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where it took twelve yoke of oxen to make a furrow. How slow, too, must 

 have been the movements of such a cumbrous team. One yoke of oxen with 

 a modern plough, probably do the work faster and better. Even in England 

 at the present day it is not unusual to see throe, or four, or five horses urged 

 by a driver, attached to a single plough. There is an almost incredible differ- 

 ence among men in what we erroneously consider the very simple art of agri- 

 culture. There is all the difference that exists between the Irishman who 

 pulled up the bean because It came up wrong end foremost, and put it back 

 right, and the man who raises seventy bushels of wheat on an acre of land' 

 or takes a seedling and transforms it into a northern Spy apple. In this de- 

 pai'tment fairs, lectures, schools, periodicals, will teach much. With eyes, 

 and ears, and minds open, we can all learn of one another. In the art merely* 

 the handiwork of agriculture, the proudest can learn something of the hum- 

 blest. Not long since a man came to me to procure specimens and acquire in- 

 formation. He was the last man of whom I would have sought knowledge on 

 any subject. As we were walking he called my attention to some dead pine 

 trees. He observed quietly that if I would employ him, he would set out a 

 row of trees that would live. I observed that it was midsummer, and of 

 course it could not be done till another season. Oh, no, said he, midsummer 

 is the time for transplanting evergreens. He transplanted a row. They all 

 lived, and are flourishing. Yet this ignoramus, as I deemed him, was able to 

 teach me a lesson in an art which I supposed myself to understand. So all 

 the world over, even in the art of agriculture we can and ought to meet with, 

 compare with, and learn of one another. 



But it is in the science of agriculture that we know little or nothing. The 

 most profound inquirer is superficial. The day will come when the Leibigs, 

 the Johnstons and Nortons will be deemed tyros in the grand science. The 

 Newton of agriculture has not yet appeared. The earth is a vast chemical 

 laboratory, few of whose operations we comprehend. Take a friction match 

 and draw it down the wall. It ignites. You take your gun, pull a trigger 

 and cause the explosion of a percussion cap. You take a seat in the chair of 

 the Daguerreotypist, and when the sunlight is let upon a polished plate your 

 image is almost instantly imprinted. Those operations are produced by a 

 few simple materials well known. Yet, do you understand it ? No. But 

 you understand and appreciate the result. You go into a telegraph ofiice, and 

 wish to correspond with a friend one hundred miles distant. The operator 

 by a few manipulations speeds your message and quick you have the winged 

 reply. Do you understand it ? Oh, no ! Yet all these results were brought 

 about by the use of a few elements, and by simple and known processes. 

 When the telegraph offices were first opened, I went with a lady into one. 

 The operator, for amusement, called on his friends along the line, asking idle 

 and playful questions. Quick as thought the electric answers vibrated along 

 the wires. She stood in mute amazement. The tear stood in her eye. " It 

 makes me shudder," was the only remark. Yet every time we tread the grass 

 beneath our feet we trample upon an operation of nature as wonderful and 

 more inexplicable than that of the magnetic telegraph. Yet we do not shud- 



