar bears, drifted from Greenland 
 on vast masses of ice. There are, however, no wolves, in Ice- 
 land. 
 
 To the Icelander the sheep is a most important animal ; from 
 its milk both butter and cheese are obtained ; its flesh, when 
 dried or salted, forms an article both for home consumption and 
 for exportation ; its wool enters into the material of almost every 
 part of the Icelandic dress ; of the skin fishing garments are 
 made, and these, being smeared repeatedly with oil, so as to be- 
 come saturated with it, are rendered quite water proof. The 
 tenant of a farm pays his rent partly in wool and tallow. When 
 butter is rare, sheep's tallow is the general substitute ; and so 
 fond of this substance are the children, that they may be seen 
 eating lumps of it as if it was some sort of sweetmeat. One 
 of the waj's in which these primitive and hardy people reward 
 their parish priests, is by keeping each of them a lamb for him 
 during the severe winter season ; they take it under their care 
 in October, and return it to the minister in good condition about 
 the middle of May. In Iceland, as in the eastern parts of the 
 world, a sheep or lamb is the usual tribute of hospitality, and is 
 the common present to the stranger and traveller, or killed to make 
 him welcome. 
 
 The notices of the wild and the oriental breeds of sheep here 
 
THR FARM AN'D THE riRESIDB. 
 
 Itl 
 
 I C K L A N D S H 1! E P . 
 
 introduced ave designed rather to gratify curiosity, natural to per- 
 sons, on such a subject, in rural life, than to subserve the inter- 
 ests of agriculture. But to learn how the influence of climate, 
 soil, aud food, can produce so many varieties, from a single stock, 
 as seen in the sheep family, and also in most of the domestic 
 animals, is a subject worthy the attention of the philosopher as 
 ■well as of the common observer. The principles here developed 
 are at the foundation of all improvement in. the breeds of farm 
 animals. Knowing what changes have been wrought by exter- 
 nal and incidental influences it is easy to calculate how to ar- 
 range and modify these agencies so as to produce whatever re- 
 sults may be described. This has been sufficiently exemplified 
 by persons who have long been occupied in sheep husbandry, 
 and who have reduced the principles, that have governed them 
 in their labors, to a regular science. The stock breeder may 
 reach the desired point of merit in animal economy, with nearly 
 
122 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 the same certainty, that the mechanic can produce a prescribed 
 result in machinery if he exercise a corresponding degree of in- 
 telligence and vigilance. 
 
 Spain, from the earliest ages, has been celebrated for the 
 production of ■wool of exquisite delicacy ; and though, from the 
 time when it was a Roman province to the present day, the coun- 
 try has undergone many changes, many revolutions, certain breeds 
 of sheep have continued to maintain their ground, and at the 
 same time their pristine celebrity. Strabo, in : the rel^n of Ti- 
 berius, speaks of the beautiful woolen cloths made of Spanish 
 ■wool, and "worn by the Romans ; and at a subsequent period, 
 Columella exerted himself in the improvement of the Spanish 
 sheep by the introduction of rams from Africa, and also of the 
 more valuable stocks of ancient Italy. And, it is on record that 
 some of the fleeces of the original Spanish flocks "were black, 
 ■while others "were brown or of a reddish hue. The remains of 
 these ancient varieties of color may still be discerned in the mod- 
 ern Merino sheep. The plain and indeed the only reason that 
 can be assigned for the union of black and grey faces with Avhite 
 bodies, in the same breed, is the frequent intermixture of black 
 and -white sheep, until the white prevails in the fleece and the 
 black is confined to the face and legs. It is still apt to break out 
 occasionally in individuals, unless it be fixed and concentrated 
 in the face and legs by repeated crossings and a careful selection. 
 In the Merino south down of England the black may be reduced by 
 a few crosses to small spots about the legs, -while the Merino hue 
 overspreads the countenance. The Merino hue, so variously 
 described as a velvet, a buff, a fawn, or a satin colored counten- 
 ance, but in ■which a red tinge not unfrequently predominates, 
 still indicates the original colors of the indigenous breeds of 
 Spain ; and the black ■wool, for which Spain -was formerly so 
 much distinguished, is still apt to break out occasionally .in the 
 legs and ears of the Merino race. In some flocks half the ear 
 is invariably brovifn, and a coarse black hair is often discernible 
 in the finest fleece. 
 
 The Merino sheep are long in the limbs, but the bone is- 
 
THE FAEM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 123 
 
 small ; tbe breast and back are narrow, and the sides rather 
 flat ; the fore-shoulders and bosoms are heavy, and the skin 
 under the throat is loose and flabby, or indeed pendulous ; the 
 forehead and cheeks ai-e covered vi^ith a coarse long hair, but the 
 lower part of the face is smooth and velvety ; the head is large, 
 the forehead rather low. The male carries comparatively large 
 horns, spirally contorted, the curvature being often very grace- 
 ful. The females are mostly destitute of horns, and where these 
 appendages are present, they are small. The wool of the Merino 
 sheep is at once exquisitely fine, and admirable for its felting pro- 
 
 f^'it^^- ^^' 
 
 ^ •"rf 
 
 MERINO BUCK. 
 
 perties. As to length of staple, the breeds of difierent provinces 
 somewhat vary. The average of fleece of the ram is from seven 
 to eight pounds ; that of the ewe five pounds. Merino sheep, 
 when fatted, usually weigh only from twelve to fifteen pounds 
 per quarter. 
 
 Sheep husbandry in Spain is conducted on an extensive 
 scale. Our farmers generally have no conception of the magni- 
 tude of this interest. The Merino flocks, after spending the 
 summer in the mountains, descend to pass the winter in the 
 
124 THE FAEM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 milder provincea. Each flock, consisting generally of about ten 
 thousand sheep, has a head shepherd, who la chosen as an ex- 
 perienced man, well acquainted with the nature of pastures, and 
 the different diseases to which sheep are liable. This chief, or 
 superintendant, has under him fifty shepherds, each one of whom 
 is furnished with a good and powerful dog, as a defence against 
 wolves, which are much to be dreaded. It necessarily follows, 
 then, that the flocks are subdivided, each shepherd having his 
 own peculiar charge, to which, under the direction of the prin- 
 cipal, he expressly attends. Age after age these sheep have been 
 conducted annually from the mountains to the plains, and from 
 the plains to the mountains. This migratory system seems na- 
 tural to this animal as well as some others. The Laplander pur- 
 sues a migratory system with his herds of reindeer, and the 
 Tartar with his flock. 
 
 Though the supei-iority of the wool of the Merino sheep of 
 Spain was acknowledged for centuries over Europe, yot the idea 
 of improving the native breeds by crosses with the Spanish seems 
 not to have been entertained till a comparatively recent period. 
 Wool was indeed largely exported from Spain into England, 
 Germany, France, and other continental states, where the ma- 
 nufacture of fine cloth was carried on ; but the attempt at ren- 
 dering the inferior fleece of their own flocks available for this pur- 
 pose, by a gradual intermixture of them with the Merinos, was 
 long neglected. England had indeed her own sheep of gi'eat value, 
 both short and long wooled, and therefore felt less than many 
 other countries the necessity for any amelioration ; perhaps even 
 the great wool growers might doubt the possibility of improve- 
 ment. It was in the bieak land of Sweden that the' bold at- 
 tempt was first made to naturalise the Merino sheep of Spain, 
 and to improve the native race by judicious intermixtures. In- 
 dividual eflbrt was aided by the civil government, so that be. 
 tween eighty and ninety years ago there were in that country 
 between sixty and seventy thousand pure Merinos, besides many 
 valuable ones of a mixed breed. 
 
 Ere long Saxony followed this example of Sweden. The 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 125 
 
 ■wool of Saxony quickly became celebrated, and more than ri- 
 valled that of Spain in the market, and the woolen manufactures 
 at the same time rose in reputation. It would appear, indeed, 
 that the Merino succeeded better in Saxony than in Spain. In 
 1809 Saxony reared about 1,600,000 sheep of all kinds, and 
 could boast of 900,000 partly pure Merino, and partly of the 
 most improved and valuable crosses. These mixed breeds took 
 the name of Saxon-Merinos. Other States of Germany were not 
 slow to embark in this praiseworthy enterprise. Prussia, under the 
 munificent auspices of Frederick the G-reat, who had there spent 
 more than forty millions of dollars for agricultural purposes, be- 
 came distinguished for her sheep husbandry. Her flocks of sheep 
 have sometimes numbered in the neighborhood of 6,000,000, 
 more than half of which are pure Merinos. Similar efforts were 
 made in Austria. In 1775, the empress Maria Theresa im- 
 ported three hundred Merinos from Spain and placed them on the 
 imperial farm in Hungary. From time to time other importa- 
 tions were made from the same country, so that it is now calcu- 
 lated that Austria,, including the Hungarian territories, has 
 nearly or quite twenty millions of excellent sheep. 
 
 In the mean time France did not exhibit herself an uninter- 
 ested spectator in the noble efforts for one of the most important 
 branches of rural economy. The French Government, in 1786, 
 purchased one thousand three hundred and seventy-six ewes 
 and lambs in Spain. These were sent to the royal farm at 
 Rambouillet, an establishment devoted to the improvement of 
 domestic animals ; and, like the Saxons, received all the atten- 
 tion which intelligence and wealth could bestow, and the con- 
 sequence was soon manifested in their large size, and the in- 
 creased weight and uniformity in the fineness of their fleece. 
 Colman says that sheep, which he saw in France, and which 
 were originally of the stock of Rambouillet, were, beyond com- 
 parison, the finest of the kind he had ever seen ; and he ex- 
 pressed the opinion that they were of the best kind of sheep, for 
 this country, that could be raised. They would weigh full twen- 
 ty pounds to the quarter when dressed ; their wool is of fine 
 
126 THE FAEM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 quality, and their fleeces extremely large and heavy. They are 
 not so large or fat for mutton sheep as the Leicester or South 
 Down of England, in which country mutton being a favorite 
 food, is much more an object of demand than in the United 
 States, but the superior fineness of their wool gives them to us 
 a peculiar value. 
 
 Nevertheless, the progress of sheep husbandry in France has 
 been rather impulsive. This in part is the result of the general 
 
 ' C ' 
 
 
 SAXON BUCK, 
 impulsive character of the people, and of the general tendency 
 to revolution. Efforts to improve agriculture, and particu- 
 larly the breeds of animals, should be systematic. There should 
 be no vacillation of purpose, no transient or evanescent order 
 to accomplish the desired object of pursuit. For reasons here in- 
 timated, or for other reasons less obvious, notwithstanding the 
 success attending the efforts that were made in that country to 
 improve the breed of sheep, much, very much, remains to be 
 done. It was stated in 181 1, twpntv-fivs vpnra aftfiv ihf pstnb- 
 
THE FAUM AND THE FIRESIDB. 127 
 
 lishment of the Eamtouillet flock, that while there were in 
 France thirty millions of the native breeds of sheep, there were 
 only two hundred thousand of the pure Merinos. 
 
 It has already been implied in this brief sketch, that Eng- 
 land was tardy in her attempts to naturalise the Merino, or to 
 seek by its means the improvement of their own stock of sheep. 
 The reasons for this are various. It is well known that with- 
 out any such improvement their fleeces were of a high grade of 
 excellence, if not as fine as that of some of her continental 
 neighbors. Of course this reason originated in the superiority 
 of her own breeds over that of many others. This was a ground 
 o f complacence, and thus smothered desire for any thing better. 
 It was also contended that the Merinos would degenerate for the 
 want of a Spanish climate, Spanish pasturage, and the long 
 periodical journeys to which they were accustomed in their own 
 country. True, it was known that in German)', Denmark, and 
 Sweden the experiment had been satisfactorily tried, so that this 
 argument should have had little or no influence. But, in this 
 one case as in most others, when men have once espoused any 
 hypothesis, they are not likely to yield concession as soon as con- 
 vinced. The pride of opinion is not easily subdued. For a long 
 time they adhere to an original position. Moreover, the tardi- 
 ness in question seemed to rest substantially on a more plausible 
 assumption, to wit, that in England sheep are raised as much, 
 and even more for the flesh than for the wool. When it is known 
 how much larger the English sheep are than the Merinos, to say 
 nothing of the supposed difference in the quality of the meat, it 
 is not extraordinary that such a procrastination was occasioned. 
 
 Although the popular feeling in England was decidedly un- 
 favorable to the cause of Spanish sheep, they had some zealous 
 advocates ; and, they were of a character to press forward in 
 their aims to make a fair experiment. Sir Joseph Banks, emi- 
 nent in his day as a man of science, and particularly as a natur- 
 alist, gave the enterprise the benefit of his name and of his 
 ardent co-operation. Associated with him were several others, 
 calculated from their talents and position in society to give it 
 
128 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 additional impulse. Among these were Lord Somerville and 
 Mr. Bakewell ; the latter being the gentleman who afterwards 
 became so distinguished as a stock breeder. Nor was the scheme 
 without royal patronage. George the Third, a most devoted ag- 
 riculturalist, resolved that the Merinos should have a fair trial. 
 Accordingly he purchased a- small but choice flock and placed 
 them on one of his farms. The success did not meet the expec- 
 tations of those interested. But not discouraged, he made a sec- 
 ond attempt, and applied to the Spanish monarch for permission 
 to select some of the best sheep of the migratory breed and bring 
 them direct from Spain. This request was promptly met, by a 
 present of five rams and thirty-five ewes from one of the royal 
 family. Still some difficulty arose in the care of them, so that 
 the prevailing public sentiment continued adverse to the pro- 
 ject. Such was the condition of the Merino sheep in 1791, 
 
 However, the few friends of improvement in sheep husband- 
 ry continued to make successive movements to secure a triumph ; 
 and, in 1801, their unwearied perseverance reached a crisis 
 which scepticism could not resist. Hundreds who had pre- 
 viously ridiculed the idea that had animated the friends of the 
 measure, now not only sent in their adhesion to it, but, as if to 
 make atonement for past opposition, like most new converts to a 
 doctrine, became the victims of undue zeal. Public sentiment 
 is frequently like the vibrations of a pendulum, when first put 
 in motion, not only passing from one extreme to the other, but 
 actually compassing a space too wide to be maintained by the 
 force of gravitation. So it was with the Merino sheep fever in 
 England, during the first ten years of the present century. There 
 was a wildness about it, that viewed in the retrospect, seems in- 
 compatible with common sense ; limited, in its operation, not 
 by the shores of the island, where it originated, but sending, as 
 we shall by and by see, across the Atlantic, and to hundreds of 
 our own citizens, a similar spasmodic impulse. In 1804, Me- 
 rino rams sold there on an average for nearly twenty pounds 
 sterling, and one of them for forty- two guineas. In 1805 a flock 
 of rams and ewes were sold at an average of thirty pounds 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 129 
 
 each. In 1808, one of the former was sold for over seventy-four 
 pounds. And in 1810 a ram was sold for one hundred and 
 seventy-three guineas, and several others varying in prices from 
 that sum to one hundred guineas. The ewes also that year were 
 sold at prices from sixty to an hundred guineas each. 
 
 When the world gets on stilts, though the strides he long, 
 it requires no prophetic inspiration to teach us, that there will 
 be a speedy cessation of progress. Our own experience teaches 
 us that. So it has always been. So it was with the Merino 
 sheep speculation in England. So it has been with a similar 
 one in our own country. The effects of it produced a baneful 
 influence for nearly the fourth part of a century. The reminis- 
 cences of that speculation are still remembered ; and to those 
 who did not suffer from it, they furnish matter for amusement. 
 
 " In importance," says Colman, " sheep occupy a high place 
 among the live slock of Great Britain. The wool finds a de- 
 mand in tlie various manuiaetures of the country ; and mutton 
 and lamb make up an extraordinary portion of the food of the 
 inhabitants. Size, thrift, or disposition to fatten, hardihood, early 
 maturity, prolificnes.^, quantity and quality of wool, are matters 
 of great consideration in these animals. It cannot be said that 
 all these properties have as yet been combined, in the highest 
 degree, in any one kind of sheep ; perhaps such a combination 
 is impos.sible ; but the efforts for improvement of the did'erent 
 races, and, in several instances, the success of those efforts, have 
 been as remarkable as in the improvement of neat stock. There 
 are, says he, no fine-wooled sheep in G-reat Britain. Size and 
 fatness are the principal objects witli the British farmer; and in 
 the latter quality, it would be undesirable to atlempt any fm-- 
 ther advance. Our limits do not allow any particular descrip- 
 tion of £dl their sheep, but a short notice will be given of a few 
 of their principal breeds. ' . 
 
 Of the long-wooled sheep, the Leicester takes precedence of 
 
 all others. This race of sheep owes much of its excellence to 
 
 the sagacity and skill of the celebrated breeder both of cattle 
 
 and sheep, Mr. Bakewell. It was his aim, by careful selection, 
 
 6* 
 
130 THE FAUM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 to combine, if possible, fineness of bone, beauty and symmetry 
 of form, tendency of disposition to fatten, with weight of car- 
 eass, and a good yield of wool. In all these respects, it is sur- 
 prising what he seems to have been able to accomplish ; and for 
 roundness and finish of form, flatness and width of back, short- 
 ness of neck, fulness of breast, width behind, and depth of fat 
 upon the ribs, the best samples of them are most remarkable. 
 
 NEW LEICESTER SHEEP. 
 
 The success of Mr. Bakewell in breeding his sheep, and raising 
 them to a high degree of perfection, is perhaps in no way more 
 strongly evinced than in the fact that he let his first ram for the 
 season, in 1760, for seventeen shillings and six-pence, and in 
 1789, he let one ram for one thousand guineas, and he cleared 
 more than six thousand guineas, or more than thirty thousand 
 dollars, the same year, by the letting of others. 
 
 The Lincolnshire, the Cotswold, the Dorsetshire, the Glou- 
 cestershire, the Oxfordshire sheep, are large, coarse-wooled, and 
 coarse-boned sheep, which have their partisans in particular 
 districts, and are much crossed and intermixed with others, but 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. j3j 
 
 have not attained the enviable distinction of being improved, so 
 as to form a distinct and extensively popular race. Their yield 
 of wool is larg-e, averaging six or seven pounds to a fleece, and 
 in some instances more, and of variable price, dependent, of 
 course, on the demand in thermarket for coarse fabrics. Some of 
 these sheep, the Lincolnshire in particular, attain an enormous 
 tize. Instances are not extremely rare where they have weighed, 
 when dressed, seventy pounds per quarter. And there is one 
 well authenticated case, of one of this breed, slaughtered in 
 1836, the weight of the quarters being three himdred and four 
 pounds, and which weighed when alive 4341b. The first time 
 this sheep was sheared the fleece weighed sixteen pounds, and 
 twelve pounds the second time. The , Dorsetshire sheep have 
 the peculiarity of producing lambs twice in the year. A sheep 
 which will give two lambs in the year for the market, and her 
 own fleece, is a profitable animal most surely. 
 
 The South Downs are an admirable race of sheep. Their 
 average yield of wool is about four to five pounds, of a short 
 staple, and of a tolerably fine, and extremely useful quality. 
 Though they have a great disposition to fatten easily, and come 
 to a good weight, such as twenty pounds per quarter, and often 
 exceeding that, yet their fat and lean are well mixed, and the 
 proportion of the one to the other in the same animal such as is 
 desired. They have dark faces, short legs, and stand extremely 
 well on the legs ; are broad in the chest, round in the barrel, 
 most compactly and strongly built ; with flat backs, and broad 
 and square behind ; quiet and good tempered ; much more 
 hardy than the Leicesters, though in this respect inferior to the 
 Cheviot and Highland sheep ; capable of being driven, without 
 injury, two, three, or more miles a day, and used often for tread- 
 ing the new sown wheat where the soil is thin ; and doing the 
 most ample credit to any care or kindness bestowed upon them. 
 Their wool is much inferior in fineness to that of the Saxony or 
 Merino ; but for quality and amount of wool, for size and weight, 
 for quality of flesh, and for general hardiness, it would be difli- 
 cult to find a superior race of" animals. 
 
1S2 
 
 ■THE FARM A^'D THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 .f.^^^ 
 
 SOUTH DOWN SHEEP. 
 
 Jonas Webb, Esq., of Cambridgeshire, has been a breeder 
 and a keeper of the South Down sheep for nearly a quarter of a 
 century, and laid the foundation of his flock by a selection from 
 Bome of the best flocks in the kingdom. Since he began his im- 
 provements he has never made a cross with any other breed ; 
 and no other individual has ever carried oft' more prizes at the 
 various agricultural and cattle shows, where the premiums are 
 always assigned by judges who are understood to be entirely 
 disinterested, and without any knowledge of the parties to whom 
 the animals belong. The average of wool upon his sheep of 
 different ages, vaiying in number from one hundred and fifty to 
 two hundred each season, is about eight pounds each. 
 
 Mr. Colman says the character of Mr. Webb's sheep is 
 above all praise ; and he expresses a desire that this breed be ex- 
 tensively diffused in the United States. As mutton, they are pre- 
 
THE FARM A^TD THE FIRESIDE.- I33 
 
 eminent, combining with extraordinary fatness a fair proportion 
 of lean meat, and in taste, deemed equal to the Highland sheep. 
 We, as a people, have yet to acquire a taste for mutton. In this 
 respect, we differ altogether from the English, with whom, in 
 spite of all we hear about the roast beef of England, mutton 
 seems every where to be a preferred dish. The immense quan- 
 tities of poultry, likewise, which are brought to our markets, will 
 stand in the v/ay of other meats ; yet our markets, especially in 
 large cities, are likely to furnish a steady demand and an in- 
 creasing one for mutton ; and wherever they can be reached, it 
 is believed that no breed of sheep are so likely to meet and con- 
 stantly stimulate that demand, as the beautiful mutton of the 
 South Down sheep. 
 
 The Cheviot and Black-Faced sheep of Scotland have pecu- 
 liarities which entitle them to a brief notice. Both kinds are of 
 moderate size, and good shape, weighing when dressed, from 
 twelve to sixteen pounds to a quarter, and sometimes more. 
 Their wool, especially that of the Black-Faced, is of very inferior 
 quality. They are thrifty, and their mutton is of the best quali- 
 ty, commanding a high price from its resemblance in taste to 
 venison, and is much sought after by epicureans. They are 
 both well adapted to the cold and mountainous regions of the 
 country they inhabit. 
 
 Lanarkshire is the great nursery, so far as Scotland is con- 
 cerned, of the black-faced horned sheep, and they extend their 
 range throughout the Grampian hills and their offsets, from 
 their most southern to their most northern limits. In Lanark- 
 shire the standing stock of these sheep has been estimated at 
 one hundred and twenty thousand, of which the greater portion 
 are breeding ewes, the wether lambs being sold to the farmers 
 of the mountain districts. The males and sometimes the fe- 
 males of these sheep have large horns ; llie horns of the former 
 are spirally twisted. They feed on the loftiest mountains, up to 
 the verge. One shepherd has usually about five liuudreJ of them 
 under his care. 
 
 The Cheviot hills are a part of that extensive and elevated 
 
134 
 
 THE FAEM ANTI THE FIEESID:E.. 
 
 range whicli exteads from Galloway in Scotland, through Nor- 
 thumberland, into Cumberland and Westmoreland, occupying 
 a space of one hundred and fifty or two hundred square miles. 
 The majority of them are pointed, like cones ; their sides smooth 
 and steep, and their bases nearly in contact with each other. 
 
 BLACK-FACED SCOTCH SHEEP. 
 
 Excepting at the very top they are fertile, but are bleak and 
 exposed to the weather ; and the snowy mantles which cover 
 them in winter remain long in spring after the valleys have be- 
 come verdant. On the upper part of the hill in Northumber- 
 land, which is properly termed the Cheviot, is the central locality 
 of the sheep called by that name. They have been there from 
 time immemorial. This breed, however, has greatly extended 
 itself throughout the mountains of Scotland, and also into "Wales, 
 and the west part of England, and in many places has supplanted 
 the black faced breed. They are without horns, and with face 
 and legs white. 
 
 Vast numhers of these sheep, says Spooner, have sometimes 
 been overwhelmed by snow-storms, which in those lofty, exposed 
 
THE FAEM AND THE FIRESIDE. I35 
 
 situations, descend with merciless severity. Many years ago, as 
 tradition reports, in one winter alone, nine-tenths of the Cheviot 
 sheep were entirely destroyed by the storms. The sheep seem 
 possessed of an instinctive foresight 'of the approach of these 
 storms, and will hurry to a place of protection, when the shep- 
 herd sees not a cloud. A graphic and interesting description is 
 related hy Mr. Hogg, the celebrated Ettrick Shepherd, of the 
 snow storm in 1794, in which seventeen shepherds lost their 
 lives, and sheep were destroyed by thousands ; one thousand and 
 eight hundred being found on the beds of the Esk alone, after 
 the flood. The difficulties encountered and surmounted are de- 
 scribed with the greatest interest; and though such severe 
 storms occur but seldom, yet the losses are very heavy in ordi- 
 nary bad seasons. 
 
 There can be no doubt that the business of sheep husbandry in 
 the United States is destined to increase. The abundance of land 
 well adapted to it, not less than a favorable climate, strength- 
 ens the idea, that the multiplication of sheep will equal at 
 least the increase of our population. With these circumstances, 
 well understood, and a rational presumption of good profits, the 
 character of the American people renders such a conclusion mo- 
 rally certain. The views of Judge Beatty, copied from the 
 American shepherd, on this subject, with a slight modification, 
 are co-incident with our own. The returns of the census of 
 1840, says he, shows that the number of sheep at that time, in 
 the United States, was about 20,000,000. Twice the number 
 would probably not furnish more wool than would be needed by 
 our population — that is — two sheep for each individual, if we 
 were to manufacture all our own blankets, carpets, and every 
 other description of woolen fabrics. The period is*not very dis- 
 tant when this will be done, with the exception of some very 
 fine goods. Upon this hypothesis, with the above population, 
 100,000,000 pounds of wool would be required for home con- 
 sumption. And, should our population increase for forty years, 
 as it has increased hitherto at a compound ratio of three per 
 cent each year, we shall have in 1890 a population of about 
 
136 THE FARM AND THE EIRESIDE. 
 
 60,000,000, and shall then need 300,000,000 pounds of wool 
 each year. If the average yield of wool for each sheep he two 
 and a half pounds, we shall at that date, ahout forty years hence, 
 have in this country 120,000,000 sheep. Sheep husbandry, 
 hence presents to the attention of the American farmer, a source 
 of wealth not now perhaps deemed practicable. 
 
 Anterior to the present century, in many districts of our 
 country, each farmer had a little flock, it may have been two <^ 
 three sheep for each individual in the family. This number 
 about furnished wool for domestic use, and the manufacture of 
 it, by hand, occupation in the Autumn months, for one or two 
 of the female members of the family. 
 
 Those living who recollect the perpetual whizzing of the 
 wheel and the clatter of the shuttle throughout the day in most 
 farm houses fifty years ago, cannot but be impressed with the 
 changes that have been wrought in rural life, by the invention 
 of machinery and the application of steam and water-power to 
 the purposes of spinning and weaving. It is not easy to tell 
 whether the change, on the whole, has added to or taken from, 
 the aggregate of family content and happiness of the husband- 
 man. The homestead is now ordinarily as silent as the man- 
 sion of the dead ; much the same excepting Monday, on the 
 other days of the week as on Sunday. In the days of our grand- 
 mothers, it was all life and animation and commotion. Then 
 there may have been no occasion to destroy the rats by poison ; 
 for the noise of these domestic manufacturing implements must 
 have driven them far from the premises. Then, too the inces- 
 sant buzzing of the spindle must have rendered lullabies unne- 
 cessary to keep the babies in quiet ; and, even the flies if they 
 happened to 'light on the periphery of this hand machine for 
 stocking yarn, were in danger of being thrown off and having 
 their necks broken. We remember them well ; and notwith- 
 standing we rejoice in much of the progress which characterises 
 the present age, it gives us pleasure now and then to take a re- 
 trospective glance upon scenes gone by. 
 
 The scattering or small flocks of sheep kept in this country, 
 
THE FAEM AND THE FIRESIDE. I37 
 
 prior to the present century, by farmers for their own family use, 
 ■were susceptible of great improvement. The object from the 
 wool then was to keep the body warm, and not to make fine fa- 
 brics. Perhaps, had we never been taught the difference be- 
 tween fine and coarse wool, we should have been as well satis- 
 fied with the latter as we now are with the former. Refinement 
 of taste in this matter, as well as in many others, may not have 
 added to the umount of human happiness. No canons can set- 
 tle such questions with any certainty. They are incidents be- 
 longing to human society, about which different persons vary in 
 opinion ; yet, all must in a measure yield assent to them, or if 
 not assent, submit to their dominion. The first persons that 
 made substantial efforts to improve our sheep were Chancellor 
 Livingston and General David Humphrey. It was several years 
 before public opinion responded in their favor. However, the 
 impulse given to woolen manufactures by the war of 1812 not 
 only brought Merino sheep into notice, but as it had previously 
 happened in England, led to an extravagance of opinion in re. 
 gard to their value, which proved ruinous to individuals who en- 
 gaged in the speculation, and brought the business into disgrace. 
 Instances occurred in the few years subsequent to that war, 
 when choice selections of these animals were sold, ranging from 
 five hundred to fifteen hundred dollars each. 
 
 The following account of General Humphrey's agency in 
 causing Merino sheep to be brought into the United States is 
 from Mr. William Jarvis, also a very efficient and extensive 
 operator in the same philanthropic enterprise. In 1801 Gen. 
 Humphrey being then Minister Plenipotentiary at the Court of 
 Spain, purchased two hundred of these sheep in that country, 
 and shipped them for their place of destination. They arrived 
 in the Spring of 1802. It seems to have been a custom at the 
 Spanish Court, when a foreign minister was recalled, on taking 
 leave a present was made to him of five or ten bars of gold, 
 each bar weighing a pound or thereabouts. But as the law of 
 his own country forbids any minister taking presents from a 
 foreign government, he declined this overture and suggested to 
 
138 THE FARM ANB THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 the Spanish minister, that royal license be granted to take out 
 of the kingdom two hundred Merino sheep which would be a 
 great gratification to him. This the Spanish Minister stated 
 could not be done, but intimated to the General that if he wished 
 to take them out no obstruction should be thrown in his way. 
 The sheep were accordingly procured, and forwarded as already 
 stated. 
 
 To give an idea of the progress of sheep husbandry in the 
 United States, we will here mention a few of the flocks, the ex- 
 istence of which has casually come to our knowledge, the natur- 
 al presumption, however, is that this knowledge has not extended 
 to a tenth part of what may be found in difierent parts of the coun- 
 try, our attention never having been especially called to the 
 subject. Doubtless, too, larger flocks exist than many here 
 named ; and that hundreds of individuals skilfully and success- 
 fully engaged in this branch of rural industry are unknown to 
 us. The design of our present labor is simply to call public 
 attention to one of the great branches of rural wealth. It raav be 
 supposed that the few facts here collected will efl'ect that purpose. 
 
 Among the prominent sheep owners of our country is Judge 
 Beatty, of Kentucky, to whom allusion has already been made. 
 It is understood he has about 1000. The Hon. William Jarvis 
 of Vermont has 160 pure Merinos, 100 pure Saxons, and 750 
 crossed between the two. William Brownlee of Washington 
 County, Pennsylvania has about 3500 ; one half kept in hia 
 own county and the other half in Iowa. Charles B. Smith of 
 Wolcottville, Conn, has over 300 pure blooded Saxons. John 
 Johnston, of Geneva, N. Y. has nearly 1000 of the best breeds. 
 Messrs Hull and Tilden of Lebanon N. Y. have 1100. Joseph Bar- 
 num of Shoreham, Vermont, shears over 600. Charles Colt of 
 Geneseo, N. Y., has 250 full blooded Saxons. Samuel Whit- 
 man of West Hartford, Conn, has 275. Mark R. Cockrill of 
 Nashville, Tenn. has about 1500 ; two-thirds fine wooled sheep, 
 and the others long wooled, or muUon sheep. T. C Peters of 
 Genesee County, N. Y. has 600; and D.B. Ilaight, of Dutchess 
 County in that State has 250 Saxons and 30 South Downs 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 139 
 
 Talbot Hammond, of Burke County, Va., has over 1000, princi- 
 pally Merinos. A. B. Hodskins, of Walpole, N. H., has 400 ; 
 about half pure Saxons, and the others Merinos, or crosses of the 
 two. Messrs. Perkins and Brown, of Akron, Ohio, have 1300, 
 Saxon, or mixed blooded of the Saxon and Merino. E. Kirby, 
 of Jefferson County, N. Y., has 1500 of the best breeds. Jesse 
 Eddington, of Virginia, has 3000, descended from Gen. Hum- 
 phrey's stock and others equally good. Samuel Grant, of Wal- 
 pole, N. H., has between 600 and 900. Stephen Sibley, of Hop- 
 kinton, N. H., has 300 of the Saxon breed. It would appear 
 Buperflous to swell this list were we able to do it. In Illinois 
 there were said to be 30,000 in 1849. In Vermont they are 
 numerous. Messrs. M. and A. L. Bingham have about 2000 ; 
 Mr. S. W. Jewett there is well known for his interest in them. 
 
 It is said in the American Shepherd that there are Saxon 
 flocks of sheepjn Connecticut and New Hampshire which rival 
 some of the best German ; and that there are Merinos in most 
 of the New England States, whose fleeces surpass in weight and 
 fineness those of Spain at the present day, and equal the far- 
 famed Rambouillets of France. The State of New- York has 
 within her borders more than one quarter of all the sheep in the 
 Union ; and in the aggregate, the wool of her flocks is unsur- 
 passed by that of any other State. The State of Pennsylvania, 
 although she has fewer sheep by far than her soil is capable of 
 supporting, yet on her western borders, especially in the county 
 of Washington, she has flocks rarely equalled; Ohio, too, is 
 advanced in the wool culture, and her flocks are of a superior 
 quality ; and many of the western prairies are being filled up 
 with thousands and tens of thousands of these useful animals. 
 
 A few facts respecting sheep husbandry in South America 
 cannot fail of being interesting. They were given to the Albany 
 Cultivator by one of its intelligent correspondents. The fertile 
 pampas, says he, in the interior of South Am,erica, have long 
 been celebrated for the immense herds of cattle and horses 
 reared upon them. So abundant are they, and so easily reared, 
 that they are slaughtered in many places for their skins and 
 
140 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 tallow alone. Sheep, too, of the native breed, with coarse, 
 hairy wool, have been so plentiful that their carcases were used 
 for fuel in burning brick. The expense of transportation and 
 the absence of timber and salt for barreling alone prevent us 
 from the competition of their meat in our own parts. The at- 
 tention of agriculturists there has been of late years turned to 
 improving their stocks of sheep by large importations of Saxony 
 from this country and from Europe. An English gentleman 
 began the business with a stock of sixty Saxon rams and 300 
 ewes, and in the year 1835 he had increased the number to 
 45,000, and the grade was nearly increased to full blood. In 
 1837 he had 90,000, and intended to keep on until he numbered 
 200,000, which he has doubtless attained before this time. 
 Others were copying his example, until the business bids fairly 
 to outstrip that of cattle in a few years. 
 
 The facts here collecte'd on sheep husbandry, and particularly 
 on the most obvious varieties in the sheep family, are not de- 
 signed to supersede complete and elaborate treatises on the 
 subject, needed by every person devoted to this branch of rural 
 economy. No one can reflect on the influences which produce 
 these varieties both in the form and habits of the animal, and 
 in the quality of the wool, without being assured that the im- 
 provement of it, almost to his own satisfaction, lies in the power 
 of every person engaged in the care of sheep. The same prin- 
 ciples apply to the improvement of sheep that apply to improve, 
 ment in all animals ; horned cattle, horses, and swine. The 
 few facts, also, here given, it is to be hoped, will call the atten- 
 tion of many farro.ers to a department of productive industry 
 congenial with their habits and within the range of their general 
 operations, but as yet not so generally understood and appreciated 
 by them as it should be. The facts, moreover, relating to the 
 varieties found in the sheep tribe lead to a train of philosophical 
 reflections and investigations well calculated to promote general 
 mental development and literary taste, a matter of the. greatest 
 importance, especially with persons not enjoying the most liberal 
 advantages for education. 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 141 
 
 Had this article not already exceeded the limits intended for 
 it, a number of anecdotes might be introduced illustrating in an 
 interesting manner the character of the sheep. As deficient as 
 this animal is ordinarily supposed to be in mental endow- 
 ment, it is well understood that in a few particulars such an 
 opinion is quite erroneous. Cosset sheep may be trained to a 
 variety of useful purposes. In large dairy establishments they 
 are used for churning, far more advantageously than dogs, and 
 at an hundredth part the expense of horse-power. The cost of 
 keeping a few such sheep for churning would be but a mere 
 trifle, and the yield of wool would be nearly the same as though 
 they were not thus employed. Butchers, too, and other persons 
 constantly receiving strange sheep, can place them under the 
 care of an old cosset ram with as little liability for their being 
 lost in straying away or suffering for want of feed, as though 
 they were under the guidance of a shepherd. He, of course, is 
 perfectly familiar with the good feeding ground and every 
 avenue that leads to it. The strange sheep quickly find out 
 his qualifications to be their leader, and will closely follow 
 wherever he may go. Were he to go a mile, and in fifteen 
 minutes to start back to the spot just left, they would all follow 
 him. Were he thus to move from place to place ten or twenty 
 times in a day, not one of them would be seen far in the rear. 
 Were he to leap over a high fence, they would attempt the 
 same ; and if any were so unskilled in such feats of locomotion, 
 a.s to fall back ten times on the ground, they would persevere 
 till it was accomplished. Or if he were to scale a high wall, 
 the whole flock would be in his wake instantly, not regarding 
 the danger of broken legs. And at the close of the day all 
 would collect around him for a night of repose. 
 
 The acuteness of the sheep's ear, says the Ettrick Shepherd, 
 surpasses all things in nature that I know of. A ewe will dis- 
 tinguish her own lamb's bleat among a thousand, all braying at 
 the same time. Besides, the distinguishment of voice is perfectly 
 reciprocal between the ewe and the lamb, who, amid the deaf- 
 ening sound, run to meet one another. There are few things 
 
142 THE FAEM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 that have ever amused me more than a sheep-shearing, and 
 then the sport continues the whole day. We put the flock into 
 a fold, set out all the lambs to the hill, and then set out the 
 ewes to them as they are shorn. The moment that a lamb 
 hears the voice of its dam, it rushes from the crowd to meet her, 
 but, instead of finding the rough, well-clad, comfortable mamma 
 which it left an hour, or a few hours ago, it meets a poor naked, 
 shivering — a most deplorable looking creature. It wheels about, 
 and uttering a loud tremulous bleat of despair, flies from the 
 frightful vision. The mother's voice arrests its flight — it returns 
 — flies, and returns again, generally for ten or a dozen times 
 before the reconcilement is fairly made up. 
 
 SALUBRIOUS AIR OF THE COUNTRY. 
 
 The process of breathing, and thereby sustaining animal 
 life, is one of the most curious things in nature. The mechanism 
 by which it is maintained, as well as the object accomplished 
 by it, denote a wisdom of contrivance, as well as a perfection in 
 the great theory of animal and vegetable existence, surprisingly 
 wonderful. If there were no other evidence of the fact, this of 
 itself would be sufliicient to prove the universal agency of a 
 Being, who made and presides over the material universe, of 
 infinite wisdomj power, and beneficence. Not only is animal 
 life kept in vigor by this process, but it is equally efficacious in 
 giving vigor to the vegetable kingdom. This will more fully 
 appear in the course of the remarks now to be made. Indeed, 
 there is a well adapted harmony and mutual subserviency de- 
 pending on this process, between the animal and vegetable 
 kingdom. To appearance, neither could exist without it ; and, 
 it would surpass man's ingenuity to imagine any other mode of 
 accomplishing these apparently simple, yet, in reality, vastly 
 complicated designs in the wide realms of the material creation. 
 
 To understand this subject we must also understand the nature 
 of the air which we breathe ; the elements of which it is com- 
 
THE FAEM AND THE FIRESIDE. 143 
 
 posed ; and the respective functions of these elements. It is not 
 intended to indite a philosophical lecture on pneumatics ; but 
 simply to glance at the few facts without which we can have 
 no adequate conception of the processes in animal and vegetable 
 economy to which attention is here invited. With these facts 
 in mind, the beauty of these processes is apparent. A child 
 may comprehend them ; and in comprehending them he is led 
 almost involuntary to a love of investigation, not only of them, 
 but of all kindred topics. 
 
 It is to be observed, therefore, that the atmospheric air con- 
 sists principally of two invisible fluids or gases, called oxygen 
 and nitrogen. With them is combined a very small portion of 
 hydrogen and carbon. Every animal has lungs or air vessels. 
 These vessels in brutes are called lights, and in slaughtered 
 animals are familiarly known to all. They resemble in struc- 
 ture common sponge ; the interstices of the latter being readily 
 filled with water, as the interstices of the former are designed 
 to receive the air we breathe. They are located in contiguity 
 wifh the heart, so as to bring the air received by them in contact 
 with the blood, as it passes through the heart. As we open the 
 mouth, the air rushes into it, and thence into the lungs, filling 
 all these interstices, so that they instantly become swollen or 
 expanded, like a bladder, or any air-tight bag, when vi^e force 
 the air into it. By a mechanical muscular action of the chest 
 upon the lungs, as soon as the air has accomplished the object 
 of its mission there, speedily to be explained, they are compressed 
 so as to force from them the air before received, now become 
 foul ; and as soon as it is thus ejected, before the mouth closes, 
 another current of fresh air rushes into it as before. Thus, at 
 every opening of the mouth one current of polluted air is forced . 
 out of it from the lungs, and another current of atmospheric or 
 pure air through the same channel rushes into them. 
 
 The air we breathe, or which we thus receive into the lungs, 
 is worked over by a process similar to combustion. The lungs 
 might not hence improperly be called a furnace to decompose 
 the air, the same as a stove is a furnace to burn up or decompose 
 
144 THB VASM AND THE FIRESTDE. 
 
 the wood or coal placed in it for combustion and the generation 
 of heat. Accordingly, the oxygen of the air, being separated 
 from the nitrogen, when in the lungs, is employed to clarify the 
 blood of its impurities, which are constantly accumulating, not 
 very unlike the clarifying of coffee or any liquid by the applica- 
 tion of a gelatine substance. The blood before being thus clari- 
 fied is of a dark brown or blackish color, and thick or clotted. 
 This dark color and coagulated consistence is occasioned by the 
 carbon and other impure substances with which it had become 
 impregnated in passing through the system. But when the blood 
 is clarified or renovated by the action upon it of the oxygen in 
 the lungs, it is of a bright red color, and then passes through 
 the arteries to every part of the animal frame, yet, in its pas- 
 sage is constantly gathering up the impurities with which it was 
 previously loaded. On reaching the extremities of the system, 
 it passes into another set of vessels called veins, to answer the 
 purpose of the backward track of a railroad, and thus it returns 
 again to the head, dark and clotted as before, thus again to be 
 purified by its contact with the fresh oxygen of the lungs. These 
 processes of inhaling fresh or oxygenated air, or breathing; then 
 of purifying the blood ; and then of collecting the carbon and 
 other poisonous substances of the animal system, are continued 
 to the end of life ; that is, if they were discontinued, the lamp 
 of life would go out, as flame will be extingushed when the gas 
 or oil which fed it is exhausted. 
 
 Thus to. purify the blood, the oxygen is all extracted from the 
 air conveyed to the lungs by breathing, and is literally burnt up ; 
 as much so as the fuel placed in a stove ; and will no more 
 answer for that purpose a second time, than the ashes from fuel 
 aheady consumed in combustion would answer to make a new 
 fire; or than the skins of grapes, after the juice had all been 
 extracted, would answer to make wine ; or that the excrements 
 of animals would again answer for food, after all the nutritious 
 element had been removed in its first use. Indeed we can no 
 more use the air in breathing the second time than we can use 
 our food the second time. The former in use becomes as foul as 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 145 
 
 the latter; not only as foul, but as inefficacious for its legitimate 
 agency. Hence no one can fail to perceive the necessity for a 
 constant supply of pure air in breathing, and consequently in 
 the preservation of life. To attempt living without it would be 
 as absurd, as to attempt living without food. Moreover, we 
 could live an hundred times as long without the latter as we 
 can without the former; and, to mix arsenic with our food would 
 be comparatively no more fatal to the vital principle, than to 
 mix a poisonous gas with the air we breathe. 
 
 It is a well known fact, that we breathe eighteen or twenty 
 times every minute ; and, at each breath we inhale or take into 
 the lungs about one pint of air, or over two gallons each minute. 
 Thus in an hour an adult person consumes more than one 
 hundred and twenty gallons, so that if he were enclosed in a 
 hogshead containing one hundred and twenty gallons, before the 
 end of an hour the whole of the air contained in it vi-ould be ex- 
 hausted, and he would die for the want of the vital principle 
 which pure air imparts in breathing. It is as well ascertained, 
 that animal life depends on having a constant supply of atmos- 
 pheric air, as it is that there must be a supply of food ; and 
 where this supply is deficient breathing will become difficult. 
 It will be difficult also if the air is impure. The cases on record 
 are numerous, where persons have suddenly fainted and died 
 from entering deep wells, caverns, and vaults filled with noxious 
 vapors. So they are of no rare occurrence where persons have 
 died when sleeping in close rooms containing burning charcoal. 
 The vapors thus inhaled are in reality the same of those ejected 
 from the lungs in breathing. In the one case the carbonic acid 
 gas is generated in a little iron or pipe-clay furnace ; in another 
 case, it is generated in the Inng, already said to bo analagous to 
 any other furnace. This is the,ouly diilcrence. 
 
 Hence, if a prisoner were shut up in a cell perfectly air-ligut, 
 containing the cubic measure of twelve such hogsheads ; or, if 
 any one were to attempt sleeping in a room air-tight, of that 
 capacity, in about ten or twelve hours the air would be so foul 
 from use in passing through the lungs, that if life did not become 
 
146 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 extinct, breathing would be barely practicable. Or if four 
 persons were to sleep in an air-tight room of the capacity of 
 forty-five or fifty such hogsheads, in about ten or twelve hours 
 they would all become incapable or nearly incapable of breathing. 
 Or, if the cabin of a steam-boat, of the capacity of a thousand or 
 twelve hundred of these hogsheads, and containing one hundred 
 passengers, were without ventilation, and were to receive no 
 fresh air, a similar efiijct would be produced on them all. On 
 this account, it is evident, that all rooms for sleeping, and all 
 public rooms, churches, lecture-rooms, and halls for amusement 
 — containing a great number of persons, should be so situated and 
 so constructed, that there may be a continuous escape of foul air 
 as of ingress of that which is pure. In the location, therefore, 
 of houses and sleeping rooms, and in the construction of all the 
 apartments in a dwelling house, a judicious reference should be 
 had to this subject. To have a sleeping room in a cellar, or 
 elsewhere liable to be filled with polluted air, or excluded from 
 a free ingress of pure air ; or, in any situation, no matter how 
 good, if the foul air generated in it cannot make its escape, or 
 the pure air admitted into it is unnecessarily destroyed by heat 
 from stoves or furnaces, denotes an ignorance of physiological 
 science, and a reckless disregard of the preservation of health 
 and of life^ incomprehensible among those making the least 
 pretension to good sense. 
 
 It may not be frequent, that the disastrous effect on life, 
 happen from these causes, indicated as possible. It may be 
 they do not froquently occur. If so, the reason is, not that our 
 theory is false, but that enclosures are not made air tight. 
 They could not easily be so made, if there were an attempt to 
 do it ; and moreover, the importance of a free circulation of air 
 is so well understood, that thercwould be no attempt to do it. 
 And in the countiy there is generally but little danger to be ap- 
 prehended from such causes. There, houses are generally too 
 open rather than too tight. It is in the city mostly, that we are 
 to apprehend such evils. In the city little or no advantage can 
 be taken of location, for obtaining an adequate supply of good 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. J47 
 
 air. The houses too, by all who can afford it, are so well con- 
 structed, there is little opportunity to obtain its free ingress, or 
 to be relieved from that which is within, and is become unfit 
 for respiration. Indeed, among the poorer classes, almost every 
 yard of space in a house, from the cellar to the garret, is cram- 
 med with human beings, so that each one is nearly as badly 
 situated, as though he were headed up in a hogshead. In many 
 of the filthy locations of the city, in a single edifice, not larger 
 than many farm houses in the country, may be found from fifty 
 to an hundred persons, at least one to every ten cubic yards ! 
 Here they live ; here they sleep ; here are impurities of every 
 description ; and perhaps not the worst, the odors of their own 
 evacuations, penetrating every niche and recess of the entire 
 premises. Whence do these persons obtain the oxygen to purify 
 their own blood 1 And, in addition to all other deleterious ex- 
 halations, from within and from without, how are they to be re- 
 lieved from the two or three hundred pounds of carbonic acid 
 gas, every twenty-four hours ejected from their own lungs ? 
 Positively, such a place would be a barbarous one for the exe- 
 cution of criminals ! 
 
 It is estimated, that every full grown man emits from his 
 lungs in breathing, each twenty-four hours, about three pounds 
 ■ of carbonic acid gas, so that in a city like New- York, of half a 
 million of inhabitants, there is daily a creation of more than 
 five hundred tons of this poisonous vapor, and in a month more 
 than fifteen thousand tons of it, and in a year, more than an 
 hundred and eighty thousand tons of it I What becomes of it 
 all ? There is no way to use it up and get rid of it, as in the 
 country, as we shall, by and by, see. A portion of it is indeed 
 carried off by the winds that successively pass over this congre- 
 gated multitude of chimneys and spires ; but not a little mixes 
 with the air to be breathed, or settles down in the vaults and 
 chimneys, and crevices between the walls, or rather becomes a 
 permanent floating cloud, extending from one side to the other, 
 like the pestilential vapors that hover above the grave yard. 
 Could such a city be surrounded by an air-tight brick wall qt 
 
148 THE FARM AND TKE FIRESIDE. 
 
 Beventy-five or an hundred feet in height, and then covered over 
 by an air-tight roof, so that no fresh air could ever afterwards 
 enter it, and none of its own foul exhalations escape it, the now 
 living multitudes therein would soon become one mass of pn- 
 trefaction, with as much certainty as did the inhabitants cf 
 Pompei and Herculaneum, when buried under a shower of 
 volcanic eruption. There could in such an exigency, be no es- 
 cape from such a catastrophe. That in such a city, there is 
 thus generated such physical elements of self destruction, is an 
 undeniable truth ; and the only reason we no oftener witness 
 their destructive power is, because of the benignity of nature, 
 in a concatenation of counteracting influences. 
 
 It is not denied, that in the country as well as in the city, 
 men and women and children, and brute animals breathe, and 
 in their breathing create a due quantum of the gas described ; 
 but it is not as in the city, a, nuisance, an engine of destruction. 
 Far from it. Instead of being an evil, here it is a prominent, 
 efficient instrumentality, in promoting the purposes of the Su- 
 preme Being. Have any occasion to ask, what becomes of it, 
 or what use is made of it ? In giving an answer to the inquiry, 
 we present one of the most beautiful harmonies of the material 
 creation, that can be imagined. A mere glance at it cannot 
 fail to fill the mind with admiration. If such exhibitions do 
 not make men devout, no one can tell what would do it. On 
 account of such exhibitions in rural life, constantly before the 
 miird, it is maintained that the occupation of the farmer is pe- 
 culiarly favorable to mental and moral culture. Where else 
 can one, amid his every-day labors, continually find topics in 
 his way, both for interesting scientific investigation, and for the 
 development of pious thoughts ? 
 
 The secret is this. Men and all animals, as has been de- 
 scribed, breathe or inhale atm.ospheric air. Their life and their 
 health depend upon it. On the other hand, trees and shrubs, 
 and cereals, and flowers, and tuberous plants, every vegetable 
 Bubstance, also breathe, if it may be so called ; that is, their 
 leaves as constantly absorb this poisonous carbonic acid gas, 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE 149 
 
 prepared in the lungs of animals, as the animals are able to pre- 
 pare and eject it. The principal distinctive attribute of vege- 
 table life is derived from this source. Without this element of 
 vegetable substance, the meadovi's and the fields would cease to 
 be clad in their present waving beauty ; the mountains and the 
 forests would cast off their gorgeous panoply ; and the valleys 
 and the hill sides would become cheerless, if not desolate. 
 While, therefore, the whole vegetable creation is continually 
 giving itself up for the support of the animal kingdom, animals 
 in return are as constantly furnishing that creation with the 
 means for a rapid and vigorous rising into the perfection of its 
 nature. 
 
 Thus too, other nuisances of the aity, (for there they are so,) 
 have no repulsive attributes in the country. They neither pol- 
 lute the air nor become objects of disgust. Decaying vegetables, 
 animal evacuations, and filth of every kind, are here viewed 
 with complacence, nor do they but rarely become an offence to 
 the senses. We spread them upon the fair bosom of the earth. 
 Speedily they mingle with their native elements ; and we know 
 nothing more of them, till they return to us in a rich verdure, 
 in blushing flowers, or a luscious fruit. The air, which they 
 polluted and rendered noxious in the city, now in the country 
 passes over them, and brings to us a most balmy and delightful 
 fragrance ; instead of conveying to the lungs as it then did, a 
 fetid, poisonous gas, it now bears to the lungs a purifying es- 
 sence, that imparts power to the muscular action of the system, 
 and health beaming, with inimitable hues of loveliness and 
 beauty on the countenance. 
 
 How sweet — how fragrant is the air of the country, when 
 the trees are in full blossom, and after May-day shower ! It 
 carries with it a perfume, for richness, unknown to cosmetics. 
 How delightful to snuff up the scent of the new-mown grass ! 
 Nor less does the ):ich ripe fruit impregnate the passing gales 
 with their inviting odors. Under the influence of it, man 
 seemg to have a renovated existence, and the country to be in- 
 vested with new charms. Here let childhood frolic and gambol 
 
150 THE FARM AND THE -FIRESIDE. 
 
 in pristitie simplici-ty. Hel-e let youth attire itself in the dignity 
 and the vigor of full manhood. Here let virgin innocence, with 
 bright eyes and ruddy complexion, inspire that homage and 
 love, which neither wane nor die, till crowned with the full 
 grown honors of virtuous age. Here let those in the prime of 
 their strength, like the first ancestors of our race, devote them- 
 selves to the dignified and healthful labors of tilling the 
 ground. And here let the hoary-headed pilgrims for another 
 world sustain themselves, in the freshness of their best days, 
 till called to lie down in the slumbers of the grave. 
 
 BIRTH OF THE FIRST GRANDSON", 
 
 OR THE ADVANTAGE OF PLANTING ORNAMENTAL TREES. 
 
 Some time in February of 1822, we believe it was, we had 
 occasion, from the capital of New Hampshire, to make a tour 
 over the Green Mountains, into the western part of Vermont. 
 Our object was to meet a professional engagement, that did not 
 allow us much leisure for miscellaneous, social, or literary indul- 
 gences ; and the peculiar season of the year was not favorable 
 to the making of rural observations, so interesting in that State 
 during all the seasons when her fields and pastures and her 
 forests are green with grass or foliage. However, our habit 
 through life has been to allow no opportunity to be neglected, 
 where hints and facts in practical wisdom can be gleaned up. 
 Indeed we never made an excursion in all our life among the 
 plainest portion of our yeomanry, or spent a night at one of their 
 houses, which we have done perhaps an hundred times, without 
 learning something we did not know before, and without glean- 
 ing some hints upon the economy of human life, that could be 
 used with others to the greatest advantage. Having finished 
 our prescribed month of labor at Middlebury, which was the 
 object of our tour, late in the afternoon of a mild day, about the 
 middle of March, vre commenced retracing our steps to our be- 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESmE. igj 
 
 loved granite hills. There was a full moon, and our ride, if a 
 little lonely, no one being with us, was not unpleasant. At ten 
 o'clock in the evening we reached the house where we were to 
 spend the night ; and, as it happened, where we spent the fol- 
 lowing day. 
 
 The house of our host was rather spacious, and with out- 
 buildings and other appendages, exhibited evidence of substantial 
 comfort and independence. It stood upon a concave declivity 
 of the mountain, with a south-eastern aspect, so that the snow 
 had mostly disappeared. Into this segment of a sphere the 
 first rays\of the morning sun shone with beauty, and falling upon 
 our chamber window admonished us that the hour of breakfast 
 might be nearer at hand than we had imagined. It was evi- 
 dently the beginning of one of those delightful March days so 
 much desired in maple districts to catch the sap for sugar. We 
 were aware that in these districts the entire working population 
 at this time were busily occupied ; and we had supposed that the 
 little commotion in the latter part of the night which disturbed 
 our repose and made us late to rise, was a preparation to engage 
 early in the sugar labors of the day. Nor were we undeceived 
 respecting this fact till at the breakfast table. The name of 
 our host we shall call Andrew Lawson, usually called in that 
 region Squire Lawson. He had but two living children, a 
 daughter, married, and living a mile distant ; and a son named 
 James, married the previous year, and, with his wife, occupying 
 a portion of the home mansion with his father and mother. In 
 the latter part of the night to them a son was born, which was 
 the first born grand-son of Squire Lawson. The movements 
 connected with this event we had suspected to be a preparation 
 for the maple forests belonging to the homestead farm. It will 
 be seen in the sequel what influence this event had in retarding 
 our departure homewards. 
 
 At a rather late hour we were at the breakfast table ; to 
 wit : Squire Lawson and his wife, the grand-parents of the little 
 stranger who had just made his appearance ; James Lawson,the 
 father of it ; the family doctor, who stUl remairied ; and, lastly, 
 
163 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 ourself as the guest of the family. As usual on such oocasiona 
 there was not much disposition in those most interested for con- 
 versation. There were only a few common place remarks, save 
 by the doctor and ourself. On such occasions the heart is gene- 
 rally too full for free exultation. Tears rather than laughter or 
 freedom of speech are usually the first manifestations of the joy 
 then experienced. The anxiety and the anguish so recently felt 
 had seemingly choked up all the avenues for the expression of 
 the sudden rush of pleasure into the bosom. We have seen the 
 father of the first-born, for a long time weep like a child. It 
 seems a strange way of giving vent to a thankful heart. The 
 philosophy of this is not of easy solution. Perhaps it is owing 
 to the escape of the previously suppressed agony. 
 
 When this is gone, the channel is cleared for a stream of 
 exhilerated and joyful emotion. To a cast of sadness on the 
 countenance, succeeds quickly the bright shadows of renewed 
 life and animation. To a manifestation of taciturnity, quickly 
 succeeds even an impatience to eulogise the expanding hopes of 
 the family. It is a little so, when the gate of the mill-pond is 
 first raised. The first rush of water is turbid ; but anon the 
 sediments pass off, and the flowing current becomes pure and 
 transparent, like crystal. 
 
 When first seated at the breakfast table, from the appear- 
 ance of James Lawson, a stranger might have been perplexed 
 in knowing, whether his wife were shrouded in grave clothes, 
 or had become a joyous mother, and himself the father of a 
 hopeful offspring. As conversation increased, these obscurations 
 of his swelling bosom began to disappear, as thin clouds in the 
 morning disperse, when the sun begins to shine upon them. 
 James was a plain young farmer, inheriting the sound common 
 sense of his father, and had received what may be esteemed a 
 good practical education. Such a man, if not possessed of all 
 the flippancy and graceful social polish found in some depart- 
 ments of life, has a big soul ; and his perpetually gushing af- 
 fections about the fire-side, are as constant as the pulsations of 
 his own life. His love to his family is as unerring, as is the 
 
THE FARM AND THE miESlDE. 153 
 
 magnetic needle in. pointing to the poles. When was the aged 
 father or the aged mother ever abandoned by such a son ? 
 When did such a son, on becoming a husband or a father, ever 
 fail to cherish with un'weavied assiduity, a kind wife or an af- 
 fectionate child ; or to bow down in the overwhelming sadness 
 of a broken heart, if called to follow one of them to the grave ? 
 We have never seen these noble traits of character belter de- 
 fined, than in rural life. Here are no pompous exhibitions of 
 external affection, when the heart is cold and pulseless. Here 
 we are to expect no conventional ostentation. Here all is sim- 
 plicity, and, what is better, undoubted sincerity. 
 
 To have delivered a sermon at the breakfast table, at a sea- 
 son like the one indicated, would surely have been in bad taste, 
 and productive of no good. It would have denoted on our part, 
 a feeble knowledge of the means best adapted, to put into suc- 
 cessful operation, the moral energies of the mind. Yet, at such 
 a season, a few words may be so fitly spoken, as to be like ap- 
 ples of gold and pictures of silver. As the social elements of 
 our young friend began to assume their proper equilibrium, an. 
 attempt was made, rq.thgri: however, in a colloquial, than in aa 
 austere form, thus to improve the opportunity. Each additional 
 remark' did- evidently awalcen new interest, an'&We are not with- 
 out belief, that our effort was kindly received and. duly improved. 
 -At an.y rate, there was every appearance that- we are not mis- 
 taken. The". grand parents were overjoyed at our remarks, as 
 will fully appear before we conclude the narrative of this re- 
 miniscence ; and, the new-fledged papa did not fail to appreci- 
 ate something of the new relation in which he stood to the 
 world. 
 
 As our remarks were in substance applicable to every simi- 
 lar exigency, in the domestic relations of life, we shall here give 
 a brief abstract- of them. To give them in the colloquial or 
 conversational form in which they were uttered, might not be 
 an easy task, after the lapse of thirty years ; and it would oc- 
 cupy more space than we have to spare, and require more time 
 for being perused, than consistent with the leisure of our readers. 
 7* 
 
154 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 It is a fact every man may understand, that on becoming a pa- 
 rent, particularly of a son, he is ushered into new relations, not 
 only to his own family, but to the whole human family ; not 
 only to the age in which he lives, but to the never-ending fu-- 
 ture, as long as the race of man shall have existence on this 
 globe. Instead of a broad deep river, in which the current of 
 his affections may roll on with increased volume and accelerated 
 motion to the end of time, without offspring, this current is con- 
 fined by the little rill that becomes lost in traversing a bed of 
 sand. Man, without ofispring, is but the mere incident of his 
 species. He is like the spark, that is blown from the burning 
 mass, and in a moment is extinct and is forgotten. One mo- 
 ment he may exhibit a point of brilliancy ; but the next mo- 
 ment it is gone forever, and that point is lost in the darkness of 
 night. Let a man, without offspring, look through the telescope 
 of time, upon the wide spread glory of the world in coming 
 ages ; let him, in imagination, read the history of a score of 
 rising generations, and what will be there to make him rejoice 
 that he ever had existence ? Will he be able to appropriate 
 any of that glory to himself ? Will any of those countless mul- 
 titudes trace back to him a proud lineage ? Can he exult in 
 the idea, that some of his own blood mingles with theirs ? By 
 no means. But a man with offspring may indulge the thought, 
 that in a few centuries, the blood of a majority of the inhabit- 
 ants, constituting a vast empire, may be part and parcel of his 
 own ; that the greatest generals and statesmen, and even kings, 
 may trace back to him an unbroken lineage. May not a man 
 then, on first becoming a parent, look with a dignified compla- 
 cence on himself, never before imagined 1 So it appears to us. 
 If not so, the most precious endearments of a social nature, are 
 the meanest and most insiped of fictions. 
 
 In reflecting on a subject like the present, there is no neces- 
 sity for these far-distant views. Our own powers of vision, 
 ■without the aid of telescopic transportations, are sufficiently 
 suited to the argument. The subject is even more impressive 
 as in the case of young Lawson becoming a parent, when view- 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 155 
 
 ed simply in. relation to his own family. What motive, in a 
 young man like him, can one have for a life of toil, if there is 
 no one after him, for whom he feels interest, to take possession of 
 his ■wealth ? And especially, as it sometimes will occur, that 
 tho.se allied to him in remote consanguinity, will almost rejoice 
 in his decease, that they may receive what belonged to him. 
 And even when alive and in the vigor of manhood, where will 
 the man without offspring inhale fresh odor, that like pure in- 
 cense, constantly rising about the fire-side, from the breath of 
 his own buoyant children. Their affectionate prattle and their 
 joyous glee will oftentimes make the fond father forget his toils, 
 and inspire him with new energy while encountering the frowns 
 of adversity. Is there no magic power in the caresses of a group 
 of young children, hanging upon the knees and about the neck 
 of the parent? Is there no hallowed fragrance in their oft- 
 repeated embraces ? We know there is ; and, if there is ought 
 in the retrospect of our own shadowy life, that we shall remember 
 when on its last verge, it will be the infant nestlings and the 
 paternal watohings therewith, of little ones, now grown to man's 
 estate, and partly, in the dispensations of a wise and good Pro- 
 vidence, called to exercise a similar agency towards those of 
 another generation ; a generation that is our own grand-offspring. 
 What we have here written will convey but a faint idea of 
 all that was or might have been said, when surrounding the 
 breakfast table of Squire Lawson. Before concluding, we said 
 to the respected grand-parents : " Venerable friends, this to you 
 must be a day of gladness. Such an event is always so, to the 
 grand-parents ; to you, it must be especially so. If this new- 
 born child is to be blessed with a life like your own, you will, 
 when you shall go down into the grave, have the pleasing an- 
 ticipation, that for at least one generation more, the name of 
 Lawson will be identified with this delightful farm ; and, that 
 within these very walls, may be born, live and die, other genera- 
 tions inheriting your own blood." The old lady wept ; and 
 from the eyes of her dignified spouse, we thought, a few tears 
 stealthily fell. All was silence ; each, by degrees, recovered 
 
156 THE FARM AND THE FntESIDE. 
 
 self-possession ; then Squire Lawson, raising himself to a more 
 commanding position, his elbows resting on the arms of his hig 
 chair, and with a firm, but rather choked voice, says : " James, 
 I will tell you, what I want you to do, this very day : I want 
 you to go up on the side of the mountain, and dig up two of 
 the best sycamore or black-walnut trees you can find, and set 
 them out somewhere near the house, as a memorial of the birth 
 of that dear baby. You know that those large elms near the 
 big barn were set out the year my father was born, on this very 
 spot ; the sugar maples by the cow-house were set out the year 
 I was born ; and the cedars by the big gate were set out the 
 year you were born. When you have done this, James, we shall 
 have trees marking the rise of four generations of one family, 
 and what is better, in the same place. This is the family re- 
 cord I like best. I never look at the elms without thinking of 
 my grand-father, who set them out ; nor of the maples, with- 
 out thinking of my father, who set them out." 
 
 This was the first time we ever had seriously reflected on the 
 value, as well as the beauty, of ornamental trees about the man- 
 sion, particularly as mementos and monuments of historic 
 events. The remarks of Squire Lawson on their use, as a kind 
 of family record, to us were new, and they have led to a new 
 chapter in our philosophy. Had my own children been born in 
 the country, instead of the dusty city, we would, succeeding to 
 the birth of each, have caused to be planted a few trees, thus to 
 be a standing memorial of the event. Let a family of children, 
 where this is done, becomegrown up and scattered, as is common, 
 except the eldest or the youngest son, who is to retain the home- 
 stead ; and when they make their periodical visits in after life, 
 to the place of their birth, bringing with them those of another 
 generation, how interesting will be to them such rural inscrip- 
 tions to perpetuate the family chronology ! And, if one of a 
 family be cut ofl' by death, let there be planted a weeping wil- 
 low, the token of grief; or, an evergreen, the emblem of immor- 
 tality ; so that when, in subsequent life, the survivors look upon 
 them, they may be reminded, not only of the tears which hu- 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 157 
 
 manity sheds upon the graves of our loved ones, but of the un- 
 dying life to which they have gone. When we visit the place 
 ofourown nativity, one of the most cheering exhibitions,that seem- 
 ingly bid us welcome, is the venerable broad-spreading and 
 deep-colored foliage, under which, in a hot summer day, when 
 a child, we were wont to build toy-houses. The human forms 
 then most familiar to us are gone ; and those that remain are 
 so changed, as scarcely to be recognised. But the majestic 
 trees, the work of nature's laboratory, still maintain their identity, 
 changed only in having become more magnificent, from increased 
 age, more massy trunks, and longer branches. 
 
 Few persons are aware how much a few well chosen trees 
 will add to the beauty of a country residence. Here is an orna- 
 ment available to the mechanic as well as the farmer. The 
 cost of it is but a mere trifle. The few leisure hours at the 
 command of all, devoted to this object, would add much to the 
 elegance and pleasure of rural life. As our forests are yearly 
 giving way to the axe-men, this is constantly becoming more 
 apparent. Unless our wood lands are -watched with more cau- 
 tion; and unless more attention is paid to supplying, by a new 
 growth, the places wastefully deprived of trees, many portions 
 of our country will present a most repulsive aspect of desola- 
 tion I In MO one particular have Americans evinced a more 
 spurious taste, than in their ceaseless havoc of cutting down 
 every thing like a pillar in the great temple of nature. The 
 traveler, in passing through many of our towns, may observe 
 where hundreds of acres, seemingly without any object, where 
 the land was not required for culture, and where no benefit 
 could have been realised from the timber, have been deprived 
 of every green branch, even for the shelter of the birds, with 
 which they were once covered. The mountain side, with bluff 
 rising above bluff, like the steps of a stair-way, interspersed 
 and covered with trees so far as there is soil for their nutriment, 
 is not only a spectacle of grandeur, but is one of great beauty. 
 Let the meditative sojourner, in passing over the Erie Eailroad, 
 when in the neighborhood of the Delaware Gap, survey the 
 
158 THE FAEM AND THE FmESIDE. 
 
 almost infinitely diversified mountain scenery that will there like 
 enchantment rise up before him, and he will have increased 
 conceptions of natural beauty. 
 
 Here in the season of autumn may be seen such a multitudi- 
 nous assemblage of hues in the foliage as man had never before 
 imagined. One might as well count the stars in a clear winter 
 night as to count these hues. There is the pale green, the dingy 
 yellow green, the reddish green, and the dark green of the fir 
 which defies the power of cold, of frost, and of snow. There 
 is the pale red and the dark red, the dingy scarlet and the crim- 
 son, the pale yellow and the dark yellow ; and, all these so run- 
 ning into combinations with each other, that it is impossible to 
 tell which has the predominance. It is usually said the newly 
 opening foliage denotes the fresh beauty of children and youth, 
 and that the seared leaf denotes the decay of manhood and the 
 approach of old age. The illustration is most appropriate. And 
 in the case we are describing may be seen, not simply the em- 
 blems of the two extremes in human existence — not simply of 
 childhood and of man's final decrepitude ; but, seemingly, every 
 possible intermediate tint and blending of color, to denote, in 
 like manner, every possible change in human aspect, from the 
 cradle to the grave. Who cannot gaze with unwearied delight 
 upon these mountain precipices, when covered with garments of 
 such inimitable beauty I The landscape painter may spend his 
 life in learning how to transfer upon canvas the images here 
 constantly greeting the eye ; but, never, never can be equal the 
 reality ! Yet, let an hundred pioneers, with axes and their 
 brawny muscles, deprive these mountain ranges of their now 
 uprising greenwood, and what a cheerless, paralysing shadow 
 will they then cast upon the traveler ! Even the wolf and the 
 bear, as if spurning such desolation, will depart to more distant 
 regions, not thus defiled by such wanton desecrations upon na- 
 ture's realm. 
 
 Our yeomanry, in making clearings, have generally made 
 most unfortunate mistakes, in leaving so few forest trees about 
 their dwellings, and even by the road side. Where few or none 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIEESIDE. 159 
 
 have been left, no time should be lost in supplying the place 
 with a new growth. In this way another generation may be 
 furnished with rural embellishments at present rarely seen. 
 
 This is the only atonement that can be made for the error 
 committed. This is the only remuneration we can offer for the 
 injury we have thus occasioned to those who are hereafter to 
 occupy what is now in our own possession. To spend a few 
 dollars in this way will be better for our children than double 
 the amount invested in bank stock. A well chosen hickory, or 
 chesnut, or maple, in twenty or thirty years after being planted, 
 will be worth at least five dollars. It would be worth that at 
 the present prices of timber ; and not unlikely, that from the 
 increasing scarcity of it, by that time, it will be worth double 
 this sum. 
 
 If the inhabitants of any town within ten miles or so of a 
 large city were to unite and plant good-sized and well-selected 
 trees, two rods distant from each other, on both sides of every 
 public road within its limits, the value of real estate, from this 
 cause alone, in twenty years, might be doubled. It would pre- 
 sent attractions that would draw to it, one after another, till 
 every acre of it fit for a building lot and garden would be taken 
 up. And within ten years from being planted, those trees would 
 attract favorable notice. Throughout the whole length and 
 breadth of any locality whose avenues were thus studded with 
 handsome shade trees, there would be for riding or walking a 
 kind of fascination admired and sought by all having knowledge 
 of it. The passing traveller would here loiter and linger, that 
 he might record in his note-book the pleasure he felt ; and, the 
 inmates of the city, in escaping the scorching heat reflected 
 from a succession of brick walls and pavements, would seek 
 shelter beneath the wide-spreading branches, as well to inhale 
 the fragrance they impart, as to be fanned by the soft breezes 
 which play among them. 
 
 It is now a little more than thirty years since we spent the 
 night named at the house of Squire Lawson, and when was 
 made the first recorded annals of a new geiieration to his family. 
 
160 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 The circumstances of that visit are as fresh as ever in our lono'- 
 taxed memory. The social impulses that then filled our bosom 
 have not yet ceased their pulsations. We can now seem to be- 
 hold the vifhite locks of the venerable patriarch who presided in 
 that plain but commodious mansion ! We can now seem to 
 behold the tears of joy that then ran down his furrowed cheeks I 
 We can now seem to behold the unassuming dignity and the 
 tender heart-gushing of his well-chosen companion I And, we 
 can almost imagine ourself listening to the yet undying echoes 
 of their mutual congratulations, that their name was destined 
 yet to live on, and that even yet other generations under that 
 name might successively rise up in the distant future, each in 
 turn occupying the same homestead, and annually planting 
 flowers upon the graves of a long line of beloved ancestors. If 
 there is aught that can give dignity to human existence, it is a 
 lineage thus perpetuated ; a retrospect to each one composing it, 
 full of honor, and in its progressive developments betokening no 
 paralyzing dreams of waning hope. We would go far to see the 
 mounds of earth covering such a succession of generations, and 
 to pick the fresh flowers yearly rising thereon. In the affection 
 that causes them thus to rise, there is a healthful fragrance not 
 less delightful than that which the flowers themselves impart ; 
 and, both together give a charm to life and furnish an aliment 
 for our social perceptions no where else to be found. In a mea- 
 sure, too, they furnish an antidote for that prevailing selfishness 
 so deeply engraven upon the world. 
 
 Were we now to visit the spot associated in our mind with 
 the. incidents above related, what should we there see ? Not 
 indeed the venerated heads of the family of which we were a 
 guest. For more than a score of years they have slept with 
 the generations that preceded them. There are their graves ! 
 The grass is as green upon them as is the recollection of their 
 virtues in the minds of their descendants I There stand, too, 
 the beautiful sugar maples set out in commemoration of the 
 birth of Squire Lawson ; and not far distant two more weeping 
 ■willows, grown to a goodly size, commemorative of the time 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 161 
 
 •when he finished his earthly stewardship. And there stand, 
 also, the majestic elms which tell of the hirth of his father, and 
 the cedars that tell of the birth of his son James, and the black- 
 walnuts that tell of the new generation that dawned in the 
 family when we were there ; and, indeed, also, there is the 
 beech, and the hickory, and the chesnut, and the pine, and the 
 black birch, that tell of others since born and sharing in the 
 family record — nor less to be observed, additional weeping wil- 
 lows and yew trees that have become additional records of the 
 family mortality. What beautiful memorials of those who sleep 
 in the dust ! Does the sculptured marble which tells the living 
 world of deceased ones — the good and the great — so impress the 
 heart of the beholder ? Do urns and cenotaphs possess such 
 eloquence in calling into action the sensibilities of those who 
 gaze upon them ? 
 
 The ownership of the same soil and the same mansion in 
 the same family for successive generations, imparls a rational 
 dignity far surpassing that of the most gorgeous heraldry ; and, 
 none of the emblems of it compare in richness with the memo- 
 rials we here recommend. These may be had by all. These 
 may survive to reveal to unborn ages the deeds of those instru- 
 mental in their production, when all other records shall have 
 perished. The trees we have planted are looked upon by us as 
 the best legacy to be enjoyed by those who are to occupy the 
 place now occupied by ourself ! The little fame we may have 
 acquired from some successful efforts in literature and for the 
 good of our fellow-men, cannot be of long duration. A few 
 only leave a reputation that will survive the author of it a longer 
 period than that spent in its acquisition. Thus it will be with 
 our own. But the adornment of our lawns and groves and high- 
 ways may not be in its full beauty till an unborn generation 
 shall have risen up in our stead. 
 
162 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 HlStORY MD PHYSIOLOGY OF THE HOG. 
 
 The hog is the only domestic animal seemingly of no use to 
 'man when alive, and was, therefore, as may be presumed, de- 
 signed for food. The Jews, however, the Egyptians, and other 
 inhabitants of warm countries, and all the Mahometons at pre- 
 sent, reject the use of pork for food. The Greeks gave great 
 commendation to the flesh of swine, and their Athletes were fed 
 ■with it. The Romans considered it as one of their delicacies. 
 No proper experiments have been made in regard to its alkaline 
 tendency ; but as it is of a gelatinous and succulent nature, it 
 is probably less S9 than many others. Upon the whole it ap- 
 pears to be a very valuable nutriment. The reason is very ob- 
 vious why it was forbidden to the Jews ; their whole ceremonial 
 dispensation was typical. Filth was held as an emblem or type 
 . of sin. Hence, the many laws respecting frequent washings ; 
 and no animal feeds so filthily as swine. Mahomet borrowed 
 this prohibition, as well as circumcision and many other parts 
 of his system, from the law of Moses. But it is absurd to sup- 
 pose, as some do, that Moses borrowed any thing of the kind 
 from the Egyptians. 
 
 The prejudices of the Egyptians against swine were most 
 extraordinary. It would be difficult — indeed, impossible to ac- 
 count for them. It is said, that if an Egyptian even 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 plunging into the Nile. The swineherds formed 
 an isolated race, considered as outcasts from society, being for- 
 bidden to enter a temple or marry into other families. It was 
 an established custom among the Greeks and Romans, to ofi'er 
 a hog in sacrifice to Ceres, at the beginning of the harvest, and 
 another to Bacchus, before the beginning of the vintage ; be- 
 cause it is said, that animal is equally hostile to the groining 
 corn and the loaded vineyard. 
 
 All the varieties of this animal originate in the wild boar, 
 which is found in most of the temperate regions of Europe and 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIEESIIIB. 
 
 163 
 
 Asia. It is smaller than the domesticated animal, 'and usually 
 of a dark grey color, approaching to black. It is armed with 
 formidable tusks, sometimes ten inches, or even more, in length ; 
 those in the under jaw curving upwards, and capable from their 
 size, strength and sharpness, of inflicting the most dreadful 
 
 WILD BOAR. 
 
 wounds. Before these animals attain their third year, they are 
 gregarious, and when danger is at hand particularly, they mus- 
 ter in numerous parties, and with great promptitude, at the sig- 
 nal of alarm. Uniting thus, they present so formidable an array, 
 as speedily to disperse the enemy, few creatures, or none, daring 
 to commence an attack against such a combination of strength 
 and valor as they exhibit. When the wild boar is complete in 
 growth, he depends upon his solitary exertions for his protection, 
 is seldom seen in society, ranging the forests alone, rarely com- 
 mencing an attack, as his food consists almost solely of roots and 
 vegetables ; but repelling one with all the fierceness of courage, 
 and all the resentment of retaliation. 
 
164 THE FAEM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 The wild boar is hunted by dngs, or else taken by surprise 
 in the night, by the light of the moon. That the sport of boar 
 hunting should have been followed, particularly in ancient times, 
 when men delighted in pei-ils, is not surprising. For it was re- 
 plete with danger, to all engaged in it, men, dogs and horses ; 
 affording opportunities for the display of courage, strength and 
 skill, and called up the energies of muid and body. It was 
 practiced both on horseback and on foot, and lhe hunters were 
 armed with strong sharp swords, and tongh boar-spears. The 
 animal was roused from bis lair by dogs, and, during his retreat, 
 was harrassed by the boldest of the pack, but not with impuni- 
 ty ; from time to time would he turn, and by successive rapid 
 bl(3ws, leave some of his ass.iilants prostrate. At length his 
 savage temper thoroughly roused, he would turn round and face 
 the hunters now hard upon him. This was the critical time, 
 the time for the hunter to display his skill and firmness. ^His 
 object was then to receive the boar either on his sword or spear, 
 aiming either between the eyes, at the breast, or immediately 
 under the shoulder-blade. Sad was the fate of the unskilful or 
 faint-hearted. If the hunter missed his thrust he was exposed 
 to immediate danger, for the attack of the enraged beast was 
 sudden and impetuous. Sometimes, indeed, the animal, by a 
 sudden movement, would not only avoid the stroke, but contrive 
 to seize the haft of the protruded spear, between his powerful 
 jaws, one crunch of which, was sufficient to grind the wood to 
 fragments ; the next moment, unless another hunter came to 
 his rescue, and struck with a better aim, the assailant was on 
 the ground, ripped up in the abdomen by the sharp tusks of the 
 infuriated animal. When the hunters were mounted, the boar 
 struck at the flanks of the horse, raising himself on his hind 
 legs, and not unfrequently man and horse came to the ground. 
 In England, and Scotland, a few centuries since, the wild 
 boar chase was a sport in great repute with the nobles. Shaks- 
 peare describes it with graphic accuracy. And if in those 
 countries men are now better employed, the sport has not be- 
 come obsolete. It is still practised with great eagerness in In- 
 
THE Farm and the fireside. 165 
 
 dia, and in those districts of Europe in which the animal still 
 maintains his hold. As in the case of the wolf, it is valued 
 only for its excitement, as no part of an old boar, except the 
 head, is eatable. Young animals, and especially such as are 
 under the care of the mother, are esteemed, but they afford no 
 sport in the chase. The wild boar is now common in the ex- 
 tensive forests of France, Germany, Russia, and Hungary, as 
 well as in Spain and some other countries. Even within forty 
 miles of Paris, in the forests of Chantilly, the breed still lingers. 
 The late Prince of Conde, who died in 1830, kept a pack of 
 dogs for the express purpose of boar-hunting. 
 
 The following account of a boar-hunt, from Egan's Sporting 
 Anecdotes, will be read with some degree of interest, from the 
 fact that one of the greatest generals of the age was conspicu- 
 ous in the incidents related. On the 30th of October, 1817, the 
 hounds of the Duke of Wellington discovered a most enormous 
 boar in the forest of Wallincourt, France, and a chase was im- 
 mediately followed. The animal, on being disturbed, passed 
 rapidly into the forest of Ardipart, which he completely tra- 
 versed. Being then hardly scented by the dogs, he took to the 
 plain, where he was vigorously pursued by hounds and sports- 
 men, and ere he could reach another wood was brought to bay. 
 The animal then became ferocious, and destroyed all the dogs 
 that approached him, when one of the aids to his grace plunged 
 a spear into his side. This only rendered the beast more savage, 
 and the Duke himself, seeing his dogs would be destroyed, rode 
 up and with his spear gave him a mortal thrust. The animal 
 made a desperate effort to wound his Grace's horse, but fell life- 
 less in the attempt. 
 
 It is not often, however, that the spear is used in modern 
 boar-hunting in Europe. This weapon has given place to the 
 rifle, and the sport is consequently deprived of danger, and, it 
 may be added, of excitement. In Germany, the hnnlsman, 
 armed with his rifle, goes into the forest aicoinpauied by a dog 
 trained to seek and rouse up the wild boar, the track of which 
 he follows by the scent. When the boar quits his lair, the dog, 
 
166 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 giving tongue, pursues the game, tut at a cautious distance, until 
 he turns and stands at bay. The dog now, without venturing 
 too closely, keeps up an incessant irritation, and dodges about, 
 making feints of attack, until he leads the animal to expose his 
 side to the hunter, who immediately fires, aiming at the shoul- 
 der. The boar generally falls, but, if only wounded, he com- 
 mences a precipitate retreat, upon which a boar, hound islet 
 loose, who pursues him for miles, until the animal drops ex- 
 hausted, or again stands on the defensive. It is thus in the 
 forests of Hanover and Westphalia, where wild swine are nu- 
 merous, that numbers are destroyed, not only for amusement, 
 but also for the sake of their flesh. It is from these wild hogs 
 that the celebrated Westphalian hams are procured. 
 
 In the defence of their young, the females also are furious, 
 and resolutely attack any animal, which excites apprehension 
 in their behalf. This even the domestic sow will do when liv- 
 ing at large in the woods. Mr. Lloyd, in his Field Sports of 
 the North of Europe, gives the following account of the ferocity 
 of a common sow which he met in Sweden. One day in the 
 depth of winter, says he, accompanied by my Irish servant, I 
 struck into the forest for the purpose of game. On this occasion 
 we had no other guide than my pocket compass. Towards 
 evening, and when seven or eight miles from home, we came 
 to a small hamlet situated in the recesses of the forest ; here an 
 old sow and her progeny made a determined dash at a brace of 
 very valuable pointers I had at that time along with me, who 
 naturally took shelter behind us. My man had a light spear in 
 his hand, similar to those used by lancers ; this I took possession 
 of, and directing him to throw the dogs over the fence, in the 
 the angle of which we were cooped up, I placed my.self between 
 the dogs and their pursuers. The sow, nevertheless, still pressed 
 forward, and it was only by giving her a severe blow across the 
 snout with the butt end of the spear that I stopped her farther 
 career. Nothing daunted, however, by this reception, she di- 
 rected her next attack against myself; when, in self-defence, I 
 was obliged to give her a home thrust with the point of the 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. ]67 
 
 spear. These attacks she repeated three several times, and as 
 often got the spear up to the hilt either in her neck or head ; 
 she then retreated slowly, hleeding at all pores. So savage and 
 ferocious a beast I never saw in my whole life. 
 
 The wild boar, solitary and recluse, may be regarded as 
 nocturnal in his habits ; it is seldom, except when forced by the 
 dogs of the hunter, that he stirs from his lair during the day. 
 Night is his season of activity ; on the approach of twilight he 
 sets out in quest of food. In his search after roots, he ploughs 
 up the ground in long furrows with his snout, nor does he refuse 
 such worms or insecfs as he dislodges. Though not strictly car- 
 nivorous, the wild boar, like his domestic descendant, does not 
 reject animal matters which chance may throw in his way. He 
 is in fact omnivorous, and is endowed with an appetite and di- 
 gestive powers suited alike for vegetable or animal aliment. 
 BuiTon mentions that he has found parts of the skin of a roe- 
 buck, and the feet of birds, in the stomach of the wild boar. 
 Corn lands, bordering forests, haunted by wild swine, are sub- 
 ject to their nightly incursions, especially when the grain is ripe, 
 or the ears full ; while thus engaged in feasting amid the tall 
 corn, which prevents their seeing the approach of any one, it is 
 easy during moonlight nights, to come upon them by surprise, 
 and shoot them before they are aware of the presence of the 
 hunters. Vineyards are also subject to the ravages of wild swine, 
 a fact which has been known from the earliest ages. It is pro- 
 bably on this account, as already observed, that the Greeks and 
 Romans, at the season of harvest and of vintage, were accus- 
 tomed to offer the wild boar in sacrifice to their gods. 
 
 The hog has generally been described as a creature of gross 
 habits and unclean tastes, as having the senses of touch and 
 taste obtuse, and even as being so insensible, that mice may 
 sometimes burrow in his skin, without his seeming to feel pain 
 from it. But these opinions are most unjust and incorrect. Far 
 from being unclean, nature has furnished the hog with powerful 
 organs of digestion, enabling him to derive sustenance from a 
 variety of substances, and his voracity is only the result of the 
 
168 
 
 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 alLB RT K. CrHON. ~ 
 
 OLD ENGLISH DOMESTIC HOG. 
 
 extent and perfection of his digestive and respiratory organs. 
 Although one of the thick-skinned animals, the hog feels blows 
 acutely, and manifests his suffering hy loud cries. Indeed, that 
 his sense of touch is dull, because of the thick layer of fat with 
 ■which his body is enveloped, is most erroneous, for it is well 
 known that the plexus of the nerves, which gives sensibility to 
 the body, is exterior to this fat layer. So far from being insen- 
 sible to pain, the hog even suffers under the irritation arising 
 from the punctures of gnats, musquitoes, and other small insects, 
 and endeavors to protect himself from their persecution, by roll- 
 ing in moist places, and covering himself with mud. 
 
 Professor Low very justly says, the hog is subject to remark- 
 able changes of form and character, according to the situations 
 in which he is placed. When these characters assume a cer. 
 tain degree of permanence a breed or variety is formed ; and 
 there is none of the domestic animals which more easily receives 
 the characters we desire to impress upon it. This arises from 
 its rapid powers of increase, and the constancy with which the 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. Igg 
 
 ciiaracfers of the parents are reproduced ia the progeny. There 
 is no kind of live stock that can be so easily improved by the 
 breeder, and so quickly rendered suitable to the purposes re- 
 quired; and the same chai'acters of external form, indicate in 
 the hog a disposition to arrive at early maturity of muscle and 
 fat, as in the ox and the sheep. The body is large in proportion 
 to the limbs, or in other words, the limbs are short in proportion 
 to the body ; the extremities are free from coarseness, the chest 
 is broad, and the trunk is round. Possessing these characters, 
 the hog never fails to arrive at earlier maturity, and with small- 
 er consumption of food, than when he possesses a different con- 
 Ibrmation. 
 
 In a wild state the hog has been known to live more than 
 thirty years, but when domesticated he is usually slaughtered 
 quite young. When the wild hog is tamed it undergoes the 
 following, among other changes, in its conformation. The ears 
 become less movable, not being required to collect distant sounds. 
 The formidable tusks of the male diminish, not being necessary 
 for self-defence. The muscles of the neek become less developed, 
 from not being so much exercised as in the natural state. 
 The head becomes more inclined, the back and loins are length- 
 ened, the body rendered more capacious, the limbs shorter and 
 less muscular ; and anatomy proves that the stomach and in- 
 testinal canals have also become proportionately extended along 
 with the form of the body. The habits and instincts of the ani- 
 mal change. It becomes diurnal, not choosing the night for 
 its search of food ; and is .more insatiate ia its appetite, and 
 the tendency to obesity increases. These changes of form, ap- 
 petites, and habits being communicated to its progeny, a new 
 race of animals is produced, better suited to their altered con- 
 dition. The wild hog, after it has been domesticated, does not 
 appear to revert to its fijrmer state and habits ; at least, the 
 Bwine of South America, carried thither by the Spaniards, which 
 have escaped to the woods, retain their gregarious habits, and 
 have not become wild boars. 
 
 The hog does not appear to have been indigenous to our 
 
170 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 own country ; but was taken hither by the early voyagers from 
 the old world ; each bringing them from their own country ; and 
 in the Eastern States especially a few of the breeds still retain 
 traces of the old English character. From its nature and habits, 
 the hog was the most useful and profitable of all the animals 
 bred by the early settlers. It was their surest resource during 
 the first years of toil and hardship. It arrived earlier at ma- 
 turity, required less care, sought out, for the most part, its own 
 food, was the least subject to accidents and diseases in a iiew 
 situation, and, therefore, best repaid any portion of attention 
 bestowed on the breeding and rearing it. 
 
 The prevailing idea is, that hogs are not capable of being 
 taught ; and, that they have a certain kind of obstinacy that 
 is also an insuperable objection to any mental progressive devel- 
 opment. All the offences they commit are attributed to an in- 
 nately bad disposition. It seems to us that this is an erroneous 
 conclusion. May it not proceed in no small measure from neglect or 
 bad management ? They are permitted, moreover, to live so short 
 a time, they cannot learn much, M^ere there no other reason. In- 
 deed, they are rarely permitted to live long enough to attain 
 anything like their full size. Would cattle or horses behave 
 one iota better, were they treated as pigs usually are ? They 
 are the legitimate objects for the sport of idle boys, hunted with 
 dogs, pelted with stones, often neglected and obliged to find a 
 meal for themselves, or wander about half-starved. Can we 
 wonder that, under such circumstances, they should be wild and 
 unmanageable brutes 1 Here, as in many other things, man is 
 but too willing to attribute the faults which are essentially of 
 his own causing, to any other than their true source. We are 
 disposed to become their advocate ; to urge upon their owners 
 more kind treatment ; and, especially, that they be not con- 
 signed to the lowest grade in the animal economy. Can it be 
 believed that a race of animals among the most beneficial to 
 man, would have been created with animal physiological devel- 
 opments necessarily the most loathsome and disgusting that 
 can be imagined. We cannot believe it. Seemingly it was a 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 171 
 
 prominent design of the Deity, in forming the brute creation, 
 to make such as were to be immediately useful to man, and 
 of course to be constantly about him, to be also agreeable to 
 him in their general characteristics. 
 
 THE CHINESE HOG. 
 
 We cheerfully recommend to our readers, Youatt's treatise 
 on the pig. They will find much in it that is highly interesting, 
 as well as useful, to the ruralist. He says, the Chinese and Ja- 
 panese are great pig breeders, and make the art of crossing, 
 breeding, and rearing swine, which furnish them with their 
 principal animal food, an object of peculiar attention and study. 
 Merchants who have resided for some time in China, and even 
 travellers who have merely been able to bestow a superficial 
 glance on the economy of that country, speak of the great care 
 bestowed on this point ; but no author appears to have given 
 any details as to the course of practice adopted. Perhaps from 
 the naturally jealous and uncommunicative disposition of the 
 Chinese, they have been unable to acquire any ; and perhaps 
 few have thought it worth while to trouble themselves about so 
 
172 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE, 
 
 degraded an animal as a pig. However this may be, it is much 
 to be regretted that information is so very scanty, for many 
 valuable hints might probably have been thus obtained. If all 
 our merchants who go abroad for residence, and especially our 
 foreign ministers, vi'ere to be as observant and as vigilant, as 
 one now and then is, in collecting facts and facilities for im- 
 proving our agriculture, and particularly farm animals, the be- 
 nefit to American farmers, would be immense. 
 
 In a work on China, by Mr. Lay, the naturalist, there are 
 some amusing sketches of the pig. He says, between the na- 
 tives of that country and their swine, there is a striking analogy. 
 Thus, a Chinese admires a round face, and whut might be call- 
 ed an aldermanic protuberance of the chest, with smooth curva- 
 tures ; and, where opportunity admits, artificial means are used 
 for increasing these auxiliaries to personal beauty in himself. 
 The Chinese pig is fashioned on the same model. At an early 
 period the back becomes convex, the belly correspondently pen- 
 dent, and the visage shows a remarkable disposition to rotundity ; 
 nor is the resemblance merely personal ; in the moral character 
 there is an amusing similitude, contrariety and obstinancy being 
 the prevailing characteristics of both men and brutes. And 
 the same author pleasantly tells us that swine are rarely driven 
 or made to walk in China, but conveyed from place to place 
 in a species of cradle, suspended on a pole, carried by two 
 men. But, says he, the difRculty of this operation is to get the 
 animal into this vehicle, and this is accomplished by the cradle 
 being placed in front of the pig, and the owner then vigorously 
 pulling at porky's tail. From a spirit of obstinacy the animal 
 darts into the place prepared for him. At the journey's end the 
 bearers dislodge him by spitting in his face. 
 
 The cut pretty well represents the pure Chinese pig, and is 
 also a fair likeness of many of the imported and their immediate 
 descendants, seen in our country. They, however, necessarily 
 vary somewhat in appearance, size, shape, and color, from the 
 diversity in the style of breeding, and the various regions from 
 ■which they are derived. The Chinese hog is generally deemed 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 173 
 
 too small for common use, and requires to be mixed with larger 
 breeds to produce the most profitable carcass for the market. 
 For the purpose of refining the coarse breeds, no animal has ever 
 been so successful as this. The hogs thus produced have fine 
 bones, are short, and very compact, and have bellies almost 
 touching the ground, with light head and ears, and fine muzzle. 
 They also manifest great docility and quietness, are small feed- 
 ers, and yield much meat for the quantity of food consumed. 
 The Chinese hogs are of two kinds, black and white, and most 
 of the above general remarks apply to each of them. 
 
 Mr. Youatt indulges himself in some humorous pleasantry 
 in speaking of the hog, as found in Ireland. Here, says he, the 
 hog is, in the fullest sense of the word, a domesticated animal. 
 The Irish pig is born in the warmest nook of his master's cabin, 
 reared among the children, and often better fed and more care- 
 fully tended than ihe ragged urchins who play around him ; for 
 the peasant will half starve himself and children, in order to 
 have more food for his pig ; and while the former have only po- 
 tatoes, and few enough of them, the porker frequently gets not 
 only a good meal of potatoes, but some porridge, or bran, or re- 
 fuse of vegetables in addition. He is in fact the chief person in 
 the household ; on him the poor man reckons for the payment 
 of his rent, or the purchase of the necessaries of life. Swine 
 abound in all parts of Ireland ; scarcely a peasant's cot but 
 numbers a pig among the family ; and the roads, lanes, and 
 fields, in the neighborhood of every village, and the suburbs of 
 every large town, are infested or overrun with a grunting mul- 
 titude. 
 
 Until lately, however, notwithstanding the value set on 
 these animals, the real Irish pig was a huge, gaunt, long- 
 legged, slab-sided, roach-backed, coarse-boned, grisly brute ; 
 with large flapping ears which almost shrouded the face ; of 
 a dirty white, or black and white color ; with harsh coarse 
 hair, and bristles that almost stood erect. It was also far 
 from being a profitable apimal, requiring a very considerable 
 quantity of food, and when fat producing only coarse-grained 
 
'H 
 
 t > THE FARM AND THE V^RESIDE. 
 
 ■jtneat. - But since t^e facility of !exjfort'H;a|- becbtae.. greater, 
 considerable improvement has been eflected by the intrtfcuc- 
 .tion. of ^Berkshire aM CMne^e bdarsi fnd sp)^'s, aad cro^^nf? 
 the' old breed pretty extensively with these'. Thus, the u'n- 
 wieldinesS «f size and- coarseness- of bbtich^ive befert ■diminished,- 
 and greater aptitude for fattening communica'ted, which latter 
 .qualification is invaluable to the poor Irish -peasant. 
 
 
 
 BEKKSHIRE HOG. 
 
 The Berkshire breed of swine -has" been'- generally consi- 
 dered to be one of the best in England, on account of its 
 smallness of bone, early maturity, aptitude to fatten on little 
 food, hardihood, and the females being such good breeders. 
 Those of the pure original breed have been known to attain an 
 immense size, and weigh from eight to ten hundred pounds. 
 One bred at Petworth measured seven feet seven inches from the 
 tip of his snout to the root of his tail, and seven feet ten inches in 
 girth round the centre ; five feet round the neck, ten mohes round 
 the thinnest part of the hind leg, and two feet nine inches high ; 
 and, what was most remarkable in this monstrous hog, he did 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 175 
 
 not consume more than two bushels and three pecks of ground 
 oats, peas, and barley, per week. The first Berkshire hogs 
 brought into the United States was in 1823. Other importa- 
 tions have been made from time to time, and no reason exists 
 why the blood should not be as pure as in England. The Berk- 
 shires were favorably received, and at one time sold at high, 
 prices. Without doubt it is one of the best — if not the very 
 best breeds in the country, allhough its merits are not generally 
 appreciated. 
 
 The color of the Berkshires was originally a bull' or sandy 
 ground, with large black spots ; and the feet, lower part of the 
 legs, and ii tuft on the tail, were buff. This color, in most of 
 the modern race, has given place to white in the same parts. 
 This variation, with the more important ones of early maturity 
 and good feeding properties, has been ascribed to a Chinese 
 cross, which has added the only characteristic in which they 
 were before deficient. Although not so generally appreciated in 
 this country as they should be, in the hands of skilful breeders, 
 their merits are annually becoming more and more understood, 
 and perhaps now take precedence with the majority of such far- 
 mers as have particularly given their attention to the subject. 
 It is just to render to Mr. Brentnall, of Orange County, New- 
 York, and Mr. Hawes, of Albany, in the same State, the credit 
 of first introducing this breed of hogs into our country. 
 
 To show the success with which some of our pork amatenrs 
 have reared this breed of swine, a few specifications will be ad- 
 ded. In 1845, Mr. Wakeman, of Herkimer, New-York, slaughter- 
 ed a Berkshire hog, which wcigiied, when dressed, seven hun- 
 dred and twenty-one pounds. His dimensions were — from the 
 end of his nose to the end of his ham, six feet and seven inches; 
 girth around the heart close to the fore leg, six feet and eight, 
 inches ; around the middle, six feet and ten inches ; height, two 
 feet eleven inches. He was kept on grass through the summer, 
 then a month on boiled pumpkins and potatoes, mixed with sour 
 milk, and no meal ; afterwards, for the most part, with dry corn. 
 He was judged to gain three pounds per day, from the time he 
 
176 THE FAUM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 was put up till he was killed. This hog was the seventh cross 
 on the native or common stock from Berkshire boars. In the 
 same year, it is stated in the American Agriculturist, that Ur. 
 Keever, of Ridgeville, Ohio, slaughtered a full-blooded Berkshire 
 barrow, two years, two months, and seven days old, which 
 weighed, on being dressed, net six hundred and sixteen pounds ; 
 and there was another in the same neighborhood, supposed to be 
 about two hundred pounds heavier. On the same authority, the 
 weight of a Berkshire hog slaughtered in Williamstown, Massa- 
 chusetts, is given as seven hundred and eight pounds ; the thick- 
 ness of the heaviest of the clear pork being full ten inches. Mr. 
 Spilman, of Carroll county, Kentucky, also in the same year, 
 slaughtered nine Berkshire pigs, full blood, of one litter, twenty 
 months and six days old, which, on being dressed, weighed three 
 thousand four hundred and twenty-nine pounds. And more no- 
 table yet, the Sangamon Journal stated a Berkshire hog in that 
 vicinity was slaughtered, when at the age of three years, which 
 weighed, on being dressed, fourteen hundred pounds ! 
 
 With such examples constantly presenting themselves, it is 
 inexplicable that so many of our farmers pay so little attention 
 to the breed of their hogs. The above were taken almost at 
 random from agricultural journals, on which we could lay our 
 hands, when at our writing table, opening only four or five of those 
 nearest to us ; and, the presumption is, were we to examine all 
 the similar works we possess, we could find hundreds of similar 
 cases. Multitudes of the old neglected breeds of the hog family 
 are not worth being taken as a gift, if the receiver is to fatten 
 thera ; for then the pork in all probability would cost him double 
 per pound that it would to produce it from hogs of an improved 
 breed, and moreover, also, being of an inferior quality. The 
 secret of thriving or making money from agriculture lies chiefly 
 in this ; to keep cows that will pay for their keeping and for 
 themselves in each year, while others keep such as will barely 
 pay for their feed ; to keep oxen of a character that one yoke 
 will perform the labor usually done by two yoke ; and to keep 
 hogs of such breeds that pork can be made from them at about 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. j77 
 
 half tlie cost when made from inferior breeds. It costs hut little 
 more to feed prime animals than it does to feed those miserable 
 caricatures too often seen upon a farm. It is analogous to the 
 dissimilar modes of cultivating the soil. The cost of producing 
 a premium crop on an acre of land is but a fraction in addition 
 to the cost of getting from it only half a crop. Nearly the 
 whole of this extra produce is clear profit. 
 
 This subject assumes a magnitude not before imagined, when 
 it is considered that a pig or two is a staple means of subsist- 
 ence with nearly every family in rural localities ; and when it 
 it considered that the aggregate of swine in the whole country 
 forms one of the principal sources of our national wealth. The 
 annual consumption of pork in the Uiiited States cannot be less 
 than two hundred millions of dollars. This would be only about 
 fifty dollars to each family in the year; or one dollar a week for 
 each family. Every person with the most superficial knowledge 
 on the subject must know this is insuflicient. It is not half the 
 allowance for penitentiary convicts. Only a dollar a week, or 
 fourteen cents a day, for the pork to be used by a family of 
 farmers 1 Thus stintedly our laboring yeomanry do not live I 
 Thus they could not live I Now, is it a matter of trivial consi- 
 deration, whether such a staple costs the consumer three or six 
 cents per pound ; or whether for the fifty dollars a family can 
 have five hundred or a thousand pounds for its subsistence ! To 
 many it seems a trifle, whether a single pig, from the same feed, 
 is made to weigh two hundred or four hundred pounds ; but, when 
 it is considered, that there may be slaughtered annually in the 
 country eight millions of pigs, the subject becomes tangible and 
 impressive. So it is in other matters. A single drop of water 
 is viewed without interest ; yet rivers and oceans consist nf 
 such drops I A single grain of sand is viewed withoul inte- 
 rest ; yet mountains and the entire globe consists much of 
 such grains ! 
 
 Eight millions of hogs for annual slaughter in the United 
 States is a low estimate, for since writing the above we have 
 glanced at a statement in the Cincinnati Price Current, that 
 
178 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 the number of taxable bogs in the State of Ohio, some years has 
 been about 2,600,000 ; and the presumption is that four-fifths 
 of the number would each year be the current slaughter. The 
 farmers in the Eastern States can form no idea of the extent of 
 the pork trade of the West, says Mr. Edmundson, unless they 
 personally inspect the slaughtering establishments that are to he 
 found in Cincinnati, and other large cities. Twenty thousand 
 hogs are very commonly slaughtered and packed for market in a 
 single season, by one house ; and the whole number slaughtered 
 in these establishments annually, west of the Alleghany moun- 
 tains, average 2.000,000, weighing each two hundred pounds of 
 nett pork, of which at least one-fourth are slaughtered in Ohio. 
 It will here be noted, that this statement of Mr. E. does not 
 include the hogs slaughtered on the farms where raised, whether 
 for domestic use or for market ; and, beside these, many are 
 transported alive to other places, so as not to be included in his 
 statement. 
 
 The number of hogs packed at Cincinnati alone, equal 400,- 
 000 head in a single season. During the month of December 
 that city is crowded sufficient to produce suffocation, with droves 
 of hogs, and draymen employed in delivering the barreled pork 
 on board the steamers. Some fifteen hundred laborers are em- 
 ployed in the business from six to eight weeks, and in many 
 cases it is kept in full operation both day and night, including 
 Sundays, from the beginning to the completion of the season. 
 The Sabbath is not at all i-egarded by those who are extensively 
 engaged in the pork business, and a stranger spectacle could 
 hardly be presented to a person brought up in a land noted for 
 its steady habits.than to see many of the main business streets of the 
 Ciueen City of the West, literally crammed with wagons, carts, 
 and drays, employed in transporting hogs just from the hands of 
 the butcher, from the slaughtering to the packing house, on the 
 Sabbath. Indeed, this appears to be the great day for the 
 bringing up and comjiloting the week's work, among the princi- 
 pal pork packers of Cincinnati ; and as a very large proportion 
 of the business is done in a densely populated portion of the city. 
 
THE FAUM AND THE FIRESIDE. 179 
 
 it is not to be wondered at that disease and pestilence occasion- 
 ally, at least, infest these portions of the city to an alarming ex- 
 tent. The filth and dirt, and impure atmosphere, in a large 
 portion of the upper end of the city, can be better imagined 
 than described, all of which are the products of hog slaughtering 
 and packing establishments. 
 
 Within a few years past slaughtered hogs have been con- 
 verted into a new branch of emolument. It is estimated that 
 fifteen million pounds of lard and fat pork are used yearly in 
 Cincinnati alone for making lard oil, nearly one-third being con- 
 verted into stearine, a substance much resembling mutton tallow ; 
 the former is used in lamps instead of whale oil, and the latter 
 for candles, instead of spermaceti. The entire carcass, excepting 
 hams and shoulders, are subjected to a heavy pressure, and then 
 by the aid of steam the fat is extracted. One establishment 
 thus uses up six hundred hogs daily for this purpose. The 
 whole quantity of oil produced from fat pork in this way is not 
 known ; but it is known that the business is annually becoming 
 more extensive, and that it has already materially reduced the 
 price of other oils used for light in families and elsewhere. In 
 the Western markets it has nearly superseded the use of them ; 
 and in our Atlantic cities it is creating a powerful competition 
 with them. This is the more important, as from the increase 
 of our population and the growing sparseness of whales, their 
 oil has had an upward tendency of price for a long period. Were 
 this tendency not checked, ere long multitudes of the poorer 
 classes would be unable to enjoy the pleasure of having their 
 dwellings made cheerful by such a beneficent substitute for day- 
 light. At the present time there are forty manufactories for 
 lard oil in that city. 
 
 The Sufiblk breed of pigs is with many a great favorite. Mr. 
 Youatt says there is no better in Great Britain than the im- 
 proved Sufiblks. Among the crosses of the native Suffolk which 
 he specifies are those of the Lincoln, the Berkshire, and the 
 Chinese. A cross between the Suffolk and the Lincoln has led 
 to a hardy progeny, which fatten well, and will weigh from 
 
ISO 
 
 THE FARM AND THE FIRESrDE. 
 
 SUFFOLK HOG. 
 
 four to six hundred pounds. However, he gives preference to a 
 cross between the Suffolk and the Berkshire, or Chinese. He 
 Bays these are well-formed, compact, short-legged, hardy ani- 
 mals, equal in value to the best of the Essex, and superior in 
 constitution, and consequently better adapted to the farmer. 
 Those arising from the Berkshire and Suffolk are not so well 
 shaped as those from the Chinese and Suffolk, being coarser, 
 longer-legged, and more prominent about the hips. They are 
 mostly white, with fine hair ; some are spotted, and all easily 
 kept in fine condition ; and having a decided tendency to fatten, 
 being of moderate size, with round bulky bodies, short legs, 
 small heads, and fat cheeks. 
 
 The Rev. Mr. E.ham, author of the Dictionary of Agri- 
 culture, says the Suffolk breed of pigs is, perhaps, on the M'liole, 
 the most profitable of any in England. Several j-ears ago the 
 late William Stickney, of Boston, introduced into our country this 
 breed of animals; and, although they have not become exten- 
 sively diffused, the results thus far are highly satisfactory to all 
 who have seen them. It was said by one gentleman, highly 
 competent to give an opinion, on which reliance can be placed, 
 
THE FARM AND THE FmESIBE. 181 
 
 that the pigs of this breed, at six weeks old, simply for being 
 raised and fattened, are cheaper at the prices asked for 
 them than the common country pigs at the low prices 
 which they usually command. As the best ones are generally 
 kept for breeding, the statistics of those slaughtered are not 
 numerous. A few of these statistics will satisfy any reasonable 
 person of their excellence. A Mr. MoCormick, of New Hamp- 
 shire, slaughtered one, seven months and ton days old, that 
 weighed three hundred and twenty-five pounds ; a Mr. Stearns 
 one, six months and ten days old, that weighed three hundred 
 and ninety-four pounds ; and Mr. Knapp, of Northampton, 
 Massachusetts, one, at fifteen months, that weighed five hundred 
 and fifteen pounds ; and a Mr. Fitcomb one, at nine months, 
 that weighed three hundred and twenty-five pounds — also, two 
 at seven months and thirteen days, which weighed two hundred 
 and sixty- two, and two hundred and ninety-six pounds. 
 
 We feel disposed to say something that will in a measure 
 relieve the swine family from the obloquy too often cast upon 
 them. If hogs were kept to the age of many other animals, and 
 the same pains were taken with them that we take with the ox 
 and horse in training them to useful labor ; or that we take 
 with the dog in teaching him to watch and hunt, the success 
 would, we have reason to believe, surpass any present imagi- 
 nation on the subject. When attempts are made for it, the 
 hog has not by any means been found insensible to habits of 
 docility or improvement. In proof of this, reference may be 
 had to the learned pigs, as they are called, used in public shows, 
 astonishing the spectators by their performances, such as ar- 
 ranging letters so as to form words, and other tricks indicative of 
 the animal's traetability. Mr. Youatt incorporates into his work, 
 on the Pig, the following narrative. Some thirty years ago, says 
 he, it was mentioned in the public papers, that a gentleman had 
 trained swine to run in his carriage, and actually drove four of 
 these curious steeds through London. And, he adds, that at a 
 much more recent date the market place of St. Albans, was 
 completely crowded, on one occasion, in consequence of an ec- 
 
182 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 centric old farmer, who resided some distance ofl] having entered 
 it in a small chaise cart drawn by four hogs at a brisk trot, which 
 pace they kept up a few times round the area of the market 
 place. They were driven to the Woolpack yard, and after 
 being unharnessed, were regaled with a trough of beans and 
 wash. A gentleman present offered fifty pounds for the whole 
 concern as it stood, but his offer was indignantly declined. In 
 about two hours the animals were reharnessed, and tlie old 
 farmer drove off with his unusual team. 
 
 Mr. Henderson gives an account, says Martin, in the Farmer's 
 Library, of the manner in which himself and his brother, when 
 boys, trained pigs for the saddle, and not only so, but for running 
 matches ; and, we do not think this to be a matter of much dif- 
 ficulty, for we have ourselves often seen pigs so docile as to 
 allow themselves to be mounted by children to whom they were 
 accustomed, and that without manifesting an insubordination or 
 impatience. The most extraordinary instance, however, of the 
 docility of the pig, and one which proves that it might become 
 valuable for other qualities, were it duly educated, than those 
 connected with its flesh, is given by Daniel in his Rural Sports. 
 It is an account of a New Forest Sow which was broke in like a 
 pointer to stand at game, and which, from the delicacy of her 
 scent, she would find when the dogs had been unsuccessful. 
 Thomas and Richard Toomer were concerned together, at the 
 time in question, in breaking pointers and setters ; some of their 
 own breeding, and others sent to be broke by different gentlemen.' 
 In some instances these dogs were intractable or slack. At one time 
 when impatient with want of success, a sowpasse'd along, which 
 on being fed by them evinced something in her manner that at- 
 tracted their notice. The thought came into their mind that 
 pos.sibly she might be trained for this very purpose, so as to do as 
 well as the animals to which they were devoting their attention. 
 The idea was followed up. She was put into a course of train- 
 ing ; and within a few days she would find rabbits and partridges 
 with great precision. She daily improved, and in a few weeks, 
 ■\vould retrieve birds that had run as well as the best pointer; 
 
THE FARM AND THE FtEESIBE. 183 
 
 and, it was said that her nose was superior to that of the best 
 pointer they ever possessed, and no two men in England had 
 better. 
 
 This sow was abeautiful creature for one of her species. Her 
 pace was mostly a trot, being seldom known to gallop, except 
 when called to go out shooting. She would then leave home at 
 full stretch for the forest. When called by a whistle or other- 
 wise, she obeyed as regularly as a dog, and was as much ani- 
 mated as a dog on being shown the gun. She always manifested 
 great pleasure when game, either dead or alive, was placed be- 
 fore her ; she frequently stood a single partridge at forty yards 
 distance, her nose in an exact line, and would continue in that 
 position until game moved. If it took wing she would come up 
 to the place and put her nose down two or three times, but if a 
 bird ran ofi, she would get up and go to the place and draw 
 slowly after it, and when the bird stopped she would stand it as 
 before. The two Toomers lived about seven miles apart, and 
 she would frequently go from the place of one to the place of the 
 other, unattended, as if to induce them to go out for game. 
 When her owner died she was five years old, and was then sold 
 for ten guineas. She lived till she was ten years old, and be- 
 came fat and slothful, but could point game as well as ever. 
 She was not used, except for show to strangers. When killed, 
 she weighed seven hundred pounds. Her death warrant was 
 signed in consequence of her having been accused of being in- 
 strumental to the disappearance of sundry neighboring lambs. 
 
 Mr. Martin remarks, that in the case of this animal, how- 
 ever much the hog is usually despised, we have a most extraor- 
 dinary example of docility and intelligence ; and it furnishes 
 evidence that, were the hog trained for to do so, it might, like 
 the elephant, perform many kinds of useful labor. Nevertheless, 
 for such purposes it is not generally needed ; and consequently, 
 except in a few isolated instances, its education is utterly neg- 
 lected ; all it has to do is to eat and sleep and become fat — its 
 utility to man commencing at its death by the knife of the butch- 
 er. Yet, even under the disadvantages in which the pig is 
 
184 THB FAH.M AND THE FIEESIDE. 
 
 placed — debarred its liberty, prevented from exercising its natu- 
 ral instincts, and undisciplined in the slightest degree — it mani- 
 fests both discernment and attachment ; it recognises the voice, 
 and even the footsteps, of its feeder, and is evidently pleased 
 ■with his notice. Instances of the attachment of pigs to parti- 
 cular persons, and even to other animals, are on record. The 
 senses of smell, taste in some cases, and hearing, are possessed 
 by the hog in great perfection. It is a common saying that 
 pigs can smell the coming storm ; and certain it is that they 
 are very sensitive of approaching changes in the vifeather. 
 They become agitated, hurry under shelter, and during the 
 continuance of the storm sometimes utter screams, run about 
 ■with straw in their mouth, or carry it to their sty as if to 
 add to their comfort and defence. Dr. Dar-win noticed this 
 peculiarity, and hence remarked, that it is a sure sign of a cold 
 ■wind -when pigs collect stravs' in their mouths, carrying it to 
 their beds for warmth, and, as it were, stimulating their com- 
 panions to do the same. And it is -well known to all, that 
 ■when cold they huddle together as closely as possible. 
 
 The natural term of a hog's life, says Gilbert White, is little 
 kno'wn, and the reason is plain, because it is neither profitable 
 nor convenient to keep that usually turbulent animal to the full 
 extent of its time. Ho'wever, he remarks, that a neighbor of his, 
 a man of means, ■who had no occasion nor disposition to look 
 very nicely into the cost of any matter to ■which his taste or 
 curiosity might lead him, kept ■what ■was called a half-bred 
 bantam sow till in her t"wentieth year, ■when she sho'wed signs 
 of age from the decay of her teeth, and the decline of her fer- 
 tility. For about ten years this prolific mother produced t^wo 
 litters a year, of about ten at a time, and once above t'wenty 
 at a litter ; but as there 'was nearly double the number of pigs 
 to that of teats, many died. From long experience in the world, 
 this female ■was become very sagacious and artful. When she 
 found occasion to associate ■with a boar, she used to open all the 
 intervening gates and march by herself -up to a distant farm 
 ■where one was kept, and when her purpose was accomplished 
 
THE PAEM AND THE FIRESIDE. 1S6 
 
 would return by the same means. At the age of about fifteen 
 her litters began to be reduced to four or five ; and such a litter 
 she exhibited when in her fatting pen. At a moderate computa-> 
 tion, she was allowed to have been the fruitful parent of threo 
 hundred pigs — a prodigious instance of fecundity in so large a 
 quadruped. She was killed in 1775. 
 
 Vancouver very judiciously says, there is no animal in the 
 whole economy of good husbandry that requires more attention 
 as to breed, number, and supply of food, or will better requite 
 the care and trouble of the farmer, than a well-managed and 
 proper stock of hogs. These things, however, are too much 
 overlooked, or rather disregarded, by farmers in general, though 
 all are ready to agree that an overstock in other respects must 
 prove fatal to his interests. Hogs are too frequently conceived 
 to be a trifling and unimportant part of the stock upon the farm ; 
 whereas, if their first cost and the value of their food were duly 
 considered with their improving value, it would certainly bear 
 them out against some of the more costly animals, and challenge 
 more care and attention than are usually bestowed upon them. 
 In the first place, attention should be paid to the breed ; but, 
 let the breed be what it may, a well proportioned stock to every 
 farm will most abundantly requite the care and repay the ex- 
 pense of th* necessary food provided for them. As important as 
 may be the breed, it is not less important that they should have 
 an ample supply of feed, and that they should have local 
 accommodations adapted to their nature and habits. 
 
 In addition to the profit of hogs, from the use of their flesh 
 and lard, which are staple articles for food, in some form or 
 other, in our own country and some others, too well understood 
 to need description, their skins and bristles might be made, and 
 are in some countries, sources of mercantile gain. The hide of 
 this animal, when tanned, is of a peculiar texture and very 
 tough. It is used in making pocket books, and for some orna- 
 mental purposes, but chiefly for covering saddles. The numer- 
 ous little variations in it, and which constitute its beauty, are 
 the orifices whence the bristles have been removed. As the 
 
186 THE FAHM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 common practice is to cook pork with the skin on, the quantity 
 of leather made from it will always he of a limited amount. 
 The bristles, too, of the best breed of hogs, are too fine and short 
 to answer the end for which they are indispensable. The shoe- 
 maker would be obliged to resort to some new device for 
 the accomplishment of his labors were he deprived of a coarse 
 and stiff bristle with which to point his thread. The finer kinds 
 will answer for brushes. The best bristles are taken from the 
 back of the animal ; and, it has been calculated that a pound 
 of them may be obtained from a full grown hog. Mr. Youatt 
 supposed that the bristles annually imported into England from 
 Russia and Prussia must require the slaughter of about a million 
 and three quarters of hogs. Those from the boar are best. 
 
 There is another circumstance connected with the keeping 
 of hogs on a i'arm, never to be overlooked by the agriculturist. 
 Their evacuations, both solid and liquid, may be rendered in 
 some cases an equivalent for the feed consumed by them, espe- 
 cially if there is a constant supply in their pens of litter and 
 other substances to be mixed with the dung and urine. This is 
 too frequently neglected ; but, to the farmer, it is of vast impor- 
 tance, if his lands require a large amount of manure. Those 
 who keep extensive piggeries thus supplied with materials to be 
 worked over into fertilisers will find an advantage'from swine 
 never to be disregarded ; and, nearly equal to what is obtained 
 from the horse-stable and cow-house. And even the mechanic, 
 or small farmer, who keeps but one or two pigs may obtain, in 
 this way, enough to enrich the soil of his garden. Decaying 
 vegetable, muck, straw, and indeed almost every substance that 
 can be named, are by hogs readily converted into the best of 
 manures. One of the principal items in our own list of articles 
 to be thus reduced into a useful material to be used in tillage is 
 leaves from a neighboring wood lot. Two hogs will so reduce 
 them to their original elements in a very short time, that half a 
 ton every week would be none too much for them. When 
 fresh they make the best of litter, always enabling the hogs to 
 be clean ; and, when unfit for that, may be removed and the 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 187 
 
 place supplied by a new stock. After a rain in the fall or winter, 
 when the ground is not covered with snow, leaves may he raked 
 up and put into stacks of two or three hundred weight each, and 
 there sufi'ered to remain, to be used as required. 
 
 It is one of the rational and humane conclusions to which all 
 sensible and Christian people should come, that an animal of so 
 general and great utility as the hog, should be treated with kind 
 regard. This should be done as a matter of interest to the 
 owner ; if not done, it must be apparent that his profits will be 
 diminished in proportion to the neglect. Such a policy pertains 
 to every description of productive investment and labor. It is 
 a part of the economy of nature itself. It is a part of that re- 
 gime under which man is placed. The earth requires his labor 
 to be productive, as well as the enlivening influences of moisture, 
 heat, and atmospheric action. Without this labor, and these 
 influences, where would be our crops ? We should seek for 
 them in vain I And whence should we obtain the means for 
 subsistence ? Those means would be wanting. It is partially 
 so in the animal kingdom. If many animals are enabled to 
 subsist in a wild state, it is well known that in a domesticated 
 condition they attain a higher degree of excellence, and high in 
 proportion to the care bestowed upon them. Perhaps in the 
 case of swine this is more apparent than with most other ani- 
 mals. Look at the wild boar and the old English hog ! Look 
 at the plump Chinese pig and some of our land sharks ! Look 
 at the well-fed Berkshires and Suflblks, and the various best 
 crosses in this country and in England, and then at the half- 
 starved alligators that herd about some poor farm-houses, and 
 we shall see how much depends on skill and care in rearing 
 these animals. 
 
 And in a moral view, not kindly to regard farm animals the 
 most useful to us, is a reproach to be abhorred ; a reproach in- 
 compatible with any claims for social virtue. Not to do it 
 would be degrading to the instincts of a savage. The Arab 
 who would plunder wandering pilgi-ims, when found traversing 
 the barren .sands of his birth-place, will never fail to caress the 
 
188 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 beautiful steed wliich does him service. The steed and his 
 owner will even repose beneath the same shade and drink at the 
 same brook. Were he to neglect or abuse that noble animal, 
 he would fear the curse of the Arabian Prophet, and that the 
 Crescent Banner would rise in judgment against him I 
 
 MONEY MADE BY FARMLXG. 
 
 One of the most hacknied abuses of agricultural labor is, 
 that money cannot be made from it. This is the common slang 
 of those who are too stupid or too indolent to secure to them- 
 selves from such labor the remuneration that would result from 
 skill, and enterprise, and perseverance. These very persons get 
 a living, somehow or other, from the soil ; it may be a living 
 without luxury or elegance, though favorable to health and mus- 
 cular vigor ; yet, were they depending for subsistence on many 
 other occupations, and to manifest as little talent and applica- 
 tion to judicious industry as they do on a farm, they would starve 
 to death, or be compelled to take shelter in an almshouse. The 
 mass of slanderers upon agriculture seem to imagine that getting 
 a living upon a farm is not making money. They do not seem 
 to consider that we do not eat silver and gold as we do beef- 
 steaks, mutton-chops, and potatoes. They do not seem to realize 
 that money is valuable only as the representative of property 
 that can be used in social and domestic economy — as the means 
 by which we may obtain what we need for food, or apparel, or 
 the other things wanted in life. 
 
 What is the diflerence between the farmer and the mechanic 
 in this respect ? It is simply this. The former raises his own 
 bread-stuffs and tubers, and the latter makes shoes, or chairs, or 
 ploughs, or wagons ; then sells them for cash ; then with the 
 money so received purchases those very articles produced by the 
 agriculturist. The process is, simply, an exchange of labor ; the 
 farmer works for the mechanic, and the latter wgrks for the 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 189 
 
 former, each depending on the other, in part at least, for what 
 he wants. "What is the difference between the farmer and the 
 doctor ? Very similar to that between the farmer and the me- 
 chanic. The one supplies the other with what he wants to eat, 
 drink, and wear ; and, in return, the last supplies the first with 
 jalaps, and powders, and tinctures, and liniments — and when 
 there is occasion for it, pulling his teeth, cutting off diseased 
 limbs, and restoring to its proper place a dislocated bone. And 
 what is the difference between the farmer and the merchant ? 
 It is pretty much of the same sort as in the two cases named. 
 The farmer supplies him with beef pork, lamb, veal, and poultry 
 for his table ; and, with wool, cotton, and flax, for his apparel. 
 In return, the merchant hands over to the farmer money with 
 which he pays his taxes, and procures for his family such articles 
 as he cannot raise upon his farm. And besides supplying his 
 own wants, the merchant takes all the surplus produce of the 
 farmer, and sells it out as wanted to others, either to those at 
 home or shipping it to foreign countries, paying him in cash for 
 it. Thus, as the merchant produces nothing himself, he is the 
 mere pedlar of the farmer and the mechanic, and gets his living 
 by selling the several commodities which they produce, at a 
 higher price than he pays for them. The farmer and the me- 
 chanic had better pay the merchant for being the factor and 
 pedlar of what they produce, than to spend their own time in 
 doing it. He can do this better than they can ; and they can 
 earn more in their respective vocations than in doing this. 
 
 This exchange of labor between the farmer and the three 
 classes of persons named is one of the beautiful and beneficial 
 features in civilized life and social economy. It is essentially 
 the same between the farmer and every other class of persons. 
 They are all living upon his labor, or are employed in complet- 
 ing the processes he has begun for sustaining the fabric of human 
 society. Without him they could not subsist. If they were to 
 fail of receiving his products, they all would cease to exist, or 
 else they would be obliged to become farmers themselves. This 
 is not mentioned to create odium against either class of persons 
 
190 THE FARM AKD THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 in the community, but simply to show the relation between all 
 classes, and the dependance severally of each upon any other 
 one. It is strange, therefore, that it should ever have been 
 imagined, that the occupation of the farmer is subordinate, or in 
 any respect less reputable than that of any other persons. If a 
 comparison were to be instituted, for which there is no occasion, 
 the advantage would be the other way. It would be found 
 that all othei-s would be subordinate to him, and in some mea- 
 sure dependant upon him. So far as respectability is concerned, 
 it may be proper to remark, that that depends not so much on 
 the occupation as it does on the character and talents of the 
 individual engaged in it. Any occupation, however respectable 
 and elevated in itself, may be degraded and rendered compara- 
 tively disreputable, by a want of character and talents in the 
 persons who have it in trust ; and, on the other hand, an occu- 
 pation that in itself is subordinate and seemingly without the 
 elements of high consideration, may be elevated and rendered 
 honorable when in the hands of those who have character and 
 honorable position to associate with it. 
 
 But with all these facts, lucid as the light of day, and irre- 
 fragable as mathematical demonstrations, there are persons, 
 who, to other slanders on agriculture, say no money can be made 
 by it. The assertion is without truth. The inference proceeds 
 from false premises. It originates in misguided conceptions. 
 As far as any foundation for it exists, it is in the want of skill 
 and industry applied to the soil, as already remarked. There 
 is, indeed, connected with other occupations, particularly with 
 merchandise, a show of money not seen about a farm. But it 
 is to be remembered that a smgle merchant may have passing 
 through his hands the produce of an hundred farmers. This 
 produce becomes to him a kind of capital. He may be in debt 
 lor it, whereas, many may consider it his own. Thus it gives 
 him credit. He raises money upon this credit, and hence may 
 always be flush in funds. Being thus flush in funds, he may 
 keep up an expensive family establishment, and spend a large 
 amount annually for public objects, as well as for his wife and 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. ]91 
 
 children. He passes off for a rich man ; but not more than 
 one in a hundred that do it, on having their estates closed by 
 executors or administrators, or, as it frequently happens, by as- 
 signees, will be found worth a dollar. The others have eaten 
 up all they earned, or else, as it too often appears, have lived on 
 the money belonging to others, not having had enough of their 
 own to purchase one of the little despised farms of the country. 
 This is the secret of such apparent wealth ; of such pompous 
 displays of money and of family expenditure. 
 
 The process of doing this is quite simple. An individual 
 having ample credit may purchase goods on long time to the 
 amount of one hundred thousand dollars. Some of these goods 
 he may sell without profit for cash ; some on short time for 
 small profits. This, it will be seen, may give him possession of 
 available funds to half the amount of his purchase. It ends 
 not here. Other purchases are made in the same way, from 
 each one deriving an augmentation of available funds as in the 
 first case, so that he may go on year after year, spending five or 
 six thousand dollars annually upon his family, and the deception 
 or the delusion, whichever it may be called, is not ordinarily dis- 
 covered till a general revulsion, or some mishap of his own, drives 
 him into bankruptcy, or till death closes the factitious, gilded 
 drama. All this intervening time, the farmer is grumbling that 
 the merchant makes all the mcney, and that he makes none ; 
 and, what is worse, the farmer's sons become half crazy to go 
 ofl' and play the game o{ getting rich ; whereas, when the day 
 of reckoning comes, it is found, that instead of wealth there is 
 absolute poverty, and not only poverty, but destitution of disposi- 
 tion and capacity in all the members of the family to get a liv- 
 ing as honest people should do it. Consequently they become 
 genteel paupers, too proud and too ignorant to labor — the great- 
 est nuisance ever permitted to have existence. 
 
 The business of buying and selling, or the occupation of a mer- 
 chant, is not a little like a great lottery. If one person out often 
 thousand who engage in it becomes rich, the fact becomes known far 
 and near, producing a feverish excitement in all the young men who 
 
192 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIBE. 
 
 hear of it, wherever they are, to engage in some career that 
 seems to promise a similar result, while the other nine hundred 
 and ninety-nine, who lost their labor and all they had, are never 
 once named or called to mind. So it is with lottery tickets ; the 
 individual who draws the highest prize becomes, as it were, a 
 public character, known at least by reputation throughout the 
 State where he lives, and his success stimulating multitudes of 
 others to hazard money in. the same game, while all who draw 
 blanlts or small prizes are never mentioned, and their want of 
 success has no influence whatever in deterring these multitudes 
 from similar disappointment. Now, let us suppose the institu- 
 tion of a lottery having thirty thousand tickets at ten dollars 
 each, making a fund, when sold, of three hundred thousand 
 dollars, one-third of it going to the object to be promoted by it, 
 and to the expenses attending it, and the other two-thirds to be 
 given in prizes, being probably the usual mode of apportionment. 
 There is one big prize of one hundred thousand dollars ; one of 
 five thousand ; ten of one thousand each ; ten of five himdred 
 each ; twenty of fifty each ; fifty of twenty each ; and five 
 thousand and five hundred of ten dollars each ; thus having 
 more than five blanks to one prize. Blanks and prizes are 
 usually apportioned in this way. 
 
 The idea of getting this hundred thousand dollar prize puts 
 thirty thousand persons mto an instantaneous panic. As rich 
 men do not buy lottery tickets, these persons are those of small 
 means, perhaps devoted to manual labgr. When the money to 
 be distributed was in the possession of those who earned it, each 
 one of the thirty thousand persons having ten dollars of it in his 
 own pocket, it made no show — no one supposed such an amount 
 existed. It was like the small sums in the hands of farmers 
 scattered all over the country ; not supposed to exist because 
 there was no ostentatious exhibition of them. But when this 
 three hundred thousand dollars is brought into one mass, and 
 one-third of it is given to one individual to enable him to set 
 up a rich man's establishment, it becomes a matter of general 
 notoriety ; all talk about it ; all are in ecstacies to obtain such 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. I93 
 
 a prize, even spending the money for a ticket in another lottery, 
 although it is wanted to procure bread for their families. In 
 the same manner, if one person in trade obtains one hundred 
 thousand dollars from trafficking upon the labors of farmers, all 
 are agog about him, and thousands of farmers' sons get into a tilt 
 to become merchants and get rich as he did, not thinking of the 
 tens of thousands not worth a dollar if their debts were paid, 
 nor are they deterred by this want of success from embarking 
 in some perilous career. 
 
 It is a most curious thing in philosophy that the wealth, or 
 the supposed wealth of merchants, should be so potent on the 
 minds of those who witness it, when real wealth" in the hands 
 of our yeomanry, to a far greater amount, is wholly unnoticed. 
 It is because one is chronicled in expensive ledgers and bank- 
 books, and the other is carried about in the breeches pocket of 
 those who own. In one case there is a display of fine broad- 
 cloth, a patent lever gold watch, and a thousand dollar span of 
 horses ; in the other case there is nought of display but of coarse 
 gingham, linsey-woolsey, and farm-wagons. Wealth in the 
 hands of plain farmers is like an old picture in some garret, but 
 when cleaned and oiled and put into an expensive gilt frame, is 
 like the wealth of merchants, gazed at by every one in seeing 
 distance. So it is with the wives and daughters of merchants ; 
 they are admired for their beauty, wit, and polished manners, 
 simply, because they are dressed up in silks and laces, and are 
 surrounded by rich sofas, ottomans, lounges, mirrors, and chan- 
 deliers ; while the wives and daughters of farmers, possessed of 
 infinitely more real personal beauty, are unobserved, or are pro- 
 nounced coarse and vulgar, because they are attired in calico, 
 and are not ashamed to be seen in the performance,of domestic 
 labor. It is a fact well known to all, who have the means of 
 observation, that an exposure to the pure air of the country is 
 peculiarly favorable to female beauty as well as health — ^to 
 ruddy cheeks, bright eyes, elastic steps ; full womanly develop- 
 ments, and sweet breath, like that of the delicious flowers whose 
 odors are inhaled ; while in the city girls grow up resembling 
 
194 THE FARM AND THE FIKESIDE. 
 
 plants secluded from the light and the air, pale, fragile, and in- 
 fertile, and with breath foul and feverish. One might as well 
 attempt to have a good flower and vegetable garden in his cel- 
 lar, as to raise well-formed and healthy women shut up for life 
 in the confined air of the city. 
 
 Agricultural wealth is overlnoked, or not supposed to exist 
 because it is in small sums ; or, if known thus to exist, it is 
 comparatively despised by those who wish to be thought rich, 
 when in reality poor. Earely does a farmer pretend to be 
 worth more than he is — oftener does he estimate his property 
 below its real value ; whereas, the mass of persons in trade, 
 especially those who are insolvent, use eveiy means possible to 
 be thought wealthy — sometimes living extravagantly and being 
 profuse in charities, lest it should be suspected they are poor — in 
 reality spending more than they would if they owned all they 
 possess^-from the fact that their business depends upon their 
 credit, which depends on such a public delusion as originates in 
 these systematic deceptions. Hence, an hundred young farmers 
 who own each one thousand are looked upon as a species of 
 paupers ; and, although they are all industrious, they could, if 
 they wanted it, obtain no more credit than one or two hundred 
 each, unless they had endorsers, or would secure the payment by 
 mortgage on their property ; but let this hundred thousand dol- 
 lars come into the hands of one man, and they all become tenants 
 to him, and he can have credit of two hundred thousand dollars 
 at least — double of all he is worth, although in the other case, 
 they could obtain no more than about one-tenth of what they 
 are worth. How absurd ! Such humbuggery is the staple 
 commodity in certain classes in society ; the very ones that 
 give tone to public sentiment I 
 
 The estimate is a moderate one, when we assume it as a 
 fact, that in an agricultural community, there is on an average 
 five hundred dollars to each individual, or three thousand dollars 
 to each family of six persons. We entertain no doubt that this 
 is at least fifty per cent, below the real amount ; yet, at this va- 
 luation of rural wealth, with a population of fourteen millions to 
 
THE FARM .AND THE FIEESIDE. 195 
 
 ■whom this v/ealth belongs, we have an aggregate of property 
 amounting to six thousand millions of dollars ! This is the es- 
 tate of our American farmers, so despised by dandies and brain- 
 less women, as well as by insolvent mercantile gamblers. It 
 would be difhcult, if not impossible, with any data before us, to 
 estimate the mercantile wealth of the country; and if we could 
 do it, its value is depending on so many contingencies, and hence 
 is so fluctuating, that what might be a truthful valuation in one 
 year might the next year be fifty per cent, too high or too low. 
 In a year of financial expansion there is a phrenzied excitement 
 in all kinds of business, and prices of every kind range high. 
 The minds of mercantile men become inflated, and they suppose 
 themselves far richer than they were before. But in a year of 
 financial contraction, or of panic from any other cause, trade 
 becomes palsied, it may be there will be commercial revulsion 
 and frightful bankruptcy, prices ranging low, and mercantile 
 men estimating their property far less than they did before. 
 With such vicissitudes farmers have only a remote connection. 
 • Our remarks on this subject thus far are predicated on the 
 common assumption, that money cannot be made by farmers 
 only in very small sums, and by slow processes. This we con- 
 sider an error. Our belief is, that agriculture^ pursued in a. 
 proper manner, not only yields a competent living with small 
 annual accumulations, but in proportion to the capital invested, 
 and inversely to the hazards attending it, there may be large 
 accumulations, equal, and even more than equal, to the profits 
 of any ordinary merchandize. There have been so many cases 
 of it, that there is no resisting the conclusion we have drawn 
 from them. These cases, too, were not the result of accident, 
 or of any novelty in the articles produced, or of any unusual 
 conjunction of circumstances, not susceptible of application to 
 the universal capabilities of the soil on the one hand, and the 
 unvarying wants of the community on the other hand. Could 
 all the cases of this description be brought together ; could they 
 be held up to the gaze and admiration of the community, like 
 large mercantile accumulations ; and if there could be any geri^- 
 
198 THE FARM AND THE FIKESIBE. 
 
 ral concentration of the public mind to them, as in the other 
 case, the fact would everywhere be conceded. Only a very 
 Email portion of ihem are ever presented to the public eye ; and 
 even those brought to light through the agency of our agricul- 
 tural journals and agricultural fairs, make, in many instances, 
 but faint impressions ; either their truth is doubted, or else they 
 are ascribed to some spasmodic effort, from which general in- 
 ferences cannot be drawn. 
 
 It is now proposed to exhibit a few instances of the profit of 
 agriculture illustrative of our theory. We take those of recent 
 occurrence, because the impression they made on our own mind 
 is the more fresh, and those so well authenticated, it is not possi- 
 ble that our readers can cherish a doubt concerning their relia- 
 ,bility. The first one we shall select is that of D. D. T. More, of 
 the town of Watervliet, N.Y., a few miles to the west of Albany. 
 Here Mr. More has a farm of one hundred and eighty-five and a 
 half acres, which, at the Fair of the New- York State Agricul- 
 tural Society, in 1850, took the second premium. This farm 
 has been in his possession and occupation for the last seven 
 years, and during that period has presented one of the most 
 striking examples of successful and profitable improvement ever 
 known. Still, if the owner could accomplish so much others 
 may do the same. If a farm in Watervliet can yield such pro- 
 fit, so can thousands of farms elsewhere, when similarly situated. 
 Previous to the purchase of this farm by Mr. More, it had been 
 for fifty years subjected to an exhausting course, under the leases 
 of various tenants — the annual rent of the whole farm being 
 but one hundred dollars, and that deemed too large a sum by 
 the tenant — as the whole amount of produce was only worth 
 from four to five hundred dollars a year. In fact, Mr. More 
 bought the place in opposition to the advice of all his friends, 
 who deemed it impossible that the land could afford him and 
 his family a living. But, notwithstanding the soil was so re- 
 duced, that while beans was almost the only crop he could at 
 first raise, yet his clear judgment and practical knowledge in- 
 duced him to make the purchase, at sixty dollars per acre, and 
 
THE FARM AND THE PIRESIBE. 197 
 
 the result has more than reahsed his anticipations. He has 
 not only hrought his own farm to a fine state of cultivation, 
 making, as will be seen, a little fortune already for himself, 
 but his example has produced an entire change in agriculture 
 in his own neighborhood, raising the price of land there to 
 more than douile what it was when he removed thither. 
 
 EXPENSES OF D. D. T. MORe's FARM, 1850. 
 
 407 days of labor, at fifty cents a day, - $202.50 
 
 Labor hired by the year and the month, - - 665.00 
 
 Wages of one girl a year and another one four mos., 68.00 
 600 bushels of oats at forty-one cents per bushel, 205.00 
 Blacksmith's bill, .... 97.81 
 
 Bill for groceries, shoes, and dry goods, - 357.00 
 
 12 bushels of grass seed, at $2.25 per bushel, - 39.00 
 Bill for 10 bushels of clover seed, at $4.50, - 45.00 
 
 12 bushels of seed wheat, at $1.25 per bushel, - 15.00 
 Bill for seed corn and garden seeds, - • 10.00 
 
 26 bush, of seed buckwheat at C2|- cents, - 16.25 
 
 State and School taxes, - - - 31.22 
 
 Insurance in Mutual Ins. Co., average about - 4.50 
 Depreciation of farming tools, - - 100.00 
 
 Bill for tons of plaster, - - - - 10.00 
 
 1,000 bushels of lime, at 4 cents, - - 40.00 
 
 Grains for cows, .... 119.17 
 
 Bill for hay purchased in April, - - 75.00 
 
 $2,174.35 
 
 CASH RECEIVED BY D. D. T. MORE, ON ACCOUNT OF FARM, 1850. 
 
 363 bunches of asparagus, at eleven cents, - 163.66 
 Received from produce of 5 acres of sweet corn, 257.33 
 
 610 bushels of rye, at sixty-nine cents, - 410.90 
 
 Melons, pumpkins, and citron melons sold, - 148.00 
 
 From 831 bushels of buckwheat, at 44 cents, 365.44 
 
 Received for raspberries sold, - - 31.25 
 
 Value of' potatoe crop, - - 100.00 
 
 1,240 bush. Indian Corn, at 65 cents, - 806.0Q 
 
J 98 THE FARM AND THE FIUESIDE, 
 
 Milk sold from an average of 30 coWs, 9 mohtlis, 1,629.81 
 
 From the sale of 64 bushels of wheat, 
 
 Sold five tons of hay, . . - 
 
 Sold five loads of stravi^, 
 
 From 4,920 lbs. of broom corn brush. 
 
 From the sale of pigs. 
 
 Value of straw not used on farm, 
 
 Corn stalks sold, not required on the farm, 
 
 Twelve tons of clover-hay sold, 
 
 Chickens and eggs sold. 
 
 Vie plant sold, . . - 
 
 Received for peaches sold, . - - 
 
 Twenty-five calves sold at one dollar each, 
 
 Received for pasturage. 
 
 Work by teams and men during the State Fair, 
 
 Work done for S. Van Rensselaer, 
 
 1401bs. butter, at 18f cents pound, 
 
 Total Receipts of farm for 1860, - 1 
 
 Amount of expenditures for ditto, 
 
 Nett profits of D. D. T. More's farm, 1850, $2,678.16 
 
 The above is a statement given in under oath, to the New- 
 York-State Agricultural Society, when applying for a premium. 
 From the accompanying remarks made by Mr. More, it appears 
 that the nett profit of an acre of strawberries was over two hun- 
 dred dollars. From fifty square rods of land in an asparagus 
 bed, besides supplying his family with this delicious esculent, he 
 received for what was sold 169.66, being at the rate of about 
 one hundred and sixty dollars to the acre, besides what was used 
 by himself The health of Mr. More, during the period of his 
 owning this farm, has been so feeble that he has made no at- 
 tempt at manual labor, which proves to be untrue what is fre- 
 quently said, that if a farmer does make money, it is the result 
 of his own personal toil. However, although Mr< More did not 
 ptherwise toil, he ever exercised the most vigilant supervision 
 
 64.62 
 
 - 40.00 
 
 5.00 
 
 250,00 
 
 40.00 
 
 . 100.00 
 
 100.00 
 
 72.00 
 
 - 40.00 
 
 11.25 
 
 10.00 
 
 - 25.00 
 
 18.50 
 
 117.30 
 
 114.00 
 
 - 26.25 
 
 14,852.61 
 
 2,174.35 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. J99 
 
 over the labor of others, showing the truth of the proverb, that 
 the eye of the master will do move work on a farm than his 
 hands. And, in addition to his own feeble health, he has had 
 but little aid from his family, which consisted of a wife and five 
 children, the oldest at the period being only fourteen years of 
 age. And to show that he was not possessed of wealth or cash 
 means to enable him to accomplish what he did on this worn 
 out land, it is sufficient to add, that when he purchased it, he 
 parted with all the money he had, or could raise, leaving him 
 in debt, so that he had more annual interest to pay than the 
 tenant had paid for rent. Besides, when he purchased, all the 
 fences were rotted down, and the buildings were less than one 
 hundred dollars in value. Of course the existing fences and 
 buildings, which are very ample, ate new, and, as well as the 
 improvements of the farm, have been made from the profits of 
 the farm. On the whole, this is a demonstration that money 
 can be made by farmers, on a large scale as well as on a small 
 one. 
 
 The next illustration selected is that of the Cypress Farm, 
 BO called from having in growth a native cypress tree, situated 
 in Ontario County, N. Y., consisting of one hundred and fifty 
 acres of land — sixty-six being for tillage, twelve in low meadow 
 and pasture, sixty in timber, and the other twelve acres being 
 waste land. This farm belongs to Elisha M. Bradley, and in 
 1850 was valued at $7,500 The expenses of managing the 
 farm that year were, $1,242.50 ; and this sum included $525.00 
 for interest on the valuation, $300 for his own services, and 
 $335 for hired help. The income of the farm that year was 
 $2,702.37 ; in this sum was included $35-1.70 for wool sold — 
 $319,30 for wheat sold — $275 for Indian Corn sold— 1240 for 
 hay sold — and $620 for cedar timber sold from swamp. Thus 
 it will be seen, that this farm of Mr. Bradley, in the interior, 
 without the advantage of a city market, yielded a nett profit 
 of $1,459.87, equal to nine dollars and seventy-three cents per 
 acre after paying interest and taxes, and the owner for his own 
 time. 
 
200 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 For a third illustration, the Blue Pond Farm is selected, 
 situated in Wheatland, Monroe, County, N. Y., and owned by 
 Rawson Harmon. The whole farm contains two hundred and 
 forty-nine acres — seventy of which are swamp and timber land, 
 and thirteen are covered by the pond from which its name is 
 derived. The expenses of Mr. Harmon's farm in 1850, were 
 $915,50; including $400.75 for hired labor— $251 for family 
 clothing, furniture, and groceries — $97 for blacksmith's work — 
 $52.75 for taxes — six dollars for Agricultural Papers — and 
 $21 for expenses in attending Agricultural Fairs. The receipts 
 of the farm that year were $2,548.99 ; including $1,170.25 for 
 wheat sold— $513,80 for wool sold— $348 for 24 bucks sold, 
 being $12 each — and $84 for 28 ewes sold, being three dollars 
 each. The nett profits of this farm that year will stand 1)1,633,- 
 49 — a pretty fair business we apprehend, after supporting the 
 family, and encountering none of the anxieties and hazards of 
 trade. One of the secrets of his success is, undoubtedly, in his 
 free use of agricultural newspapers — the six dollars paid ibr them 
 in his list of expenses, could have furnished him with six or 
 eight, as a dollar is the common price, and the Plough and the 
 Genesee Farmer, two of the best, cost only fifty cents each a 
 year. Mr. Harmon's creed is to improve the mind as well as 
 the soil. This will always ensure success. 
 
 For a fourth case we take the farm of C. P. Holcomb, Esq. 
 He is a lawyer, formerly of Philadelphia, we believe, but a good 
 farmer. The farm of which we now speak consists of three 
 hundred and twenty acres, and is situated in Newcastle, Del. 
 Eight years ago it was purchased by him for the small sum of 
 $2,400, it having been so run down and exhausted, as to be in 
 the estimation of many, comparatively worthless. It was said, 
 that when the purchase was made not enough of hay or straw 
 could be found on it for a hen's nest. It has since been con- 
 ducted by hired labor solely, the owner living on another farm, 
 thirty miles distant. Yet, by a judicious expenditure of time, 
 and a proper system of crops, the value of this farm has been 
 raised to |6,000, besides paying all expenses, and leaving a 
 
Till'. F,\Il.M AXD THE FIRESIDE. ggi 
 
 surplus of profits. It is now iii a condition to continue to be 
 profitable, although the former owner could not support his 
 family upon the place. So much for the proper mode of 
 farruing. Mr, Holcomh's cows during the summer give an 
 average of sixteen quarts of milk each per day, and that pro- 
 duces a pound of butter each per day. He has one cow that 
 gives twenty-two quarts a. day in the summer : and her milk is 
 so rich, eleven quarts of it make a pound of butter. 
 
 In the American Agriculturist of September, 1850, is an. 
 account of Tyler Fountain's farm, well worthy the attention of 
 our readers. It was published to stimulate farmers to a spirit 
 of rural enterprise and improvement, as it shows them what 
 can be done by proper eflbrts. Mr. Fountain's farm is in Peeks- 
 kill, N.Y., and contains only eighty-three acres, of which, thir- 
 teen are wood and pasture. In 1819 he raised thirty-five tons 
 of buy, estimated at SI 2 per ton ; 425 bushels of Indian Corn, 
 at 62 per bushel ; 450 bushels of oats, at 40 cents per bushel ; 
 60 bushels of rye, at 75 cents per bushel ; 100 barrels of pota- 
 toes, at $1.50 ])er barrel ; 2,200 poiaids of pork, at six. cents per 
 pound; profits from his cows were S150 ; cattle sold, at $60 ; 
 and apples sold, at §125 ; — the amount of all was Si, 527. For 
 hired labor he paid $150, so that there was remaining vl,377 
 for his profits. 
 
 Next in order we give the statistics of a farm in Newtown, 
 Bucks County, Penn. It is owned by Mr. James C. Corning. 
 The farm consists of 123 acres, and the products sold from it in 
 1848 wore as follows; 516 bushels of wheat, at $620 ; 50 bushels 
 of rye, at $iO ; 1000 bushels of oats, at 375; 1,037 bushels of 
 Indian Corn, at $C21 ; 4 bushels of Timothy seed, at $16 ; 100 
 bushels of potatoes, at $60 ; 500 bushels of apples, at S125 ; 70 
 tons of hay at $840 ; sheep and lambs, at $25 ; 14 calves, at 
 $95 ; 20 swine at $240 ; poultry and eggs, at SI 25 ; and 3,708 
 pounds of butler, from February to October, at $948.58 — in all 
 $4,150.58. On the 12th of that year he had remaining on his 
 farm the following stock — five horses, two colts, twenty milch 
 cows, one bull, two heifers, ten sheep, and one breeding sow. 
 
202 'i'HE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 TKe expenses of the farm were not given by Mr. Corning, but 
 if they were in the same proportion to the receipts, as in the 
 previous ones, the net profits must have been large. 
 
 To diversify the character of this article, we here introduce, 
 mostly in the .language of the Indiana Farmer, a farming scene in 
 the West. About eight years ago, says the writer, a Dutchman, 
 whose only English was a good-natured " yes" to every possible 
 question, got employment as a stable man. His wages, six dol- 
 lars and board, that was thirty-six dollars in six months, for not 
 one cent did he spend. He washed his own shirt and stockings, 
 mended and patched his own breeches, paid for his tobacco by 
 odd jobs, and laid by his wages. The next six months, being 
 now able to talk decent English, he obtained eight dollars a 
 month ; and at the end of six more had forty-eight dollars ; mak- 
 ing in all, for the year, eighty-four dollars. The second year, by 
 varying his employment — sawing wood in the winter, working 
 for the corporation in the summer, and making gardens in the 
 spring — he laid by one hundred dollars ; and the next year one 
 hundred and fifty-five dollars ; making, in three years, three hun- 
 dred and ninety-four dollars. With this he bought eighty acres 
 of land. It was as wild as when the deer fled over it and the 
 Indian pursued him. How should he get a living while clear- 
 ing it ? Thus he did it. He hires a man to clear and fence 
 ten acres ; he himself remains in town, to earn money to pay 
 for clearing. In two year's time he has twenty acres well cleared 
 and fenced, a log house and a stable, and money enough to buy 
 stock and tools. He now rises another step in the world, for 
 he gets married, and with his ample, broad-faced, good-natured 
 wife, he gives up the town, and is a regular farmer. Thus, in 
 five years, from a state of absolute destitution, he becomes the 
 owner in fee simple of a good farm, with comfortable fixtures, 
 a prospect of rural wealth, an independent life, and, by the 
 blessing of Heaven and his wife, of an endless posterity. 
 
 The profits of a farm in Medford, Mass., owned by Mr. 
 George E. Adams, are worthy of a place in this chapter. He 
 is a young man who pursues his business for the profit ; and 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 203 
 
 the energy and judicious arrangements evinced by him are a 
 sure guaranty that his reward will be most ample. His farm 
 consists of 160 acres, and is chiefly devoted to the production 
 of milk and apples. His stock consists of fifty-five cows, a 
 yoke of oxen, and five horses. The annual sales of milk have 
 amounted to $6,500, and in one year to #6,000. The apple 
 orchard contains fifteen acres. The trees have been well man- 
 aged — are large and generally bear abundantly. In some 
 seasons he has picked 1,000 barrels of winter apples, and in 
 one season sold them at two dollars per barrel. His Baldwin 
 apples are usually sold for shipment to Calcutta. He has re- 
 cently added a peach and pear orchard, not yet come to full 
 bearing condition. Mr. Adams adopts a most enlightened policy 
 in every thing tending to increase his products or to diminish 
 the labor requisite on his establishment. His main barn is 
 160 feet long and 40 feet wide, with a cellar under the whole ; 
 and wafer is brought to the buildings by means of a small 
 wind-mill, which works a pump, and keeps a large reservoir con- 
 stantly filled. 
 
 It is not necessary to our purpose to make further addi- 
 tions of the same kind. There are in our country thousands 
 of cases equally in point. They might be selected in reference 
 to every branch of rural economy. The profits of agriculture 
 are not confined to anyone branch, or to any particular locality; 
 they are within the reach of all, who use the means that may 
 be used ; premising, that some branches will be more productive 
 in one locality, and others in another one ; the preference to be 
 adopted for either being easily determined on correct principles, 
 by all persons of ordinary intelligence. For instance, it is ap- 
 parent that articles liable to perish, before they can be sent to 
 market, should never be cultivated remotely in the interior. As. 
 paragus, strawberries, raspberries, and other things liable to de- 
 cay or to lose their goodness speedily, should always be raised 
 near the place where they are to be consumed, or where they 
 can be taken to it by rail-road in a few hours. The same 
 may be said of milk, unless it is to be converted into butter 
 
204 THE FARM AMD THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 or cheese ; and, when produced for butter and cheese it should 
 as evidently be produced in remote localities, where land and 
 labor are cheap. If a farmer were to get up a dairy farm in 
 the vicinity of a large city ; or if he were to have a sheep 
 farm there ; or, if he were to raise cattle and horses there, 
 where land is worth two or three hundred dollars an acre, it is 
 apparent that those living where land is worth only ten or 
 fifteen dollars an acre, could produce butter and cheese and 
 beef and mutton and wool and horses at a far lower rate, and 
 could of course undersell him in the market. Hence to him 
 it would be a ruinous business, while to them it would be a 
 profitable one. The same rule applies in multitudes of cases ; 
 but, any one of common sense may make the application. 
 
 It is frequently said that merchants as a general thing can- 
 not afford to do business on borrowed capital ; that the interest 
 to be paid on this capital consumes so much of the profits of 
 trade, and that the most they can ordinarily do, is to support 
 their families as an offset for their labor, not expecting to grow 
 rich or to lay up money from it. There may be exceptions, but 
 they are few. In most cases where persons become rich in 
 trade, it is from beginning in a very small way, working hard 
 and living cheap, till something is saved from the profits, to be 
 used subsequently as a capital in more enlarged operations ; or 
 it is made, where the hazards are great, as in the purchase of 
 lottery tickets, and where one here succeeds, thousands and tens 
 of thousands, lose their all in the experiment. If a man with 
 four or five thousand dollars were to go into a small or retail 
 trade, build his own fires, sweep his own floors, and carry in the 
 evening with his own hands, the goods sold to the doors of the 
 purchasers ; and if his wife were to be her own maid and 
 washwoman, and tailoress, and assistant shopkeeper to her 
 husband, so as to save the expense of female servants, tailors, 
 and clerks, no doubt he might acquire property, and now and 
 then, as others have done, become rich. This is the way that 
 Stephen Gerard, John Jacob Astor, Samuel Butler, W^illiam 
 Gray, and William Bartlett did. But woe to that man who 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 205 
 
 Undertakes to become rich on trade with a five thousand dollar 
 capital, if he does ail the labor by hired clerks, depends on a 
 professed amateur of the brush for shining boots, and sports 
 "with his horse and carriage, while his wife is decked off from 
 morning till night in her silks, and has her house filled with a 
 cook and chambermaid, with a family seamstress and a dress- 
 maker, as well as with nursery woman and a man servant. 
 
 The question now naturally presents itself, how can a person 
 best establish himself upon a capital of four or five thousand 
 dollars. If he put this sum into stocks, or bond and mortgage, 
 he cannot live upon the interest. With such an income, he 
 cannot support a family. The idea of supporting a family on 
 three hundred dollars a year as persons owning that amount of 
 property generally wish to live, is absurd. Nor is this sum in 
 trade worth much, if any, more than at lawful interest. In 
 trade, interest and principal together would support a family 
 only two or three years at most, living as most persons called 
 merchants do live. But let an active, enterprising young man 
 have five thousand dollars with which to purchase stock, and 
 improve a farm, and he will be completely independent, and by 
 the time he is forty, he will be comparatively rich. With such 
 an outfit, industry, and good management on the farm and in 
 the house, persons may lay up five hundred dollars every year 
 with the utmost ease, especially when they commence and have 
 no young children to support. Afterwards they will have the 
 benefit of these accummulations, to aid them as their families 
 become more expensive. Most of the individuals referred to 
 had not half that sum with which to begin their farming oper- 
 ations ; and yet they laid up on an average, more than double 
 of five hundred dollars. 
 
 There is another beautiful feature in the pursuit of agricul- 
 ture. In other pursuits there is danger of their being crowded. 
 If crowded, disagreeable and unhealthy competitions result 
 Profits are reduced from a general reduction of prices, till at 
 length there is ditfiiculty in getting a living from any legitimate 
 business. To obviate this the regular business is enlarged, or 
 
206 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 something having no kindred with it is attached to it or en- 
 graited upon it. In both instances the result may be inauspi- 
 cious. If the former is done, sales are not only made at re- 
 duced prices, but frequently on doubtful or long credit instead 
 of cash or on short and good credit. All know that this is 
 ruinous. If the latter is the alternative, the regular business iS 
 usually neglected. It is by no means difficult to anticipate the 
 final consequence of either of these alternatives. But in a moral 
 view there is something still worse to be dreaded. Each is apt 
 to look upon his competitor as ruining his own business. Hence 
 jealousies will arise, and not only jealousies, but ill will and dis- 
 cord. The pleasures of social life will be impaired ; and to a 
 considerable extent, the sentiment of universal brotherhood, at 
 least among those of the same occupation, or of rival and con- 
 flicting interests, will cease to exist. Instead of (he warm 
 hearts among the congregations of those who meet on change 
 or in the marts of trade ; instead of the kind greetings with 
 which all should there commingle, each is apt to cast his eye 
 stealthily and suspiciously upon all of kindred pursuits and 
 kindred interests ; instead of the sjoontaneous and ailectionate 
 uprising of the human bosom, whicli should be there as well as 
 upon the altar of friendship, to impart its odorous breath to all 
 around, there is diffused a poisonous vapor, impregnating the 
 Boul with the seeds of moral death. 
 
 In the pursuits of agriculture there is none of this deleter- 
 ious tendency. In them there is no occasion for jealousy- 
 There is ample space for all disposed to take jiart in them. 
 The idea of more being produced from the earth than is neces- 
 sary to support its inhabitants, never enters the mind. The 
 apprehension is, that after all that can be produced there will 
 be a deficiency ; that in some places there may be famine and 
 starvation. And, whoever dreamed that the fundamental arti- 
 cles for sustaining life will ever be too cheap. When was ever 
 beef, pork, and other meats — or breadstufTs — or potatoes and 
 the kindred esculents too abundant to supply the wants of the 
 masses, whose means for procuring them are scanty I The 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 2C7 
 
 prices of most of these staples have tripled, all have doubled, 
 and some have quadrupled in our own life time ; and the ten- 
 dency of these prices is still upward, notwithstanding all the 
 improvements made in agriculture. To render them perma- 
 nently less, no one dares to expect ; and, it is scarcely to be 
 expected that upward advances will not be habitually witnessed. 
 How can it be otherwise, especially in our own country, where 
 population is rolhng in upon us like the waves of the sea 1 If 
 the future is to be like the past in this respect, the time is not 
 distant when millions in our country, as in the old ones, will 
 scarcely be able to procure the means upon which to sustain 
 life. To supply the increased demand for provisions to support 
 our fast increasing population, there must be unwearied efforts 
 to increase the fertility of the soil, and to augment the number 
 of those who have the care of it. 
 
 Hence, among, farmers there is no disposition to be alarmed 
 when their numbers are multiplied, and when the crops are 
 augmented. The more enlightened and successful of them, on 
 the other hand, rejoice to observe all indications of improve- 
 ment. When did a i'armer ever get a patent for raising a great 
 crop of wheat or corn ? If it is the result of any discovery of 
 his own, he forthwith reveals the secret, that others may avail 
 themselves of the benefit of it, causing it to be as free as the air 
 of heaven. So in everything else. Each endeavors to stimu- 
 late his neighbors by his own success. On this account there is 
 ordinarily among them a fraternal feeling, a general and harmo- 
 nious co-operation in their labors ; all being co-laborers with the 
 Supreme Being in supplying the wants and promoting the hap- 
 piness of the human family. Is there no pleasure in this, to be 
 even more than a balance against any extra toils or privations 
 in the farmer's life ? We think there is ; and we challenge 
 those in crowded occupations, where competition and rivalry are 
 nearly ruinous to success, to produce in social life a feature so 
 lovely, so elevating, and so benignant as that here set forth in 
 rural economv ! 
 
208 THE FARM AND THE PIRESIBS. 
 
 THE VILLAGE SUNDAY SCHOOL, 
 
 The establishment of Sunday Schools, although compara- 
 tively of recent origin, has already done much in mitigating the 
 evils of poverty. Indeed these schools were designed to elevate 
 the poorer classes, by dispelling from them the ignorance to 
 which they seemed to he allied ; especially an ignorance of reli- 
 gion, without a knowledge of which they could be expected to 
 rise only a little above the level of brutes. Where such a mo- 
 ral degradation was found, with it was also found a social de- 
 gradation, but little less to be deplored, because it presented a 
 broad gulph which few only would be enabled to pass, before 
 they could enjoy the means for any general mental illumination. 
 And, the fact has become proverbial, that intellectual without 
 moral elevation is rather detrimental than beneficial to society; 
 it is simply a qualification, not to do good, but to do mischief in 
 the world ; an engine, not to augment and render more stable 
 the good already existing there, but to demolish it, and to erect 
 on its ruins an empire of anarchy and blood. 
 
 Those not familiar with the state of society — or rather, with 
 the poorer laboring classes of it — during the first ten years of 
 the present century, and the last twenty-five years of the pre- 
 vious centurj', cannot realise the necessity that then existed for 
 such an ameliorating agent for this benevolent work, as the 
 Sunday School. The importance of general education was not 
 then felt as it now is. At that period the public mind had 
 scarcely begun to emerge I'rom many of the shadows of the dark 
 ages. During those ages learning had been shut up in clois- 
 ters or confined to privileged classes. Others did not generally 
 deem it necessary ; and the poor were unable to obtain it, how- 
 ever desirous they might have been. In manufacturing dis- 
 tricts, where children were confined to labor, for twelve or four- 
 teen hours each day, from one Sunday to another, and thus year 
 after year, it became a natural consequence, that in such masses, 
 the physical and mental powers lost their individuality, and 
 were, to an alarming extent, rather moved like inert manner 
 
THE FAKM AND THE FIEESIDE. 209 
 
 than like free and responsible agents. Had the social influences 
 thus generated continued without abatement, even at the present 
 day, there would be seen, especially in such localities, the most 
 alarming exhibitions of human degradation and crime. How 
 could it have been otherwise ? The short intervals not devoted 
 to confinement and toil in the six working days, seemed to render 
 it a matter of necessity, that the remaining day in seven should 
 be used solely for physical relaxation. Plence, the mind was 
 wholly neglected, and there was no inducement in all these 
 congregated multitudes to rise above the barriers that so closely 
 and so firmly entrenched them. 
 
 The Sunday School was primarily designed to. take the 
 supervision of these children on their day of release from con- 
 finement, to give them the elements of a common education, and 
 by causing them to undergo -ablutions and to be decently clad, 
 to inspire in them a feeling of self-respect, on which alone can 
 there bo any well grounded hope of thorough improvement. 
 The design originated in the purest benevolence, and it embraced a 
 scheme predicated on the soundest principles of common sense and 
 philosophy. Rarely can we expect to render any moral service of 
 value to an individual, and especially to a class of individuals, 
 unless there exists with them a respect for themselves. If this 
 feeling does not exist, the first effort to be made is to inspire it ; 
 for without it, our labors will neither be appreciated by those 
 for whose benefit they arc intended, or remunerative to those 
 who perform them. At the period of -which we are speaking, 
 these children were generally ragged and filthy, and their pa- 
 rents were too poor or too indifferent to their comfort and res- 
 pectability, to be instrumental in promoting for them any 
 change. This change, as well as the labor of instructing them, 
 was to be a work of charity. Accordingly, those who wore to 
 be the teachers Avere also to be the solicitors of the means, if not 
 able themselves to furnish them, for rendering their pupils decent 
 in appearance. Adults, if ragged and filthy, and especially if 
 stupid and vicious, are naturally the objects of disgust and 
 aversion, while children, having these repulsive attributes, are 
 
210 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 as commonly the objects of pity and assidious commiseration. 
 This we all know from experience. 
 
 The spectator of the external changes wrought, especially 
 by the first Sunday Schools, could not have failed of experiencing 
 pleasure, though he might not have realized the internal change 
 in progress. A contrast cannot he imagined more striking and 
 impressive, than the presentation in the streets, or about the 
 livery stables, or at the entrances to the garrets and cellars 
 where they dwell, on a Sunday morning, of a few hundred chil- 
 dren, as before described, and their appearance a few hours after- 
 wards in the School Room, then clean and tidy and listening to 
 the instruction of their teachers. We hesitate not to say, that 
 in our life time we have frequently passed from street to street, 
 beholding, in that season of their release from confinement, these 
 wretched little personifications of poverty and ignorance, but not 
 without painful forebodings of the destiny before them — of peni- 
 tentiaries, and dungeons, and gibbets, the frightful retributions 
 for a career of destitution and crime ! And, it has been our 
 delight, perhaps a thousand times — for we spent years, long 
 since, in one of the receptacles of such children — in directing 
 the instruction given them in the Sunday School department of 
 a church ; here they were comely and attentive, and not a few 
 denoting, as time has since proved a reality, an inward aspira- 
 tion to participate in the more elevated labors and enjoyments 
 of a Christian community. 
 
 About the year 1815, we had the supervision of a Sunday 
 School, composed wholly or nearly so of children in a manufac- 
 turing village, and habitually confined, year after year, in the 
 cotton mills, for which it was then more distinguished than any 
 other one in the country. These children were of all ages, from 
 six or eight years to fifteen or sixteen, and had been collected 
 mostly from the adjacent counties of the two States, on the con- 
 tiguous borders of which the village was located. In some in- 
 stances they were fatherless, but more generally the fathers were 
 sick, or else had become the victims of intemperance, so that the 
 responsibility of supporting and rearing them was cast entirely 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 211 
 
 upon the mother. They were of course poor, and were placed 
 in these establishments to earn money for the support of them- 
 selves and mothers, and also of brothers and sisters too young 
 to labor, and, in not a few instances to our knowledge, of their 
 drunken fathers. If there is aught in this world that can fiU 
 the bosom with righteous indignation, it is the sight of the 
 heartless and brutal inebriate, who will thus take the hard earn- 
 ings of his broken-hearted and sickly wife, and also of his own 
 young children, that he may indulge himself in sloth and beastly 
 dissipation. If there is aught that can fill the bosom with un- 
 wearied commiseration it is the toil and the robbery of such 
 mothers and their tender oflspring. We have no hostility to the 
 establishments in which such children have found it necessary 
 to labor. In numerous instances they have proved a great 
 blessiug to the community at, large, as well as to individuals of 
 the classes alluded to, for without them, many of these indivi- 
 duals would have become vagrants or public paupers. And 
 while such establishments became the needful asylums of an 
 untold multitude, thus reduced to poverty and the necessity for 
 early toil, the Sunday School was planted by the side of them 
 to save the inmates from that moral leprosy, almost a necessary 
 consequence of such hardships, privations, and social influences 
 as there seem an unavoidable element in their existence. 
 
 Our Sunday School was one of peculiar interest. Such 
 schools were then in our country by no means frequently found. 
 Hence the novelty of it, and the novelty of the labor to ourself, 
 led to a devotion to it bordering on enthusiasm. It became a 
 model or a pattern school ; and as was natural, the notice taken 
 of it by all around, additionally stimulated all engaged in it to 
 secure for it a fidelity under other circumstances not always ex- 
 pected. The children were all decently equipped, not only for 
 an appearance in the school room, but for the services of the 
 church, which were immediately to follow. Indeed, for several 
 of the first months, these children made the majority of the con- 
 gregation for that service, being joined by a few only, save their 
 liarents and older brothers and sisters. With the exception of 
 
212 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDK. 
 
 a single fami])', the servioe of the Episcopal Church was a no- 
 velty to that congregatiou. It is not our purpose in these speci- 
 fications to indicate aoy disrespect to other modes of religious 
 worship, or any iufeiiority in them for the legitimate ends to be 
 accomplished in all divine worship ; bat, simply, in the discus- 
 sion of a more general subject, to make known the admirable 
 working of it in the case now the subject of our remarks. In 
 religious institutions, as in civil government, more depends for 
 individual or public utility on the manner in which they are 
 observed and maintained, than on any distinctive peculiarity 
 possessed by any particular one. While well persuaded of the 
 excellence of that to which we are attached, and in v/hich 
 we have long labored, we pretend not to think, much less to 
 affirm, that persons attached to other forms are not equally sin- 
 cere in their allegiance, and experience a satisfaction and moral 
 culture not less to be desired. 
 
 Man}- of the children in this school partook largely in the 
 ardor of their teachers. This was evinced by the punctuality 
 of their attendance, their exemplary and praiseworthy deport- 
 ment, and especially the amount of their recitations. Consider- 
 ing the little leisure time allowed them, the many hours they 
 were held 1o service in the mills, every day, v/e believe from 
 six in the morning till seven in the evening — it really seems 
 impossible at this distance of time that some of the statistics of 
 that school could have been founded on fact. Had we not been 
 an ear and an eye witness, we might now doubt it. A stran- 
 per admitted to witness the exercises of it — to see the well- 
 dressed and orderly children that composed it ; the inteUigence 
 that beamed from so many expressive eyes ; and especially the 
 promptness and the accuracy that distinguished every branch of 
 prescribed duty, could not easily have reali,sed that these were a 
 community of factory children, driven by poverty at this early 
 nge to earn their own living. Such, however, was the fact ; for 
 it shows that the mental capabilities of all are essentially the 
 same ; and, that so far as diflt;rences of character exhibit them- 
 selves in society, they are ordinarily the result of different d&- 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 213 
 
 grees of culture, either mental or social. This fact, moreover, 
 shows that not unfrequently factory children — or cotton bugs — 
 as they are sometimes called — if favored by an attendance upon 
 a good Sunday School, in connection with other helps for 
 calling forth the better elements of their nature, will prove 
 themselves, in the course of life, not inferior, to say the least, to 
 the children of those whom they served. It is no uncommon 
 thing that poor children become rich, and the children of rich 
 in turn become poor. Society is in a constant state of fusion, 
 new portions of it successively rising to the surface, while others 
 are sinking from view to supply their place. 
 
 Such mutations in the social condition of man, especially in 
 our country, are of the most frequent occurrence. Indeed, there 
 is seemingly little or nothing in that condition which remains 
 more than a score of years. We know but little of the rank of 
 the ancestor from the position of the descendant. The instances 
 are comparatively few where the son of the politician raised to 
 the highest honors in the State is able to sustain in his family 
 the ascendancy of the father ; and, even the elevation from 
 •wealth with all the entrenchments cast about it, after the close 
 of one generation, has but an impaired relic remaining behind ; 
 and in the second or third descending series, not a vestige of it 
 is to be found. The country is the great nursery for supplying 
 the places thus made waste. There, genius is constantly rising 
 in freshness, and is sending forth to all the high ramifications of 
 the body politic its long and vigorous tendrils. One class of the 
 youth leave the plough barefooted, and become errand boys, and 
 then clerks, and then merchants and men of wealth in the city, 
 while the sons of former merchants, from effiminacy, or extrava- 
 gance, or indolence, after spending the property bequeathed 
 them, become paupers. Another class of these youth in like 
 manner leave the plough barefooted, seek some literary institu- 
 tion, and in due time are prepared to take, and do take posses- 
 sion of the most distinguished honors and responsibilities of the 
 land. Even the poorest children and youth of the country — the 
 offipring oftentimes of drunkards and forlorn widows, resort to 
 
214 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 the manufacturiBg village to obtain subsistence. Here the na- 
 tive energy, brought from their native hills and valleys, soon 
 enables them to become adepts in the labors of their new voca- 
 tion. A portion of the males are even able to excel in the arts 
 of machinery and the varied routine of manufacturing, so that 
 when revulsion, or any opportunity presents itself for it, they 
 become themselves the principals in those very establishments 
 or raise up. new ones surpassing those which preceded them. 
 
 Nor are these female youth doomed to spend life in such ser- 
 vile toil. They also rise ; as well as the males, they receive an 
 impulse at the factory village Sunday School ; there the first 
 mental germ begins to unfold itself; there a taste is acquired 
 for the decencies of life ; and there also they are stimulated to 
 take part in the more desirable conjunctions within the sphere 
 of female ambition. The culture of the Sunday School is suc- 
 ceeded by that of the Bible Class and the scientific lecture room, 
 and then by self culture from the village library. Thus all the 
 leisure hours, intermediate to the prescribed seasons at the spin- 
 dle and the loom, are devoted to mental and social improvement. 
 In a few years these once poor, ragged, and ignorant little girls, 
 become well formed young women, and having laid by, as many 
 of them do, hundreds of dollars, and being handsomely dressed, 
 in the streets and at the church, they appear like ladies of the 
 best class. Some of them become highly intellectual and 
 polished in their manners. Afterwards, they marry gentlemen 
 of enterprise and respectability — occasionally of wealth and 
 high stations — thus from factory girls they become seated in 
 parlors, and move and exert an influence in the first grades of 
 life. In New England, especially, thousands and thousands, 
 either from a state of poor orphanage, or worse than that, or from 
 the fireside of the most straitened farmers, have worked their 
 way till associated with all that is honorable and estimable in 
 the most refined society. A volume might be filled with the most 
 interesting memoirs of the factory girls of LoweU,]'awtuoket, Taun- 
 ton, Fall River, and Dover ; and an hundred years hence some 
 of the best American heraldry may be traced back to these places. 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 215 
 
 Among the most interesting scholars in the Sunday School 
 of which we were the head, was a little boy, perhaps ten years 
 of age, when he first attracted our especial notice, who was 
 scrupulously constant in his attendance, manlike in his demeanor, 
 and indefatigable in his proficiency. He was one of the most 
 faithful in his labors in the mill, but on each Sunday morning 
 would recite half a dozen chapters from the New Testa- 
 ment, which he had so thoroughly committed to memory, with 
 an accuracy and emphasis that might have ranked well with a 
 good rehearsal of Shakspeare. In the course of one year he 
 thus committed to memory, and recited at the Sunday School, 
 the whole of the New Testament, the Prophecy of Isaiah, and 
 most of the Psalms and Proverbs. Such an instance of assi- 
 duity naturally excited admiration. How a boy of that age, 
 and constantly, for about twelve hours a day, devoted to manual 
 labor, could do this, was a mystery. Inquiry was accordingly 
 made. The result was as follows. 
 
 The family of this boy, in consequence of the drunken habits 
 of the father, was, in a rural population thirty miles ofi^, reduced 
 to extreme destitution. He was beastly, sullen, and stupid. The 
 mother was a woman of more than ordinary good appearance 
 and intelligence, but, as usual under such circumstances, dis- 
 couraged and heart-broken. There were several children, the 
 eldest advanced to full womanhood, and the youngest in the 
 cradle. The intermediate ones were of all ages, having suc- 
 ceeded each other, apparently, two years apart. Hither they 
 were driven to obtain subsistence. The mother was house- 
 keeper, the father did nothing but visit the dram-shops, and all 
 the children of an age to work were kept in the cotton mill. 
 The boy alluded to, with two or three others, joined the Sunday 
 School, and he became so interested in it, that he procured a 
 copy of the New Testament, from which he would cut leaf after 
 leaf, as he wanted them, keeping one constantly spread out, 
 in the inside of his hand, so that he could, without being ob- 
 served by the overseer, glance his eye upon it when engaged in 
 his work. This was his own device, as the children were not 
 
216 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 allowed to take a book into the mill ; and, in his case might 
 have been tolerated, inasmuch as it did not lead to a neglect of 
 his employer's interest. In this manner our young pupil jointly 
 pursued his labors and his Sunday School lessons, sometimes, 
 also, getting up in the morning, and studying an hour by 
 lamp-light, before the bell summoned him to his regular occu- 
 pation ; in this manner, too, he was enabled to accomplish all 
 we have stated. Several facts connected with part of his early 
 history might be narrated ; but our limits will not admit of 
 digression. 
 
 One advantage of the Sunday School, incidental to those of 
 primary consideration, is the opportunity furnished for bringing 
 to light and before the public, such instances of talent. Hun- 
 dreds of such have in this way been gleaned from the greatest 
 obscurity. Boys have been placed at school and furnished with 
 a classical education, so that not a few of our professional men 
 can trace back through this very channel, their progress to emi- 
 nence, to the most humble conditions ever known to exist, trirls, 
 too, of talents and moral worth have passed from the lowly cot- 
 tage to a pupilage in the village Sunday School ; then advanced 
 to become teachers ; and when performing duties as such, by 
 frequent intercourse with the young pastor, or with theological 
 students, frequently the male teachers in such a school, to be- 
 come the wives of persons to whom their names would never 
 have been made known, had it not been for their associations with 
 such an institution. It is well known that the Sunday School 
 room has often had a most bewitching influence in calling into 
 action a pure and chastened ailection between the sexes. As 
 much as it has been celebrated for giving life and vigor to the 
 young Christian, it has not been less memorable in moulding 
 kindred minds into conjugal unity. Perhaps there is, or should 
 be, a sirailiarity between the passion which binds two persons in 
 wedlock, and that which binds all, male and female, to the 
 throne of heaven I 
 
 At the age of about twelve years, the factory Sunday School 
 boy, who committed to memory the whole of the New Testa- 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDB. 2J7 
 
 ment, was placed under tuition for classical study. His profi- 
 ciency was good, ar>d he continued it till having passed through 
 most of the books then required preparatory to the Uiiiversily. 
 Owing to some change in the labors of his friend who had thus 
 assisted him, his scholastic pursuits were relinquished for those 
 of a mercantile character. In the latter he first labored \^ith 
 his accustomed fidelity, as a clerk ; and, then, as a merchant ; 
 and, we apprehend, lie still lives in an eastern city of our re- 
 public, respected by all who know him. It is many -years since 
 we have seen him, but we shall never cease to remember the 
 honorable distinction he acquired at the village Sunday School, 
 where he toiled for a subsistence ; and, how that distinction 
 prepared the way for a subsequent career of business and res- 
 pectability. A kind recognition on our part of distinguished 
 merit in those who thus commenced the pathway of life, and 
 one in which we were wont to share, is among the most plea- 
 sant reminiscences of former days May the time be far distant 
 when those reminiscences shall fade away. They are better 
 than gold, for gold is valueless when we suffer for the want of a 
 pure, conscience. They are better than fame, for fame is a mere 
 empty breath, not imparting health to soul or body. They are 
 better than life, for when life is ended they become an enduring 
 memorial in the ai-chives of heaven. In all cases it is more 
 blessed to bestow a favor than to receive one ; and, in a case of 
 this sort is a thousand-fold more so in the one than in the other. 
 Although Sunday Schools were originally established for the 
 laboring poor, particularly in manufacturing districts, still, suck 
 has been their general utility, and so v,'ell adapted are they to 
 the wants of a community. She rich as well as the poor, they are 
 now found in connection with nearly every church in the land. As 
 now generally conducted, the Sunday School is not so much de- 
 Eigned to impart the elements of a literary education, as of a 
 religious one ; to store the youthful mind with a knowledge of 
 the great truths of the Gospel. "Where there is any deficiency 
 of this kind of instruction in the family— where parents neglect 
 in a familiar and efficient manner indelibly to impress the minds 
 10 
 
218 THE FAUM AND THE FIEESIDE. 
 
 of their children with the distinctive moral and didactic attri- 
 butes of the Christian system, the Sunday School can alone 
 supply that deficiency in family culture. Without this substi- 
 tute vast numbers of children in Christian communities would 
 seemingly grow up, aliens from the faith and the moral virtues 
 of revealed religion. And where there is no manifest negligence 
 in the family, by Christian parents towards their children, upon 
 the subject here indicated, the Sunday School may not only be- 
 come the handmaid of parental labor, but carry forward to a 
 higher grade of religious attainment, both in doctrines and 
 practice, what could, from the nature of the circumstances, only 
 have received from that labor its first conformations. 
 
 It is a fact implying no dereliction of duty, that a vast ma- 
 jority of parents have not themselves had that mental training 
 requisite to give their children a systematic course of in- 
 struction ; and, of such as have had it, a few only have the 
 leisure to do all, or even a moiety of what in this respect should 
 be done. It would be unreasonable and absurd to expect, 
 that persons can give, before having had preparation for the la- 
 bor, judicious instruction in religion anymore than in philology- 
 It is seen, therefore, how valuable must be the agency of the 
 Sunday School, as now conducted, in preparing the rising gene- 
 ration for a Christian life. Even if there has been no neglect 
 of parents, it is about as necessary in preparing our children 
 and youth for full membership in the Church, as the Grammar 
 School is in preparing students for admission to the university. 
 It is apprehended, nevertheless, that many parents are remiss in 
 giving religious instruction to their children ; that they seem 
 to imagine all is to be done by the Sunday School, and 
 nothing by themselves ; that, since from a want of due quali- 
 fication or of leisure time, they cannot do every thing in this 
 important work, they will do nothing at all. It will be seen 
 in the sequel of this memoir that more vigilance should be ob- 
 served in fortifying the minds of our youth against the subtle- 
 ties of infidelity than has been common. If not duly fortified, 
 many a one will be lost to the Church — many a one will make 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 219 
 
 shipwreck of their faith — many a one will be joined to the 
 ranks of unbelief. This will appear from the case of Lydia 
 Sheldon, another Sunday School pnpil, with whose history we 
 were acquainted. 
 
 Although there was a shade of wildness and romance in 
 her character, not by any means at-tributable to the old-fash- 
 ioned Scripture Christian name with which she had been en- 
 dowed at the baptismal font, still she was a girl of rare talents 
 as well as of great personal beauty. Partial as we are to that 
 class of proper names, and hostile as we are to that irreverent 
 and ridiculous fancy, which now-a-days shudders at the sup- 
 posed vulgarity of them, and would sooner call cattle than 
 children by such a cognomen as Beulah, or Kezia, or Machir, 
 or Naomi, or Rachel, or Uzal, or Zilpa, we do not pretend to 
 attach very great importance to them. Names are important, 
 as furnishing a convenient mode of distinguishing one person 
 fi-om another ; and, in giving them to our children, may be a 
 delightful one in perpetuating the memory of esteemed friends, 
 both dead and living. There may, too, be good taste in select- 
 ing such as are euphonious, or are easily recollected ; but, be, 
 yond this, there is nothing of magnitude depending on them. 
 They are mere matters of fancy ; and more persons probably in 
 the selection of them render themselves obnoxious to ridicule, 
 than entitled to .the exercise of good sense. We were alvvays 
 partial to the name of Lydia ; and, our acquaintance with Lydia 
 Sheldon, the sceptical, but subsequently pious Sunday School 
 scholar, has embalmed it with increased affection. 
 
 The mother of Lydia, being left a widow, when this beloved 
 child was but ten years of age, was induced to open a genteel 
 boarding-house of limited extent, in Common-street, one of the 
 most beautiful localities in Boston. This street being almost 
 wholly occupied as private residences by the elite of that city, a 
 boarding establishment there, especially when under the direc- 
 tion of a lady so accomplished and so well known as the Widow 
 Sheldon — still young and essentially beautiful and cherished by 
 the friends of her deceased husband — in his life time supposed 
 
220 THE FAR-M AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 to be rich, but on his death, found to be insolvent — was sure to 
 receive the most ample patronage. By the boarders, all of the 
 higher class, with abundant means, Mrs. Sheldon was treated 
 like a sister, and had Lydia been an own child she could not 
 have been more caressed and petted. The mother being much 
 occupied with a supervision of the family, the daughter,- when 
 out of school, was almost wholly with the boarders, and saving 
 at the table, or when her clothes were to be adjusted, they were 
 seldom together ; and what was especially unfortunate, Lydia's 
 religious education was wholly neglected. The natural sweet- 
 ness of her temper seemed almost to justify the apprehension 
 that she needed not the culture required by most children. Ne- 
 vertheless, her fine talents in connection with her peculiarly 
 winning manners, made occasion for judicious culture even the 
 more necessary. The more lovely the features the more bril- 
 liant the intellect, and the more fascinating the manners in an 
 orphan girl of her age, the more likely was she to become taint- 
 ed, when temptation presented itself, by some moral poison. 
 Such in this case was the fact with Lydia Sheldon. The mother 
 as well as the boarders generally, amid so much loveliness and 
 so many bewitching charms, if they discovered some little defect 
 of manners or thought, gave slight heed to it ; they attributed 
 it to some transient impulse, not calculated to leave behind any 
 enduring blemish ; and, especially, when viewed in contrast 
 with its counterparts, was forgotten or undeserving serious con- 
 sideration. 
 
 When Lydia was about thirteen years old. Dr. P., with two 
 adult daughters, having had in everything but religion, the best 
 education, obtainable at that time, became boarders in Mrs Shel- 
 don's family. He was not then a practicing physician, but de- 
 voted his attention to general literature ; and, although not a 
 professed infidel, his sympathies were all that way, and he had 
 in his library sundry sceptical books. His daughters, also, though 
 privately, were a little, in this respect, disposed to listen to the 
 inuendoes of their father. This was one of the unusual solecisms 
 of female character. Not a year previous to this time they had 
 
THE FARM AND THE FmESIBE. 221 
 
 lost a pious mother ; and, that two surviving daughters should 
 so soon have forgotten her counsels and her prayers — her pious 
 resignation and her buoyant hopes of a blessed immoi-tality — to 
 us is incomprehensible. How a well educated surviving offspring 
 — particularly a female ofispring, can ever forget such counsels, 
 or cease to avail themselves of the abiding consolation to be 
 derived, at the sick bedside, from such prayers, such resignation, 
 and such hopes, is more than we can explain. The Misses P. 
 did seemingly forget these counsels, and did cease to avail them- 
 selves of that consolation. Knowing what we do of the warm 
 susceptibilities of the female heart, an in-eligious M'oman seems 
 to us almost a paradox — sometimes we have thought her a mon- 
 ster ! Knowing also the high mission assigned to her by the 
 Author of her being, and the great trials she has to experience 
 in the sphere of duties incident to that mission, we shudder at 
 the very idea of her ever becoming recreant to the faith or the 
 practice of the Christian. If there is no one to whom she can 
 look for unerring guidance when the world all around her is 
 dark as midnight ; if there is none to whom she can repair with 
 childlike confidence of succor when all earthly hopes and enjoy" 
 ments are blasted and swept away, what a cheerless — what a 
 paralysing destiny has been ordained for her 1 Depraved as the 
 world is, bleak and desolate as it often presents itself to us, were 
 it not for that conservatism found in female piety, sad indeed 
 would be the picture of human life. Man may, and often does, 
 long encounter courageously the storms that assail him ; but, at 
 last his spirit falters, and like the rent steamship on the tumul- 
 uous waves, he forever sinks amid the contending elements, and 
 is lost and forgotten. Not so is it with woman ! The world 
 may, indeed, scowl and frown upon her, yet her well balanced 
 piety enables her still to trust in a benignant Providence. She 
 may, indeed, experience shipwreck ; yet, she sinks not, she glides 
 from wave to wave like the Indian skiff, or the modern life-boat, 
 her faith and her hope sustaining her, till landed in the peaceful 
 haven. 
 
 Lydia Sheldon soon became a favorite with Dr. P. and his 
 
223 THE FAEM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 daughters, as she was with the other boarders. She was much 
 in their apartment, and her inquisitive mind speedily led her to 
 his library. One less intellectual might not have noticed the 
 infidel books ; but she noticed them and did not fail to read 
 them. At first she was, as she afterwards confessed, shocked 
 with the bold assumptions she there found. Nevertheless, like 
 the fancied charm of the rattle-snake, they seemed to deprive 
 her of all power to resist their influence ; although for a period 
 she abhorred their impious slanders, she knew not how to tear 
 herself away from them. Her conscience, probably, reproved her 
 for thus meddling with what her better impulses told her should 
 not have been touched. Aware of her fault in this respect, she 
 kept the whole matter a profound secret; daily reading them, 
 privately, as she had opportunity, till she had at control all the 
 popular arguments against the authenticity and truths of the 
 Bible. True, she did not imagine herself an infidel, but her 
 mind was too much poisoned to be an active Christian. She 
 would sometimes for hours weep in her retirement that she had 
 thus been entangled in these snares ; still had not courage, either 
 to her mother or her minister, to make known the dilemma in 
 which she was held, or to seek for help in being extricated from 
 it. Had she, in this matter, manifested the same frankness and 
 simplicity, she had been accustomed to practice, she would have 
 been saved from the peril to which she was now exposed — a 
 peril ending in ruin had she not at last been relieved from it. 
 
 About this period Mrs. Sheldon relinquished her boarding- 
 house establishment, and removed to a country village. Here were 
 several young ladies nearly of the age of Lydia, belonging to the 
 best families, but having finished their probation at the Sunday 
 School. Simultaneously, or nearly so, Mr. Griffin, a young law- 
 yer, established himself in it. A more beautiful spot could not 
 have been found. Here was a select and well cultivated society 
 sufficiently ample to make life agreeable. And there was 
 enough of business to give it an air of invigorating activity, and 
 prevent that feeling of ennui almost inseparable from a popula- 
 tion wholly without business. However desirable that there be 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESrDB. 223 
 
 in every community a few individuals of refinement, wealth, 
 and leisure, to look after objects of public interest as well as 
 the poor, it is still desirable that the masses of all communities 
 should he habitually devoted to some useful and active occupa- 
 tion. Without it, the mind becomes enfeebled, and the moral 
 pulse beats low. The excitement of business is as needful to 
 promote a good social temperature, as the wind is to drive away 
 the sickly vapors rising from stagnant pools and undrained 
 marshes. Such was the village where Mrs. Sheldon and her 
 daughter took residence, to enjoy the little competence she ac- 
 quired in the city. As yet she had learned nothing of the in- 
 fluence upon her daughter's mind from an acquaintance with 
 Dr. P. and his family. Had she known it, her pleasure from 
 the agreeable circumstances connected with her new residence 
 would have been greatly lessened. As the sequel will show, it 
 was best the secret of the daughter had not been imparted to 
 her, though the principle of such concealments is ever to be 
 condemned. 
 
 Young Mr. Griffin was beginning his business career with 
 the finest prospects. His talents were of a high order ; his 
 moral character was unexceptinnable ; and his personal appear- 
 ance and manners were also such as to make him friends and 
 admirers. The Rector of the Church esteemed him a material 
 acquisition to the interests of the parish ; for in him, it was to 
 be expected, he would ever find prompt and efficient co-opera- 
 tion. Notwithstanding the prejudice that often existed, espe- 
 cially in the country, against the legal profession ; a prej udice 
 not unnatural, and in some cases well founded ; for it is well 
 known that individuals have, formerly more than at present, 
 made that profession a cloak for stirring up strife and oppressing 
 the poor, without the manifestation of adequate redeeming qua- 
 lities to be a fair offset ; still it is an undeniable truth, that the 
 members of that profession may, and should be, men of exem- 
 plary lives and of the purest social and moral principles. At 
 the present time, such qualifications are the best guaranty they 
 can have of success. Their position in society causes such traits 
 
224 THE FARM AND THE FIKESIBE. 
 
 of character to be in the highest degree efficacious upon all who 
 witness them. Such traits, connected with their superior intel- 
 ligence, and their prompt and systematic hahits of business, 
 renders it desirable that in every community, political, social, 
 or religious, there should be more or less of persons belonging to 
 the profession of the law. They are as necessary in the conven- 
 tions and other business associations of the Church as they are 
 in the senate, or in the business of their own particular sphere 
 of labor. Nothing can be done ^^'rong, where there is a shrewd 
 and quick-sighted lawyer, without its being detected. It is a 
 part of their duty to detect and expose misapprehension in small 
 matters, as well as knavery and fraud in large ones. It is one 
 of their very instincts to search out and unfold the lurking place 
 of intrigue and dishonesty, and to present human conduct in the 
 mirror of truth. 
 
 Our Church Rector had correct apprehensions of the advan- 
 tages to be derived from the society and the services of the young 
 gentleman, who had thus planted himself in the midst of his 
 parish. It was accordingly proposed to him that he should take 
 a class in the Sunday School. To this he assented, on the con- 
 dition that a new class of more advanced scholars, should be 
 formed, consisting of Lydia Sheldon and the other young ladies 
 alluded to. The Rector was pleased with the suggestioti and 
 promised to use his influence to induce them again to become 
 pupils. Under other circumstances they would have given a 
 prompt refusal ; but, feeling flattered with the compliment of 
 such co-operation on their part being made the condition of se- 
 curing the young attorney's charitable services, they at once 
 consented to the proposition. The best of persons are sometimes, 
 in a measure at least, induced to charitable labors by motives 
 equally selfish. To do good to others individually, or to any 
 general scheme of benevolent enterprise, without regard to the 
 welfare, ease, and pleasure of those who are to be active in it, 
 requires a higher degree of moral purpose than we ordinarily 
 expect to find. Our motives at best are of a mixed character; 
 •even in our most charitable ministrations, it may be, that a 
 
THE FAUM AND THE FIRESIDE. 225 
 
 tincture of ostentation or individual attainment may have had a 
 lurking influence upon the better tendencies of our nature. 
 Although it should, indeed, be the object in Christian morals to 
 fix a high standard, yet, if we repudiate and denounce every 
 deed not purely disinterested, it is feared much will be cast away 
 that is now cherished with great assiduity. 
 
 Nor would it he unnatural, if these young ladies looked upon 
 the pi'oposed measure, as leading to a little social compact 
 among themselves with Mr. Griffin, although in the Sunday 
 School as tlaeir head and teacher, yet in reality or ultimately 
 one of their number, as an equal. Such conjunctions of the 
 sexes among those of their age are always viewed with favor. 
 Why should they not be ? Do they not lead to one of the most 
 important designs of Providence ? Through what channel is 
 that design approached with a moi-e chastened affection than 
 the charitable services of which we are spealdng? Ho had, 
 indeed, passed through all the grades of classical and professional 
 study, and was in the career for honorable distinction in the 
 broad arena of life ; nor did they probably consider themselves 
 far in the back ground ; they had as it were finished their edu- 
 cation ; their family alliances and their own personal accom- 
 plishments already reminded them that they might soon become 
 the participalors in the fame and the fortunes attained by those 
 like himself No doubt, when by themselves, commenting upon 
 the new relations into which they were about to enter, and upon 
 the new labors about to engross their attention, there might 
 have been felt a little jealousy as to the success they would 
 severally have on the social affinities of their proposed teacher, 
 and consequently a little fun and raillery upon each other, in 
 relation to that delicate matter. Be it so — it is one of the 
 sweetmeats of young life — no one need be alarmed at its in- 
 dulgence ; even bashful young ladies would appear prematurely 
 staid and matronly without this zest of youthful impulses. 
 
 In due lime the new class in the Sunday School was duly 
 organized ; and the question came up, in rather a democratic 
 way, what was to be done — what were to be the studies I The 
 10* 
 
226 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 catechism had long since been made as familiar as household 
 words. Besides, there was on the part of the pupils a feeling of 
 dignity to be preserved, and had the idea been suggested of hav- 
 ing them occupied with studies on a level with those of the 
 children in the Sunday School, there might have been a speedy 
 revolt. Mr. Griffin understood human nature too well, to hazard 
 any such experiment, young as he was in his profession. The 
 best lawyers best understand human nature ; and on this account 
 they will glide along on the river of life amid curvatures, and 
 shallows, and snags in perfect safety, while others without it are 
 continually subject to disaster and ruin. He was prepared to 
 meet the exigency. Having spent much of his leisure time in 
 reading and reciting Shakspeare and some of the other best spe- 
 cimens of English literature, he proposed that the young ladies 
 should, in a similar way, perfect themselves in readings and 
 recitations from the Sacred Volume. At first they fancied 
 nothing of the kind could be done satisfactorily ; but, on hearing 
 him read to them, with an earnestness and pathos becoming the 
 subject, St. Paul's Defence before King Agrippa, it seemed to 
 them they had never before known of that chapter. As he ad- 
 vanced in the Apostle's argument and plea, at every new point 
 throwing his soul more and more into his enunciation, one after 
 one became impassioned and wept, as if in reality before the 
 court of Areopagus, where was speedily to be pronounced on the 
 accused, the verdict of life or death. Accordingly this chapter 
 was assigned for the first lesson in the new class. Each young 
 lady was to practice by herself in reading, so that at the next 
 Sunday all were to read it ; and, thus, from reading, and from 
 hearing each other read, the design was to enable them to read 
 it with life and spirit as it always should be read ; but as it 
 rarely is read. We do not recollect, in the English language, a 
 more masterly and overpowering appeal to a legal tribunal. 
 No wonder that these young ladies hearing it read by Mr. Grif- 
 fin, were so completely lost in the burning eloquence of the 
 speaker. 
 
 The exercise thus introduced into this class of young ladies 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 227 
 
 ■was peculiarly appropriate ; for to read elegantly is one of the 
 most desirable female accomplishments. With proper training 
 and sufficient practice women may become the most elegant and 
 eflective readers. Their quick and deep feeling enables them to 
 throw the sentiment expressed by the author so completely into 
 their manner, their gestures and their looks, that the listener is 
 completely engrossed with the subject, from the first to the last ; 
 and, with the bursting forth of every new and beautiful thought, 
 there may be seen, as they advance, from the expressive curl of 
 their lips and the penetrating flash of their eyes, the constantly 
 kindling emotion that swells the bosom. It is to be lamented 
 that so little attention is generally paid to this peculiar attribute 
 in the female mind ; for, it is susceptible of a culture, that gives 
 a charm to iemale character of inestimable value. Let a beau- 
 tiful and graceful woman with a fine clear voice, read the chap- 
 ter alluded to ; or St. Paul's description of Charity ; or St. James' 
 description of faith ; or the miracle of the blind man restored to 
 sight in the ninth chapter of St, John ; or the description of the 
 general judgment in the twenty-fiflh chapter of Mathew ; adapt- 
 ing her action to the language and the subject, and it will be 
 seen with what certainty she can control, in all who hear, the 
 elements of the human soul. Mr. Griffin trained this class of 
 young ladies thus to read, and thus to recite select portions of 
 the Inspired Volume, so that it was not long, before the Sunday 
 School room was more crowded to witness their performances 
 than was the Church to hear the sermon. A similar result 
 would be produced in every Sunday School if a suitable teacher 
 can be found to take charge of this branch of instruction. It was 
 even surmised, that the Rector of the Church, well as he was 
 accustomed to read the Daily Lessons of the Service, was incited 
 by the example thus set before him, to improve his own manner 
 of reading. 
 
 After a few months had been occupied so successfully and so 
 satisfactorily to all interested in the exercises named, it was 
 proposed that the young ladies should study the Evidences of 
 Christianity. This branch of Sunday School literature has also 
 
228 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE 
 
 been not enough appreciated. Even among the well educated 
 of our religious congregations, it might be found that few only 
 have paid that attention to the subject which would enable 
 them to answer the interrogatories of the sceptic. This ought 
 not to be. When infidelity, open or concealed, lurks in so many 
 of the bye-paths of society, and especially when it, now and 
 then, raises its banner in public places with dogmatic insolence, 
 it is surely a part of decency for the friends of the cross to resist 
 the insult with manly force. A failure to do this is construed 
 into an inability to do it. Tloncc, Christianity is disgraced, and 
 its friends are treated with scorn. Mr. Griffin himself, wilh all 
 his familiarity with Blackstone, and Hale, and Sh.-.kspeare, and 
 with all his ready knowledge of general literature, found him- 
 self under the necessity of brnshiiig up his Theological polemics. 
 Miss Sheldon very soon, at the recitations, commenced asking 
 him such questions, as wore suggested by her reoolleotious of 
 what she had read in the infidel books of Dr. P. The effect 
 was as she had anticipated. He was perplexed in knowing how 
 to answer ; for he readily perceived, she had too much sagacity 
 to be satisfied, or blinded, with any equivocal replies. Nor was 
 she disposed to receive hypothetical explanations. She was 
 quick to discover the difiei'ence between them and positive and 
 well authenticated rejoinders. Kor was she ignorant of liis con- 
 Bcious inability to remove her doubis ; and, although she had. 
 like all her associates, formed a high opinion of his superior 
 mental endowments and moral excellence, like a shrewd tacti- 
 cian of her sex, the more she perceived his perplexity, the more 
 she was disposed to multiply those little saucy and unmanage- 
 able interrogatories. 
 
 The fact was apparent, that the teacher was in an awkward 
 dilemma. One of his pupils, at least, knew more about the 
 evidences of Christianity than he did; or rather of the infidel 
 exceptions to them. Ho made a confident of the Rector in the 
 matter ; and it was decided that he should be absent a few 
 weeks from the school, ostensibly on business, but in reality for 
 the purpose of making himself familiar with the writings of Le- 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE, 229 
 
 land and Paley and Watson on the subject, and that the Rector, 
 in the mean time, should supply his place. Miss Sheldon was 
 wise enough to suspect, as she subsequently admitted, the real 
 cause of this change, and was willing that there should be a flag 
 of truce till Mr. Griffin's return. When again at his post, better 
 prepared for an attack, and even disposed to act on the offensive, 
 she of course was more cautious in her onsets. However, no op- 
 portunity on her part was wanting to introduce inuendoes and ex- 
 ceptions to the received evidences of revealed religion. Generally 
 he was able to quiet her suspicions ; nevertheless, like a valiant 
 soldier, she retreated cautiously, yielding the ground only where 
 she was obliged to yield it. The result was, that in the course 
 of a few months Miss Sheldon was fully confirmed in the truth 
 of Christianity, and that the doubts she had been led to cherish 
 rested entirely on superficial views. To one of her rare good 
 sense and of her amiable social habitudes of mind, it was truly 
 a consummation for which she expressed the most devout grati- 
 tude, as well as humiliation for her previous error in ever 
 listening to such false and subtle delusions. It seemed to her 
 providential, that her mother thus removed to this village. Had 
 she remained in the city, under the influences which had 
 caused her doubts, in time she might have become a confirmed 
 infidel. It also seemed providential to her, that she was thus 
 so unexpectedly placed in a situation to have her doubts re- 
 moved, and to have her faith fixed on a basis so rational and 
 BO firm. 
 
 The above incidents show the importance of the Sunday 
 School, and the necessity of having the evidences of Christianity, 
 with competent teachers, made a part of the studies pursued. 
 These labors of Mr. Griffin were continued under the most fa- 
 vorable auspices for nearly two years ; the members of his class 
 all becoming far better qualified for the duties of the Christian 
 profession than they would otherwise have been. If all mothers 
 were as well versed in the subjects on whii^h ihese young ladies 
 were instructed, few children, indeed, male or female, would 
 become infidels. To impress the young heart with the senti- 
 
230 THE FAEM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 ments of a true faith, and to train it to the habitual exercise 
 of those sentiments is the appropriate duty of the mother. The 
 father has not usually the opportunity to do it in the best man- 
 ner. It should be done by one habitually with them, so that 
 the most favorable occasions be taken for it. In the family, 
 incideijts are almost continually arising, by which young minds 
 are rendered peculiarly susceptible to moral suasion. These are 
 the occasions for this important work. A few minutes on such 
 an occasion will lead to more enduring evidence of well directed 
 counsel, than whole days formally and without reference to such 
 contingencies, devoted to such culture. Besides, it is well known, 
 that there is a kindness and a melting earnestness of manner in 
 the mother, not always found in the other sex, however well 
 cultivated their minds, or, however ardent their desire for the 
 accomplishment of such an object. Here is the sphere for wo- 
 man's appropriate action. Here is the theatre in which she 
 effects great achievements. Here is the field wherS she acquires 
 unfading laurels. 
 
 Mr. GrifRn discovered in the convert he had made a quick- 
 ness of perception and a mental vigor in harmony with his own 
 estimate for high intellectual female endowment. Nor did he 
 fail to discover social affinities and moral susceptibilities equally 
 worthy of his appreciation. It was apparent also to himself, 
 and to others, that he had been an agent in the hands of Provi- 
 dence, not only to rescue her from a most perilous condition, but 
 to give her varied capabilities a development, which they might 
 not otherwise have reached. The consequence upon his own feel- 
 ings was a natural one. Philosophy in its expositions is universal. 
 Had she been discovered by him, although a perfect stranger, 
 in an upper apartment of a burning house, without means of 
 escape, and he, ,with unstudied impetuosity, forcing himself 
 through the flames to effect her rescue ; or had she suffered 
 shipwreck, and begun to sink in a deep abyss, and he, from the 
 impulse of the moment, been led to plunge in after her and to 
 save her, would he feel no untold emotion of friendship for her, 
 --no undefined desire for a perpetuity of union with her 1 And, 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 231 
 
 if thus snatched from ruin by such an one, would she fail to ex. 
 perience a reciprocity of affection ? To deny, or to doubt this 
 assumption would be to repudiate the teaching of universal ex- 
 perience, as well as the best philosophy with which we are ac- 
 quainted. To stifle the uprisings of nature is no easy task. To 
 say to the current of human passion, thus far shalt thou go and 
 no farther, oftentimesis unavailing, unless aided by more than 
 human power. 
 
 So it was in the present case. The facts of it were in union 
 with all previous demonstrations. Almost before either imagined 
 it, the Sunday School teacher and his pupil were unalterably in 
 love. If either one of her companions would have been willing 
 to have secured the conquest for herself, all had the magnani- 
 mity to acknowledge the fitness of it. To love succeeded ma- 
 trimony ; and in less than a year from bidding adieu to the 
 school room, the once agreeable and fascinating Miss Sheldon, 
 under a new name and with matronly dignity took possession 
 of the nursery. The husband, prosperous in his profession, as 
 well as blessed in his family, rose to eminence ; and, if he ac- 
 quired wealth, and shone as a star of the first magnitude in the 
 national halls of legislation, it was to him a,source of equal plea- 
 sure that his former pupil became distinguished as one of the most 
 brilliant and accomplished ladies of the circle in which they 
 moved ; nor of less pride that she was one of the best wives 
 and mothers. They are now grand-parents, with every earthly 
 comfort ; but they have never forgotten to cherish with fond 
 remembrance the circumstances in which began their first 
 love. 
 
 Such are some of the fruits of the village Sunday School in 
 which we took part. May it survive, as it doubtless will, the 
 longest life of its first friends and founders. May it continue, 
 even to the end of our country's annals, as it has hitherto done, 
 to spread abroad its genial influences — filling the Church with 
 enlightened and devout worshippers, as well as the Christian 
 household with all that can adorn and dignify social life. For 
 one, we shall never cease to pray that peace and prosperity may 
 
232 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 be within her walls, and that the divine blessing may rest on 
 all who do it favor. 
 
 To us the institution of Sunday Schools has ever been looked 
 upon as among the best instrumentalities of the age, not only 
 for elevating the laboring and poorer classes of society ; but, for 
 creating in all classes of society the iinest embellishments of 
 human character. It was originally intended to be merely a 
 work of charity ; an offering from the rich to the poor ; bnt, 
 in its development, it has illustrated the truth of the Divine 
 aphorism, that the giver is more blessed than the receiver. 
 Like all charities, it has made large the heart from which it 
 proceeds. Giving to the poor calls into action those moral 
 powers which make man better than he was before, andinspirehira 
 with a pleasure surpassing that of the one which participates in 
 his bounty. The human bosom which does not glow with the 
 inspirations of love and beneficence, is like a stagnant pool, 
 whose waters are dark and turgid, and whose evaporations im- 
 part no new exhilaration or vitality to the realms of human 
 existence. On the other hand, the human bosom which does 
 continually glow with the inspirations of love and benefi- 
 cence, is like the living spring at the mountain's base, whose 
 waters are pure and transparent as crystal, and whose ferti- 
 lizing powers impart renovating beauty, health, and vigor to 
 every thing in contact with them. 
 
 It has been thus especially with Sunday Schools. They 
 have purified the moral atmosphere of Protestant Christen- 
 dom ; they have enlarged the domains of Christ's visible 
 kingdom ; they have elevated the standard of the Christian 
 character generally ; and, to those in a particular manner 
 who have been the agents in conducting them, there has 
 been achieved a refinement and purity of Christian faith and 
 morals which form a new era in the Gospel economy. Kind 
 and unwearied as has been the labor of the Sunday School 
 teacher ; glorious as has been the regeneration in those for 
 whom he has toiled ; it is a truth, bold and effulgent in the 
 annals of that labor, that the moral life which he caused 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIHESIDE. 233 
 
 ill them to take root and to rise up in full perfection, has 
 reflected hack upon him the brilliancy of its own imperishable 
 nature. The Sunday School teacher, by this very labor, has 
 been advanced in the virtues of his vocation, from one degree 
 of perfection to another, beyond what would ever have been 
 vouchsafed to him, had he not performed it. To him it has 
 been like physical labor, which always invigorates the consti- 
 tution ; every muscular effort creating strength for a new one ; 
 and not only that, but each additional one, being with augment' 
 ed power. 
 
 The Sunday School teacher has sometimes appeared to us 
 like the young man on a farm, who, near the door of his pater- 
 nal residence, plants an acorn, or the kernel of a delicious peach 
 or apricot. Anon the germ rises above the siirface of the soil. 
 He watches it day after day, furnishing it with all needful care 
 and vegetable aliment. Its growth becomes rapid ; its trunk is 
 gradually rising upward, so that in a few )-ears, he is able to sit 
 under its long spreading branches, to be fanned by its green 
 foliage, and at last to luxuriate oi\ its rich fruit. The Sunday School 
 has collected thousands and tens of thousands from the lower 
 departments of society to become the brightest gems in the 
 Church. After a due course of training, they take their places 
 in the front rank of that army which is to struggle with the 
 battlements of sin and unbelief Some of their early teachers, 
 when engaged in that pious service, were stimulated to leave a 
 secular occupation and to devote themselves to the Christian 
 ministry. Seemingly, before it could be realized, the young 
 man is upon the watch-towers of Zion, and his former Sunday 
 morning pupils become his lift-guard, his standard bearers, and 
 his main dependance, while marching onward to spiritual con- 
 quests. And not less important, some of the female teachers, 
 and it may be successively in turn, some of the female pupils 
 become mothers in the spiritual Israel. By what a moral force 
 is such a phalanx bound together ! With what unwavering 
 fidelity do they advance to triumph and to victory I 
 
 With such an estimate on the agency of the Sunday School 
 
234 THE FARM AND THE FIEESIDE. 
 
 in the cause of good morals and religion, we have from early 
 life been an attentive observer of all its progressive stages. We 
 have admired the young mechanic, the young farmer, and the 
 clerk, who, after a week of toil and close application to business, 
 and of course needing rest, rise early on a Sunday morning, 
 spend an hour or two in looking over the lesson in which their 
 pupils are to recite, and then repair to the Church to take charge 
 of their respective classes. "We have admired the young women, 
 who, with equal promptitude, at the sound of the Church-going 
 bell, relinquish that ease and quiet to be enjoyed in the serenity 
 of the morning of that holy day, to devote themselves to the in- 
 struction of the ignorant poor. What motive can induce them 
 thus to deny themselves self-indulgence, and to engage in a gra- 
 tuitous labor, not without perplexities and the trying of patience, 
 as well as unwearied assiduity 1 The motive must be a benevo- 
 lent one ; it must be a desire to do good to the young outcasts 
 from the Christian fire-side; to train, for a life of religion and 
 for heaven, those who have had no one thus to administer to 
 them ! To do this, requires a noble-minded, self-sacrificing con- 
 secration of one's moral and physical powers to the best of causes. 
 Those who do it can rely on the Divine blessing alone for their 
 reward, and the inward pleasure to be experienced in a labor of 
 Christian love. This reward they will assuredly have ; the lat- 
 ter when engaged in the labor, day by day, as the Israelites 
 were furnished with manna in the wilderness ; the former, when 
 God in his mercy, shall deem it best for them, if not in this life, 
 in that which is to come ! 
 
 Nor less have we admired the children composing a Sunday 
 School, with the delightful and balmy breath of the first morn- 
 ing in the week, rise from their beds and prepare themselves to 
 receive the instruction to be given them ; as freely given, as the 
 air we breathe, or as the light in which wo rejoice. What sight 
 can be more pleasing than to see them emerging from their re- 
 spective residences — some from a dreary basement — some from 
 a dark pent-up garret — some through a dismal narrow alley 
 from a cheap rear enclosure — and mostly from the abodes of 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. J35 
 
 penury. Speedily the side- ways of the street are filled with 
 them. They are indeed, cheaply attired — some in muslin, and 
 some in gingham, hut all clean and comely— their eyes betoken- 
 ing an inward satisfaction at the purification and regeneration 
 enjoyed preparatory to their participation in the delightful exer- 
 cises'-of the Sunday School ; and their complexions becoming 
 ruddy and fair from contact with the pure atmosphere. Without 
 noise or tumult, they move onward, till reaching the village- 
 green, when they begin to halt, and as it were, involuntarily, to 
 cluster in groups, each cleaving to those of their own class, 
 much the same as in the process of the chemical analyisis of a 
 compound substance, where each constituent assimulates with 
 others according to its natural affinity, or as the soldiers of a 
 regiment from a season of relief, at the beat of the drum, spon- 
 taneously fall into their own respective platoons and ranks. 
 
 Thus, upon this beautiful village-green, and under the sev- 
 eral trees that shield it from the rays of the sun, they remain a 
 few minutes for rest and friendly recognition, and it may be to 
 recite to each other their lessons, and then repair with appro- 
 priate decorum, to their respective places in the Sunday School 
 room. This is, indeed, but a miniature exhibition of human so- 
 ciety ; but, who can deny there is in it moral beauty — who can 
 deny there is rich and wholesome food in it for the meditative 
 mind 1 Often have we admired such exhibitions ! There we 
 have seen little Lizzy, the cotton bug, with flaxen hair, in Miss 
 Gildersleve's class ; yet, afterwards become an accomplished 
 lady, being the wife of a rich manufacturer, and the mother of 
 promising children ! There we saw little Ned, and little Tom, 
 and little Dick, the sons o# three drunkards, with earnest looks 
 to become wise and good, catching with eagerness, instruction 
 from the lips of their respective teachers ; yet, in less than forty 
 years afterwards, the first became well known as the Hon. Ed- 
 ward Burnap, of our national senate ; the second, as Gen. 
 Thomas Fillmore ; and the third, as Dr. Richard Ackerman, a 
 learned professor in one of our universities I And there we saw 
 and admired little Jemmy Gilman, with black piercing eyes and 
 
236 TUB FARxM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 full developments for mental vigor, althougli barefooted and 
 evincing the poverty of a ^^'idowed and broken-hearted mo- 
 ther ; yet, in the course of time, he was known as the E.ev. Dr. 
 Gilman, to whose eloquence crowded churches have been wont 
 to listen with the same intense emotion, that he felt when re- 
 ceiving the words of truth at the village Sunday School. 
 
 HISTORICAL SKETCH OF THE HORSE. 
 
 The horse is known to most nations as one of the most beau- 
 tiful, beneficial and submissive animals that live under the do- 
 minion of man. In gracefulness of form and dignity of car- 
 riage, he is superior to almost 'every other quadruped ; he is 
 lively and high spirited, yet gentle and tractable ; keen and ar- 
 dent in his exertions, yet firm and persevering. The horse is 
 equally qualified for all the various purposes in which man has 
 employed him ; he works steadily and patiently in the loaded 
 wagon, or at the plough ; becomes as much excited as his mas- 
 ter in the race ; and appears to rejoice in the chase. Besides 
 his invaluable services when alive, after death his skin is used 
 for various purposes ; the hair of the mane and tail is made 
 into mattresses and cloth for chairs and sofas ; and his flesh, 
 although rejected by civilized nations, is much used In' several 
 rude tribes of the east. Nor is it to be passed over without 
 notice, that the milk of the mare is converted into a spiritous drink 
 of considerable strength by the Oalmuos and other Tartars. 
 
 The horse, like the other tame animals, was no doubt ori- 
 ginally wild; but his domestication hl^pened at so early a period 
 as to leave no re<;ord of the event, and it is now impossible to 
 ascertain, with any certainty, in what country he originated. 
 Wild horses, it is true, are found in various parts of the world, 
 but in most cases it is impossible to say whether they are the 
 remains of an ancient stock or are derived from the domesticated 
 animal ; though, as respects those found in the American con- 
 tinent, there is no doubt but that they were originally intro- 
 
THE FARM AND THE FLE-ESLDE. 237 
 
 duced by the Spaniards. Desmaret gives upwards of twenty 
 varieties of the horse, and his catalogue is by no means com- 
 plete. Arabia is generally claimed as the original native loca- 
 lity of this animal, and as the only source from which he is to 
 be derived in the requisite perfection for the highest improve- 
 ment of his race. However, it has been said, as an offset to this 
 opinion, that at the commencement of the Christian era the 
 horse did not flourish in Arabia ; and, that the perfection he 
 has since attained there is mainly owing to efforts made since 
 the era of Mahomet. 
 
 The horse is vastly modified in his form and character by 
 the physical condition of the country in which he is naturalised. 
 If fed in a country of plains and rich herbage, he inclines to 
 become large in his form ; and such is the character of the 
 horse upon the plains of Northern Europe, as of Holstein and 
 England, and in portions of our own and other countries abound- 
 in rich herbage. But, in an elevated country, where the herb- 
 age is scanty, the size and form of the horse vary with the cir- 
 cumstances in which he is placed. There he becomes small, 
 hardy, and capable of subsisting on the scanty herbage with 
 which the mountains supply him. No contrast between ani- 
 mals of the same species can be greater than that between the 
 horse of the mountains and the horse of the plains. The pony 
 of Norway, or the Highlands of Scotland, as contrasted with the 
 huge horse of rich fens and prairies, presents such extremes of 
 strength and size, that it is difficult to believe that creatures 
 so different can be of the same species. Yet, all this great di- 
 versity is produced by difference in the supplies of food, as in- 
 fluenced by the effects of situation. Thus, the horse fed on the 
 arid plains and scanty herbage of warmer countries assumes 
 characters and a form entirely distinct from those of the large 
 and massy animals fed on the rich pastures of temperate coun- 
 tries. 
 
 The history of an animal so beneficial and so much admired 
 must necessarily be extremely interesting ; yet, little is known 
 of its early existence. Anterior to the flood, especially, it is not 
 
238 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 known for what purpose the horse was used. Every record of 
 him was swept away by the general inundation, except that the 
 ark of Noah preserved a remnant for the future use of man. 
 That this animal did exist before the flood, the researches of 
 geologists afford abundant proof There is not a portion of Eu- 
 rope, nor scarcely any part of the globe, from the tropical plains 
 of India to the frozen regions of Siberia — from the northern ex- 
 tremities of our own continent to the very southern point of it, 
 in which the fossil remains of the horse have not been found 
 mingled with the hones of the hippopotamus, the elephant, the 
 rhinoceros, the bear, the tiger, the deer, and various other ani- 
 mals, some of which, like the mastadon, have passed away. In 
 the majority of the cases, the bones are nearly of the same size 
 with those of the common breed of horses at the present day ; 
 but in South America the bones of horses of gigantic size 
 have been dug up and preserved. 
 
 There is something inexplicable in the early destitution of 
 facts relating to the horse. In the list of presents made to Abra- 
 ham by Pharaoh of Egypt, there are mentioned sheep, and oxen, 
 and asses, male and female, camels, men servants and maid ser- 
 vants, but the horse is not in the list. The only way that this 
 can be accounted for is on the supposition that this noble ani- 
 mal was not then found in Egj'pt, or at least, had not been do- 
 mesticated there. The first allusion to the horse, subsequent to 
 the flood, is a mere incidental one. This was fifteen hundred 
 and ninety years before the birth of Christ, in the time of Isaac, 
 when the son of Gribeon is said to have found mules in the 
 wilderness — the progeny of the ass and the horse — as he fed the 
 asses of that patriarch. The wilderness here referred to was that 
 of Idumea. Whether these were wild horses that inhabited the 
 deserts of that country, or had been subjugated by man, we 
 have no means of deciding. Nearly a century after this, when 
 Jacob departed from Laban, a singular account is given of the 
 number of sheep and goats, and camels and oxen, and asses, he 
 possessed; but no mention is made of the horse. Hence, also, 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 239 
 
 it may be inferred that the horae was either not known or was 
 not used in Canaan at that early period. 
 
 The first direct and positive declaration in reference to the 
 horse, in sacred or profane history, is found in the records of the 
 famine in Egj'pt. It is familiarly known to all, that Joseph 
 having risen to the highest office under the monarch of that 
 country, availed himself of the cheapness of corn during the 
 years of plenty, and had thus accumulated great quantities in 
 the royal granaries, which he afterwards sold to the starving 
 people for money, as long as it lasted, and then for their cattle 
 and horses. But this affords no clue to the purpose for which 
 the horse was used. The presumption is, it being named in 
 connection with the cattle, it might have been used for the same 
 purposes they were used for. From specimens of Egyptian ar. 
 chiteeture of that date, it appears that chariots, even on state 
 occasions, were drawn there by oxen. A few years after the 
 famine another incident is recorded which casts additional light 
 on the subject. When Jacob lay on his death-bed he called his 
 sons around him, giving them his pai'ting benediction, and pro- 
 phesied what would be their fate and character. In speaking 
 of Dan, he said, " Dan shall be a serpent by the way, an adder 
 in the path, that bitetb the horse's heels, so that his rider shall 
 fall backward." From this it is seen, that the horse was then 
 used for the conveyance of burdens upon his back. Job, too, 
 spoke of the horse and his rider. He also spoke of him as used 
 for the purposes of war ; saying, " he hurries' on to meet the 
 armed men ; he mocketh at fear ; he turneth not his back from 
 the sword ; that he smelleth the battle afar off, and heareth 
 the thunder of the captains and the shouting ; that the quiver 
 rattleth against him, the glittering spear and shield, and yet 
 that he regardeth them not." 
 
 At the time the Israelites forsook Egypt, it is said that Pharaoh 
 pursued them with six hundred chosen chariots and all the horses 
 and chariots of Egypt, and all the horsemen, to the Red Sea. 
 The breeding of the horse, and his employment for pleasure and 
 in war, were forbidden to the Israehtes. They were commanded 
 
240 THE FARM ANB THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 to hamstring all that were taken in war. This animal is ocea* 
 sionally mentioned in the early history of the Israelitish com' 
 monwealth ; yet, no definite duty is assigned to him, and it is 
 said of the monarch of that time, that he shall not multiply 
 horses to himself. The reason for this prohibition is not easily 
 understood. The country Was not indeed favorable to their pro- 
 duction, yet it would seem there must have been some other 
 reason not made known to us. In the time of Solomon, how- 
 ever, this restriction was so modified, five hundred years from 
 their departure from Egypt, the horse was domesticated among 
 them ; and then so rapidly did the animal increase, that he ig 
 said to have had a thousand and four hundred chariots, and 
 twelve thousand cavalry, and stabling for forty thousand horses. 
 The greater part of these horses are supposed to have been im- 
 ported from Egypt. 
 
 The Persian horses became celebrated ; but until the reign 
 of Cyrus they were few in number and of inferior quality. That 
 monarch, whose life was devoted to the amelioration and happi- 
 ness of his people, saw how admirably Persia was adapted for 
 the breeding of horses, and how necessary was their introduction 
 to the maintainance of the independence of his country. He 
 therefore devoted himself to the encouragement and improve- 
 ment of the breed of horses. He granted peculiar privileges to 
 those who possessed a certain number of these animals; so, that 
 at length it was deemed ignominious in a Persian to be seen in 
 public, except on horseback. At first the Persians vied with 
 each other in the beauty of their horses, and the splendor of 
 their clothing ; and incurred the censure of the historian, that 
 they were more desirous of sitting at their ease, than of approv- 
 ing themselves dexterou.s and bold horsemen ; but under such a 
 monarch as Cyrus, they were soon inspired with a higher ambi- 
 tion, and beoame the best cava] ly of the _ East. The native 
 Persian horse was so highly prized, that Alexander considered 
 one of them the noblest gift he conld bestow ; and when the 
 kings of Parthia would propitiate their divinities by the most 
 cosily sacrifice, a Persian horse was oflered on the altar. It is 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 241 
 
 reported that Bucephalus, the favorite war-horse of Alexander, 
 would permit no one to mount him but his master, and he al- 
 ways knelt down to receive him on his back. Alexander rode 
 him at the battle of Hydaspes, in which the noble steed received 
 his death wound. For once he was disobedient to the com- 
 mands of his master — he hastened from the heat of the fight ; 
 he brought Alexander to a place where he was secure from 
 danger ; he knelt for him to alight, and then dropped down 
 dead. 
 
 
 ALEXANDER TAMING BUCEPHALUS. 
 
 The following is the story of Alexander taming his horse 
 Bucephalus : " A very spirited horse had been sent to Philip, Al- 
 exander's father, when the latter was a boy. This horse was 
 taken out inio one of the parks connected with the palace, and' 
 the king and many of his courtiers went to see him. The horse 
 pranced about so furiously, that everybody was afraid of him. 
 He seemed perfectly unmanageable. No one was willing to 
 risk his life by mounting such an unruly animal. Philip, instead 
 of being thankful for the present, was inclined to be in ill hu- 
 mor about it. In the meantime, llie boy Alexander stood quietly 
 by, watching all the motions of the horse, and seeming to be 
 
 n 
 
242 THE FAIIM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 Studying his character. Philip had decided that the horse was 
 useless, and had g;ivea ordeVs to have him sent back to Thessaly, 
 where he came from. Alexander did not much like the idea of 
 losing so fine an animal, and begged his father to allow him to 
 mount the horse. Philip at first refused, thinking the risk was 
 too great. But he finally consented after his son had urged him 
 a great while. So Alexander went up to the horse, and took 
 hold of his bridle. He patted him upon the neck, and soothed 
 him with his voice, showing him, at the same time, by his easy 
 and unconcerned manner, that he was not in the least afraid of 
 him. Bucephalus was calmed and subdued by the presence of 
 Alexander. He allowed himself to be caressed. Alexander 
 turned his head in such a direction as to prevent his seeing his 
 own shadow, which had before appeared to frighten him. Then 
 he threw ofi' his cloak, and sprang upon the back of the horse, 
 and let him go as fast as he pleased. The animal flew across 
 the plain, at the top of his speed, while the king and his cour- 
 tiers looked on, at first with extreme fear, but afterward with the 
 greatest admiration and pleasure. When Bucephalus had got 
 tired of running, he was easily reined in, and Alexander return- 
 ed to the king, who praised him very highly, and told him that 
 he deserved a larger kingdom than Macedon. 
 
 Bucephalus hecame the favorite horse of Alexander, and was 
 very tractable and docile, though full of life and spirit. He 
 would kneel upon his fore legs, at the command of his master, 
 in order that he might mount more easily. A great many facts 
 are related of the feats of Bucephalus, as a war-horse. He was 
 not willing to have any one ride him but Alexander. When 
 the horse died, his master mourned for him a great deal." 
 
 It is in some of the Grecian sculptures, that we first see the 
 bit in the horee's mouth, but it is not always that we do see it ; 
 on the contrary, there is frequently neither bridle, saddle, nor 
 stirrup. It was, however, fi-equently necessary to make use of 
 cords or thongs, in order to confine the horse to the place at 
 which it suited the rider for a while to leave him. These cords 
 were fastened round the animal's neck, and may be seen in sev- 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 243 
 
 eral of the ancient figures. According to some writers, the oc- 
 casional struggles of the animal to escape from these trammels, 
 and the strength which he exerted in order to accomplish his 
 purpose, first suggested the idea of harnessing him. to certain 
 machines, for the purposes of drawing them ; and it is evident, 
 that soon after this, it rnust have occurred to the horsemen, that 
 if this rope were put over the head, and over the muzzle, or 
 perhaps into the mouth of the animal, he would he more easily 
 fastened, or led from place to place, and more securely guided 
 and managed, whether the man was off or on his back. Hence 
 arose the bridle. It was probably at first nothing more than 
 the halter or cord by which the horse was usually confined. An 
 improvement on thi.<? was a detached cox-d or rope, with prolonga- 
 tions coming up on both sides of the mouth, and giving the rider 
 much greater power over the animal ; and after that, for the 
 sake of cleanliness, and to prevent the wear and tear of the rope, 
 and also giving yet more command over the animal, an iron bit 
 was fitted to the mouth, and rested on the tongue, and the bri- 
 dle was attached to each end of if. This was the common snaf- 
 fle bridle of the present day, the iron being jointed and flexible. 
 In the records of the horse at that period, no mention is 
 inade of saddles, such as are used in modern times ; but by 
 way of ornament, and partly for convenience too, the horses 
 were covered with beautiful cloths, or with the skins of wild 
 beasts, secured by a girth or surcingle. Thus the horse of Par- 
 thenopius was covered with the skin of a lynx, and that of 
 ^neas with a lion's skin. In their religious or triumphal pro- 
 cessions the housings of the horses were particularly magnificent, 
 being frequently adorned with gold and silver and diamonds. 
 Rich collars were also hung round their necks, and bells adorned 
 their crests. The trappings of the young knight in the days of 
 chivalry did not exceed those of the Grecian warrior on days of 
 ceremony. The stirrup was long unknown. The adoption of 
 that convenient assistance in mounting the horse was of singu- 
 larly late date. We have no evidence that it was in use for 
 more than a thousand years after the commencement of the 
 
244 THE FARM AND THE FIRE^roE. 
 
 Christian era. The heroes of ancient times trusted chiefly to 
 their own agility in leaping on their horses' backs, and that 
 whether standing on the right or the left. They who fought on 
 horseback with the spear or lance had a projection on the spear, 
 or sometimes a loop of cord, about two feet from the bottom of 
 it, which served at once for a firmer grasp of the weapon, and 
 a step on which the right or the left loot might be placed, ac- 
 cording to the side on which the warrior intended to mount, 
 and from which he could easily vault on his courser's back. 
 And the horse was sometimes taught to assist the rider by bend- 
 ing his neck or kneeling down. 
 
 There was a peculiarity in the Greek mode of riding, at 
 least with regard to the cavalr)' horses, and, sometimes, those 
 used for pleasure. Two or three of them were tied together by 
 their bridles, and the horseman, at full speed, leaped from one 
 to another at his pleasure. This might occasionally be useful ; 
 when one horse was tired or wounded, the warrior might leap 
 upon another ; but he would be so hampered by the manage- 
 ment of all of them, and the attention he was compelled to pay 
 to them all, that it never became the general way of riding or 
 fighting ; nor was it practised in any other country. The Greeks 
 must have carried their management of the horse to a very high 
 state of perfection ; and the Grecian horse must have been ex- 
 ceedingly docile, when exhibitions of this kind could take place. 
 It was, however, to the draught of the chariot that this animal 
 was principally devoted in some other countries, and among the 
 Greeks in the earlier periods of their history. No mention is 
 made of a single horseman on either side, during the ten 
 years' siege of Troy ; but the warriors all fought on foot or in 
 chariots. 
 
 The chariots were simple in their structure, open at the back, 
 and partly on the sides ; and containing the driver in the front, 
 and the warrior standing on a platform, usually somewhat ele- 
 vated. These vehicles seem rarely to have been brought into 
 collision with each other ; but they were driven rapidly over 
 the field, the warrior hurling his lances on either side, or alight- 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRE SIDE. 245 
 
 ing when lie met -with a foe -worthy of his attack. These 
 chariots were not only contrived for service, but were often most 
 splendidly and expensively ornamented. They were the prize 
 of the conqueror. Sometimes they were drawn by three horses ; 
 but the third was a spare one, in case either of the others should 
 be tired or wounded. Some had four horses yoked abreast — such 
 was the chariot of Hector. The charioteer, although at the 
 time inferior to, or under the command of the warrior, was sel- 
 dom or never a menial. He was often the intimate friend of 
 the warrior ; thus Nestor, and even Hector, are found among 
 charioteers. When not the personal friend of the warrior, he 
 was usually a charioteer by profession ; and drove where he was 
 directed. 
 
 Occasional reference is made in the histories of that time to 
 chariots with armed instruments in the form of scythes, project- 
 ing from the axles of the wheels, by means of which whole ranks 
 might be moM'n down at once. They were confined, however, 
 to the more barbarous nations, and were used neither by the 
 Greeks nor the Romans. They were advantageous only on 
 tolerably open and level ground ; and it not unfrequently hap- 
 pened that, affrighted by the clamor of the battle, or by wounds, 
 the horses became ungovernable, and, turning on the ranks of 
 their friends, threw them into complete disorder. They were 
 on this account laid aside, even by the barbarians themselves ; 
 and, in process of time, war-chariots of every kind fell into 
 disuse, and the higher classes of warriors were content to fight 
 on horseback, where their personal strength and courage might 
 be as well displayed, and discipline could be better preserved. 
 
 Almost to the period of the Christian era, and long after 
 that in many countries, the use of the horse was confined to war, 
 to the chase, and to public pageants. The first employment of 
 the Egyptian colonists, when they landed in Thessaly, was to 
 rid the forests of the wild cattle, and other dangerous animals, 
 with which they were then peopled. In the central and southern 
 parts of Greece, the country was more open, and the wilder ani- 
 mals were scarcely known ; but in Assyria and Persia, and in 
 
246 THE FARM AND THK FIRESIBE. 
 
 every country in which the legitimate prey of the hunter was 
 found, the horse was employed in the pursuit. And in process 
 of time, in order to decide th<, comparative value of different 
 horses, or to gratify the ■» anity of their owners, and to give 
 more effect to certain religious rites and public spectacles, horse 
 races were introduced. The most celebrated of these exhibi- 
 tions was that of Olympia, in Peloponnesus, held every fourth 
 year, in honor of Jupiter. The young men flocked thither, from 
 every district of Greece, to contend in every manly exercise — 
 hurling the javelin, leaping, running, wrestling and boxing. 
 The candidates were persons of unblemished reputation — ^the 
 contest fairly and honorably conducted, and the conqueror 
 crowned with laurel, or with gold, was received in his native 
 tovm with acclamations of joy. Nearly a century, however, 
 passed before the attraction of the exhibition was increased by 
 the labors of the horse. Connected with these labors were nu- 
 merous formularies, some of which to us appear frivolous, and 
 others barbarous. 
 
 The Romans, from the very building of their city, paid 
 much attention to the breeding and management of the horse ; 
 but this was more than seven hundred years after this animal 
 had been imported into Greece, and his value and importance 
 had begun to be almost universally acknowledged. Horse and 
 chariot races were early introdiiced into Rome. The chariot 
 races fell gradually into disrepute, but the horse races were con- 
 tinued to the time of the Csesars, and the young men of the 
 equestrian order were enthusiastically devoted to this exercise. 
 There were not, however, any of the difficulties or dangers that 
 attended the Grecian races. They were chiefly trials of speed, 
 or of dexterity, in the performance of. certain circles, now pro- 
 perly confined to theatrical exhibitions. The rider would stand 
 upright on his steed, lie along his back, pick up things from the 
 ground at full speed, and leap from horse to horse in the swiftest 
 gallop. 
 
 The Arabian horse is justly celebrated for his swiftness and 
 agility, and in the power of endurance he has no superior ; but 
 
THE PAB.M AND THE FIRESIDE. 247 
 
 his most distinguishing characteristics are sagacity and docility. 
 He is the companion of his master, and fond associate of his 
 children, whom he allows to play around, and play upon him, 
 like a good-natured house dog ; and he moves round in the tent 
 among them with great caution. The Arab deserves commen- 
 dation for the tender care and afiectionate regard for his horse, 
 as in his kind treatment he sets a noble example, worthy of the 
 imitation of the civilized world. Instances have been known 
 of this horse travelling one hundred and twenty miles with 
 hardly a respite ; running four hundred miles in -the space of 
 four consecutive .days ; and five hundred and twenty miles in 
 six days, and then after resting three days, returning the same 
 distance in- five days. The swiftness of these animals renders 
 the idea of catching them, when running wild, by chasing them 
 with dogs or otherwise, wholly impracticable. Consequently, 
 when a wild Arab was to be taken, he was to be entangled by 
 snares, carefully concealed in the sand The poor creature 
 being so terrified, freqiiently falls to the ground and is easily 
 secured. The wild Arabs are now nearly extinct, the high 
 prices paid for them having induced the natives to have nearly 
 exhausted their existence in the desert. 
 
 Arab horses are of moderate size ; usually between thirteen 
 and fourteen hands in height. Their common color is dappled 
 grey, and sometimes dark brown, with short and black mane 
 and tail. To the wandering Arab this animal is of indescriba- 
 ble importance. It has been supposed that the great powers of 
 endurance in these horses is owing to their having been bred 
 in the arid deserts of that country, and consequently, to the 
 hardships there experienced when colts. Mr. Youatt says this 
 is an error ; that the Arabs select for their breeding places some 
 of those delightful spots, known only in countries like these, 
 where, though all around may be barren and dry there is pas- 
 ture unrivalled for its succulence, and its nutritious or aromatic 
 properties. The powers of the young animal are afterwards 
 developed, as they alone could be, by the mingled influence of 
 plentiful and healthy food, and sufficient, but not severe, or 
 
248 
 
 THE FARM AKD THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 cruel labor, except for making trial of their powers. The Arab 
 habitually washes the legs, tail, and nostrils of his steed 
 every naorning and evening, and again after a long ride. The 
 mane and tail are left in their natural state, not often combed, 
 lest they should be thinned, which would dimiaish their sup- 
 posed beauty. 
 
 ARAB HORSE. 
 
 Arabs give preference to mares rather than horses ; finding 
 them better able to endure fatigue and privations consequent 
 upon long journeys over the desert. Besides, a large number of 
 them can be kept together without danger of their quarrelling. 
 On this account it is difficult to induce one ever to sell a mare, 
 on any terms ; and there is a law to prohibit the exportation of 
 one from the country. Instances have been known that these 
 mares have been sold for two thousand pounds each, and horses 
 for half that sum. It would be difficult to imagine a more in- 
 teresting spectacle than that of the tent of a wandering Arab 
 at night in the desert. After a day of wearisome toil and pri- 
 vation, all are here collected together for rest and refreshment. 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 249 
 
 The proud courser is stretched out upon the ground, and some 
 half dozen little dark-skinned, naked urchins.may be seen scram- 
 bling across her body, or reclining in sleep, some upon her neck, 
 some on her carcass, and others pillowed upon her heels ; nor do 
 these childi'en ever experience injury from their gentle playmate ; 
 she recognises them as the family of her friend and patron ; and 
 towards them all is manifested the most exemplary kindness of 
 disposition. A nursing mother of our own species could not be 
 more careful of her own offspring than is the Arabian mare of 
 the children of her owner. 
 
 The following anecdote illustrates the sagacity of the Arabian 
 horse, as well as his ardent affection for his master. An Arab 
 chief, with his tribe, had attacked, in the night, a caravan of 
 Daraas, and plundered it. When loaded with their spoil, how- 
 ever, the robbers were overtaken on their return by some horse- 
 men of the pacha of Acre, who killed several, and bound the re- 
 mainder with cords. In this state of bondage they brought one 
 of the prisoners, named Abou el Marck, to Acre, and laid him, 
 bound hand and foot, wounded as he was, at the entrance to 
 their tent, as they slept during the night. Kept awake by the 
 pain of his wounds, the Arab heard his horse neigh at a little 
 distance, and being desii'ous to see, for the last time, the com- 
 panion of his life, he dragged himself, bound as he was, to the 
 horse, which was picketed at a little distance. " Poor friend," 
 says he, " what will you do among the Turks 1 You will be shut 
 up under the roof of a khan, with the horses of a pacha or aga ; 
 no longer will the women of the tent bring you barley, camel's 
 milk, or dourra, in the hollow of their hand ; no longer will you 
 gallop free as the wind of Egypt in the desert ; no longer will 
 you cleave with your bosom the waters of Jordan, which cool 
 your sides, as pure as the foam of your lips. If I am to be a 
 slave, at least may you go free. Go — return to your tent, which 
 you know so well ; tell my wife that Abou el Marck will return 
 no more ; but put your head into the folds of the tent, and lick 
 the hands of my beloved children." With these words, as his 
 hands were tied, he undid, with his teeth, the fetters which held 
 11* 
 
250 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 the courser bound, and set him at Hberty ; but the noble animal 
 on recovering his freedom, instead of bounding to the desert, bent 
 his head over his master^ and, seeing him in fetters and on the 
 ground, took his clothes gently in his teeth, lifted hira up, and 
 set off at full speed ibr home. Without ever resting, he made 
 straight for the distant, but well-known, tent in the monntains of 
 Arabia. He arrived there in safety, and laid his master safe 
 down at the feet of his wife and children, and immediately fell 
 down dead with fatigue. The whole tribe mourned him ; the 
 poets celebrated his fidelity ; and his name is still constantly ia 
 the mouths of the Arabs of Jericho. 
 
 Arabian colts are usually weaned when a month old, and are 
 then fed on camel's milk for an hundred days. At the expira- 
 tion of that period, a little wheat is allowed; and by degrees 
 that quantity is increased, the milk continuing to be their principal 
 food. This mode of feeding continues another hundred days, 
 when the foal is permitted to graze in the neighborhood of the 
 tent. Barley is also given ; and to this some camel's milk is 
 added in the evening, if the Arab can afford it. By these means 
 the Arab horse becomes as decidedly characterized for his do- 
 cility and good temper, as for his speed. The kindness with 
 which he is treated from the time of his being foaled, gives him 
 an afiection for his master, a desire to please, a kind of pride in 
 exerting every energy in obedience to his commands, and, con- 
 sequently, an apparent sagacity which is seldom found in other 
 breeds. In that delightful book. Bishop Heber's Narrative of a 
 journey through the Upper Provinces of India, the following in- 
 teresting character is given of him. " My morning rides," says the 
 bishop, " are very pleasant. My horse is a nice, quiet, good tem- 
 pered little Arab, who is so fearless, that he goes without start- 
 ing close to an elephant, and so gentle and docile that he eats 
 bread out of my hand, and has almost as much attachment and 
 coaxing ways as a dog. This seems the general character ol 
 the Arab horses. It is not the fiery dashing animal I had sup- 
 posed, but with more rationality about him, and more apparent 
 confidence in his rider, than the majorily of English horses." 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 261 
 
 When the Arab falls from his mare, and is unable to rise, 
 she will immediately stand still, and neigh, until assistance ar- 
 rives. If he lies down to sleep, as fatigue sometimes compels 
 him, in the midst of the desert, she stands watchful over him, 
 and neighs and rouses him, if either man or beast approaches. 
 The Arab horses are taught to rest occasionally in a standing 
 position ; and a great many of them never lie down. The Arab 
 loves his horse as truly, and as much as the horse loves him ; 
 and no little portion of his time is often spent in talking to him 
 and caressing him. An old Arab had a valuable mare that 
 had carried him for fifteen years in many a rapid weary march, 
 and many a hard-fought battle ; at length, eighty years old, and 
 unable longer to ride her, he gave her, and a scimitar that had 
 been his father's, to his eldest son, and told him to appreciate 
 their value, and never lie down to rest, until he had rubbed 
 them both as bright as a mirror. In the first skirmish in which 
 the young man was engaged, he was killed, and the mare fell 
 into the hands of the enemy. When the news reached the old 
 man, he exclaimed, that life was no longer worth preserving, 
 for he had lost both his son and his mare, and he grieved as 
 much for one as for the other. He immediately sickened, and 
 soon aftewards died. 
 
 The wild horse is found in various parts of Tartary ; but no 
 where can it be considered as the remant of an original race, 
 that has never been domesticated. The horses of the Ukraine, 
 and those of South America, are equally the descendants of 
 those that had escaped from the slavery of man . The origin of 
 the horses of Tartary has been clearly traced to those that were 
 employed in the siege of Azof in 1657. Being suffered from 
 want of forage, to penetrate into the desert in order to find sub- 
 sistence, they strayed to too great a distance to be pursued or 
 recalled, and became wild, and created a nev/ breed. They are 
 generally of a red color, with black stripe along the back. They 
 are divided into numerous herds, at the head of which is an old 
 stallion, who has fought his way to the crown, and whose pre- 
 eminence is acknowledged by the rest. On the approach of ap- 
 
252 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 parent danger, the mares and their foals are driven into a close 
 body, in front of which the males are ranged. There are frequent 
 contests between the different herds. The domesticated horse, if he 
 falls in their way unprotected by his master, is instantly attacked, 
 and speedily destroyed ; but at the sight of a human being, and 
 especially mounted, they all take flight, and gallop into the recess- 
 es of the desert. 1 he young stallions, as they grow up, are driven 
 from the herd, and are seen stragglmg about at a distance, until 
 they are strong enough to form herds of wild mares for themselves. 
 The Cossacks are accustomed to hunt the wild horses, partly 
 to keep up their own stock, and partly for food. A species of 
 vulture is sometimes made use of in this affair. The bird 
 pounces upon the poor animal, and fastens itself on his head, or 
 neck, fluttering his wings, and perplexing and half blinding 
 him, so that he becomes an easy prey to the Tartar. The young 
 horses are generally tamed without much diiEculty ; they are, 
 after a little while, coupled with a tame horse, and grow gentle 
 and obedient. The wild horses thus reclaimed are usually found 
 to be stronger and more serviceable, than any which can be bred 
 at home. The flesh of the wild horse is a frequent article of 
 food, as already remarked, among the Tartars ; and, although, 
 they do not, like the Indians of the Pampas, eat it raw, their 
 mode of cookery would not be very inviting to persons of an epi- 
 curean taste. They cut the muscular parts into slices, and 
 place them under their saddles, and after they have galloped 
 thirty or forty miles, the meat becomes tender and sodden, and 
 fit for their table. At all their feasts, the first, and last, and 
 most favorite dish, is a horse's head, unless they have a roasted 
 foal, which is the greatest delicacy that can be procured by them. 
 Some of the Tartar and Kalmuck women ride fully as well as 
 the men. When a courtship is taking place between two of the 
 different se.\:es, the answer of the gentler sex is thus obtained. 
 She is mounted on one of the best horses, and ofl' she gallops at 
 full speed. Her lover pursues, and if he overtake her, she be- 
 comes his wife ; but it seldom or never happens that she is 
 caught, unless she have a partiality for the pursuer. 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 253 
 
 In South. America, although constant war is carried on 
 against them, there are innumerable herds of wild horses. All 
 persons who have crossed the plains extending from the shores 
 of La Plata to Patagonia, have spoken of the numerous droves 
 of them there met. Some affirm that they have seen ten thou- 
 sand in one troop. They appear to be under the command of a 
 leader, the strongest and boldest of the herd, and whom they 
 implicitly obey. A secret instinct teaches them that their safety 
 consists in their union, and in a principle of subordination. The 
 lion, the tiger, and the leopard are their principal enemies. At 
 some signal, intelligible to them all, they either close into a 
 dense mass and trample their enemy to death, or, placing the 
 mares and foals in the centre, much like the Tartar wild horses, 
 they form themselves into a circle and welcome him with their 
 heels. In the attack, their leader is first to face the danger, 
 and when prudence demands a retreat, they follow his rapid 
 flight. In the thinly inhabited parts of South America it is 
 dangerous to fall in with any of these troops. The -wild horses 
 approach as near as they dare ; they call to the loaded horse 
 with the greatest eagerness, and if the rider is not on the alert, 
 and has not a considerable strength of arm and sharpness of 
 spur, his beast will divest himself of his burden, take to his heels, 
 and be gone forever. 
 
 Lord Byron, in his Mazeppa, beautifully describes one of 
 these troops of the wild horse. It is too graphic not to interest 
 and delight the reader. We give the following extract. 
 
 A trampling troop — I see them come. 
 In vast squadron they advance I 
 I strove to cry — my lips were dumb. 
 The steeds rush on in plunging pride. 
 But where are they the reins who guide 1 
 A thousand and none to ride I 
 With flowing tail and flying mane. 
 Wide nostrils — never stretched by pain — 
 Mouths bloodless to the bit or rein, 
 
254 
 
 THE FARM AND 1HE FIRESIDE. 
 
 And feet that iron never shod, 
 And flanks unscarr'd by spur or rod— 
 A thousand horse, the wild, the free, 
 Like waves that follow o'er the sea. 
 
 On came the troop 
 
 They stop — ^they start — ^they snuff the air, 
 Gallop a, moment here and there, 
 Approach, retire, wheel round and round, 
 Then plunging back with sudden bound ; 
 " They snort, they foam, neigh, swerve aside, 
 And backward to the forest fly. 
 
 - :i»r^~T^Ariif»^^'^ U 
 
 
 "^Wk 
 
 WILD HORSES. 
 
 The following is a description of catching wild horses on 
 the prairies of Texas, by the Spaniards, who call these animals 
 mustangs.w The pursuer provides himself with a strong noosed 
 cord, made of twisted strips of green hide, which, thus prepared, 
 is called a lazo, the Spanish word for a band or bond. He 
 mounts a fleet horse, and fastens one end of his lazo to the ani- 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 255 
 
 mal, coils it in his left hand, leaving the extending noose to 
 flourish in the air over his head. Selecting his game, he gives 
 it chase ; and as soon as he approaches the animal he intends to 
 seize, he takes the first opportunity to whirl the lazo over his 
 head, and immediately checks his own charger. The noose in- 
 stantly contracts around the neck of the fugitive mustang, and 
 the creature is thrown violently down, sometimes unahle to move, 
 and generally for the moment deprived of breath. This violent 
 method of arrest frequently injures the poor animal, and some- 
 times even kills him. If he escapes, however, with his life, he 
 becomes of great service to his master, always remembering with 
 great respect the rude instrument of his capture, and ever after 
 yielding immediately whenever he feels the lazo upon his neck. 
 Being thus secured, the lazoed horse is blindfolded ; terrible 
 lever, jaw-breaking bits are put into his mouth, and he is mount- 
 ed by a rider armed with most barbarous spurs. If the animal 
 runs, he is spurred on to the top of his speed until he tumbles 
 down with exhaustion. Then he is turned about and spurred 
 back again ; and if he is found able to run back to the point 
 whence he started, he is credited with having bottom enough to 
 make a good horse ; otherwise he is turned off as of little or no 
 value. This process of breaking the mustangs to the bridle is a 
 brutal one, and the poor animals often carry the evidence of it 
 as long as they live. After service during the day they are 
 hoppled by fastening their fore-legs together with a cord, and 
 turned out to feed. To fasten them to one spot in the midst of 
 a prairie, where neither tree, nor shrub, nor rock, is to be found, 
 is quite a problem. But that is accomplished by putting on a 
 halter, tying a knot at the end, digging a hole about a foot deep, 
 in the ground, thrusting in the knot, and pressing the earth down 
 around it. As the horse pulls generally in a horizontal direction, 
 he is unable to draw it out. When a number are caught, they 
 are generally driven to market, where they are purchased for 
 three or four dollars, branded, hoppled, then turned out to take 
 care of themselves till needed. At some future time they may 
 become valuable articles of export. 
 
256 THE FARM AND THE FmESIDE. 
 
 It has long been an impression that the ordinary duration 
 of a horse's life is much shorter than it ought to he, and that 
 the excesss of mortality is the result of carelessness or ignorant 
 management. The great error consists in regard to the tempera- 
 ment and general constitution of a horse, as altogether different 
 from those of a human being ; whereas, they are much the 
 same in all important respects. Disease, arising from excessive 
 fatigue, overheating, and exposure to the air, want of exercise, 
 improper diet, both as respects quality and quantity, and from 
 many other causes, affects the horse and his master alike, and 
 neglect, in either case, must terminate fatally. Indeed, when a 
 man or a horse has acquired, by a course of training, a high de- 
 gree of health and vigor, the skin of each is an infallible index 
 of the fact. It has often been remarked in England, that the 
 skin of the pugilist, who has undergone a severe course oi' train- 
 ing, when he prepares himself for the fight, exhibits a degree of 
 beauty and exceeding fairness that excites the admiration as 
 well as the wonder of the spectator. So with the horse — his 
 skin is the clearest evidence of the general state of his health. 
 Even the common disease of foundering is not peculiar to the 
 horse, but is merely a muscular aflection, to which many men, 
 who have overstrained themselves at any period, are subject. 
 In fact, the medical treatment of the horse and his rider ought 
 to be the same ; and we confidently believe that if this principle 
 were acted upon with a moderate share of attention and resolu- 
 tion, the average age of this animal would be much longer, 
 atid the profit derived from his labors proportionably greater. 
 
 Many anecdotes have been told of the memory and the sa- 
 gacity of the horse. A most interesting volume might be made 
 of anecdotes of farm animals, that would be amusing and 
 would furnish an excellent moral. We here give the following 
 one ; the facts furnished by a venerable and intelligent gentle- 
 man, who lived in one of our cities on the Eastern seaboard, 
 illustrative of the character of these two traits in the character 
 of the animal named. 
 
 At the close of the Revolutionary War, when every thing 
 
THE FARM AND THE FOIESIDE. 257 
 
 was unsettled and in disorder, an acquaintance residing on the 
 Boston road, some thirty or forty miles from New-York, lost a 
 valuable young horse, stolen from his stable in the night. G-reat 
 search and inquiry were made for him, but no tidings of him 
 could be heard, and no trace of him could ever be discovered. 
 Almost six full years had now elapsed, and the recollection even, 
 of the lost animal, had nearly faded from the mind. At this 
 period a gentleman from the East, in the course of business, 
 was travelling on horseback on this road, on his way to Phila- 
 delphia. When within four or five miles of a village on the 
 road, the traveller was overtaken by a respectable-looking gen- 
 tleman on horseback, a resident of the village, returning home 
 from a short business ride. Riding along side by side, they 
 soon engaged in pleasant desultory conversation. The gentle- 
 man was immediately struck with the appearance of the tra- 
 veller's horse. And every glance of the eye cast towards him, 
 seemed to excite an interest and curiosity to look at him again, 
 and to revive a recollection of something he had seen before : 
 and soon established in his mind the impression, that for all the 
 world he looked like the horse he had lost some six years before. 
 This soon became so irresistably fixed in his mind, that he re- 
 marked to the traveller, 
 
 " You have a fine horse, sir." 
 
 " Yes," he replied, " an exceedingly valuable and excellent 
 animal." 
 
 " What is his age, sir 1" 
 
 " Well, 1 suppose him to be about ten or eleven years old." 
 
 " You did not raise, him then 1" 
 
 " No, I purchased him of a stranger, a traveller, nearly six 
 years since." 
 
 " Do you reside in this part of the country?" 
 
 " No, I reside in the Bay State, and am on my way to Phi- 
 ladelphia, on business. How far is it now to New- York 1" 
 
 " Well, sir, I really regret to inlerrupt you, or put you to 
 inconvenience — but I am constrained to say, I believe you have 
 in possession a horse that I must claim," 
 
258 THE FAUM AND THE FIEESIDB. 
 
 The traveller looked with surprise and amazement, and re- 
 plied, 
 
 " What do )'ou mean, sir ?" 
 
 " I believe the horse you are on, in truth, belongs to me 
 Five years ago, the past Autumn, a valuable young horse was 
 stolen from my stable. Great search was made for, but no 
 tidings of him ever came to hand. In color, appearance, and 
 movements, it seems to me he was the exact counterpart of 
 the horse you are "on.. It would be hardly possible, I think, 
 for two to be so near alike. But my horse was an uncom- 
 monly intelligent, sagacious animal. And I will make a pro- 
 position to you, that will place the matter in such a position, 
 that the result will be conclusive and satisfactory, I think, to 
 both of us. We are now within a mile of my residence, which 
 is on the road, in the centre of the village before us. When 
 we arrive at my house, your horse shall be tied to the East 
 post in front of my door. The horse I am on, to the West 
 post. After standing a short time, the bridle of your horse 
 shall be taken off — and if he does not go to a pair of bars 
 on the West side of the house, and pass over and go round 
 to the East side of the barn, and pull out a pin, and open 
 the middle stable door and enter, I will not claim him. If 
 he does, I will furnish you conclusive ■ evidence that he was 
 bred by me, but never sold — that he was stolen from me 
 just at the conclusion of the war, about the very time you 
 say you purchased him." 
 
 The traveller assented to the trial. The horse was hitched 
 to the post as proposed— stood a few minutes — the bridle was 
 then taken off— he raised his head, pricked up his ears — looked 
 up the strpet, then down the street, several times — then de- 
 liberately and slowly walked past the house and over the bars, 
 and to the stable door as described, and with his teeth and 
 lip drew out the pin, and opened the door, and entered into 
 his old stall. We hardly need to add, he- was recognised by 
 the neighbors, who fully attested to the facts stated by the 
 claimant, and that the traveller lost his title to the horse. 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 259 
 
 There is, says Mr. Youatt, much uncertainty with regard to 
 the origin of what is called the thoroughbred English race horse. 
 By some it is traced through both sire and dam to Eastern pa- 
 rentage ; others believe it to be a native horse, improved and 
 perfected by judicious cross with the Barb, the Turk, or the 
 Arabian. But if the pedigree of the present English racer be 
 required, it is traced back to a certain extent, and ends with a 
 well known animal. The Flying Childers. "What might have 
 been the particular excellence of the English horse at the time 
 of the Norman invasion, is not known, but it is certain that the 
 
 |7 ^ % _ * 
 
 FLYING GUILDERS.* 
 
 Saxon cavalry, under Harold, were speedily overpowered by Wil- 
 liam, at the battle of Hastings, which at once secured the throne 
 to the conqueror. History first informs us of the improvement 
 in British horses by importations from abroad during-this reign, 
 ■which consisted of a number of Spanish stallions. These were 
 supposed to be strongly imbibed with the Arabian blood, which 
 had been brought over to that country by the Moors, who had 
 founded the empire of the Saracens in the Peninsula, three cen- 
 turies before. Subsequently, importations were made from Flan- 
 ders ; and the improvemeht of their various breeds was still pur- 
 
SCO THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 sued, with more or less judgment and zeal, by other British mon- 
 archs, till they reached their highest grade of merit during the 
 middle of the last century. 
 
 Flying Childers, Eclypse, Highflyer, and other race horses 
 familiarly known to persons who liave made tliese animals a 
 study, have probably exceeded in speed any thing before achieved ; 
 while the draught-horse, the roadster, the hackney, the cavalry, 
 and the hunter, attained a merit at th:it tinie M'hieh some judi- 
 cious authorities claim has not been since increased. It is even 
 asserted, that some of the more serviceable breeds have been se- 
 riously injured by too great an inf\]s;oii of foreign blood ; while 
 the almost universal absense of long heals on the turf has ten- 
 ded to the improvement of speed rather than bottom in the race 
 horse. Mr. Youaft remarks that the racer is generally distin- 
 guished by his beautiful Arabian head ; tapering and finely-set- 
 on neck ; oblique, lengthened shoulders ; well-bent hinder legs; 
 ample muscular quarters : flat legs, rather short from the knee 
 downward, although not always so deep as it should be ; and 
 his long and elastic pastern. 
 
 The first Flying Childers was the descendant of an Arabian 
 horse, and was o^fne'd by the Duke of Devonshire ; and there 
 was another called Bartlett's Flying Childers, .from the same 
 Etock ; and from these two descended a host of fine animals 
 among the most noted of which was Eclipse. The two Chil- 
 ders took their name from Mr. Childers their breeder, and the 
 one owned by the Duke, was the fleetest horse of his day. He 
 was at first trained as a hunter ; but the superior speed and 
 courage which he discovered caused him to be transferred to the 
 turf. Common report affirms that he could run a mile in a 
 minute, although there is no authentic record of the fact. How- 
 ever, it is certain that he ran on one occasion three miles, six 
 furlongs, and ninety-three yards in six minutes and forty seconds, 
 and ou another occasion, four miles, one furlong, and one hun- 
 dred and thirty eight-yards in seven minutes and thirty seconds. 
 
 In the year 1775, a horse called Bay Malton, the property of 
 the Marc[uis of Rockingham, ran four miles in seven minutes 
 
THR FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 261 
 
 and forty-three seconds, which was seven seconds less than the 
 same distance had been run before. Twenty years afterwards 
 there was a beautiful horse, the sou of Eclipse, and inheriting 
 a great portion of his dpeed wthout his stoutness. He won al- 
 most every mile race for which he ran, but never could accom- 
 plish a four mile one. It is recorded in the Farmer's Library, 
 that one of the most severely contested races ever known, took 
 place at Carslile, England, in 1761. There were no less than 
 six heats, and two of them dead heats. Each of the six was 
 honestly contested by the winning horse, so that he ran in good 
 earnest twenty-four miles without injury. Eclipse was the 
 grandson of Bartlett's Childers, and when a colt, upon the death 
 of the Duke of Cumberland, his owner, was sold to Mr. Wild- 
 man for seventy-five guineas. He sold an interest in him to 
 Colonel O'Kelly, but the price is not known. Soon aftewards 
 O'Kelly becoming assured of the great power of the animal, pur- 
 chased thy remaining interest in him for eleven hundred guineas. 
 This horse soon acquired such a reputation for speed<^ that no 
 one was permitted to run against him. He was never beaten, 
 nor ever paid a forfeit, and he won for his owner more than 
 twenty-five thousand pounds. Afterwardi, a'^ a stallion, being 
 taken from the race course, he earned double that amount for 
 his owner ; and, what is still more extraordinary, he produced 
 three hundred and thirty-four winning colts, and these netted to 
 their owners more than one hundred and six1^ thousand pounds. 
 Among the extraordinary feats in horse speed and horseman-- 
 ship the following deserve notice. In 1741, a Mr. "Wilde, in 
 Ireland, engaged to ride one hundred and twenty-seven miles 
 in nine hours. He performed it in six hours and twen1y-one 
 minutes. He employed ten horses, and, allowing for mounting 
 and dismounting, and a moment for refreshment, he rode during 
 six hours at the rate of twenty miles an hour. In 1745, Mr. 
 Thornhill exceeded this ; for he rode from Slilton to London and 
 back, and again lo London, heing two hnnJred and thirteen 
 miles, in eleven hours and thirty-four minutes. This amounts, 
 after allowing the least possible time for changing horses, to 
 
262 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIBE. 
 
 twent)' miles an hour for eleven hours, and on the turnpike road 
 and uneven ground. And, in 1762, Mr. Shaftoe, with ten 
 horses, and five of them ridden twice, accomplished fifty miles 
 and a quarter in one hour and forty-nine minutes. In 17G3, he 
 won a more extraordinary match. He engaged to procure a 
 person to ride one hundred miles a day for twenty-nine days, 
 having any number of horses not exceeding twenty-nine from 
 which to make his selection. He accomplished it on fourteen 
 horses ; but on one day he was compelled to ride a hundred and 
 sixty miles, on account of the tiring of his first horse. How- 
 ever, Mr. Hull's Gluibler afibided tiie most extraordinary in- 
 stance on record of the stoutness as wl'11 as speed of the race 
 horse. In December 178G, he ran tu'enty-three miles round 
 the flat at Newmarket, in fifty-seven minutes and ten seconds. 
 "While the writer, so frequently quoted or referred to in the 
 present sketch, is favorable to a becosuing development of the 
 power of this noble animal, he severely repudiates the cruelty 
 occasionally exercised upon him. Several instances of it have 
 become matters of public record. Of the number he enumerated, 
 the following are extracted : — an American horse, was, in 1S29, 
 matched to trot ten miles with a Welsh mare, giving her a 
 minute's start. He completed the distance in thirty minutes, 
 being at the rate of rather more than nineteen miles an hour, 
 and beating the mare by sixty yards. This is a fair matter of 
 speed, at an endujable distance ; but when this same horse, 
 some time afterward, was matched to trot thirty-four miles 
 against another, and is distressed, and dies the following night ; 
 when two hackneys are matched ugainst each other, from Lon- 
 don to York, one hundred and ninety-six miles, and one of them 
 runs one hundred and eighty-two of these miles and dies, and 
 the other accomplishes the dreadful feat in forty hours and 
 thirty-five minutes, being kept for more than half the distance 
 under the influence of wine; when two brutes in human shape 
 match their horses, the one a tall and bony animal, and the 
 other a mere pony, against each other for a distance of sixty-two 
 miles, and both are run to a complete stand still, the one at 
 
THE FARM AJSTD THE FIRESIDE. 263 
 
 thirty and the other at eighty yards from the winning point, 
 and, hoth heing still urged on, they drop down and die ; — 
 when we peruse records like these, we envy not, says he, the 
 feelings of the owners, if indeed they are not debased below all 
 feeling. Mr. Youatt also refers to an individual, who, in 1827, 
 rode on a small gelding, ninety-five miles in company with the 
 Limerick coach ; and to another, on a Galloway, less than four- 
 teen hands high, who started with the Exeter mail, and reached 
 that city a quarter of an hour before the mail, being one hun- 
 dred and seventy-two miles, at the rate of more than seven miles 
 an hour ; as instances of great cruelty. The narrator says he 
 saw this pony, a few months afterwards, strained, ring-boned, 
 and foundered — a lamentable picture of the ingratitude of some 
 human brutes towards a willing and faithful servant. 
 
 One of the most remarkable cases of bottom, and even speed, 
 in ordinary labor, known in the horse, is that of a mare raised 
 in Hopkinton, N. H., and brought in the fall of 1832 to Rock- 
 port, in Massachusetts, thirty-two miles from Boston, being then 
 between five and six years of age. She is of a deep bay color, 
 about fourteen hands high, and weighs, in her best condition, 
 something less than eight hundred pounds. For nearly nineteen 
 years she belonged to diflereut livery stables in Rockport, and 
 was used as a let horse. The following statements are made 
 by her present owner, B. Haskell, but are confirmed by the for- 
 mer owners, persons of undoubted credibility, so there can be no 
 doubt of their truth. Rare as are such instances, we once knew 
 a small black horse belonging to a livery stable in Pawtpcket, 
 R. I., whose performances, according to the best of our recollec- 
 tion, were about equal to those of this mare. And, we have 
 owned a horse, within a few years, reported by the former owner 
 to have travelled one hundred miles in twelve consecutive hours ; 
 and, from our own experience with him, did not discredit the 
 representation, but looked upon it as probable. And about thirty 
 vears since, we owned another one, after which we travelled in 
 a carriage, seventy-five miles a day, of twelve hours, more than 
 once, without the slightest apparent inconvenience to the animal. 
 
264 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 Whenever a horse was wanted for a journey, at Roekport, 
 that required speed and endurance, this mare was invariably se- 
 lected for the purpose. To carry two men in a chaise, from that 
 place to Boston and back, a tour of seventy miles ; to drao- a 
 carry-all, with four persons, to Salem and back, forty-two miles, 
 were common daily flfrformances with her. She was known to 
 have seen Boston and Rockport as many as five times iu six 
 weeks, besides her ordinary labor during the intermediate por- 
 tions of the time. In her prime, she was often hired by a stone, 
 contractor, who lived two miles out of the village of Rockport. 
 To his house it was usual to send her in the morning, from 
 
 whence he would drive her to Charlestowu bridge and back 
 
 not always alone, and return her to the stable in the evening, 
 making the distance of her travel upwards of seventy-five miles. 
 This contractor assured Mr. Haskell, that he once drove her to 
 Charlestown in three hours and a half, stopping at Salem about 
 half an hour, and returned the same day. This was at the rate 
 of twelve miles an hour. About the same time, she travelled 
 from Ipswich to Rockport, eighteen miles, in an hour and a 
 quarter. 
 
 When about eleven years old, she had seen so much hard 
 work, and had so many hard drives, that it was thought she 
 must have been worn out ; and she was accordingly offered for 
 sale at seventy-five dollars, without a purchaser. Subsequently, 
 however, she was sold for one hundred dollars ; and, since that 
 sale, it has cost nearly five hundred dollars to keep a horse in 
 the sta|)le by the side of her. Three horses, valued at upwards 
 of one hundred dollars each, subject to the same service with 
 her,* and often favored at her expense, were completely used up. 
 One of them returning from Salem, in company with her at 
 noon in the hottest day of the summer of 1840, the mare hav- 
 ing the hardest of it, died within an hour after his arrival, 
 while the mare was in the harness the next day, as if nothing 
 had happened. In January, 1843, she went with a sleigh to 
 Salem in an hour and three-quarters, stopped there one hour and 
 a quarter, and returned in an hour and fifty-five minutes — forty- 
 
THl! FARM AXD THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 265 
 
 two miles in three hours and forty minutes. Not long before 
 this period, she carried lour persons in a heavy carrj'-all to Salem, 
 in the forenoon, returned with them late in the evening, and at 
 midnight was harnessed to the same vehicle, and sent back in. 
 urgent haste, to return early tiie next morning with two persons. 
 Thus, in scarcely more than twenty-foi»s. hours, dragging that 
 carry-all, with its load, she went eighty-four miles. 
 
 DHAUGHT HORSE OF KOEMANDY. 
 
 Among the best horees of New England, are those called 
 Morgans, in not a few particulars resembling the Arabian horse. 
 They are well known and esteemed for activity, hardiness and 
 docility ; are adapted fn- all work ; good in every spot, except 
 for races on the turf They are lively and spirited, lofty and 
 elegant in their action, carrying themselves gracefully in the 
 liarness. These horses have size iii proportion to their height; 
 bone clean, sinewy legs, compactness, short strong backs, power- 
 ful lungs, strength and endurance. A mixture of the Morgan 
 blood, Ihoujh small, may he easily known from any other stock 
 19 
 
266 THE FAEM 4ND THE FIEESIBE. 
 
 in the country. There is a remarkable similarity prevailing in 
 all of this race. They are known by their short lean heads, 
 •wide across the face at the eyes ; eyes lively and prominent ; 
 open and wide in the under jaws, large wind pipe, deep brisket, 
 heavy and round in the body, broad in the back, short limbs in 
 proportion to size, broad quarters, a lively quick action, indomi- 
 table spirit, move true and easy in a good round trot, and are 
 fast on a walk. Their color is a dark bay, chesnut, brpwn, or 
 black, with dark, flowing, wavy mane and tail ; their height is 
 about fifteen hands ; the head is well up, and they move with- 
 out a whip. Like the Arabian, they are -high mettled, but 
 uniting the playfulness and good humor of the pet lamb with 
 the power and courage of the war-horse, whose neck, in the 
 language of Job, is clothed with thunder, mocking at fear, and 
 rejoicing in his strength. These horses have sometimes been 
 sold as high as two thousand dollars. 
 
 An able writer has given the following desirable character- 
 istics in the horse. A very general account, he remarks, only 
 can be given of the proper conformation of the animal, for it va- 
 ries essentially with the breed, and the destination to which it 
 is designed. There are some points, however, which are valua- 
 ble in horses of every description. The head should not be dis- 
 proportionably large, and should be well set on — that is, the 
 lower-jaw bones should be sufliciently far apart to enable the 
 head to form that angle with the neek which gives free motion, 
 and a graceful carriage to it, and prevents its bearing too heavily 
 on the hand. The eye should be large and a little prominent, 
 and the eyelid fine and thin. The ear should be small and 
 erect, and quick in motion. The lop ear indicates dullness or 
 stubbornness ; and when it is habitually laid too far back upon 
 the neck, there is frequently a disposition to mischief The nos- 
 tril, in every breed should be somewhat expanded ; it can hardly 
 be too much so in the racer, the hunter, the roadster, and the 
 coach horse, for this animal breathes only through the nostril, 
 and would be dangerously distressed when much speed is reqnii-ed 
 of him, for the nostril could not dilate to admit and return the air. 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 267 
 
 The neck should be rather long than short. It then enables 
 the animal to graze with more ease and to throw his weight 
 more forward, whether he is in harness or galloping at the top 
 of his speed. It should he muscular at its base, and gradually- 
 become fine as it approaches the head. The withers should be 
 somewhat high in every horse, except, perhaps, that of heavy 
 draught, and it does not harm him, for there is larger surface 
 for the attachment of the muscles oi' the back, and they act at 
 greater mechanical advantage. A slanting direction of the 
 shoulder gives, also, much mechanical advantage, as well as an 
 easy and pleasant action, and a greater degree of safety. It 
 must not, however, exist in any considerable degree in the horse 
 of draught, and particularly of heavy draught. The chest must 
 be capacious, for it contains the heart and the lungs, the organs 
 on which the speed and endurance of the horse depend. Capa- 
 city of chest is indispensible in every horse, but the form of the 
 chest admits of variation. In the wagon horse, the circular 
 chest may be admitted, because he seldom goes at any great 
 speed, and there is, comparatively, little variation in the quan- 
 tity of air required ; but in other horses is often fearful. 
 
 The quantity of air expended in a gallop is many times 
 that required in hard work. Here we must have depth of chest, 
 not only as giving more room for the insertion of the muscles, on 
 the action of which the expansion of the chest depends, but a 
 confirmation of the chest which admits of that expansion. 
 That which is somewhat straight may be easily bent into a cir- 
 cle when greater capacity is required ; that which is already 
 circular admits of no expansion. The whole seems to be im- 
 plied in the general rule, that the loins should be broad, the 
 quarters long, the thighs miuscular, and the hocks well bent and 
 well under the horse ; or, in other words, where there are these 
 developments the other points will exist almost of course. We 
 talk much of the beauty of the human figure, and of its ap- 
 propriate conformation, to answer particular physical func- 
 tions ; but the principles of beauty in the horse, and of his 
 appropriate conformation to particular physical functions, are 
 
268 THE FARM AND THE FIKESIDE. 
 
 equally well defined and well understood by those who study 
 his physiology. 
 
 Without the horse, it may be asserted that man could not 
 have reached his present pitch of civilization, nor have been 
 able to overcome the numerous obstacles to comfort and happi- 
 ness. The want of these animals was one of the principal causes 
 which rendered the aboriginal inhabitants of this country bo 
 inferior to their invaders; and the decided superiority of the 
 white over the Indian was owing almost as much to the horse 
 as to the knowledge of firearms. In fact, next to the want of 
 iron, the want of horses is, perhaps, one of the greatest physical 
 obstacles to the advancement of the arts of civilized hfe. Even 
 with the progress that has been made in the.arts— with the 
 facilities now existing through the agency of steam, for traveling, 
 for the conveyance of burdens, and as a substitute generally for 
 animal power, were we henceforth to he deprived of the horse, 
 there would be a blank in the means for human comfort but 
 little realized. Between this animal and such comfort there 
 has become a relation which cannot be destroyed without leaving 
 a chasm in society that cannot again be filled. No wonder, 
 then, that the horse has been and is still so highly prized. We 
 are taught to do it almost by instinct. 
 
 In Scotland was a breed of small horses, called Galloways. 
 They were from thirteen to fourteen hands high ; of a bright 
 bay, or brown, with black legs, small head and neck, and pecu- 
 liarly deep and clean legs. Their properties were speed, stout- 
 ness, and surc-footedness over a rugged and mountainous coun- 
 try. Some remains of them still exist; but they are now much 
 neglected and are fast degenerating from admixture with infe- 
 rior breeds. Dr. Anderson says they much resembled a breed 
 of ponies in Iceland and Sweden. He says that one ho possessed 
 when a boy, was in elegance of shape a perfect picture ; and in 
 disposition was gentle and compliant. It moved almost invo- 
 luntarily and never seemed to tire. He rode it, as he had occa- 
 sion, during twenty-five 5'ears, and twice in that time one hun- 
 dred and fifty miles at a stretch, without stopping except to bait, 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIEESIDE. 
 
 269 
 
 and that for above an hour at a time. It was wont to come in 
 at the last stage with as much ease and alacrity as it had 
 travelled the first. He said that when in its prime it might 
 have travelled sixty miles a day for a twelve-month without 
 
 
 
 ''V 
 
 
 THE PONY. 
 
 extraordinary exertion . In 1754 a Mr. Corker had a'Galloway 
 that went one hundred miles a day for three successive days, and 
 without the slightest distress. A Galloway of a Mr. Sinclair 
 performed the extraordinary feat of travelling one thousand miles 
 in a thousand hours. 
 
 The Shetland pony, called in Scotland Sheltie, an inhabitant 
 of the extremest northern Scottish Isles, is a very diminutive 
 animal, sometimes not more than seven or eight hands high and 
 rarely exceeding nine. He is exceedingly beautiful, with a 
 small head, good tempered countenance, a short neck, and shoul- 
 ders thick and low. These ponies possess immense strength for 
 their size ; will fatten upon any thing ; and are perfectly docile. 
 One of them, nine hands or three feet high, carried a man forty 
 miles in a day. 
 
270 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 PROGRESS OF AGRICULTURE. 
 
 Agriculture is the science which explains the means of mak- 
 ing the earth produce, in plenty and perfection, those vegetables 
 which are necessary to the subsistence or convenience of man. 
 Its practice demands a considerable knowledge of the relations 
 subsisting between the most important objects of nature. It is 
 eminently conducive to the advantage of those actively engaged 
 in it, by its tendency to promote health, and to cherish in them 
 a manly and ingenuous character ; and every improvement 
 made in the art must be considered as of high utility, as it fa- 
 cilitates the subsistence of a greater proportion of rational and 
 moral ageats ; or, if we suppose the number to be tiiiincreased 
 furnishes them with- greater opportunities than could be pos- 
 sessed before, of obtaining that intellectual and moral enjoy- 
 ment which is the most honorable characteristic of their na- 
 ture. The strength of nations is in proportion te their skilful 
 cultivation of the soil ; and their independence is secured, and 
 their patriotism animated, by obtaining from their native spot 
 all the req^uisites ibr easy and vigorous subsistence. And not only 
 to raise vegetables for the use of man, but those animals also 
 which are used f^i- food, is obviously, therefore, part of the occu- 
 pation of the husbandman ; and to assist him in his operations, 
 other animals are to be reared and fed by him, to relieve his 
 labors by their strength and endurance of exertion. In cold, 
 and comparatively infertile climates, the services of these crea- 
 tures are particularly important, if not' absolutely indispensable, 
 and their health and multiplication become, consequently, ob- 
 jects of great and unremitted attention. 
 
 A<^rioulture may be considered the most ancient, and is cer- 
 tainly, no one can deny, the most important of all arts. It even 
 forms the basis of society, and constitutes the grand character- 
 istics between savage and civilized life. In the necessity of 
 cultivating the earth for subsistence, social order commenced. 
 The wandering life of a nation of hunters admits of little or 
 no improvement. Agriculture has the credit of having re- 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 271 
 
 claimed mankind from this hopeless state ; by drawing them 
 together in communities, and imposing on them the necessity 
 of a iixed habitation. Hence, the ancient nations, amongst 
 winch this act originated, held it in the greatest veneration. The 
 Egyptians considered it as a gift from the gods, and even paid 
 divine honors to the ox on account of his usefulnesss in agricul- 
 tural labors. The ancient Remans venerated the plough, and 
 in the earliest and purest times of the republic, the greatest 
 praise of an illustrious citizen, was to be called an industrious 
 and skilful husbandman. 
 
 It is most unfortunate for the interests of society that the 
 same views are not now more generally cherished on this sub- 
 ject. It is a sad fact that vast numbers of our young men, espe- 
 cially, place a low estimate on agriculture, reckoning it a less 
 honorable vocation than other pursuits,- and also, though most 
 toilsome, yet the least likely to yield adequate remuneration. 
 Too many of those born in the country have been led to the be- 
 hef that fortune, success, and happiness are found only in a city 
 life. Every thing, in their estimation, seems to- glorify the 
 crowded marts of trade, or gaudily to paint the pleasures there 
 supposed to bud and blossom. Stories of ready made fortunes, 
 of wonderful success in business, and of remarkably rapid ad- 
 vances in social elevation, serve to feed and increase this diseased 
 appetite ; and in the end, too often it happens, that sure pros- 
 pects and certainties of moderate success are sacrificed for mere 
 golden illusions. They walk through the streets of a commer- 
 cial emporium, and see its magnificent stores and princely resi- 
 dences ; and upon looking at large signs in fantastic letters, said 
 to belong to men of wealth, they fancy that all the stories often 
 told them of some who rose from poverty to wealth ; of some 
 who commenced in rags and are now rolling in luxury, are 
 matters of genuine truth. But have these young men heard or 
 read of the history of such as failed in their attempts to become 
 rich ? They see the names of the successful ones at the corners 
 of the streets, but where will they find a list of those who sunk 
 in the ocean of trade ? The history of such is rarely written. 
 
27"2 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 The wave of oblivion passes over them, and they are soon for- 
 gotten by their own associates and friends. 
 
 Or, if our yonng men of the country desire the fame arising 
 from professional or literary distinction, it does not follow that 
 they must abandon the farm in order to attain the object of their 
 aspirations. Have they ever reflected that all or most of those 
 who have risen to the first office in the American Union were 
 bred and reared in the country ? How is it that almost every 
 individual — our statesmen, poets, authors and men of science, 
 emerged from the walks of rural life 1 Such facts plead volumes 
 against the idea that the city alone is the nursery for literary 
 distinctions 1 Supposing they have opportunity for pursuing 
 agriculture, as it may be pursued by men of liberal endowments, 
 does it occur to them how profitable would be to them a thorough 
 scientific education. Scientific men, men with a knowledge of 
 botany, chemistry, geology, and other sciences appertaining to 
 the cultivation of the soil, will, by the application of what they 
 know, make an acre of ground yield two or three times as much 
 as obtained from ordinary culture. The cultivation of the soil 
 may be mad6 a learned profession. Farmers have leisure time 
 which might always be devoted to study. Books are cheap, and 
 a few dollars annually spent in procuring them, and then a little 
 time in perusing them, would enable agriculturists to reach a 
 most desirable reputation. And, it is believed that the same 
 capital, and talents, and labor applied to farming that is devoted 
 to merchandize will, on an average, lead to better results, so far 
 as remuneration is concerned. In agriculture, well conducted, 
 all may be assured of a good living, and moderate accumula- 
 tions. In no other occupation do all realize as much. The 
 good old Koman doctrine on this subject is the true doctrine. If 
 one man is more honorable than another, other things benig 
 equal, it is the farmer. 
 
 In the season for carrying on the processes of tillage— of 
 ploughing, sowing, and harvesting, there is much calculated to 
 lead the mind to the most inquisitive habits of philosophic in- 
 vestio-ation— there is much to produce that excitement so con- 
 
THE FAKM AND THE FIRESIDE. 273 
 
 genial to active temperaments ; and, indeed it is impossible to 
 conceive of any employment more favorable to mental improve- 
 ment than that of the farmer. And, in winter there is nothing 
 disagreeable in the business of the farm. On the contrary, it is 
 full of interest, inasmuch as the welfare of living animals is pre- 
 sented to the attention more forcibly than during the cultivation of 
 the soil. The well marked individual character of different ani- 
 mals engage the sympathy ; and the more so, that animals seem 
 more domesticated under confinement than when at liberty to 
 roam in quest of food and shelter. lu the evening, in winter, 
 the hospitality of the social board is peculiarly pleasing at the 
 farmer'.'i fireside. Neighbors interchange visits in that season, 
 when topics of conversation common to all clayses of persons are 
 varied by remarks on what is peculiar to scientific agriculture. 
 Thus, the business of summer is brought under the most benefi- 
 cial review — its programme and ils ro!-:u!ts carefully compared ; 
 its errors become detected and its deficiencies made manifest, so 
 that in the coming year, the wise and prudent agriculturist is 
 enabled to return to his labor under the most favorable auspices. 
 And, should society in this way I'urnish few or no charms, the 
 quieter companion of books, or the severer task of study is al- 
 ways at command, so that if the farmer and his family pass tho 
 winter without pleasure and profit, it denotes an' inaptitude for 
 the most essential purposes of life, if not of downright mental 
 paralysis. 
 
 The early and the high origin of agriculture, with the philo- 
 sophical and Christian mind, is a subject of deep and impres- 
 sive interest and cannot fail to create a fondness for rural life, if 
 all other motives were to be unavailing. Allusion has already 
 been made to it ; but, a more formal reference to it is proper. 
 We learn from the writings of Moses, in an explicit maiiiit-r ihat 
 the cultivation of the ground was the primitive employment of 
 man. The earth no longer yielded her productions spontane- 
 ously after the defection to the Divine government in Paradise. 
 It has been cursed with barrenness for Adam's disobedience; 
 and under the new constitution of things could be made to 
 
274 THE FARM AND THE FIHESIDE. 
 
 minister to his wants only by patient toil, and careful and as- 
 siduous tillage. Adam was therefore removed from the garden 
 of Eden in which he had been placed for sustenance without labor 
 and for a high state of meditative enjoyment, to till the ground ; 
 and the presumption is a rational one that he and his immediate 
 descendants were instructed by God himself in the mysteries of 
 this art, for it can scarcely be imagined, that in an art depend- 
 ing upon the application of some -of the most curious principles 
 of natural philosophy, unassisted reason would have been suffi- 
 cient for the purpose. 
 
 In the early ages of the world, before mankind had become 
 numerous, and whilst every tribe or family could range over a 
 large extent of country, their principal wealth consisted in flocks 
 and herds, and their chief employment in the care of them. 
 This continues to be the condition of the Nomade nations of 
 Northern Asia to the present day ; and under such circum- 
 stances agriculture is but little attended to. The Egyptians 
 were undoubtedly the first people, who applied themselves suc- 
 cessfully to the cultivation of the earth ; and they were invited 
 to it by the extraordinary fertility of their soil, occasioned by 
 the annual overflowings of the Nile. The wealth and power 
 which they acquired from this source, and their extraordinary 
 advances in knowledge and the arts, are fully attested by those 
 wonderful monuments still remaining of their former greatness. 
 The Greeks probably borrowed their agriculture, as they did 
 their arts and early principles of science, from the Egyptians. 
 The Chaldeans and Phcenicians held husbandry in the highest 
 estimation. The Carthagenians descended from the latter, car- 
 ried it to great perfection. The Romans devoted themselves, as 
 above stated, to agriculture, with extraordinary success, and 
 several of their treatises on the subject are still extant. In fact 
 all the celebrated states of antiquity rivalled each other in pro- 
 moting and improving this art. 
 
 The period of the introduction of agriculture into Great 
 Britain is unknown. Pliny observes that at the time of the 
 Roman invasion, the iiihjibitants were acquainted with certain 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 275 
 
 manners, particularly rural. During the possession of the island 
 by the Romans, great quantities of grain were exported from it, 
 and it cannot he doubted that, as in various other respects, the 
 rude inhabitants derived advantage from their enlightened con- 
 querors ; they were eminently benefited by their agricultural 
 experience. Amidst the series of contests and confusions which 
 followed the final abandonment of that island by the Romans, 
 the art and practice of husbandry, in all probability, must have 
 been retrograde. From the Norman conquest, however, it de- 
 rived fresh vigor, as a considerable number of Flemish farmers, 
 by that revolution, became proprietors of British estates, and in- 
 troduced that knowledge of the means of cultivation for which 
 their own country had been long distinguished. Prior to the 
 sixteenth century, few data are furnished with respect to the de- 
 tails of agricultural practice in that country. Subsequently to 
 the commencement of it, several gentlemen of talents published 
 treatises on the subject, among whom were Fitzherbert, Sir Hugh 
 Piatt, Gabriel Plattes, Blyth, Hartlib, Evelyn, and Jethro TuU. 
 The last two were of a date somewhat later than the others, 
 and of course are more known to the readers of the present day 
 than the other five. Evelyn published a work on plants, and 
 Tull recommended drill husbandry, which contributed essential- 
 ly to improve the taste and moral cast of the people in relation 
 to this subject. 
 
 Since the successful ajid ingenious efforts of those gentlemen, 
 a series of valuable experimentalists and writers have performed 
 to their country very essential service, by communicating the 
 most useful information, and exciting a spirit of acute research 
 and unwearied exertion. From a happy combination of circum- 
 stances, the exertions of individuals, societies, and government, 
 have been directed within the last three quarters of a century, 
 to the subject under consideration, with more energy and efTect 
 than have been displayed in other parts of Europe. The gentry 
 and nobility have liberally patronized, and many of them judicious- 
 ly and successfully practiced it. The Royal Society, the Society of 
 Arts, and various others, have been of distinguished service in col- 
 
275 THI^ FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 lectin^ and diffusing information, and in promoting a spirit of enra- 
 Jation, with respect to the manageiiient and productioHS of their 
 native soil. The names of Kaims and Hunter, of Anderson and 
 Marshall, of yiuclair and Young, and of others more recent, are 
 celebrated by publications, exhibiting a union of philosopliical 
 sagacity and patient experiment; the lesulls of whicli have 
 been of incalculable advantage ; and to these and other indi- 
 viduals, it may be ascribed that a board of agriculture was es- 
 tablislied by the government in 179,;, whose exertions in pro- 
 cuiing and publishing iutLdligence on the objects of its estab- 
 lishment, have entitled it to the highest credit. By its agiicul- 
 tural surveys, by its ditliision of rcwiirds lor important discover- 
 ies, and of premiums for valuable treaiises, and by its exertions 
 at critical periods of scarcity, its utihiy and merit may be pro- 
 nounced not only as decided, but du-^tinguished. It has the 
 power of directing public attention to any topics particularly re- 
 quiring practical research or illustration, and possesses the means 
 of most advantageously diffusing its collections, circumstances of 
 higli importance to the utility of the establishment ; and, not 
 less in calling the attention of the national legislature to any 
 obstacles that may exist, or new facilities required in the ac- 
 complishment of its original design. 
 
 The pursuits of agriculture have always been and still arc 
 held in high estimation by the Chinese, who commence the 
 agricultural year wdth a grand festival„in honor of spring. On 
 this occasion the emperor, in imitation of his ancient predeces- 
 sor, performs the operation of ploughing and sowing seed in a 
 field set apart for that purpose, a custom that has very sel- 
 dom been neglected by the sovereigns of the Chinese Empire, 
 who have thus by their own example, stimulated their subjects 
 to the perlbrraance of these useful and necessary labors, and 
 maintained the honorable position and character of husbandman, 
 who even now holds a rank in society above that of the soldier 
 or mercliant, however wealthy the latter may bo. 
 
 Among the ancients, particularly the Egyptians, Persians, and 
 Grecians, it was a common practice to hold games and festivals, 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 277 
 
 mingled with religious ceremonies, at that season when the earth 
 is ready to receive the seed, thus showing the cheerfulness with 
 which the farmers returned to their rustic toils, and the reliance 
 they placed on the Supreme Being to reward them with an 
 abundant harvest. The old festival of Plough Monday in Eng- 
 land, was probably derived from these customs of the ancients, 
 and was formerly celebrated in all of the rural districts with 
 great merry makings ; some of th« rites observed being not un- 
 like those among the Chinese, as an instance of which the plough- 
 light was set up before the image of some patron saint in the 
 village church ; an usage somewhat similar to that observed 
 among the Chinese, who place lighted candles opposite certain 
 images in their temples. 
 
 The plough, the harrow, and the hoe, all of the rudest con- 
 struction, are the chief implements used by the Chinese farmer, 
 the spade being only seen occasionally. The plough is usually 
 drawn by buffaloes, but sometimes that labor is performed by 
 men, and even by women, among the lowest class of farmers. 
 The great object of cultivation is rice, the staple food of all clas- 
 ses, from the prince to the peasant. Most of the plains present 
 an endless succession of rice or paddy fields, which, in the early 
 stages of the crops, exhibit a vast surface of bright green, but 
 turn yellow as the grain ripens. The seed is first sown in small 
 patches, flooded with a particular preparation of liquid manure, 
 which promotes its immediate development, so that in a few 
 days the shoots are five or six inches in height, when they are 
 transplanted to the fields, some of the laborers being employed 
 in taking them up, others in making holes to receive them, and 
 a third party in dropping them into the holes, about six together. 
 All these men stand up to their ankles in water, for it is requisite 
 that the rice should be kept constantly wet, or it would be spoiled ; 
 but when the rice is ripe, the fields are drained, so that the reap- 
 ers, whose labors commence about midsummer, work on dry 
 land. 
 
 In France, the political expedience of guarding against that 
 scarcity which, in time of war, either necessitated the yielding to 
 
278 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 harsh terms from the enemy, or exposed to the miseries and hor- 
 rors of famine, by continued hostilities, induced the government, 
 when in Great Britian the subject was early agitated, to bestow 
 on agriculture considerable attention, and to hold out numerous 
 encouragements to it. The court was present at various experi- 
 ments in husbandry. Prize questions were proposed at Lyons, 
 Bourdeaux, and Amiens, for its promotion, and no less than fif- 
 teen societies for the express purpose of advancing agriculture 
 were established with the approbation, probably at the sugges- 
 tions of the governing powers. But, notwithstanding all these 
 efforts, which, however, can by no means be presumed to have 
 been totally useless, French husbandry continued in a very de- 
 plorable state, ascribable, it may be supposed, in a great degree 
 to that tenure of lands by which through the greater part of the 
 kingdom the landlord contributed the stock, and the occupier the 
 labor ; dividing the profits in certain proportioned shares. This 
 circumstance, with several others, operated to keep the cultiva- 
 tion of that country in an extremely low state. But the revolu- 
 tion of France, changing everything, in part swept away landed 
 usages that were so unpropitious to agricultural improvement. 
 Bonaparte established many new agricultural societies and pro- 
 fessorships, botanical and economical gardens, for the exhibition 
 of different modes of culture, and the dissemination of plants. 
 He al.5o enlarged and enriched that extensive institution, the 
 National Garden. The lands of France are not generally enclosed 
 and subdivided by hedges as in England, or fences as in the 
 United States. Some fences occur near towns, but, in general, 
 the whole country is open, the boundaries of estates being marked 
 by slight ditches or ridges, with occasional stones or heaps of 
 earth, trees in rows or thinly scattered. Among the objects of 
 French husbandry sheep are prominent. The vine is cultivated 
 there in fields and on terraced hills, like Indian corn, is kept low, 
 and is managed much like a plantation of raspberries. The white 
 mulberry, to furnish food for the silk worm, is likewise an ob- 
 ject of attention. And the olive, the fig, and the almond, with 
 several other kinds of fruit, are extensively cultivated in France. 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 279 
 
 At a comparatively early date, in the various states of Ger- 
 many, lectures have been delivered on agriculture, and other 
 means have been used to accelerate its progress. Some of our 
 best books on the subject are from that country. Among the 
 German writers on agricultural science who have become ex- 
 tensively known, and who have done much to advance it in 
 their own country, as well as in others, Thaer and Liebig stand 
 pre-eminent. No one can fully estimate the value of their la- 
 bors. The impulse received from them, on numerous individuals, 
 if not upon the masses, has been like galvanic action. As little 
 inclined as are the thousands, and the hundreds of thousands, of 
 our farmers for scientific inquiry, the treatises of these gentle- 
 men have passed through successive editions, and they may be 
 found in our best libraries. Germany includes the varieties of 
 soil , surface, climate and culture adapted to a great number 
 of the staple vegetable products ; and, although the greater 
 portion of them is consumed within her own limits, by her 
 own citizens, excellent wines are exported from Hungary 
 and the Rhine, together with flax, hams, geese, silks and other 
 articles. The culture of the mulberry, and the rearing of the 
 silkworm, are carried on as far north as Berlin. Theoretical 
 agriculturists are well acquainted with all the improved imple- 
 ments of Gi"eat Britain, and some of them have been introduced 
 especially into Holstein, Hanover, and Westphalia. In parts 
 of Germany, particularly in Prussia, fish are carefully bred and 
 fattened ; and poultry is every where attended to, particularly 
 in the neighborhood of Vienna. The culture of forests, likewise, 
 receives particular attention in that country as well as in France. 
 The common agriculture of Germany is every where in a pro- 
 gressive state. Government, as well as individuals, have formed 
 institutions for the instruction of youth in its principles. The 
 Imperial Society of Vienna, the Geological Institution of Pres- 
 burg, and that oif Professor Thaer in Prussia, may be numbered 
 among the institutions of this description. 
 
 The circumstances that have given tone to American agri- 
 culture have been of a peculiar character. On the first settle- 
 
280 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 ment of the country, the inhabitants were so few and the land 
 so abundant, that no attempts were made to preserve it in good 
 condition. Everything was to be done, and labor was scarce, 
 and of high price. Not only a subsistence was to be obtained, 
 but houses and barns were to be built, mills were to be con- 
 structed, and every thing seemingly necessary in civilized life 
 was to be made in the best and cheapest manner possible. To 
 us, at this distance of time, it seems impossible that they should, 
 as well as they did, have sustained themselves, and obtained for 
 themselves so many of the comforts in domestic economy. True, 
 they were often straitened ; to suffer privation, with them, was 
 habitual ; and, at best, they were only able to obtain the most 
 common fare, and were taught to be content with a small num- 
 ber of auxiliary helps to ease and adornment. This was the 
 more trying, as the bulk of the first settlers in this country were 
 persons who had never been accustomed to the severities of the 
 lower classes in society ; they had belonged to the better classes; 
 had enjoyed plenty, and as many of the elegances and the super- 
 fluities of life as M'ere generally known at that day. To plunge, 
 therefore, into the depths of forests, never before penetrated by 
 civilized man ; to create for themselves on a desolate shore, se- 
 parated from their native land and from all friends, by an ocean 
 of four thousand miles in extent, at that time not to he crossed 
 without perilous imaginings, required a moral and physical ener- 
 gy, seldom at this age of the world found requisite. Such was 
 the condition of our first American ancestors. 
 
 The land was so abundant, it could be had at pleasure, or 
 at only a nominal vaUiation. Thus, being able to cultivate as 
 much as they pleased, they had no motive of interest to keep it 
 in good condition, to enrich it, or to render it capable of future 
 fertility, but simply to get out of it all they possibly could, with 
 the least possible labor and expenditure. Accordingly, each 
 one would take and cultivate such a piece of land as would 
 yield for his family a support ; this was cultivated year after 
 year till it became exhausted, and would not pay for culture ; 
 then it was abandoned and another similar piece substituted in 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 281 
 
 its place, and in the same manner exhausted ; then a third, and 
 a fourth, and a fifth, till whole townships or districts were ren- 
 dered infertile and were hence abandoned. It is known that 
 a vast portion of the land at first used by settlers on the Ameri- 
 can continent were thus rendered of little vaJue. With such a 
 course of husbandry, the art of sustaining the soil became, as it 
 were, lost, if it had been known. However, individuals became 
 alarmed at the impending consequences, a spirit of inquiry was 
 called into action, and here and there a resort to science for res- 
 toring this worn out land, has been attended vi'ith successful re- 
 sults. Agricultural Societies, more or less of thera, sprung up 
 in different sections of the country, and by their annual fairs, 
 have already done something, and are now doing much, in 
 placing agriculture in its proper position ; and not only in caus- 
 ing it to be duly respected, but in the restoration afforded by 
 them to thousands of these woi-n out farms. 
 
 Agriculture in our country is on the ascendant; it is every 
 year becoming more and more an object of general interest ; 
 wherever the influence of agricultural societies is duly felt, crops 
 are in a process of augmentation, the breeds of farm animals 
 are undergoing improvement, and the general business of hus- 
 bandry is, not only viewed with increasing favor, but is evidently 
 receiving a more adequate remuneration. Between the laboring 
 yeomanry and those of other departments of industry, there is 
 less of estrangement, and more of a feeling of good will and 
 common brotherhood than formerly. Our agricultural fairs are 
 becoming the most attractive holidays of the country, and are 
 hence annually bringing together the best talent of the nation. 
 The highest in office deem it no degradation, on these occasions, 
 to deliver addresses, and to mingle congratulations with the 
 working farmer. Where do we see collected more talent than 
 at the fair of the State Agricultural Society of New- York ? 
 Where else is there such a rush of mechanical genius, of rural 
 enterprise, and even of female beauty, for a succession of weeks, 
 as at the fair of the American Institute ? Here, too, the pro- 
 ducts of the plough, the loom, and the anvil, are displayed in 
 
232 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 juxtaposition ; and the factor and the merchant lend their in- 
 fluence to the joyfulness of the occasion. In the vicinity of Bos- 
 ton, also, on these anniversaries, there is an exhibition of princely 
 hearts — of nature's true nobility — as well as of agricultural pro- 
 ducts, that would do honor to the best fair in Great Britain. 
 
 Among the most encouraging tokens of agricultural progress 
 in our country, is the disposition frequently manifested among 
 merchants to have a country summer residence, where their 
 feelings become assimilated with those of a rural population, and 
 where they can participate in the invigorating influence of a 
 pure air, fresh vegetable products, and the pastimes of rural 
 society. Here their social affinities will soon begin to manifest 
 themselves ; here they will begin to make permanent invest- 
 ments ; and, here, on relinquishment of business in the city, 
 they will resolve to make a fixed residence, where in peaceful 
 retirement they can finish their earthly pilgrimage. Many pro- 
 fessional gentlemen, on finding themselves able to give up pro- 
 fessional toil in the city, are here constantly bending their way. 
 And it is a rare occurrence, that an exhausted or spent politician 
 will think of spending the remnant of his life amid the excite- 
 ments of a dense population. Such an adhesion to influences, 
 which are, even in the mid-day of life, unfavorable ta physical 
 energy, would also be in bad taste as well as prejudicial to per- 
 sonal and domestic enjoyment. When the retired merchant, 
 the retired professional man, and the retired politician, thus 
 plant themselves on farms in the country, their step becomes 
 more elastic, their minds more buoyant and cheerful, and there 
 will be a freshness in their old age, to which they would have 
 been strangers amidst the crowds and the impure exhalations 
 of a commercial emporium. And, they will, moreover, bv their 
 wealth and intelligence, give a new tone to the social character 
 of country life, and also an impetus to the enterprise and Indus- • 
 try which belong there. The benefit between the two classes is 
 mutual. The one is rendered more polished in manners, and 
 more systematic and successful in labor, and the other is rendered 
 more healthful, and complaisant, and useful 
 
THE FARM AJTD THE FIRESIDE. 283 
 
 The most recent movement made in this country to advance 
 tlie interests of agriculture, is the formation of a National Agri- 
 cultural Society, its central point of action being at the seat of 
 the National Government. It vi^as organized by delegates from 
 the several state societies, wilh a president and other officers. 
 These officers so far as known to us, are gentlemen of the first 
 intelligence and respectability, and will inspire the fullest confi- 
 dence in the efficiency of the institution ; and the president es- 
 pecially, a distinguished merchant, horticulturist and farmer, 
 has yet by his great industry, become well known as a good 
 writer and orator, no one to our knowledge having rendered the 
 cause more service by public addresses. Should this institution 
 receive the patronage of the National Government, its sphere 
 of operation will become large, and its utility of the utmost im- 
 portance to the community. It is matter of inexplicable mys- 
 tery, that the American government, which emanates' from the 
 people, and is of course responsible to the people — a people, 
 moreover, four-fifths at least farmers, has refused or neglected to 
 render any material service to this portion of their constituents. 
 Congress has been accustomed to vote away money as freely as 
 though it were water, for almost any quixotic purpose, where 
 political capital would arise to themselves, or pecuniary advan- 
 tage to their personal friends ; but if money were asked to found 
 and systain an agricultural bureau in connection with the gov- 
 ernment, a deaf ear was turned to the subject. It is hoped that 
 a more auspicious conjunction of circumstances has arrived ; and 
 that the recently organised National Agricultural Society of the 
 American Union, will receive from the national treasury that 
 encouragement it deserves. 
 
 The president of the institution having on unanimous 
 vote, been elected to that office, rose and ma^e the following 
 address, so appropriate, that we annex it to the present article : 
 
 " Gentlemen of the Convention : — I will not interrupt the 
 proceedings of this body by any extended remarks from the 
 chair ; but I cannot forbear to tender to you my heartfelt grati- 
 tude for the honor you have conferred upon me in selecting me 
 
284 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 to preside over your deliberations — an honor which is connected 
 with a pursuit which has ever laid near my heart. 
 
 " Permit ine also to express my great gratification that there 
 are present so many members representing the agricultural in- 
 terest of this great republic — some gentlemen coming from dif- 
 ferent and distant parts of the Union, at great personal sacri- 
 fice ; but whether from the North or the South, the East or the 
 West, I extend to each of you the hand of fellowship, and I 
 greet you as brothers in a common cause. 
 
 " Gentlemen, we come here with no sinister motives ; we 
 have no political arguments to advance ; we have no sectional 
 or party purposes to promulgate, but we are here for more im- 
 portant purposes. We are here to advance an art coeval with 
 the existence of the human race — an art which employs eigh- 
 teen millions of our population, and four-fifths of all the capital 
 in our fair land — an art which lies at the very foundation of na- 
 tional and individual prosperity and wealth, the basis of com- 
 merce, of manufactures, and of industrial pursuits. We are an 
 agricultural people ; our habits, our dispositions are-rural. I 
 rejoice that it is so, and I pray that it may ever continue to be 
 so. Our country embraces every variety of soil, and is capable 
 of producing most of the products of the torrid and temperate 
 zones ; and with a suitable application of science to this art, 
 and a wise division of labor, with proper governmental aid, 
 there is no reason why American agriculture may not sustain 
 competition with that of any other nation of the civilized globe. 
 
 " The progress of agriculture, as j'ou all know, gentlemen, has 
 been slow in the United States, but a new era has now com- 
 menced. The old worn-out systems of cultivation which have 
 been followed by father and sou, and from generation to genera- 
 tion, are now to bp swept away, and science is to take its place 
 in aid of honest industry. I rejoice, gentlemen, that we live at 
 this day ; I rejoice that the seed planted by the immortal 
 Washington, and which has been watered by thousands of other 
 eminent agriculturists, is now taking root, and that we live in 
 our day to rsaline some of the proud results of their hopes. 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 285 
 
 "Much of the progress which has been attained in our country 
 is the result of individual enterprise, aided by the agi'icultural 
 press ; but the great motive power is confederated action, is as- 
 sociated effort. Gentlemen, we have met on this occasion to 
 avail ourselves of this powerful impetus. At no period in the 
 history of our country has there been such an assembly collected, 
 for the purpose of considering those objects for which we are 
 brought together, and there has been no opportunity which is so 
 favorable to the interests of the farmer.'' 
 
 ARTIFICES OF AXIMALS. 
 
 Every person who has lived on a farm is familiar with the 
 artifices of domestic and farm animals. With what shrewdness 
 will the old cat watch for an opportunity to steal into the pan- 
 try, or an inner cellar, at the heels of some one having occasion 
 to go thither, and to be left alone, that she may have full liberty 
 to lubricate her parched lips and tongue with a plate of fresh 
 butler, or a pan of rich cream — or to put into requisition the 
 gastric juices of the stomach upon the remains of a recent din- 
 ner, or beefsteak designed for the coming breakfast. This done, 
 with equal adroitness she watches the first opening of the door 
 to make her egress unnoticed, and then reposes in a retired cor- 
 ner, as if not to be suspected, looking as demure as a saint, and 
 no one suspecting the mischief till surveying the premises of the 
 missing article, and even then oftentimes doubting what has 
 become of them. And with what cunning will this old feline 
 pet of the family feign herself asleep, behind the stove, while 
 the inmates are at their meals, as if the crash of a thunder clap 
 would scarcely disturb her somniferous appearances ; yet, when 
 they all retire, and she alone having liie, remains in the room, 
 with the quickness of lightning she darts upon the table, regales 
 herself without ceremony, upon the best to be found, and then, 
 frequently, undiscovered, resumes her previously reposing pos- 
 
286 THE FAEM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 ture ! And the family dog, although possessed of certain kinds 
 of business-like honor and honesty, when left in watch of pro- 
 perty, understands quite as well as Mrs. Puss, how to take care 
 of himself, especially if he is a lover of uncooked mutton and 
 lamb, and is kindly disposed to relieve the butcher from some of 
 his official toils. 
 
 These are but trivial specimens of their kind of what may 
 be seen upon the premises of the ruralist. There is old Brindle, 
 the very personification of simplicity and artlessness, will stand 
 or lie for hours, chewing her cud, as if all were perfectly safe 
 under her jurisdiction, yet if her powers of self support have been 
 fully developed, and she is left alone in the midst of all she sur- 
 veys, it may be relied upon that she will begin to study the code 
 of ways and means. If she have a calf shut up in close pen, 
 and suspects that its owner allowed it but a scanty breakfast, 
 the probability is that with the tip of her horn she will raise 
 the iron hook that fastens the door and allow her darling to 
 partake of an early lunch. Or, if her ladyship espies a tempt- 
 ing field of waving maize, the chance is she will become dissat- 
 isfied with the short grass in the highway, and the closely fed 
 pasture, as many a one in human form is dissatisfied with what 
 belongs to him, and is envious of what belongs to others, and 
 with the tip of her horns will remove a rail, that she may lux- 
 uriate almost to self-destruction on the rich herbage. And she 
 has been known, when honest people, and honest cows, too, 
 should be asleep, to recollect the fruitful cabbage-plat in the 
 kitchen garden, and also the long wooden peg that confines the 
 gate leading thither ; and as soon as the image of such good 
 things, and the means of reaching them is fairly in her mind's 
 eye, she seizes between her teeth the stopper to the gate, opens 
 it, and then gives a demonstration of fondness for this wide- 
 leaved esculent, equal to that of the most voracious lover of 
 sour-krout in Christendom. But, who can help loving old 
 Brindle, if she, twice a day, fills a ton quart pail with rich 
 milk? 
 
 The horse, .too, has his artifices. He will learn to open a 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 287 
 
 gate and a door with as much complacency as old Brindle ; to 
 shake a disagreeable rider from his back ; and, if a Httle mali- 
 cious, to give the groom a clandestine grip with his teeth, or an 
 involuntary somerset from the unperceived application of his 
 heels. Nor is he at a loss for means to arouse his sleepy atten- 
 dant, who forgets at the proper hour to furnish him with his re- 
 gular quantum of provender. The old pet ram, also, has his 
 artifices. They may not always be verj^ scientific. They may 
 not always denote profound premeditation ; yet even he is able, 
 when having the free use of his legs, to go where he pleases, 
 and to determine, as well as his owner, the places where the 
 best feed is to be had, and where his female associates can be 
 reached. And the stupid hog, likewise, — he is often called stu- 
 pid — is by no means all passive simplicity. If kept to the age 
 of many other animals, and the same pains were taken to train 
 him that are often taken with other animals, it would be found 
 that he is not to be despised for his want of intelligence. We 
 once heard a Commencement Oration on the intellect of swine ; 
 and for its wit, and sarcasm, and fun, acquired more applause, 
 even from the savans of literature than all the other perform- 
 ances. The author of it was a young man of genius and ori- 
 ginality, as proved from the fact that he afterwards became an 
 eminent divine. In previous articles, we have alluded to this 
 subject, saying that turkeys in stealing away their nests, and 
 the males of the barnyard gentry, in picking quarrels with their 
 comrades, as well as in divers kinds of mischief, will bear com- 
 parison in this respect with bipeds of the larger growth in the 
 animal kingdom. 
 
 These artifices of farm and domestic animals are in nature, 
 much the same of what is called cunning and treachery in the 
 human species. The chief difference is in the degree in which 
 they are possessed ; and, there is a difficulty in calling the for- 
 mer instinct and the latter reason. Indeed, there are numerous 
 cases where the intelligence of the brute kingdom approximates 
 so near to what we call reason in man, that we do not well know 
 how to give it any other name. Nor is it consistent to be very 
 
288 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 harsh in our condemnation of the artifices spoken of, or of kin- 
 dred ones found among brutes, when many of us practice what is 
 similar upon each other, an hundred times as much. That is, in 
 condemning the stealthiness of the cat, certainly one of the most 
 provoking things in the culinary department of the farmer's 
 house, many persons condemn themselves. Does not the knave 
 swindle his neighbor by false pretences and false appearances? 
 Does he not overreach and defraud him of his property by 
 deceiving him in some form or other — by sign or by word — 
 by trick or ledgerdemain ? Does not the assassin spill the blood 
 of his brother, by lying in wait for him when unperceived? 
 And does not the libertine destroy his victim by stealth or 
 treachery ? 
 
 The study of the artifices of animals generally has ever been 
 peculiarly interesting to us ; we know not how it can be other- 
 wise than interesting to the common reader as well as to the 
 philosopher. These artifices are usually attributed by writers on 
 the subject, either to instinct, or to habit acquired from e.vperi- 
 ence, a species of reason. We have a paper before us, prepared 
 many years since, containing examples not so generally known as 
 the ones already named, which must tend to amuse and to en- 
 lighten the reader, causing some gleams of pleasure about the 
 fireside on a winter evening. Probably they were obtained from 
 the philosophy of natural history ; and the first one given is that 
 of cattle when attacked by a bear or any ravenous animal. They 
 will without hesitation unite and form a phalanx for mutual de- 
 fence, like a company of soldiers Horses in the same circum- 
 stances fall into regular lines and beat off the enemy with their 
 heels. Of this we have spokeir in the history of the horse. The 
 Norwegian horses, we are informed by Pontoppidan, when at- 
 tacked by bears, instead of striking with their hind legs, rear, 
 and, by quick and repeated strokes with their fore feet, either kill 
 the enemy, or oblige him to retire. This curious, and generally 
 successful defence, is frequently performed in the woods, while a 
 traveller is sitting on the horse's back. It has often been re- 
 marked, that troops of wild horses, when sleeping either in plains 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 289 
 
 or in the forest, have alwaj'sone of their number awake, who acts 
 as a sentinel, and gives notice of any approaching danger. 
 
 There is a curious illustration of our subject in the monkeys 
 of Brazil, according to the account of Margraaf. It is this. No 
 captain of a fort or a reposing army could better provide for its 
 safety. "When sleeping on trees, these monkeys have uniformly a 
 sentinel to warn them of the approach of the tiger or other ra- 
 pacious animals ; and that, if ever this sentinel is found sleeping, 
 his companions iastantly tear him in pieces for his neglect of duty. 
 Could the venerable General Jackson in his best days, have been 
 a better disciplinarian'? For the same purpose, when a troop of 
 monkeys are committing depredations on the fruits of a garden, 
 a sentinel is placed on an eminence, who, when any person ap- 
 pears, makes a certain chattering noise, which the rest under- 
 stand to be a signal of retreat, and immediately fly off and make 
 their escajie. Did the old buccaneers, or do the modern West 
 India pirates, or do our own marauders on ship-wi-ecked property, 
 manage more adroitly, when committing unlawful depredations ? 
 We think not. They may have learnt the use of precautions 
 from the monkeys. 
 
 The deer kind are remarkable for the arts they employ in 
 order to deceive dogs. With this view the stag often returns 
 twice or thrice upon his former steps. He endeavors to raise 
 hinds, or younger stags to follow him, and to draw off the dogs 
 from the immediate object of their pursuit. If he succeeds in 
 this attempt, he then flies off with redoubled speed, or springs 
 off at a side, and lies down on his belly to conceal himself. 
 When in this situation, if by any means his foot is discovered 
 by the dogs, they pursue him with more advantage, because he 
 is now considerably fatigued. Their ardor increases in propor- 
 tion to his feebleness, and the scent becomes stronger as he grows 
 warm. From these circumstances the dogs augment their cries 
 and their speed ; and, though the stag employs more arts of es- 
 cape than formerly, as his swiftness is diminished, his doublings 
 and artifices become gradually less effectual. No other resource 
 is now left him but to fly from the earth which he treads, and 
 13 
 
290 THE FAEM AND THE FITIESIDE. 
 
 to go into the water, in order to cut off the scent from the dogs, 
 when the huntsmen again put them on the track of his foot. 
 After taking to the water, the stag is so much exhausted, that he 
 is incapable of running farther, and is soon at bay, or in other 
 words, tnrns and defends himself against the hounds. In this 
 situation he often wounds the dogs, and even the huntsmen, by 
 blows with his horns, till one of them cuts his hams to make 
 him fall, and then puts a period to his life. 
 
 The fallow-deer is more delicate, and less savage, and ap- 
 proaches nearer to the domestic state than the stag. They as- 
 sociate in herds, which generally keep together. When great 
 numbers are assembled in one park, they commonly form them- 
 selves into two distinct troops, which soon become hostile, be- 
 cause they are both ambitious of possessing the same part of 
 the enclosure. Each of these troops has its own chief or loader, 
 who always marches foremost, and he is uniformly the oldest 
 and strongest of the flock. The others follow him ; and the 
 whole draw up in order of battle, to force the other troop, who 
 observe the same conduct, from the best pasture. The regulari- 
 ty with which these combats are conducted is most curious. 
 They make regular attacks, fight with courage, and never think 
 themselves vanquished by one check, for the battle is daily renew- 
 ed, till the weaker are completely defeated, and obliged to re- 
 main in the worst pasture. They love elevated and hilly 
 countries. When hunted tliey run not straight out, like the 
 stag, but double, and endeavor to conceal themselves from the 
 dogs by various artifices, and by substituting other animals in 
 their place. When fatigued and heated, however, they take 
 the water ; but never attempt to cross such large rivers as the 
 stag. Thus, between the chase of the fallow-deer and of the stag 
 there is no material diflerenoe. Their sagacity and instincts, 
 their shifts and doublings, are the same, only they are more fre- 
 quently practiced by the fallow-deer. 
 
 The roe-deer is inferior to the stag and fallow-deer, both in 
 strength and stature ; but he is endowed with more gracefulness, 
 courage, and vivacity. His eyes are more brilliant and ani- 
 
TilE FARM AND THE FIEESIDE. 291 
 
 mated. His limbs are move nimble ; his movements are quick 
 er, and he bounds with equal vigor and agility. He is likewise 
 more crafty, conceals himself with greater address, and derives 
 superior resources from his instincts. Though he leaves be- 
 hind him a stronger scent than the stag, which increases the ar- 
 dor of the dogs, he knows how to evade their pursuit, by the ra- 
 pidity with which he commences his flight, and by numerous 
 doublings. He delays not his arts of defence till his strength, 
 begins to fail him ; for he no sooner perceives that the efforts of 
 a rapid flight have been unsuccessful, than he repeatedly re- 
 turns upon his former steps ; and, after confounding, by these 
 opposite motions, the direction he has taken, after intermixing 
 the present with the past emanations of his body, he, by a great 
 bound, rises from the earth, and retiring to a side, lies down flat 
 upon his belly. In this immovable situation, he often allows 
 the whole pack of deceived enemies to pass very near him. 
 
 The roe-deer differs from tlie stag in disposition, manners, 
 and in almost every natural habit. Instead of associating in 
 herds, they live in separate families. The two parents and the 
 young go together, and never mingle with strangers. The fe- 
 male commonly produce two fawns, the one a male and the 
 other a female. These young animals, who are brought and 
 nourished together, acquire a mutual affection so strong, that 
 they never depart from each other. In a week or two after 
 birth, the fawns are able to follow their mother. When threat- 
 ened with danger, she hides them in a close thicket ; and so 
 strong is her affection, that, in order to preserve her offspring 
 from destruction, she allows herself to be chased. It is said by 
 hunters, that the American deer evinces a very strong degree 
 of animosity towards serpents, and especially to the rattle-snake, 
 of which it has an instinctive horror. In order to destroy these 
 creatures, the deer makes a bound into the air, and alights upon 
 the snake with all four of its feet brought together in a square, 
 and these violent blows are repeated till the hated reptile is de- 
 stroyed ; apparently comprehending the effect of such concen- 
 
29^ THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 trated force, as well as those who use a battering ram in demol- 
 ishing the walls of a besieged city. 
 
 Hares possess not, like rabbits, the art of digging retreats in 
 the earth. But they neither want instinct sufficient for their 
 preservation, nor sagacity for escaping their enemies. They 
 form seats or nests on the snrface of the ground, where they 
 watch, with the most vigilant attention, tlie approach of any 
 danger. And v\'hat is more curious and wonderful than every 
 thing else about them is this, in order to deceive, they conceal 
 themselves between clods of the same color with that of their 
 own hair. Chickens and young turkies of a brown color, re- 
 sembling the ground, are not so likely to be seen and taken by 
 hawks as those which are of a difierent color. This, hares un- 
 derstand ; or which is the same thing, they know that they are 
 not so likely to be discovered when in juxtaposition with objects 
 of their own color, as when near to those of a ditl'erent aspect. 
 
 The fox has, in all ages and nations been celebrated for 
 craftiness and address. Acute and circumspect, sagacious and 
 prudent, he diversifies his conduct, and always reserves some 
 art for unforeseen accidents. Though nimbler than the wolf, 
 he trusts not entirely to the swiftness of his course. He knows 
 how to ensure safety, by providing himself with an asylum, to 
 which he retires when danger appears. He is not a vagabond, 
 but lives in a settled habitation aad in a domestic state. The 
 choice of situation, the art of making and rendering a house 
 commodious, and of concealing the avenues which lead to it, 
 imply a superior degree of sentiment and reflection. The fox 
 possesses these qualities, and enriploys them with dexterity and 
 advantage. He takes up his abode on the border of a wood, 
 and in the neighborhood of cottages. Here he listens to the 
 crowing of the cocks and the noise of the poultry. He scents 
 thera at a distance. He chooses his time with great judgment 
 and discretion. He conceals both his route and his design. Ho 
 moves forward with caution, sometimes even trailing his body, 
 and seldom makes a fruitless expedition. When he leaps the 
 ■wall, or gets ia underneath it, he ravages the court-yard, put3 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 293 
 
 all the fowls to death, and then retires quietly with his prey, 
 ■which he either conceals under the herbage, or carries off to his 
 kennel. In a short time he returns for another, which he car- 
 ries off in the same manner, but to a different place. In this 
 manner he proceeds, till the light of the sun, or some move- 
 ments perceived in the house, admonish him that it is time to 
 retire to his den. 
 
 The fox practices similar sagacity and cunning when he 
 finds birds entangled in springs or snares laid for them by the 
 fowler ; with whom the fox taking care to be beforehand, very 
 expertly snatches the birds from their entanglement, conceals 
 them in different places, leaves them there sometimes two or 
 three days, and is never at a loss to recover his hidden treasure. 
 It is known that the hedge hog will roll himself up like a ball, 
 so that when in this condition the fox cannot encounter him on 
 account of his quills. Nevertheless, he teases the poor animal 
 till forgetful of danger or exhausted, he is obliged as it were to 
 stretch himself out, when the fox seizes and devours it. He 
 will also attack the wild honey bee. The little creatures will 
 fly upon him ; but he lies down on the ground and rolls over, 
 by which means he kills them, wTien he will make sure of their 
 treasure — comb, wax, and honey. 
 
 In Karntschatka, the animals called gluttons employ a sin- 
 gular stratagem for killing the fallow-deer. The animal is vo- 
 racious, but at the same time slow and heavy in its movements, 
 though it is remarkably acute in its sight and hearing. It is 
 amazingly powerful, and an overmatch for any animal of its 
 own size. Travellers say they will climb up a tree, and carry 
 with them a quantity of that species of moss of which the deer 
 are very fond. When a deer approaches near the tree, the glut- 
 ton throws down the moss. If the deer stop to eat the moss, 
 the glutton darts down instantly upon his back, and fixing him- 
 self firmly between the horns, so that it can suck out the blood 
 of the suffering creature, which will quickly f-ill to the ground 
 from exhaustion, or, else will tear out his eyes, so severely tor- 
 mentin"^ him, that he will sometimes strike his head against th§ 
 
294 THE FARM AND THE FlRESroE, 
 
 tree with such violence as to terminate his own life. The glut- 
 ton divides the flesh of the deer into convenient portions, and 
 conceals them in the earth to serve for future provisions. The 
 gluttons on the river Lena kill horses in the same manner. 
 
 With regard to birds,, their artifices are not less numerous nor 
 less surprising than those of quadrupeds. The eagle and the 
 hawk kinds are remarkable for the sharpness of their sight, and 
 the arts they employ in catching their prey. Their movements 
 are rapid or slow, according to their intentions, and the situation 
 of the animals they wish to devour. Hapacious birds uniformly 
 endeavor to rise higher in the air than their prey, that they may 
 have an opportunity of darting down forcibly upon it with their 
 pounces. To counteract these artifices, nature has endowed 
 the smaller and more innocent species of birds with many arts 
 of defence. When a hawk appears the small birds, if they find 
 it convenient, conceal themselves in the hedges of brushwood. 
 When deprived of this opportunity they often, in great numbers, 
 seem to follow the hawk, and to expose themselves unnecessarily 
 to danger, while in fact, by their numbers, their perpetual 
 changes of direction, and their uniform endeavors to rise above 
 him, they perplex the hawk to such a degree, that he is*unable 
 to fix upon a single object ; and after exerting all his art and ad- 
 dress, he is frequently obliged to relinquish the pursuit. When 
 in the extremity of danger, and after employing every other ar- 
 tifice in vain, small birds have been often known to fly to men 
 for protection. This is a plain indication that these animals, 
 though they in general avoid the human race, are by no means 
 so much afraid of man as of rapacious birds. 
 
 The ravens often frequent the sea shores in quest of food. 
 When they find their inability to break the shells of muscles 
 and other fish of that class, to accomplish their purpose they re- 
 sort to a very ingenious stratagem. They carry a muscle, or 
 other shell fish, high up in the air and then dash it down upon 
 the rock, by which means the shell is broken, and they obtain 
 the end they had in view. Some anecdotes are told of the sec- 
 retary vulture, illustrative of the present subject. This bird is 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDH. 295 
 
 Styled the serpent-eater, from the avidity with which it catches 
 and devours those noxious reptiles. The manner in which it 
 seizes them, displays great intelligence. On approaching them, 
 it carries forward the point of one of its wings, in order to parry 
 their venemous bites, and waits till it finds an opportunity of 
 spurning or treading on its adversary, or taking him on his pinions, 
 and throwing him into the air. "When he has at last wearied 
 him out, he kills and devours him at leisure. Vaillant witnessed 
 one of those combats. Finding itself inferior in strength, the 
 serpent endeavored to find its hole, but the falcon, by a single 
 leap, got before him and cut oH'his retreat. On whatever side 
 the serpent strove to escape, the enemy still faced him. The 
 serpent then erected himself to intimidate the bird, and biasing 
 dreadfully displayed his menacing throat, inflamed eyes, and a 
 head swollen with rage and venom. Sometimes this produced a 
 momentary suspension of hostilites ; but the bird soon returned 
 to the charge, and, covering her body with one of her wings as 
 a buckler, struck her enemy with the bony protuberance of the 
 other. The serpent at last dropped, and the bird laid open his 
 skull with one stroke of its beak. 
 
 The flight of the fish hawk, his manoeuvres while in search 
 of fish, and his manner of seizing his prey, are deserving a par- 
 ticular notice. In leaving the nest, he usually flies direct till he 
 comes to the sea, then sails round in easy curving lines, turning 
 sometimes in the air as on a pivot, apparently without the least 
 exertion, rarely moving his wings .; his legs extended in a 
 straight line behind, and his remarkable length and curvature 
 or bend -of wing, distinguishing him from all other hawks. The 
 height at which he thus elegantly glides is various, from one to 
 two hundred feet, sometimes much higher, all the while calmly 
 reconnoitering the deep below. Suddenly he is seen to check 
 his course, as if struck by a particular object, which he seems to 
 survey for a few minutes with such steadiness, that he appears 
 fixed in air, flapping his wings. This object, however, he 
 abandons, and is again seen sailing around as before. Now his 
 attention is again arrested, and he descends with great rapidity ; 
 
29g THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 but ere he reaches the surface, shoots off on another course, as 
 if ashamed that a second victim had escaped him. He now sails 
 at a short height above the surface, and by a zigzag descent ; 
 and without seeming to dip his feet in tlie water, seizes a fish, 
 which, after carrying a short distance, it may be he drops or 
 yields it up to the bald eagle, and again ascends by easy spiral 
 circles, to the higher regions of the air, where he glides about in 
 all the ease and majesty of his species. 
 
 At once from, this sublime Bsrial flight he descends like a 
 perpendicular torrent, plunging into the sea with a loud rushing 
 sound, and with the certainty of a rifle. In a few moments he 
 emerges, bearing in his claws his struggling prey, which he al- 
 ways carries head foremost ; and having risen a few feet above 
 the surface, shakes himself as a water spaniel would do, and 
 directs his heavy, laborious course directly for land. A shad 
 was once taken from a fish hawk, near Great Egg Harbor, on 
 which he had begun to regale himself, the remainder of which 
 weighed six pounds. Another hawk, at the same place, was 
 seen with a flounder in his grasp, which struggled and shook 
 him so that he dropped it on the shore. The flounder was 
 picked up, and served a whole family for dinner. It is singular 
 that the fish hawk never descends to pick up a fish which he 
 happens to drop either on the land or on the water. 
 
 The white or bald eagle is very fond of fish, and hence seeks 
 a location near the sea shore. In procuring this favorite prey, 
 he displays in a very singular manner, the genius and energy 
 of his character, which is fierce, contemplative, daring, and ty- 
 rannical ; attributes not exerted but on particular occasions ; 
 but when put forth, overpowering all opposition. Elevated on 
 the high dead limb of some gigantic tree, that commands a wide 
 view of the neighboring shore and ocean, he seems calmly to 
 contemplate the motions of the various feathered tribes that 
 pursue their busy avocations below ; the snow white gulls slowly 
 winnowing the air ; trains of ducks streaming over the surface ; 
 silent and watchful cranes intent on wading ; clamorous crows, 
 and all the winged multitudes that subsist by the bounty of this 
 
THE FAEW AND THE FIRESIDE. 297 
 
 vast liquid magazine of nature. High over all these hovers ono 
 >vhose action instantly arrests his attc-ntion. By his wide curva- 
 ture of wiufr, and sudden suspension in air, he knows him to be 
 the fish hav/k, settling over some devoted victim of the deep. 
 His eye kindles at the sight, and balancing himself with half- 
 opened wings on the branch,, he watches the result. Down, ra- 
 pid as an arrow from heaven, descends the distant object of his 
 attention, the roar of iia wings reaching the ear as it disappears 
 in the deep, making the surges foam around ! At this moment 
 the eager looks of the eagle arc all ardor, and leveUing his neck 
 for flight, he sees the fisli hawk ojice more emerge, .strugghng 
 with his prey, and rnouviting in the air with screams of e.xulta- 
 tion. These are the sigtials for our hero, who, launcliino- into 
 the air, instantly gives chase, soon gains on the fish hawk, 
 each exerts himoelf to the iitmost to mount above the other, dis- 
 playing in these rencontres the most elegant and sublime evolu- 
 tions. The unencumbered eagle rapidly advances, and is just 
 on the point of re2.ehing his opponent, when, with a sudden 
 scream, jn'cbably of despair and honest execration, the latter 
 drops his fish ; the e;igle, poising himself for a moment, as if 
 to take a more certain aim, descends like a whirlwind, snalchea 
 it in his grasp ere it reaches the water, and bears his ill-gotteil 
 booty silcnliy away to the woods. 
 
 The predaloiy attacks and defensive manCEUvres of the eagle 
 and the fish-hawk, are matters of daily observation along the 
 whole of our seaboard, from Georgia to New England, and fre- 
 quently excite great interest in the spectators. Sympathy, how- 
 ever, on this, as on most other occasions, generally sides with 
 the honest and laborious suflerer, in opposition to the attacks of 
 power, injustice, and rapacity ; qualities for wiiich our hero is 
 so generally notorious, and which in his superior, man, are cer- 
 tainly detestable. As for the feelings of the poor fish, they 
 seem altogether out of the question. M'hen driven, as he 
 Bometiiut'S is, by the combined courage and perseverance of the 
 fish-hawks, from their neighborhoods, and forced to hunt for hina- 
 eelf, he retires more inland, in search of young pigs, of which 
 
298 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 he destroys great numbers. In the lower parts of Virginia and 
 North-Carolina, where the inhabitants raise vast herds of these 
 animals, complaints of this kind are very general against him. 
 He also destroys young lambs, in the early part of Spring ; and 
 will sometime attack old sickly sheep, aiming furiously at their 
 eyes. 
 
 The woodpecker is furnished with a very long and flexible 
 tongue. It feeds upon ants and other small insects. Na- 
 ture has endowed this bird with a singular instinct. It knows 
 how to procure food without seeing its prey. It attaches itself 
 to the trunks or branches of decayed trees ; and, wherever 
 it perceives a hole or crevice, it darts in its long tongue, and 
 brings it out loaded with insects of different kinds. This opera- 
 tion is certainly instinctive ; but the instinct is assisted by the 
 instruction of the parents ; for the young are no sooner able to 
 fly, than the parents, by the force of example, teach them to 
 resort to trees, and to insert their tongues indiscriminately into 
 every hole or fissure. 
 
 There are some peculiarities in the American sparrow hawk 
 deserving notice. It approaches the farm-house, particularly in 
 the morning, skulking about the barn yard for mice or young 
 chickens, apparently well aware that at a later hour its visits 
 would be attended with hazard to itself It frequently plunges 
 into a thicket, after small birds, as if at random, but always 
 with a particular, and generally a fatal aim. Though small 
 snakes, mice, and lizards, be favorite morsels with this active 
 bird, yet we are not sure it is altogether destitute of delicacy in 
 feeding. It will seldom or never eat of anything not killed , by 
 itself; and even that, if not in good eating order, is sometimes 
 rejected. A very respectable friend informs me, says Wilson, 
 that one morning he observed one of these hawks dart down on 
 the ground, and seize a mouse, which he carried to a fence post ; 
 where, after examining it for some time, he left it ; and a little 
 while after pounced upon another mouse, which he instantly 
 carried off" to his nest, in the hollow of a tree in the neighbor- 
 hood. The gentleman, desirous of knowing why he had re- 
 
THE FARM AND TliE FIRESIDE. 
 
 299 
 
 jected the first mouse, went up to it, and found it to be almost 
 covered with lice, and greatly emaciated I Here was not only 
 delicacy of taste, but sound and prudent reasoning. " If I carry 
 this to my nest," the ha'w;!! might have thought, '" it will cover 
 my nestlings with vermin ; and besides, it is so poor as scarcely 
 to be worth eating." 
 
 It is well known that the owl kind are incapable of support- 
 ing the light of day, or at least, of their seeing and readily 
 avoiding danger. Hence, in the day time they are usually in 
 concealment, in the cavern of a rock, the darkest part of a hol- 
 low tree, or in some obscure recess of the farmer's outhouse, 
 where they remain till evening, when they emerge in quest of 
 prey. If by accident one is discovered, not thus protected, by 
 the other birds of the place, for nearly all of them are the inve- 
 terate enemies of the owl, sad will be' the treatment he receives. 
 The blackbird, the thrush, the jay, and the redbreast, all come 
 in full force, and employ their little arts of insult and abuse. 
 The smallest, the feeblest, and the most contemptible of this un- 
 fortunate bird's enemies, are then the foremost to injure and tor- 
 ment him. They increase their cries and turbulence round 
 him, flap him with their wings, and are ready to show their 
 courage to be great, as they are sensible that their own danger 
 is but small. The unfortunate owl, not knowing where to at- 
 tack, or whither to fly, patiently sits and suffers their insults. 
 Astonished and dizzy, he only replies to their mockeries by 
 awkward and ridiculous gestures, by turning his head, and roll- 
 ing his eyes with an air of stupidity. It is enough that an owl 
 appears by day to set the whole grove into a kind of an uproar. 
 Either the aversion all the birds have to this animal, or the 
 consciousness of their own security, makes them pursue him 
 without ceasing, while they encourage each other by their mu- 
 tual cries, to lend assistance in their supposed laudable under- 
 takinar. 
 
300 
 
 THE FARM &SP TaE FIRESIDE. 
 
 THE MODEL COUNTRY FIRESIDE. 
 
 N E W-E N S L A N B FARMHOUSE. 
 
 In the year 1829, by the almost simultaneous death of his aged 
 father and mother, George Boardman was left in the homestead 
 a solitary bachelor ; not what is called an old bachelor — a Coelebs 
 of forty-five ; but just of an age to appreciate domestic society, 
 and to regulate in the best manner the internal elements of the 
 household, as well as the business that is to sustain the house- 
 hold. It is quite problematical whether what are railed early 
 marriages aie generally to be recommended. Occasionally they 
 are followed by the best consequences ; but where this happens 
 once, in numerous oases the results are different. It is a pre- 
 valent opinion among those the most oonrpelent to judge, that 
 the ase of twenty-one years does not neoesparily bring with it 
 full maturity of intellect and the sound discretion required for the 
 best success in business or professional life. Money is rarely 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIEESIDE. 3OI 
 
 made and retained from business, or high reputation from pro- 
 fessional skill, by persons before the age of thirty. When it 
 occurs, the event is rather an exception to the order of nature 
 and human development, than one from which a general infer- 
 ence can be drawn. 
 
 It might indeed be exciting in this age of rapid progress to see 
 girls and boys with one long stride pass from childhood to man- 
 hood and womanhood ; and from the latter to the highest grades 
 of human attainment, without the patient labor, hitherto deemed 
 indispensable for it. Ou the same principle, we might think it a 
 defect in the economy of human existence that human beings do 
 not, like mushrooms, in a few hours start into life in fnll stature. 
 Such, however, was not the purpose of the Almighty in giving 
 birth to our species. That purpose is well' known. The open- 
 ing of our destiny is like the first blade of vegetable life, in size 
 most diminutive, and so delicate and feeble as scarcely to bear 
 the slightest touch. Infancy is interesting from its helplessness ; 
 childhood from its laughter and its Irolicksome glee ; and nQt less 
 the buds and the opening flowers of youth which denote the fruits 
 of matured life. Who can deny that the extinction or removal 
 of either of these seasons would render our species less interest- 
 ing and less lovely ? Who can affirm that either one of them 
 is not needful as a preparation for tliat which now succeeds it ? 
 If that one were not to exist which seems to be of the least use, 
 and is the greatest burden, for instance, the period of infancy, 
 what a blank would be created in the life of the mother ? Does 
 woman ever appear so lovely as when nursing and fondling her 
 tender offspring ? Where else could she bestow such aflection- 
 ate assiduity 1 If it were stricken from the record of her life, 
 what a charm would be removed from the domestic precincts I 
 
 It is not only a matter of fact, but it is one of peculiar fitness 
 and wisdom, in the Divine appointment, that there should be 
 difierent grades of maturity in the human species subsequent to 
 the age of twenty-one, as well as prior to it. If all on reaching 
 that age, were to reach the perfection of their nature, and at one 
 bound were to aim at the front ranks of labor and enterprise and 
 
302 THE PARM AND THE FIRESIDl!. 
 
 responsibility, would the condition of human society be improved ? 
 If the wisdom of long experience were rendered unnecessary, 
 would the world on the whole be more desirable than it now is ? 
 According to existing organizations, the sobriety and the modera- 
 tion of old age and the impetuosity oFyoung manhood, may work 
 together and in harmony ; neither is in the way of the other ; 
 each is needful to the other. It appears to us, that a matured 
 intellect is as necessary in entering upon the management in 
 domestic economy, as in entering upon the great business of life. 
 Fancied and untried theory in the former is often attended with 
 peril as in the latter. Is there no diiKculty ia arranging the 
 family equipments upon a basis of sound wisdom ? Is there no 
 difficulty in instituting and maintaining the best mode of family 
 discipline, especially in rearing a family of children ? Few un- 
 derstand this difficulty till called to encounter it. 
 
 There is another consideration that would render us cautious 
 in recommending what may be called early marriages. Physi- 
 ologists have said that the offspring of young parents, cannot be 
 expected, as a general thing, to have that mental and physical 
 vigor, all other things being equal, to be anticipated from those 
 born of parents more advanced in life. They say that dete- 
 rioration in families may be the natural consequence of too early 
 marriages ; and that most of our greatly distinguished men have 
 been born of parents past the age of thirty, and when in the 
 perfection of their nature. If so, the feet is a most interesting 
 one, a most important one. It would be easy to specify illus- 
 trations of it ; but, this our readers can do for themselves. We 
 request them to do it. Perhaps in the circle of their own ac- 
 quaintance they can refer to cases where the younger born of the 
 same parents have more talents than the first born. To make 
 such examples appropriate, the latter must have been born of 
 young parents ; and, the former of parents who had attained 
 subsequent to the birth of their early offspring, a manifest pro- 
 gress in intellectual strength. There is surely nothing fanciful 
 or unphilosophical in this hypothesis. Is it not the same prin- 
 ciple recognised by those who labor to improve their domestio 
 
THE FAUM ANB THE PmESIDE. 
 
 303 
 
 animala. Do amateur stock breeders pay no attention to the age 
 and perfection of the animals from v/hich they seelc a prime pro- 
 geny ? All this is well known. Why then does not the same 
 law prevail in reference to the human species ? It is proverbial 
 that physical defects — for example, pulmonary complaints, de- 
 scend from parents to children ; also a tendency to insanity. 
 Why then may not the mental vigor or imbecility of the parent 
 be impressed on the mind of the child? If so, the impression 
 of the mental feature is made according to the original as exist- 
 ing at the time, and not as it may become ten years after- 
 wards. 
 
 It has been stated that George Boardraan, at the time of 
 which we are speaking, had arrived at the age, according to 
 our theory, for entering advantageously upon the marriage state. 
 He was about the age of twenty-eight. And we advise, as a 
 general thing, that men make their plans to marry somewhere 
 during the age from twenty-five to thirty ; and that girls lose 
 no good opportunity for doing it after arriving at the age of 
 twenty-one. In this no invariable rule is applicable. Circum- 
 stances may render that expedient with some that would not be 
 advisable with others. Indeed, some persons of either sex may'^ 
 have acquired a maturity and vigor not acquired by others ten 
 j'ears older than themselves, and which others perhaps never 
 will acquire. All in a case so to be modified by circumstances 
 must exercise a sound discretion of their own. They should be 
 well advised as to the principle to be observed, and then make 
 as little departure from it, as their own situation will admit. 
 Matrimonial alliances are usua,lly to appearance the result of 
 accident, or impulse, or bewildered fancy ; whereas, they should 
 be under the guidance of reason. If there is any one occur- 
 rence in life above all others, deserving the most deliberate and 
 rational consideration, it is the adoption of the marriage vows. 
 From the stale consequent to these vows, every thing seemmgly 
 is to proceed which is to render life a blessing or a curse ; which 
 is to make the fire-side radiant with smiles, or sombre with the 
 shadows of that forever present evil genius, which there presides 
 
304 THE FAEM AND THE FIRESIC^. 
 
 over the discordant elements of ill-matched and discordant fipiritg. 
 If an offspring is to arise blessed with health, and talents, and 
 social virtue, the years of the fond parents will roll on to the 
 ocean of time, like the crystal streamlet, gently pursuing its 
 course, till buried and lost in its own kindred abyss. If this off- 
 spring inherits disease and mental weakness, or it becomes 
 loathsome from moral pollution, the otherwise happy parents 
 vvfill spend their days in weeping and anguish, and at last in 
 ■wretchedness go down into the grave. 
 
 George Boardman would have chosen the bands of matri- 
 mony ere this period of his life, but like a thoughtful and affec- 
 tionate son, he had resolved not to marry so long as his parents 
 might live, knowing, that according to the course of nature, 
 their last sands were mostly fallen. His mother oftentimes, 
 when oppressed with infirmities and the responsibilities devolv- 
 ing on every female head of a family, would fervently urge him 
 to get married. He appreciated her kindness ; hut prudently 
 aware that there might spring up some noxious weed to mar 
 the fragrance of the matrimonial flower-bed, which had found 
 place in her imagination, he still persevered in deferring all 
 thoughts of any such change. He knew that no one else could 
 love an aged father and mother, and bear in them the infirm- 
 ities of a second childhood, like an own child. To him' it was 
 no hardship to wait upon them, to cheer them, and to gratify 
 them in every desire they might indulge. To another one, even 
 the wife of a son so devoted, there might not be this ready sac- 
 rifice of her own individual preference, and self-devotion to those 
 with whom there had not long been that identity of purpose 
 felt by himself He knew also, that however self sacrificing 
 sucli an one might be, on his account, if not otherwise, and how- 
 ever afiectionule in manner she might be, they could not feel 
 towards her as towards him. He was their own child, and they 
 fancied him almost perfect. With her the case was widely dif- 
 ferent. Things done by him would be esteemed unexception- 
 able ; but if done by her would be judged faulty. From such 
 causes alienations might arise even between himself and his 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 3Qg 
 
 companion, that would survive the occasion in which they ori- 
 ginated. In such a dilemma it is no unusual thing for a man to 
 become estranged in affection from one party or the other. 
 George Boardman had that Idnd of native good sense to perceive 
 all this ; and in perceiving it, to resolve on avoiding it. He did 
 avoid it, living as already stated, a bachelor, till he performed 
 every act of assiduity to his venerable parenis, till called to lay 
 them in the cold grave. 
 
 If there is is anything amidst the imperfections of our -world 
 truly lovely; if there is anything that exalts human nature above 
 its ordinary level ; if there is anything that easts over the do- 
 mestic altar an unfading halo, it is such an union of hearts and 
 such a concentration of interests as had thu.^ existed in the 
 Boardman homestead to the teiminatjon of the generation now 
 closed ; and, what had thus chaiaoterised the family annals of 
 thesp venerated saints, was destined to continue, even in au"-- 
 nieiited loveliness, during the lifetime of this excellent son, who 
 survived them. On witnessing such exhibitions of domestic 
 union and love, we almost forget that our nature has lost its 
 original perfection ; and, that there is ibr the pure in heart 
 even, a better life beyond the grave. 
 
 The death of the parents of George Boardman occurred in 
 the latter part of October, just after the close of a plentiful har- 
 vest. The soil of the homestead, as well as the minds of its 
 inmates, had ever received an enlightened and substantial cul- 
 ture, so that the barns, and the granaries, and dairy rooms were 
 all fdled to overflowing. It was not an uninteresting circum- 
 stance, that this time-honored pair, at the same season of the 
 year, were taken to the great moral storehouse of the world. 
 The analogy between an earthly and a lieavenlv harvest is 
 most striking. The luscious fruits of the orchard and the I <'.ivv 
 sheaves and the long ears of the corn field, all fidly ripe and 
 ready for use, filly represent those plants of celestial origin 
 bending under the matured weight of a rich moral discipline. 
 While a fertile soil, and the genial influences of the sun and 
 the descending rain, had caused the one to reach the fnlneiss of 
 
306 THE FAEAI AND THE FIEESIDE. 
 
 its destiny, the showers of .divine grace had caused the other to 
 expand till made meet for heaven. Upon the Boardman home- 
 stead hoth grew and ripened simultaneously ; and both, as it 
 were, simultaneously, were transferred to their respective gar- 
 ners, ^ ^ 
 
 The surviving son, alone, as it were, in one of the largest 
 mansions of that day, must have been desolate. In addition to 
 the loss he had experienced, the fading of nature all around 
 him, ,the long nights of frost, and the unwonted stillness, every 
 where to his imagination, excepting the loud and \\e\\ measured 
 ticking of the family clock, reigning supreme, seemed to impress 
 him with an unknown sadness, and admonish him that man 
 was not made to live alone. During his dreams, in midnight 
 solitude, the retrospect would rise up before him in full freshness. 
 At one moment he would imagine himself in assidious ministra- 
 tions to his languishing parents, or listening to their fervent ejac" 
 ulations of prayer ; at another he would seem to be following 
 their lifeles remains, in the long procession, to the cold grave ; 
 but, at the next moment, the vision would, vanish, and he would 
 find himself; as before, a mere unit in one drear blank, spreading 
 over the whole creation. Who can say that to such an one ex- 
 istence is a blessing? In what mortal can the social breathings 
 of the soul be hushed to silence ? The world, with all its riches 
 and all its glories, would be a worthless treasure tp one in com- 
 plete and unending solitude. The perpetually doomed recluse, 
 if possessed of human sympathies, would be a personification of 
 wretchedness. 
 
 George Boardman was known throughout the county in 
 which he lived as a young man of a sound mind, of unblem- 
 ished morals and as the heir of a valuable estate. His dutiful 
 kindness to his parents had endeared him to all that laiew 
 him, and all sympathised with him in his present loneliness. 
 Nor was this all. Perhaps fifty of the most eligible single wo- 
 men were named, by diflerent kind-hearted souls, common in 
 such cases, as fit companions for him. One advised him to mar- 
 ry the daughter of Esquire Peabody, another the daughter of a 
 
THE FARM AND THE FLRESIDE. 
 
 307 
 
 ■wealthy farmer in the adjoining town, another the daughter of 
 a retired merchant from a distant city, living close by, another 
 a rich heiress in the neighborhood ; and, indeed had he taken 
 to himself one-fourth part of those thus kindly recomm.ended, he 
 would have been obliged to enlarge the old mansion, big as it 
 was. All this was done too before the dirt upon the fresh 
 graves of his deceased parents had become well seared over. 
 The poor man was annoyed at it. He knew well the peculiar 
 exigency of his situation, and resolved to seek a remedy for it ; 
 but felt that he was competent to do so without any such aid, 
 although he doubted not that all this volunteer service was well 
 intended, and that each of the ladies named to him might de- 
 serve a husband better than himself 
 
 The subject thus brought to his attention, he must have been 
 a being .without the ordinary human social attributes, had he 
 let it go from him without careful consideration. He made it a 
 matter of business. When the business features of the case 
 had been adjusted in a preliminary way, he presumed, as a 
 matter of course, that love would complete the enterprise in a 
 most satisfactory way. All persons know that love turned 
 loose, without the guidance of reason, is like a beautiful, young, 
 unbroken colt, without a bridle and traces to keep it steady, 
 playful, frolicksome, and capricious ; and, oftentimes, in its an- 
 tics and merriment, will founder and do irreparable mischief to 
 those in its way. But, when this colt becomes well trained to 
 the harness, it is one of the most beautiful and useful of animals. 
 Love, too, when well disciplined and guided, becomes one of 
 the fundamental elements in all sublunary bliss ; it gives a de- 
 lightful charm to the social circle, found no where else ; it fills 
 the family precincts with a most vivid radiance, dispelhng 
 gloom, lighting up joy on every countenance, and oftentimes con- 
 verting the abode of poverty into one of cheerful contentment. 
 Without this passion, the world is heartless as a steam engine, 
 and cold like an iceberg. With it, a genial warmth penetrates 
 and enlivens the whole mass brought under its influence. 
 
 So reasoned our young friend. So. reason all men of sense. 
 
308 TirS FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 He disposed of the preliminaries to his new undertalifi^ in a 
 most systematic manner. In the first place, negatively — ^that 
 is, whom he would not marry ; and, in the second place, affirma- 
 tively, whom he would like to marry. Hence, he resolved that 
 he would not marry a lady who had a mother, and, perhaps, a 
 grandmother, to accompany her ; perhaps, under other circum- 
 stances, excellent women, but to attend a new married daugh- 
 ter to her new home, frequently a great nuisance. He resolved 
 that he would not marry a person older than himself because, 
 in most cases, such an one would be insolent, and in all cases, 
 because women at forty are, physically, as old as men at fifty. 
 He resolved that he would not marry one so young, as to be in- 
 competent for every duty devolving on the mistress of the 
 family. He resolved that he would not marry one so handsome 
 that she might be vain of her beauty ; or so ugly in her appear- 
 ance, or so illiterate, that he might be ashamed of her. And he 
 preferred to marry one who was comparatively poor, rather tlian 
 being rich, lest that on that account a feeling of independence, 
 and a conseqnent disposition to extravagance, should be attended 
 with evils more than equal to all the benefit derived from her 
 possessions. On the other hand, he chose to marry one of res- 
 pectable family — no matter if poor ; of good personal appear- 
 ance ; of agreeable manners ; of domestic habits ; of religious 
 principles, as a woman without them is, on no account, fitted to 
 be a wife or a mother ; of good talents in reference to an ofl"- 
 spring, and to her competence for presiding with dignity over 
 her family ; and, especially, of good education, which enables a 
 wife to be admired as a companion, and as a mother to render hei 
 own parlor the best of all school rooms for her own children 
 and all the members of her household. 
 
 Such was the directory of George Boardman in the choice o- 
 a wife. With so specific a delineation of the points to be ob- 
 served, the attainmant of his object might have been deemed 
 problematical. He doubtless fancied it so himself At any rate, 
 as he afterwards admitted, with all the candidates that had 
 beea recomnieiided to his consideration:,' no one stood so high in 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 309 
 
 Ws estimation, as to lead him to any decided action. The 
 more he reflected on the subject, the less inclined was he to cher- 
 ish any strong confidence of an auspicious termination of his 
 -wishes. Things thus stood for about four weeks, when he had 
 occasion, on business, we believe, to collect interest on a mort- 
 gage ; to visit the shire town of a neighboring county. It hap- 
 pened to be at the time of the annual examination and public 
 exhibition of the Academy — an institution that had long been 
 noted for having educated some of the most distinguished women 
 in that region, and for having had some of the first female 
 teachers in the country. The occasion in such a locality was 
 one of great interest. What can be more interesting than to 
 see a dozen or twenty fine boys picking up their books, bidding 
 adieu to their companions and friends, starting for the Univer- 
 sity or the place of active business ? What can be more inter- 
 esting than to see thirty or forty young ladies, having completed 
 their education, and then giving such evidence of their profi- 
 ciency, preparatory to their return to their respective homes, some 
 of them perhaps at once to enter upon the most important rela- 
 tions of life ? Mr. Boardmaii was induced to remain and wit- 
 ness the exhibition ; and, the sequel shows the close connection 
 between some rare and unexpected concatenation of incidents 
 and the remaining portions of one's life. 
 
 Although the prominent individual of this memoir was not 
 accustomed to the gala of literary institutions, he was so hab- 
 ituated to read the current domestic literature as well as news 
 of the country, and was withall possessed of so much native dis- 
 crimination and good taste, as to be enabled to appreciate the 
 performances of the pupils. The spectacle of sixty or seventy 
 fine boys, with manlike demeanor and prompt intelligence, an- 
 swering the questions proposed to them in all the branches of 
 elementary education ; and, of as many females, more than half 
 advanced to the stature of womanhood, giving evidence of ma- 
 tured intellect and proficiency in their studies, seemed to open to 
 him a more beautiful picture than he had ever before seen. 
 The pleasure he had experienced the day previous, in the recep- 
 
310 THE FARM AKD THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 tion of a few hundred dollars of interest money, did not compare 
 with the pleasure now felt on seeing this display of youthful pro- 
 gress in useful knowledge. Indeed, that person must be void of 
 all the intuitive perceptions and of all mental culture, who is un- 
 moved when witnessing the social and rational embellishments 
 with which such juvenile groups are being ushered upon the 
 great drama of life. A northern climate has made us cold and 
 phlegmatic ; no common event is ever able to raise our feelings 
 above a temperature of thirty-five or forty degrees — a little over 
 the freezing point ; perhaps we ought to be ashamed of it ; but, 
 at an exhibition of the kind described, our impulses begin to swell 
 till we get up to boiling heat : we become enthusiastic in all mat- 
 ters on which depend the usefulness and the respectability of the 
 rising generation. 
 
 Mr. Boardman was especially delighted with the perform- 
 ances of a class of young ladies, under the direction of Miss 
 Jane Bickford, the preceptress, in vegetable physiology. Both 
 teachers and pupils seemed as familiar in all the principles and 
 processes of the growth of plants — of their elementary constitu- 
 ents and of the manures that nourish them — as women in the 
 country usually are in the making of bread or in other kinds of 
 cookery. Is it possible, that this lady of twenty-four, thought 
 he, devoted as she is to the duties of instruction in a public in- 
 stitution, knows moi-e of the formation of the vegetable tissues, 
 and of the nature of the manures which become the food of 
 grasses, fruit, shrubs, trees, and the various culinary esculents, 
 than the mass of farmers ? He was so delighted and astonished, 
 that he seemed lost in a kind of a revery. Even after the close 
 of the public performances, when' returned to his lodgings, he 
 could not drive the subject from his mind ; and very soon, such 
 an impression was made upon him, he had no wish to do it. 
 The truth is, the agricultural chemistry, or her comely looks, or 
 the lady-like deportment of the preceptress, had made havoc 
 upon the social equanimity of the young bachelor. Nothing 
 would do, but he must remain another day and make acquaint- 
 ance. On introduction to her, he became satisfied she was the 
 
THi3 FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 311 
 
 vei7 individual sketched out in his idea, of the qualifications for a 
 wife. She was a poor orphan, educated, in consequence of her 
 superior talents, by a distant relative ; was an accomplished 
 lady in her manners ; was proverbially amiable in her temper ; 
 and, was as much distinguished for the Christian graces, as for 
 her mental endowments. Almost as a matter of course, with a 
 business-like precision, before he returned to his own home, it 
 was agreed by the farmer and the fatherless and the motherless 
 teacher, that they would enter wedlock on the succeeding new 
 year's day. 
 
 As this memoir is designed, not to gratify an idle curiosity 
 with those who think of nothing but silly love stories, we desire 
 here, to say a few words to all the young men and young women 
 who may read this volume, on the kind of education most useful 
 for them in the country. If every young farmer were to seek a 
 wife, having that kind of mental culture possessed by Jane 
 Bickford, we should in time have no occasion to complain of an 
 illiterate yeomanry. Such wives would be as good in revolution- 
 izing the processes of husbandry, as the lectures and prescrip- 
 tions of professors Mapes, Norton, and Fowler. Could the hus- 
 bands and their sons fail to become improved under such influ- 
 ences ? We would far rather have ten thousand such wives 
 scattered over the State of Massachusetts, than all the agricul- 
 tural collegfes that have been dreamed of during the last ten 
 years in our country, and have given some of our best and wisest 
 men such paroxysms of the nightmare, as almost to have en- 
 dangered their health and their sanity. Could we have appro- 
 priate brief treatises on animal and vegetable physiology, po- 
 litical and domestic economy, and the history of agriculture, 
 and compends of moral literature, in all our schools, instead of 
 the worthless trash with which many of our youth are stuffed, 
 there would be a speedy regeneration in rural aspects and inter- 
 ests throughout the land. This might be done promptly and at 
 small expense, without legislative enactments or princely endow- 
 ments ; but, when so told, our great m.en interested on the sub- 
 ject, wishing to do or to have done some great thing, as it were 
 
3J2 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 despising this for its simplicity, resemble the Syrian, who went 
 to the prophet for a cure of his leprosy, and then turned away 
 in a passion, saying, " Are not Abana and Fharpar, rivers of 
 Damascus, better than all the- waters of Israel 1 May I not 
 wash in them and be clean ?" Or, if our suggestion here on 
 agricultural education were to be generally adopted, it would be 
 but a few years before all our young farmers, in masses, would 
 flock to the polls to decree that we must have agricultural bu- 
 reaus and agricultural colleges, and agricultural lectures, where 
 needed for the public good. 
 
 George Boardman, on returning to the homestead, quietly 
 commenced giving it inside and out a new coat of paint — worth 
 double at this season of the year, what it would be, if put on 
 in the hot weather of summer. At the same time, the old bed- 
 steads, bureaus, and chairs, instead of being put up in the gar- 
 ret, or out in the wood sheds, as if ashamed of them, because 
 they were old, are treated with the respect and veneration that 
 had been shown to their former owners, being subjected to the 
 scrutiny of the cabinet maker, for any slight repairs needed, and 
 for a new coat of varnish. The old family carriage was treated in 
 the same manner. Even the farm wagons, and ploughs, and 
 sleds, were similarly honored. New curry-combs and brushes 
 were furnished for the horse stables. Not a door handle was 
 passed over untouched, if out of order. The same may be said 
 of the gates, and the fences, and the out-buildings. In two 
 weeks time, every thing inside and out gave evidence of reno- 
 vation. The old furniture and carriages looked like old boots 
 that had just received a visit from Day & Martin's best Japan 
 blacking. The neighborhood was in astonishment, as to what 
 it could all mean, not a word having been dropped, concerning 
 the events that grew out of the academical exhibition. Here 
 was a dilemma. It was not possible that his kind-hearted neigh- 
 bors could contentedly remain ignorant of what was evidently 
 in immediate prospect. The movements of Ccelebs, to ascertain 
 the point of compass to which his magnetic powers tended, 
 were watched as closely as though he had been a suspected re- 
 
TPF. fajim and the fjre$ide. 313 
 
 fugiee from justice. This supervision was nothing better than an 
 odious persecution. It was an intolerable nuisance. Such is 
 human nature ! To such vexations every bachelor, on getting 
 married, is subjected. 
 
 The first of January was soon on the docket. The day did 
 not pass away without witnessing the vows of George Boardmau 
 and Jane Bickford to be forever one in interest and aflection, 
 and of twain they became one flesh. She was at once the mis- 
 tress of the Boardman mansion, and soon became a favorite 
 throughout the town as well as the idol in her own household, 
 giving evidence that she was as competent to preside with dig- 
 nity and to impart useful thoughts at the head of a family, as 
 at the head of her department in the literary institution which 
 she had served with so much fidelity to her patrons and with so 
 much honor to herself Her labors there had less reference to 
 the remuneration she was to receive than to a desire of being 
 useful to her pupils and to the public. To toil simply to secure 
 the former is induced by a degrading and sluggish sense of one's 
 destiny ; being a submission to the penalty, entailed on man's 
 first act of disobedience ; and the idea of it is calculated to op- 
 press the soul with a moral burden more exhausting and humili- 
 ating, than that arising from any muscular action to which we 
 can be doomed. But, when our labors are of a nature, as in the 
 business of education, or in any act where we become the co- 
 workers of our Heavenly Father in ministrations for the mitiga- 
 tion of human woe, or the advancement of the great purposes of 
 man's moral and intellectual exaltation, there is felt a dignity 
 and a pleasure far outmeasuring the evil of subjection to any 
 physical necessity. The person that has not experienced a con- 
 sciousness of laboring from such high motives is but little ele- 
 vated above the ox or the horse, which knows no other law than 
 that of an unyielding master. To such an one there is no moral 
 pleasure ; no spiritual delight ; no intellectual ascendancy over 
 the material and sensual elements of a mortal existence. 
 
 Jane Boardmau, as she is now to be called, came to her new 
 sphere of action with these ennobling motives for the perform- 
 14 
 
gj4 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 ance of duty.- She could not, indeed, have divested herself of 
 the consideration of securing to herself for life a most desirable 
 home, and a friend who was to abide by her under every vicis- 
 situde, to the day of death — in sickness as well as in health — 
 in poverty and disgrace, if God should permit them to arise, 
 as well as in plenty, and affluence, and honor ; but, she came 
 to that home and that friend, with a determination to be an 
 ornament to the one, and help-meet to the other. She came 
 thither, not to spend his money, but to help him to take care of 
 it, and to use it as a faithful steward of God's bounty. She 
 came thither, not to make him a slave to her caprice or ex- 
 travagance, but to be to him a kind-hearted and enlightened 
 companion. She came hither, not to extort an unwilling ser- 
 vice from the numerous laborers, male and female, on the 
 premises, but to make them cheerful and honest in the dis- 
 charge of their duties ; to instruct them to toil for a better re- 
 ward than silver and gold ; to make them realise that there is 
 no degradation, but that a moral dignity may attend persons 
 in their situation, as if they were the proprietors of all they be- 
 held. With such lofty conceptions she entered on her new re- 
 lation and new sphere of duties ; and to this day she has been, 
 and is now, a pattern to all wives in the country ; she would 
 be a pattern for wives in all situations, whether in the city or 
 the country. Her domestics, and the hired male laborers, love 
 her as good children love a mother ; indeed she is a mother 
 as well as a mistress to them. Her husband and all delight 
 to honor her ; and throughout the country, where she has now 
 lived twenty odd years, her name is a sweet savor, and the 
 prayers of the destitute and the afflicted have never ceased to 
 ascend to Heaven in her behalf. Such is the general character 
 of Jane Boardman. 
 
 It is thought, and frequently said, that there is no release 
 from the dull monotony, as it is called, in the labors of a farm ; 
 and, that those who perform these labors, are scarcely fit for en- 
 lightened and refined society. There has, indeed, been an ap- 
 pearance of truth in these assertions ; but, on a careful examina- 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESITDB. 3 15 
 
 tion of all the circumstances connected with rural life, it will be 
 found that there is no necessity for such assertions, or rather for 
 the evils on which they are predicated. Of this Jane Boardman 
 was firmly persuaded, and she resolved to demonstrate the correct- 
 ness of her opinion. Her husband had, as in the country is very 
 common, become negligent in his personal appearance, if not in 
 reality slovenly. The tendency to this is very strong, and some, 
 times, seemingly, irresistible. Where the situation is retired, and 
 frequently no one for week after week is expected on the premises, 
 save those belonging to them, the husband will go day after day 
 without shaving, and otherwise being equally regardless of his 
 looks, and then sitting doWn with his family for the evening, 
 having on the same clothes he had worn through the day, boots 
 and all, clammy with sweat, soiled by dirt, and impregnated 
 with the odors of the barn-yard. The wife, too, not expecting 
 to have company, as it is called, would make no change of dress, 
 retaining upon her person the same she had worn in the kitchen, 
 saturated with the juices and the odors of potluck. Thus they 
 would sit down together, parents and children, and no one can 
 tell how many others, as uncomely as a deck load of foreign emi- 
 grants after a month's voyage. This is no uncommon practice, 
 and is one of the most offensive customs in country life. 
 
 Jane Boardman, the very first week in her new home, began 
 to argue for a reform in this matter. She maintained, and with 
 great truth, that she could not expect to see any one to be treat- 
 ed with more respect than her husband, and that whenever he 
 had finished his out-door cares and was ready to sit down with 
 her,"she was disposed to dress up to appear as well to him as she 
 would to please the G-overnor of the State, were he expected to 
 make them a visit. On the other hand, it was urged that her 
 husband should b"e equally complacent to herself. Accordingly, 
 an evening suit, from the clean dickey to the fresh slippers, as 
 well as the day suit, was ever in readiness ; and as soon as her 
 own family duties would admit of it, she would adjust hei own 
 personal fixtures with as much care as when expecting him on the 
 evening before they were married. This being done, on his re- 
 
3.1^ THE FARM AND THE rHlESlDfi. 
 
 turn to the house, he would be assisted in his ablutions and ia 
 makin<r all other corresponding changes of apparel, as if he 
 were preparing for church on Sunday. Then they could look 
 upon each other and smile in remembrance of their first love. 
 Was there no pleasure in this to balance, a score of times over, 
 all the labor it cost ? Was there not a mutual gushing of affec- 
 tionate feeling through the evening, that would not have been 
 witnessed had this preparation been omitted ? Let a man and 
 his wife thus study to respect and please each other ever after 
 their matrimonial union, as they did before it took place, and 
 there will be no danger of estrangement or lukewarmness in their 
 social affinities. Most unhappy matches are the result of an in- 
 attention to this very fact, trifling as, to most persons, it may 
 appear. 
 
 The practice of dressing up for each other every evening, 
 thus begun by George and Jane Boardman, has continued to the 
 present time, and it has done much, both in rendering perpe- 
 tually fresh their first ardent affection for each other, and in 
 rendering rural life the most delightful to them. Jane, how- 
 ever, did not limit to the parlor this wholesome reform. A 
 bathing room was to be furnished, and a bathing tub was each 
 day to be filled with pure water. Here each laborer, at the 
 close of his v/ork, was to undergo a thorough purification, and 
 then to be attired with a clean suit for the evening. By this 
 means, they were all refreshed and rested, and enabled the bet- 
 ter to sleep, so that on the coming day, they were the better pre- 
 pared for their respective duties. By this means, they were re- 
 lieved from liabilities to disease, otherwise experienced. By this 
 means, the kitchen and the halls, and the lodging rooms, were 
 exempt from the nauseating odors of the cattle, the piggery, and 
 the horse stable. No one who has once tried the benefit of these 
 observances will ever afterwards tolerate them, unless his taste 
 and his olfactory nerves are in unison with those of the brute. 
 
 Cleanliness and neatness should be ranked among the cai-di- 
 nal virtues. It is difficult to imagine how a pure mind can in- 
 habit a body that is defiled with filth. There can be no conge- 
 
TftE FARU .ANS TJEE ;FffiE|SH>E. 347 
 
 liliality between them. Each, from its own nature, repels the 
 other. On the other hand, an impure mind delights in, and 
 draws to itself kindred objects ; a mind that is debased will at- 
 tract the surrounding pollutions, both moral and material, as 
 the magnet attracts to itself whatever partakes of its own es- 
 sence, though it be the smallest dust, till the Vi'hole is consoli- 
 dated in one compact mass. It is contrary to general experi- 
 ence to witness exceptions to this rule. The individual who 
 does e.Kpect it, is sadly deficient in his knowledge of the world, 
 and of the laws which govern human conduct. Nor is there 
 any necessity for persons to be uncleanly because they are 
 poor. If they have but little, the less time is required for 
 purification. Neatness is within the reach of all ; and to those 
 in poverty, there is the more occasion to enjoy every thing within 
 their control without alloy. Moreover,- the more liable persons 
 are from their occupation to become filthy, the greater should 
 be their efibrts to counteract this liability ; otherwise the man 
 who digs in muck or the manure heap, soon becomes unfit for 
 any place but the cattle stalls and the piggery, and sinks to the 
 level of whatever dwells in them. The woman, too, who casts 
 not off the impurities that adhere to her person, and to her 
 clothes, when engaged over the wash tub, in scrubbing the 
 floors, and about the culinary_apparatus, will soon become unfit 
 for any other place, and in mind, for any refined society. 
 
 But Jane Boardman resolved on an effort for a still higher 
 attainment; while it was the more immediate province of her 
 husband to direct all measures for the improvement of the soil 
 and its varied products, she felt disposed to exercise a kind of 
 supervision over measures calculated to improve the mind. In- 
 stead of acquiescing in the too frequent slander, that persons in 
 the country, particularly on the farm, are necessarily ignorant, 
 she maintained that there is no other situation so favorable for 
 the acquisition of many kinds of useful knowledge ; that per- 
 sons in no other occupation have so much leisure for reading ; 
 and as there are but few interruptions from company and pub- 
 lic amusement, all disposed have the best opportunity for reflec- 
 
318 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 tion, and thus invigorating their own minds. Accordingly, it 
 was her determination that the house should be amply supplied 
 with valuable books, and a portion of each evening should be 
 spent in reading ; the rest in conversation on what might have 
 been read, or other topics of a useful character. Few books, at 
 that time, had been published in this country, compared with 
 what are now published, particularly on agriculture and rural 
 economy. Hence, the best imported volumes were procured ; 
 oftentimes at a high price, but, as the event proved, they were 
 worth to the family all, and far more than the cost of them. 
 Who would have anticipated the result ? From that time to 
 the present, there has been read carefully, and frequently over 
 and over again, more than a thousand volumes, in time that 
 would otherwise have been lost. 
 
 All farmers may do the same. In this way their fire-side 
 may become the centre of a high intellectual and social eleva- 
 tion. Mechanics and traders have not the time to do it. Their 
 evenings are devoted to their regular occupations till too fatigued 
 for mental effort. Even the professional man has no more lei- 
 sure to do it than the hu.?bandman. This is proved by the ex- 
 perience in Mr. Boardman's family. The whole of that family 
 has acquired a familiarity with general literature that would do 
 credit to the best educated circles in the community ; and, in 
 whatever relates to the general principles of agricultural chem- 
 istry — animal and vegetable physiology— successful tillage — hor- 
 ticulture — the kitchen garden — the products of the dairj' — the 
 economy of the poultry yard, — the wife as well as the husband 
 possesses an accuracy of information that would do honor to an 
 amateur of the first class. Although she has no occasion or de- 
 sire to interfere in the application of this varied knowledo-e to 
 the labors on the farm, yet when alluded to, it is to her like 
 household words ; she is as familiar with it as with the processes 
 of making pastry or sweetmeats. And, while she would make 
 a visit to the swine and dairy yard, and specify the fine points 
 of each animal, like a professed stock breeder, like the first class 
 of English ladies as described by the Rev. Henry Coleman, her 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRE SIDE. 3I9 
 
 manners are polished and dignified, and seen in the family is 
 deemed a fit companion for a princess. 
 
 With such high purposes and rational occupations, the win- 
 ter quickly passed away ; and, when it was gone, the remem- 
 brance of it was like a dream or a revery of the imagination. 
 So sweetly had it sped from the happy pair, spring came upon 
 them with all its enlivening influences — the singing of the birds, 
 the opening of buds, and the balmy fragrance of flowers, before 
 they appeared conscious of its approach. At such a season the 
 wide range of nature for renovated existence is in travail. Man 
 and beast partake in the excitement. The ploughman and the 
 seedsman are on the alert. Anon the meadows are covered 
 with verdure and the fields are waving high with their cereals. 
 The year rolls round ; the summer with sultry suns, its drench- 
 ing showers, and its hay time toils, treads rapidly in the path of 
 its vernal sister. In equal speed autumn succeeds summer la- 
 den with a bountiful harvest. Now the heart of the husband- 
 man is wont to swell in adoration of Him who thus makes the 
 earth fruitful, crowning it with plenty. In the spring man re- 
 posed on the Divine assurance that in due time he should be 
 enabled to reap as well as to sow the seed. Then a living faith 
 gave vigor to his arm and strength to his hopes. In autumn the 
 husbandman's faith and hope are swallowed up in fruition. How 
 beautifully typical is the plentiful harvest of the farmer, of the 
 great harvest of the Christian, in another life, when a frail and 
 polluted nature is to inherit a glorious immortality I When for 
 all the toils and anxieties of a mortal existence he is to be re- 
 warded with the bread of heaven and the waters of salvation ! 
 
 As abundant as were the crops of hay and grain and fruit, in 
 the autumn of which we speak, about the close of the harvest 
 season George and Jane Boardman had other cause for a grate- 
 ful remembrance of God's goodness to them. To them an heir 
 was born — a son inspired hope that their most joyous days were 
 yet in the future. Those who have experienced such occasions 
 need not be told the emotions that now animated them. Those 
 who have not experienced them need not be told, because if they 
 
3'20 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIM:. 
 
 ■were told, they could not appreciate the reality. The birth of 
 a child, especially if it be the first born, gives a new era in the 
 life of the parents ; opens to their broad vision an untried sphere 
 of hope and fear, and solicitude and duty. Hitherto existen-ce 
 has been to them a kind of prelude to human destiny and res- 
 ponsibility ; a season of preparation for the great business of life. 
 Now comes the development of that destiny ; the manful re- 
 demption of that responsibility or the cowardly shrinking from it. 
 Now comes the chain that may bind us indissolubly with the 
 future generations of our race, entitling us to share in the glory 
 or in the ignominy that is yet to dawn upon the world. 
 
 As the seasons follow each other in uninterrupted succession, 
 so do the years. On the comnnencement of the new year we 
 lay our plans of enterprise to be achieved therein ; but, seem- 
 ingly, before such an outline is complete, the entire year is gone, 
 and another rises before us, each additional one, to our imagina- 
 tion, with accelerated velocity, so that the last years of our life 
 seem no longer than months, or even weeks did, when we wei-e 
 in youth. The more agreeable is our life — the more numerous 
 the flowers scattered In our path — the shorter do the years ap- 
 pear to us. Thus the wheels of time rolled round to George 
 and Jane Boardman, leaving about once in the course of each 
 alternate revolution, another pledge and token of their unfailing 
 love, so that by the end of the tenth year of their marriage rela- 
 tion they had two sons and three daughters. The j'oungest of 
 the number is now more than eleven years old, and the eldest 
 twenty-one. We are often astonished at the number of events 
 crowded into a short life, especially, between the period of our 
 majority and forty-five. These events occur in such close prox- 
 imity to each other, and we press forward with such rapid 
 speed, that they often seem to us like the houses of a country 
 village through which we pass, in the train of a steam locomo- 
 tive, without being counted, and as if they all joined together, 
 leaving our impressions of them vague and indistinct. 
 
 At this time, in those five children, varying in age from 
 eleven to twenty-one, we have a fair exhibition of the results of 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRE SIDE. 321 
 
 the efforts made by their parents for bringing them up according 
 to the most approved modes of domestic culture. Each one of 
 them, as soon as of a suitable age for it, was kept at school as 
 long as needful ; but before reaching that age, and ever after- 
 wards when at home, their own mother was to them the best 
 of teachers. They learnt far more there than in the school- 
 rooom ; and what was of especial use to them, as soon as they 
 could take part in the family usage of reading aloud to each 
 other every evening, the books used were selected in reference 
 to their respective ages. This is the best of all training for 
 the juvenile mind. All in turn become their own teachers ; all 
 acquire an habitual feeling of self-respect, and a manly deport- 
 ment rarely acquired in any other way. Children thus educated 
 become men and women in manners, and in all the fundamental 
 elements of character, before they attain the stature of men and 
 women. With such influences thrown around the junior mem- 
 bers of a household, what is usually termed family government, 
 ceases as it were to be necessary. A woman like their mother, 
 at the head of a young family, is better to them than a dozen 
 college professors or boarding school dames. A woman like her, 
 as the wife of a farmer, will do more to advance his own indivi- 
 dual interests, and to render rural life attractive and honorable, 
 than the best agricultural lecturer on the continent. 
 
 The male head of this family has been pretty much passed 
 over by us for the period of twenty odd years. Since renovat- 
 ing the old homestead in 1829, and his consequent marriage, he 
 has had a subordinate prominence in our hasty sketch. It would 
 be a pleasure to us to enlarge upon his merits and the happy 
 influence he ever exerted upon the community in which he 
 lived. He was not -inferior to his wife, excellent as she was. 
 Each was suited to the other ; each was worthy of the other ; 
 and, both together furnish the best illustration of the good that 
 can be accomplished in such a sphere, and of the respectability 
 that can be given to the business of agriculture. In that family 
 it is seen, that on a farm, amidst the constant duties each one 
 is accustomed to perform, the most substantial mental proficiency 
 14* 
 
322 THE FARM AND THE FIEESIDE. 
 
 is made by old and young ; and on the other hand, there is no 
 deficiency of social culture, and especially of domestic harmony 
 and contentment. Home is the common centre around which 
 all delight to assemble, all being strangers to a phrenzied im- 
 patience to indulge in the fashionable amusements of the age. 
 
 It is frequently imagined by persons in the country, and es- 
 pecially by the sons and daughters of farmers, that they can 
 have no influence in society. Such a thought should never be 
 indulged. There is in rural life, the best opportunity to 
 exercise it. In the city, people are not swayed by any indi- 
 vidual effort, unless it be from some commanding promi- 
 nence. They scarcely know each other, although living in ad- 
 joining houses. They do not make the slightest recognition 
 of each other in the streets or public places, unless formally 
 acquainted. Thus they frequently live for years in joy and in 
 grief, without ever speaking or exercising any common feeling 
 of social relationship. Thus they see each other daily, but pass 
 along unnoticed, as though they mutually possessed no common 
 bond of interest or affinity. An ordinary person, whethbr 
 male or female, in the city, has indeed, little or no influence. 
 In the country it is otherwise. All know each other ; all re- 
 cognize each other ; all sympathize with each other, whether 
 in prosperity or adversity. Nothing is done in the country but 
 what all know it, however trifling and unimportant in itself. 
 Especially, if one does something that is unusual, the whole pop- 
 ulation stop to gaze upon it. If the farmer adopt a new 
 mode of tillage ; if he raise double of the customary crop ; if 
 he have a cow that yields double the quantity of milk usual in 
 the neighborhood ; or if his hogs weigh as much again as cus- 
 tomary, all know it and talk about it, for miles in every direc- 
 tion. 
 
 So in family matters. If his wife well understands the busi- 
 ness within her sphere of duty and supervision ; if her house is 
 always clean and tidy ; if her children are always well dressed 
 and comely in their manners ; if they are sprightly and intelli- 
 gent ; if the family style of living is genteel and comfortable, 
 
THE. FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 333 
 
 and still maintained at a small expense ; if her butter and 
 cheese are abundant and of excellent flavor ; if she dress herself 
 like a lady in seasons of leisure, without much outlay for clothes, 
 and is always prompt to do what belongs to her to do ; and, if 
 they all live and appear like persons possessing abundance, 
 while all earn their living and much besides, be assured such a 
 domestic establishment will become proverbial throughout the 
 town or county. Where in the city, as the female head of a house- 
 hold, are such facilities for acquiring enviable applause ? where 
 such facilities for being useful in the world ? Does the reputa- 
 tion from a display of silks and laces, and jewelry in the ball 
 room, or at the theatre, or at the party of pleasure, compare 
 with this ? No man of sense, and no woman of sense and 
 moral principle, can hesitate in deciding which of the two is 
 most commenda'ble. 
 
 Here is a field of labor open alike to all, the poor as well as 
 the rich. Here female ambition can reach an elevation seen 
 and admired by a whole community. Here young genius may 
 bud and blossom and bear fruit of an hundred fold. Here the 
 nerve and the muscle, and the business talent of matured man- 
 hood, can have full scope for enterprise, and labor, and abound- 
 ing success. The example above detailed, illustrates every point 
 in our position. Look at the poor orphan girl, Jane Bickford, 
 who, by her talents and moral worth, rises to a position in in- 
 fluence, in comparison of which, fashionable equipage and brain- 
 less wealth is contemptible. ' Look at the plain farmer's boy, 
 George Boardman, without the aid of factitious influence, hav- 
 ing native good sense, industry, economy, and finally, the com- 
 panionship of an excellent wife, becoming a man of moderate 
 wealth, of unblemished character, and the father of children of 
 which a prince might be proud, and in the order of Providence 
 destined to an honorable career rarely to be enjoyed I 
 
324 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 SEED-TIME AND HARYEST. 
 
 If in the agricultural year there any particular perloJs en- 
 veloped with especial iuterest, and standing forth with distuictiVt; 
 prominence, they are the ones here selected for a brief comment- 
 ary. So important is the one in the farmer's schedule I'or labor, as 
 well as for the exercise of skill in his vocation, that it seems to 
 be almost a literal personification of the clemeuts which ibrm 
 his character. Without it there would be litlhi Lo give buoyancy 
 and elasticity to his energies. Without it there would be little 
 to inspire hope in the future, or to slimulate in that career of ac- 
 tivity designed by the Parent of nature to be commensurate, in ani- 
 mal and vegetable life, with tlie necessities incident to existence. 
 While the one is thus constituted the door of entrance into the 
 calender of the husbandman, the other is the fruition of his most 
 ardent aspirations; the joyous remuneration of his labors. In- 
 deed, without these two periods, what a paralyzing monotony 
 would be spread over the wide creation I Were the beings ex- 
 isting upon it to be perpetuated by some agency now unknown 
 to us, there would be a sluggish development of lii'e wholly in- 
 compatible with all our present ideas of happiness. So essen- 
 tial were these two periods in the Divine Mind, there was given 
 to us the perpetual assurance that they shall continue to the end 
 of t'ime. 
 
 The leader of an array in contemplated conquests and vic- 
 tories, enters not on his campaign without making a compre- 
 hensive and judicious estimate of the means requisite in over- 
 coming obstacles and in securing the objects of the enterprise. 
 He proportions the forces to sustain him to those which may be 
 brought against him ; man ngainst man, and weapon against 
 weapon, for every possible contingency. His ammunition, his 
 cavalry, his luggage vehicles, his provisions, and all his instru- 
 ments of destruction, are not only procured in full competence, 
 but are selected with wise rrfoieuce to their excellence, as well 
 as arranged with reference lo their safe preservation and their 
 position for use upon the least expected emergency. Without 
 
THH FARM AlSTD THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 325 
 
 such systematic and well-devised preliminaries, defeat and dis- 
 grace would be the probable results. Without them there would 
 be no laurels — no military glory ; and the anticipations of the 
 commander would be like the baseless fabric of a vision. 
 
 Analogous to this should be the schemes and the precautions 
 of every tiller of the ground anterior to the sowing of his seed. 
 His lands should be surveyed and laid out with as much delib- 
 eration as a commanding general inspects and assigns for partic- 
 ular use the hills and the valleys which are to be the battle- 
 fields on which he is to triumph or suffer defeat. How much in 
 martial tactics does success depend on this ? Not less does the 
 success of the farmer depend on a knowledge of his soils and the 
 adaptation of particular localities for particular crops. Should he 
 appropriate a particular locality for a crop to which it is most 
 inappropriate, and practice a similar indiscretion or want of skill 
 for all his crops, his disappointment in relation to a harvest 
 would be inevitable. A farmer can no more resist the influence 
 of such untoward mistakes than an army in a valley or deep 
 ravine can overcome an enemy planted on a commanding emi- 
 nence. And when the grounds have been thus judiciously as- 
 signed to specific uses, there should be prompt and efiicient ac- 
 tion in the preparation of them for these uses. The occupation 
 of a husbandman cannot be profitable, nor indeed pleasurable, 
 unless his grounds are well prepared by tillage and manure for 
 the reception of the seed. The best of seed might^s well be 
 cast into the highway, or upon a brick pavement, as into an ex- 
 hausted and sterile soil, possibly, too, as hard as sunburnt and 
 compact clay. It would be as useless and ineffectual as it would 
 be in a ship of war to point her cannon to the stars instead of 
 living men, or to throw bombshells into the adjacent ocean in- 
 stead of the assaulted citadel. 
 
 But our present object is especially to impress the farmer 
 with the necessity of more attention than is usual in the selec- 
 tion and use of the different kinds of seed to be applied in the 
 processes of agriculture. It is a doctrine of vegetable physiology, 
 founded on well known analogies, and substantiated by the ex- 
 
326 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 perience of the most discriminating amateurs of rural BOienoe; 
 that the quality of the seed has much influence on the harvest 
 that is to arise from it. Poor seed is not dissimilar in its agency 
 for agricultural wealth, to poor gunpowder in the hands of the 
 sportsman, or for the purposes of human slaughter in martial 
 conflict. It may be entirely destitute of vitality, and hence have 
 no germination ; and much more frequently possess only an im- 
 paired or feeble vitality, and consequently yielding only a defi- 
 cient or defective product ; for it is a law of physics that every- 
 thing in nature creates succession in its own likeness. To this 
 law there may be exceptions ; but they are so few in number 
 and so equivocal in character, as to furnish no suflficient reasons 
 for neglecting the law itself. Sometimes, possibly, deteriorated 
 seed may furnish samples of excellence in vegetable growth 
 which had not been known to spring from it for years, being one 
 of the transient and lingering spasms of vegetable element, once 
 predominant in the family to which it belonged, but now hav- 
 ing no abiding features in it. It is so in the animal kingdom. 
 Degenerated farm animals will very rarely have an ofispring of 
 some points kindred to those which pertained to the stock years 
 before. And now and then in the human species there may be 
 seen one in a family neither resembling father or mother, bro- 
 ther or sister, but a mere fac-simile of a grand-parent, or even 
 a great-grand-parent. We have all witnessed such cases. 
 
 At the season of harvest the best portions of the crop should 
 be saved for seed the following spring. This should be a gen- 
 eral rule. For Indian corn in particular the largest ears and 
 those which are first ripe are to be selected ; and where there 
 are two, or more than two, ears on the same stalk, preference 
 should be given to these, provided they are of a large size. 
 Similar preferences in all similar cases are to be made. And in 
 the case of maize, not only the early and large ears are to be cho- 
 sen, but the small and irregularly formed kernels at the ends of 
 the ears are to be rejected. It is difficult to prove mathemati- 
 cally the beneficial effect of this caution ; but it is well known 
 that where efforts are thus made for a succession of years there 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 327 
 
 wi]l be improvement in the quality of the article, and that where 
 such precautions are neglected there will be a corresponding' 
 degeneration in it. This is analogous to changes wrought from 
 corresponding influences in the rearing of animals. Who would 
 think of taking a calf, or colt, or pig, or lamb, of pigmian size, 
 or of sickly constitution, to be reared to propagate his species ? 
 Possibly the thing may have been done when the animal was 
 worth less for the market and the table ; but if we were to see 
 it done, the inference would be irresistible that the individual 
 who does it is ridiculously stupid. 
 
 Scarcely less important is it that all seed to be cast into the 
 ground should be free from impurities. A neglect of caution in- 
 this particular will occasion more trouble and vexation than the 
 cost of seed that is pure. In the cultivation of wheat especially, 
 and where fields are to be put into meadow, some kinds of wild 
 seed will diminish the value of the former at least twenty per 
 cent, and will prove ruinous to the latter, unless labor be spent 
 to eradicate the vile weeds more than equal to the value of the 
 crops. In traversing some portions of the country, whole farms 
 may be seen, comparatively valueless, from being covered over 
 with daisy, or some other worthless and ruinous vegetable 
 nuisances. All this might have been prevented if suitable pru- 
 dence had been exercised in the selection of seeds and in the ap- 
 plication of manure. In agriculture, above all things else, 
 there may be a parsimony which tendeth to poverty ; and if 
 there is a liberal and enlightened expenditure, it wiU lead to 
 wealth. A poor farmer has the more occasion to avail himself 
 of every contingent circumstance, on the one hand to obtain ad- 
 equate remuneration for his labor, and on the other hand to be 
 secured against liability to loss and discomfiture. 
 
 The successful husbandman will always be cognizant of the 
 appropriate time for planting his seed, as well as of the quality 
 of it, or the due preparation of the soil which is to receive it. 
 In our climate especially the appropriate time for planting is to 
 be watched with scrupulous vigilance. Too much precipita- 
 tion or too much delay will always be injurious, and sometimes 
 
328 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 fatal to the crop, The laws of vegetable development depend 
 on the peculiar atmospherical and . meteorological influences 
 arising in the revolving year. Were we regardless of these laws 
 and these influences by planting the seed before the return of 
 spring, it might yield no germs — or, if there were germs, they 
 •would be so chilled and stinted as to receive only a feeble growth ; 
 or, by waiting till midsummer before planting it, the hot suns 
 and parched soil would burn it up — even if it did germinate, 
 the tender plants could not survive the withering breezes and 
 the mildews of that oppressive season ; or, by waiting till au- 
 tumn before planting it, the frosts would assuredly prevent ma- 
 turity. If the farmer would secure a harvest, he must sow his 
 seed in the spring, and the different seeds successively in the 
 different periods of spring, designed by the Author of nature to 
 render them the vigorous germs of vegetable life and of abun- 
 dant harvests. The Christian is furnished with certain means 
 of grace. If he use them as it is intended they shall be used, 
 he has no occasion to doubt their efficacy. So is it with the 
 farmer. He is furnished with the elements of the material 
 creation with which to unite his own labors. If he do it, a 
 harvest is to be expected. But if he exercise skepticism or sloth 
 in regard to such co-operation ; or self-conceit, endeavoring to 
 improve upon the laws of nature, instead of an autumnal frui- 
 tion, he may actually die of starvation. With the farmer, as 
 with the Christian, faith and works must go hand in hand, har- 
 moniously supporting each other. Without the latter the for- 
 mer will be but a dead letter, and the works to accompany it, 
 or spring from it, must be prompt upon every emergency, and 
 abundant as they are prompt, like the gushing fountain upon 
 the hill side that fertilizes and renders verdant the whole plain 
 which lies beneath it. 
 
 There is a delightful harmony between the world of spirit 
 and the world of matter. To the eye of the husbandman espe- 
 cially each throws its own shadow upon the other ; each warms 
 the other ; each gives life and animation to the other. The 
 faith of the Christian imparts to the laborer in agriculture an 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 329 
 
 equanimity, a steadiness of progress, and a self-balaiiciii<r hope 
 of reward, found in no ono pursuing his toils like the ox ihat 
 knows not God ; and again,, the enlightened and meditative agri- 
 culturist findsrnental food in his occupation favorable to the growth 
 of the sentiriK-'uts of piety and the moral virtues. Here is a species 
 of reciprocal influences, less obvious and less etficient in all other 
 relations of industry. With what fervor and rationality may the 
 farmer, on casting his seed into the ground, and having well 
 performed every other incidental duty, pray to the Father of 
 Mercies that the early and the latter rain — that the solar rays 
 by day, and the abundant dews by night, may cause his barns, 
 his granaries, and his i^lorehouses to be amply filled at autumn I 
 Here is a foundation for growth in spiritual excellence, as well 
 as for accurnulalion in the products of the earth, found not, 
 according to our apprehension, in any other department of hu- 
 man labor. Can the merchant so pray for an increased valua- 
 tion of goods on hand, and for diminished prices on those to be 
 obtained, upon which depend liis profits and his wealth 1 
 
 Verily to the husbandman, there is a harvest as well as a 
 time for planting seed. To him the autumnal harvest is an an- 
 nual jubilee. To him it is an occasion of triumph and joyful- 
 ness, like rent day to the landlord, stock dividends to the capi- 
 talists, and the rcluru ship to the mcrcliant. To them, however, 
 there are contingencies and disappointments seldom experienced 
 by him. To one there may have been loss from conflagration — 
 to another from cjimmercial revulsion — and to the other from 
 shipwrecks, f-cldom is the farmer oppressed by such casualties. 
 Seldom does the earth fail to yield a plentiful supply of its pro- 
 ductions. If there is a deficiency of one, there is an overstock 
 of the others. Rarely does it happen to him that he is unable 
 to unite in the general acclamations of praise from nature ; 
 rarely do the mountains and the hills break forth into singing, 
 or the trees and the fields clap their hands while he is a mute 
 or desponding spectator. Such is not the wonted destiny of the 
 skilful and industrious oalturcr of the soil. If his face is sun- 
 burnt aud his arms and his hands are brawny, his soul is buoy- 
 
330 THE FAEM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 ant and expansive. Though he toil earl)' and late, seldom does 
 life become a burden to him ; seldom is he overwhelmed with 
 losses and perplexities, seldom is he deficient in the staple com- 
 forts that cause existence to be desirable. 
 
 Nor should it be forgotten, that, in the spirit-world, 
 as well as in the realms of materialism, there is a seed-time 
 and a harvest. In the one as well as in the other, there is to 
 be a process of culture. The mind, as well as the soil, is to be 
 made rich and vigorous by a supply of aliment congenial to its 
 own nature. Without this process of culture, and this supply 
 of aliment, both will be sterile and unproductive. There is this 
 difference between them : in one case harvest succeeds seed-time 
 after a few months ; in the other case, the period between the 
 two is the life-time of the individual, whether it be long or 
 short. Hence childhood and youth are the spring season or the 
 seed-time of the soul, and the harvest is the end of life. Thus 
 the solar year is analogous to and is emblematical of a human 
 generation. One has a calendar of months ; the other may 
 have a calendar of years. In both cases the periods assigned 
 are proportioned to the nature of the fruits to be reared. As 
 the solar year is none too long for the entire process of the great 
 staples of vegetable life ; so the life of man, though it be three 
 score and ten or four score years, is none too long for the process 
 of a great spiritual harvest. 
 
 Man comes into the world helpless, diminutive in size, and 
 fragile in organisation, almost lilce the most delicate of our gar- 
 den plants. A little too much sun or too much cold, too much 
 moisture or too much drought, would, in many instances, be fatal 
 to each. To either there must be vigilant nurture. If neglected, 
 they will perish ; or if they survive, they will be without value 
 — like worthless weeds. Let a human being pass from the cra- 
 dle to the grave without receiving any stimulants for intellec- 
 tual expansion, and he will more resemble the automaton than 
 the offspring of genius. Let him pass from the cradle to the 
 grave without receiving any moral culture, and he will more 
 resemble the prince of darkness than the candidate for celestial 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 33J 
 
 beatitude ! But in the season of childhood and youth, furnish 
 him with the seeds of knowledge ; furnish him with the elements 
 for mental vitality, and speedily he may be seen to rise above 
 the world that sustains him, to grasp at the hidden mysteries 
 of science, and to soar in imagination among the works of God 
 far beyond any limits revealed to human ken. In such a field 
 of culture, one like Newton may analyze the laws of gravitation ; 
 another, like Herschel, may number the stars and call them by 
 name ; another, like Hervey, may unfold the ceaseless action of ani- 
 mal mechanism ; another, like Franklin, maydisarm the thunder- 
 bolt of its power; and another, like Fulton, may teach his fellow- 
 men, as it were to annihilate space and bring society into new 
 combinations. It is by the use of such instrumentalities, in the 
 seed-time of human life, that the world is blessed with those 
 master spirits which give dignity to our nature and glory to the 
 world. If men would rise to renown and become distinguished 
 among their fellow-men, they must not, like the slothful or the 
 unwise husbandman who neglects to sow his seed, allow their 
 minds in the spring season of life to lie fallow. If they would 
 see their sons and their daughters become good and great in the 
 world, the foundation for it must be laid in youth. It is in the 
 buoyancy of youth that the germs of mental distinction first 
 display themselves. Then the soul is plastic and readily re- 
 ceives impressions. Then the elements of thought quickly be- 
 come assimilated, and tend with progressive velocity, to the de- 
 velopments of genius in all succeeding time. 
 
 Nor is it less important that the spring-time of life be care- 
 fully observed in reference to a moral harvest. Why is it that 
 vice has such luxuriant growth in the world ? Why is it 
 that crime so often becomes rampant, and with lawless strides 
 passes over the land, leaving footsteps stained with blood or 
 marked by desolation ? "Why is it that society is so filled with 
 drunkards, the negleotors of religion, and the violators of the 
 rights of their fellow-men 1 Why is it that so many mothers 
 die of broken hearts, and so many fathers go down to the grave 
 in sorrow ? Why is it that our -criminal courts are pressed with 
 
J32 THE FARAI AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 the most painful responsibilities, and that our penitentiaries are 
 crowded with the outcasts of society ? It is because the moral 
 seed-time of the soul has been suffered to pass away in neglect I 
 It is because no plants of heaven have been caused to take root 
 in the youiip- bosom 1 It has been overgrown with a spurious pro- 
 geny, as the neglected garden is overgrown with worthless weeds. 
 Its flowers have been choked by pernicious tares ; its fruit has 
 perished from the mildew of sin ; and even the verdure of its 
 leaves has become sadly faded- and seared by some hidden mala- 
 dy destroying their vitality. 
 
 The sentimental ruralist is always surrounded with objects 
 of absorbing interest. Among these objects the processes of 
 vegetation are prominent. As soon as the seed is cast into the 
 soil he daily meditates on the swelling kernel and the opening 
 shell. No sooner does the slender blade rise above the surface 
 than he watches its daily growth. With what pleasure in the 
 morning does he behold the full orbed dew-drop upon it I The 
 refreshing shower and the genial rays of the sun, as they unfold 
 its vital energies, are observed with ceaseless assiduity. If it be 
 one of our rich annual garden fruits, how soon does the ripe, 
 luscious berry succeed the delicate flower ! If it be one of our 
 staple cereals, maize or wheat, who can fail to admire the well- 
 filled ear ? If it be a fruit-bearing tree, it is cherished year 
 after year, till its branches becomes pendant with the load tho,t 
 hangs upon them, and, as it were, invite us to partake of their 
 delicious treasure. If it be the oak, we fail not to make our 
 pilgrimages to it, if life be continued, from the day when the 
 acorn that gave it birth was cast into the ground, till its branches 
 wave in beauty, and its stately trunk defies the tempest; and, 
 indeed, till its enduring wood is moulded into the majestic ship 
 that is to ride upon the ocean's mountain wave. Is there any- 
 thing plodding and dull in watcliiiigs like these ? Can the phi- 
 losopher find a counterpart to them for chastened reveries and 
 pious meditation ? We think not ! If, in the great temple of 
 nature, one cannot find, in big own bosom, the kindling of rap- 
 ture, where can he do it ? 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 333 
 
 Yet there is not less pleasure in watching over the develop- 
 ments of the intellectual and moral seed cast upon the human 
 soul. Hovs' soon does it take root and rise upward ? How soon 
 does the discerning mother and the attentive father rejoice to 
 behold the sparkling infant eye and the symbols of infant thought 
 in the motion of its tiny hands ; and, anon, in its lively prattle 
 and its laughing glee ? Here are the first dawnings of character 
 that may animate the family circle, and cast a halo over the 
 dark places of the earth ! Then the faithful schoolmaster re- 
 cords his prognostications of some casual tokens of advancing 
 greatness ; and not less does the attentive watchman upon the 
 ramparts of Zion scent the odorous incense that begins to ascend 
 from the young heart. The progress is onward. Each re- 
 volving year furnishing new evidence of a glorious intellectual 
 and moral harvest. The seed was carefully spread upon a rich 
 soil. The culture was without relaxation. All noxious weeds 
 were removed. Thus a vigorous maturity is in prospect. The 
 fathers of state quickly discern those on whom their own mantle 
 is to descend ; the ermine of the bench is enabled to salute with 
 certainty those who are to perpetuate its own judicial purity ; 
 and not less readily does the Church open her arms and receive 
 to her embraces those who are to minister at her altars and to 
 share in her highest honors. 
 
 Obtuse indeed must be those sensibilities which can appre- 
 hend no occasion in such exhibitions for pleasure. The heart 
 that can witness them without emotion must be destitute of 
 every social attribute, and frigid as the frosts of Lapland. Such 
 a heart would be a burlesque on manhood ? If there is aught 
 amidst the wreck of virtue, whose ruins have been scattered 
 broadcast upon the world for nearly six thousand years, that 
 can justly cause enthusiasm, it is in the growing adornment of 
 that intellectual power, and in that spiritual regeneration which 
 may be traced backward to a due observance of the spring- 
 day of life and the seed-time of the soul. If we have one aspi- 
 ration rising above all others, it is, that through the remainder 
 of life, our own cup of blessing may be filled with the dews of 
 
334 THE FARM AXD THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 heaven descending upon the soil and the soul, in their vernal 
 seasons, and with the profusions of that harvest, whether mate- 
 rial or spiritual, vouchsafed to all who lahor faithfully in the 
 culture of the earth and of the mind. 
 
 BATHING, OR CLEANLraESS AND HEALTH. 
 
 The advantage to health and comfort, from a free use of 
 water, is hecoming more and more an object of attention. That 
 pure water is among the most valuable preservative, of health, 
 as well as curatives of certain diseases, is become well un- 
 derstood. Indeed, some of our most popular retreats for 
 the restoration of health, and for the building up broken 
 down constitutions, are based on this hypothesis. As a ge- 
 neral thing frequent ablutions, or immersions in water, are 
 now, we believe, universally acknowledged to be very beneficial, 
 and are the most efi'ectual preventives of many distressing 
 maladies. Cleansing the skin by rubbing, washing, and bathing, 
 is, from the very nature of the acts, a most salutary operation. 
 Moreover, it may be pronounced next to impossible for any per- 
 son to enjoy perfectly good health who lives in the constant and 
 habitual neglect of these means. 
 
 The cold bath is mainly designed to cleanse and purify the 
 parts exposed to the action of the water. This seems well ap- 
 preciated, at least so far as the feet, face, and hands are con- 
 cerned, for no one would think of neglecting this, were it only 
 for decency. But many persons who wash their face and hands 
 every day — perhaps several times a day — apparently think it 
 of little value to purify their bodies in the same way. It is in- 
 deed true, that the parts constantly exposed to contact with the, 
 dust which floats in the atmosphere, and with the dirt connected 
 with labor, are more liable to need cleansing than the parts 
 povered by our clothing. The latter, however, are not wholly 
 exempt from occasion, for less frequent ablutions. In the sum- 
 
THE FAUM AND THE FIRESIDE. 335 
 
 mer especially, when fine dust is abundant, enough of it will 
 ordinarily pass through the interstices of cloth, to form on the 
 skin, in the course of a few days, a coating so complete as effec- 
 tually to_ conceal the color of the skin, and by filling the pores 
 of it, to prevent a free perspiration. This dust uniting with the 
 perspiration forms a kind of paste, which intercepts the free 
 action of the air upon the surface of the human form, as unfa- 
 vorable to health, as it would be to have the body and all its 
 members besmeared with paint. Would plants be healthy and 
 vigorous if they were completely covered over with some oily 
 substance that would intercept the action of the atmosphere on 
 their external surfaces 1 If this action of the atmosphere were 
 prevented upon vegetation, it would speedily languish and die. 
 The principle is much the same, were it prevented in regard to 
 the parts of an animal body. 
 
 A medical writer states that bathing in cold water during 
 the warm season, is an antidote to diseases, particularly fevers, 
 by lessening the heat of the body ; that it cleanses the skin from 
 its impure and acrid contents, thereby removing a primary 
 source of sickness ; and, that the bath braces the solids, which 
 were before relaxed by heat, restoring and tranquilizing the ir- 
 ritability of the nervous system, and greatly exhilerating and 
 cheering the spirits with an increase of strength and bodily 
 power. The morning is the best time for bathing, or two hours 
 before sun-set, if in a river or pond, as the water has then, from 
 the rays of the summer sun, acquired an agreeable warmth. 
 When the sun has disappeared, or evening begins to throw her 
 mists over the water, it is imprudent to bathe in the open at- 
 mosphere, on account of its dampness, which is apt to produce a 
 chill, and sometimes a fever. Ordinarily it is best to bathe 
 when the stomach is empty ; either before the regular time of 
 meals, or sometime after having eaten. On leaving the water 
 the skin should be well rubbed by a coarse towel, which pro- 
 duces a most pleasant glow or increase of heat ; and this is at- 
 tended with a delightful serenity and cheerfulness ; from which 
 it may be known, that the bath is producing the desired effects. 
 
336 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 Moderate exercise should also he taken after bathing, so as to re- 
 store the circulation, and produce a reaction in the vessels and 
 muscles. 
 
 On entering cold water for bathing, it is best, first lo wet 
 the head; or if the bather can swim, to dive head foremost, so 
 as to make the impression uniform ; for one will feci the shock 
 less by such precautions, than by reflecting and acting slowly 
 and timidly. The time of remaining in the bath should always 
 be short, and must be determined by the constitution and the 
 feelings of the persons themselves, as healthy persons may con- 
 tinue in it longer than those who are weakly and in bad health. 
 It is improper and unsafe to remain in cold water longer than a 
 quarter of an hour at most, during the hottest day in summer, 
 as the principal object of cold bathing is purification and 
 the influence and eflect produced by the first impression made 
 on the system. At other seasons of the year, less than five-min- 
 utes should be spent in it. On aged and lean persons the cold 
 bath acts more powerfully than on young or corpulent ones ; 
 hence a young person, or one that is fat, can remain double the 
 lime in the bath to one that is old or of delicate constitution. 
 Much judgment is therefore to be exercised in regard to the use 
 of the cold bath. Young persons, particularly boys, sometimes 
 have such a passion or fondness for bathing and swimming that 
 they become debilitated from being much in the water; and 
 cases are known where fevers have resulted from it, if performed 
 under improper circumstances. An instance is recorded of an 
 individual exposed throughout the day to fatigue and the heat of 
 the sun. In the morning he took a cold bath, and the eflect 
 was the most salutary — a sudden increase of animal spirits and 
 vigor. But towards evening he was induced to take a second 
 one ; and, from the body being in an unfit condition for it, an at- 
 tack of chills and then of fever was the consequence. 
 
 It seems to be a settled conviction with nearly all, that 
 water ablutions are indispensable for the health of children. In- 
 fants and very young children are daily subjected to them, as 
 regularly, each morning or evening, as adults are accustomed to 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 337 
 
 wash the face and hands. Without it, they would be disgusting 
 in appeaianoe and sickly in constitution. Where this is habitu- 
 ally and thoroughly done, there may be expected a ruddy com- 
 plexion, full cheeks, athletic limbs, sweetness of breath, and 
 bright eyes not otherwise witnessed. How loathsome are chil- 
 dren covered with filth, and feeble for the want of these regular 
 purifications ! But, although meanly clad, if kept free from dirt, 
 and rendered sprightly, animated, and muscular by the use of 
 these auxiliaries to health, they become objects of kind regard. 
 The cleansing of the skin, and the removal from it of all impurities 
 and obstacles to the free action upon it of meteorological in- 
 fluences, is as needful for proper developments, in children and 
 adults, as the removal of weeds in the garden in order to pro- 
 duce rapid progrrss in vegetation. Weeds, especially on being 
 rank, will check the growth of all tender cultivated plants, both 
 by absorbing from the soil the nourishipient intended for them, 
 and by secluding them partially or altogether from the sun and 
 the air. But, weeds are no more unfavorable to vegetable pro- 
 gress, than the obstructions we arc speaking of are to animal pro- 
 gress. Dirt and filth are as fatal to beauty and physical sound- 
 ness in the human structure, as the most rank and noxious weeds 
 are to the useful productions of the soil. And the rubbing of 
 the skin and the muscles of the human form, so as to produce 
 an active circulation of the blood and the other fluids, is analo- 
 gous to the stirring and' loosening of the soil about the roots of 
 a vegetable organization. In both cases they are alike necessary ; 
 and in both oases, a neglect to do it will be attended with visi- 
 ble detriment. 
 
 We have frequently noticed one thing relating to this sub- 
 ject, very absurd and inconsistent. Thousand-s of parents are 
 very particular daily to wash their children ; not only their 
 limbs, but their bodies ; who never think of doing the same to 
 themselves, although from their labors and more constant expo- 
 sure to all the impurities floating in the air and mixing with 
 objects in contact with them, are infinitely more in need of it, 
 so far as viewed in reference to purification. True, the adult, 
 11 
 
338 THE FAB-M AND THE FIUESIDE. 
 
 from having more muscular power, is not so likely suddenly to 
 die from the neglect as a child ; but, if not so likely to die from 
 that cause suddenly, does, from the very laws of nature, suffer 
 in physical and mental energy. The difference is not dissimilar 
 to that of the germ in its first years of growth and the full 
 grown apple tree. The former, if neglected, will become choked 
 and die of suffocation from the weeds ; whereas, if the soil 
 about the latter is neglected, and if the moss and other excres- 
 ences onthe bark are not removed by scraping or scrubbing, it 
 will become unfruitful — it may be the fruit will be knotty and 
 will fall to the ground before ripe ; and, its yellow leaves 
 and the dead tips of its branches will indicate premature decay. 
 It is, certainly, very paradoxical for persons in the country to 
 scrape, and cleanse, and whitewash their orchard trees, as they 
 sometimes do, in order that the atmospherical influences may 
 have unobstructed action upon them, and thus be made fruitful 
 and he endowed with the elements of long life ; and yet, rarely 
 or never exercise corresponding precautions in regard to perpe- 
 tuating in full vigor their own bodily organs. The care of fruit 
 trees here alluded to does certainly bear a resemblance to the 
 ablutions of the human body, and the succeeding friction from 
 being duly rubbed. 
 
 It is a law of nature, that all physical elements, in the ani- 
 mal and vegetable kingdoms, should be kept in due combina- 
 tion, and in habitual exposure to influences conducive to their 
 vigor. In unequal proportions their legitimate functions are 
 impaired. The same may be said of them if they cease to act 
 upon each other, as designed to act. Running water, by its mo- 
 tion and contact with the air, is relieved from any deleterious 
 properties it might have held in solution, and is enabled to im- 
 part vitality and vigor to everything within the range of its 
 course ; but, if shut up and confined, it stagnates and becomes 
 impure. All physical elements have certain agencies to per- 
 form ; but, as soon as these agencies are performed, the elements 
 become a nuisance and are to be cast away. Thus they are 
 designed for animal food ; but, if internal obstructions take place 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 339 
 
 in the alimentary canal, to prevent the passing away of what is 
 not converted into nutriment ; or if the pores of the skin are 
 closed, so as to hinder the escape of portions designed to escape 
 through the perspiratory functions, the entire machine becomes 
 deranged. It is believed, therefore, that the great secret of pre- 
 serving health and promoting long life lies mainly in these two 
 things ; in the first place, to prevent all internal obstructions 
 that impair the free course of the animal functions ; and, in the 
 second place, by external purification, to prevent any obstruc- 
 tions through the pores of the skin, which may on the one hand 
 prevent the exhalation of poisonous secretions, and on the other 
 hand, receiving from the atmosphere, through the same medium, 
 those well known principles of health with which it is impreg- 
 nated. 
 
 Near akin to the water purification we here recommend, 
 both for decency and for health, is the keeping the teeth clean. 
 If this is not done the breath will be foul, and sometimes fever- 
 ish, especially in the morning. The teeth ought therefore to be 
 cleansed after every meal, as the refuse of the food settles about 
 them, rapidly becomes putrid, and- proves injurious to the gums. 
 It would be well, prior to retiring to rest each night, certainly 
 after eating the last evening bit, that the mouth be well washed 
 out and the teeth relieved from all remains of food ; and, espe- 
 cially this should be done in the morning before and after break- 
 fast ; the first will create appetite for the breakfast, and the se- 
 cond a loathing of what is eaten. The effect upon the breath 
 where the teeth and mouth are foul from the remains of food, 
 is similar in character to the air of a kitchen, where all the 
 fragments of uncooked meat and the dinner table are suffered to 
 lie round on the table and upon the floors for days and weeks, 
 till becoming masses of putrefaction, and perhaps breeding dis- 
 gusting insects. Would not such an atmosphere be the most 
 noxious to the senses, and be likely to breed fevers ? And, j'et 
 how does it differ in kind from the breath of persons who neg- 
 lect to cleanse their mouths and teeth 1 Or suppose a butcher 
 suffer the drippings of blood and the atoms of flesh to accumu- 
 
340 THE FARM ANH THE riRESIBE. 
 
 late on his meat benches, without any ablation for daj's and 
 weeks, how repulsive would be the air of the market house ! 
 It might endanger the life of the sickly to enter it ! Yet, the 
 uncleansed teeth are but a miniature of the butchers meat 
 benches ; and the mouth to which tliey belong is but a minia- 
 ture of the market-house which contains those benches. 
 
 In the country, especially, there should be connected with 
 every house convenient accommodations for bathing. During 
 the hot weather, if not at other times, an ample bathing tub 
 should be daily filled — the morning is the best time for it, the 
 water thus becoming warm — so that at the close of the day, 
 each person having been exposed to dnst and mud^to perspira- 
 tion and the odors of the barnyard — may undergo a complete 
 purification. It is true, a little moral courage will be requisite 
 to do this with those have been greatly fatigued with labor. 
 But when done, all who do it, will experience a freshness and 
 a glow of mental and physical energy before deemed impossible ; 
 sleep to them will be sweet and sound ; and they will be ten 
 per cent, better in the morning for the toils of the day, than 
 though this had been neglected. Even the washing of one's 
 face, hands, and feet, after a day of fatigue and exposure to the 
 impurities connected with most kinds of manual labor, makes a 
 vast difiereiice to personal comfort and to the refreshment ex- 
 perienced from a night of sleep. The cost of accommodations 
 for doing it would be trifling ; and the time spent by each one 
 in these habitual ablutions, would be of no value compared with 
 the benefit derived from them. Nor should they be confined to 
 the male laborers on a farm. All more or less need them ; and 
 to children they should be deemed indispensable. These ablu- 
 tions would add much to the amount of personal comfort ; to 
 health ; to the amount of labor each one performs ; and probably 
 to the aggregate of human life among those forming a rural 
 community. 
 
 Cleanliness ought to be attended to in nur bouses and about 
 our work, as well as in our persons and dress, p^evers of a ma- 
 lignant nature often originate among the inhabitants of closa 
 
THE FARM AND THE TTOESIDE. 341 
 
 dirty houses, who breathe an. unwholsome air, wear their clothes 
 until they become filthy, and take but little exercise out of 
 doors. Where a number of persons are collected together under 
 cue roof, cleanliness is a point of the very highest importance, 
 as it is a well-established fact that contagions are communicated 
 by air which has become tainted, and which soon takes place by 
 its being breathed over and over again, and by its being further 
 deteriorated by a want of due ventilation and proper cleanliness. 
 In the country, unless it be in some unhealthy locality, rendered 
 so by miasmatic tendencies, liabilities to disease from such 
 causes are not to be apprehended if a due attention is paid to 
 the cleanliness of the house and out buildings of a farm. Here 
 water is abundant, and the air is pure, unless corrupted by the 
 filth of the premises generated in a want of due purifications. 
 Neatness ought to be classed among the cardinal virtues. To 
 be filthy is contrary to natural instincts. Birds defile not their 
 own nests; and swine, if left to choose their own resting places, 
 will rarely repose in filth. For human beings, then, to disre- 
 gard what may seem to be a law of nature on this subject is 
 inexcusable. A small cabin, if neat and tidy, elicits our com- 
 mendation ; but the spacious mansion, if neglected till it be- 
 comes a shelter for noxious vapors and a hot-bed for disease, is 
 an object of disgust and execration. 
 
 We are much in favor of what is called the shower-bath. 
 The means for it are easily devised. A tin tub or box of fifteen 
 or eighteen inches in diameter, the bottom being perforated like a 
 grater or cullender, placed six or eight feet above the head, and 
 then filled with water, so as to descend in a quick succession of 
 drops upon the person for whom it is designed, makes one of the 
 best shower-baths. The suddenness with which the water falls 
 gives a sudden impulse to all the animal functions, not unlike 
 the exposure of the naked body to a smart shower of rain. If 
 the blood circulates at too slow a rate ; if the pulse has become 
 languid ; and, if there is a general prostration of the animal 
 feelings, the shower-bath is of peculiar efficacy ; nature, in a 
 measure, is at once restored to its original and legitimate pitch 
 
342 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 of action. The operation of the shower-hath may he prolonged 
 for a longer or shorter time at pleasure, according to the inclina- 
 tion or health of the person receiving it. As the shower passes 
 the head and is gently descending to the feet, it occasions little 
 or no obstruction to breathing, and during this constant gliding 
 of single drops downward upon the skin, there are the most de- 
 lightful and thrilling sensations. The shower-bath in the 
 morning, when rising from bed, if any undue drowsiness re- 
 mains, will stimulate the whole system, and prepare it for an 
 early breakfast or any active duty. A little closet in one corner 
 of a chamber or outbuilding may be chosen for the purpose. 
 The size need not be more than two by three feet ; and the 
 water may be emptied into the perforated receiver, from a re- 
 volving vessel, operated by the bather vi'ith a string. 
 
 Bathing undoubtedly took place first in rivers and in the sea, 
 but men soon learned to enjoy this pleasure in their own houses. 
 Even Homer mentions the use of the bath as an old custom. 
 When Ulysses entered the palace of Circe, a bath was prepared 
 for him-; after which he was anointed with costly perfumes, and 
 dressed in rich garments. The bath, at that period, was the 
 first refreshment offered to a guest. In later times, rooms, both 
 public and private, were built expressly for the purpose of bath- 
 ing. The public baths of the Greeks were mostly connected 
 with the gymnasia, because they were taken immediately after 
 the athletic exercises. The Romans, in the period of their lux- 
 ury, imitated the Greeks in this point, and built magnificent 
 baths. For undressing, for receiving the garments, and for 
 anointing after bathing, there were different rooms ; and con- 
 nected with the bath were walks, covered race grounds, courts, 
 and gardens. These buildings, together with a number of bath- 
 ing rooms, were necessary for a public bath, which was adorned 
 with splendid furniture, and all the requisites for recreation ; and 
 resembled, in its exterior appearance, an extensive palace. Ho- 
 man luxury, always in search of means for rendering sensual 
 enjoyments more exquisite, in latter times, built particular con- 
 duits for conducting sea-water to the baths, used mountain snow, 
 
THB FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 343 
 
 and enlarged these establishments in such a way that even 
 their ruins excite admiration. 
 
 Among the Europeans, the Russians have peculiar establish- 
 ments for bathing, vchich are visited by all classes of the people 
 during the whole year. The Russian bath consists of a single 
 hall, built of wood. In the midst of it is a powerful metal 
 oven, covered with heated stones. Round about these are broad 
 benches. In entering this hall, the heat is so great, one not ac- 
 customed to it can remain there but a few minutes. This heat 
 of the Russia vapor is raised to 150 degrees, sometimes above 
 that for melting wax, and only a little below that for boiling 
 spirits of wine. The vapor is produced bythrowing cold water 
 xjpon the heated stones ; a thick hot steam rises, which envel- 
 opes the bather, and heats .him to such a degree, that the sweat 
 issues from his whole body. Upon an American this would 
 produce almost suffocation ; but the Russian considers it a com- 
 fortable luxury, sometimes remaining there naked on these 
 benches for an hour or two, occasionally, according to inclina- 
 tion, having warm or cold water poured upon the body by the 
 attendant. During the sweating process, the body is well rubbed 
 or gently whipped with leafy branches of the birch tree, to pro- 
 mote perspiration by opening the pores of the skin. All this 
 difference is the effect of habit ; and that we might become accus- 
 tomed to it, and find an advantage from it, as the Russians do, 
 no reasonable person can doubt. Bathing, in its simple form, 
 is a remedy of nature's procuring ; and, when it was universally 
 practised in Rome, she had comparatively but little necessity 
 for physicians. 
 
 A Russian thinks nothing of rushing, says an eminent writer, 
 from the bath room dissolved in sweat, and jumping into the 
 cold and chilling waters of an adjacent river; or, during the 
 most piercing cold to which his country is liable in winter, to 
 roll himself in the snow ; and this without the slightest injury. 
 On the contrary, he derives many advantages from these sudden 
 and abrupt exposures ; because he always by thern hardens his 
 constitution to all the severities of a climate whose cold and 
 
344 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 snows seem to paralyze the face of nature. Rheumatisms are 
 seldom known in Russia ; such great and sudden transitions 
 from heat to cold, seem to occasion no detriment to the people 
 there ; and, on the other hand, it has been supposed that their 
 great longevity, their healthy and robust constitutions, their exemp- 
 tion from certain mortal diseases, and their cheerful and vivacious 
 tempers, are attributable to their baths and their generally tem- 
 perate habits of living. When a young man, we boarded in 
 the house with a Presbyterian clergyman whose health had been 
 greatly impaired — some thought to an irreparable degree ; but, 
 at last, he resolved to be his own doctor, and completely restored 
 his health. If living, which we believe he is — we know he 
 was a few years since — he must be about seventy-five years old. 
 He effected his cure in this way — by systematic temperate habits 
 of living — one day in the week comparative fasting, and by cold 
 water bathing and other exposures to the cold, and by habitual 
 bodily exercise. We have known him, when the ground was 
 covered with fresh snow, to rise early from his bed and to walk in 
 the snow, barefooted, half a mile, before breakfast. We never 
 knew him injured from it ; and he uniformly affirmed he felt the 
 better for it. We have, too, a little experience of our own in confir- 
 mation of the same theory. During much of life we have had oc- 
 casional attacks of rheumatism. Towards twenty years since wo 
 were induced to spend a winter at the West, where we often 
 lodged in cabins and log-houses, aflbrding little more shelter 
 from the elements than a large apple tree top, sometimes finding 
 the bed in which we slept, pillows, head, and all covered with 
 snow ; yet, although we left home amply furnished with rheum- 
 atic nostrums, not an atom of them was needed. We did not 
 suffer a rheumatic pang in the whole season of our absence. 
 
 It has been affirmed that the French owe much of their 
 cheerfulness and vivacity of disposition to the warm bath ; and, 
 it would be extremely difficult to devise a punishment more to 
 be deprecated by that people, male and female, than to be de- 
 prived of it. as it becomes from frequent and habitual use almost 
 a component of their existence. The soft, delicate, and beauti- 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 3^3 
 
 fui skins for which French ladies are so much distinfruished, 
 are very much owing, says the same writer, to the tepid bath- 
 ing, being far preferable to all the cosmetics and other prepara- 
 tions sold for the purpose of whitening and beautifying the 
 skin. The habits of persons are very diflereut as to perspiration 
 and sweating— some perspire very much, and others very little 
 — from some no offensive elfluvia arises in perspiring, whilst 
 from bodies of others (here arises a perfect fetor ; and, it is a 
 fact, that of all possible odors, that arising from the perspira- 
 tion of some human bodies is the most loathsome ; and to per- 
 sons thus liable to exhale from the pores of the skin these fetid 
 emissions, bathing is the best antidote. Hence, bathing may 
 be used to free ourselves, under such circumstances, from being 
 an ofl'ence to others, as v/ell as from those foreign accumulations 
 received from the air, and from objects connected with our re- 
 spective avocations. 
 
 Among the Asiatics, baths are in general use. The Turks, 
 by their religion, are obliged to make repeated ablutions daily. 
 Besides these, men and women must bathe in particular cir- 
 cumstances and at certain times. For this purpose there is, 
 in every city, a public bath connected with a mosque ; and 
 rich private persons possess private bathing houses, adorned with 
 all the objects of Asiatic luxury. Besides the baths, the Turks 
 have also the dry bath of the ancients. The buildings, which 
 they use for this purpose, are built of stone, and usually contain 
 several rooms, the floors of which are of marble. These rooms 
 are heated by means of pipes, which pass through the walls, 
 and conduct the heated air to every part. After undressing, 
 thej' wrap themselves up in a cotton coverlet, put on wooden 
 slippers, in order to defend the feet against the heat of the 
 floor, and then enter the bathing room. The hot air soon pro- 
 duces a profuse perspiration ; upon which they are washed, 
 ■wiped dry, combed, and rubbed with a woolen cloth. At last 
 the whole body is covered with soap, or some other application, 
 which improves the skin.. After this bath, they rest upon a 
 15* 
 
346 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 bed, and drink coffee or lemonade. The Turkish ladies daily 
 bathe in this manner — the men not so frequently. 
 
 A peculiar kind of baths are used in the East Indies, of 
 which Antequil gives the following account: "An attendant 
 stretches the bather upon a table, pours over him warm water, 
 and begins afterwards, with admirable skill, to press and bend 
 his whole body. All the limbs are extended, and the joints 
 even made to crack. After he has done with one side he goes 
 on with the other ; now kneels upon the bather ; now takes 
 hold of the shoulders ; now causes the spine to crack, by mov- 
 ing the vertebrae ; and then applies gentle blows to the fleshy 
 and muscular parts. After this, he takes a cloth of hair, and 
 rubs the whole body, removes the hard skin from the feet with 
 pumice-stone, anoints the bather with soap and perfumes, 
 and finishes by shaving and cutting the hair. This treatment 
 lasts about three quarters of an hour, and produces the greatest 
 refreshment. An agreeable feeling pervades the whole body, 
 and ends with a sweet slumber of several hours. 
 
 The best place for bathing is the sea shore. For various 
 kinds of disease manifesting themselves upon or through the skin 
 the salt water of the ocean exercises a medicinal as well as 
 cleansing power. This is too well known to require corrobora- 
 tion ; for persons living at a distance from the ocean are occa- 
 sionally under the necessity of making long journies thither, in 
 order to derive this benefit from it. Nor are we ignorant of the 
 salubrity inhaled in breathing air that has passed over those 
 strongly impregnated waves of the briny deep. Comparatively 
 a few only live so near the ocean as to make its shores a place 
 of resort when using the bath. Remotely in the interior a tol- 
 erable substitute may be provided for the class of invalids need- 
 ing it, by dissolving in the water to be used for a bath, a quan- 
 tity of salt sufficient to render it of the same saline consistence 
 as the water from the ocean. This indeed is attended with in- 
 convenience ; but not to the extent of making the long journies 
 sometimes rendered necessary where such a substitute cannot be 
 had. Besides a vat filled with prepared salt water, like the 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIBE. 347 
 
 ocean water, will remain fresh and pure, far longer than water 
 not so impregnated, so that a new solution is not daily required. 
 
 Those living in the neighborhood of rivers, lakes, and ponds, 
 may also be enabled to bathe at pleasure without any fixtures 
 save what are thus provided by nature. Hence an adequate 
 supply from one of these sources of water, on a farm, for bathing 
 as well as for cattle and other purposes, is an important con- 
 sideration in selecting a farm, or in estimating its value. Those 
 who have experienced its convenience will fix no small price 
 on such an appendage to a rural establishment. However, 
 every farmer cannot have on his premises either river, lake, or 
 pond ; yet, every farmer and his family are in daily or weekly 
 need of the ablutions we are now recommending. Hence, if all 
 have not the natural conveniences, they should provide artificial 
 ones. Every one able to do it, and the cost would not be great, 
 should have a room reserved for bathing purposes. It need not 
 be large ; but, it should contain a baching tub, fixtures for the 
 shower bath, and if practicable, fixtures for heating water, so as 
 to have the temperature of the water regulated according to 
 pleasure, or the bodily health of the bather. We imagine that 
 twenty-five dollars would provide all such accommodation for 
 the life time of a family. Besides the comfort annually to be 
 derived from such fixtures, the cost of them may be saved many 
 times over in the preservation of health, and in the discharge of 
 doctor's bills. 
 
 But, if this cannot be aflbrded, a com.mon tub, or half an iron 
 bound hogshead, holding four barrels, would make a decent ba- 
 thing tub, and might last ten years. If kept well painted, it 
 would last double that time. And if this cannot be obtained, 
 with a good piece of sponge and a bowl of water, a person in 
 ten minutes time, on retiring, or when rising in the morning, 
 would enable one to undergo a pretty good cleansing from head 
 to foot. Perhaps there is something better still. Let a person 
 be covered over, and closely wrapped up in an old sheet, hav- 
 ing been thoroughly wet in a pail of water ; and, then, after re- 
 maining ten minutes or so, be well rubbed with a coarse towel. 
 
348 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIBE. 
 
 This will be found a pretty good bath, and will be attended 
 with no cost, and with but little trouble or consumption of time. 
 Many people of wealth use the sponge every morning for an ab- 
 lution, preferring it to a bathing tub. There are ways enough 
 in which it may be done, if persons feel the importance of it, 
 and possess the resolution to do it. Were all to do it, much 
 would be added to the aggregate of human life. If all living on 
 farms would habituate themselves to it, many of the offensive 
 and repulsive features of such a situation would be removed or 
 neutralized. 
 
 AGRICULTURAL PROSPERITY. 
 
 Men a.re accustomed to discourse on national prosperity and 
 individual prosperity — -on mercantile prosperity and manu- 
 facturing prosperity. All this is understood, and becomes a part 
 of our current literature. For instance, if the industry of a 
 country is duly stimulated and duly rewarded ; if the poor are 
 well fed, v/ell clothed, and well educated ; if the people gener- 
 ally are happy, contented, and thrifty ; if they are becoming 
 wiser and morally better ; if they are, as a whole, increasing in 
 enterprise and wealth ; and if the country is exporting more 
 than she imports ; if she sells more than she buys ; if the 
 balances of capital are in her favor, and if her means of defence 
 and progress are ample, it is said that nation is prosperous. On 
 the other hand, if her industry is not properly encouraged ; if 
 her poor are hungry, ragged and ignorant ; if the people gener- 
 ally are becoming deficient in energy, means for a living, and 
 the progressive elements of the age ; or if her commerce and 
 manufactures are languishing ; if she is buying more than she 
 sells ; if she is in debt more than she can pay ; and if she has 
 little or no means of self-defence, it is said she is not prosperous. 
 It is much the same with individuals : if they are increasing 
 their means of sub.sisteuce,_and are constantly adding to the ac- 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 349 
 
 cumulation of previous earnings, we say they are prosperous; 
 whereas, if they are spending all or more than they earn — or if 
 they are constantly consuming the little they possess, we say, 
 they are not prosperous ; that they are becoming paupers'. 
 
 In the same way decisions are made upon mercantile and 
 manufacturing prosperity. When are merchants said to pros- 
 per ? Evidently when their canvass is whitening every ocean 
 and sea ; when their ships are causing a hum of business in 
 foreign ports as well as our own ; when the exported cargoes 
 command ready and high prices ; when the return cargoes yield 
 fair profits ; when specie too is flowing in upon us to cancel 
 balances of trade in our favor ; and when they can afibrd to 
 pay substantial wages to our hardy seamen ; then, it is affirmed 
 in truth, that merchants are in a prosperous career of enter- 
 prise. But let the reverse of all this occur, and bankruptcy, 
 like a frightful ghost, will show its terror-stricken grimace in 
 the marts of trade ; ships will be dismantled, stores will be 
 closed, and banks will be declared insolvent. What a con- 
 trast ! How many family establishments will be broken up ? 
 How. many clerks will be thrown out of employment ? Will 
 merchants then be pronounced the princes of the land — the solo 
 arbiters of a nation's wealth — the only legitimate candidates 
 for ease and affluence ? Let a period of commercial revulsion 
 respond to these interrogatories. With such contrasts before us 
 there will be no difficulty in deciding what is mercantile pros- 
 perity, and what is mercantile adversity. 
 
 Similar in its results would be a truthful exhibition of the 
 manufacturing interests of a co>intry. It is well known that 
 there have been periods when the raw materials could be con- 
 verted to their appropriate uses, enabling the capitalist to pay 
 liberal wages for every description of labor employed, and then 
 to realize a fair profit on requisite investments. Such periods 
 give a business-like vitality to a community the most delightful 
 to an active mind ; sending its galvanic impulses to every 
 branch of productive industry ; the poor furnished with occupa- 
 tion and means of subsistence ; the farmer provided with a near 
 
350 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 and a ready market for his surplus productions, and, what is 
 equally beneficial, the factor stimulated and made buoyant with 
 the hope of ample remuneration for well-directed devices. At 
 such periods the curling volumes of smoke and flame may be 
 seen rising like volcanic eruptions — only inspiring joy instead of 
 terror — from the furnaces of every mineral locality ; at such 
 periods thousands of foaming waterfalls will be taxed to the 
 utmost extent of their capacity ; machinery will fill the broad 
 land with the noise of its ceaseless revolutions ; mechanical 
 genius and enterprise will be on tiptoe ; and on Sundays may 
 be seen at church factory girls dressed like ladies, and orphan 
 children, recently in rags and half-starved, clad like the chil- 
 dren of rich men. This is manufacturing prosperity. This is 
 one of the attributes of a nation's renown and glory I But, let 
 these furnace-fires become extinct ; let these foaming waterfalls 
 become valueless ; let this buzzing and clattering 'machinery 
 become inactive, like a palsied animal limb, and what dismay 
 and haggard looks will take the place of life, and joy, and 
 plenty ! 
 
 Agriculture, too, may be prosperous ; not simply in providing 
 competence for those immediately engaged in it, but in giving 
 occupation and means of subsistence to those, in other depart- 
 ments of industry. There is, however, a vast dissimilarity in the 
 means of producing prosperity among manufacturers and mer- 
 chants, and causing it in an agricultural community. So compli- 
 cated are the elements of trade ; so fluctuating are the circumstan- 
 ces on which commerce depends, that the shrewdest merchant is 
 frequently disappointed in his schemes for gaining competence and 
 wealth. Nor does he simply fail to increase the capital already 
 his own ; but, on account of the numerous disasters having a 
 relation to his own interests, he frequently loses what he had, 
 and becomes poor. It seems next to impossible for an active 
 merchant, so to entrench himself as not to be liable to the 
 most ruinous reverses. He may be rich one day and a pensioner 
 on the kindness of friends the day after. It is proverbial, that 
 not more than one person of an hundred merchants, becomes a 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 351 
 
 man of enduring wealth. The others, like shipwrecked mari- 
 ners, are submerged in a boiling whirlpool and are forgotten. It 
 always has been so, and it always will be so. The difi'erence 
 between the past and the future will be this ; the future chances 
 for wealth will be even less reliable than they heretofore have 
 been. The nature of society and of commercial business seems to 
 render this unavoidable ; and in manufacturing business, con- 
 tingencies of the same nature, although it may be in less num- 
 bers, will always cause an analogous uncertainty in making 
 plans for prospective prosperity. 
 
 Agricultural prosperity rests on a different foundation. Is 
 there any security to the merchant that he will be able to sell 
 his goods for more than cost ? Has he any pledge that his ships 
 will not sink to the bottom of the ocean ? that floods and con- 
 flagrations will not sweep away his hoarded treasures ? True, 
 he may partially secure himself against loss from shipwreck 
 and the ravages of fire, at the insurance office ; but he can 
 have no guarantee that traiEcking in merchandize will afford 
 him a remunerative gain ; or even that his goods will not 
 remain so long on hand as to be ruined by age and vermin. 
 Or, has the manufacturer security, on investing capital in ma- 
 chinery, that the business to be pursued will uniformly and al- 
 ways be productive of profits ? Surely not ! Yet, the farmer 
 has the pledge of Omnipotence, that there shall be forever, seed 
 and harvest. Here is his dependence ; here lies his confidence ! 
 He cleaves to the earth, which, like a fond mother, never for- 
 gets or casts away her own children. So long as well fed and 
 consequently in health, her breasts will always be full. On her 
 fair bosom he may always repose, finding rest and sustenance I 
 She may not indeed enable him to become corpulent, and bloated, 
 and by consequence diseased, like those fed on dainties and luxu- 
 ries, but she will afford him a competent supply of nature's nutri- 
 ment, so that he will enjoy health, and comparatively long life. 
 
 It is asked, in "what consists agricultural prosperity ? It 
 may be replied generally, in raising good crops. However, to 
 have a correct and full view of the subject, some specifications 
 
352 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 should be made. Possibly there may be a fair, and even a large 
 crop of corn, wheat and grass, and yet the cost of its production 
 exceed its commercial value. Under such circumstances, no 
 one would be correct in saying, it is an evidence of agricultural 
 prosperity. The merchant, to be prosperous, must make a pro- 
 fit on his goods, over and above paying all incidental charges ; 
 so must the manufacturer ; and so must the farmer's crops ex- 
 ceed in value the cost of producing them. Otherwise, these 
 men are not increasing in wealth ; and, it may be, provided 
 they spend freely, they are annually becoming poorer ; and the 
 degree of their prosperity is, moreover, to be estimated by the 
 per centage of their profits. If one farmer can raise wheat at 
 seventy-five cents per bushel, and another can raise it at the 
 cost of a dollar per bushel, when its commercial value is one 
 dollar and ten cents per bushel, it is easily seen that if both 
 may be called prosperous, the former is more thrifty than the 
 latter. So if one person can raise pork at four dollars per hun- 
 dred, while it costs another six dollars per hundred pounds. So, 
 also, if the dairy of one yields a profit of forty dollars to each 
 cow, while the dairy of another yields a profit of only ten dol- 
 lars to each cow. Similar specifications may be made in rela- 
 tion .,to every individual article made a part of rural economy. 
 Accordingly, the enlightened farmer not only makes it a rule 
 that each portion of his labor shall be profitable ; but as highly 
 profitable as practicable — in no case less profitable than when 
 applied for corresponding purposes by any other person. This 
 rule, rigidly observed, will ordinarily be attended with the de- 
 sired success. 
 
 No one can be expected to form and carry forward such high 
 views, unless he have what may be termed a good agricultural 
 education. When we say education, it is not to be understood 
 that the knowledge implied must have been obtained from books ; 
 it matters not how it was obtained ; if it is possessed, that is 
 sufiicient ; whether obtained from long experience — or from 
 careful observation' — or from familiar intercourse with others 
 who possess it — it is the same in substance ; or, it may have beea 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIHESIDE. 353 
 
 obtained in all these several ways, and it is still the same. A 
 knowledge of agriculture obtained at the plough, we call educa- 
 tion, as though it were obtained from books. We contend for 
 the realitj', and not for some contingent or accidental circum- 
 stance. We should like to have agriculture made a branch of 
 Common School education, so that all young men in the country 
 — indeed, girls too — should be as familiar with its fundamental 
 elements, as they are with arithmetic or geography. We should 
 like to have it studied in our High Schools, Academies and Col- 
 leges, that individuals may be there qualified to teach it sys- 
 tematically, particularly in giving lectures throughout the coun- 
 try. But, if we cannot have this, we will accept any fair equiva- 
 lent. If our farmers have a good agricultural education, it is of 
 minor importance how or where they acquired it. If they have 
 it, the means are at command for causing the prosperity of the 
 interests of their vocation. It depends, therefore, on farmers 
 themselves, whether agriculture shall be prosperous — whether 
 or not it shall add to our national or individual wealth. Here, 
 as already remarked, is an exemption from the uncertainties at- 
 tending many other pursuits. It is for them to say, as a gen- 
 eral thing, whether they will become rich, or remain poor ; whe- 
 ther their country shall or not derive the full benefit of this great 
 department of labor. 
 
 At the foundation of practical agriculture is a knowledse of 
 soils and of vegetable and animal physiology. Animals derive 
 their constituency from vegetables, and vegetables derive theirs 
 from the soil. The soil, therefore, must contain whatever food 
 or vegetable element enters into the formation of plants, or they 
 cannot flourish and acquire their full perfection ; and, unless 
 they do this, there will be a corresponding deficiency in the 
 growth of animals. It is just as absurd for a farmer to under- 
 take to raise pork, without knowing the best and cheapest kinds 
 of feed for swine ; or to keep a dairy without knowing the best 
 modes of rendering milk rich and abundant, so far as depending 
 on the feeding and management of cows, as it would be to go 
 into the manufacture of clocks and watches, without knowing 
 
354 THE FAEM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 the materials wanted in the construction of their machinery. 
 What mortifying and ruinous results would attend the labors of 
 the ship carpenter, who attempts to construct a steam-boat, 
 without understanding the several kinds of wood and metal, 
 and the respective quantities of each, wanted in its formation ! 
 And, yet this is no more absurd, and will no more be attended 
 with mortifying and ruinous consequences, than for the farmer 
 to undertake to grow a crop of corn, wheat, or clover, without 
 knowing the elementary substances of which they severally con- 
 sist, unless these substances are already in the soil. The case 
 is so clear, it seems childish to offer arguments upon it. To at- 
 tempt convincing farmers of this, might appear to be an insult 
 to their understanding, inasmuch as it implies a disreputable 
 deficiency of common sense, to say nothing of agricultural chem- 
 istry. And, the fact cannot be disguised) that unless farmers 
 understand this, agriculture cannot he expected to prosper 
 though seed-time and harvest are to continue till the day of 
 doom. Many of our farmers seem to expect results without the 
 use of requisite means ; this God never ordained ; this a wise 
 man will never anticipate ; to attempt thus to secure them is a 
 war upon nature. 
 
 Perhaps, next in importance to the farmer, after a study of 
 the soil and vegetable and animal physiology, is the theory and 
 practice of thorough tillage. In this we include ploughing, har- 
 rowing, rolling, irrigation, and drainage, because on all these 
 different soils depend, in their adaptation and efficiency, for the 
 best agricultural remuneration. Tillage is based on principles 
 of sound philosophy. The soil is to be made permeable as well 
 as rich ; and it should be thus to the depths penetrated by the 
 roots of any particular crop. Hard and clammy soil can no 
 more be assimilated into vegetable fibre than whole kernels or 
 ears of corn, cobs and all, can be kneaded into dough for bread. 
 In the former case as well as the latter, the compact substance 
 must be made fine, so that each particle can be brought into 
 contact with other particles, and perhaps with other substances, 
 for new combinations. Or solid masses of soil can no more ba 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. ggg 
 
 moulded into new substances or compounds, than solid masses 
 of metal, tumbled together in blocks, without being melted, can 
 be formed into alloys. Hence, the necessity for ploughing, 
 harrowing, or otherwise pulverising the soil ; and incidentally 
 to the reasons given for it, the temperature of it is changed by 
 being better exposed to the sun, the essence of it is changed by 
 being exposed to the action of the atmosphere, exhaling what is 
 not needed, and inhaling what is, and it becomes a more co- 
 pious reservoir for the moisture which is to nourish the grow- 
 ing plant. A thin soil can hold but a small quantity of mois- 
 ture for the nourishment of vegetation. In a few days under a 
 scorching sun, all will- be evaporated, and the soil will become 
 as dry as ashes. Then, for the want of moisture, vegetation 
 will languish and die ; but if the soil were in a condition to hold 
 moisture to the depth of fifteen inches instead of five inches, 
 this supply of vegetable nourishment would last three times as 
 long. To suppose a thin soil will hold moisture as long as a deep 
 one is as irrational as to suppose water in a wash-tub, eighteen 
 inches in depth, will evaporate under a hot sun as soon as that 
 in a milk-pan only three inches in depth, whereas five-sixths in 
 the former will remain after all in the latter has disappeared. 
 This is another argument for deep or sub-soil ploughing, as well 
 as for good tillage to promote agricultural prosperity. 
 
 Irrigation and drainage, where respectively wanted, are es- 
 sential to the best results in husbandry. Their influence may 
 be rendered forcible by a familiar illustration. Suppose two 
 quarts of water were the requisite quantity for being used in 
 converting a given measure of flour into dough for bread, but 
 one person engaged in doing it puts in but one quart, and an- 
 other one equally unskilled in the process puts in four quarts, 
 would either of them produce good bread ? By no means. 
 The first would have to put in another quart, and the last 
 would be obliged to double the amount of her flour. So it is 
 with moisture in the soil. If it is too dry water must be ap- 
 plied to it. If too wet, the surplusage must be removed, or 
 good crops cannot be expected. Nature is the best of chemists. 
 
356 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 All her compounds are in just proportions. It is from her 
 laboratory lliat human chemists derive all their skill. Of her 
 they take their best lessons. The best chemists are those who 
 succeed best in ojieraliiig according to her teachings. To imi- 
 tate her is all they attempt to do in their compends of agricul- 
 tural science. If they proposed to subvert the laws of na- 
 ture, or to make improvements upon her domain, well luight 
 the farmer denounce their labors as hostile to airricultural pros- 
 perity. Such is not the fact, and it will be found, that if agri- 
 culture ever becomes in this country universally and greatly 
 prosperous, science and practice must become handmaids in 
 tilling the soil, and in every department of husbandry. 
 
 The importance of good tillage is shown iu the products of 
 the well cultivated garden. It is well known how much is 
 produced from a small piece of ground, cultivated as a garden. 
 An acre here will commonly yield as much as four or five acres 
 with ordinary field culture. This is well known. We have 
 frequently thought there is as much real profit from our own 
 garden as from our farm ; yet the former is by no means supe- 
 rior nor the latter inferior to farms generally found in the neigh- 
 borhood. Why is there such a diflerence ? For no other rea- 
 son than the diflerence in the care of the two. Who wonld 
 think of getting daily supplies from the kitchen garden, if no 
 more attention were bestowed upon it, than is customary in 
 field culture ? In the one the soil is from twelve to twenty-four 
 inches in depth ; in the other, perhaps from four to eight inches. 
 In the one the soil is made fine and permeable; in the other 
 much of it is in lumps of from half a pound to two pounds in 
 •weight. In the one the soil is amply furni,-hed with the best 
 fertilising agents ; in the other it is comparatively as destitute of 
 vegetable clement as a worn-out animal is of blood and muscu- 
 lar power. It is a matter of course that an acre of one will 
 yield as much as four or five acres of the other. If far- 
 mers generally would cultivate one acre where they now cul- 
 tivate two, giving the same quantity of manure and applying 
 tjje Sfifae ^tnomU gf Utior \u one case they have dcae ia the 
 
THE FARM A^fD THE FIRESIDE. 357 
 
 Other, and their products will be increased, and their profits 
 doubled. This is the way to make agriculture prosper. This is 
 the way to make farmers think they get paid for their toil. 
 This is the v/ay to make them feel proud and contented, that 
 they are farmers. 
 
 The necessity for manures is pretty generally admitted ; by 
 many, however, who do not seem fully to comprehend the phil- 
 osophy of that necessity. The admission is made, because it has 
 been so frequently seen, that without manures there is a partial, 
 if not total failure of the crops ; but why it should be so is not 
 always clearly apprehended. If this subject is not understood, 
 one might suppose there is no difficulty in understanding it. 
 Let an attempt be made to simplify it. Let it be supposed a 
 farmer has raised upon his farm forty horned cattle ; oxen_ and 
 cows ; the bones of each one, to say nothing of the other por- 
 tions of the animal structure, will weigh on an average, seventy- 
 five pounds ; three thousand pounds in all. The principal part 
 of these bones is lime in some of its varieties. Whence did 
 these forty cattle obtain the lime for these bones, as well as for 
 their teeth ? Evidently from the grass they eat and other food, 
 for there is no other way in which they could get it. But how 
 came lime to be in the grass, hay, and corn ? They obtained 
 it from the soil. Accordingly it is evident, the owner's farm con- 
 tains thirty hundred pounds of hme less than though these cat- 
 tle had not been fed from it. Now if these cattle are to be 
 elaughtered and consumed on the premises, bones and all, there 
 will be in the soil the same quantity of lime there was before ; 
 if they be sold to the butcher for slaughter and consumption else- 
 where, the soil of this farm will be impoverished to that amount. 
 Should the same process be continued on this farm, of raising 
 cattle and sending them away for market, the lime will all be 
 extracted from the soil, unless it be from time to time again fur- 
 nished with it. Every gallon of milk also, and every pound of 
 cheese or butter, or every dozen of eggs sold from a farm, unless 
 again supplied with the materials of which they are composed, 
 reduce its capacity for future crops. 
 
858 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 "Were the farmer's wife daily to draw a quart of vinegar, sha 
 must as often as doing it, supply the cask with the same mea- 
 sure filled with cider or some other liquid, or the time may be 
 predicted when the cask ■will contain no vinegar which can he 
 drawn. It is precisely so with the soil of her husband's farm ; 
 if he keep extracting from it the elements of vegetable life, with- 
 out the restoration to it of their equivalent, he will ultimately 
 render it incapable of yielding crops. The subject not being 
 understood, this has been done in hundreds of thousand cases in 
 our country, thus rendering those localities almost worthless for 
 agricultural purposes. This has deprived agriculture of the 
 means of prosperity. This has brought the business into dis- 
 grace. The fault is not in the soil, but in those who have the 
 care of it ; not in its original organization, or any allotment of 
 Providence respecting it, but in those who have robbed it of the 
 elements of vegetable sustenance. A good financier is aware 
 that unless he put money into his pocket as well as draw from 
 it, he will soon have none to spend, and will become bankrupt, 
 like the farm of which we are speaking. It is the business of 
 science, and of the scientific farmer, to preserve this equilibrium 
 of the soil ; and if preserved no occupation is more desirable 
 than that of the husbandman — none is better remunerated. 
 
 The secret of having good crops lies in the manure heap ; 
 and they will be good in proportion to its size and its quality. 
 If no manure heap is to be found on the farm, the owner of it 
 understands not his business, and is destined to a career of 
 poverty. He may have thousands of acres of land, but they 
 will be like ships of merchants having no cargoes, or like the 
 houses and stores of capitalists having no tenants, or hke grain 
 mills having no corn to be ground ; in each case worthless, 
 temporarily at least, because they yield no income. A farm 
 without a manure heap is not very unlike a bank without specie, 
 which will be unable to make dividends because its bills will 
 not circulate. Hence the manure heap is the same to the pro- 
 ductiveness of the farm, that the gold mine and the mint is to 
 the bank ; on each the auxiliary is worth more than its prin- 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 359 
 
 cipal, because the whole vitality and profit of the principal is 
 derived from the auxiliary. A farm without the manure heap 
 is as incompetent to subserve its legitimate purpose, as the 
 grindstone without a crank, or the plough without a plough- 
 share, or the frame work of a harrow without teeth. Who but 
 a stupid fool would chain his oxen or horses to the latter and 
 drag it over his soil to pulverise it, day after day ; yet this 
 would be no more stupid than to spend the season in tilling 
 ground as destitute of the power to promote vegetation as a 
 steam engine to operate machinery when there is no fire in its 
 furnace. Or the farm without the manure heap is like the 
 horse having only three legs ; the fences and taxes for the 
 one being about equivalent in cost to the feeding of the other ; 
 yet both of no available consideration, because neither brings to 
 the owner any income. 
 
 Let it be seen how well the farmer understands the phi- 
 losophy of manuring his soil ; let it be seen how well he per- 
 forms the duties rendered imperative by this philosophy ; let it 
 be seen whether he is enriching his soil, as the judicious stock- 
 proprietor causes the accumulation of fat and muscle in hogs 
 and beef cattle, or is exhausting its energy as leeches draw 
 blood from the sick patient, and his future progress, whether 
 prosperous or adverse — whether ultimately in affluence or 
 poverty — may be predicted with the certainty that the astrono- 
 mer calculates an eclipse. Indeed, his results may not have 
 the character of mathematical accuracy ; but they will ap- 
 proximate very near to it — as near to it as anything can, depend- 
 ing in the smallest degree, on aught not of nature's law. It is af- 
 firmed, therefore, that the prosperity of agriculture may be 
 made to rest on a basis more sure than that of any other in- 
 dustrial branch of enterprise and labor. To see a skilful and 
 industrious farmer become a pauper, and the inmate of a poor- 
 bouse, unless induced by disease or drunkenness, or some provi- 
 dential calamity, would be a most extraordinary occurrence — 
 an event never to be expected. Our paupers, both vagrant and 
 genteel, come from other localities than the farm. Our poor- 
 
360 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 houses are rarely to be tenanted by those who have been ha- 
 bitually devoted to tilling the ground. 
 
 There are other auxiliaries to prosperity in agriculture. 
 Next in order, good agricultural implements may be named. 
 It is not here proposed to go into an enumeration of those 
 needed on a farm, or the particular models they should re- 
 spectively exhibit, in order to answer in the best manner the 
 purposes for which they are designed. We have not space for 
 this in the present essay. Nevertheless, the prosperity of the 
 farmer depends so much on a due appreciation of this subject, 
 we cannot pass over it without saying a few words upon it. 
 "Why has the plough been generally substituted in place of the 
 spade for ameliorating the soil? Why has the fanning mill 
 come into use for cleaning grain in place of old borealis, pro- 
 verbially capricious and coquettish in the dispensation of its 
 aid ? Why is the revolving horse-rake taking the ofRce of the 
 hand-rake, and the reaping machine the office of the hand- 
 cradle ? It is to save time I It is to do things at less cost ! 
 Suppose one man were to do the tillage of his cornfield with a 
 spade, as once practiced in some places, and another one were 
 to do the same labor with one of the best modern ploughs, and 
 what would be the consequence ? Plainly this : the crop of the 
 former would cost from double to quadruple of the cost of that 
 where the plough is used. Why is steam employed instead of 
 horse-power lor the conveyance of merchandise and all burdens ? 
 Because it is so much cheaper and so much more expeditious ! 
 Why is machinery taking the place of manual labor in making 
 yarn and cloth, nails and cutlery, waggons and window sashes, 
 chairs and cabinet work, muskets and agricultural implements? 
 For a similar reason. Machinery will do this quicker, cheaper, 
 and better than could be done by hand. Those who operate 
 machinery for this purpose may become rich, while those who 
 attempt the same without machinery, will remain poor and 
 without patronage. The principle here disclosed may be of 
 universal application ; it appertains to every description of im- 
 provement in the construction of implements and machines de- 
 
THE F,\RM AND THE FtEESIDE. 35I 
 
 signed to facilitate, cheapen, and perfect the processes of agri- 
 cjijture. That feimer can never prosper who neglects to avail 
 himself of such improvement, while his uei^hhors, who do avail 
 themselves of it, produce their crops at half or two-thirds the 
 cost of them to him. We may, therefore, judge tolerably well 
 of the character of the farmer, and bis prospects of success, when 
 we inspect the tools with which his vi'ork is to be done. 
 
 Good stock is also a powerful auxiliary in advancing the 
 prosperity of the farmer. Why is he accustomed to keep sheep 
 instead of goats, and hens and turkeys instead of domesticated 
 crows aud owls ? For the obvious reason, that there rnay be a 
 profit in the former, while none could be expected in the latter. 
 This is sensible; and if the principle were carried out in all 
 species of stock, rural life would present some new features of 
 interest; for, if it is wise to select some species of animals for 
 the farm, because of the remuneration they aflord, and to reject 
 others which do not alfbid remuneration, it is wise also to se- 
 lect choice varieties of the same species, and to neglect other 
 varieties less valuable ; especially as the cost of feeding the 
 latter is about equal to that of feeding the former. A yoke of 
 large, well-built, and well-broken oxen will do more labor than 
 two yoke of inferior animals not well trained to work. Hence, 
 if the former can plough as much in one day as the latter can in 
 double the time, and at the same rate for any longer period, it is 
 clear that all is saved between the cost of feeding one yoke and 
 the cost of feeding two. Nor is this all. If the inferior ones 
 are worth seventy five dollars each yoke, and the others are 
 worth one hundred, by keeping the one instead of the other 
 there is a gain of fif y dollars in the investment. Simifir is the 
 diflerence in the economy of keeping good horses and poor ones. 
 The same principle applies to sheep, cows, aud hogs. The 
 ex]ien6e of keepiiig good and poor thee)) must be about the 
 same ; yet the wool of the one may be worth double the wool 
 of the other. With large wool growers the advantage from 
 the choice breeds swells to a large amount ; and in small flocks 
 it is one of the several items on which all wise farmers look for 
 16 
 
362 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 prosperity. In cows the gain is perhaps still more ohvious to 
 the superficial observer. The milk of prime well fed cows may 
 not cost the owners more than a cent per quart, while that 
 from inferior breeds, illy selected, and poorly fed, will cost two 
 cents per quart. Nor is the cost of producing pork much less 
 in favor of prime breeds over those which are not so. If there 
 were nothing else besides stock on which farmers are to receive 
 remuneration, it is easy to comprehend why one portion of them 
 is thrifty and prosperous, and is becoming independent, and an- 
 other portion of them is always complaining, and truly so far as 
 they are concerned, that no money can be made by farming. 
 Merchants and manufacturers, with their close habits of calcu- 
 lation, would quickly decide, and all in the same way, under 
 analagous circumstances, which kinds to select. If the manu- 
 facturing of one description of goods would afford double the 
 profit of another kind, would any time be spent in resolving 
 which to produce ? If one description of merchandise could be 
 bought and sold at double the profit of another kind, how long 
 is it imagined the merchant would have to hesitate in which lo 
 invest his capital ? When will our farmers become equally 
 wise and decisive ? On the arrival of that time they will all 
 be prosperous and contented. 
 
 The farmer who calculates on prosperity will not neglect his 
 fences. Fences .are not indeed, like rhanure and good stock, 
 his productive capital ; they are rather the means for preserving 
 such as is productive. They are analagous to the boxes con- 
 taining merchandise, or casks containing sugar, or flour, or wine, 
 or molasses. Without these enclosures, the articles for which 
 they are designed, would suffer injury — in some instances would 
 perish. Packing boxes, and sacks, and casks are not then to be 
 deemed irrelevant and a superfluity in the business with which 
 they are connected : nor is the cost of them an excrescence 
 which is to be removed. It is so with the farmer's fences ; with- 
 out them he would often be unable to preserve what belongs to 
 him. His crops would be in perpetual jeopardy from the 
 ravages of animals running in the highway and upon common 
 
THE FAEM AND THE FIRESIDE. 353 
 
 lands. Without them everything that had grown, would be 
 swept away by the lawless depredation of such hungry maraud- 
 ers. And, where fences are seen in a ruinous condition ; fallen 
 down from violence or decay, the conclusion is unavoidable that 
 the owner of them is poor and will be poorer still, or that he has 
 none of that intelligence or ambition that makes a farmer inde- 
 pendent. Strong and well made fences on a farm, and particu- 
 larly by the road-side, are the best kind of evidence to the trans- 
 ient observer of good husbandry ; and, when near the mansion, 
 all well devised and well painted as well as strong, they are 
 also evidence of good taste in the proprietor, not less than of 
 thrift. Such exhibitions of good taste create a peculiar charm 
 in rural life, no where else to be found ; in simplicity resem- 
 bling the manners of those who dwell there, and in rustic beauty 
 the fair forms and the delicate hues, that spring up like en- 
 chantment amid the undefiled bowers of nature's realm. 
 
 Another incident and evidence of agricultural prosperity is 
 the fair condition of the farm cottage or mansion, as the case 
 may be, and the out-buildings connected with it. The early 
 settlement of our country was unfavorable to that degree of taste 
 and comfort which should be inseparable from rural architec- 
 ture, but which is fi-equently wanting. The first residences in 
 a new country are usually cabins or other cheap structures, sim- 
 ply affording a defective shelter, and wholly without ornament. 
 These from time to time are removed, or enlarged by successive 
 additions, according to the necessities or the means of the occu- 
 pants. Of course nothing like uniformity, or architectural skill 
 was seen in them. They as little resembled each other as the 
 different trees in the adjacent forests. Perhaps, however, an 
 exception to this remark should be made for the log cabins, which 
 could not well admit of great diversification in external appear- 
 ance, or internal arrangements. The effect of this was a gen- 
 eral want of taste on the subject ; and, if now and then, an in- 
 dividual was found having the means and the disposition, to 
 erect a house calculated to please the eye, as well as to be in 
 conformity to established principles having reference to domestic 
 
364 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 comfort, it was difficult to secure the services of one competent 
 to perforna the labor. Hence, till within a few years, in most 
 sections of our country, it was no easy thiug to find any evidence 
 that scientific architecture ever entered into the imaginations of 
 the people. 
 
 There has not only been a neglect in the country to culti- 
 vate taste for agriculture, but the whole subject has been gen- 
 erally viewed with indilTerence, and in some instances, not rare, 
 with disdain. Perhaps this, under the circumstances, is not 
 very unnatural. However, it is easy to convince most persons, 
 even of moderate mental culture, that such views are not only 
 unsound in themselves, but are inconsistent with views enter- 
 tained by the same persons, on other subjects. A vast many 
 farmers who have burlesqued everything like architectural taste 
 in the construction of enclosures for their wives and children, 
 have erected barns, horse stables, and cow pens, on the most 
 approved plans, both in reference to appearance and utility. 
 Nor are they wanting in due appreciation of all nice ))oints in 
 the formation of ploughs, waggons, hari'ows, and other agricul- 
 tural implements. In the latter they are mechanical philoso- 
 phers of the first grade, and their quick and well balanced per- 
 ceptions upon all matters of fancy, are equal to their skill in 
 deciding on their respective adaption to the purposes for which 
 they are designed. To us it seems absurd that such regard should 
 be had to the things named, to the fashion of our garments and 
 other personal ornament, for which even savages are not insensi- 
 ble, and to pleasure vehicles of every description, and there should 
 be such an apathy for every feature of beauty or family conve- 
 nience in the form and style of dwelling houses. To us this is 
 perfectly absurd and inexplicable. 
 
 Extravagance and great expenditure in the construction of 
 them, especially where the means of the owners are inconveni- 
 ently impaired tliereby, is always to be discouraged. Our theory 
 is to build cheap houses, as well as expentrive ones, upon cor- 
 rect principles and in good taste. It costs little or no more to 
 make a pair of boots or shoes, perhaps not as much, as they are 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 355 
 
 now made by first-rate workmen, than to fashion them in the 
 form of a ram's horn, as worn in the reign of William Rufus ; 
 or, as worn in the time of Chauoer, when the points were so 
 long that they had to be chained lo the knee, in form resembling 
 a church. It is much so in the construction of houses. Good 
 taste, economy, and adaption to their legitimate purposes are all 
 in harmony in rural architecture ; neither is at variance with 
 the others. A.nd, it is a fact v^hich cannot be controverted, be- 
 cause it is sustained by the best experience and the most genu- 
 inely good taste, that the display in the country of plain and 
 neat architectural skill adds much to the elegance of rural 
 scenery, much to the rational pleasure of rural life, and is an evi- 
 dence of agricultural prosperity as well as of a growing refine- 
 ment in those by whose agency this prosperity is advanced- 
 Human pleasure, save what is falsely so called coming from 
 a gratification of the senses, is the result of harmony between 
 nature and well cultivated intellect, or of a commingling of so- 
 cial affinities of kindred mould, or of the moral tendencies of the 
 soul in their higher efibrts to assimilate with the undefiled spirit 
 world. The first of these sources of human pleasure embraces 
 all matters of taste, not the least of which is the rich display of 
 artistic skill in the economy of civilized society, architecture be- 
 ing perhaps the most prominent. 
 
 It is difficult to conceive where can be found landscapes of 
 more beauty than are exhibited in rural districts among the farm 
 houses, out buildings, or rustic or well painted fences of an in- 
 dependent and enlightened yeomanry. Here the sojourner may 
 sometimes pursue his winding way for half a day's vide, where 
 every knoll and every greenwood opening presents some new 
 type of cottage devised ingenuity. At one point the native for- 
 est still lifts its lofty and wide spreading tops, as if all were the 
 work of creatioir's dawn ; now and then projecting cliffs, with 
 here and there dark ravines and sparkling cascades. Near by 
 stands the New England mansion of the last century, with its 
 sides of sheathing, its rusticated corners, its massive window 
 caps and cornices, and its heavy substantial balustrades. Not 
 
366 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 far distant is a brace of mammotli barns, a corn crib, a work- 
 shop, cattle sheds, and a carriage house, with the entangle- 
 ments of fences and gates, so as to appear in one group. Around 
 the first bend in the highway comes to view the above in minia- 
 ture, but rendered even more attractive by its shrubbery and 
 flowers. Here too is the peach and the nectarine, bending un- 
 der a mass of rich fruit. Adjacent is the full orchard with the 
 best varieties of the apple and the pear in full perfection and 
 ready for harvest. The road side leading either way is lined 
 with transplanted forest trees of vigorous growth and rich foliage, 
 the maple, the birch, the hickory, the ash, and the black walnut, 
 alternately mingling their pendant branches. In passing along 
 through fertile glades and well cultivated hills, sloping in every 
 direction for miles, every house presenting some peculiarity of 
 form or ornament, the traveller may observe the most simple 
 kind and the slightly ornamented farm residence, but each in 
 good taste — the Swiss cottage and, the Gothic cottage — -then 
 those, having in conjunction or separately, features of the Egyp- 
 tian, the Roman, the Grecian, and the Italian styles ; but none 
 appearing bleak and desolate for the want of nature's garniture. 
 Far from it ; the mountain side and the nursery have both con- 
 tributed of their treasures to beautify each chosen spot. By one 
 may be seen in near proximity the venerable elm and the tall 
 pine ; by another the hemlock and the balsam ; by another the 
 gum with its healthful odors, and the delicate mountam ash 
 with its enduring berries ; by another the catalpa, the locust, 
 the alianthus or the linden ; and others too diversified in their 
 lineaments to be even hastily specified unless by a practiced bo- 
 tanist. Such a development of rural beauty and simplicity is 
 surely an evidence of a highly progressing state of agricultural 
 prosperity. 
 
 Glances at rural occupations and rural interests ai-e as inter- 
 esting to the philosopher as to the political economist ; for they 
 not only lead to commercial results, but exhibit nature in an 
 attitude to modify and improve the moral susceptibilities of 
 man. The heart must indeed be cold and hard which receives 
 
THE PAEM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 367 
 
 no new impulses from the teachings in the volume of physical 
 science. There is not only a heauty in nature seen no -where 
 else, but there is a magnificence in her, which enlivens faith, 
 and secures a homage commensurate with her broad domain. 
 What is there in the ledgers of merchants and bankers that can 
 fill the soul with admiration like the illimitable prairie of 
 
 
 
 7 ./A A^;^-- 
 
 LIFE ON THE FAEM. 
 
 •wheat, its surface rising and falling as the waves of the sea ? 
 Look at the cornfields of the farmer, bowing down under their 
 weight ; look at his rolling meadows, as it were sinking under 
 their heavy burden ; look at his flocks and herds, large, well- 
 formed, and sleek ; look at his orchards, displaying rich fruit of 
 
368 THE FARM AND THE FIKESIDE, 
 
 every shade of color ; look at his kitchen-garden daily supplying 
 his table with an abundance of its choice produols, and say if it 
 is in the power of a gold mine to cause so high an appreci- 
 ation 1 Is there not a moral suasion in the one not in the 
 other ? And does not this suasion cause an ecstacy and iervor 
 in the soul never induced by that metal, or any conventional 
 evidence of its existence ? We apprehend so I We apprehend 
 the latter is powerless compared with the former, in such mini- 
 strations. The influence of g&ld on the aflections is sordid and 
 degrading. Tiie influence of nature upon them is the reverse — • 
 it warms and expands the heart, creating aspirations that rise 
 to the author of nature. 
 
 To the farmer nature is an august temple ; the broad horizon 
 its gilded walls ; the trees its firm pillars ; the mountains and 
 hills its high altars, and the sky its lofty dome I Here he may 
 daily hold communion with her I Here he may daily burn in- 
 cense I In this temple is no difference of cast 1 All are of one 
 brotherhood, one faith, one hope I In other temples there may 
 be heresies, bigotry, and false worship'! But if heresy, or big- 
 otry, or schism, or false worship spring up here, they come 
 from other teachings than those of nature herself I How the 
 young heart here bounds and rises upward ! The blush of the 
 morning in the season of flowei-s is not more beautiful and 
 fragrant, than that of youth when inhaling their odorous breath, 
 and before having been defiled by disease or sin. The nearest 
 approximation of our species to the image in which we came 
 from the hand of God, is when in the joy of childhood we thus 
 sympathise in the harmonies and unite with the melodies of the 
 wide creation. Here, too, mankind in its mid-day energy and 
 glory, is confirmed and invigorated according to its first faith 
 and love I And here, also, tottering old age is occasionally 
 rendered buoyant, and cheerful, and happy, and then lies down 
 in peace, as upon the bosom of a beloved mother, to sleep till 
 the morning of another life I We may then say, in devout 
 aspiration, of the home of the husbandman, as the inspired bard 
 Baid of Jerusalem, " Peace he within thy walls, and prosperity 
 within thv pfllnr-os !" 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 369 
 
 A RURAL WEDDING. 
 
 Early in the morning of July 23d, 1816, when a resident of 
 the village to which allusion has been repeatedly made in the 
 foregoing pages, a young man of fine personal appearance, but 
 of plain and respectful manners, indicative of the best rural so- 
 ciety, applied to us 1o go about ten miles that forenoon into, the 
 country to officiate at a wedding. As we had no acquaintance 
 in the town where it was to be, we felt a little cuiious, as Yan- 
 kees usually are in regard to similar unexplained incidents, what 
 should have induced an application of the kind, attended with so 
 much inconvenience on his part as well as of inconvenience to 
 ouvself, when persons might doubtless be had, at a less distance 
 to perform the ceremony. He replied that there was no minis- 
 ter of the denomination to which the families most interested be- 
 longed in their neighborhood; and although they did not belong 
 to the English Church, as he designated the denomination to 
 which we belonged, yet the parties to be married, of which he 
 was one, of a Sunday morning, three months previous, had been 
 induced to attend the services in which we officiated, at the 
 close of which a couple was married, and they were so much 
 pleased, that they resolved some day to be married according to 
 the form then used in the Church. Hence, it had been arranged, 
 by the parties, that this intention should, be consummated, aryl 
 all their friends, for four or five miles around, had been invited to 
 be present, with a special view to witness such a wedding as the 
 one they had seen. 
 
 The fact cannot be disguised that we felt gratified at the 
 personal compliment ; and, that the Iffiatrimonial Service of the 
 Episcopal Church had made an impression on these stranffers 
 from the country so decidedly favorable. It was natuv.-il that 
 we should have considered the facts stated evidence of tlie good 
 sense and good taste of the couple becoming so prominent in the 
 details of the present reminiscence. We did not hesitate, there- 
 fore, to give an affirmative answer to the request made. We 
 and the principal invited guests were expected to be present at 
 
370 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 a mid-day dinner, soon after ■whioh the ceremony was to be per- 
 formed. The details of this arrangement were not quite iu har- 
 mony with the usages with which we were most familiar, but 
 there was nothing objectionable on the score of taste, and with 
 the old-fashioned practice of eating dinner at noon, when per- 
 sons most need it, we have ever been pleased, notwithstanding 
 the great innovation now general in regard to the hour of eat- 
 ing this most injportant meal. It will be perceived we could 
 have had no time for unnecessary delay ; and, as soon as prac- 
 ticable commenced preparation for the mission on which we 
 were to engage. The young gentleman took his leave of us with 
 the assurance that we might be expected soon to follow him, and 
 to reach the house of his intended wife by eleven o'clock or soon 
 after. 
 
 Before proceeding in our narrative, it may be interesting to 
 young readers especially, to introduce some particulars connected 
 with the institution of matrimony. That one of each of the 
 sexes was designed e.xclusively for the other is probable from 
 the uniformity of numbers in the sexes. Had that not been the 
 design of Providence, the equality in the respective numbers of 
 the sexes would not be so apparent as it is — with small variations, 
 so far as statistics are possessed, it has descended from the first 
 human pair to the present time, and it has extended to all pla- 
 ces of which wc have knowledge. Had a plurality of one sex 
 been intended for the e^mbraces of a single one of the other, it 
 may be presumed they would at first have been created in pi-o- 
 porlions suited to such an end. Or, if the sexes were to be left 
 to an accidental or promiscous intercourse, the proportional num- 
 bers of the two would not be alike at diflerent periods and in dif- 
 ferent places ; but, would be varied by external circumstances, 
 as they might arise. It is well known, that in nature every- 
 where, each part is adapted to the end for which it exists. 
 This adaptation is perfect, and so far as depending on a law or 
 principle in physical science, is unvariable. Where can excep- 
 tions be found ? In what part of the material kingdoms is 
 not this principle cognizable ? And is it not from such demon- 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. S71 
 
 Btrations that we prove not only one Great First Cause for 
 everything, but the perfection and infinitude of his wisdom. 
 
 The number of males born is indeed a little greater than of 
 females. Between different writers there is some slight differ- 
 ence of opinion in regard to this inequality. Mr. King, an En- 
 glish author, calculates that in London there are ten males to 
 thirteen females ; while in other cities and towns, villages and 
 hamlets of that country, he says there are one hundred males to 
 ninety-nine females. But Major Graunt, connecting the popula- 
 tion of England, in one estimate, supposes there are fourteen 
 males to thirteen females ; and from this hypothesis infers that 
 the Christian religion, prohibiting polygamy, is more agreeable 
 to the law of nature than Mahometanism. Mr. Derham, 
 another writer agrees substantially with Graunt, and says, that 
 for an hundred years in his own parish register of TJpminster, 
 though the burials of males and females were nearly equal, be- 
 ing 633 males and 623 females in all that time ; yet there were 
 baptized 709 males, and but 675 females. In other places the 
 proportion is about the same. Dr. Price, however, has suffici- 
 ently shovifn, that although more males are born than females, 
 there is a considerable difference between the probabilities of 
 life among males and females in favor of the latter ; so that the 
 males are more short lived than the females, there being a 
 greater mortality among children as well as in adult age, when 
 males are more, liable to die from accident, great exposure, and 
 excesses of living. Keresboom informs us that for a period of 
 one hundred and twenty-five years in Holland, females have 
 lived on an average from three to four years longer than the 
 males. With respect to the difference between the mortality of 
 males and females, it is found to be much less in the country 
 than in cities and populous towns ; and hence it is a fair inference, 
 that human life in males is more brittle than in females, only 
 in consequence of adventitious causes, or of some particular de- 
 bility that takes place in polished and luxurious societies, and 
 especially in great towns. The above writers, from these pre- 
 mises, have drawn the conclusion, already given as our own, 
 
372 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 that there is ordinarily one man for ever)' woman, and one wo- 
 man for every man, the surplusage of male births being needed 
 for the vs-aste of life among males, at sea, in war, and other ex- 
 tra hazards, from which females are exempt. 
 
 An able French writer takes a more extended view of the 
 Euhject, and as it is concise and clear, we introduce it with some 
 modifications He says, in Europe there are always more boys 
 born than gii-ls, in the projiortions of 2 1 to 20, or according to 
 others, of 26 to 25. On the other hand, he adds, as we have 
 already staled, the mortality is greater among the male children, 
 in the proportion of 27 to 26 ; in consequence of which, about 
 the fifteenth year, the number of the two sexes are brought al- 
 most to an equality — there being, however, a small surplus in 
 favor of the male. But this surplus in the number of the men, 
 even though it were three or four times greater, is carried off 
 by wars, by dangerous voyages, and by emigration, to the cas- 
 ualties of which the female se,x are much less exposed. Thus 
 the final result of this is, that in our climate, and in the latter 
 periods of life, the women are always more numerous than the 
 men : that is, although there are more boys than airls, there are 
 to be found more old women than old men. This difference is 
 particularly observable at the conclusion of Ion? wars. Accord- 
 ing to Wargcnlin, it amnnuted in France, after what is called 
 the seven years war, to 890,000. in 24 or 2f> millions of souls ; 
 and in Sweden, after the Northern war, about 127,000 in a 
 population of t\^■o millions and a half 
 
 If the plurality of women were in the early instead of the 
 later portion of life, there would be more plausibility in the ar- 
 gument against the system of monogamy, that is, of marriages 
 between one man and one woman. Such marriaa'es only arc 
 fitted to ensure domestic happines?, and to maintain pure mor- 
 aU : such marriaires only are indicated by the law of nature, 
 and they are sanctioned also by the soundest maxims of political 
 economy. Some travellers have indeed imagined, thai in warm 
 climates there are more girls born than hoys ; and as the male 
 sex is more liable to rapid destruction in such climates than in 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 373 
 
 ours, the surplus of women must there become very great. 
 Hence, Montesquieu unsoundly coucludes that polygamy among 
 those people admits of a very plausible excuse, because the po- 
 sition from which he makes the inference is not founded in fact. 
 The researches of Father Parennin in China, the lists of bap- 
 tisms kept by the Danish missionaries at Tranquebar, the vari- 
 ous censuses taken by the Dutch at Amboyna and Batavia, and 
 the observations made at Bagdad and Bombay by the judicious 
 Niebuhr, have demonstrated that the number of children of both 
 sexes is not more disproportionate in hot than in temperate cli- 
 mates. 
 
 In speaking of the institution of matrimony it is curious to 
 consider the different ages at which the sexes under different 
 circumstances arrive at a marriageable state. It has generally 
 been supposed that this state is attained at the earliest age in 
 extremely warm countries. The Barbary women are generally 
 mothers, says Malte Brun, at eleven years of age. BufTon, 
 quoting from Thevenot, says, that in the kingdom of the Deccan, 
 boys are married when ten years old, and girls when eight, and 
 that there are some which bear children at that age ; so that 
 they may be grandmothers before they are twenty. But if this 
 were purely the effect of chmate, as Buffon imagines, a very 
 singular consequence would follow. The climate which the 
 negroes of Senegal inhabit, is certainly warmer than Barbary, 
 and even that of the peninsula of the Deccan. If then, it is the 
 influence of climate alone which accelerates the proper period 
 for marriage among the nations of India, and which fixes it at 
 ten or eleven years, the same influence should also fix it at 
 seven or eight among the negroes. But so far is this from 
 being the fact, all the accounts which we have consulted, seem 
 to prove that the physical phenomenon in question depends 
 rather upon the difference of race than that of the climate. 
 
 There are other facts still more conclusive in support of 
 Malte Brun's inference. All the Russian and Danish travellers 
 who have given us written accounts of Lapland, and the other 
 countries in the neighborhood of the Frozen Ocean, agree in say- 
 
374 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 ing that the women in those regions become marriageable at a 
 very young age. A Frenchman, who has seen much, and 
 seen with observation, assures us that that is true of the Swedes. 
 In Russia the peasants often marry at the age of twelve years. 
 In the Vivarais, a mountainous and cold tract of country, the 
 natives are as soon marriageable as in the other provinces of the 
 South of France. And it is well known that the savages of our 
 own country, living near the equator, are wont to marry no sooner 
 than those living near the pole. With them the men do not 
 marry before they are thirty nor the women before twenty. It 
 appears then that we should consider this physical difference 
 rather as inherent in the particular race than as dependent on 
 climate. The cause is often found in the extreme corruption of 
 manners ; but, let it proceed from whatever cause it may, wo- 
 men who marry and bear children at the early ages named, are 
 liable to become old in all physical attributes at thirty. We 
 know that it so in India. 
 
 Perhaps it may be expected, after detailing the above facts, 
 that an opinion will be given as to the proper age for persons in 
 our own country to marry. Were all to be materially influenced 
 in their plans for forming and consummating matrimonial al- 
 liances by any rule furnished touching this point, the utterance 
 of a judicious opinion would be more important than it now is. 
 We believe such a question is philosophically of vast impor- 
 tance ; that upon a due regard to it, the future vigor of the 
 race, physically and mentally, will greatly depend. Neverthe- 
 less, not one in a thousand contemplating matrimony will be 
 likely to give any heed to it. Some persons marry when their 
 business or their personal convenience renders it desirable, not 
 paying the least attention to age — perhaps not realizing that 
 any important consequences can result from it. Others marry 
 altogether from impulse, putting reason wholly aside. No one 
 should deny that the former of these two classes are wise in 
 making marriage to such an extent a matter of business, to be 
 decided like other business questions, on principles of reason and 
 expediency. Still the age of the parties should not be over- 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. g^g 
 
 looked in treating a subject of such magnitude. Excepting in 
 rare instances, a regard to the latter might not overrule due re- 
 gard to the business features of the case. Our own persuasion 
 is, that marriage should not take place except where there are 
 strong counter considerations, till the physical developements of 
 the whole system in each of the parties are complete, and till 
 their mental powers have reached, if not maturity, a vigor that 
 verges towards maturity. It is upon such a hypothesis only 
 that we explain the difference of health, of muscular strength, 
 and of intellectual stamina, in different individuals. "We do not 
 indeed have credence in the doctrine of innate ideas, but we 
 have it in the doctrine of transmitting from parents to children 
 mental capabilities, as well as in the similar transmission of 
 bodily disease or of its counter attribute — a healthful constitu- 
 tion. And were there space for it, illustrations could be fur- 
 nished, rendering our hypothesis probable, to say the least. 
 Where have children ever lived to old age whose parents early 
 died of consumption which they inherited from their parents ? 
 And where has an intellectually great man arisen from parents 
 whose united ages when he was born, did not exceed thirty or 
 thirty-five years ? Possibly such a ease may be found ; but, for 
 each one such, a thousand born under similar circumstances will 
 be imbeciles. 
 
 As marriage is a connexion existing in all ages, and proba- 
 bly in all nations, though with very different degrees of strict- - 
 ness, it constitutes one of the most interesting phenomena for 
 the inquirer into the various manifestations and different devel- 
 opements of the common principles of our nature. In almost 
 all nations the day of marriage is celebrated with religious cer- 
 emonies. Nothing is more consonant to the feelings on such 
 occasions than to propitiate, by prayers or otherwise, the blessing 
 of Heaven on such an union ; and the intercession of a priest was 
 generally esteemed, in the early ages of the world, most effica- 
 cious. With the most ancient inhabitants of the East the bride 
 was obtained by presents made, or services rendered to her pa- 
 rents. The patriarch Jacob served fourteen years for Rachel, 
 
37G THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE, 
 
 double the time stipulated, in consequence of the deception 
 practiced upon him by her father. It is a little amusing to wit- 
 ness amidst the first seven years of service— a pretty strong evi- 
 dence of the sincerity and strength of his affection indeed — his 
 credulity in not discovering for that period the deception of La- 
 ban — a credulity or simplicity that vifould be likely to find no 
 parallel novc-a-days. To the present day the practice prevails 
 among the Circassians, and the poorer Turks and Chinese, of 
 obtaining the bride by presents or services to her parents. Res- 
 pecting the customs of the ancient Persians, Babylonians, Indi- 
 ans, and other inhabitants of Asia, ancient writers have left 
 us little or no information. It is only known that polygamy 
 was customary with them. In Assyria the following curious 
 custom prevailed. Marriageable girls were put up at auction. 
 Such as were handsome and attractive sold for large sums. 
 The money paid for these was applied in the form of marriage 
 portions to secure husbands for such as had not personal charms 
 sufficient to secure husbands. 
 
 From the time of Moses, polygamy was prohibited among 
 the ancient Hebrews ; and, if Solomon and others took several 
 wives, they rendered themselves guilty of a violation of the laws, 
 particularly if these wives were foreigners. The Hebrews mar- 
 ried as the Jews even now do, very young. On the day of the 
 wedding, the bridegroom, being duly anointed and ornamented 
 according to prescribed forms, proceeded in company with a 
 friend and followed by several companions to the house of the 
 bride ; thence, veiled according to custom, and followed by her 
 friends, she was conducted to his own house, or the house of 
 his father. The procession was rendei-ed cheerful and joyous by 
 songs and music, and at later periods by torch lights. Allusion 
 to these lights is made in the parable of the ten virgins. On 
 the arrival at the place of her future home the wedding feast 
 was celebrated, which continued for seven days, unless the 
 bride was a widow, then only three days. The nuptial for- 
 mality seems to have consisted in pronouncing a blessing over 
 the couple. After the wedding meal, the bridegroom and the 
 
THE FAKM AND THE FIRESIDE. 377 
 
 hnie were conducted to the bridal' chamber, where they were 
 saluted with the melody of bridemaids. Amoup: the Jews, if no 
 physical objection is Ibuiid to exist, males are allowed to many 
 when thirteen years and one day old, and females one year 
 3'ounger than that. Friday is the appropriate day for those of 
 that nation now to marry ; and, it is ordained that on the even- 
 iusr previous to Ihe ceremony, the bride, accompanied by fe- 
 male friends, shall perform retrnlar ablntioiis. 
 
 The early Greek marriaiie ceremonies, it may be inferred 
 from Homer's account of them, had their oritrin in those of the 
 Hebrews, for several of them are the same in substance. The 
 Greek bride, veiled from the shoulders, was ai compan led from 
 her father's house to that of her husband, with torches, nierry 
 songs, and playing upon the lute and the harp. On their arri- 
 val, there was dancing and songs, and the bride attended the 
 bath and received appropriate personal decorations. The house 
 was also ornamented with wreaths ; and fruits M-ere cast upon 
 the bridegroom and the bride, as a symbol of plenty. As a 
 pledge of their perpetual fidelity, the axle of the carriage in 
 which thev rode was burnt, to indicate that she could not re- 
 turn to her former home. At Athens the pair ate a quince, in 
 connexion with other rites, probably in imitation of the pome- 
 granate eaten by Proserpine while walking through the lovely 
 fields of Elysium on occasion of her nuptials with Pluto. At 
 Lacederaon, among the marriage ceremonies, it was customary 
 that the bridegroom should carry of!" the bride by stealth. 
 Rarely on these primitive marriage occasions was there any lack 
 in the profuse display of flowers, universally the tokens of joy 
 and gladness; and, on some of them the female attendants of 
 the bride, carried a sieve, a spindl', or some other implement of 
 female handicraft, as symbols of domestic life. 
 
 The Romans were not deficient in n\iptial observances. On 
 the day previous to marriage, the bride made a sacrifice to Juno, 
 or Yenus, or both. On the day of wedding, she received bridal 
 ornaments ; a wreath of flowers, the tunic of matrons, a wool- 
 en zone about the waist, a red veil about the face in token of 
 
378 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 bashfulness, and shoes of the same color. After the completion 
 of the sacrifices and other religious rites, the couple seated them- 
 selves upon the fleece of the victim ofiered in sacrifice, in allu- 
 sion to the original dress of man, and the domestic duties of the 
 wife. In the evening, the wife was led home by the bridegroom ; 
 she resting in the arms of her mother, or one of the next female 
 relatives ; the whole in allusion, as supposed, to the rape of the 
 Sabines. The music of the lyre and the flute accompanied the 
 procession, during which the bridegroom scattered fruit among 
 the people. The bride was lifted, or stepped gently over the 
 threshold of her parents' house, and of that where she entered, 
 this part of the dwelling being held sacred to Vesta, the protect- 
 ress of virgins. These thresholds were strewed with flowers, 
 and she was preceded by the boy Camillus, carrj'ing in a small 
 box her personal ornaments and the amulets for the future ofi^ 
 spring. Arrived at her new residence, she hung woolen bands, 
 as signs of chastity, at the doorposts, and rubbed the posts with 
 the fat of hogs and wolves, to guard against enchantment. Her 
 first step into the house was made on a fleece, the emblem of 
 domestic industry. The keys were then handed over to her, and 
 both she and the bridegroom touched fire and water as signs of 
 chastity and purity. 
 
 Of the marriage rites of the ancient Celtic and German 
 tribes, as little is known as of the ancient Asiatic tribes ; and, 
 in the little which is recorded, the ancient authors, in some par- 
 ticulars, contradict each other. They are almost unanimous, 
 however, in stating that the ceremony of buying the wife was 
 customary with them ; but, it is doubtful whether polygamy 
 existed among them or not. Caesar says it prevailed among the 
 Britons ; others say the same of the inhabitants of Spain. The 
 Germans and Gauls seem to have had generally but one wife ; 
 yet, exceptions are known. According to the historian, Adam, 
 of Bremen, polygamy was common with the ancient Saxons. 
 Among the ancient Germans, the marriage of a free person 
 with a slave was punished ; and if a slave seduced a free girl, 
 he was beheaded, and she was burnt. Although the suitor 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 379 
 
 paid a price to the father of a girl and she became betrothed, 
 if he delayed the marriage longer than two years, the engage- 
 ment was dissolved. After marriage, the wife was deemed to 
 be inseparable from her husband, so that divorces were rare, 
 and a violation of matrimonial fidelity was punished by death. 
 
 The Mahometans consider matrimony as a mere civil con- 
 tract ; and they practice polygamy. They may have four regu- 
 larly married wives; in addition to these, concubines which 
 have been purchased, are held permanently ; and they are also 
 allowed to hire wives, whose obligation to live with a man lasts 
 only for a limited time. Generally, nevertheless, the Mahome- 
 tans have but one wife ; the wealthier sort have two ; the 
 very rich, still more. With the Turks, the marriage is conclud- 
 ed upon between the parents, and at the most, the contract is 
 only confirmed before the Cadi. Generally, the bridegroom has 
 to buy the bride ; most commonly they do not see each other 
 before marriage. The bride is conducted on horseback, closely 
 veiled, to the bridegroom. It is a real misfortune for a Turk to 
 be obliged to marry a daughter of the sultan ; for he prescribes 
 the present to be made to the bride, and the husband is requir- 
 ed to follow her in all things. So many presents are required, 
 the husband is frequently ruined. In Arabia, if a, young man 
 is pleased with the appearance of a girl in the street, where the 
 woman always appear veiled, he endeavors to get a sight at her 
 face, by procuring admission into a house where she frequently 
 comes, and remaining concealed there by the aid of some kind rela- 
 tives. If he is pleased, he makes a bargain with the father, and 
 the contract is signed before a shiek. After the usual ceremo- 
 nies, baths, and entertainments, the Arab awaits at his tent the 
 arrival of the bride, who is conducted thither by female friends. 
 On entering she bows, and receives a gold piece pressed on her 
 forehead. She is then carried by him to the interior of the 
 tent ; around which the bride and other women dance all night. 
 
 The Laplanders marry very early ; but a youth is not enti- 
 tled to take a wife till he has caught and killed a wild reindeer. 
 His friends first court the father of the object of his choice with 
 
380 THE FARM AND THE' FIRESIDE. 
 
 presents. If the proposal be accepted, the young man is admit- 
 ted to the presence of his fair one, and offers her something to 
 eat, which she rejects before company, but accepts in private. 
 He also promises wedding clothes, and makes presents of rings, 
 spoons. Clips, and silver coin. The richest also give silver gir- 
 dles, and silk or cotton neckerchiefs. The parties being thus 
 betrothed, the young man is allowed to visit his mistress from 
 time to time ; and as every visit is purchased from the father 
 with some fresh token of obligation, the courtship is sometimes 
 prolonged for two or three years. At last the banns are pub- 
 lished in the Church, and the marriage immediately succeeds 
 their publication ; but the bridegroom is obliged to serve his fa- 
 ther-in-law for four years after marriage. He then takes home 
 his wife and her fortune, which ordinarily consists of a few 
 sheep, a kettle, and some trifling articles ; but the dowry of the 
 wealthy consists of from thirty to forty, or even eighty reindeer, 
 besides vessels of silver and other utensils. 
 
 In the Russian provinces, when a man has fixed upon a 
 young woman whom he wishes to marry, he repairs to her 
 dwelling, and addresses himself to her mother or nearest female 
 relative, in language to the following effect — " Bring forth your 
 merchandize ; we have money to exchange for it I" The j'oung 
 woman is then introduced, and the terms are settled. • More 
 commonly, however, the match is made up by the parertts, or 
 friends, before the parties have seen each other. The bride is 
 afterwards carefully examined by a number of females ; and if 
 they pronounce her to be free from personal defects, and of a 
 good disposition, preparations are made for the wedding. On 
 the day appointed, she is crowned with a garland of wormwood ; 
 and when the priest has concluded the ceremony, the clerk, or 
 sexton, throws a handful of hops upon her head, wishing she 
 may prove as fruitful as that plant. She is then led home with 
 abundance of coarse ceremonies; one of which consists in the 
 bride presenting her husb.ind with a whip of her own making, 
 in token of submission, and he fails not to employ it as an in- 
 strument of his authority. But the barbarous treatment of 
 
THE FARM AND THE PIHESIBE. 381 
 
 Wives by their husbands, which formerly extended to the putting 
 them to the torture, or even to death, is now guarded against, 
 either by the laws of the country, or by particular stipulations 
 in the marriage contract. Marriage among the Tartars consists 
 in the purchase of a female from her friends— from twenty to 
 an hundred reindeer is the common price — -but when they are 
 not to be had, the husband elect agrees to serve the father a cer- 
 tain time for his daughter. The Tartars admit polygamy ; but 
 the first wife is the chief, and the others are her attendants. 
 
 Mariiage is celebrated among the Japanese with many ridi- 
 culous ceremonies, and often with great pomp. The princes re- 
 ceive their brides from the hands of the sovereign ; and the 
 marriages of the vassals are regulated by their lords. Among 
 the middle classes in the cities, the business is arranged by the 
 parents. The wives bring no portions, but are p-.;rchased of 
 their parents and relations, to whom handsome daughters, or 
 wards, are often a source of great wealth. The bridegroom 
 most commonly sees his bride for the first time, upon her being 
 brought to his house from the temple, where the nuptial cere- 
 mony has been performed, and where she is closely veiled from 
 head to foot. On the wedding day, the bride's teeth are black- 
 ened with corrosive liquid, and they ever remain so. In some 
 parts of the empire her eyebrows are also shaved off. After 
 m.arriage, the wives of the rich are mostly confined to their 
 own apartments ; those of the other classes visit their relations, 
 and appear in public, but are distinguished by great reserve 
 and modesty. The marriages of the Calmucks are celebrated 
 on horseback. On the appointed day for the nuptials, the bride, 
 mounted on a fleet horse, rides off at full speed. Her lover 
 pursues ; and if he overtakes her, she becomes his wife without 
 further ceremony. But if the woman be disinclined towards 
 her pursuer, she will not suffer him to overtake her, and conti- 
 nues her flight at pleasure. 
 
 The modern Greeks still retain many of the ancient nup- 
 tial ceremonies. On the eve of the wedding day, the bride is 
 led by her female acijuaintanoe in triumph to the bath, attended 
 
382 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 with music. She proceeds at a solemn pace, profusely adorned, 
 and covered with a red veil. The bridegroom and bride, before 
 their presentation at the altar, have each a crown, or chaplet, 
 placed on their heads, which during the ceremony, are inter- 
 changed by the priest. A cup of wine, immediately after the 
 benediction, is given first to the married couple, then to the 
 sponsors, and finally to the witnesses. The bride is accompa- 
 nied home by her friends, who sedulously prevent her from touch- 
 ing the threshold as she enters the house, which would be reck- 
 oned unlucky. The splendid torch of Hymen blazes in the pro- 
 cession, and is carried to the bridal chamber, where it remains 
 till it is all consumed. If by some accident, it be extinguished, 
 the most dismal presages are drawn ; and, to prevent this, un- 
 remitting vigilance is used. 
 
 Marriage in Abyssinia is generally a simple contract, over 
 which the priest has no control. When a man is derirous of 
 marrying, he applies to the parents, or nearest relatives of the 
 female of his choice, and their consent ends the business; the 
 girl being rarely consulted on the occasion. The settling of the 
 dowry which she is to bring, is of much more importance, and 
 sometimes attended with serious diiScuUies. When, however, 
 this is adjusted, the friends of both parties assemble, the mar- 
 riage is declared, and after a day spent in festivity, the bride is 
 carried to the house of her husband, either upon his own shoul- 
 ders, or those of his friends. The wife does not change her 
 name ; and her dower is kept apart from her husband's property, 
 to be returned, should his ill treatment force her to abandon him. 
 Among the Caffres polygamy is general, and wives are pur- 
 chased for cattle. The marriage ceremony consists in the bride's 
 drinking milk presented by the bridegroom in the presence of 
 the kraal, after which a number of cattle are slain, and a festi- 
 val, accompanied with music and dancing, is kept up as long as 
 they last. 
 
 With the Hindoos, any one who marries out of his caste, lo- 
 ses all his privileges belonging to it. They marry their chil- 
 dren very early, often in the seventh year. When the marriage 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE- 383 
 
 is agreed on, gifts are sent, with song and music to the bride. 
 Similar ones are returned to the bridegroom. On the day be- 
 fore the marriage, the bridegroom, adorned with a crown and 
 flowers, proceeds through the city, accompanied with music, 
 and attended by young men of his own occupation, in palan- 
 quins, carriages, and on horseback. The bride does the same, 
 on the day of the wedding, attended by her young female ac- 
 quaintance. In the evening the wedding takes place. A fire 
 is lighted between the couple, a silk cord wound round them, 
 and a kerchief, folded up, is placed between them, after which 
 the Bramin pronounces a certain formula, the purport of which 
 is, that the husband ought to give sufficient support to the wife, 
 and that she ought to be faithful to her marriage vows. In 
 Pegu, the women are bought, and generally only for a certain 
 time. In Siam, the husband may have, besides the legitimate 
 wife, others whose children, however, are not legal, and are 
 sold as slaves. In China, the wife is bought ; poor people ask 
 wives from the foundling houses. The young couple do not see 
 each other before the contracts are exchanged. The bride is 
 then conveyed with music and torches to the husband. She is 
 carried in a chair, securely enclosed, the key to which is given, 
 on her arrival, to the bridegroom. Here he sees her for the 
 first time. The bride is then led into the house, where she bows 
 low before the family idol. Entertainments then follow, each 
 sex being separate from the other. After marriage, the wife 
 sees only the husband, and on particular occasions, the father or 
 some other relative, unless express provision is made for more 
 liberty in the contract. The Parsees, or worshippers of fire, 
 consider Matrimony a holy state, conducive to eternal felicity. 
 At the wedding, the priest asks the parties whether they will 
 have each other ; if they answer in the affirmative, he joins 
 their hands and strews rice over them. 
 
 Although the nuptial celebrations of various countries are 
 affected more or less by the indolent or poetic, the energetic or 
 superstitious temperaments of different nations, it is beheved, 
 it will be generally found, that in proportion as women are rev- 
 
384 THE PARM AND THK FIRESIDE. 
 
 erenced, and as civilization becomes advanced marriage festivi- 
 ties are conducted with proportionable increased solemnity and 
 simplicity. The cases already g^iven go to the establishment of 
 this point. Others may be adduced. Let us see how matters 
 stand in the South Sea Islands. There, if the union contempla- 
 ted is between parties ofTank, four large piles ofplantain, yams, 
 cocoa-nuts, bread, fruit, fish, cakes, bananas, with a baked pig 
 on top of each, are, early in the morning, arranged in front of 
 the house of the bridegroom, and the spectators assemble around 
 them decked in new dresses, and their bodies anointed with sweet 
 oil. Then the bride, closely veiled in fine matting made from 
 the bark of the mulberry tree, is brought to the same place, and 
 her feet, hands, and face being first anointed with sandal wood 
 and tumeric, she takes her seat, and mock duels with clubs are 
 performed in her presence, followed by boxing and wrestling 
 matches, after which the, bride and bridegroom, accompanied by 
 their friends, who sing as they walk, enact a sort of procession 
 before the spectators, who greet them with loud acclamations. 
 The bridegroom then commences a dance with his young men 
 attendants, during which the bride is led into her future habita- 
 tion ; the heaps of provisions are next distributed or scrambled 
 for, succeeded by another boxing match ; and the lighting up of 
 the abode of the bridegroom, with singing and dancing in the 
 evening, concludes these somewhat barbarous festivities. 
 
 In Spain, the warm climate and temperament of its people 
 are exhibited in the poetical ceremonies attendant on courtship 
 and marriage. When a mutual understanding has taken place 
 between the young people, a night is appointed for the betroth- 
 ment, and the lover seeks the fair one's abode, which is decora- 
 ted with, festoons and flowers. He is accompanied by torch- 
 bearers, musicians, and attendants, who form a circle round the 
 house, and a senerade is performed of the most flattering kind ; 
 and when she had been sufficiently woed, the coy maiden opens 
 a little window, and asks what the gentleman wants ? This 
 leads to another rapturous burst of musical tenderness, and at 
 last the lady throws down the garland from her hair, and promi- 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 385 
 
 ses everlasting constancy ; the musicians immediately strike up 
 a triumphant allegro ; the windows are illuminated ; the maiden 
 and her parents come out and conduct the serenaders into the 
 house ; and firing of guns and shouts of joy resound through the 
 calm, delicious air of Valencia. The day of the marriage is 
 celehrated with musical entertainments, horse races, and divers 
 other amusements, and at midnight the bridegroom bears away 
 by main force the bride, who is detained as long as possible by 
 her companions, to the beautiful arbor for their retirement on 
 the terrace upon the roof of the house. 
 
 The woer of the Swiss cantons commences his coui-tship by 
 the more truly romantic ofTering of a bouquet of flowers, ga- 
 thered on the brink of a precipice ; and to see his beloved, he is 
 often forced to journey many leagues over the mountains at 
 night, exposed to the risk of being waylaid by jealous rivals. 
 When the object of this nocturnal wooing has been accom- 
 plished, the wedding day is fixed, and, preceded, by musicians 
 and bridemen, decked in gay ribbons, the younger people walk 
 to church, followed by a woman bearing a basket of flowers. 
 The bride is dressed in a plaited apron, red hose, a floral crown, 
 and a stomacher upon which are inscribed her Christian and 
 surname, and the date of the year, and the chief brideman holds 
 her by the apron. When the religious forms are completed, 
 the spectators obstruct the way of the bridal party, who are 
 obliged to give them wine before they can proceed to the vil- 
 lage public house, where the festivities are to be held. Here 
 Swiss dances are succeeded by the appointed person taking ofl" 
 the bride's virgin crown and casting it into the flames, whose 
 crackling indicates that the young couple must not e.xpect to be 
 free from mankind's common portion of ill fortune during their 
 career. Food is also distributed to the poor in an adjoining 
 meadow, and with the simple fervor of religious faith in moun- 
 tainous countries, the newly married are then conducted to the 
 bridegroom's house, M'hioh everybody enters, after first kneeling 
 .down and praying for the welfare of the wedded pair. 
 
 The Illyrians usually appear well armed, and have their 
 17 
 
386 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 hats adorned with peacock's feathers, in compliance with an- 
 cient prejudices, on nuptial occasions, and, even now, bloody en- 
 counters are too common, when rival suitors insist on trials of 
 skill. As their wedding lasts several days, each guest is daily 
 furnished with a small tub of water wherewith to wash him- 
 self, and each leaves in the tub some money for the bride, which 
 thus augments her little dowry, of one cow and her wearing 
 apparel. In some districts a ridiculous custom is observed, of 
 the parents depreciating their daughter in set speeches before 
 she is conducted to the house of the bridegroom, who says in re- 
 turn, to the young wife — " Well ; I shall find means to bring 
 you to reason : and to begin with you in time, I shall let you 
 feel the weight of my arm." He then pretends to beat her, 
 though his part of the business is not always confined to a mere 
 form. Another curious ceremony at Illyrian weddings is during 
 the wedding dinner, in the midst of which all the company rise 
 up, and the bride is expected to throw over her husband's house 
 a cake, made of hard coarse dough ; the higher she can throw 
 this, the happier will the marriage prove ; and if the cake falls 
 on the other side without breaking, it is considered a convincing 
 proof that she will make a good house-wife. The firing of pis- 
 tols is common in these provinces on festive occasions ; and some- 
 times for a week before the wedding a bride is expected to kiss 
 all the men who come to see her, in token of the regard which 
 she shall henceforth feel for the sex of her husband ; and, on 
 the day of her marriage, the bridegroom's friends ride forward 
 and present her with a white silk handkerchief, which she re- 
 turns, and the messenger then gallops back to the rest of their 
 party, among whom the kerchief is divided, and who, ranging 
 themselves in a circle, partake of refreshment, amidst the dis- 
 charge of fire-arms. On arriving at the bride's abode, the at- 
 tendant maidens fasten an apple, encircled with flowers, to the 
 top of the standard bearer's lance ; and, on reaching the church, 
 the bride is the last to alight, though she has the privilege of 
 assisting her father-in-law to alight. 
 
 It would be needless to give further details of the celebration 
 
THE FAKM AND THE FIRE SIDE. 397 
 
 of matrimony. Our object is simply to show the importance 
 that has every where, and in all ages, been attached to it. An 
 institution inferior to no other one, and taking precedence of all 
 others, both in its antiquity and its influence on society, merits 
 this popular demonstration. The details given are mostly illus- 
 trative of the sentiments of mankind on the subject, in the sub- 
 ordinate classes. Among the corresponding classes in modern 
 society, under the influence of Christiaiiity, the celebration of 
 marriage is relieved from much of thepublicity and oflensive 
 ceremony known in early times, and at the present day, 
 where civilization and refined feeling do not give tone to the 
 current of popular usage. Marriage is no Jess than formerly 
 viewed as leading to the most prominent developments of the 
 human character, and to those primary combinations in society, 
 on which the distinctive features in families and communities 
 in future times, will mainly depend. Were it not for these 
 new combinations, the human family would degenerate, losing 
 most of its elasticity and buoyancy, as the ocean would become 
 stagnant and putrid were the tides to cease flowing. Matrimony 
 in the one case is analogous, in this respect, to the tides in the 
 other. By these two agents, the realms in which they respec- 
 tively operate, are preserved in ceaseless freshness ; and to the 
 end of time, without dimunition, will subserve the great pur- 
 poses of Infinite Wisdom in giving them existence. Were 
 these combinations not to take place — were families, century 
 after century, to maintain, in all cases, like the castes of the 
 Hindoos, an unmixed perpetuity, it requires but little of philoso- 
 phy, and none of the spirit of prophecy, to see that the most 
 lovely and valuable exhibitions in our species would be wanting. 
 The celebration of matrimony, in our time, and especially 
 with the masses of society, as intimated, is essentially relieved 
 from unmeaning ceremonies, and from public notoriety incon- 
 sistent with good taste, and is rendered impressive by the sanc- 
 tions of religion connected with it. If there is any occasion in 
 the whole current of man's earthly pilgrimage where an invo- 
 cation for divine illumination, and for an increased sense of mo- 
 
ggg itk TAEM AjfD THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 ral responsibility is especially necessary, it is wlien at the nup- 
 tial altar, before God, and in the presence of his people, two in- 
 dividuals, with the sanctity of an oath', pledge themselves to each 
 other till death do them fart, to perlbrm faithfully all the du- 
 ties, in siclcneis and m health, of the new relation into which 
 they are thus admitted. How could the young and tender 
 bride go out from the habitation and tear herself forever from 
 the arms and the throbbing bosoms of fiilher and mother ; and, 
 how could they sustain themselves under such an abruption, 
 were it not that the bridegroom thus solemnly and religiously 
 promises to be to her even more than father or mother? If 
 man or woman ever has occasion to supplicate divine wisdom to 
 enable them well to understand their duties, and grace faithfully 
 to perform them, it is when standing at that altar, and hearing 
 the annunciation in the name of the Holy Trinity, that hence- 
 forward they are man and wife, and that no one is to put asun- 
 der those whom God hath thus joined together I If the angels 
 ever gather up human tears, and with them, on unwasling 
 scrolls, make record of human events ; and if the signet of Hea- 
 ven is ever so deeply impressed on such record of human 
 events as never — never to be broken, it is on occasions of which 
 we here speak. 
 
 At half past nine o'clock of the morning named in onr first 
 paragraph, well furnished with a good horse and chaise, we 
 were on the road to C, and the house of Mr. Mann, father of 
 Elizabeth Mann, the young lady so soon to become a bride. 
 Although it was so near the reign of old Sirlus, from time ira- 
 tncmorial slandered with causing the most oppressive tempera- 
 ture ia the whole calender year — a slander of which we were 
 iiever guilty, for we no more believe the Dog Star has anything 
 to do with the suffocating heat of the latter part of July and Au- 
 gust, than the moon has in stealing from the farmer' s dinner pot 
 the pork that is slaughtered when that lunar functionary is in 
 >ts wane ; notwithstanding the season of the year was so un- 
 promising we had a delightful ride. The weather was quite 
 cool, there having been a recent fall of rain. Of course there 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 389 
 
 was Ho dust to atinoy one, and as there had been no previous 
 deficiency of rain to occasion drought, vegetation was nearly as 
 fresh as in the month of May. Besides the air was halmy and 
 fresh from the scent of new made hay. Everytliing, therefore 
 contributed thus far to render the journey agreeable ; and, if 
 one cannot enjoy rural excursions under such circurailances, ac- 
 cording to our notions, his taste is not a subject of envy. We 
 did once in early life, journey alone on horse-back, when in ill 
 health, day after day, for months, but never to our recollection, 
 felt oppressed with solitude, although passing through dense for- 
 ests. There was a language in the trees and the waterfalls that 
 seemed to supersede the necessity for human speech. In si- 
 lence we could receive instruction, and be inspii-ed with rever- 
 ence, when meditating on the pathos of their moral suasion. 
 So it was also, as we glided along to the mansion in which 
 we were to officiate at Hymen's altar, on the twenty-third day 
 of July, 1816. 
 
 On emerging from a noble piece of woodland of chesnut, 
 oak, maple, and hickory, at about eleven o'clock, we observed 
 in the distant opening, one of the best class of New-England 
 farm houses, what is there called a double or square house, with 
 four large rooms on a floor, besides projections. It was built in 
 the best style of that day, and was surrounded with fruit and 
 ornamental trees, and farm buildings, so as to resemble a little 
 village. As we advanced, we soon discovered a large number 
 of carriages, which satisfied us that this was the terminus of 
 our mission. On reaching it we were met on the lawn by Mr. 
 Timothy Scott, the young gentleman seen a few hours previous 
 at our own house, and who was to be the bridegroom. Speedily 
 we were by him conducted into the house, and introduced to the 
 members of the two families, now to be so closely allied ; all in 
 .their manners and dress denoting the influence of rural compe- 
 tence and independence. The candidate for the bridal honors 
 to us appeared particularly interesting, a!thou,;;h evidently not 
 rendered easy and flippant from much intercourse with what 
 is called the best society. Still her manners were not so stiff 
 
390 THE FARM ANB THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 and formal as to te repulsive. Her form was decidedly good, 
 her features regular, her complexion as fair and ruddy as nature 
 could make it, and, especially with splendid black hair and 
 piercing black eyes, that had won victory from the Scott of 
 her choice, and would have won it, had he been as tall and as 
 brave as Winfield Scott, the present senior Major General of the 
 armies of the United States. Such eyes in the farmer's daugh- 
 ter, with the concomitants, fine womanly developements and 
 rosy cheeks, are as sure of a good shot as the best rifle. Let 
 them have fair play, even on the philosophical bachelor, and 
 the game is secured. His philosophy will yield to the milder 
 impulses of his nature. Resistance will he useless. 
 
 At the hour of noon the dinner tables were spread and la- 
 boring under the weight of the most bountiful provision for a 
 wedding entertainment. Not less than fifty of the relatives of 
 the parties were present to partake of it. All were at ease, 
 cheerful and happy ; all seemed to appreciate the proprieties of 
 such an occasion ; all were joyful in behalf of the fortunate cou- 
 ple, upon whom the future was opening with such splendid 
 scenery ; yet, these fortunate ones and their friends did not mani- 
 fest boisterous exultation, as if peradventure thorns might not 
 spring up where fragrant flowers were budding in the greatest 
 profusion. If it is ever wise to throw restraint about an over 
 buoyant spirit ; if it is ever the part of wisdom to let our mod- 
 eration be known, and to rejoice with caution, if not with fear 
 and trembling, it is at a time like this. Such appeared to be 
 the conviction of all present. At the house of a wealthy farmer 
 it would be a vain effort, to convey by words an adequate idea 
 of a sumptuous dinner — its tender and well savored meats, the 
 young porker, the lamb, the mutton, the bacon and the chick, 
 ens — the fresh and nutritious vegetables, new potatoes, squashes, 
 beets, green corn, lima beans, cauliflower, and tomtatoes— and 
 not less palatable the rich fruit of the horticultural department 
 of the premises, summer apples, pears, and apricots. "We 
 scarcely observed an article, not the product of their own premi- 
 pes^ or of the immediate neighborhood. 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 39I 
 
 However, it is by no means a part of our present purpose to 
 give a minute account of that excellent dinner. Never iu our 
 life have we thought enough of what we eat to spend the time 
 and paper requisite for writing such an account. Probably if 
 we were now to attempt it, the most interesting portions to the 
 gastronomer have been forgotten by us. The most we now re- 
 member of it is the general impression then made upon our 
 mind, and that incidentally from its connexion with what suc- 
 ceeded ; for we positively remember more of the incidents of 
 this wedding than of all the others we ever attended prior to 
 the last twenty years, at the commencement of which we re- 
 linquished the care of a parish. This dinner was soon finished 
 and the tables cleared. The rooms were then made ready, 
 chairs *on one side of the largest parlor being reserved for the 
 bridegroom and bride. Till the hour of two o'clock there was 
 a constant succession of other invited friends and neighbors' 
 not at the dinner, entering and taking their places, wherever 
 vacant chairs could be found, so that finally not an unoccupied 
 niche remained. The whole number could not have been less 
 than one hundred — possibly more. As soon as all had come 
 that were expected ; or as soon as there ceased to be accessions 
 to the party, impatience increased for the performance of the 
 ceremony, and especsally because the' rooms were so crowded. 
 A message was sent to the nuptial suit, that all was in readi- 
 ness ; yet they came not — for fifteen minutes at least, all was 
 silence. Then, another message of the same tenor was sent. 
 They still came not; but, there was a response; to wit, that 
 the bridegroom and bride desired first to see the minister. 
 Their request was promptly granted. 
 
 We were not a little puzzled to imagine what could be the 
 trouble. However, on entering their room, the revelation was 
 soon made. The bridegroom and bride, with their attendants 
 about them, looking more demure than the day required, met 
 us at the door. We perceived some dilemma in the way, and 
 that they had not courage or tact to make a joke of it, and tell 
 us what they wanted. For a moment they were silent. To 
 
393 '^^^ FARM AKD THE FIKESIDE. 
 
 relieve them of the embarrassment, we blandly said to them — . 
 " Well, ray good friends, what is the trouble ?" Mr. Scott, 
 with evident discomforture, replied — "We never used one of 
 your Prayer Books, and never saw but one couple married, ac- 
 cording to your form of marrying, and are afraid we shall make 
 mistakes in the service. If we do, we shall feel mortified, and 
 our friends will laugh at us ! Will you not marry us, as the 
 Baptists and Presbyterians marry persons?" "It is a hard 
 case," said we, " if persons in j'our present situation cannot be 
 indulged in having their own way, in a matter like this. We 
 should like to gratify you — nothing would give us more pleas- 
 ure ; but, we apprehend, that afterwards you would be sorry, 
 that we did not advise you otherwise I It has been understood 
 by your friends, that they were to witness a Church wedding; it 
 has been your wish and request to be married in that way ; we 
 have been invited to be present for that purpose ; and, now, if 
 we were to substitute another service, they would be disap- 
 pointed, and would have the best ground to laugh at )'ou for 
 your timidity. Nor have you the least occasion to fear perplex- 
 ity in the service ; it is perfectly simple ; you cannot well make 
 mistakes in it ; each part suggests what is to come next ; when 
 once commenced, you will glide along in it, as readily and as 
 naturally, as a carriage will descend an inclined plane ; and, 
 you will be through it, almost unconsciously, so well pleased, it 
 may be you will like a repetition of it " Hence, we took the 
 Prayer Book, and opening at the marriage service, run it over 
 with them, showing its brevity and simplicity, saying nothing 
 could be easier. They seemed to yield a tacit consent, which 
 led us to suppose all was then right. Accordingly, we returned 
 to the parlor, expecting they would speedily follow, so that our 
 labors would forthwith be at an end. 
 
 Nevertheless there was farther delaj'. The nuptial train 
 were still missing. They came not, and minutes to those in 
 waiting for them began to be tedious like hours. All began to 
 be dissatisfied at the procrastination, each asking some one near 
 by what it could mean ; or making sagacious explanations for 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 393 
 
 it ; and, the venerable motliers of the bridal couple became so 
 fidgety, they could neither sit fetiU or refrain from t!;e despond- 
 ing use of their tongues ; Mrs. Mann was distressed for fear 
 that Elizabeth was suddenly unwell ; and Mrs. Scott improved 
 the alternate moments of silence iir wondering why Timothy 
 was causing such dflay. Thus another q^uarter of an hour \yas 
 spun out, when a second request was made that the minister 
 would hold another parley with Hymen's unfledged disciples. 
 No time was lost in complying with the request, for time began 
 to be unusually precious ; there was no telling what new type 
 of perplexity was to exhibit itself; possibly, thought we, our 
 journey hither will be to no purpose. Ou again .entering their 
 room, without an instant of hesitation, and with good natured 
 surprise, we exclaimed — " Why, Mr. Scott, what in nature is 
 the matter now ; has the bride any conscientious scruples 
 against being eudoued with your worldly goods, as required in 
 the service, when you place the ring on her finger ; if she has, 
 perhaps you would be i\'llllng to dispense with this portion of 
 it?" "No, no," saj's the bride as quick as lightning. "I 
 have no idea of that." We perceived we had hit her in the 
 spot, for the mischievous play of her bright eyes was fully man- 
 ifest ; the strong tension of the muscles in her countenance 
 gave place to a bewitching smile ; and, in an instant the entire 
 party was in a titter. Not disposed by delay to lose any advari- 
 tage we had thus gained, we instantly added — " What in the 
 name of goodness, then, can be the matter — do tell — be quick, 
 for the old folks are impatient to have it over !" " The truth 
 is," said Mr. Scott, " Elizabeth don't want to promise — to serve 
 and obey — and I had as lieve she would not — we wish you to 
 omit this part of your service." 
 
 "Oh, nonsense," we exclaimed, "do not all good wives, 
 having kind husbands, serve and obey them — that is, devote 
 themselves to their interests, when nothing unreasonable is ex- 
 pected, whether 1 hey promise to do it or not? We arc not 
 aware, that wives who have made this promise are oppressed 
 with improper requisitions, or that they leel the most .^lightly 
 17* 
 
394 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 degraded ; or, on the other hand, that husbands who have re- 
 ceived at the nuptial altar such a promise, are accustomed from 
 that cause to become unkind or tyrannical." But, even after 
 this, the bride rejoined, "I had rather not promise to do it;" 
 her manner, however, satisfied us, that she seemed more intent 
 to be thought by her friends to carry her point, than to main- 
 tain conscientious scruples. " Well, well," we added, " follow 
 me to the parlor, as cheerful as you have occasion to be ; be 
 married without any mutilation of the service ; speak up boldly 
 and honestly in every part of it ; and, when it is over, provided 
 either of you shall feel dissatisfied, you shall be married over 
 again, precisely in your own way. Have no fear, it shall be 
 done I Are youftiot satisfied now?" The flag of truce was 
 promptly accepted ; all sorry looks disappeared ; one of the 
 bride-maids, a little more ready in an emergency than the rest 
 of the company, gave impulse to our remarks, saying, " come, 
 Lizzy, you cannot object now — don't wait any longer. I should 
 like two weddings to-day — if you are not pleased with the first, 
 you can have the second — we have plenty of cake and wine I" 
 The others said — " Oh yes, oh yes — now go along I" The silk 
 dresses began to rustle, all fell into due order for an onward 
 movement, and in less than five minutes, they were duly 
 marshalled in the parlor, the friends and guests all rising as 
 they entered. 
 
 For a moment all was profoundly still ; we then said in the 
 language of the Marriage Service — " dearly beloved, we are 
 gathered together in the sight of God, and in the face of this 
 company, to join together this man and this woman in holy 
 matrimony, which is commended of Saint Paul to be honorable 
 among all men, and, therefore, is not by any to be entered into 
 lightly or unadvisedly, but reverently, discreetly, advisedly, 
 soberly, and in the fear of God. Into this holy estate these two 
 persons present come now to be joined. If any man can show 
 just cause why they may not lawfully be joined together, let 
 him now speak, or else hereafter forever hold his peace ;" — 
 then turning to the persons to be married, it was added, as 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 395 
 
 part of the same service — " I require and charge you hoth, as 
 you will answer at the dreadful day of judgment, when the 
 secrets of all hearts shall be disclosed, that, if either of you 
 know any impediment why ye may not be lawfully joined to- 
 gether in matrimony, ye do now confess it ; for be ye well 
 assured, that if any persons are joined together otherwise than 
 God's Word doth allow their marriage is not lawful." We 
 never witnessed a more respectful attention. The novelty of 
 the service to the persons present doubtless made it the more 
 impressive, It would be difficult to conceive how language 
 could be better adapted to such an occasion than that here 
 used. 
 
 After the customary pause, that these admonitory addresses 
 might be duly considered, we then said to the bridegroom — 
 " Timothy, wilt thou have this woman to be thy wedded wife, 
 to live together after God's ordinance, in the holy estate of 
 matrimony f "Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor, and keep 
 her in sickness and in health ; and, forsaking all others, keep 
 thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live ?" Manfully, 
 boldly, and promptly did he answer — " I will I" Upon which 
 we said to the bride — " Elizabeth, wiit thou have this man to 
 be thy wedded husband, to live together after God's ordinance, 
 in the holy estate of matrimony 1 Wilt thou obey him, and 
 serve him, in sickness and in health ; and, forsaking all others, 
 keep thee only unto him, so long, as ye both shall live ?" 
 Gladly did we witness her own response, equally loud and dis- 
 tinct — " I will." True, some of the girls, on hearing those ob- 
 noxious words — serve and obey — shook their heads, as if that 
 were a hard condition of matrimony. The old folks appeared 
 to think well of it. 
 
 The hands of the bridegroom and bride being now duly 
 united — and never had we witnessed a more sincere and hearty 
 grasp — each in turn, then repeated audibly the language 
 of the above interrogatories with a pledge of ceaseless fidelity. 
 Whereupon the bridegroom placing a ring on the fourth finger 
 of the bride's left hand, repeated after us, in an emphatic tone, 
 
395 THE FARM ANB THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 — "With this ring I thee wed, and with my wordly goods I 
 thee endow, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of 
 the Holy Ghost. Amon." The girls, at this, assuredly nodded 
 and smiled, as it were, saying, we would promise to serve and 
 obey, too, if we could get this hold of Timothy Scott's pnrse- 
 Btrings. Thus ended, with the usual prayer and benediction, 
 the formal services of one of the most memorable rural wed- 
 dings at which we ever officiated. 
 
 Restraint was now thrown aside, while a profusion of cake 
 and wine seemed to form the crowning epoch of the day. "We 
 are wholly unable to say, how long it is since so palatable an 
 appendage was decreed for the marriage ceremony. The 
 longest memory of the present generation goeth not to the con- 
 trary, we believe ; and, this we do know, that more than 
 eighteen hundred years ago, so important was the juice of the 
 grape esteemed, on one of these occasions at least, a deficiency 
 of it was supplied by the performance of a miracle. This may 
 be considered tantamount to all other authority for such an ap- 
 propriation of it. The use of' wine, like many of the good 
 things given to us, often becomes an offence from its abuse. 
 How far this is ground for being discarded at weddings, as 
 well as on other occasions, we pretend not now to decide. 
 Whatever is found injurious to health and morals should evi- 
 dently be rejected. Perhaps fewer objections can be made to 
 this rule of conduct than to most others. 
 
 Time passes away swiftly where all are in good humor, and 
 consequently happy. This is the great secret for which all are 
 desirous. So it was here. The old family clock, which had, 
 for the quarter of century, here been a faithful sentinel, striking 
 five, admonished us that there were but two hours to sunset, 
 and that preliminaries should be adjusted for our homeward 
 course. These preliminaries at a wedding, where the company 
 is large, consume not a little time. Accordingly, we entered 
 upon them. As soon as this was perceived, a huge piece of the 
 wedding cake, the customary perquisite of the officiating func- 
 tionary's better half — provided he has one — was duly made 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 397 
 
 ready. We were not wanting in respectful attention to the 
 pareats of the bridegroom and bride, extending to them those 
 congratulations, at such a season always expected. Rarely is 
 the future on marriage occasions more bright and cheering than 
 it was to these excellent individuals. We failed not to impress 
 this on them ; and we afTeotionately endeavored to encourage in 
 them a thankful heart. Apparently they sincerely reciprocated 
 every expression of kind regard for them. We felt like rejoicing 
 with them. Others too in tliis numerous company had rendered 
 themselves so agreeable as to be entitled to something more 
 than a wholesale, hasty, and laconic recognition in bidding them 
 adieu. Not a few of them were formally taken by the hand, 
 where the grasp was mutually ardent, as we withdrew from 
 them. 
 
 Nor did the wedded couple fail to receive more than ordinary 
 attention. The incident that had led to a delay in performing the 
 duties of our own mission seemed to open the way, not only for 
 an unusual sympathy for them, but to correct some misappre- 
 hensions, presumed to exist with others present, in relation to 
 the obligations enjoined in the service just had in requisition. 
 We thought it wise not to let the opportunity to pass unim- 
 proved. Intimating this, the whole company became ready to 
 listen to our remarks. Hence, we said to the bridegroom and 
 bride — " You cannot be unaware, it is a matter of course, that, 
 on our departure, we express an affectionate solicitude for your 
 future happiness. Be assured, it is no common place formality 
 with us for yourselves. As little as it might by some bo 
 imagined, considered that our personal acquaintance commenced 
 in the morning and perhaps will terminate for ever in the even- 
 ing of the same day — being only a few hours — we cherish an 
 inexpressible desire to contribute personally in causing you to 
 be happy ; to show, by our act, that we are sincere in wishing 
 you so. The matrimonial union is often viewed, in prospect, 
 as a rich and beautiful garden, filled with fragrant flowers and 
 luscious and nutritious fruit; it may indeed be made such, 
 when its relations and responsibilities are duly appreciated and 
 
398 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 regarded. On the other hand, it is not considered, that it may 
 ever be like waste ground cursed with a rampant growth of 
 noxious weeds ; yet, it may he so, if those to whom its care is 
 entrusted, misapprehend and neglect these relations and respon- 
 sibilities. It depends, then, much on yourselves, individually 
 and unitedly, whether this union, into which you have just 
 entered, be the one or the other of these states ; whether it 
 shall be blissful like ancient Eden before man's defection, 
 or like a polluted soil, rank with poison, subsequent to that 
 defection." 
 
 " Prominent among the responsibilities alluded to is the 
 one that caused delay in your recognition of it, a few hours 
 since. The promise, on the part of the bride, to serve and obey, 
 has been to day and by yourselves, as well by others on other 
 similar occasions, a subject of misapprehension ; sometimes of 
 discord. If the subject is properly examined, all must think alike 
 about it ; no difference of opinion can exist in relation to it ; the 
 responsibility implied in this part of the marriage contract is 
 analagous to what exists, in perhaps every association of right, 
 interest, and duty ; without it there could be no such harmonious 
 and efRcient association. Its very essence supposes a relinquish- 
 ment of some natural rights as an equivalent for others to be 
 secured ; an obligation to perform certain new duties as a sub- 
 stitute for an exemption from the performance of others devolv- 
 ing on those where no such association exist. '..This is peculiar- 
 ly so in the marriage state. All know it to be so in the body 
 politic, in schools, in families, in business confederacies, and 
 indeed in all confederated rights and duties. Thus in the case 
 under consideration, the husband not only binds himself to ah. 
 stain from all others — as it were, to forsake father' and mother, 
 brothers and sisters, and even friends — to love and kindly treat 
 his wife till death ; but to protect and support her, in sickness 
 and in health, in poverty and disgrace — to do which he is under 
 no natural obligation. On the other hand, and as an equivalent 
 for this, she enters into a similar general stipulation of love and 
 conduct towards him ; and as an oflset for the protection and 
 
THE FARM AND -THE FIRESIDE. 399 
 
 support he gives her, she makes a promise to serve and obey 
 him. A very little attention to this matter will convince any 
 one, that the marriage contract looks somewhat like a fair busi- 
 ness transaction ; no inequality about it. The wife simply gives 
 her services, her time, her ability to labor, to the husband, for 
 his guarantee to aflbrd her the means of living. Those who do 
 not think this a fair bargain had better live singly. If the fe- 
 male think this incompatible with her ideas of personal inde- 
 pendance and dignity, the ahernative is within her own power; 
 she can take care of herself and be under obligation to no one. 
 
 "St. Paul elucidates the subject, so that it might appear no 
 objection can be made to this feature in the Church Matrimonial 
 service, which was thought by yourselves to be unnecessary, and 
 by the bride in particular, as improper. He said to the one 
 party, " Husbands love your wives ;" and to the other party, 
 " Wives obey your husbands in the Lord." Now, what is im- 
 plied in this injunction to the wife? Simply this, that she is 
 to obey him in those things which are agreeable to the Lord ; 
 and if he were to command her to do what is not agreeable to 
 the Lord — to lie, to cheat, to defraud, to commit mui'der, or to 
 defile herself, she would not be obliged by her marriage contract 
 to do it ; that is, she is under a higher obligation to her God, 
 her fellow creatures, so far as their own rights are concerned, to 
 her common country, and to the preservation of her own con- 
 science, than she is to her husband. This seems to be the whole 
 of that shadow which so disquieted the imagination of the bridal 
 friend now being addressed. It is imagined you are both now 
 reconciled to it. However, a few words more may be added to 
 what has already been said. The subject may then be still more 
 satisfactory. Such is our belief; and also that you will both 
 consider this one of the most beautiful and convenient features 
 in the marriage covenant. 
 
 " It does not follow that the wife is inferior to the husband in 
 talents, or moral worth, because in the marriage covenant she is 
 required to serve and obey. In all confederated bodies there 
 must be one and only one individual head, so far as authority 
 
400 THE FAftM AND THE FIEESIBE, 
 
 is concerned. Otherwige, all might be anarchy and confilsiori. 
 Suppose, on shipboard, two persons were in joint and equal au- 
 thority ; one orders the helmsman to steer the ship this way, 
 the other orders hira to steer it that way — one order* the sailors 
 to hoist the sails, and the other orders them to lower the sails — ■ 
 what would be the consequence ? Disorder Certainly ; and if in 
 a storm, most liliely the ship would founder. So it Would be 
 in family government, were there two persons in joint and equal 
 authority. Accordingly, on shipboard of the two first, one is 
 master, and the other is styled mate ; and it may sometimes 
 happen that the latter has more skill as a navigator, and is a 
 better man than the former. Still, it is essential to good order 
 that the latter should serve and obey the former. The same 
 may be true of the general of an array ; he may not be equal 
 in military talents to many of his subordinates ; still, it is his 
 duty to command, and it is their duty to obey. The president 
 of the United States may be surrounded with cabinet ofHcers, 
 altogether superior to him in every attribute of statesmanship, 
 still he is the constituted head of the government, and as such 
 has a claim to their services. As men, they may be move 
 highly esteemed than he is. No doubt, in multitudes of cases, 
 the wife is far more competent to manage their joint interests 
 and labors than the husband is ; and, is so estimated and es- 
 teemed by all who know them ; yot were this made the ground 
 for superseding authority, the evil to the masses of the com- 
 munity would be great indeed. 
 
 " Let this subject be thus understood, and there will be no 
 contention between you as to personal dignity and authority ; 
 each will most rejoice in the honor and welfare of the other. A 
 spirit of selfishness will never be felt by either. There will be 
 between you no jealousy or discord. Your onward journey in 
 life will be like the current of a gradually descending river, 
 having no obstructions and no disasters ; and, at last, as the 
 pure waters of the latter will be swallowed up in one vast ocean, 
 BO will you be gently carried along till merged in the great and 
 unfathomable abyss of time ; bo, living in this world, according 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 401 
 
 to the. language of the service by which you are united in wed- 
 lock, that in the world to come, you will have life everlasting I 
 ■ — God, bless you, my dear young friends — bless you forever I" 
 
 On concluding the above remarks, and giving the married 
 pair an aflectionate squeeze of the hand, we bid them adieu, 
 leaving them in the care and under the guidance of a merciful 
 Providence ; nor, have we seen either of them, or heard a single 
 word respecting them, from that day to this. Whether the 
 world has ever smiled or frowned on them we know not ; 
 whether, they have lived under its bright and perpetual sun- 
 shine, or have been oppressed by its cold and blighting shadows 
 we have never been informed. Indeed, we know not, whether 
 either or both of them is in the land of the living, or have des- 
 cended into the grave. They may still live ; and if so, be sur- 
 rounded and blessed by a virtuous and honored offspring — chil- 
 dren and grand-children ; for it is ll;irty-six years since they 
 entered the married state. Or, alas, they both long since may 
 have slept in dust, leaving none to continue their blood and 
 name, and of course now forgotten in the place where we saw 
 them. This we know, that according to the statistics on the 
 subject, those entering wedlock, live on an average only from 
 twenty to twenty-one years. Hence, the mortality among them 
 prior to this period is a full equivalent in numbers and in an 
 aggregate of years to the survivors, beyond that limit. Ac- 
 cordingly, of those married in the year 1816, none could be ex- 
 pected to live on beyond 1837, except, to make an offset for 
 those that died earlier, at any intermediate periods ; and, could 
 a record of all married in 1816 be now produced, and compared 
 with the records of mortality up to the year 1852. it wouhl be 
 found that not more than one in five or six of the original num- 
 ber is still interested in the busy scenes— the glory or the tliame 
 — of the living world. 
 
 It is startling to sober calculation, to be told that all the in- 
 cidents of nuptial life, is, on an average, crowded into the nar- 
 row space of twenty or t^^'enty-one years ; that its joys and its 
 sorrows are then to be buried in one deep and broad grave ; 
 
402 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 and, that the houses erected for this life, and the furniture with 
 which they were rendered comely, convenient, or magnificent, 
 and the equipage connected with them, at the end of this pe- 
 riod, are to be demolished, cast away, worn out, or remodelled 
 to suit other tastes, is truly parallizing to the genius of pride 
 and ambition. Such, however, is the fact I What chasms 
 have been made in human society in the twenty-one years last 
 gone by I Let each one tell what they are in the circle of his 
 own observation, and he will be able to imagine what other 
 ones will occur in the coming twenty-one years. Such is the re- 
 cord of human life 1 Such is the limit to human enterprise and 
 human grandeur I 
 
 A FUNERAL IN THE COUNTRY. 
 
 The extinction of human life causes a kind of paralysis in 
 all within a sphere to be affected by it ; and, a funeral, es- 
 pecially in the country, is more powerful in calling forth human 
 sympathy than any other event. This is natural ; we might 
 expect it ; and it is confirmed by experience and observation. 
 How could it be otherwise ! For, the strong love of life with 
 which man is endowed ; the tender affection that binds him to 
 his kindred and to objects around him; the agency that he may 
 have had in the business of society ; and especially the changes 
 in his own family, in the body politic, and in the sphere of the 
 productive elements of the community, render his demise, par- 
 ticulaily if he has been distinguished in his generation, an oc- 
 currence of overpowering influence. For a season, at least_ 
 there will be a general and a solemn pause, both in labor and 
 pleasure ; for a season, at least, the deep fountains of the soul 
 will be completely broken up ; and, for a season, the machinery, 
 mental and physical, of which he was a part, seems to stop its 
 revolutions, if not to roll its ponderous wheels backward. This 
 is a component of the philosophy into which everything spiritual 
 or physical of the great kingdoms of the world is re.'^olved. It 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 4O3 
 
 is not strange, therefore, that from the time of the first recorded 
 annals of human mortality, funeral solemnities should have been 
 characterized by demonstrations of individual and public grief. 
 A full history of such solemnities would form a deparment m. 
 our literature of the most absorbing interest. 
 
 With funeral solemnities in our own families we. are all 
 familiar. And, who has not witnessed them, surrounded by 
 conventional pomp and magnificence, in the high places of our 
 own beloved realm ? Who has not read of them in other 
 realms — in ancient as well as in modern times ? The noble 
 obsequies of Marcellus by a patriotic people, has been a theme, 
 in all succeeding ages, of admiration and eulogy. But even 
 these do not compare with those of the venerable founder of the 
 Jewish nation, the splendor of which is without a parallel in 
 history. His remains were followed to the place of their inter- 
 ment, nearly two hundred miles, in a distant country, not only 
 by his son Joseph and his brethren and all his father's house- 
 hold, but by all the servants of Pharaoh, the elders of his 
 house, and all the elders of Egypt, conducting the most solemn 
 lamentations, being an itinerant national multitude, resembling 
 in its progress a mighty river or flood. If to this any counter- 
 part can be found, it is in those national demonstrations of 
 honor and homage which have been shown to some of the ven- 
 erable fathers of our own republic, when their remains have 
 been followed from city to city, and from state to state, by the 
 most illustrious of their compeers and by crowds of deeply 
 stricken citizen*. And, what pomp and splendor were ex- 
 hibited when the remains of a renowned Gallic chieftain were 
 brought from the sea girt isle where for years they had slum- 
 bered, to be deposited in the land he once called his own. 
 
 And in less imposing exhibitions of the kind there has often 
 been witnessed a solemnity and a moral sublimity found under 
 no other circumstances. That heart must indeed be hard as 
 marble and those afFeotions cold as polar ice which receive no 
 impression and evince no emotion, when amidst the darkness 
 of night and the lonely bowlings of the ocean, the cold and life- 
 
404 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 less body of the mariner, or of the female hectic, on a voyage for 
 health, is, in the language of the Church Burial Service, com- 
 mitted to the deep. Not less impressive is the burial by torch 
 light, of the slain of an army, under a flag of truce or volun- 
 tary suspension of dire conflict, the death-like silence being: in- 
 terrupted only by the clear voice of the chaplain, the funeral 
 dirge of the band, or the well timed minute discharge of the 
 cannon. That of the British General, Fraser, as described by 
 Madame Riedesel, prior to the surrender of Burgoyne, is full of 
 thrilling interest. 
 
 Our present purpose, however, is to depict the mute elo- 
 quence of funeral solemnities in rural life, where there is no 
 pomp — no extraneous circumstances to impress the mind. The 
 first funeral we ever attended, was when at the age of eight 
 years ; and the whole scene and the impressions we received 
 are as fresh and vivid, as though it were but yesterday, though 
 more than half a century since. It was of a lady, a little past 
 the meridian of life and belonging to the best class of society, in 
 a new country with a spare population. Our own home was 
 three miles distant, but that was no obstacle to a pedestrian at- 
 tendance. Seemingly, the members of every family in the 
 town, young and old, male or female, were there. It was in 
 the busy season of May but the farmers had all left their work, 
 All joined to mingle their sympathies with those of the afflicted, 
 and to share in the moral instruction furnished by the event. 
 Such was the respect then paid in a new settlement to a de- 
 ceased fellow mortal, although to most present she had been 
 personally but little known ; and such was the readiness of all 
 to receive the instruction furnished in a scene there so unusal. 
 Such an awakened sensibility to the grief of others, and to the 
 admonitions of religion to be themselves also ready, presents a 
 feature in society, if old fashioned, truly lovely. It gives char- 
 acter to those who possess it, infinitely better than all Xhv alTeclcd 
 indifference and levity in relation to such subjects, now a days 
 of so rare occurrence. Now, with one sex it is too often looked 
 upon, as unmannerly, at least, to give such heed to these ad- 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 4O5 
 
 monitions of Providence ; and even in the other sex it too often 
 appears that there is more regard to the popular conventional 
 exhibitions of what is practiced in fashionable life, than to the 
 indulgence of genuine grief, or the religious culture of their own 
 hearts. 
 
 The population of the whole town, as it were, we have al- 
 ready remarked, was there ; not only filling the entire house, 
 which was large, but more were collected about the house, than 
 were in it. The lower parts of the windows were all blocked 
 up by human forms — so were the door-ways and the avenues to 
 them. A profound stillness pervaded the whole mass. Not a 
 whisper was heard. Every look was downcast, and the pul- 
 sations of every bosom denoted sorrow. The funeral sei-vices 
 consisted of prayers and a sermon, and singing Dr. Watts' 
 Hymn, — " Hark, from the tombs, a doleful sound 1" producing 
 in us a thrilling awe that will never be forgotten, and from the 
 appearance of the crowd each one felt himself a brother, or of 
 kindred consanguinity. 
 
 To this succeeded the removal of the corpse, on the shoulders 
 of the pall-bearers, to the grave some distance off, in a corner 
 of the orchard. First followed the afflicted husband, a portly, 
 gentlemanly looking farmer, pensive and sad, but without visi- 
 ble emotion — probably the more oppressed, because his sorrow 
 had no vent in tears. Near to him in the train, were the two 
 eldest children, a son and a daughter, advanced nearly to adult 
 stature ; then a still younger sister, leading by the hand, a little 
 brother of our own age — say eight years. The more distant 
 relatives and the attendants upon the occasion voluntarily joined 
 in a dense and long procession. With what sadness it moved 
 forward ! So absorbed were all in deep thought, that nature 
 seemed as if husHed to unwonted stillness and responsive emo- 
 tion; and, it required little effort of the imagination to see the 
 heavens spreading over the whole group a mantle befitting the 
 occasion. It was a clear, bright day with Spring's genial in- 
 fluences, so that within and without all was harmony. 
 
 At length, the grave was reached, and the coffin was lowered 
 
406 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 into it ! To us, the scene being an entirely new one, as well as 
 to the stricken family, this was seemingly more than could be 
 sustained. The little fellow named sobbed aloud, trembled like an 
 aspen leaf, and apparently, had it not been for his sister, who held 
 him by the hand, would have fallen or leaped into the grave upon 
 his pulseless mother I We wept too, and almost lost the loco- 
 motive power to withdraw from the spot and return to our home. 
 Such was the impression on us that we ever afterwards cherished 
 for this boy a warm afl'ection. The affection became reciprocal, 
 and then led to personal friendship and great intimacy that con- 
 tinued fifty-two or fifty-three years, when he* followed his 
 mother to the bourne from whence no one returns. Were we 
 near his final resting place, we should not fail to make a pil- 
 grimage to it, both to indulge in those natural impulses which 
 bind kindred hearts in one bond of affectionate union, and to 
 revive and invigorate those moral impressions received by us on 
 the occasion described. This narrative of the incident here 
 given has no connection with our main design. It is given 
 simply to corroborate by our own experience the influence of a 
 funeral in the country. We believe that incident did materially 
 and permanently change the tone of our social character. 
 
 Our intended memoir is yet to be rehearsed. The prominent 
 facts are not unlike those in hundreds of country funerals, de- 
 noting the respect that is manifested in a rural population for 
 the memory of a deceased member of it, as well as friendship 
 for surviving relations. Among all the endearing amiabilities 
 of which we are capable, we know of no one besides so precious. 
 The idea of seeing a whole community make a deliberate pause 
 when one of their number become sick or dies — or suspend their 
 own labors or pleasures in order to administer to the needy or 
 the afflicted, shows that our common brotherhood is duly recog- 
 nized by them, and that there is in man a spirit of communion 
 and fellowship, as if we were all the children of the same 
 Heavenly Father. Even the tolling of the church bells, at a 
 country funeral makes an impression on a passing traveller, or 
 * Jonathan Clark, of GUmanton, N. H, 
 
THE FARM ANB THE FIUESIDE. 4O7 
 
 the people generally, of more deep seriousness than an ordinary 
 dissertation or sermon on human mortality. 
 
 Sometime ahout the middle of October, 1839, we had occasion 
 to make a journey through one of the best agricultural districts 
 in New England, and to stop a few days at a place, for con- 
 venience, we shall call Beemantown. We arrived at the neat 
 village hotel, just as the harvest moon was presenting to view 
 her full orbed disc, in its wonted beauty at that season of the 
 year. The surrounding country denoted a thrift and good taste 
 that usually attend well educated labor applied to agriculture. 
 In the village were several stores, a Gothic Church, a capacious 
 academical edifice, and sundry mechanical establishments ; all 
 was neatness and simplicity; and nothing was to be seen or 
 heard indicating idleness, poverty, or a lack of good morals. 
 The loveliness of an evening during the season of the Harvest 
 Moon, especially in rural situations, is too well known to require 
 description, for it has long been the subject of poetic deliniation 
 and eulogy. After supper, we took a short walk, to witness the 
 good order and tranquility with which we were then surrounded ; 
 and never had we before experienced from a serene sky, a mel- 
 lowed atmosphere, and an unbroken quietude, such a mental 
 charm — delightfully in contrast with the emotions arising from 
 the bustle and excitement of the city. We felt as one might 
 be supposed to have felt in Paradise, or in a land of undefiled 
 spiritual existencies. Of course we returned to our lodging 
 place well prepared for sleep. Soon were we lost in gentle 
 slumbers. Nev^ to us was sleep more sweet. The little 
 fatigue of the day's journey, and the indescribable effect of mete- 
 orological and local influences caused our slumbers to he like 
 those of a healthful infant, without sighing or convulsive throbs, 
 or any change of features. 
 
 Thus we probably slept two hours. Then the loud striking 
 of the village clock announced the hour of midnight, and we 
 awoke to behold the silvery light of the moon, rendering every 
 object about us as distinct as if in the light of day. When na- 
 ture is thus wrapped in silence, one suddenly aroused in this 
 
408 THE FARM AND THE MRESIDE. 
 
 manner from his slumbers imagines himself a unit in the broad 
 expanse ; yet his solitude causes no shrinking from existence — 
 no terror from imagined danger ; but his breath, like fragant 
 and gently undulating incense, rises to the great spirit that 
 shelters and upholds him. When in a. kind of waking revery 
 the death toned sound of the village church bell -was heard ; it 
 fell upon us, as might be supposed, like the voice of the arch- 
 angel, when announcing the end of time, will fail upon the 
 living vyorld ; and before its waning cadence was entirely gone, 
 or its echo from the distant hills came back to us, a second one, 
 if possible, still more impressively fell upon us— then a third, 
 and a fourth, till we counted fifty-two, at intervals of about 
 twenty seconds between each, then a pause of a few minutes, 
 which was succeeded by still another one, if possible yet louder 
 than those before — when all again was dead silence, and we 
 seemed, as it were, lost and alone, although it might be that 
 hundreds in the village felt as we did. 
 
 Had we not known the usage of former times in the country, 
 thus to toll the church bell, commencing as near as possible 
 upon the last breath whenever one dies — the number of strokes 
 being the number of years in the age of the deceased — after- 
 wards a single stroke as in this case, signifying a male, and if 
 two strokes a female — the above to us would have been a mys- 
 tery ; but, knowing it, we were apprised, that a fellow mortal, 
 a brother of the age of fifty-two years, had, at this still hour of 
 midnight, ceased to live — bidding a last adieu to the'pains and 
 sorrows, and disappointments, as well as to, friends and rela- 
 tives, and the once budding hopes and joys in life's panorama. 
 The reader need not be told, that our thoughts became pensive 
 and sad ; and for the remainder of the night v,'e knew not sleep. 
 Had it not been so, we might rightly have been judged void 
 of those amiable sensibilities which belong to our nature. Far 
 be it from us to be ashamed of them. If the result of weakness 
 we rejoice in it. And it is a matter of course, that on the return 
 of morning, we enquired for whom had been made those demon- 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 4(3g 
 
 strations of reverence and respect. The following narrative is 
 the reply to our enquiry. 
 
 In the year 1802, a youth, whose name we shall call Charlea 
 Beeman, left the homestead of his father and took a clerkship 
 in the city of'New-York. The father was of the third genera- 
 tion who had tenalnted the same mansion and cultivated the 
 same farm, thus rendered dear to the family by a thousand 
 cherished associations. The house was indeed ancient, but 
 from its age, its stateliness, and the lofty elms in front of it, was 
 truly venerable. The farm, too, was large and productive ; and 
 the income of it, under a prudent management, had placed the 
 proprietor in dignified independence and comfort. The family 
 consisted of the parents and three children, two sons and a 
 daughter. Charles was the eldest of the three, and unfortu- 
 nately had imbibed the idea that the mercantile life was less 
 severely taxed ^ilh toil, and was more respectable, and, what 
 was more in his imagination, was the only way to affluence. 
 Accordingly, he resolved to forsake the residence of his ancestors, 
 and to seek his fortune in the city. The resolution might have 
 denoted what is' usually looked upon- as superior talents and 
 enterprise ; but, tlrjU^sequel will show, that the determination of 
 the younger brother, w;ho remained with his parents, was at- 
 tended with far better results. ^ 
 
 The memoir of G*harles Beeman, with no essential variations, 
 is that of thousands of young men.yvho, under similar circum- 
 stances, leave the country and repair to the city. From his 
 career thousands may learn wisdom. He thought agriculture a 
 dull and irksome occupation ; and that it was beneath the dig- 
 nity of one of his imagined talents to spend his life in laying up 
 thirty or forty thousand dollars as his fathers had done, when he 
 might become a merchant and obtain five times that amount. 
 He^looked at the rich apparel, and furniture, and equipage of 
 merchants; and at the display of merchariyise, and. cash, and 
 stocks in the city, and was completely bewildered with the fas- 
 cinating picture. Of course away he went, and speiit six years, 
 as a clerk in one of the most respectable houses in that, commer. 
 18 
 
410 THE FARM AND THE FIEESIDE. 
 
 clal emporium. The daughter of Squire Beeman, as the father 
 of Charles was generally denominated, soon married a young 
 man of property, talents and character, and lives only a few 
 miles distant, and James, the other son, with less hrilliancy but 
 more soundness than his brother, remained on the homestead, 
 married, and became one of the most respectable farmers of his 
 State. He was elected several times to the Senate of his State ; 
 and might have been sent to Congress, but preferred remaining 
 at home. He and his father so labored and managed, that 
 when Charles was ready to engage in business on his own ac- 
 count, he received as his portion of the estate ten thousand dol- 
 lars. At length the parents of James died, and he of the fourth 
 generation with a family of children of which a prince might 
 be proud, was left in sole possession of the Beeman homestead. 
 As might be inferred he was independent as though he had pos- 
 sessed a million of dollars ; and, it would be difficult to imagine 
 anything not within his reach, that would have added to his 
 enjoyment or his reputation. 
 
 Charles Beeman commenced his career as a merchant under 
 the most favorable auspices. His character was pure ; his tal- 
 ents were quite respectable ; and he had ajpash capital of ten 
 thousand dollars with unlimited facilities, from his mercantile 
 acquaintance. For twenty years his course was most prosper- 
 ous. Everything seemingly on which he placed his hand turned 
 to gold. He became the .president of a large banking estab- 
 lishment. On the land and on the water he gave employment 
 to hundreds of persons. He married, and as usual under such 
 circumstances, had a splendid family establishment. His char- 
 ities, too, were on the most liberal scale. His annual expenses 
 could not have been less than eight or ten thousand dollars. 
 His children, three sons and two daughters, as a matter of 
 course, grew up with the most expensive habits for dress and 
 amusements, without acquiring the habit of doing anything, or 
 having the least reference to the means for a living. The con- 
 sequence was two of the sons became dissipated and diseased, 
 and early sunk into the grave. The other son was amiable and 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 411 
 
 not immoral, but without efEciencj' for business. The two 
 daughters married young merchants, who after a few years were 
 unfortunate, and involved their father-in-law in heavy responsi- 
 bilities. By the aid of friends both were provided with foreign 
 agencies. The broken hearted daughters were in. a few years 
 relieved by death from poverty and mortification. Their days 
 were few. Their sun rose in beauty and brilliancy, but was 
 soon overcast, and went down in the darkness of night. Their 
 early hopes of happiness budded in great profusion, but a blight- 
 ing mildew caused them all to wither and die without fruit. 
 Their fond mother soon joined them in the world of spirits. 
 
 The affairs of Charlesv^eeman were hastening to a perilous 
 crisis. As usual, misfortunes come not singly. His own family 
 expenses had been enormous. Sundry ordinary business losses, 
 which at former periods would scarcely have been thought of; 
 but now, in connection with an accumulation of disasters, became 
 insupportable. There was no other alternative. Bankruptcy 
 was the unavoidable result. His carriage and horses were first 
 sold ; then his furniture and house, and he took lodgings in a 
 hotel. His business being completely broken up, he retired 
 from his office in the bank. The'^mly alleviating circumstance 
 in. all this revulsion was that his feeble surviving son was furn- 
 ished with the office of porter and messenger in the same insti- 
 tution on a salary just sufficient to give him a decent living. 
 What a desolation for one who a few years previous had 
 estimated his wealth by hundreds of thousands of dollars, and 
 had prided himself, at least with beautiful daughters who with 
 their mother were the centre of attraction in every sphere of 
 fashionable life. If there is anything to break down the spirit 
 of a man, it is this. To such an one the light of day or the 
 blackness of mijnight are much alike. An unwavering paraly- 
 sis settles down upon the soul. His energies are completely 
 prostrated ! 
 
 For a few years the friends of Charles Beeman attempted to 
 inspire'- him with vigor,' to engage in mercantile brokerage, but 
 it was to no purpose. He seemed to feel no motive for making 
 
412 THE FARM AND THE FffiESIBE. 
 
 the effort. No one depended upon him now for subsistence, and 
 to him the world had completely ceased to offer any charms. 
 His faint spirit seemed to yearn after some untried and unknown 
 panacea for a curative for his malady. The opportunity was 
 soon discovered. Disease, which like a ravenous beast, lying 
 in ambush to discover the weakest position of the destined vic- 
 tim, soon seized upon our life wearied, broken down merchant. 
 It would be difficult to tell whether a consciousness of the fact 
 gave him joy or sorrow. He had seemingly but little remaining 
 susceptibility for either. The world to him had become a dis- 
 mal blank ; and, as soon as rendered morally certain -that his 
 days were nearly numbered, he accedsgd to the pressing invita- 
 tion of his brother James, to return to Beemantown, and become 
 one of his family at the old Homestead. He did so, and a few 
 trunks contained his wardrobe and every vestage of his once 
 large estate. He was there treated with the utmost kindness : 
 Mrs. James Beeman and her lovely daughters were like angels 
 of mercy ; but they were never able to raise a smile on his pale 
 emaciated features, and in three months, ten days, and nine 
 hours, the solemn tones of the ehtirch bell, at the still hour of 
 iriidnight, as we before stated, announced to the people of the 
 village and township, that he had gone to the land of his 
 fathers. There is one leaf more in the memoir of Charles 
 Beeman. 
 
 Becoming greatly interested in the narrative, of which the 
 above is a mere abstract, we resolved to attend his funeral, 
 which was to be the second day afterwards. During the in- 
 terval there was a chastened sensation which we had never 
 before witnessed, for the death of an individual in private life. 
 It however, was a sensation of that calm and unobtrusive char- 
 acter, which is manifested only in a general andldeep tranquility 
 of spirit, and in the slow measured pulsations of labor and 
 business. It was a sensation springing from the deep recesses 
 of the heart, and receiving no type from popular impulse or 
 conventional power. * 
 
THE PARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 41 3 
 
 The day of funeral arrived. It was one of peculiar loveli- 
 ness, so well known at that season of the year. There was not 
 a cloud to be seen, and seemingly not a breath of wind was 
 felt. Nature was in harmony with the mellowed and subdued 
 passions visible on every countenance. For some time previous 
 to the hour appointed for the funeral obsequies, the people from 
 the remote parts of the town beg-an to assemble. There was a 
 general suspension of labor and of business. Little groups 
 were constantly arriving, and the village green was soon dotted 
 over in every part. The church was filled to overflowing. Its 
 ponderous bell announced the hour of two o'clock in a loud 
 sepulchral cadence. The bell a mile north of the village, in a 
 few seconds gave a similar response ; then, at a corresponding 
 interval of time, echoing among the surrounding hills, was heard 
 the other church bell of the town ; thus the three in regular 
 alternations,- uttered their mournful thrilling notes, till the corpse 
 and the procession of mourning relatives and friends, with slow 
 and solemn steps, measured the distance --from , the Beeman 
 Homestead to the House of Prayer. Such a spectacle must be 
 seen in order to be fully appreciated. One might as well impart 
 to the marble statue, or the canvass, the varying hues and the 
 breathing of the living human form, as to give sufficient deline- 
 ations of it with ink and paper. 
 
 There was not indeed in the procession a deeply afflicted 
 M'idow, bowed down in sorrow for the loved one of her youth. 
 There was not indeed a cluster of orphan children, convulsed 
 •with anguish for the loss of their only guide and support, a fond 
 father. They were in mercy saved from this heart-rending 
 hour, in being called away before him. But still, there was no 
 want of sincere mourners; all present knew the sad history of 
 his life ; most of them had be'en faimliar with his visage ; all 
 were impressed deeply, and saw in that hi.'^lory a memento of 
 the vanity of the world's brightest jewels. There were no bois- 
 terous lamentation ; there were no passionate outpourings of 
 stricken hearts ; but the wide spread undisturbed silence ; the 
 downcast demeanor throughout this sad living mass, with here 
 
414 
 
 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 and there a silent tear, made denjonstration that in the human 
 bosom there is a chord that vibrates to another's woe. Hero 
 was an irresistible admonition not to make haste in striving to 
 become rich ; nor to despise those frugal bounties which reward 
 the cultivators of the soil ; and especially not with unguarded 
 pace to press amid temptations and perils, the consummation of 
 which, not unoften, is in the chill darkness of the grave I 
 
 We have read many essays and heard many homilies on the 
 vanity of this world's glory — the folly of pride and pompous 
 exhibitions in social life — and, especially, the canker which 
 fixes itself upon the heart of those who despise the charms of 
 rural pleasure for the delusive splendors of the city ; but the 
 history of Charles Beeman made an impression upon us without a 
 parallel. These few days in his native village made the coun- 
 try seem more lovely to us, and the city fraught with more perils 
 and mental agonies than ever before imagined. Oh, that we 
 had a pen to delineate all the incidents, and /a pencil to place on 
 canvas all the lights and shadows, blended into each other in 
 his memoir, from the cradle to the grave ! Well would it be if 
 hundreds of others known to us, could have been present to wit- 
 ness what we witnessed, and to have- received that impressive 
 culture we received, and which we apprehend will never be 
 effaced from our recollection I And, if the unnumbered young 
 men in our country, now impatient of the toils and the moderate 
 but sure gains to be- expected upon their native hills and valleys 
 had witnessed it, there would not be such a perpetual rush to 
 embark in adventures, and to grasp at objects presenting them 
 to the inexperienced visual powers, in magnitude surpassing the 
 reality, as did the men first seen by St. Paul, after the scales had 
 fallen from his eyes — " like trees walking I" 
 
THE FAB.M AND THE FIRESIDE. 4ig 
 
 DOMESTICATION OF THE OX FAMILY. 
 
 From the earliest periods the ox has been regarded in the 
 light of property ; nor has its intrinsic value been less appre- 
 ciated after a lapse of ages. Who does not know how intimate- 
 ly the well-being of a nation and of individuals is connected 
 with the various uses of this animal ; and how closely the in- 
 terests of commerce and agriculture are bound together. It is 
 proverbial that he who makes two stalks of corn, or two spires 
 of grass, grow where only one grew before is a public benefac- 
 tion ; and by parity of reasoning, he who improves the breeds of 
 domestic cattle, feeds two on the land which before had support- 
 ed only one ; and he who devises superior modes with regard to 
 the extension of their utility, also, serves the interests of the com- 
 munity. On the labor of the.male and the milk of the female, 
 and on the flesh of each there is a dependance, greater than 
 generally realized, unless by persons familiar with the statistics 
 of these branches of rural economy. All the ox tribe are, as well 
 known, gregrarious in their habits ; and no quarter of the world, 
 except Australia and South America, is destitute of its indi- 
 genous species, existing in a state of freedom. Thoy roam over 
 hills or plains, or tenant the glades of the forest. The immense 
 herds of wild cattle which now roam the pampas of South Ame- 
 rica, are the descendants of those domesticated ones which were 
 originally introduced by the Spaniards; and, it may be added, 
 that although in North America the Bison, and Musk ox, are indi- 
 genous species, the domestic ox, now of such value, is in like 
 manner an importation ; while the indigenous species are dis- 
 appearing before the advance of colonization. 
 
 That the ox has been domesticated, and in the service of man 
 from a very remote period, is as certain as any fact recorded in 
 history ; for we learn from the book of Genesis, that cattle were 
 kept by the early descendants of Adam. Preserved by Noah 
 from the waters of the deluge, the original breed of our present 
 oxen must have been in the neighborhood of Mount Ararat ; 
 and from thence, dispersing over the face of the globe altering 
 
416 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 by climate, by food, and by cultivation, originated the various 
 breeds of modern ages. And that the value of the ox tribe has 
 been, in all ages, and all climates, highly prized, we have the 
 ample evidence from history. The natives of Egypt, India, and 
 of Hindostan, seem alike to have placed the cow among -their 
 deities ; and judging by her usefulness to all classes, no animal 
 could perhaps have been selected, whose value to mankind is 
 greater. In nearly all parts of the earth cattle are employed for 
 their labor, for their milk, and for their food. ■ In Southern 
 Africa, they are as much the associates of the Caflres as the 
 horse is of the Arab. They share his toils and assist him in 
 attending his herds ; they are even trained to battle, in which 
 they become fierce and courageous In central Africa the proud- 
 est ebony beauties are to bo seen on their backs. They have 
 drawn the plough in all ages ; in Spain they still trample out 
 the corn ; in India, raise the water from the deepest wells , to 
 irrigate the thirsty soil. 
 
 Intelligence, says Mr. Martin, appears to be more limited in 
 the ox than in the horse. The brain is comparatively smaller 
 in the former than in the latter ; and the ratio of intelligence is 
 probably in about the same proportion. But we must not regard 
 the ox as remarkably stupid. The working ox knows his driver, 
 and readily obeys his word of command, displaying, at the same 
 time, considerable docility and willingness. The cow not only 
 knows, but often evinces decided affection towards the person by 
 whom she is regularly milked and fed, and not unfrequently re- 
 fuses the attentions of another. Cows, pastured in the fields, 
 draw towards the accustomed spot, at the usual milking time, 
 and, by their lowing, seem to give notice of their readiness. In 
 Switzerland, the herds, feeding on mountains, are called home 
 by the sound of the Alp-horn. The Alp-horn is merely a wood- 
 en tube, of simple construction ; and its deep, mellow, prolonged 
 note, heard at a distance floating over the upland pastures, and 
 frequently echoed in succession by crags and rocks, makes a 
 pleasing impression on the traveller. On many of the higher 
 Alps this horn is sounded regularly at sunrise and at sunset. 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 417 
 
 A.t -whatever part of the day it is blown, to collect the cattle, 
 the cows are seen, as soon as its note can reach their ears, 
 scantipering away, for their home, often at a full gallop. In one 
 of the volumes of the " Menageries," the writer says, " A corres- 
 pondent informs us that he once witnessed the evident dismay 
 of a cow in not being able to obey the summons. She was a 
 very pretty creature, and was lying ruminating, in a little dell, 
 by herself. Presently the Alp-horn was heard ; and the peasant, 
 who sounded it, was seen opposite on a green hill at no great 
 distance. The poor creature instantly arose, but could not pro- 
 ceed, for she was lame and sorely wounded, most probably from 
 some fall she had met with. After dragging herself along for 
 the distance of some yards, she stood still and lowed. The horn 
 sounded again, and again making a great effort, she went on a 
 few yards. She then laid herself down and lowed most piteously, 
 fixing her eyes, all the time, on her companions, who were run- 
 ning from every direction. The poor animal seemed to be suf- 
 fering, not merely from her hurts, but also from that pain a 
 punctual person always feels on breaking an engagement, or 
 failing in the performance of a duty. The traveller hastened to 
 inform the peasants what had happened, and returned with 
 them to see them assist the grieving absentee. By the 
 time they had reached the dell, she had made a little more 
 progress, but was again prostrate on the ground, and lowing in 
 a melancholy manner. When the peasants came near to her 
 she rose up, and ceased her complaints at once ; and though, 
 with all the aid they could give her, she was obliged to lie down 
 again, she did not repeat them ; and at last she reached the 
 dairy, where she lowed in a very different tone. 
 
 In Norway, a wooden trumpet, about five feet long, made of 
 two hollow pieces of birch wood, bound together by slips of 
 willow throughout its whole length, is used to call the cattle 
 feeding on extensive hilly pasture grounds. Its notes may be 
 heard at a great distance ; but, instead of being mellow, they 
 are extremely harsh and discordant. In Tereeira, one of the 
 Azores, where cattle are very abundant, the oxen are reraark- 
 18* 
 
418 THE FARM AND THE FIRE SIDE. 
 
 able for docility and intelligeaoe. They are very fine and large, 
 with horns of prodigious size, and are so gentle and familiar, 
 that when among a thousand collected together, the owner shall 
 call one by its own name, for they all, like our dogs, have each 
 its own proper name, the ox will not fail to come to him. 
 Every person, too, familiar with our cattle, knows that when 
 called by some general name with which they are usually desig- 
 nated, will instantly run at the sound ; and in the same way 
 individuals will run in answer to particular names by which 
 they are called. 
 
 But of all instances of intelligence in the ox, those of the 
 backeleys, or war oxen, among the Hottentots, while that people 
 were in a state of pastoral independence, are the most extraor- 
 dinary. The ox was the sharer of its master's toils and wars, his 
 assistant on the plain, and the guardian of his flock ; it seemed 
 indeed to lose its ordinary character in his service, and rise into a 
 higher state of being. " The Hottentots," says Kelben, " have 
 oxen which they use with success in battle. They call them 
 backeleys ; the word backeley, in their language, signifying 
 war. Every army is always provided with a large troop of 
 these oxen, which permit themselves to be governed without 
 trouble, and which their leader lets loose at the appointed mo- 
 ment. The instant they are set free, they throw themselves 
 with impetuosity on the opposing army ; they strike with their 
 horns, they kick with their heels, they overthrow, they rip up 
 and trample beneath their feet, with frightful rapidity, all that 
 opposes ; so that, if they be not promptly driven back, they 
 plunge with fury into the midst of the ranks, throw them into 
 disorder and confusion, and thus prepare for their masters an 
 easy victory. The manner in which these animals are trained, 
 does great honor to the talent of these people." 
 
 In another place the same writer says, " These backeleys are, 
 moreover, of great use to their owners as guardians of their 
 flocks. When out, in the pasture lands, at the least sign of 
 their conductors, they will hasten to bring back the cattle 
 ■which are straying at a distance, and keep them herded to- 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 419 
 
 gether. They rush on strangers with fury ; whence they are of 
 great service against robbers who may attempt to pkinder the 
 flock. Each kraal has at least half a dozen of these hackeleys, 
 which are chosen from amongst the most spirited oxen. On the 
 death of one, or when, in consequence of old age it becomes 
 unserviceable, in which case its owner kills it, another ox is se- 
 lected from the herd to succeed it. The choice is referred to one 
 of the old men of the kraal, who is thought to be the most capa- 
 ble of discerning that which will most easily receive instruction. 
 They associate this noviciate ox with one of long experience ; 
 and they teach him to follow his companion, either by beating, 
 or some other method. During the night they are tied together 
 by the horns, and they are thus also kept the greater part of the 
 day, until the learner has become a good guardian of the flock. 
 These guardians know all the inhabitants of the kraal, men, 
 women, and children ; and testify towards them the same re- 
 spect that a dog displays to all those who live in the house of 
 his master. There is, therefore, no inhabitants of the kraal 
 who may not, with all safety, approach the flocks ; the hack- 
 eleys never do them the least injury. But, if a stranger, and 
 particularly a while man, should offer to take the same liberty, 
 without being accompanied by some Hottentot, he would be in 
 great danger — these guardians of the flock which usually feed 
 around it, would come upon him full gallop ; and then, unless 
 he be within hearing of the shepherds, or have fire-arms, or good 
 legs, or unless a tree be near in which to climb, he is sure to be 
 killed. It would be useless for him to have recourse to sticks 
 and stones ; a backeley has no fear for such feeble weapons." 
 Vaillant confirms this statement of Kolben ; yet it does not ap- 
 pear, as far as we can learn, that any of the tribes of Southern 
 Africa, rear backeley oxen in the present day. 
 
 The only importance that can be attached to facts like these 
 is this, if cattle have been thus trained by the Hottentots, it 
 shows their docility and intelligence, and that they are suscep- 
 tible of similar instruction again and elsewhere. There is 
 nothing of food or climate in the south of Africa not existing in 
 
420 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 other countries to induce such capability. If the Africans can 
 thus teach their oxen, Europeans and Americans can do it also. 
 Nor are we without forcible illustrations of this. It is well 
 known that individuals occasionally find the fullest evidence of 
 great tracticability in working oxen. They are taught to 
 plough without a driver ; and, they seem frequently to under- 
 stand as well as a driver the extent of their power to draw large 
 burdens, as well as the best mode of applying this power. 
 There is little or no doubt that by a proper course of training 
 oxen, particularly when steers, their value for labor would be 
 greatly increased. This is a subject farmers have too much neg- 
 lected. Their attention cannot be too frequently called to it. 
 A well trained yoke of oxen are as much superior for labor to a 
 yoke not so trained, as a first rate laboring man is better than 
 another that does not understand his business. 
 
 The cow, too, as well as the ox has similar intelligence. It 
 is not indeed exerted for the same purposes ; but this shows the 
 versatility of it, or its susceptibility of being directed to any object 
 necessary. The cow very quickly learns, when suckling a calf, 
 the particular seasons when this office is to be exercised ; and 
 if there is any delinquency, on the part of the keeper, in putting 
 the dam with the offspring, she manifests the greatest im- 
 patience. So likewise when the flow of milk is very abundant, 
 andu the udder becomes painfully distended ; she seems to be 
 fully- aware of the relief afforded her by being milked, and even 
 seeking opportunity for it, and afterwards manifesting a kind of 
 affection to the one that thus habitually relieves her. In the 
 chapter on the artifices of animals several tricks of the cow 
 were introduced ; but, there was one unintentionally omitted, 
 which is so curious, a pla^ is here given to it, although more 
 appropriate in that chapter than this. There have been in- 
 stances known of her selecting a thicket in which to drop her 
 calf, so excluded and so dense, as to escape human observation. 
 After remaining with her nursling a due length of time, by some 
 means or other she teaches it to lie down and remain perfectly 
 quiet, so as not to be noticed by any living creature. To this 
 
THE PABM AND THE PIUESIDE. 421 
 
 spot she Steals away twice or thrice a day, to yield to it the con- 
 tents of her udder ; but bo adroitly, that with the most vigilant 
 pursuer, she at last eludes his eye, and disappears from his view. 
 This is sometimes continued for weeks with perfect success, the 
 younger as well as the elder Understanding how to keep the 
 secret ; and in one case, which fell under our own ohservation, 
 was obtained by a person concealing himself for the last half of 
 the day in the known vicinity of her retreat. And, he stated, 
 that when at the approach of sundown, she drew near, with the 
 utmost caution, every few yards stopping to see if she was per- 
 ceived ; and, at last, supposing she was not discovered, again 
 stopped and gently lowed. This was the signal for recognition. 
 The calf, with the celerity of a deer, darted from the place of his 
 concealment, took his evening repast, and then receiving a 
 species of a kiss from the mother, took'to his nest. When this 
 Was done, she departed as stealthily as she came. However, as 
 much amused as the proprietor was with this specimen of bovine 
 cunning, another place was provided for them. 
 
 Among the more useful specimens of intelligence in the cow, 
 the following is given. Three or four years ago, we had occa- 
 sion to visit the premises of a very large stock owner about six 
 miles west of our own residence. The proprietor was a man of 
 wealth, and had a very large farm, the pasture of which 
 consisted of many hundred acres, in which all his young cattle 
 roamed at pleasure from spring to fall. The cows were turned 
 to it each morning, but voluntarily returned to the barn-yard at 
 the close of the day. To raise stock, and to deal in it, was an 
 important part of his business. In addition to those raised, he 
 was always ready to purchase good animals at low rates ; and 
 equally ready to sell oxen, cows, stdtrs, heifers, or calves, when 
 purchasers were willing to pay his price. Indeed, a selling 
 price was attached to nearly every animal belonging to him, as 
 systematically as the price is fixed to all merchandize in a store. 
 "We reached his house when the sun was about two hours ia 
 height. Our object was to purchase a cow. After spending a 
 little time in general conversation, we started for the pasture in 
 
422 THE FABM,AND THE FlRESfDE. 
 
 company with his son, Who appeared familiar with all tile de- 
 tails of the business. Soon after entering it, we discovered 
 through the opening of an adjacent wood lot, a venerable look- 
 ing old cow, red, with white face, and a shrill bell fastened to 
 her neck, moderately coming towards us. Her gait and de- 
 meanor indicated the dignity and -the self-complacency usually 
 attendant on the exercise of authority, although there was 
 nothing else about her that attracted our notice. She had evi- 
 dently attained an age too much advanced for our taste. Fol- 
 lovs'ing her in the same direction, was one succeeding another, in 
 a kind of Indian file, sometimes, however, irregularly, two 
 abreast, in all the number of twenty-five or thirty. 
 
 As they all seemed to occupy the hard trodden path, which 
 doubtless they had traveled an hundred times, and the leader 
 evinced no consciousness that others, even her owner had a bet- 
 ter right to it, we readily turned aside, commenting upon the 
 appearance of one after another in the train, as happening to be 
 opposite to them. On reachinjr the rear point in the train, the 
 cows having pretty much come to a stand, either to feed or to 
 be admitted to the barn-yard, we inquired the properties and 
 the price of such as seemed to attract particular notice, receiv- 
 ing the most prompt answers, as if the merit of each was per- 
 fectly understood. At last, on our way back to the gate, we 
 said, not because we wanted her, but to make conversation — 
 " Well, young man, what is the price of the old cow with a 
 bell?" " She is not for sale," replied he. "That is probably 
 because she is too old, to bring a good price, is it not," we re- 
 joined ; " and if a purchaser wanted her, you would fix a price, 
 would you not ?" '' No," he answered, and that, " his father 
 would not take an hundred dollars for her." "Perhaps," we 
 added, " she is of a choice breed, and you retain her for the 
 calves." " Not so," was his response — " she is a native breed ; 
 pretty fair, as a milker, but not extraordinary ; we hold on to 
 her, because she is worth more in taking care of the others, than 
 any hired man on the farm. Her authority with the whole 
 herd is complete ; wherever she goes, they will follow after ; 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 423 
 
 and, if any one strays away, or falls too far behind the others, 
 she will quick discover it, retracing her own steps till the delin- 
 quent is found. The means used by her in exercising this kind 
 of jurisdiction, and making every individual one willing thus to 
 follow her, day after day, may be somewhat peculiar, and not 
 understood by ua, yet they understand it as well as an army un- 
 derstands the orders of its commanding general. She is as uni- 
 form, each day, cloudy or sunshine, as though she had one of the 
 time-pieces, to be seen advancing, with little variation, an hour 
 before sun down. If she is two miles off, at the most distant 
 point in the pasture, her homeward course is commenced enough 
 sooner, so as to he here at this hour. And what makes her 
 supervision the more valuable, she is as familiar with every 
 spring of water, and with all the best food in the entire pasture, 
 as any man could be ; being particular to appearance each morn- 
 ing when conducting the herd in pursuit of forage, to go to those 
 parts that are the best." 
 
 With this account of the old bell cow, we did not wonder 
 that she was not for sale, and that so high a value was placed 
 on her. On hearing this account of her, we viewed her with 
 peculiar pleasure, as furnishing new evidence of the satisfactory 
 results to be expected, when judicious efforts are made to im- 
 prove the brute creation. By them the pleasures of rural life 
 are greatly advanced. They help to render pleasurable, what 
 might otherwise be repulsive in the labors of the husbandman. 
 Where the cow, the ox, the horse, or even the hog, seems, in 
 consequence of assiduous and kind treatment shown to it, to rise 
 above its species, we necessarily become attached to farm ani- 
 mals beyond what we should be, if none of this docility and in- 
 telligence were evinced by them. Administering, therefore, to 
 their wants, and to the modifications in their nature, of which 
 they are susceptible, furnishes one of the legitimate branches 
 of labor, as well as of enterprise and pleasure in the life of the 
 agriculturalist. All who have had experience in it, knows well 
 the influence it has on the affections. 
 
 The ox family has generally been described as consisting of 
 
424 THE FAHM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 two great classes ; one having hunches on the back, called 
 aurocks ; and the other without hunches, and called bisons, or 
 buffaloes. The best writers apply the name of buffalo to the 
 wild ox of the eastern continent, and bison to that of the Amer- 
 ican continent, although these names are sometimes applied 
 ■without reference to such limitations. To each one of these two 
 general divisions belong a great number of varieties, occasioned 
 bv difference of climate and food, and other external influences. 
 The bison and buffalo are said to be more obstinate or less tract- 
 able than the domestic ox ; obeying with greater reluctance, 
 and having a temper more coarse and brutal. This, however, 
 may be wholly the result of a more limited and imperfect edu- 
 cation or training than the ox has received during the successive 
 generations of his domesticated existence. Possibly, if the one 
 were to be as long under the immediate jurisdiction of man as 
 the other has been, these differences between the two would be 
 less apparent than they now are, provided they were found to 
 exist at all. 
 
 The breed of the aurochs is generally the habitant of the 
 cold and temperate zones. It is not very much dispersed to- 
 wards the southern countries. On the contrary, the hunched ox 
 dwells mostly in southern countries ; throughout the extended 
 territory of India ; the islands of the South Seas ; in all Africa, 
 from Mount Atlas to the Cape of Good Hope, no other oxen 
 but these are found ; and it even appears that this breed has 
 many advantages over others in hot countries. The hunched 
 have the hair much softer and more glossy than our oxen ; they 
 are always swifter and more proper to supply the place of a 
 horse ; and they perhaps vary more than our oxen in the color 
 of the hair, and the figure of the horns. The hunch does not 
 depend on the conformation of the spine, nor on the bones of 
 the shoulder ; it is nothing but an excrescence, a kind of wen, 
 a piece of tender flesh, as good to be eaten as the tongue of an 
 ox. The wens, or hunches, of some oxen weigh from forty to 
 fifty pounds ; others have them much smaller ; and, their horns 
 are sometimes of prodigious size. One of them has been re- 
 
THE FARiM. AND THE FIRESIDE. 425 
 
 ferred to in the French cabinet of Natural History, three feet 
 and a half in length, and seven inches in diameter at the base. 
 Many travellers affirm that they have seen them of capacity 
 sufficient to contain from fifteen to tvi'enty pints of water. The 
 bison, or wild hunched ox, is generally stronger and much 
 larger than the tame ox of India, yet, sometimes, it is foand 
 smaller; its size doubtless depending much on its food. At 
 Malabar, at Abyssinia, at Madagascar, where the meadows are 
 naturally spacious and fertile, they are frequently of prodigious 
 size ; yet, in Africa and Arabia Petrea, where the land is dry, 
 they are of diminished stature. 
 
 The hunched ox diflers from the common ox in the color of 
 its hide ; his body is thicker and shorter ; his legs are longer 
 and proportionably much less ; the horns not so round, black, 
 and partly compressed, with a tuft of hair frizzled over the 
 forehead ; the hide is likewise thicker and harder ; the flesh is 
 black and hard ; and (he milk of the hunched cow is not so 
 good as that of our cow, although she yields a great quantity. 
 In hot countries of the eastern continent most of the cheese is 
 made of this milk. It is computed that two buffaloes harnessed 
 or chained to a wagon, will draw as much, when properly 
 trained, as four strong horses. As they carry their heads and 
 their tails naturally downwards, they employ the whole force of 
 their bodv in drawing. The form and thickness of the buffalo 
 alone are sufficient to indicate that he is a native of the hottest 
 countries. The largest quadrupeds belong to the torrid zone of 
 the eastern continent ;- and the buffalo, for his size, might be 
 classed with the elephant, the rhinoceros, and the hippopotamus. 
 The camel is more elevated but slenderer, and is also an inhab- 
 itant of the southern countries of Africa and Asia; nevertheless, 
 the buffaloes live and multiply in Italy, in France, and in the 
 other temperate provinces. It appears that these animals are 
 gentler and less brutal in their native country than in others ; 
 and the hotter the climate is, the more tractable is their nature. 
 In Egypt thev are more so than in Italy ; and in India they are 
 more so than in Egypt. Those of Italy have also more hair 
 
426 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 than those of Egypt, and those of Egypt more than those of 
 India. Their coat is never entirely covered, because they are 
 natives of hot countries ; and in general, large animals of this 
 climate hav^ either no hair, or else very little. 
 
 There are a great number of wild buflaloes in the countries 
 of Africa and India, which are watered with many rivers, and 
 furnished with large meadows. They go in droves, and make 
 great havoc in cultivated lands ; but they never attack the 
 human species, and will not run at them, unless they are 
 wounded, when they are very dangerous ; for they make di- 
 rectly at their enemy, thi'ow him down and trample him to 
 death under their feet ; nevertheless, they are greatly terrified at 
 the sight of fire, and are displeased and sometimes become furi- 
 ous at the sight of red color. The buffalo, like all other ani- 
 4nals of southern climates, is fond of bathing, and even of 
 remaining in the water ; he swims very well, and boldly trav- 
 erses the most rapid floods. As his legs are longer than those 
 of the ox, he runs also quicker upon land. The negroes in 
 Guinea, and the Indians in Malabar, where the wild buffaloes 
 are very numerous, often hunt them. They neither pursue 
 them nor attack them openly, but, climbing up the trees, or 
 hiding themselves in the woods, they wait for them and kill 
 them, the buffaloes not being able, without muc^ trouble, to 
 penetrate these forests, on account of the thickness of their 
 bodies, and the impediment of their horns which are apt to en- 
 tangle them in the branches of the trees. These people are 
 fond of the flesh of the buffalo, and gain great profit by vending 
 their hides and their horns, which are harder and better than 
 those of the ox. 
 
 The American bison was once dispersed, in countless herds, 
 over immense regions of our country, although it was rarely 
 found on the Atlantic coast. Lawson, an early historian of the 
 country, thought it a fact worthy of being recorded, that tM'o 
 were killed in one season on Cape Fear River. As early as the 
 first discovery of Canada, it was unknown in that country. 
 Theodat, whose history of Canada was published in 1G36, 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRE BIDE. 
 
 427 
 
 
 
 AMERICAN BISON. 
 
 merely says that he was informed that bulls existed in the re- 
 mote western countries. At a period not very remote they were 
 found in most of our western states and territories ; but, as the 
 white population advanced onward in that direction these ani- 
 mals disappeared, pressing in vast num.bers to the back parts of 
 Louisiana and the prairies watered by the Arkansas, La Plata, 
 Missouri, and its tributaries. But from many of these retreats 
 they have since disappeared fi-om a similar cause. As far as I 
 have been able to learn, says the editor of the Boston edition of 
 Buffbn's Natural History, the limestone and sandstone forma- 
 tions, lying between the great Rock Mountain ridge and the 
 lower eastern chain of primitive rocks, are the only districts in 
 the fur countries that are now greatly frequented by the bison. 
 In these comparatively level tracts, there is much prairie land, 
 on which they find good grass in summer; and also many 
 marshes overgrown with bulrushes, which supply them with 
 winter food. Salt springs and salt lukes also abound on the 
 
428 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 confines of the limestone, and there are several well known salt 
 licks, where bisons are sure to be found in all seasons of the 
 year. Their migrations to the westward were formerly limited 
 by the Rooky Mountain range ; but of late years they have 
 found out a passage across the mountains, and their numbers to 
 the we.stward are said to be annually increasing. Further to 
 the southward, in New Mexico and California, the bison be- 
 came numerous on both sides of- the Rocky Mountain chain. 
 
 Bisons wander constantly from place to place, either from 
 being disfurbed by hunters or in quest of food. They are much 
 attracted by the soft tender grass which springs up after a fire 
 has spread over the prairie. In winter they scrape away the- 
 snow with their feet to reach the grass. The bulls and the cows 
 live in separate herds for the greater part of the year ; but at 
 all seasons, one or two bulls generally accompany a large herd 
 of cows. The bison is in general a shy animal, and takes to 
 flight instantly on winding an enemy, which the acuteness of 
 its sense of .=mell enables it to do from a great distance. They 
 are less wary when they are assembled together in numbers, 
 and will often blindly follow their leaders, regardless of, or 
 trampling down the hunters posted in their way. It is danger- 
 ous for the hunter to show himself after having wounded one, 
 for it will pursue him, and although its gait may be heavy and 
 awkward, it will have no difficuly in overtaking the fleetest 
 runner. The same writer says, when I resided at the Carlton 
 House an incident of this kind occurred. Mr. McDonald, one of 
 the clerks of the Hudson Bay Company on descending the river 
 in a boat, and one evening, having pitched his tent for the night, 
 went out in the dusk of the evening for game. It had become 
 nearly dark when he fired at a bison bull, which was galloping 
 over a small eminence, and as he was hastening forward to see 
 if the shot had taken eflect, the wounded beast made a rush at 
 him. He had the presence of mind to seize the animal by the 
 long hair on his forehead as it struck him on the side with its 
 horn ; and being a remarkably tall and powerful man, a strug- 
 gle ensued, which continued until his wrist was severely sprained, 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 4 29 
 
 and his arm was rendered powerless ; he then fell, and after 
 receiving two or three hlows, became senseless. Shortly after 
 he was found by his companions bathed in blood, being gored in 
 several places ; and the bison was couched beside him appa- 
 rently waiting to renew the attack had he shown any signs of 
 life. Mr. McDonald recovered from the immediate effects of 
 the wounds he had received, but died a few months afterwards. 
 Many other instances might be mentioned of the tenacious- 
 ness with which this animal pursues his revenge ; and we have 
 been told of a hunter having been detained for many hours in 
 a tree by an old bull which had taken its post below to watch 
 him. When it contends with a dog, it strikes violently with 
 its fore feet, and in that way proves more than a match for a 
 prime bull dog. The favorite Indian method of killing the 
 bison is by riding up to the fattest of the herd, horseback, and 
 shooting it with an arrow. When a large party of hunters are 
 engaged the spectacle is very imposing, and the young men have 
 many opportunities of displaying their skill and agility. The 
 horses appear to enjoy the sport as much as their riders, and are 
 very active in eluding the shock of the animal, should it turn 
 on its pursuer. The most generally practiced plan, however, 
 of shooting the hison, is by crawling towards them from the 
 leeward ; and in favorable situations great numbers are taken in 
 pounds. When the bison runs, it leans very much first to one side 
 for a short space of time, and then to the other, and so alter- 
 nately. The flesh of a bison, in good condition, is very juicy 
 and well flavored, much resembling that of well fed beef. The 
 tongue is considered a delicacy, and may be cured so as to surpass 
 in flavor the tongue of the common cow. The hump of flesh 
 is also tender and of fine flavor. The fine wool which clothes 
 the bison, renders its skin, when properly dressed, an excellent 
 blanket ; and they are valued so highly that a good one sells 
 from five to ten dollars, in Canada especially, where they are 
 used as wrappers by those who travel over the snow in carioles. 
 The wool, or fine hair, has also sometimes been manufactured 
 into eloth. 
 
430 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 Godman, in quoting from Long's expedition to the Hooky 
 Mountains, gives some interesting facts of the habits of this 
 animal, particularly of his sense of smelling. The exploring 
 party, he remarks, were riding through a dreary and uninterest- 
 ing country, which at that time was enlivened by vast numbers 
 of bisons, who were moving, in countless thousands, in every 
 direction. As the wind was blowing fresh from the south, the 
 scent of the party was wafted directly across the river Platte, 
 and through a distance of eight miles, every step of its progress 
 was distinctly marked by the terror and consternation it pro- 
 duced among the bisons. The instant their atmosphere was 
 infected by the tainted gale, they ran as violently as if closely 
 pursued by mounted hunters, and instead of fleeing from danger, 
 they turned their heads towards the wind, eager to escape this 
 terrifying odor. They dashed obliquely forward towards the 
 party, and plunging into the river, swam, waded, and ran with 
 headlong violence, in several instances breaking through the 
 expedition's line of march, which was immediately along the 
 left branch of the Platte. One of the party, perceiving from 
 the direction taken by the bull who led the extended column, 
 that he would emerge from the low river bottom at a point 
 where the precipitous bank was deeply worn by much travelling, 
 urged his horse rapidly forward, that he might reach this station, 
 in order to gain a nearer view of these interesting animals. 
 He had but just reached the spot, when the formidable leader, 
 bounding up the steep, gained the summit of the bank with his 
 fore feet, and in this position, suddenly halted from his full ca- 
 reer, and fiercely glared at the horse which stood full in his path. 
 The horse was panic struck by this sudden apparition, trembled 
 violently from fear, and would have wheeled and taken to flight 
 had not his rider exerted his utmost strength to restrain him ; 
 he recoiled, however, a few feet, and sunk down upon his hams. 
 The bison halted for a moment, but urged forward by the irre- 
 sistible pressure of the moving column behind, he rushed 
 onward by the half sitting horse. The herd then came swiftly 
 on, crowding up the narrow defile. The party had now reached 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 43I 
 
 the Spot, and extended along a considerable distance ; the bisons 
 ran in a confused manner, in various directions, to gain the dis- 
 tant bluffs, and numbers were compelled to pass through the 
 line of march. This scene, added to the plunging and roaring 
 of those who were crossing the river, produced a grand effect, 
 that was heightened by the fire opened on thom by the hunters. 
 
 The herds of bisons wander over the country in search of 
 food, usually led by a bull most remarkable for strength and 
 fierceness. While feeding, they are often scattered over a great 
 extent of country, but when they move in mass, they form a 
 dense and almost impenetrable column, which, once in motion, 
 is scarcely to be impeded. Their line of march is seldom in- 
 terrupted even by considerable rivers, across which they swim 
 without fear or hesitation, nearly in the order they traverse the 
 plains. When flying before their pursuers it would be vain for 
 the foremost to halt, or attempt to obstruct the progress of the 
 main body, as the throng in the rear is still rushing onward, the 
 leaders must advance, although destruction awaits the move- 
 ment. The Indians take advantage of this circumstance to 
 destroy great quantities of this favorite game, and certainly no 
 mode could be resorted to more effectually destructive, nor could 
 a more terrible devastation be produced than that of forcing a 
 numerous herd of these large animals, to leap together from the 
 brink of a dreadful precipice, upon a rocky and broken surface, 
 a hundred feet below. 
 
 When the Indians determine to destroy bisons in this way, 
 one of the swiftest footed and most active j-oungmen is selected, 
 who is disguised in a bison skin, having the head, ears, and 
 horns adjusted to his own head, so as to make the deception 
 very complete, and thus accoutred, he stations himself between 
 the bison herd and some of the precipices, that often extend for 
 several miles along the rivers. The Indians surround the herd 
 as nearly as possible, when, at a given signal, they show them- 
 selves, and rush forward with loud shouting and tumultuous 
 noise. The animals being alarmed, and seeing no way open 
 but in the direction of the disguised Indian, run towards him, 
 
432 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE, 
 
 and he, taiting to flight, dashes on to the precipice, r-here he 
 suddenly secures himself in some previously ascertained crevice, 
 The foremost of the herd arrives at the brink— there is no pos- 
 sibility of retreat, no chance of escape ; the foremost may for an 
 instant shrink with terror, but the crowd behind; who are terri- 
 fied by the approaching hunters, rush forward with increasing 
 impetuosity, and the aggregated force hurls them successively 
 into the gulf, where certain death awaits them. 
 
 A better and more common way of killing bisons is that of 
 attacking them on horseback. The Indians, mounted and 'well 
 armed with bows and arrows, encircle the herd, and gradually 
 drive them into a situation favorable to the employment of the 
 horse. They then ride in and single out one, generally a female, 
 and follow her as closely as possible, wound her with arrows 
 until the mortal blow is given, when they go in pursuit of others 
 until their quivers .are exhausted. Should a wounded bisort 
 attack the hunter, he escapes by the agility of his horse, which 
 is usually well trained for the purpose. In some parts of the 
 country the hunter is exposed to a considerable danger of falling, 
 in consequence of the numerous holes made in the plains by 
 the badger. "When the hunting is ended and a suflioiency of 
 game is killed, the squaws come up from the rear to skin and 
 dress the meat, a business in which they have acquired a great 
 degree of dexterity, as they can, with inferior instruments, 
 butcher a bison with far more celerity and precision, than the 
 white hunters. 
 
 When the ice is breaking up on the rivers in the spring of 
 the year, the dry grass of the surrounding plains is set on fire, 
 and the bisons are tempted to cross the river in search of the 
 young grass that immediately succeeds the burning of the old. 
 In the attempt to cross, the bison is often insulated on a large 
 cake of ice that floats down the river. The savages select the 
 most favorable points for attack, and as the bison approaches, 
 the Indians leap with wonderful agility over the frozen ice, to 
 attack him ; and as the animal is necessarily unsteady, and his 
 footing very insecure on the ice, he soon receives his death 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 433 
 
 ■wound, and is drawn triumphantly to the shore. Sometimes a 
 pound is made by the Indians, a fence being raised in a circular 
 form, of about one hundred yards in diameter. The entrance 
 is banked up so high as to prevent the animals from escaping 
 after once having entered. Various devices are practiced, first 
 to beguile, and then to force them into it. On these occasions, 
 the mounted hunters display the greatest degree of dexterity, as 
 they are obliged to manoeuvre around the herd in the plains to 
 urge them into the path that has been prepared for them ; and 
 so soon as this is well accomplished, the Indians raise loud 
 shouts, and pressing closely on them, terrifying them so much, 
 they rush, heedlessly towards the snare prepared for them. No 
 sooner are they thus enclosed, than they are quickly dispatched 
 by guns and arrows. 
 
 Allusion has been made to the great numbers of these ani- 
 mals which were formerly known to live together. They have 
 been seen in herds of three, four, and five thousand, blackening 
 ,the plains as far as the eye could penetrate- Some travelers 
 have asserted, that they have seen as many as eight or ten 
 thousand in the same herd, but from the very nature of the 
 case, any opinion based upon a hasty glance of such a moving 
 multitude, must necessarily be subject to great modifications. 
 It would be difficult to imagine any data or process of calcula- 
 tion, by which it could be decided, with apparent certainty, 
 whether there were five or ten thousand in such a herd. In 
 the neighborhood of one of these herds, at night, it has been 
 found nearly impossible for persons, not accustomed to the noise, 
 to sleep ; for it has been said, the incessant lowing and roarmg 
 of the bulls, very much resembled distant thunder. Although 
 frequent battles take place belween the bulls as among domes- 
 tic cattle, the habits of the bison are peaceful and inofieiiFivo, 
 seldom or never ofll^ringto attack man or other animals, unless 
 first attacked or excited. 
 
 It is well known that the Indians are accustomed to set fire 
 to the long grass of the prairies, which spreads with fearful ra- 
 pidity onfall sides.* The wild horses, bisons, elks, deer, and 
 19 
 
434 THE FAKM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 other animals, conscious of tlie danger, fly from the approaching 
 flame in the greatest terror. Sometimes they are encircled in 
 the flames, and hurnt to death, and sometimes are slain in at- 
 tempting to make their escape by the Indians, who lie in wait 
 for Ihem. Such scenes present a terrific wildness, far surpassing 
 any effort of the imagination. At the same moment may be 
 seen thousands of acres in one vivid sheet of rising flame and 
 smoke, rolling and curling like the waves of a sea in conflagra- 
 tion. The whole driven forward from one extremity to the 
 other. At one point may be seen a company of emigrants ter- 
 ror-stricken, and struggling with inexpressible ardor to make es- 
 cape ; at another, a few hunters, with lightning speed, are seen 
 forcing their way from fierce destruction to a place of safety ; 
 and if, with less thrilling interest to the spectator, with no less 
 of frightful grandeur, while the crackling of burning grass and 
 rushes sends up' its deafening noise, the ground beneath seems 
 to tremble and to rumble as in agony from an .earthquake, as 
 the thousands of these frantic creatures emerge <from the smoke • 
 and falling cinders, bellowing, and foaming, and snorting, as if 
 the world itself were quickly to become enveloped in the de- 
 vouring elements. 
 
 The object of the present article is to give the reader some 
 of the extremes of peculiarity in the ox family, to satisfy the 
 reader how much change in animals of the same species can be 
 efiected by external circumstances. Thu.s, if the buffalo of tro- 
 pical regions, and the musk ox of the polar regions, are indebted 
 to these circumstances for all the dissimilarity between them ; 
 and if the difference from each in the several varieties of the 
 domesticated ox is produced in the same way, it shows how it is 
 in our power to vary, and consequently, improve the existing 
 breeds of these domesticated quadrupeds, to almost any indeffi- 
 nite degree. Some writers have been disposed to assign to the 
 musk ox a genius between that of the ox family and the sheep ; 
 but popular usage has not recognized this distinction, as the 
 animal has invariably, so far as we know, been represented un. 
 der the name here given it. The form of.it will be seen from 
 
THE FARM AND THE FmESIDE. 
 
 435 
 
 
 J 
 
 *^V , . ,v^*' 1".'.- 
 
 MUSK OX. 
 
 the acccmpanying cut ; and the hair with which it is covered 
 resembles that of the bison, and so much resembling coarse wool 
 that it might, if found in sufficient quantities, be manufactured 
 into cloth. 
 
 The musk ox inhabits the barren lands of America, lying to 
 the north of the sixtieth degree of north latitude. Only a few 
 indications have been discovered further south than that parallel. 
 Although not latterly found there alive, their sculls and horns 
 have occasionally been discovered near the Great Slave Lake ; 
 and hence the presumption is that it might once have been scat- 
 tered over the whole country lying between that great sheet 
 of water and the Polar sea. They have been said to range 
 over the islands which lie to the north of the American conti- 
 nent as far as Melville Island, in latitude seventy-five ; but they 
 do not, like the Reindeer, extend to Greenland, Spitsbergen, or 
 Lapland. And, it has been represented by the Indians, that 
 west of the Rocky Mountains which skirt the Mackenzie river, 
 
438 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 is an extensive tract of barren country, which is also inhabited 
 by the musk ox and reindeer. If so, it must be known to the 
 Russian traders ; but it is probable, that oning to the greater 
 mildness of the climate to the westward of the Rocky Mountains, 
 the musk ox which seeks a cold barren district, where grass is 
 replaced by lichens, does not range so far to the southward on the 
 Pacific coast, as it does on the shores of Hudson's Bay. It 
 is not known that this animal has ever crossed over to the 
 eastern continent, and, evidently, it does not exist in Siberia. 
 
 The districts inhabited by the musk ox are the lands of the 
 Esquimaux, and neither the northern Indians, nor the Crees, 
 have an original name for it, both terming it bison, with an ad- 
 ditional epithet. The country frequented by the musk ox is most- 
 ly rocky and destitute of wood, except on the banks of large 
 rivers, which are generally more or lesss thickly clothed with 
 spruce trees. Their food is grass at one season, and lichens at 
 the other ; and the contents of its paunch are eaten by the na- 
 tives with great avidity. When the animal is fat, its flesh is 
 well tasted, and resembles that of the caribou, or reindeer, but 
 has a coarser grain. The flesh of the bulls is high flavored, 
 and both bulls and cows, when lean, smell strongly of musk ; 
 their flesh at the same time being very dark and tough, and 
 certainly far inferior to that of any other ruminating animal 
 existing in North America. The carcass of the musk ox 
 weighs, exclusive of the offal, about three hundred weight. 
 
 Notwithstanding the shortness of the legs of the musk ox, 
 it runs fast, and it climbs hills and rocks with grest ease. One 
 pursued on the banks of the copper-mine, sealed a lofty sand 
 0110", having so great a declivity that the pursuers were obliged 
 to crawl on their hands and knees to follow it. Its foot marks 
 are very similar to those of the caribou, but are rather longer 
 and narrower. These oxen assemble in herds of from twenty to 
 thirty, and the females bring forth one calf about the end of 
 May, or the beginning of June. Hearne, from the circumstance 
 of two bulls not being seen, supposed that they kill each in their 
 contests for the cows. If the hunters keep themselves coa- 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 437 
 
 cealed when they fire upon a herd of musk oxen, the poor ani- 
 mals apparently mistake the noise for thunder, and crowd near- 
 er and nearer together as their companions fall around them ; 
 but should they discover their enemies by sight, or by their 
 sense of smell, which is very acute, the whole herd seek for 
 safety by instant flight. The bulls, however, are very irascible, 
 and, particularly when wounded, will often attack the hunter and 
 endanger his life, unless he possesses both activity and presence 
 of mind. The Esquimaux, who are accustomed to the pursuit 
 of this animal, sometimes turn its inimitable disposition to good 
 account ; for an expert hunter, having provoked a bull to attack 
 him, wheels round it more quietly than it can turn, and by re- 
 peated stabs in the belly, puts an end to its life. 
 
 THE INDIAirOX. 
 
 In Wright's Natural History may be found an interesting 
 account of the Indian ox, or zebu, as it is sometimes called. 
 
438 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 From that account the following abstract is made. He says 
 there can be little doubt that it is merely a variety of the com- 
 mon ox, although it is difficult to ascertain the causes by which 
 the distinctive characters of the two races have been, in the pro- 
 cess' of time, gradually produced. But whatever the causes may 
 have been, their effects rapidly disappear by the intermixture of 
 the breeds, and are entirely lost at the end of a few generations. 
 The intermixture, and its results, would alone furnish a sufficient 
 proof of identity of origin ; which, consequently, scarcely requires 
 the confirmation to be derived from the perfect agreement of 
 their internal structure, and of all the more essential particulars 
 of their external conformation. These, however, are not want- 
 ing — not only is their anatomical structure the same, but the 
 form of their heads, which affi)rds the only certain means of dis- 
 tinguishing the actual species of this geims from each other, pre- 
 sents no difference whatever. In both, the forehead is flat, or 
 more properly, slightly depressed ; nearly square in its outlines, 
 its height being equal to its breadth ; and bounded above by a 
 prominent line, forming an angular protuberance, passing di- 
 rectly across the skull between the basis of the horns. The 
 only circumstances, in fact, in which the two animals differ, con- 
 sist in a fatty hump on the shoulders of the zebu, and in the 
 somewhat more slender and delicate make of its legs. 
 
 Numerous breeds of this humped variety of the ox family 
 are spread, more or less extensively, over the whole of Southern 
 Asia, the islands of the Indian Archipelago, and the eastern 
 coast of Africa, from Abyssinia to the cape of Good Hope. In 
 all these countries, the zebu supplies the place of the ox, both 
 as a beast of burthen, and as an article of food and domestic 
 economy. In some parts of India it executes the duties of the 
 horse also, being either saddled and ridden, or harnessed to a 
 carriage, and performing, in this manner, journeys of considerable 
 length, with tolerable celerity. Some of the older writers speak 
 of fifty or sixty miles a day as its usual rate of traveling ; but 
 the more moderate computation of recent authors does not ex- 
 ceed twenty or thirty miles. Its beef is considered by no means 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 439 
 
 despicable, although far from equalling that of the well fatted 
 common ox. As might naturally be expected from its perfect 
 domestication and wide diffusion, the zebu is subject to as great 
 a variety of colors as those which affect that with which we are 
 familiar. Its most common hue is that of a light ashy gray, 
 passing into a cream color, or milk white ; but it is not unfre- 
 quently marked with various shades of red or brown, and occa- 
 sionally it becomes perfectly black. Its hump is sometimes ele- 
 vated in a remarkable degree, and usually retains its upright 
 position ; but sometimes it becomes half pendulous, and hangs 
 partly over towards one side. Instances are cited, in which it 
 had attained the enormous weight of fifty pounds. A distinct 
 breed is spoken of, as common in Surat, which is furnished with 
 a second hump. Among the other breeds, there are some 
 which are entirely destitute of horns, and others which have 
 only the semblance of them, the external covering being unsup- 
 ported by bony processes, and being consequently flexible and 
 pendulous One is described by the author, belonging to the 
 London Zoological Society, larger than our common oxen, of a 
 slaty gray color on the body and head, and cream colored legs 
 and dewlap, the latter long and pendulous. 
 
 In the Galla country there is a race of zebu cattle, gener- 
 ally of white color, high on the limbs, with a small hump, but 
 on the contrary, with horns of great bulk and length, and sweep- 
 ing upwards. In Barnou there is a very large white race, with 
 immense horns, which first bend downwards and then turn 
 upwards with half a spiral revolution. According to Clapper- 
 ton, the corneous external .coat of these horns is very soft, 
 distinctly fibrous, and at the base not much thicker than a 
 human nail. The bony core is very cellular, and so light that 
 a pair together scarcely weigh more than four pounds. The 
 following are the dimensions of one of these horns ; length 
 measured on the curve, three feet seven inches ; circumference 
 at the base, two feet ; length in a straight line from base to tip, 
 one foot five inches and a half From the earliest period this 
 zebu race has been an object of veneration in India ; carved 
 
440 THE FARM A-HT) THE FIRESICE. 
 
 delineations of it are iii tlieir oldest temples. Some of these 
 delineations must have been made at least two thousand years 
 before the Christian era ; and they are found, as well as similar 
 delineations of the western race of cattle, on the monuments 
 of Egypt, where Apis was worshipped in the form of a bull, of 
 a black color, and where snow white bulls were offered in sacri- 
 fice. Rossellini figures a Brahmin or Zebu bull, with a rope 
 round its neck, from which a flower is suspended ; probably as 
 if just to be offered in sacrifice. 
 
 The large zebu, or Brahmin bull, says Martin, is certainly a 
 noble animal, and much more active than any of our breeds. 
 Olearius describes the procession of an Indian prince, who was 
 drawn in a. carriage harnessed to two white oxen, which were 
 as lively and active as horses. Bishop Heber observes that 
 Thakoors, the nobility of the Rajpoots, generally travel in cov- 
 ered wagons drawn by white oxen, whose horns they gild. By 
 some tribes these cattle are bred on a most extensive scale ; and, 
 according to Col. Sykes, an army rarely moves in the field 
 without 15,000 or 20,000 bullocks to carry the grain. 
 
 It is a remarkable fact, that although the ox is decidedly 
 herbiverous, yetin some countries it is fed, during part of the year 
 at least, on aproportion of animal food. In Norway, for example, 
 as stated in the Farmer's Library, the herds and flocks are driven 
 to the mountains and are there depastured; but, during the long 
 winter they are housed and fed partially on the hay grown 
 within the intermediate precincts of the farm, and brought from 
 the hills, and more plentifully on a kind of food which, to our 
 farmers must appear very strange, if not disgusting, but which 
 it is said the cattle relish very much. This food consists of a 
 thick gelatinous soup, made by boiling the heads of fish, and 
 mixing horse dung with the broth. The boat of the farmer in 
 Norway, supplies not only himself and family with the staple 
 portion of his winter subsistence, but his cows also. That the 
 odor of animal substances ordinarily used for human food is not 
 offensive to the ox family, is evident from what we have often 
 witnessed. It is no uncommon thing that the fat water in 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIHESIDE. 44I 
 
 which meat has been boiled for the family, and is supplied with 
 vegetable fragments from the culinary department, so as to 
 make a rich broth, is given to the oom's. They become fond of 
 it ; and it contributes greatly to the increase of their milk. 
 And, it is affirmed by Peall, to be a common practice in some 
 parts of India, to mix animal substances with the grain given 
 to feeble horses, and to boil the mixture in a sort of paste, 
 which soon brings them into good condition and restores their 
 vigor. Likewise, Anderson relates in his history of Ireland, that 
 in some parts of that country, the inhabitants feed their horses 
 with dried fish, when the cold is very intense, and that these 
 animals are extremely vigorous, although small. 
 
 Allusion has been made to the value of the ox tribe to the 
 human family ; and, consequently, to the presumption that it 
 was domesticated at a very early period of the world. An animal, 
 evidently designed to contribute so much to the wants of mankind, 
 could not for a long time have been overlooked or neglected. 
 Human instinct, or reason, or both, have generally led to an 
 acquaintance with objects, whether in the animal and vegeta- 
 ble kingdoms, susceptible of becoming the staples in sustaining 
 human life, and in the amehoration of human toil. The face 
 of the earth, being smitten by a curse in consequence of the 
 introduction of sin, is, comparatively, infertile, save in the pro- 
 duction of noxious weeds, unless reclaimed from its wildness. 
 It is essentially so with the best of our animals. The ox tribe, 
 till tamed and improved, is generally terrific in its appearance 
 and habits; and, if in the least degree contributing to the 
 legitimate end of its existence, has certainly no high claim to 
 consideration. Its value is the result of its domestication, and 
 is proportioned to the care and skill exercised in being thus 
 brought under human supervision. Hence, it is doubted, if the 
 world has ever recognised more decided benefactors than among 
 the ranks of those v/ho have so greatly improved the character 
 of the ox and the cow. It is not easy to make a comparison 
 between the commercial value of such an agency, and an 
 agency in scientific discoveries and mechanical inventions, now 
 19* 
 
442 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 revolutiouizing the business and the social order of the world. 
 This latter agency may lead to wealth and magnificence ; but, 
 the latter sends forth its ministrations of mercy to the poor and 
 destitute, in supplying food and labor upon every farm and 
 hamlet where these animals are kept. 
 
 More, it is believed, has been accomplished in Great Britain, 
 than in any other country, towards the beneficial results of 
 which we are speaking. In that country there is a passion for 
 rearing farm animals of great excellence. The business is one 
 of patriotism, of gi-eat pecuniary emolument, and even of per- 
 sonal reputation. The nobility smile upon it ; and not a few 
 of them are disposed to engage in it. Men of enterprise and 
 capital seek it as affording opportunity for profitable investment. 
 Nor have crowned heads refrained from giving it patronage. 
 
 The nation — landlords and tenants — merchants and labor- 
 ers — princes and peasants seem to feel a common pride on the 
 subject. It is presumed more capital has been invested, and 
 more physiological science has been brought into requisition in 
 that honored country, to develope the capabilities and to im- 
 prove the breeds of farm animals, than in all the rest of the 
 world together. British cattle have acquired as much of a dis- 
 tinctive character as British manufactures. The one as well 
 as the other becomes a matter of deep interest with the traveller 
 from foreign countries. The one as well as the othfer is an 
 article of remunerative export. And, in our own country it is 
 diffusing itself under auspices that will, in the end, greatly aug- 
 ment the profits in this branch of rural economy. Supposing 
 there are in Great Britain 25,000,000 of horned cattle, and that 
 each one of them is worth the small sum of ten dollars more 
 than it would be had the old breeds been continued, it is ap- 
 parent that the few stock breeders have increased the mer- 
 cantile value of these animals there to the amount of two hun- 
 dred and fifty millions of dollars above what it would have 
 been had these improvements not been made ! And this in- 
 creased value of these animals pertains to every successive gene- 
 ration of them — say once in every five years ! And, supposing 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 443 
 
 there are six millions of cows in that country ; and that each one 
 is annually worth twenty dollars more than the old breeds would 
 have been, there is at present an annual profit from British cows 
 of one hundred and twenty millions of dollars above what there 
 would be, had Bakewell and other stock breeders never exerted 
 their efforts to improve these useful animals 1 
 
 It is but little realized by the mass of our farmers how much 
 they might augment the profits of agriculture if they were to 
 make the same effort as made in Great Britain to improve the 
 different farm animals which they rear. The fact is not to be 
 disguised, that most of these animals are but a necessary evil. 
 Farmers cannot live without them ; still they are not enriched 
 by them ; in many cases they are impoverished by them. How 
 many cattle are constantly being reared, that could not, on hav- 
 ing attained their full stature, be sold for enough to pay the ex- 
 penses of rearing them I How many cows are kept that do not 
 yield milk sufficient to pay the cost of their feed I How many 
 oxen, whose labor is not equal to what they eat 1 If farmers 
 were, like merchants, to keep a regular account of what they 
 pay out and what they receive each year, and at the end 
 of each year estimate the value of everything on hand, they 
 would soon perceive where they suffer loss, or find profit. Thus 
 let stock be charged with all they eat — grass, hay, and other 
 feed, the same as if it were sold to a neighbor ; then, in return, 
 let the oxen be credited for the labor they perform and the cows 
 for the milk they give — all at a fair cash price — and it will be 
 readily understood whether there is gain or loss in keeping them. 
 If there is loss, it is occasioned by mismanagement of some sort 
 or other — eithpr in defect in the breed of the animals, or in the 
 manner of feeding. Good animals, well fed, yield a profit. 
 This has been demonstrated. Merchants trafic in goods that 
 yield profit ; and preference is given to those which pay the best 
 profits. Manufacturers would be very stupid were they to invest 
 their capital in the production of articles which cannot be sold for 
 enough to pay for the stock and labor used in the manufacture. 
 Farmers should, in all cases, pursue the same policy. There is 
 
444 THE FARM AND THE FIRE SIDE. 
 
 no more reason, or necessity, for them to spend time and money 
 in tilling the ground without a fair remunerative advance upon 
 the outla)', than there is for merchants to do it in huying and 
 selling goods. Such a principle applied to farm anim-als, horned 
 cattle, perhaps, in particular, will he attended vi^lth the best results. 
 It does not come within the scope of this work, cither to 
 give an elaborate essay on the particular merits of the diflerent 
 breeds of the bovine genus, or to define the processes of improv- 
 ing, rearing, using, and fattening them. For this, we refer 
 the reader to Allen's popular work on Domestic Animals, and to 
 the more extended one of Youatt & Martin on Cattle, edited 
 and improved by Stevens. These works should be in the 
 house of every agriculturist. As familiar as he may suppose 
 himself with such subjects, he may be assured he will learn 
 ■ enough that he did not know before from these books, to pay the 
 cost of them many times over. Our aim is to give hints and 
 isolated facts that will awaken attention to this branch of farm 
 economy ; and, by thus creating an interest in it, induce a more 
 ciHeful and general attention to it. Among the breeds imported 
 from Great Britain to this country, and becoming favorites with 
 the best American farmers, are the Durhams, or Short Horns; 
 the Devons ; the Herefords ; and the Ayrshires ; each of these 
 having its admirers ; and either kept as a distinct variety, or 
 crossed with our native cattle, or crossed with each other, will 
 do much towards the end we here recommend. It is better that 
 these different breeds should be adopted, than that any particu- 
 lar one should be made the basis for an improved race with us 
 of this valuable animal, inasmuch as they naturally lead to a 
 competition among stock amateurs not otherwise to be expected 
 — a competition laudable in itself, and tending to a perfection 
 in the science of stock breeding, not to be realized without it. 
 The success attending the eflbrts thus made has generally been 
 satisfactory, and, in some instances, far beyond what was antici- 
 pated, even by the most sanguine ; and, if it could, in all its de- 
 tails be spread, in tracts, or through the periodical press, before 
 the public liable to be interested in such matters, the business 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 445 
 
 would receive an impulse far more general and intense than 
 hitherto witnessed. 
 
 DURHAM PREMIUM COW, 
 At the Fair of the New- York State Agrioultaral Society, held at Rochester, in 1S51. 
 
 The accompanying cut of the Durham cow will give the 
 reader a good idea of the general appearance of the breed to 
 which she belongs. The following description of it, with the 
 sketches of its history, are mostly copied from the treatise on Do- 
 mestic Animals before named. The Short Horns are assigned 
 a high antiquity by the oldest breeders in the counties of Dur- 
 ham and Yorkshire, England, the place of their origin, and for 
 a long time almost of their exclusive breeding. They are de- 
 cidedly the most showy among the cattle species. They are of 
 all colors, between a full deep red, and a pure creamy white ; 
 but generally have both intermixed in larger or smaller patches, 
 or intimately blended in a beautiful roan. Black, brown, or 
 brindled, are colors not recognized among the pure bred Dur- 
 hams. Their form is well spread, symmetrical and imposing, 
 and capable of sustaining a large weight of valuable carcass. 
 The horn was originally branching and turned upward, but 
 
446 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 now frequently has a downward tendency, with the tips point- 
 ing towards each other. They are light and comparatively 
 short ; clear, highly polished, and waxy. The head and neck 
 are finely formed, and there is great breadth and depth of chest, 
 giving short and well spread fore legs. The crops are good ; 
 back and loin broad and flat ; ribs projecting ; deep flank ; and 
 tail well set up, strong at the roots, and tapering. They have 
 a thick covering of soft hair, and are mellow or loose to the 
 touch. They mature early and rapidly for the quantity of food 
 consumed, yielding largely of good beef, with little offiil. As a 
 breed, they are excellent milkers, though some families of them 
 in this respect surpass others. 
 
 It is claimed that importations of the Durham cattle have 
 been made into this country prior to 1783. They are the repu- 
 ted ancestors of many choice animals existing in Virginia, ,in 
 the latter part of the last century, and were known as the milk 
 breed ; and some of these, with others, termed beef breed, were 
 taken into Kentucky by Mr. Patton as early as'1797, and their 
 descendants, a valuable race of animals, were much disseminated 
 i;i the west, and known as the Patton stock. In 1791, and af- 
 terwards, it is known that the short horned cattle were imported 
 by Mr. Heaton, of Westchester county, N. Y. These, for many 
 years, were bred pure, and the progeny was widely scattered. 
 Other importations were made into New-York, in 1816, by Mr. 
 Cox ; by Mr. Bullock in 1822 ; by the Hon. S. Van Rensselaer 
 in 1823 ; and soon afterwards, by Charles Henry Hall. Between 
 the years 1817 and 1825, small importations were made into 
 Massachusetts, by Coolidge, Williams and others ; into Connec- 
 ticut by Mr. Hall and others ; into Pennsylvania by Mr. Powell ; 
 and into Ohio and some other States, by various individuals 
 early in the present century. Since the first importations, large 
 accessions from the best English herds have been frequently 
 made ; so, that at the present time, the Short Horns in the 
 United States have become an extensive breed ; a portion of it 
 in purity, although in many cases mixed. 
 
 During the speculation time between 1835 and 184.0, they 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 447 
 
 commanded high prices, frequently from five hundred to a thou- 
 sand dollars. The succeeding years of financial embarrasment, 
 reduced their market price below their intrinsic value ; but the 
 tide is again turning, and they are now in demand, but still at 
 prices far below their merits. They have, from the first, been 
 favorites in the rich corn valleys of the west, their early matu- 
 rity and great weight giving a preference over other breeds. 
 On light lands and scanty pastures, they will probably never be 
 largely introduced. All heavy animals require full forage within 
 limited compass, so as to fill their stomachs at once, and quietly 
 compose themselves. The weight reached by the Short Horns 
 in England, as given by Mr. Berry, have been enormous. Two 
 oxen, six years old, weighed nett, eighteen hundred and twenty 
 pounds each. A heifer of three years old, fed on grass and hay 
 alone, weighed twelve hundred and sixty pounds. A four year 
 old steer, fed on hay and turnips only, dressed eighteeri hundred 
 and ninety pounds. A cow reached the prodigious weight of 
 seventeen hundred and seventy-eight pounds. A heifer, running 
 with her dam, and on pasture alone, weighed, at seven months, 
 four hundred and seventy-six pounds. An ox, seven years old, 
 weighed twenty-three hundred and sixty-two pounds. From 
 their comparative small number in this country, most of them 
 have been retained for breeders ; few, as yet, have been fattened , 
 and such only as were decidedly inferior. Such animals, 
 extensively introduced by crossing this breed upon our for- 
 mer stocks, have given evidence of great and decided improve- 
 ment ; and the Short Horns, and their grade descendants are 
 destined, at no distant day, to occupy a large portion of the rich- 
 est feeding grounds in the United States. 
 
 The accompanying cut of the Hereford represents an animal 
 of great beauty and extraordinary weight, exhibited at the 
 Shrewsbury Cattle Show, England, October, 1851. The like- 
 ness is copied from the London Illustrated Sun ; and at the time 
 of exhibition the ox was only three years and ten months old. 
 Marshall says, of this breed of cattle, the following are the usual 
 characteristics : —The countenance pleasant, cheerful, open ; the 
 
U8 
 
 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 n^t s* t 
 
 
 HEREFORD OX. 
 
 forehead broad ; eye full and lively ; horns hright, taper and 
 spreading ; head small ; neck long and tapering ; chest deep 
 and full ; bosom broad and projecting ; shoulder-bone thin, flat, 
 no way protuberant in bone, but full and mellow in flesh ; loin 
 broad ; hips standing wide and level with the spine ; quarters 
 long and wide at the neck ; rump even with the general level 
 of the back, not drooping, nor standing high above the quarters; 
 ribs broad, standing close and flat upon the outer surface, form- 
 ing a smooth even barrel, the hindmost large and full of length ; 
 thigh clean, and regularly tapering ; flank large ; flesh every 
 where mellow, soft, yielding pleasantly to the touch, especially 
 on the chine and shoulder, and the ribs ; coat neatly haired, 
 bright, and silky. The color of the Hereford cattle is usually a 
 darkish red — sometimes a dark yellow — a lew brindled ; gener- 
 ally having white faces, bellies and throats, and now and then 
 white on the back. The old Hei^efords were brown, or red 
 brown, with not a white spot about them. It is only within 
 fifty or sixty years that it has been the fashion to breed white 
 faces. Were it not for the white face, and somewhat larger 
 head and thicker neck, it would not, at all times, be easy to dis- 
 tinguish between a heavy Devon and light Hereford, 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 449 
 
 Hereford oxen fatten speedily at an early age, and it is more 
 advantageous to the farmer, and perhaps to the country, that they 
 should be taken to the market early, than to be kept long em- 
 ployed as beasts of draught. The Hereford cow is comparatively 
 an inferior animal. Not only is she inferior as a milker, but even 
 her form has been sacrificed by her breeder. Herefordshire is 
 more a rearing than a feeding county, and, therefore, the farmer 
 looks mostly to the shape and value of his young stock ; and, 
 in the choice of his cow, he does not value her, or select her, or 
 breed from her, according to her milking qualities, or the price 
 which the grazier would give for her, but in proportion as she 
 possesses that general form which experience has taught him 
 will render her likely to produce a good ox. Hence the Here- 
 ford cow is comparatively small and deheate, and some would 
 call her ill-made. She is light in flesh when in common con- 
 dition, and beyond that, while she is breeding, she is not suffered 
 to proceed ; but when she is actually put up for fattening, she 
 spreads out, and accumulates fat at a most extraordinary rate. 
 A middling cow of this breed will weigh from seven to ten hun- 
 dred pounds ; and the Duke of Bedford had one, says Mr. Youatt, 
 which weighed fourteen hundred pounds. 
 
 The county of Ayrshire, in Scotland, has a peculiarly fine 
 breed of cattle. The climate of this county is moist, but raitd ; 
 and the soil, with its produce, is calculated to render it the 
 finest dairy locality in Scotland, and equal, perhaps, to any in 
 Great Britain. There is a great deal of permanent pasture on 
 the sides and tops of the hills ; hut the greater part of the arable 
 land is pasture, and crop alternately. The pasture ground is 
 occupied by the beautiful dairy stock, a very small portion being 
 reserved for the fattening of cows too old to milk. The origui 
 of the Ayrshire cow is at the present day a matter of dispute ; 
 all that is certainly known is, that a century ago there was no 
 such breed, even in Scotland. Did the Ayrshire cattle arise en- 
 tirely from a careful selection of the best native breed ? If 
 they did, says Mr. Youatt, it is a circumstance unparalleled in 
 the" history of agriculture. The native breed may be ameliorated 
 
450 
 
 THE FAEM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 by careful selection ; its value may be incalculably increased ; 
 some good qualities, some of its best qualities, may be for the 
 first time developed ; but yet there will be some resemblance 
 to the original stock ; and the more the animal is examined, the 
 more clearly the characteristic points of the ancestor may be 
 discerned, althoiigh each one of them is improved. Their great 
 value is as milkers, and perhaps that principally in their own 
 native territory, to the feed and climate of which they seem to 
 be constitutionally adapted. Nevertheless, in rich lands, the 
 oxen fatten with considerable facility, and even the cows accu- 
 mulate flesh ; but then they cease to be distinguished for a 
 large yield of milk. 
 
 AYRSHIRE cow. 
 
 The improved Ayrshire cow of the present day has a small 
 head, but rather long and narrow at the muzzle, though the 
 space between the roots of the horns is considerable ; the horns 
 are small and crooked ; the eye clear and lively ; the neck long 
 and slender ; the shoulders are thih, and the fore quarters gen- 
 erally high ; the back is straight, and broad behind, especially 
 across the hips, which are roomy ; and the tail is long and thin. 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 45I 
 
 The carcass is deep, the udder capacious and square, the milk 
 veins large and prominent ; the limbs are small and short, but 
 ■well knit ; the thighs are thin ; and the skin is rather thin, but 
 loose and soft, and covered with soft hair. The general fio-ure, 
 though small, is well proportioned. The color is varied with 
 mingled white and sandy red. It has been estimated that there 
 are iu the county of Ayrshire upwards of sixty thousand head of 
 cattle, of which more than half are dairy cows. It has been 
 calculated that one of these cows, of the best grade, will yield, 
 for two or three months after calving, five gallons of milk daily ; 
 for the next three nlonths, three gallons daily ; and a gallon 
 and a half for the following three months. This milk is sup- 
 posed to return about two hundred and fifty pounds of butter an- 
 nually, or five hundred pounds of cheese. Mr. Youatt thinks 
 the foregoing account rather e.-vaggerated, although he gives the 
 statistics of a dairy with which he was acquainted, which fall 
 but little below those here given. Mr. Alton, an ardent advo- 
 cate of this breed of cattle, says that there are thousands of the 
 best Scotch dairy cows, when they are in their best condition 
 and well fed, yield at the rate of one thousand gallons of milk 
 in one year. The most valuable qualities which a dairy cow 
 can possess are, that she yields much milk ; and that after she 
 has done this for several years, she shall be as valuable for beef 
 as any other breed of co,ws known. 
 
 The Ayrshire cow in this country has some devoted advo- 
 cates. The Massachusetts Agricultural Society has especially 
 encouraged their dissemination. Mr. Webster has them on his 
 farm in Marshfield, and some of the most wealthy and enter- 
 prising citizens of his, as well as of other states, have made 
 trial of them. The editor of the Albany Cultivator, whose 
 opinions are always to be respected, thinks favorably of the ani- 
 mal, as adapted to the wants of the American farmer. Mr. 
 Colman remarked, in one of his agricultural reports, that the 
 Ayrshire cows were generally deemed the best dairy stock in 
 Great Britain ; and then added, that although his own experi- 
 ence had been too limited to speak emphatically of a statement 
 
452 
 
 THK FARM AND THE FIRESIDK. 
 
 BO strong, their reputation was such, he was not at liberty to 
 subtract from it. And he mentions that he visited a dairy 
 farmer in Ayrshire who had thirty-five cows of this beautiful 
 breed; the best of them, in the best of the season, gave fifly-lbur 
 pounds of milk per day, which, allowing a pint to weigh a 
 pound, would bo twenty-seven quarts a day. The average 
 yield of this dairy was forty pounds, or twenty quarts per day. 
 However, he met ia that county with a North Devon cow 
 which, for several weeks in succession, produced tv,'enty-cne 
 pounds of butter per week. He also stated, tliat the' North 
 Devon cows of Mr. Bloomfield produced, on an average, up- 
 wards of two hundred pounds of butter each, for several years 
 in succession. E. Prentice, Esq., of Mount Hope, a few years since 
 had a small cow of the Ayrshire breed v/hioh frequently gave 
 over twenty quarts of milk a day, when fed on grass only. 
 
 The following remarks of Mr. Coleman on the improvement 
 of cattle in the United States, are sensible, and well adapted to 
 the consideration of American farmers. He says, which we all 
 know, that our stock is of a mixed and very miscellaneous char- 
 acter. Comparatively few attempts have been made in a sys- 
 tematic manner, and upon an extended scale, for its improve- 
 ment. Where they have been made, they have frequently 
 . failed for want of perseverance, very often for want of encour- 
 agement, and have sometimes been met by the sneers of igno- 
 rance or the derision of envy. The immense improvements, 
 which have been made in Great Britain strike the observer with 
 grateful astonishment. Few subjects more concern the interest 
 of the American husbandman than the improvement of our stock. 
 Much may, undoubtedly, be done by the selection of the best 
 from our own breeds, and by breeding only from the best ; but 
 our stock is so crossed, and mixed up, and amalgamated, that it 
 would be a difficult process to unravel the web, and go back to 
 any original breed. We should certainly avail ourselves of the 
 breeds existing in the highest slate of improvement. 
 
 The writer further remarked : It is plain that in a selection 
 of breeds regard should be had to the locality where they are 
 
THE FARM AND THE PIREStDfi, 453 
 
 to be placed. The improved Short Horns, the Yorkshire, and the 
 Hereford are the best adapted to the rich and deep pastures of the 
 Middle and Western States ; the Ayrshire and the North Devon 
 seem especially suited to New England ; while the West High- 
 land cattle would evidently be fitted to the cold and least product- 
 ive parts of the country. With us the success of farming must 
 mainly depend on such a conduct of the farm aa shall not ex- 
 haust its productive powers ; or rather, it shall, from its own re- 
 sources, furnish the means, not only of recruiting? its strength, but 
 of actually increasing its capabilities of production. There- is 
 no more obvious way of doing this, than by consuming the pro- 
 duce of the farm, mainly in feeding animals, through whom the 
 riches of its vegetation may be returned in a form to furnish, 
 other and better crops. The late Mr. Phinney, of Massachus- 
 sets expresses himself equally strongly in favor of these animals. 
 There is no better authority. He says the Scotch farmers in 
 and about Ayrshire have been striving for more than half a 
 century to produce a stock in which regard was had almost 
 solely to their value for the dairy ; and there is not perhaps in 
 Europe, nor in the world, a race of cov/s that will secrete more 
 and better milk fr6m a given quantity of food, that are so hardy, 
 so easily kept, that will fatten so kindly when o.{f their milk, as 
 the Ayrshire. 
 
 Mr. Gushing of Watertown, Mass., one of the wealthiest and 
 most intelligent ruralists of the country, has for many years kept 
 cattle of the Ayrshire breed on his farm. He has stated that in 
 the first fourteen days of ,Tune, 1848, four of his cows of this 
 breed maSe over eighty pounds of butter, besides supplying a 
 family of fourteen persons with milk and cream. One of the 
 four made eleven and three quarters of a pound in seven days. 
 In the latter part of September in that year, three of those 
 four cows made thirty pounds of butter in seven days ; or ten 
 pound each in the week 
 
 The north of Devon has long been r.lrbratsa tbr a breed of 
 cattle beautiful in the highest degree, and in activity at work 
 and aptitude to fatten unrivalled. The native country of the 
 
454 
 
 THE FAUM AND THE FIKESIDE. 
 
 DEVON COW. 
 
 Devons lies along the Bristol Channel, the hreed becoming more 
 mixed in either direction, in receding; from certain limits. The 
 Devonshire farmer confines them within a narrow district, and 
 will scarcely allow them to be found with purity beyond his 
 native county. From. Portlock to Biddeford, and a little to 
 the north and the south, is, in his opinion, the peculiar and only 
 residence of the true Devon. From the earliest records the breed 
 has here remained the same ; or, if not quite as perfect as at the 
 present moment, yet, altered in no essential point until within 
 the last thirty years. The soil and the climate of this district 
 are particularly favorable to the production of these fine animals j 
 and although there was no attempt to improve the breed till the 
 last century, they retained from these natural advantages, and 
 perhaps from other oircyimstances not known to us, in an extra- 
 ordinary degree, their distinctive charaoterr and a perfection not 
 .to have been expected. Still, in that county as well as in other 
 parts of Great Britian, a spirit of emulation arose on the sub- 
 ject, so these cattle have been materially improved ; and it has 
 lt)?9n afHimcd on good authority, that now they sustain so high 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 455 
 
 a grade of excellence they would probably suffer from intermix- 
 ture with any other breed. 
 
 There are few things more remarkable about the Devon cattle 
 than the comparative smallness of the cow. The bull is a 
 great deal less than the ox, and the cow smaller than the bull. 
 The cows, however, although small, possess that roundness and 
 projection of the two or three last ribs which makes them 
 actually more roomy than a careless examination would indicate. 
 The head of the ox is small, very singularly so, relatively to its 
 bulk ; yet it has a striking breadth of forehead ; and it has a 
 long and thin neck, admirably adapting it for the collar, or as 
 more common for the yoke. Where the ground is not too heavy, 
 the Devons are unrivalled at the plough. They have a quick- 
 ness of action which no other breed can equal, and very few 
 horses exceed. They have a docility and goodness of temper, 
 and stoutness and honesty of work, to which many horses can- 
 not pretend. The profit derived from the use of these oxen in 
 their native district arises from the activity to which they are 
 trained, seldom reached elsewhere. During the harvest time, 
 and in catching weather, they are sometimes trotted along with 
 the empty waggons, at the rate of six miles an hour, a degree 
 of speed which no other ox but the Devon has been able to 
 stand. The importance of speed in working oxen cannot be 
 estimated too highly. The frequent objection to them among 
 farmers, in ploughing and on the road, is, that they are too 
 slow in their motions. This objection, especially with the 
 Devons,, is easily prevented by suitable early training. If oxen 
 can be taught to plough as much, and to travel as far on the 
 road with burdens, as horses, it might be supposed that the 
 latter will generally, for these purposes, be superseded by the 
 former. 
 
 The Rev. Dr. Abiel Abbot, of Beverly, Massachusetts, before 
 his death, when in ill health, spent a winter in Cuba, whence 
 he wrote home letters, and which were afterwards published 
 under the title of" Letters from Cuba." In one of these let- 
 ters he says, that in managing the oxen of that island, the yoke 
 
456 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 is made fast to the horns, near the roots, behind, so that it does 
 not play backward and forward, and gives to the ox a similar 
 and better chance of backing, as the teamster's phrase is. I 
 have been astonished, said the Doctor, at the power of those 
 oxen in holding back. There is a short hill in one of the streets 
 of the city at an angle of forty-five degrees. Standing at the 
 foot of it, I saw a cart approach at the top, with three hogs- 
 beads of molasses, and the driver sitting on the forward cask. 
 The driver did not so much as leave his perch ; the oxen went 
 straight and fearlessly over the pitch of the hill, and it seemed 
 as if they must be crushed to death. The animals squatted like 
 dogs, and rather slid than walked to the bottom of the hill. 
 Have we any animals that could have done it ? And if they 
 could, have we any decile enough to have done it with the 
 driver in the cart ? Thus superior is this mode of yoking in 
 holding back the load in difficult places. And it gives them a 
 more decisive advantage in drawing. A fillet of canvass is laid 
 on the front, below the horns ; and over this fillet the cords pass, 
 and the animals press against the most vulnerable part of the 
 frame ; his head, his neck, his whole frame is exerted in the 
 very manner in which he exerts his mighty strength in combat. 
 It is the natural way, therefore, of availing yourself of this 
 powerful and patient animal to the best advantage. 
 
 The advantage of oxen in farm labor depends much on their 
 discipline. If they are of the right form and spirit, they may be 
 trained to walk as fast as horses, and will do as much at the 
 plough, excepting, perhaps, in the very hottest weather. The 
 late Governor, Isaac Hill, of New Hampshire, who devoted the 
 last ten years of his active life to agriculture, confirms this opinion 
 on the capabilities of the ox. He was accustomed to do all his 
 ploughing with them. We once witnessed how well it was 
 performed. First in the train was a single yoke of oxen with- 
 out a driver, and with one of the Worcester Eagle ploughs, at 
 quite a rapid step. Then followed, close after, four oxen with 
 a sub-soil plough, scarcely a word being uttered to them, or any 
 urgency whatever applied ; and the work was well and quickly 
 
THK FARM AND THE FIRESIBE. 4517 
 
 done. And there are some oxen that will even stand the heat 
 in the field as well as horses. A few years siace, the finst 
 preraium for ploughing at the fair of the State Agricultural 
 Soeiety of New York was givea to a man who used a middling- 
 sized pair of oxen. They did their work quicker and better, it 
 was affirmed, than any other team, although there were several 
 pair of large horses. It was a very warm day, but the oxen 
 were less worried, and were evidently able to perform more in 
 a day, than the horses. Numerous instances of similar testi- 
 mony might be adduced in favor of selecting the right kind of 
 oxen for the yoke, and then in furnishing them with the proper 
 kind of discipline. 
 
 Some four or five years ago, we believe it, there was a report 
 made from the Essex County Agricultural Society, Massachusetts, 
 on the exhibition of ploughing with single teams. J. W. Proc- 
 tor, Esq., since President of the Society, was chairman of the 
 committee that made the report. On that occasion there were 
 matches with two yoke of oxen as well as with one yoke, and 
 also with a match of horses. The quantity of ground was the 
 same, one-fourth of an acre, in the three matches, but there was 
 but little difference in the time occupied in doing the work — 
 though one of the single teams of oxen ploughed their land some 
 mmutes quicker than any of the horse teams. Mr. Proctor's 
 remarks in the report are deserving of particular attention, as 
 showing the capability of oxen in ploughing, and also for a 
 Eusaestion in reference to the sub-soil plough. From these ex- 
 periments, he says, we learn that an acre of land may be 
 ploughed by a single pair of cattle and one man in four hours, 
 and probably nearly two acres in a single day. When we take 
 into view the expense of operating a team of this description, 
 compared with those usually employed in this business, it will 
 be quite well for our farmers to consider whether most of their 
 work cannot be done with one pair of cattle, and if two pair 
 are to be used, would it not be better to cut the first furrow of 
 less depth, and appSv the power of the second pair to a sub-soil 
 plouo-h to follow directly after? If we do not entirely mistake 
 20 
 
458 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 the signs of the times, our modes of preparing land for culture 
 "will ere long be essentially modified by the use of the sub-soil 
 plough. In the county of Worcester, where the management 
 of land and teams is understood as well perhaps as in any part 
 of the country, the premiums in ploughing are confined to one 
 pair of cattle without a driver. 
 
 So important do we deem it for the interests of agriculture 
 that more attention be given to working oxen, we adduce the 
 testimony of Edward Stabler, Esq., of Maryland, giving his ex- 
 perience on the subject. He says that he began to use oxen 
 on his farm instead of horses in the year 1822. The first labor 
 was to break up land at midsummer, for a field of wheat. For 
 a day or two the oxen suffered greatly with the heat, in the 
 middle of the day, but by rising early, and resting two or three 
 hours at noon, and feeding on dry food, he was able to plough 
 nearly as much with a yoke of oxen as with a pair of horses, and 
 the work was quite as well done. The horses consumed about 
 one bushel of grain per day, and the oxen none. He found the 
 result, after a thorough trial, so much in favor of oxen, that he 
 has ever since continued their use. For many years there was not 
 a furrow ploughed on his farm except by oxen. He observes 
 that oxen, properly broken, quite as readily, if not more so, take 
 to and keep the furrow, as horses. His rule is to keep two yoke of 
 oxen on the farm to one pair of horses ; and, he well remarks, that 
 to judge of the capabilities of the ox by the badly-used, house- 
 less, overtaxed, and half-fed animals we sometimes see in the 
 yoke, is doing him great injustice. Treat the horse in the same 
 unfeeling manner, and where would be his high metal and 
 noble spirit ? He would speedily arrive at premature old age, 
 valueless to the owner, and cast off to feed the carrion crows. 
 That the ox can better stand this harsh usage is certainly no 
 valid or suflioient reason that he should be subjected to it. Use 
 him with equal care and humanity, and he will just as certainly, 
 and with more profit, repay it to the owner. 
 
 It cannot be doubted that most persons engaged in dissemi- 
 nating improved breeds of cattle in our country, are governed by 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 459 
 
 motives similar to those which actuate men doing other business. 
 They expect to make a profit from it. No one can deny that 
 it is right they should do it. The investment of capital is re- 
 quired. Time is wanted. Yet there is risk in the experiment. 
 Numerous contingenoes may arise to occasion loss. It is right, 
 therefore, that counter contingences should present themselves, 
 enabling the adventurers to secure a profit proportioned, at least, 
 to the hazards, as in all branches of enterprise. Some of the 
 finest North Devon cattle have been imported into the country, 
 and there are now, in difierent sections, several established 
 breeders of this stock. The Messrs Hurlbut, of Winchester, 
 Connecticut, are reputed to be the most extensive ones. Am- 
 brose Stevens, of New York, a gentleman of enlarged views and 
 of high attainments as a scholar, has, in his cattle operations, 
 a department devoted to the Devons, said to be next in magni- 
 tude to that of the Hurlbuts. Mr. Patterson, of Baltimore, 
 and Mr. Washbon, of Butteruutts, N. Y., are also extensively 
 engaged in the same laudable eflbrts. The breed has succeeded 
 well here, and has proved better adapted to our hilly and un- 
 fertile sections of country than larger breeds. They are hardy, 
 generally healthy, thrifty, and active. The best families are 
 fine beef cattle, a very weighty fact, laying their flesh on the 
 valuable parts, and giving that which is of fine grain and well 
 marbled It has been supposed that the common cattle of New 
 England, now called natives, were originally North Devons. 
 The more probable presumption is, that they were South Devons, 
 a variety differing considerably from their northern neighbors, 
 being larger-boned and coarser. 
 
 The best farms for making butter are those that lie fair to 
 the sun, where the feed is sweet and of the best quality. Butter 
 made from good, sweet feed will be of good color, and of superior 
 quality to that made from feed from pasturing that hes on the 
 north side of the hill, where the sun shines very little. The 
 land is cold and wet, and the feed is sour and of poor quality, 
 and the butter made from it will be light colored and of inferior 
 quality to that made from good, rich, sweet feed. Dairymen 
 
460 
 
 THE KARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 should have plenty of good clear water, where the cows can have 
 free access to it at all times. When the cows are obliged to 
 wade in the mud for water, and drink when there is a scanty 
 supply, and drop their excrements in it, they are obliged to drink 
 an impure mixture, that greatly affects the butter. 
 
 Cows should not be allowed to lie in close yards in very 
 warm weather ; they should be returned to the pasture, or some 
 convenient place where they have a good place to lie, and fresh 
 air. When cows lie in wet and muddy yards, there will be more or 
 
 KENDALL'S CHEESE -PRESS. 
 
 less dirt fall from the cows into the milk, while milking, which 
 gives the butter a very unpleasant flavor, All kinds of feed 
 that are of a strong nature, such as turnip and onion tops, and 
 vegetables that have a strong flavor, ought to be avoided, for it 
 is injurious to the flavor of the butter. In the spring every 
 dairyman should feed his cows with a little Indian meal and 
 water every day for two or three weeks before they come into 
 milking, and from that time until they can get a good supply of 
 grass. This not only improves the condition of the cows, but 
 
THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 461 
 
 greatly increases the quantity of the butter, and improves its 
 quality. 
 
 Dairymen should never undertake to keep more cows than 
 they have plenty of feed for. Twenty cows, well fed, will yield 
 much greater profit than forty poorly kept Every farmer should 
 be very particular to select such cows as give the richest milk, 
 and that which will make good yellow butter. Every one says 
 that it 13 no more expense to keep good cows than it is poor 
 ones. To have good cows and plenty of good feed ; pure water, 
 comfortable barns in winter, where they can be kept dry and 
 warm, and good clean places for them in summer, is the first 
 step towards carrying on the dairy business successfully. 
 
 During the year 1850 it appears there were produced in the 
 United States one hundred and thirteen millions of pounds of 
 cheese ; and this enormous product was nearly all required to 
 meet the demand for home consuriiption — the total export 
 amounting to less than nine millions of pounds. By far the 
 largest part of the whole comes from the States of New York 
 and Ohio — the former producing over forty-nine millions and 
 the latter over twenty-one millions of pounds. Massaohusettsi 
 Rhode Island, Connecticut, Pennsylvania, Michigan, and Illinois 
 follow next amongst the largest producers. Of the other States, 
 none produce a million of pounds. The quantity produced in 
 the Southern States is very small, in proportion to their popula- 
 tion and territorial extent. 
 
 Considering the magnitude of the dairy interests in this 
 country — there being one cow to every three or four individuals 
 of our entire population — we close this article, with a few hints 
 more on the milking properties of that useful animal. We can- 
 not possibly do it better than in the language of Mr. Robert Gray, 
 near Fredericton, New Brunswick. The St. John Agricul- 
 tural Society requested him to state what cows he considered 
 best. " From my own experience in this matter," he replied, " I 
 give a decided preference to Ayrshire cows for the dairy. I be- 
 lieve they will yield a greater quantity of milk, in proportion to 
 the food they consume, than any other breed. Besides this, 
 
462 THE FARM AND THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 they are docile and hardy, and will thrive on. pasture, and with 
 a description of keep where such breeds as the short-horns would 
 starve. They also possess more than average feeding qualities 
 of their own, and crossed with the short-horn, or Durham Bull, 
 the produce is an animal remarkable for early maturity and a 
 disposition to fatten. If proof were wanted of the excellence of 
 the breed, it would be found in the circumstance that they are 
 carried to almost every quarter of the globe. Large droves are 
 every year taken to England, and during the last ten years con- 
 siderable numbers have been taken to the Cape, the Isle of 
 France, to Sweden, Denmark, Belgium, and the United States. 
 A knowledge of the points in prime cattle, the peculiarities of 
 the different breeds, and the best modes of rearing, feeding, and 
 fattening them should be a part of every farmer's education". 
 
( 463 ) 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Academical Exhibition, --.... ggg 
 
 Adventure with a Sow, 155 
 
 Affecting Memorials of the Dead, - - . . ig^ 
 
 Affection of the Goose, --.... gg 
 
 Affection of Arabian Horse, 251 
 
 Agility of the Rocky Mountain Sheep, - - - - m 
 Agility of the Roe-deer, -.;... 271 
 
 Agricultural Chemistry, Books on, 7 
 
 Agricultural Heresies, - . . . . . 14 
 
 Agricultural Implements, their importance, - - . 360 
 Agricultural Implements in China, - - - 277 
 
 Agricultural Prosperity, ---... 348 
 
 Agricultural Societies, their influence, .... 28I 
 Agricultural Wealth, not Appreciated, .... 194 
 
 Agriculture, its Antiquity, 17 
 
 .Agriculture in Flanders, - - . . . gQ 
 
 Agriculture in tiermany, 279 
 
 Air, its Use in Breathing, 145 
 
 Air, How it is Poisoned, ...... 145 
 
 Alexander's Horse, Bucephalus, - - - . - 241 
 
 All Depend on Farmers for Business, .... igg 
 
 All Owing to the Influence of Sunday Schools, - - 23o 
 Alp-horn, - - - ... 415 
 
 American Bison, its Habits and where found, 427 
 
 Amei-ican Bison, vast Numbers of them, - - 433 
 
 American Wild Goose, - .... 64 
 
 American Agriculture, - 280 
 
 Ancient Wealth Consisted in Flocks and Plerds, - - 274 
 
464 INDEX, 
 
 Ancient Warriors on Horseback, ..... 245 
 
 Anecdote of an English Farmer, . - ... 81 
 Anecdotes of the Goose, ...».- 57 
 
 Anecdotes of the Horse, -..»-. 242 
 
 Anecdote of Miss Dix, the Advocate of Insane Hospitals, - 53 
 Anecdote of the Pig, ..... 182 
 
 Anecdote of the Acute Smell of the Bison, ... 430 
 Anecdotes of Sheep, ....... HI 
 
 Anecdotes of the Turkey, - • • • ' '76 
 Anecdote of the Vulture, --..-. 295 
 Anecdote of the Arabian Horse, ..... 249 
 
 Animal Life Indicated by Spring, - - • - - 104 
 Animal Life, How Kept in Vigor. ..... 142 
 
 Animal Mechanism, . . ... 143 
 
 Antiquity of Agriculture, - - • « - - 271 
 Apology for the Hog Family, - • - • • -181 
 Arabian Horse Described, ..... 247 
 
 Architecture, different Styles of it, .... 360 
 
 Artifices of Animals, - 285 
 
 Asiatic Argali Sheep, - - - • - - - 108 
 Attachment to Farm Animals, How Caused, - - - 423 
 Attachment to Poultry, from the Care of them, - 35 
 
 Aurock Oxen, where mostly found, .... 424 
 
 Autumn Scenery, its Beauty, ..... 158 
 
 Authority of Office Consistent with Personal Equality,- - 400 
 Ayrshire Cows, their Superior Merits, .... 449 
 
 Backeley Oxen, their wonderful Intelligence, ... 419 
 Bad Taste in Architecture, ...... 394 
 
 Bagshaw's Geese, A Profitable Business, - - - 67 
 
 Bakewell's valuable Labors, ..... 130- 
 
 Bald Eagle Robbing the Fish hawk, - - - - 296 
 
 Bathing, Cleanliness, and Health, ... 334 
 
 Bathing among the French, 344 
 
 Bathing among the Turks, ..... 345 
 
 Bathing Fixtures ra the Country, - - 340 
 
INDEX. 465 
 
 Bathing in the Country, its Importance, - - - . 340 
 
 Bathing in Ancient Times, - . . . . 342 
 
 Bathing in the East Indies, How Practiced, - - .346 
 Beautiful Landscapes in the Country, - - . . 355 
 
 Beauty of Poultry, 3j 
 
 Beauty of Trees, About the Mansion, - - - -157 
 
 Benefit of Sunday Schools, - . . . - 210 
 
 Berkshire Breed of Swine, 174 
 
 Best New England Horses, - - . . . 265 
 
 Best Place for Bathing, 345 
 
 Best Seed to be Used and How Procured, • - - 326 
 Bishop heber's Account of the Arabian Horse - - -250 
 Bisons plunging down a Precipice - - . . -431 
 Big Lottery Prizes very Rare, - - . . . 192 
 
 Bisons on a Burning Prairie, 432 
 
 Black-faced Scotch Sheep, -.-... ^34 
 Blighted Hopes, the World full of them, - - . - 40 
 
 Blood, How it is Purified, - I44 
 
 Bloominguale Asylum Farm, - - - . . 82 
 
 Blue Pond Farm, its Profits, ...... 2OO 
 
 Book Farming, What it is, - - - - . . 272 
 
 Books Suitable for Family Reading, - - -318 
 
 Borrowed Capita], its Delusive Influence, - 204 
 
 Brahmam Bull, or Large Zebu, 440 
 
 Breakfast-Table Discourse, - - - - - -155 
 
 Breaking the Mustangs, How Done, - . . . 055 
 
 Breeding Horses in Rome, -.-... 246 
 Bristles of Hogs, their Yalue - - - - - - 186 
 
 British Cattle, the Great Value ... 442 
 
 Buffaloes, their great Strength, - -1 ^20 
 
 Business Delusions very frequent, - - - - 191 
 
 Breeds of Cattle for Diflerent Localities - 453 
 
 California, its Golden Treasures, . - - - g 
 
 Candidates for Nuptial Life, . . - . 389 
 
 Capital of the Farmer, in what it Consists, - 190 
 
466 INDEX. 
 
 Carbonic Acid Gas, its agency, ..... 147 
 
 Changes in the Hog, from External Influences, - 169 
 
 Changes in Sheep, from Climate and Food, - - 106 
 
 Character Acquired at Sunday Schools, - - - - 213 
 
 Character of the Male Turkey, - - - - 77 
 
 Charitable Labor duly Appreciated, .... 234 
 
 Cheap Mode of Bathing, - - - - - 347 
 
 Chemical Science, its great value inj^griculture, - 354 
 
 Children of a Sunday School, - - - .211 
 
 Chinese Agriculture, - ..... 276 
 
 Chinese Goose, How procured, .... 62 
 
 Chinese Hog, its good (Qualities, . - - - 171 
 
 Christian Instruction in the Sunday School, ... 217 
 City Air and Country Air, .... 148 
 
 City Life and Country Life, - - - - - - 16 
 
 Cleanliness Conducive to Health and Comfort, - - 341 
 
 Cochin China Hens, ...... 28 
 
 Cold Becomes Harmless from Habit, .... 344 
 
 Colman's Account of English Sheep, - - . 129 
 
 Colman's Opinion of Ayrshire Cows, .... 461 
 
 Color of Berkshire Hogs, ...... 175 
 
 Col. Thayer's Poultry Profits, 29 
 
 Commencement Oration on Hogs, ..... 287 
 
 Congratulations at a Country Wedding, .... 397 
 
 Conscience, or Something like it in the Cow, - - 417 
 
 Convenience of Poultry in the Country, - - - - 30 
 
 Country Boy from Home. ...... 94 
 
 Courtship and Alarriage in Spain, .... 384 
 
 Courtship and Marriage in Switzerland, .... 385 
 
 Cow, its Extraordinary Intelligence, .... 420 
 
 Cow Performing the office of Herdsman, - ... 421 
 
 Craftiness of the Deer, 289 
 
 Cretan Sheep, 119 
 
 Crops to be Raised ....... 203 
 
 Cruelty to Swift Horses Reprobated, .... 262 
 
 Cunning of the Horse, - .... 287 
 
INDEX, 
 
 467 
 
 Cushing's Ayrshire Cows, 453 
 
 Delay in the Marriage Service 393 
 
 Deleterious Exhalations, 247 
 
 Demonstrations of Respect and Grief, - . . -413 
 
 Description of Chinese Hog, 172 
 
 Description of Fat-tailed Sheep, - - . . - 117 
 Description of Wild Boar, .... 166 
 
 Devon Cattle, their Peculiar Value, - . - . 455 
 
 Difficulties in Being Married, 392 
 
 Directions for Beneficial Bathing, - . . . . 395 
 Domestication of the Ox Family, .... 4x5 
 
 Domesticated Sheep, . . . - 107 
 
 Domestic Changes from the Use of Machinery, . - 136 
 
 Draft Horse of Normandy, - ... 265 
 
 Dreaming by Daylight, 93 
 
 Drummond's Account of Sheep, ..... ng 
 
 Duration of the Horse's Life, 256 
 
 Duration of Married Life, 401 
 
 Durham Cows, their Great Beauty, ... 445 
 
 Duties of the Farmer in Spring, .... 326 
 Dutch Farmer in Indiana, 202 
 
 Eagle and Hawk, their Artifices, ..... 294 
 
 Early Equipments of the Horse, .... 143 
 
 Early and Long-continued Friendship, - . - 406 
 
 Early Life of Charles Beeman, .... 409 
 
 Early Marriages, Objections to them, - . - 302 
 
 Early Records of the Horse, 238 
 
 Early Records of the Ox Family, .... 415 
 
 Education Conducive to Agricultural Prosperity, - . 353 
 
 Eggs, Consumption of them in France, - - 28 
 
 Eggs, Consumption of them in Boston and New York, . 28 
 
 End of Mercantile Misfortune, - - - 412 
 
 Enterprising Ladies, Opportunities for them, . - - 45 
 
 Equality of Numbers in the Sexes, 370 
 
4S8 
 
 INDEX 
 
 E&timatecl Profits of Poultry, 
 
 Ettrick Shepherd, 
 
 Exhortation in Marriage Service, 
 
 29 
 
 135 
 
 395 
 
 Fallow-deer, How he Defends Himself, ■ 
 
 Far(iiliar IllustrAtion, 
 
 Family Rejoicing, . . . . 
 
 Family Record of Squire Lawson, 
 
 Family Social Pleasures, 
 
 Farm of Tyler Fountain, 
 
 Farm of Rawson Harmon, 
 
 Farm of Isaac 0. Corning, 
 
 Farm of P. 0. Holbrook, 
 
 Farm of Elisha M. Bradley, - 
 
 Farm of George Pearce, 
 
 Farm and Garden, their Profits, 
 
 Farm Without Manure Yields no Profits, ■ 
 
 Farmers, What should be their Policy, ■ 
 
 Farmer's Wife, 
 
 Farmer without Ofiispring, 
 
 Farmer's Gazette, about Geese, 
 
 Farmers and Mechanics, 
 
 Fat-ruraped Sheet, . . . , 
 
 Fat-tailed Sheep, . . . . 
 
 Feather Beds Getting out of Fashion, 
 
 Feathers, their Value, 
 
 Feats of an Extraordinary Horse, - 
 
 Female Charms in Rural Life, 
 
 Female Reputation, 
 
 Female Youth in Sunday Schools, - 
 
 Fences not to be Neglected, - 
 
 Fertility of the Egyptian Soil, 
 
 Fidelity of the Gobbler, - - . . 
 
 First Dawnings of Love, 
 
 First-born Grandson, - . . . 
 
 First Importation of Merino Sheep, - 
 
INDEX. 
 
 First Use of the Horse's Bridle, 
 
 Flesh of Wild Horse, - 
 
 Flight of Wild Geese, 
 
 Flying Childers, the Racehorse, 
 
 Forecast of Wise Men, 
 
 Fossil Remains of the Horse, - 
 
 Foundation of Agricultural Prosperity, 
 
 French Hushandry, 
 
 Funeral in the Country, 
 
 Funeral Solemnities in Olden Times, 
 
 Galloway Horses, ... 
 
 Game Sow of Toomer, 
 
 Geese made Profitahle, - 
 
 Gems of Agriculture, 
 
 George Boardman, a Sketch of his Family, 
 
 Genteel Boarding-house, 
 
 German Writers on Agriculture, 
 
 Getting Rich, Not Always Certain, when Expected, 
 
 Giver and Receiver of Charity, 
 
 Gobble Turkey — its Vigilance, 
 
 Good Husbandry in Massachusetts, - 
 
 Good Management in Farming, 
 
 Good Plans and Well Executed, 
 
 Good Mother, her Great Value, 
 
 Good Order in Sunday Schools, 
 
 Good Son, never too highly Prized, 
 
 Good Taste in the Use of Christian Names, 
 
 Good Tillage Conducive to Agricultural Prosperity, 
 
 Good will Among Farmers, 
 
 Good Wives, Never too Highly Prized, 
 
 Goose, Its Great Age, 
 
 Goose and Dog ; a Good Anecdote, 
 
 Goose Q,uills, their great Value, 
 
 Goose Story, Worth being Read, 
 
 Gray's Opinion of Ayrshire Cows, - 
 
 469 
 
470 INDEX. 
 
 Great Care of Arabian Horses, . . - . . 250 
 Great Feats of Horsemanship, .... 262 
 
 Great Memory of the Horse, -.-.-- 256 
 Great Profits of D.D. T. More's Farm, - - - -196 
 
 Great Profits of a Small Farm, 80 
 
 Great Value of the Ox Family, .... .441 
 
 Greek Marriage Ceremonies, ------ 377 
 
 Greek Mode of Eiding, 244 
 
 Guinea Fowl, --..... 33 
 
 Habits of the Hog, 167 
 
 Habits and Cunning of the Fox, . . - . . 292 
 Hair — its Use, - - - - - - - -112 
 
 Happy Family, - 320 
 
 Hares — their Craftiness, ------- 292 
 
 Harmonies between Mind and Matter, - - - - 328 
 
 Harvest Time in the Spirit World, - - - - 333 
 
 Health Promoted by Free Use of Water, - - - . 334 
 Hector's Chariot-Horses, -.-... 245 
 
 Hedgehog, How Killed by the Fox, - - - - 293 
 
 Hereford Cattle Described, ---..- 448 
 Herdsman's Duty Performed by a Cow, - - - - 422 
 
 History and Physiology of the Hog, - - - . - I62 
 Historical Notices of Sheep, - ■ - - - - 122 
 
 Historical Sketch of the Horse, 236 
 
 Hogs Badly Treated, 170 
 
 Hogs Slaughtered in Cincinnati, - - - - 178 
 
 Hogs Should be Treated Kindly, 187 
 
 Hogs in the United States, -....- 186 
 
 Hogs Valuable for Making Manure, - - - - 186 
 
 Home in the Country, --.--.. 368 
 Home, the Centre of Attraction, ..... 322 
 
 Homestead — Its Charms, ...... 305 
 
 Homestead and Family of Squire Beeman, - . -410 
 Horns of Cretan Sheep, - - - - - . -119 
 
 Horns of the Indian Ox, or Zebu, 439 
 
INDEX. 47 J 
 
 Horse Races and Olympian Games, .... 246 
 
 How Girls will Look Ahead, 225 
 
 How to Beautify the Country, 159 
 
 How Merchants Get Rich, 204 
 
 How Much can be Done, 217 
 
 How many Varieties of the Horse, .... 237 
 
 How to Make Farming Profitable, 204 
 
 How the Woodpecker Gets Food, 298 
 
 How Scholars May Puzzle the Teacher, - - - 228 
 
 How the Sunday School Teacher is Rewarded, - - - 233 
 
 How the Wild Boar is Hunted, 164 
 
 How to do Good, - 52 
 
 How to Impress the Young Heart, 230 
 
 Hunched Oxen, where Found, ..... 424 
 
 Hunting Wild Horses, 262 
 
 Hunting Buffaloes in Guinea and Malabar, ... 426 
 Hurlbut's Ayrshire Cattle, ...... 450 
 
 Husbandry in Great Britain, -.---. 275 
 
 Iceland Sheep, 120 
 
 lUyrian Marriage Ceremony, ..--.- 386 
 Importance of Sunday Schools, ..... 208 
 
 Important Points in the Horse, ..... 267 
 
 Improvement in. Irish Hogs, 174 
 
 Improved Sheep in England, -..-.. 127 
 Impressions on the Newly Married, - - - - .388 
 Impressive Funeral Service, ...... 404 
 
 Impurities should be Removed, 327 
 
 Inconsistencies about Bathing,- ..... 337 
 Increase of Consumption, ..... 207 
 
 Indian Ox, or Zebu, 437 
 
 Indian Method of Killing Bisons, 429 
 
 Indians originally without Horses, ... - - 268 
 
 Infidel Influences Pernicious, 222 
 
 Infidel Scepticism Overcome, ..... 229 
 Influence of Agricultural Societies, 281 
 
472 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Influence of Christianity on the Marriage Relation, 
 
 Inspirations of Spring, . - - . • 
 
 Insults to the Owl from Small Birds, 
 
 Instinct or Cunning of Small Birds, - . • 
 
 Intelligence in the Ox Family, 
 
 Intelligence of the Cow, .... 
 
 Interesting Features in Poultry, ... 
 
 Introduction, - .... 
 
 Invention of the Telegraph, .... 
 
 Irish Pigs — How they are Kept, . . - 
 
 Job's Account of the Horse, .... 
 Jonas Webb's Success in Sheep, ... 
 Joy of Grandparents, ..... 
 Joy of Harvest Time, ..... 
 Journey into the Country for a Wedding, 
 Journey to Vermont in the year 1822, 
 
 Kamtschatkan Sheep, 
 
 Keen Smell of the Bison, .... 
 
 Kindness of Capel Lofft, .... 
 
 Labors of Mrs. Fry, .... 
 Lady in California, .... 
 Language of Turkeys, .... 
 Large Hogs, ..... 
 Large Sheep, ..... 
 Late Breakfast in Vermont, ... 
 Law of Nature Regarding Vegetable Life, 
 Lawyer, a First-rate Farmer, 
 Lawyer Griffin, a Sunday School Teacher, 
 Lawyer in a Q,uandary,* ... 
 Lawyer Griffin's First Sunday School Labors, 
 Leaving the Homestead in Search of Fortune, 
 Life in the Country, .... 
 Life on a Farm, 
 
JNt)EX. 
 
 Life Destroyed by Foul Air, - 
 Lydia Sheldon, the Boarding House Pet, 
 Lydia Sheldon's Associates, - . . 
 Lydia Sheldon Married to her Teacher, - 
 Loathsome Practices, .... 
 Lonely Bachelor Wanting a Wife, - 
 Long and Sad Nights, - . . . 
 Long Courtships, .... 
 
 Long-wooled Sheep, .... 
 Love — How Kept Fresh and Vigorous, - 
 Love without Reason Like a Wild Colt, • 
 Love and Philosophy in Conclave, - 
 Loveliness of a Harvest-Moon Evening, . 
 
 Mahomet's Opinion of Marriage, - 
 
 Maine Farmer about the Profit of Geese, 
 
 Manoeuvres of the Fish Hawk, 
 
 Manure Heap — Its Importance, 
 
 Marinda Hines, the Widow Worth Having, 
 
 Marriage — the Universality of it. 
 
 Marriage — the Proper Time for it, - 
 
 Marriage among the Calmucs, 
 
 Marriage among the Saxons, ... 
 
 Marriage Ceremonies in Russia, 
 
 Marriage — How Celebrated among the Turks, 
 
 Marriage among the CafTres, ... 
 
 Marriage among the Romans, 
 
 Marriage among the Hindoos, 
 
 Marriage among the Japanese, 
 
 Marriage of the Patriarch Jacob, 
 
 Marriage in the South Sea Islands, 
 
 Marriageable Girls in Syria, - 
 
 Matrimonial Alliances — The Nature of Them, 
 
 Matrimonial Alliances — Motives for Them, 
 
 Matrimonial Engagements— How Made, 
 
 Matrimonial Endowments, 
 
 473 
 
 146 
 219 
 220 
 231 
 339 
 301 
 306 
 380 
 129 
 316 
 307 
 310 
 407 
 
 379 
 63 
 275 
 357 
 48 
 375 
 373 
 381 
 378 
 280 
 379 
 382 
 378 
 383 
 381 
 376 
 384 
 376 
 369 
 374 
 303 
 396 
 
474 INDEX. 
 
 Matrimonial Safeguards, 308 
 
 Medical Directions for Bathing, ..... 336 
 
 Memories of Thirty Years Ago, 160 
 
 Merchant in Retirement, ...... 36 
 
 Merchants and Farmers, ... . 189 
 
 Mercantile, and Manufacturing Prosperity, ... 348 
 
 Mercantile Wealth, 195 
 
 Merino Sheep — their dualities, 123 
 
 Merino Sheep in New England, 139 
 
 Men Rising to Renown, ...... 331 
 
 Milk and Fruit Farm, 203 
 
 Model Country Fireside, 300 
 
 Mode of Catching "Wild Horses, 265 
 
 Modern Greek Nuptial Ceremonies, .... 382 
 
 Money Made by Farming, 188 
 
 Money Well Spent, 159 
 
 Monkeys of Brazil, 289 
 
 Moral Influence of Spring, - - . . . - 99 
 
 Moral Seed Time, - 331 
 
 Moral of Cultivated Trees, 156 
 
 Morgan Horses Described, ...... 266 
 
 Mortality, Proportionate between the Sexes, ... 372 
 
 Motives for Deeds of Charity, - - . 224 
 
 Mountain Scenery — its Beauty and Grandeur, - . - 157 
 
 Mountain Sojourner, 96 
 
 Mrs. Sheldon's New Residence, 223 
 
 Musk Ox of North America, 435 
 
 Mutton— How Prized, 117 
 
 National Agricultural Society, 283 
 
 Nature would Decay without Air, ..... 149 
 
 Nature, the Farmer's great Teacher, - - - - 101 
 
 Nature, the best Chemist, ...... 355 
 
 Neatness, a Cardinal Virtue, ...... 317 
 
 Neglect of Mental Culture, 330 
 
 Neglect of Religious Instruction, .... 218 
 
61 
 
 130 
 
 INDEX. 4yg 
 
 New England Factory Villages, 214 
 
 New England Farm House, ggg 
 
 New Era in Life, ggg 
 
 New Era in Lydia Sheldon's Life, 222 
 
 Newbold's Ducklings, 
 
 New Leicester Sheep, 
 
 Night Scene in the Country, 4Qg 
 
 No one Knew What it Meant, 312 
 
 No Jealousy Among Farmers, 200 
 
 Norwegian Horses, ggo 
 
 Nuptial Party at Mid-day, 39j 
 
 Objections to the Church Marriage Service, - . . 394 
 
 Offspring Give New Scope to Life, I54 
 
 'Kelly's Race Horse, 261 
 
 Old Brindle, ogf 
 
 Old Mansion House, - - . . , . -151 
 
 Old English Hog, jg3 
 
 Origin of our Great Men, 272 
 
 Orphan Girl Rising in the World, - - - - 311 
 
 Orphan Girl Married and at Home, - - - -313 
 
 Orphan Girl Becomes a Mother, 31 9 
 
 Our Great Men, gg 
 
 Owl Persecuted by Small Birds, 299 
 
 Ox — How Used and Prized in Africa, - - - - 416 
 Oxen in Terceira, one of the Azores, .... 418 
 Oxen in Norway — How Fed, --.... 440 
 Oxygen of the Atmospheric Air, - . . . . 144 
 Oxen of the Hottentots — their Intelligence, - . 418 
 
 Oxen for Labor — Easily Taught, - ... 420 
 
 Pernicious Influences, ....... 221 
 
 Perplexity in Good Cause, - - - - - -307 
 
 Persian Horses under Cyrus, ...-.- 240 
 
 Piatt's Wild Goose, 68 
 
 Pleasure in Feeding Poultry, 34 
 
476 mjysx. 
 
 Polygamy among the Hebrews, S?6 
 
 Polygamy — Argument against it, - • • • • 371 
 
 Popular Delusions of Young Men, - = - • - 271 
 Pork Business in the Western States, .... 179 
 
 Postmaster General of the United States, = - - 97 
 Poultry-Yard— Advantages of it, - - ■ - - 19 
 Popular Humbuggery, - - • - • -194 
 
 Practical Results, ....... 349 
 
 Prairies on Fire, ........ 434 
 
 Prejudices Against Swine, ...... 162 
 
 Preliminaries to Harvest, ...... 328 
 
 Premium Hogs, - - - - - - - 177 
 
 Preparations for being Married, >■ • - - -312 
 Price of Arabian Horses, ...... 248 
 
 Proctor's Opinion of Working Oxen, .... 
 
 Products of an Acre of Land, . . = . . 80 
 
 Profitable Farm of George E. Adams, .... 203 
 
 Profits of Agriculture — How Obtained, - - - - 15 
 
 Profits of Cows Depending on Feed, .... 
 
 Profits of the Hog, 160 
 
 Profits of Cypress Farm, - 199 
 
 Profits of a Good Farm, ...... 55 
 
 Profits of Poultry, 26 
 
 Prolific Sow, - 184 
 
 Progress of Agriculture, 270 
 
 Progress of Sheep Improvement in England, - • - 128 
 Progress of Sheep Husbandry, - - - . -138 
 
 Progressive Periods in Life, - - - - 301 
 
 Promise to Serve and Obey in Marriage, . - - - 399 
 Proportion of Males to Females, - - - - 371 
 
 Prosperity in Agriculture from Good Stock, ... 361 
 
 Q,uestion of Property Settled by a Horse, - - - 258 
 
 Q,uince Eaten, as Part of Marriage Ceremony, - - 377 
 
 Race Horse, Bay Malton, 560 
 
nfDEX 
 
 477 
 
 Hamliouillet Sheep, .... 
 
 Rational Dignity, - - . . . 
 
 Rattlesnake killed by a Roe-deer, - 
 
 Reasons for Frequent Ablutions, 
 
 Reasons for the Matrimonial Covenant, • 
 
 Reform in Domestic Habits, ... 
 
 Remarkable Cases of Horse Power, 
 
 Remarkable Boy in Sunday School, 
 
 Renovated Farm, ..... 
 
 Respect for Parents, .... 
 
 Retrospective Vievi's, ... 
 
 Returning to the Family Homestead, 
 
 Review of Life, ..... 
 
 Revulsion and Mercantile, 
 
 Reward of Wisdom and Virtue, 
 
 Rhode Island Gobbler, - 
 
 Right Notions in Family Government, - 
 
 Robert Bloomfield, the Farmer-boy Poet, 
 
 Rocky Mountain Sheep, 
 
 Romance of Agriculture — What is it ? - 
 
 Rome Saved by the Noise of Geese, 
 
 Room Enough for All, 
 
 Rules for Personal Neatness in the Family, 
 
 Rural Architecture, 
 
 Rural Occupations and Interests, - 
 
 Rural Life Favorable to Knowledge, 
 
 Rural Scenes in Spring, 
 
 Rural Wedding, 
 
 Russian Custom of Bathing, - - - 
 
 225 
 161 
 291 
 337 
 398 
 315 
 263 
 215 
 197 
 304 
 157 
 412 
 
 95 
 411 
 323 
 
 77 
 314 
 
 86 
 
 110 
 
 9 
 
 70 
 206 
 316 
 353 
 360 
 322 
 102 
 369 
 343 
 
 Sagacity of the Hog, 
 Salubrious Air of the Country, 
 Saxon Buck, 
 Saxon Sheep Described, 
 Science and Agriculture, 
 Seasons of the Year, 
 
 189 
 142 
 126 
 125 
 125 
 100 
 
478 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Season of Harvest, 
 
 
 - 805 
 
 Secret of Agricultural Prosperity, - 
 
 
 . 352 
 
 Secret of Having Good Crops, 
 
 
 - 358 
 
 Seed Time and Harvest, 
 
 
 - 324 
 
 Seed Time of the Mind, 
 
 
 - 330 
 
 Seed to be Sown in the Right Time, 
 
 
 328 
 
 Sense of Hearing in Sheep, 
 
 
 - 141 
 
 Sentimental E-uralist, - 
 
 
 - 332 
 
 Shanghse Fowls, 
 
 
 - 21 
 
 Sheep Husbandry in Spain, - 
 
 
 - 124 
 
 Sheep in Early Times, - - - 
 
 
 - 106 
 
 Sheep Owners in the United States, 
 
 
 - 138 
 
 Sheep in South America, 
 
 
 140 
 
 Sheep — Their Varieties, - 
 
 
 - 105 
 
 Sheep in Scripture Times, 
 
 
 - 112 
 
 Sheep in Scotland, ... 
 
 
 - 133 
 
 Sheep of Thibet, 
 
 
 - 115 
 
 Shepherds and Herdsmen, 
 
 
 - 118 
 
 Shetland Pony, .... 
 
 
 - 269 
 
 Short Career of Extravagance, 
 
 
 - 410 
 
 Shower-bath Described and Recommended, 
 
 341 
 
 Size and Form of the Horse, 
 
 - 
 
 - 237 
 
 Sketch of the Turkey, - 
 
 
 - 70 
 
 Slaughtered Suffolk Pigs, 
 
 
 - 181 
 
 Skin of Hogs, .... 
 
 
 185 
 
 Social Habits in the Country, 
 
 
 - 273 
 
 Social Influences, 
 
 
 18 
 
 Social Benefit of Sanday Schools, - 
 
 
 - 216 
 
 Social Improvement from Care of Poultry, 
 
 32 
 
 Solemnities at a Funeral, 
 
 
 - '405 
 
 Solomon's Large Herd of Horses, - 
 
 
 - 240 
 
 Sons of the Farmer, 
 
 
 - 13 
 
 South American Wild Horses, 
 
 
 - 253 
 
 South-Down Sheep, 
 
 
 131 
 
 Stabler's Opinion of Working Oxen, 
 
 
 - 253 
 
 Statistics Relating to Marriage, 
 
 . 
 
 - 273 
 
INDEX. 
 
 479 
 
 Stock Breeder— How Perfected, 373 
 
 Stolen Horse Knowing his own Home, .... 257 
 Strength of Nations— On what Depending, - - -270 
 
 Spangled Poland Hens, 39 
 
 Spanish Wild Horses, 254 
 
 Sparrow-Hawk among the Chickens, - - . -298 
 Speed of Flying Childers, ..... 260 
 
 Stevens, Ambrose— His Work on Cattle Stock Breeding in 
 
 the United States, 444 
 
 Summit Reached, . 97 
 
 Sunday Morning Scene, ....... 235 
 
 Sunday Schools — For whom Designed, .... 209 
 
 Sunday School Teacher, 232 
 
 Suffolk Breed of Pigs, - - . . . 137 
 
 Swine — How Esteemed, 162 
 
 Sympathy for the Oppressed, - 297 
 
 Teeth to be Kept Clean, 339 
 
 Thrilling Adventure with an American Bison, - . . 428 
 
 Time Passes Rapidly, 319 
 
 ®^ Tokens of Agricultural Progress, 282 
 
 Too Much Good Advice, ...... 304 
 
 Turkey — Anecdotes of it, - - - - . .74 
 
 Turkey — Its Intelligence, 72 
 
 Tyler Fountain's Farm, 201 
 
 Use of the Indian Ox, or Zebu, - - - - - 43 
 Use of the Turkey, 78 
 
 Value of the Hunched Ox, 424 
 
 Value of the Horse, ....-.•- 236 
 
 Value of Lawyers in a Community, - - - - . 223 
 Value of Fine Reading, ..---- 227 
 
 Value of Suffolk Hogs, 180 
 
 Valuable Accessions to Agriculture, - ^^^ - - - 282 
 
 Vancouver's Account of Hogs, . . - . . 185 
 
4l?0 mDEX. 
 
 Varieties in the Sheep Family, - - - - . - 140 
 
 Very Early Marriages Objectionable, ... 375 
 
 Village Sunday School. 208 
 
 Voracity and Stratagem of the Glutton, - - - - 293 
 
 Way to Eminence, .......95 
 
 "Wealth of Farmers, - - - - - 193 
 
 Wealth of Merchants, 193 
 
 What is Agricultural Prosperity ? - - - - -193 
 What Investment is Best ?.-.-.. 205 
 
 What Woman Can Do, 50 
 
 Where the Wild Boar is Found, 163 
 
 Widow Worth Having, - - - - - 41 
 
 Wild Goose — Its Numbers and Habits, - - - 57 
 
 Wild Horse— Where Found, 251 
 
 W|A Turkey— Account of it, 79 
 
 Wlaer's (Hon. Marshall P.) Address, - - - - 284 
 Winter Evenings — How to be Spent, - - - - 318 
 Wisdom to be Learnt from Others' Misfortunes, - - 414 
 Women and Men, - - - - - 43 
 
 Wool of Sheep, - . . - . 113 
 
 Wool— Its Use and Value, - - - - 137 
 
 Worcester Family — A Rare One for Talents, - - 99 
 
 Working Oxen — Their Merits, - . - - - 455 
 
 Working Oxen in Cuba, .-...- 456 
 
 Writers on Agriculture, .... - 276 
 
 Young Farmer, ..-..--- 152 
 Young Lady's Poultry, --...- 38 
 
 Young Wife, Enterinff on her New Duties, - - -314 
 Youthful Traveller, 92 
 
490 INBEX. 
 
 Varieties in the Sheep Family, ..... 140 
 Very Early Marriages Objectionable, .... 375 
 
 Village Sunday School. 208 
 
 Voracity and Stratagem of the Glutton, - - - 293 
 
 Way to Eminence, ...... 95 
 
 Wealth of Farmers, 193 
 
 Wealth of Merchants, 193 
 
 What is Agricultural Prosperity ? - - - 1 93 
 
 What Investment is Best ? -205 
 
 What Woman Can Do, 50 
 
 Where the Wild Boar is Found, - - - - 163 
 
 Widow Worth Having, ... - . . - 41 
 
 Wild Goose — Its Numbers and Habits, - - - - 57 
 
 Wild Horse— Where Found, 251 
 
 W|jt Turkey— Accoi^ of it, 79 
 
 WfHer's (Hon. Marshall P.) Address, - - - 284 
 
 Winter Evenings — How to be Spent, - - - - 318 
 
 Wisdom to be Learnt from Others' Misfortunes, - - 414 
 Women and Men, ... ... 43 
 
 Wool of Sheep, .-..'.--- 113 
 Wool— Its Use and Value, - - - 137 
 
 Worcester Family — A Rare One for Talents, - - - 99 
 Working Oxen — Their Merits, ------ 455 
 
 Working Oxen in Cuba, ...-.- 456 
 
 Writers on Agriculture, ...-.- 276 
 
 Young Farmer, - - ..... 152 
 Young Lady's Poultry, ..... 38 
 
 Young Wife, Entering on her New Duties, - - -314 
 Youthful Traveller, 92 
 

 ' 'nn 
 
 
 o==S 
 
 t 
 
 n 
 
 
 ^ 
 
 - '" 
 
 3 
 
 ■-^^^^=C\1 
 
 >. 
 
 O ^T— 
 
 
 
 l 
 
 
 o 
 
 
 > 
 
 
 c 
 
 o 
 
 D 
 
 HI 
 
 % 
 
 £ ^ 
 
 c 
 
 ■o CM 
 
 
 g m 
 
 Op, 
 
 
 <o 
 
 
 m 
 
 
 
 
 eg