California Agriculturist akd Live Stock Journal. 



}mixn. 



Jasper Dean's Z^usings. 



^fHE apples were red in the orchard, the mea- 

 * ' dows were sober and bare, 



--, The woods were atlumo with a splendor 

 l('' ) that glowed iu the glorified air. 



Through the valley a tremiilous murmur 

 ran drowsily all the day long. 

 M*hero ft brook kissed tho pebbles, and passed 

 them and sang its perpetual eong. 



" A man without some one to care for is not as a 



man ought to be; 

 And a home without Bome one to cheer it ain't 



pleasant to^havo or to see. 



" Now, if I had married at thirty— Phawl'^hero I 



lun drivelliu' on. 

 Within lots o' things to bo seen to, and the sun, 



as I live, a'most guue. 



"There's a rhill in tho air about sundown, I 



reckon I'd better get round, 

 Or I'll have tliat old rheiimatiz sliootin' all thro' 



me ageu, I'll bu bound." 



An Horatian Lyric. 



Leaning over the gate of his garden, the leaves O, blest is ho, from business free 



all awhirl at his feet, 

 Jasper Dean mused, like one wht> was dreaming 

 a dream far more bitter than sweet. 



" I am fifty years old this October," he muttered, 



"and how do I stand? 

 Well, I own a smart house and two hundred good 



acres of tol'rablo land. 



"There's many a man would be happy with half 



what I've got to my name, 

 But I'm not; and L reckon most likely there's 



suthin' or other to blame. 



" There's a feelin' that sometiraeg comes on me, 

 aud mos'ly at this time of year — 



When the birds fiy away, and the dimness gives 

 noticu that winter is near. 



" There's a feelin' that sometimes comes on me 

 and makes me half wish to be dead; 



And I don't know exaekly what brings to buzz 

 like a bee in my head. 



"It may bo the changing o" the seasons, with 



death and decay all around; 

 Or it may be a wish growin' stronger for suthin' 



that ain't to be found. 



*' There is hardly a day but the neighbors are 



tiilUing about my affairs; 

 I don" thank them for mindin" my business; I'm 



sure I don't meddle with theirs. 



" But they talk, and they talk, and the drift^of 



it all about my dull life. 

 It is dull, I know that very well; but I'm now 



past the time for a wife. 



" When a man touches fifty, like me, he had bet- 

 ter be sayin' his prayers; 



Not fretting himself about women and runnin' 

 his head into snares. 



"There was Absalom Brown, that went ofl' and 



got married at most tifty-five. 

 If he hadn't done that. I don't doubt but the 



critter would still be alive. 



" But the woman he took just worried his wits 



out in less than a year; 

 Though wheu he went off she was ready with 



many a crocodile tear. 



' But all women are not o' that sort. There are 



plenty as good as can be; 

 And it 1 had married at thirty it might have been 

 better for me. 



'There's the house, and a good one it is — net a 



beiter the country can show; 

 But I never go iu without feeling a dullness, in- 

 stead of a glow. 



„ A homo may seem ever so pleasant and ever so 



neat and hue, 

 And still have no comfort within it; and that's 



what's the matter with mine. 



'There is never a voice to give welcome, and 



never a glad smile to greet. 

 And my heart never throbs to tho musical patter 

 of innocent feet. 



'What's tho use of a man always strivin'? He 



gains but a little at last: 

 And it generally comes, if at all, when the time 

 to enjoy it is past. 



'Now, if I had married at thirty, as I had a no- 

 tion to do. 



Who can tell but my heart would be lighter, the 

 heme a mure pleasant one too ? 



' But somehow I waited and waited; and now I 



am fifty years old; 

 There is plenty of frost in my hair, and my blood 

 has grown sluggish and cold. 



"I feel morn like restin' than workin',and every 



year that goes by 

 Pears to toll mc I'd better bo careful, and leaves 



me a trifle less sjiry. 



"And suthin' comes on me in autumn— I don't 



know esai'kly what way — 

 That makes me feel sad-like and solemn, and sets 



all my ideas astray, 



"It may be the change o' the seasons, with death 



and decay all around; 

 Or it may be a wishin' and longin' for suthin' 



that ain't to be found. 



Like the merry men of old. 

 Who tills the land with his own stout hand, 

 Aud knows not tho lust of gold. 



No sailor ho on tho stormcy sea, 



No soldier, trumpet stirred; 

 And he shuus the town and the haughty frown 



Of the courtiers' fawning herd. 



But he bids the vine with her tendrils twine. 



Around tho poi>lar tall; 

 And he adds a graft, with a garduer's craft, 



To the tree that climbs his wall. 



Or a grazier keen, on the pastures green, 



He sees his oxen feed; 

 Or he shears his flock, or ho brews a stock 



Of his rustic nectar mead. 



And when autumn at length, in his manly 

 strength. 



Has raised his fruit-crowned head. 

 And plucked the pear, with its flavor rare. 



And the grape with its clusters red, 



"With his knee on the sod he blesses God 



For his mercies and favors frie: 

 And he lays him along, while he lists the song 



Of the thrush in tho old oak tree: 



While the waters glide with the rippling tide, 



And the zephers softly creep 

 O'er the quivering leaves, mids the murmuring 

 trees. 



And lull the senses to sleep. 



But when thunilerinf:; Jove from his stores above 



Sends wintry slnrm and rain. 

 And r.ick and wood, and held and flood, 



Lay bound iu his icy chain, 



With many a hound, in the woods aroun<l, 



He hunts the grizzly boar; 

 Aud ere dayliMbt fjcde his gleaming blade 



Is red with the monster's gore. 



When the sim has set he spreads his net. 

 And the partridge, fluttering, dies; 



He takes tho hare in his crafty snare. 

 And the crane— a goodly prize. 



'Mid joys like these, what ill can tease— 



Who could remember pain ? 

 He feels no wrong, and laughs at the throng 



Ot the cares that swell love's train. 



If a loving wife— best staff of life- 

 Be his, and children dear. 



The lire burns britihl, with its ruddy light, 

 His homeward step to cheer. 



At tho cottage door, when his toil is o'er. 

 She stands with her smile so sweet; 



And holds up her face, with a modest grace. 

 His welcome kiss to meet. 



Ami children glad swarm round their dad. 



But himgry the man mus be; 

 So she spreads the cloth, and he sups his broth. 



While she pours out refreshing tea. 



—[Blackwood's Magazine. 



Follow Up the Plow, 



BY WILL S. HAYS. 



Hard times are now upon us. 



And the people are in debt; 

 The country's full of trouble 



And the worst is coming yet, 

 'Tis not without its causes, 



Aud we'll plainly tell you now. 

 The only way to stop it. 



Is to '-follow up the plow." 



Fill up your fields and prairies 



With a crop that's "good as gold." 

 And mine your hills and valleys wide 



For iron, salt and coal. 

 The earth is the producer. 



And we can tell you how 

 To make a princely fortune— 



'Tis to "follow up the plow." 



There are too many people 



Who from their duty shirk. 

 Who'd rather make a fortune 



By some other meaus than work. 

 The man who plants tobacco. 



Corn, wheat or cotton now. 

 Is king among the moneyed men," 



He -'follows up the plow." 



The Days of Iiong Ago. 



I wonder are tho fields as green, the skies as 



brightly blue. 

 The birds as joyous in their songs, the flowers as 



bright in hue- 

 Wild roses blushing fresh and fair in many a 



green hedge row — 

 As sweet as those I gathered in the days of long 



ago. 



"Oh yes," replies the maiden faJr, with voice of 



melody, * 



With BunbeaiiiR in her waving hair, aud eyes like 



summer sea, 

 "Yes, yps," responds the gallant youth, scarce 



pausing to reply. 

 While high resolve and happy love beamed in 



eager eye. 



Oh Pjjeed ye toward tho mountain tops wo wiSO 



old graybeards say, 

 Yet are ye not so light of foot as wo were In our 



day. 

 So hardy on the rocky pathB, so blithe among the 



bowers, 

 So stout of hfrflrt as we were when your happy 



age was ours. 



Oh, speed yo toward the mountain top ye moid- 

 ens fair and sweet. 

 While spring flowers deck your bowing hair and 



€\i\) ^{irdcning. ^ 



The Sun and the Kose. 



BY ALICE GIUY, 



The sun. who smiles whereever he goes 

 Till the flowers all smile again. 



Fell in love one day witli a bashful rose 

 That had b.-en a bud till then. 



So he pTished back the folds of the soft, 

 green hood. 



That coveri'd hfr modest grace. 

 And kissed her as only u lover could. 



Till the crimson burned iu her face. 



But woo for the day when his golden hoir 



Tangled her heart in a net. 

 And woe for the night of dark despair. 



When her cheek with tears wab wet. 



For she loved blni as only a maiden could, 

 And he left her cnishfrd and weak. 



Striving in vain with her faded huod 

 To cover her guilty cheek. 



The Flower Crarden. 



DV MABY Hownr. 



God might liavo bid the earth bring forth 



Knotigh for great and small. 

 The oak tree and the cedar tr«e, 



Without a flower at all. 



He might have made enough, cnongb 



For every want of ours — 

 For luxury, mediiine, and toll. 

 And yet have made no flowers. 



Our outward life required them not — 

 ThcTi wherefore have tliey birth':* 



To minister delight to man; 

 To beautify tho earth; 



To comfort man: to whisper hoi>e 



Whene'er his faith is dim; 

 For whoso caretb for the flowers, 



Will much more care for him. 



dewdrops bathe your feet — ] 



With star bright eye, with rose bright cheeks.yet 



&re ye not, you know, | 



So lovely as the girls we loved a long time ago. \ 



We linger i.n the lighted halls, for still we fondly 



prize 

 The echoing laughter of young lips the sunshine 



of young eyes. 

 Yet here we shake our wise old head and say 



with faltering tongue. 

 Old friend, things were not so, when you and I 



were young. 



The dance may sweep its giddy round, the song 



its silvery flow. 

 What are they to the dance and song we joined 



in long ago? 

 Thus hioking from the hills of age along youth's 



distant glades. 

 We mark the lingering, sunlight there, but will 



not see the shades. 



But oh! we miss the lightsome form, wo miss the 



flowing curls. 

 We miss the bitoyant hearts wa own'd when we 



were boys aud girls; 

 We linger fondly on thy joy, forgetful of thy 



woe, 

 01 happy agel 0! golden climel delnsiye long ago* 



SEASONABLE ADVICE. 



-yHOEVEIl expocts to be snccessful 

 [7/ in cultivating tlowers and lawns, 

 iu our dry climate, must make 

 provision for plentifully irrigating 

 lliem. Many persons in town 

 liavtj hose that may be attached to the 

 water pipes and irrigate evferything cither 

 by showering or flowing over the roots. 

 When so provided, a little care only is 

 needed to keep everything 

 in splendid condition. — 

 Xeglect is fatal to tender 

 plants, and unless plenty 

 of water is given, any 

 plant will soon show suf- 

 fering by a wilted look 

 and the lower leaves turn- 

 ing yellow. With sutB- 

 cieut water and soil and 

 shelter from wiuds. plants 

 will grow most luxuriantly 

 and will reward the care 

 given them in living 

 beantj- and sweetness. 

 Where water cannot be 

 conducted npon plants or the surface 

 soil cannot be wet withont great trouble, 

 aud one wishes a few choice plants only, 

 it is well to sink some tin or other vessel 

 like a can, or flower pot with the bottom 

 plugged, below the plant so as to hold 

 water enongh to last the plant a day or 

 two at a time. The vessel should be 

 first filled with pebble stones, old bones, 

 or lumps of charcoal, and set be set 

 about four inches below the surface, with 

 some coarse material like straw or sack- 

 ing placed over it before tire soil is, to 

 keep it from filling with fine soil. Then 

 a hole should be left through which the 

 water can be poured, covering it with a 

 small stone or convenient thing. In this 

 way plants can be kept growing with the 

 least waste of water about the house in 

 very dry and hot places. Still another 

 way, and a very good one, too, is to dig 

 trenches eight inches deep and a foot 



