California Agriculturist and Live Stock Journal. 



1G> 



tance through; then lield open with thumh 

 and fingei-, ;uid wliat stryolmine will rest 

 upon the point of a penknife blade is put into 

 the center and the halves pressed together. 

 The poison permeates all through the apple. 

 The apple is then rolled into a squirrel hole, 

 out of the reach of all live stock, and the 

 work is done. The squirrels will eat and 

 die. Mr. Ware likes this method better than 

 using melons, poisoned. Birds and other ani- 

 mals are likely to eat of the melons, while the 

 squirrels are not so sure to eat of them as of 

 apples. Squirrels like apples at any season 

 of the year, but moat when there is no other 

 succulent food, say in September and Octi>ber. 

 After the grain starts to grow and there is 

 plenty of green feed, Mr. W. finds that 8(|inr- 

 rels like dry feed best, such as grain. The 

 way he prepares this is to dissolve phos- 

 phorus by pouring hot water upon it, and 

 with sugar or molasses and flour, make a 

 thin batter, and pour this batter upon wheat, 

 stirring till each kernel is coated. One stick 

 of phosphorus needs two quarts of hot water, 

 with a handful of sugar and enough flour to 

 make a thin batter. Don't set the phosphorus 

 in water upon the hot stove to melt, but melt 

 it by pouring hot water upon it, in some 

 suitable vessel. There is but one objection 

 to phosphorus. It kills every rodent that eats 

 it, but when they eal but little it acts slowly, 

 and they are sometimes several days dying. 

 Strychnine acts quicker, but is much more ex- 

 pensive. If squirrels poisoned with phos- 

 phorus die where hogs can eat them the Iiog.s 

 will be poisoned also. Poisoned grain should 

 he put well into ihe holes, out of the reach of 

 other animals. When one kind of poison 

 fails of making dean work, try another, and 

 you will in the end be successliil. 



DOTATION OP OKOPB. 



Likewise your lands when reapt of harvests 



clear, 

 Should fallow lie through each alternate year; 

 The soil exhausted by tbe crop it grows, 

 Demsnds an equal season of repose, 

 When hardening 'neath the matted swaj-d it 



brings, 

 From secret sources new and living springs- 

 Or, witli the season, you the crop sluiuhl change, 

 And in succession for repair arrange. 

 The yellow wheat you will not fail to sow 

 This year, where last the rustling pulse did 



grow: 

 The slender otTspring of the vetch replace, 

 The bitter lupine's brittle stalks apace. 

 These grovrs of pods the soil to reinslate. 

 With waving wheatflelds best mav alternate. 

 But choose not to effect the favoring turn. 

 With flax or oats, for these the soil will burn- 

 Nor yet the poppy, steeped in Letha'au gloonis 

 lor It the virtue of the soil consumes; 

 But if to these the alternate years must fall 

 You may with ease to profit turn them all 

 It only you will not withhold to cure 

 The impoverished soil -with loads of ilch ma. 



nure, 

 Nor spare to scatter with a liberal hand 

 The sordid ashes on tlic worn-out land. 

 Thus change of crop the needed rest supplies 

 The some as when tbe ground in fallow lies. 



The Owd 'Wooden Plough. 



l0di'ir. 



Virgil's Georgics Rendered 

 into English Verse. 



BY PROF. W. H. WYNN. 

 TIME TO PLOW. 



fN early sprinp when from the hoary hills, 

 The Bnow dissolves in percolating'rills, 

 Amlcnimblinf^' fallows to the zephyrs yield 

 The easy conquest of the frozou field. 

 •(5^ Then to the plow I yoke my sturdy steer. 

 •^ And pressing hard drive deep the glitter- 

 ing share. 

 That field repays the eager farmer most, 

 Which twice has felt the sun and twice the 



frost; 

 His crowded barns will burst with burdened 



grain, 

 Who three timcG plows and still will plow again . 



QDALITIES OF BOIL TO BE LEAHNED. 



But ere we break the soil we do not know, 

 'Twere well to»8k the winds which way they 



blow; 

 The varying tempers of the sky discern. 

 And modes of culture from our fathers learn: 

 What tillage suits the habits of the suil, 

 In what way each rewards the farmer's toil; 

 For kinds of soil discriminate we know, 

 Here grain, there grapes, are best disposed to 



prow. 

 This thriving trees to mu-seryman will bring, 

 In that all herbs spontaneously spring. 

 See how Mt. Timolus saffron odors sends, 

 In rich supply to earth's remotest ends; 

 How ivory the wealth of India wields; 

 And frankincense the soft Sabaean yields; 

 NudeChalybes expert in iron wares; 

 Eplrus fruitful iu Olympic mares; 

 And wliere on Pontus best the beaver breeds. 

 Strong-scented castor for the druggist's needs. 

 These laws and special aptitudes unmixed, 

 Wise nature hath on certain places fixed. 

 What time Deucalion from Parnassas hurled 

 The Uft'lees stones into a lifeleless world, 

 His mother's bones, as was the prophet's ken. 

 And forthwith sprang a hardy race of men. 

 C'jme, then, your steers, in early season hitch. 

 And turn tbe soil if it be deep and rich, 

 That dusty summer coming on may make 

 Malurer suns the scattered clods to bake. 

 But if the soil you plow be thin and light, 

 'Twere best to make the furrow^ also slight. 

 What time ynu see in the autumnal skies 

 Arcturus, harbinger of tempests, rise;— 

 The latter, lest the scanty moisture leave 

 The sandy soil as running through a seive. 



We make no apology, says the London (Eug.) 

 Farmer, for printing thus prominently a Bong 

 which is still popular among the farmers of cer- 

 tain districts in Derbyshire and Staflbrdshire. It 

 comes to us through a correspondent who has 

 notions very far ahead of the "owd wooden 

 plough." Our correspondent thinks it is quite 

 time that "wooden"-neBB should he got out of 

 the heads of all farmers: 



TH' OWD WOODEN PLOUGH. 



Up by th' Blake mere 0' Morridge, not a long 

 time ago, 



There lived an old chap wi" an old wig o' tow. 



His name wor Tom Morris, and I'll tell ye how 



He made a discourse on an old wooden plough. 

 Gee ho Dobbin, gee ho Dobbin, 

 Gee ho Dobbin, gee up and gee wo, 



Twor the tenth of October, and the oats wor just 



ripe, 

 On the settle he sot, and he smoked his Ion" pipe; 

 And he thought a long time about this thing and 



that. 

 And said, "Tommy, Bit down, and I'll tell thee 



what's what." 



Gee ho Dobbin, &c. 



I prithee draw 



will soon bo my 



"These are terrible times, lad 



nigh. 



And I'll give thee a wringle or two ere I die; 

 I can't stand it much longer, it shortens my 



breath , 

 These new-fangled notions 



death. 



Gee ho Dobbin, &c. 



"They're going too fast, lad, I tell thee, a deal; 

 There's Lord Talbort, o' Ingestre, and Ralph 



Sneyd, o' Keele. 

 And Sandon, and Buller, and Mainwaring, and 



Bill- 

 Lord! the stuff they've been talking— it makes 



me quite ill. 



Gee ho Dobbin, &c. 



•'Wi' their bones and their acids, their drills and 



guhnnner. 

 Thy grandfather, Tom, never farmed i" that 



manner: 

 He*d ha' stared hard enough if he'd heard what 



they say 

 About boiling o' oil cakes and chopping o' hay. 

 Gee ho Dobbin, ^c. 



"Then soughing's a thing as in course they mun 



alter. 

 So the go a mon's de^ith to get at th' top water. 

 And they scoop out the dirt wi' a thing like a 



spoon. 

 And for tiles they'll be using o' baccy-pipes soon. 

 Gee ho Dobbin, kc, 



"Then they prate 0' their carrots, and mangles, 



and sich, 

 (As if growin'o' carrots would mak" a mon rich) 

 Of hoeing o' turmits and cleaning o" yallows— 

 StuiTand nonsense!— and growing of wheat with- 

 out fallows. 



Gee ho Dobbin, A:c. 



"Why. it makes me to laugh; without fallows. 



indeed — 

 I tliink they mim ha' a soft place iu their yed. 

 And what dan ye think they've been doing just 



now ? 

 Why, they've got up a laugh at an owd wooden 



plough! 



Gee ho Dobbin, kc. 



"Aye, an owd wooden plough; and they say. to 



be sure. 

 As the wide-awake farmers mun see 'em no more; 

 They mun all be of iron, and wood there's no 



trade for; 



Wliy, what do fools thinken as ash trees were 

 made for. 



Gee ho Dobbin, &c. 



"Talk o' plonghH made 0' iron! why. th' next 



thing they'll do, 

 As sure an you live, they'll be painting them 



Hue: 

 Then tliey'vo two tits abreast as they call a gee 



ho— 

 They may call long enough, but it ncvor can go. 

 Gee ho Dobbin, &c. 



"No! gi'e me a good wooden plough as is strong, 

 And a good pair o' big wheels to help it along. 

 And four loug-tailcd tits, a mon. and a lad, 

 And a good steady pa<-e, and it shanner be bad. 

 Gee ho Dobbin, kc. 



Then Tommy, my lad. never heed what they say, 

 But get thee on still i" thy fcythcr's owd way. 

 They'll bring all their hogs to flno markets I 



know. 

 But stick, while thee lives, to the old woodcQ 



plough." 



Gee ho Dobbin, &c. 



Autumn. 



I wonder if oak and maple, 



Willow and elm and all, 

 ArcjHtirred at hvart by the coming 



Of the dp.y their leaves must fall; 

 Do they think of the yellow whirlwind, 



Or of the crimson spray, 

 That shall be when the chill November 



Bears all the leaves away? 



"If die we must," the leaflets 



Seem one by one to siiy: 

 "We will wear the colors of all the earth 



Until we pass away. 

 No eyes shall see us falter; 



And before we hiy it down 

 We'll weariu sight' of all the earth 



The year's most kingly crown. 



So, trees of the stately forest. 



And trifs by the trodden way. 

 You are kindling into glory 



This soft autumnal day. 

 And we who gaze, remember 



That more than all they lost 

 To hearts and trees together 



May come through ripening frost. 



A Song of the Country. 



BY JOHN STUAHT BLACKIE. 



Away from the roar and the rattle. 



The dust and the din of the town. 

 Where to live is to brawl and to battle, 



Till the strong treads the weak man down! 

 Away to the bonuie green hills 



Where the sunshine sleeps on the brae. 

 And the heart of the greenwood thrills 



To the hymn of the bird on the spray. 



Away from the smoke and the smother, 



Tbe vail of the dun and the brown. 

 The push and the plnFh and the pother. 



The wear and the waste of the town! 

 Away where the sky shines clear. 



And the light breeze wanders at will, 

 And the dark pine-wood nods near 



To the light-plumed birch on the hill. 



Away from the whirling and wheeling. 



And steaming above and below. 

 Where the heart has no leisure for feeling 



And the thought has no quiet to grow. 

 Away where the clear brook purls. 



And the hyacinth droops in the shade. 

 And the plume of the fern unctirls 



Its grace in the depth of the glnde. 



Away to the cottage so sweetly 



Embowered 'neath the fringe of the wood. 

 Where the wife of my bosom shall meet me 



With thoughts ever kindly and good; 

 More dear than tlir wealth of the world. 



Fond mother with bairnies three, 

 And the plump-armed babe that has ciirled 



Its lips sweetly pouting forme. 



Then away from the roar and the rattle 



The dust and the din of the town, 

 Where to live is to brawl and t<) liattlc, 



Till the strong treads the weak man down. 

 Away whore the gn-en twigs nod. 



In the fragrant breath vt May. 

 And the swtet growth sjirc-ads on the eo<l. 



And the blithe birds sing on the spray. 

 — [Sunday Magazine. 



Where fair hands have BCattend in tasteful pro- 

 fusion. 

 The viands the choicest the farm can afiord. 



And feasting and jest and tbe half forgot story. 



And bumper and song for a season have sway; 

 For the hands chained to toil are for once lib- 

 erated, 

 And heart strange to freedom,'are free^ for to- 

 day. 



Let the swains, browned with suu, and with 

 bands hard from labor. 

 To the shadowy grove with the maidens re- 

 pair; 

 And bring w th them jewels from grain field aiul 

 meadow, 

 To set in the crown that the fairest shall wear. 



The wheat plume, and oat plume, and sorrel 

 clover blossom, 

 And sprays of soft meadow-grass showing be- 

 tween. 

 Oh, weave them in chaplets, cbclr colors ecu- 

 trafiting 

 Tbe green with tbe gold, and the gold with the 

 green. 



And out of the throng of the browu rustic faces. 

 Let the maidens choose bim who was true to 

 tbe soil, 

 Whoso courage failed not wbeu the battle wofi 

 hottest, 

 ^VboBc hands are tbe hardeet and broadest from 

 toll. 



And to him the choice of the purt-st and fairt-'t. 



And hers be the h<)nor the chaplet to wear; 

 Oh, tenderly place it upon her fair forehead. 



And let it rest lightly upon her dark hair. 



And thus clad In beauty, her trcBBes the shadow. 

 The oat plume the sunshine enUvene<l witli 

 green , 

 Let the woodland resound with unsneriug cch.- 

 Of their "Queen of Beauty" and their " liar- 

 vest Queen." 



And the dear little children, Ob, tell tbcm tht 

 tidings, 

 And let them take turns at tbe old iron bell. 

 Till stroke answer stroke, aud the spirit of mumc 

 Shall wake their sweet laughter from wood- 

 land and dell. 



Oh tell it ye bells, till it reaches the city. 

 Ye quivering wires swift Ijcar it away; 



And whisper the word to tbe indigent milliiuiH 

 And cheer them with hope of a happier day. 



For tbe harvest is full aud the great bams an 

 bursting. 

 Let a million of voices the glad news pruelaim 

 Till the air shall be vocal with songs of thanks- 

 giving, 

 And tbe mountains shall echo tbo good GiverV 

 name. 



S. B. BUSSEL. 



Thanksgiving. 



The harvest is over; let the farm bell and church 

 bell, 

 From valley and hill top the tidings proclaim. 

 Till the air shall be laden with notes of thanks- 



And the mountains shall echo the good giver's 

 name. 



Throw open the doors of tbe farmer's great man- 

 sion. 

 And landlord and laborer draw near to the 

 board. 



Seedtime and Harvest. 



As you look on your bounteous harvest, 



Give thanks aud remember the i»<x)r; 

 A little will bring hnp^.- and comfort 



And gladness m many a door. 

 The widow who toilb with her needle 



To give little children their bread, 

 Tbe neighbor so Rad. empty-handed — 



Od these let your blessing be shed. 



And last, but not least, in your plenty, 



Remember your work-males as well — 

 The patieitl dumb lio&st, who no silent 



No words of complaining can tell. 

 Aud, wider, the circles that nuiulKT 



God's creatun-B in wood and in field— 

 "Tis little they ask of your bounty 



Out of the harvest yield. 



The sheaf of grain when the winter 



Is white with the blinding snow. 

 And weary and faint in the darknc&s 



The little ones come and go.* 

 As they give in the fnsty Northland. 



Where the sun is dim and cold. 

 When the Christmas days are oi>eDing 



Over the field and wold. 



Spring sun. and r.^in, and frost time 



Have ripened the earth's good store— 

 Of all men in your plenty 



You should remember the poor; 

 Let the merchant huard his troasuret. 



Let the miser watch his store — 

 The wealth of the fields is given 



To lie at your humble door. 



Mabtha Rsuick. 



•It is the custom in Norway to put up a sheaf 

 of wheat for the birds in the open air every- 

 where at Christmas time. 



The work of the year, the end, draweth near, 



And we lay our weapons by; 

 Late we toiled and long, and dull was our son;.' 



While our throats were parched and dry. 



The plow and the hoe to the bam now go, 



All bright and worn by the soil, 

 And we leave them bo while our crops do grow 



To reward us for our toil. 



