1882.] FARM LIFE. 279 



look hundreds of years adown the stream of time we think he 

 would be lost in amazement to see some of our modern farms, 

 with the machinery that is used to carry them on, and the buildings, 

 with their every comfort, all of which speak well for the modern 

 farmer. "We only wish there were many more. The introduction 

 of mowing-machines in this generation has done much toward 

 making a paradise of New England, but whether these nice farms 

 will be kept up to their present standard depends much on the 

 next generation, while on the other hand we see many farms that 

 were once the home and pride of our grandfathers, now nearly 

 overrun with bushes, only a little green spot around the old home 

 left fertile, furnishing barely enough to keep the wolf from the 

 door, and some places are abandoned altogether. Now what is 

 the cause of all this ? And echo answers what ? One hundred 

 years ago our grandfathers lived and thrived on these farms, ed- 

 ucated their children, and died wealthy. Now if any one can tell 

 the true cause why the farms that made our fathers rich, we are 

 starving on, we think he will find the philosopher's stone — for on 

 all sides we see farmers going to th'e wall, because farming don't 

 pay. 



I shall not attempt to solve this problem, but will give a few 

 hints in that direction. Of course much of this arises from the 

 question of labor. The olden time fathers and mothers did all 

 their own work, and I have often thought that if there was any 

 one thing that I wanted to live my life over again for, it would be 

 to be able to do my own work, and it makes a vast difference 

 whether we say, " come, boys," or whether we say, "■go, boys," and 

 go another way ourselves. We all know the result, but still the 

 cause is not removed. 



This generation has not seen such crops as were raised seventy 

 years ago with no fertilizer but the land. I can remember riding 

 a horse forward of a yoke of oxen for my father to plow, with an 

 old wooden plow, with a wrought-iron share on it, sharpened by a 

 common blacksmith. That plow was a very rude instrument. It 

 turned over and up about half of the furrow slice, the rest fell 

 back again, thus loosening the soil. The second plowing cut and 

 tore it crosswise, and the third loosened it still more. Then followed 

 the old wooden- tooth harrow, in shape of the letter Y ; it bounded 

 and pitched this way and that, as it came in contact with stones 

 and clods, tearing and reducing the clods to fragments. By this 

 time the land was hght as a feather-bed, and it grew large crops of 



