California Agriculturist and Live Stock Journal. 



I0ctvn. 



The Closing Scene, 



BY T. B. BEAD. 



I^ITHIN the sober realm of leafless trees. 



The russet year iahaled the dreamy air; 



Like some tanued reaper, ia his hour of 



ease. 



When all the fields are lying brown 



and bare. 



The gray barns looking from their hazy hills 

 O'er the dun waters widening in the vales, 



Sent down the air a greeting to the mills, 

 On the dull thunder of alteruae flails. 



All sights -were mellowed and all sounds sub- 

 dued, 

 The hills seemed further and the stream sang 

 low, 

 Ab in a dream the distant woodman hewed 

 His winter log with many a muffled blow. 



The embattled forests, ere while armed with 

 gold. 



The banner bright with every martial hue. 

 Now stood like some sad, beaten host of old. 



Withdrawn afar in Time's remotest blue. 



On sombre wings the vulture tried his flight; 

 The dove scarce heard his sighing mate's com- 

 plaint; 

 And, like a star slow drowning in the light. 

 The village church vane seemed to pale and 

 faint. 



The sentinel cock upon the hillside crew- 

 Crew thrice — and all was stiller than before; 



Silent, till some replying warden blew, 

 His alien horn, and then was heard no more. 



Where erst the jay, within the elm's tall crest. 

 Made garrulous trouble rouud her unfledged 

 youn^, 



And when the oriole swung her swaving nest. 

 By every light wind fcke a censer swung. 



Where sang the noisy martins of the eaves, 

 The busy swallows circling ever near — 



Forboding, as the rustic mind believes, 

 An early harvest and a plenteous year. 



Where every bird that waked the vernal feast 

 Shook the sweet slumber from its wings at 

 morn. 



To wara the reaper of the rosy east — 

 All now was sunless, empty and forlorn. 



Alone, from out the stubble, piped the quail, 

 And croaked the crow through all the dreary 

 gloom; 



Alone the pheasant, drumming in the vale, 

 Made echo in the distance to the cottage loom. 



There was no bud, no bloom upon the bowers, 

 The spiders moved their thin shrouds night by 

 nitjht. 

 The thistU^down, the only ghost of flowers. 

 Sailed slowly by— passed noiselessly out of 

 sight. 



Amid all this, in tJiis most dreary air. 

 And where the woodbine seeds upon the porch 



Its crimson leaves, as if the year stood there, 

 Firing the floor with its inverted torch; 



Amid all this, the center of the scene. 

 The white-haired matron, with monotonous 

 tread. 



Plied the swift wheel, and with her joyous mein 

 Sat like Fate and watched the flying thread. 



She had known sorrow. He had walked with 

 her. 

 Oft supped and broke with her the ashen 

 crust, 

 And in the dead leaves still she heard the stir 

 Of his thick mantle trailing in the dust. 



. While yet her cheek was bright with summer 



bloom, 

 ; Her country summoned, and she gave up all; 

 j And twice war bowed to her his sable plume — 

 I Regave the sword to rust upon the wall. 



Regave the sword, but not the hand that drew 

 And struck for liberty the trying blow. 



Nor him who, to his sire and country true. 

 Fell mid the ranks of the invading foe. 



Long, but not loud, the droning wheel went on, 

 Like the low murmur of a hive at noon; 



Long, but not loud, the memory of the gone 

 Breatlied through her lips a sad and tremulous 

 tone. 



At last the thread was snapped, her head was 



> bowed, 



I Life dropped the distaflf through her hands 



f serene; 



J' And loving neighbors soothed her careful shroud 

 I While death and Winter closed the autumn 

 I, scene. 



G-rowing IVeather. 



I stood one morning where the sun 



Had tipped with golden edges, 

 The brown, bare hollows of the rocks. 



And tufts of ragged sedges: 

 And from the meadow fragrance near. 



Where scythes swung sharp together, 

 I caught the watchword, "swift, my boys,' 



For this is "growing weather." 



It was a farmer's random thought, 



It had a simple meaning; 

 But chords we touch with careless hand, 



Will set a dreamer dreaming. 

 And by the joyous harmony 



Of soul and sense together. 

 The key-noto of my mood was touched, 



And echoed "growing weather." 



Ah I weak and worn must be the heart, 



And comfortless the spirit. 

 That hears, in this hweet growing time. 



No " come ye and inherit;" 

 Thut^are not drawn to jjurer highte, 



By every lilting mountain. 

 1 [And catch no whisper of rebuke 



From stainless grove and fountain. 



The Old Farm Gate- 



HY EUGENE J. HALL. 



The old farm gate hangs, sagging down, 

 On rusty hinges, bent and brown; 

 Its latch is gone, and here and there 

 It shows rude traces of repair. 



The old farm gate has seen, each year. 

 The blossom bloom and disappear; 

 The bright green leaves of Spring unfold 

 And turn to Autumn's red and gold. 



The children have upon it clung. 



And in and out with rapture swung. 



When their young hearts were good and pure — 



When hope was fair and faith was sure. 



Beside that gate have lovers true 



Told the story, always new; 



Have made their vows; have dreamed of bliss. 



And sealed each i)romise witli a kiss. 



The old farm gate has opened wide 

 To welcome home the ncwMuade bride, 

 When lilacs bloomed and locusts fair 

 With their sweet fragrance filled the air. 



fljwer stand. 



Wake ye, who slf^p through harvest hours, 



Know but thf hniith of roses: 

 And these shall t-'ach more generous life, 



Before their short day closes. 

 Expand to some such perffct grace 



As sways the meanest willows, 

 Or curves the pliant symmetry, 



Upon the smoothest billows. 



So each high noon shall ripen thee 



To fair and fruitful splendor. 

 And all night silences shall fall 



Like prisius soft and tender. 

 So every morn shall bring to thee 



Its new divine evangel. 

 And wave-kipsed lilies show less white 



Than the record of thine angel. 



Grow on and upward, soul of mine; 



For thee the Summers tarry; 

 And sheen and shade, and voice and mould, 



Are wrought from Nature's quarry, 

 That thou upon the farthest bights 



M.syst reach sublimer levels. 

 And find a better joy at last, 



Tlian that wherein she revels. 



That gate, with rusty weight and chain, 

 Has clo?ed upon the solemn train 

 'Ihit bore her lifeless form away. 

 Upon a dreary Autumn day. 



The lichens gray and mosses green 

 Upon its rotting posts are seen; 

 Initials, carved with youthful skill, 

 Long years ago, are on it still. 



Yet, dear to me above all things. 

 By reason of the thoughts it brings, 

 Is that old gate, now sagging down, 

 On rusty hinges, bent and brown. 



^ 



r^ After thirty years' experience in 

 seed and gardening business, Briggs 

 Bros., Rochester, N. Y., are about to 

 issue a practical work on the cultivation 

 of flowers and vegetables. The first 

 number of their Floral Work for 1876 is 

 ready. Everyone who cares for plants, 

 as everyone should, ehould obtain and 

 study such works. 



Fair Flay for the Farmer. 



BY MES. s. M. sairru. 



On every side new foes arise. 



Or old in modern armor. 

 King above ring, like Alps on Alps, 



Frown still upon the farmer. 



In vain he. single-handed, drives 



To cope with powers united. 

 Or dreams the wrongs of centuries 



Will, of themselves, be righted. 



What wonder if at last those wrongs 

 Have roused each man and woman ? 



What wonder if they learn to use 

 The weapons of their foemeu ? 



Turn back the enginery of wrong 



Again on its possessors; 

 Yet. God forbid that the <»ppres£ed 

 Become in turn oppressoie. 



Though a grand army we enlist. 



And don defensive atmor. 

 The only conquest we pursue 



Is " Fair play for the former," 



Our ring endangers no man's rights; 



No war of plunder wages; 

 Its influence yet shall bless mankind 



Through alt the coming ages. 



The wisdom that men slowly gain 



They lose not in au hour; 

 It took us ci>uturies to Icam 



Uo find in union power. 



And centuries of odvanciug growth 

 Will yet mark our progressioD, 



Ere sons and daughters of the soil 

 Forget their dear-bought lesson. 



Nor is the lesson yet complete; 



Scarcely our feet have entered 

 Upon the road that leads to bights 



Where Toil's full hopes are centered; 



Where the starved soul at Wisdom's founts 



May be a free partaker, 

 And the bent form, erect, clear-eyed. 



Honor once more its Maker. 



CARE OF TENDEE PLANTS. 



tITY gardening, to be made suc- 

 cessful, reijiiires a good deal more 

 of practical knowledge and care 

 }jS) than the majority of persons are 

 ■^p aware. We refer especially to the 

 cultivation of flowers and plants on a 

 small scale, in yards, windows and con- 

 servatories, in small beds out of doors, 

 in pots, boxes, hanging baskets, etc., in 

 doors and out. There is so much diftVr- 

 ence in the hardiness of thj various 

 plants, the amount of water and light 

 necessary to healthy growth, the suscep- 

 tibility to changes of temperature and 

 humidity of the air, and the effect of 

 exposure to winds and drafts, that, all 

 things considered, require much atten- 

 tion. Plants which have been grown 

 under the shelter of glass and protected 

 from wind and weather are not able to 

 bear exposure to winds at all. When 

 you purchase of nurserymen for the 

 yard, be sure to get plants that have 

 been inured to the weather, otherwise 

 you cannot make them live and grow in 

 exposed places. Even as hardj' a plant 

 as the rose, if grown under glass, can- 

 not endure exposure. We have known 

 beautiful window plants that had been 

 grown under glass to suffer from raising 

 the window and allowing the draft of 

 cold air to strike over them. As many 

 persons purchase such plants for their 

 yards, verandas and windows, a, word of 

 caution should be given. 



They must not be placed where the 

 wind has a rake at them, nor be exposed 

 to great changes of temperature. They 

 must be tenderly cared for, regularly and 

 plentifully, but not too copiously, wa- 

 tered. ; that is, they should not be kept 

 continually soaked with water, as is of- 

 ten done by setting pots in pans filled 

 with water. They must be sheltered 



