16 [Senate 



fruit 1 And whose efforts led the way in changing the rough skin of 

 the almond to the luscious sweetness of the peach 1 All ages have 

 paid their tribute to your pursuit. And for you the sons of science 

 are now scouring every heath, and prairie, and wilderness, to see if 

 some new grass lies hidden in an unexplored glade ; if some rude 

 stock of the forests can offer a new fruit to the hand of culture. For 

 you the earth reveals the innumerable beds of marl ; its minera 

 wealth, the gypsum and the lime, have remained in store for your use 

 from the days of creation. For you Africa and the isles of the Pa- 

 cific open their magazines of guano j for you old ocean heaves up its 

 fertilizing weeds. y 



And as the farmer receives aid from every part of the material 

 world, so also his door is open to all intelligence. What truth is not 

 welcomed as an inmate under his roof? To what pure and generous 

 feeling does he fail to give a home 1 The great poets and authors of 

 all times are cherished as his guests. Milton and Shakspeare, and 

 their noble peers, cross his threshold to keep him company. For 

 him, too, the harp of Israel's minstrel-monarch was strung; for him? 

 the lips of Isaiah still move, all touched with fire ; and the apostles 

 of the new covenant are his daily teachers. No occupation is nearer 

 heaven. The social angel, when he descended to converse with men? 

 broke bread with the husbandman beneath the tree. 



Thus the farmer's mind is exalted ; his principles stand as firm as 

 your own Highlands ; his good deeds flow like self-moving waters. 

 Yet in his connection with the human race, the farmer never loses 

 his patriotism. He loves America — is the depository of her glory 

 and the guardian of her freedom. He builds monuments to greatness, 

 and when destiny permits, he also achieves heroic deeds in the eyes 

 of his race. The soil of New-York, which he has beautified by his 

 culture, is consecrated by the victories in which he shared. Earth ! 

 I bow in reverence, for my eyes behold the ground wet with the 

 blood of rustic martyrs, and hallowed by the tombs of heroes ! 

 Where is the land to which their fame has not been borne 1 Who 

 does not know the tale of the hundred battle-fields of New-York ? 

 Not a rock puts out from the highlands, but the mind's eye sees in- 

 scribed upon it a record of deeds of glory. Not a blade of grass 

 springs at Saratoga, but takes to itself a tongue to proclaim the suc- 

 cessful valor of patriot husbandmen. 



Here the name of Schuyler, the brave, the generous, the unshaken 



