California Agriculturist and Live Stock Journal. 



I0cfvtr, 



[For the Cal, Agriculturist.] 



Florida to California. 



BY MINNIE H. RIZER. 



^ipi' RIGHT land Of the Bunset, my heart turns 

 to thee. 

 Sweetest home of the orange and vinel 

 Thy fame hath been wafted in fragrance 

 to me, 



Like an incense from some hallowed shrine; 

 I have breathed the sweet breath of thy bridal 

 blooms 

 When not many days plucked from the bou^h. 

 And dreamed that I stood in a valley whuro 

 looms 

 The tall mountain with Buow-covered brow. 



While yet in the Northland, where winter's chill 

 breath 



Blights the labors of Nature's kind hand, 

 I read of thy shores, where no annual death 



Spreads its gloom, like a pall, o'er the land,— 

 And longed so to dwell in some beautiful vale. 



Busking there between mountain and wave, 

 In a home where the breath of blooms on the 

 gale 



Is the sweetest that earth ever gave. 



Since then to this far away Southland I came, 



In vaiu search of a climate like thine, — 

 A winter I've passed, and a summer of flame, 



While King Sol in his veugeiiuce did shine; 

 In this famed "Land of Flowers" more than a 

 year 



I have watched and I've waited to see 

 What allurement it claims to hold the heart here, 



And in what its attraction can be. 



*Ti8 not like the beautiful land of the West, 



With its broad, fertile acres of mould. 

 Where all sowing seed on the dark earth are blest 



With a crop yielding riches untold; 

 The health-beaming eye and the rose-tinted 

 cheek 



But few natives here ever may claim. — 

 Nor light-springing step, for the frame is too 

 weak— 



What is health here is only a name. 



Then may the kind Fates bear me yet to thy 

 shore. 



Where the soft, fragrant air, like a balm, 

 Can to beauty and health the feeble restore. 



While in orange grove singing its psalm; 

 For gale of the mountain, or breeze of the sea. 



Or sweet zephyr of vale, 'tis as pure 

 As Eden's first breath, when from evil yet free, 



And fuUmauy earth-ills it can cure. 



Sweet land of the sunseil my hearts's only home, 



Still I visit thee oft in my dreams. 

 And through thy fair vales, and o'er mcxintaiuB, 

 I roam, 



And rejoice by thy musical streams; 

 Clime of climes! land of landsl no other below, 



Can to me seem so dear, and so fair, — 

 To others farewell, when to thee I can go, 



For I feel that my life-work is there. 



WiLBORN, Fla., Nov. 20, 1876. 



For the California Agriculturist. 



Falling' of the Xieaves. 



BT J. BELL. 



How silently they fall, without a sound 

 Save a faint rustle, as they one by one 



In swift succession strew the frosty groxmd. 

 Mingling their colors In the morning sun. 



And far and wide what beauty they unfold. 

 The forests glowing In their autumn dress. 



Their pathways carpeted in green and gold! 

 Spread to our view » scene of loveliness. 



We -watched their coming in the early Spring, 

 We saw their freshness in the Simimer's 

 prime, 



When 'neath their shade the feathered tribes 



would sing, 

 Now, changed and withered by the hand of 

 time. 



The falling leaves are whieperiug "ieath is 

 High. 



All earthly objects perish or decay." 

 This solemn warning brings a pensive sigh. 



Knowing that we too, soon must (pass away. 



But glorious thought! we perish not as these. 

 The mortal dies, the immortal lives again, 

 " Dust unto dust "—the Spirit upward fleen, 

 To heavenly joys, where death can never 

 reign. 



Our Father's sovereign care ts over uUl 

 Each little pi ant, or strong aspiring tree. 



Is watched and tended— not a leaf durst fall 

 Unnumbered or unknown, God to thee! 



Then, let me pass away, 'ere Winter's gloom, 



Enfolds the earth within his icy shroud, 

 In Nature's freshness, while the dowers still 



bloom, 

 And heaven invites to rest — undlmmed by 



cloud! 

 San Jose, 1876. 



In the VToods. 



How changed the scene from that I lately sang, 



Of suushiue in the woodn! 

 When all the leafy coverts rang, 



Down to the deepest Bolitudes, 

 With sweet bird harmonies uf song 

 From the wild-feathered throng. 

 Bvit now the furious wind's sonorous bass 

 Sounds through the naked trees; 

 Musing spreads forth her wing 

 And in the air float melodies, which chase 

 Each other as they please 

 And gambol as in ecstasies; 

 Each tree a harp, and every branch a string. 

 Touched by a hand unseen, now low, now high, 



Outringing rapturous refrains, 

 And with great heaven's own minstrelsy 



Flooding the hills and plains. 

 Some tremulous leaves still hand upon the 

 boughs. 



Quivering "twixt life and death. 

 And yonder willow sways, and sighs and bows 



Before the frost hath breathed her wintry 

 breath, 

 And the last leaf falls flickering to its tomb- 

 Relic of brightness and of bloom. 

 Walk through the wood, thrilled to the utmost 

 core. 



By the wild concert of celestial sounds 

 In God's cathedral. Hear the wondrous roar 



Of nature's organ, echoing in rounds 

 From the high headland to the ocean shore, 



Magnificently grand! 

 This is God's minster-choir. 



By the blue heavens o'erspanned. 

 And now the song bursts forth the harp and 

 lyre, 



A hallelujah chorus loud, 

 A hurricane of noise which sweeps 



Triumphant from cloud to cloud. 



As though the very heavens were bowed; 

 And then in silence sleeps. 

 Sweet silence! like the cadence of a psalm: 

 The storm was sudden, and the hallowing calm 



A sudden as thf storm; 

 Not a breath stirs, and ze^thyrs soft as balm 



brings peace in its most lovely form. 

 Only the whispering rill I hear. 



With its mild vet-per hymn the trees among, 

 And, beautifully clear. 



The robin's plaintiff song. 



After the Storm. 



After the storm, a calm; 

 After the bruise, a balm; 

 For the ill brings good, in the Lord's own time. 

 And the sigh becomes a psalm. 



After the drought, the dew; 

 After the cloud, the bhie; 

 From the sky will smile, in the sun's good time. 

 And the earth grow glad and new. 



Bloom is the heir of blight. 

 Dawn is the child of night, 

 And the ^-oiling change of the busy world 



Bids the wrong yield back the right. 



Under the font of ill 

 Many a cup doth fill. 

 And the patient lip. though it drinketh oft. 

 Finds only the bitter still. 



Truth- seemed oft to sleep, 

 Blessings slow to reap. 

 Till the hours of waiting are weary to bear. 

 And the courage is hard to keep. 



Nevertheless, I know 

 Out of the dark must grow, 

 Sooner or later, whatever is fair, 



Since the heavens have willed it so< 



Be Sure Ton're &i^ht, Then 

 Oo Ahead. 



Ado]>t this beautiful motto — 



Write it in letters of gold; 

 'Tis a Baying uttered in wisdom. 



Applies to the young and the old. 

 'Twill help US along in life's journey; 



Nothing like Htartiug aright; 

 Such aetitm is pleiiHing to others ^ 



And Alls us with inward delight. 



Who can compute all the trouble, 



Tlie error., disasters and woe. 

 That occur from neglect of this duly? 



Their number but few of us know. 

 Tblnk and reflect before acting. 



Weigh well the project In view; 

 Be sure of righteous decision 



On whate'er you wish to pursue. 



Those who've adopted this motto 



Seldom have cause to regret. 

 It saves us a deal of misfortune, 



Releivffl us from worry and fret. 

 We jog along easy and happy, 



On a wide and definite plan. 

 Assured of success in our labor. 



By doing the best that we can. 



The Harvest Xiand. 



The daylight waning and the darkness near; 



So little done, and still so much to do! 

 Before me the long nij^ht of cloud and fear, 

 Withoutone star to pierce the shadows through. 



1 hear the rumbling of the swaggering wains; 



I hear the burden of the harvest sung; 

 And, thruubrh the hazy light In happy lanes. 



I see the sun-browned reapers pass along. 



,-\.nd 1 must lay my sickle down and go 

 From th9 dim fields that look so drear and 

 lone; 



Alas! that I have so few sheaves to showl 

 I shall not hear the Master say "Well done!" 



With what regret I look back to the past. 

 When the long shadows loomed so far away; 



And Morning seemed on every wakening blast, 

 To waft the whispers of an endless day! 



Su many misspent moments, wasted hours. 

 Playing with pebbles on tho sea-washed strand; 



Searching for butterflies, or gathering tiowers. 

 Instead of toiling in the harvest land. 



And now the night stole'u on me like a thief. 

 While yet I dreampt that it was scarcolynoon; 



Sad that the sunshine is so very brief! 

 Sad that the shadows tall so very sooni 



O for one other hour of God's bright day 



In which to work with sinew, heart and will. 



Ere yet I leave the fields and pass away 

 Tu that mysterious sleep where all is stilll 



—[William Leighton. 



The Threshing Floor. 



BY AUGUSTA LAUNSS. 



Come, Jenny, into the barn, dear. 

 Where Jack slings high the flail; 



The golden stalks dance far and near. 

 The blows fall thick as hail. 



So rich the tan upon his cheek, 



So firm the graceful lines. 

 He stands like some inspired athlete, 



In Sparta's ancient times. 



The flail beats out upon the ground 

 A song that fills his ears; 

 " 'Tis love that makes the world go round," 

 This happy thresher hears. 



The sun steals pnst the old barn door 

 'rhat frames this upland wide. 



Ana o'er tho beams and on the floor 

 It plays at seek and hide. 



The woods are caught in silver streams, 

 The meads are fresh and fair, 



As through the vision of our dreams 

 Blue moimtains rise in air. 



And angels seem to walk in bands. 



Along yon cloudy pile; 

 There may we fold our work-worn bauds, 



And rest within God's smile. 



Two gray doves on the ridge-pole sit, 



Aud !-im their l><>s*m»'s pride, 

 While swallows sfeim, and dive, and dip 



In circles lar and wide. 



And white clouds pause the barn above 



Like seraphs in the air; 

 For all the powers of peace and love 



Surround a happy pair. 



The earth is verdant for your sake. 



The hills are fair to see; 

 The cautious echoes viill not wake 



To brtathe love's myst<^ry. 



Jsck's stout flail on the yellow grain 

 Will chaunt of home and rest: 



The bread that's won to that refrain 

 Is sweetest to the taste. 



And while you stand to knead the bread. 



Aud Jack swings high the flail, 

 No cloud fcball shade your golden head. 



The love-lfght shall not foil. 



Come. Jenny, into the bam, dear; 



As trip your lightsome feet. 

 Our Jack shall cease the flail to hear, 



And list bis own heart beat. 



The Ideal Farmer And His 

 Wife. 



The American farmer— son of the Sun! 

 bronzed with a glnw from Its glorj- won; 

 As the fnu air it in heaven tu Inbalo. 

 Aud strong as the st«;udB of the prairie gale; 

 Lord of his castle and broad domain. 

 The herd bis vassals, the flock his train. 

 And rich In the coin his graneries hoard, 

 He sits at the head of his bountiful board. 

 And laughs at the crowded world afar. 

 Buzzing with ceasekss commercial life. 



Behold him at morn! his polished plow 

 Traces dark lines with Its silver prow, 

 Writing the verse iu alluvial mould 

 The Summer shall print In letters of gold; 

 And wt to the trill of the oriole's tunc. 

 Behold him at rest in the languid noon, 

 Stretched on the gross and cooled by tho 



breeze. 

 His klnyly pavllUon the glittering treos. 

 Behold him at eve;— the evening hie own. 

 Home jrfVR an.' bis that to few are known: 

 Tho rusMet is brought from his lost year's 



store. 

 His fruity-faced children play on the floi r. 

 And her wife, her cheek Hko orchard blocm 

 Is tho crown, the qnecn, of the cfaeerlul 



room. 



That mine of richoR— that farmer's wife! 

 How busy and happy and proud bt-r life I 

 From her pans she " pans uui " her ruUs of 



gold. 

 And her eggs are alt nest-eggs of wealth m.- 



told: 

 It tries not her patience to try out her lard. 

 And her lot, like her bed is scMoui hard; 

 She knits her Ptockingi*,but never her brows— 

 Gives the fowluadresblog.butnol her spouse. 

 O! busy and happy and proud the life 

 The fiirmer lives, and the fanurr'b wife. 



How TXTe O-row Old. 



A broken toy: a task that held away 



A yearning child-heart from an hour of pl.iy; 



A Christmas that no Christmax idols brought; 



A tangled lesson, full of tnigletl thuught; 



A homesick boy; a senior go\\-nt-d aud wise; 



A glimpse of life, when lo! the curtains rise 



Fold over fold — 



And hangs tbc picture, like a boundless sea- 



The world, all action and reality— 



So we grow old. 



A wadding, and a tender wife's caress; 

 A prattling bjibe the parents' life to bIcEB; 

 A home of joys and cares in e()ual part; 

 A dreary watching with a heavy heart; 

 Aud Death's dn ad angel knocking at the gate. 

 And Hope and Courage bidding Sorrow wait 

 Or loo8« her hold; 



A ucw-uiads grave, and then a brave return 

 To where the flres .of life triumphant bum- 

 So we grow old. 



A fortune and a gen'rous meed of fame. 



Or direful ntin and a t.-tmished name, 



A slipping C'ff of week and month and year. 



Faster aud faster as the close draws near: 



A grief to-day. and with to-morrow's light 



A ple&suro that transforms the sullen night 



From lead to gold; 



A chilling Winter of unchanging storm; 



A Spring replete with dawns and sunsets warm, 



So wo grow old. 



Old to ourselves, but children yet to bo 

 In the strange cities of eternity. 



-{N. Y.EvaningPost. 



Says the Ventura Siqnal: A man in 

 Santa Clara valley, on the Briggs ranch, 

 two yeaas ago bought $2,000 worth of 

 hogs, and has sold from the increase 

 $12,000 worth and has $8,000 worth of 

 hoga on hand. Another party of the 

 same ranch commenced with fifty hogs 

 and kept a strict account of all the ex- 

 penses of keeping the. hogs, and of all 

 that he had sold during the year. At 

 the end of the year, with what he had 

 sold aud stock on hand, he had over 

 three hundred dollars clear of every 

 dollar invested. Who will say this is 

 not a good coaotr> for hog lai&ing? 



S?^2^ 



