4G4 



NEW ENGLAND FARMER. 



for a 1 a-^v tree. Now if you have it right, go 

 over to C..[jt. Barns' and ask him if he will sell me 

 that larch tiv •• in the west corner of his birch lot. 

 Tell him the pi ice is no object, and be careful you 

 don't break any of the small roots ; be very care- 

 ful, Mike." 



"No fear o' that, sir." 



"Stop, that is not all. When you come home, 

 call at Smith's, and tell him I have concluded to 

 let him have the land, and tell him to come over 

 this afternoon and Squire Norton will be here to 

 fix the writings. Tell all who inquire for me that 

 I am sick." 



Before night one-third of Mr. Gove's land was 

 in Mr. Smith's possession, and the deeds on record. 

 The larch seemed quite at home by the bed-room 

 window. 



And now, what strange spell was this upon Mr. 

 Gove. 



"O, there are moments in our life 



Wlien but a thought, a word, a look has power, 



To wrest the cup of happiness aside 



And stamp us wretched !" 



The evening before, Mr. G. chanced to take up 

 a school-book of William's, and on a blank leaf 

 were written, in a neat school-boy hand, these 

 simple lines : 



"'Tis the last blooming summer these eyes shall behold; 

 Long, long er'e another, this heart shall be cold: 

 For O, its warm feelings on earth have been chilled, 

 And I grieve not that shortly its pulse will be stilled." 



Mr. G. dropped the book, and wandered he hard- 

 ly knew whither, till he found himself in the 

 swamp where William's trees were buried. AVhat 

 followed the reader already knows. 



Mrs. G. had finished her day's work, and was 

 seating herself in the little rocking chair, when 

 Mr. G. called to her from the bed-room. 



"Betsey, will you sit in here] I want you to 

 write a letter to William to-night." 



"To-night! Why it is after nine o'clock !" 



"I know it, but I shall feel better if it is done 

 to-night. I feel sick all over, and perhaps I am 

 nervous." 



"I will write what you wish me to, my dear 

 husband." 



"0, don't say so — but tell Billy I wish him to 

 come home without delay ; tell him for the love he 

 bears his mother, and for the love I bear him, to 

 come now. Say that my hand trembles so I can't 

 write this, but I say it from my inmost heart." 



Mrs. G., with an overflowing heart, quickly per- 

 formed the delightful task. 



"And now, Betsey, I will try to ask God to 

 watch over that boy, and to soften my own proud 

 heart." 



"O ! when the heart is full— when bitter thoughts 



Come crowding thickly up for utterance, 



And the poor common words of courtesy 



Are such a very mockery — how much 



The bursting heart may pour itself in prayer." 



June, beautiful June, the "month of roses," 

 found Mr. G. in that "old arm chair," by the bed- 

 room window, but 0, how changed ! 



"His hair was thin, and on his brow 

 A record of the cares of many a year, 

 Cares that were ended and forgotten now." 



It was the last day of his earthly existence 

 The gentle breeze as it swept through the light fo- 

 liage of that beautiful larch caused him to open 

 those eyes so soon to be closed for ever — and as 

 they met for the last time on earth those of his 



own Billy, upon whose arm his head rested, he 

 whispered, "I die happy now," and the scene of 

 life had closed. m. f. d. 



Brentwood, N. H. 



DELAYS. 



By Robert Southwell — 1595. 



[We copy the following verses from an old English book, 

 and believe their promptings just as good as though they were 

 not two hundred andfifty-seven years old ! ] 



Shun delays, they breed remorse; 



Take thy time, while time is lent thee; 

 Creeping snails have weakest force; 



Fly their fault lest thou repent thee; 

 Good is best when sooner wrought, 

 Ling'ring labors come to nought. 



Hoist up sail while gale doth last, 



Tide and wind stay no man's pleasure; 



Seek not time, when time is past, 

 Sober speed is wisdom's leisure. 



After wits are dearly bought; 



Let thy fore-wit guide thy thought. 



Time wears all his locks behind; 



Take thou hold upon his forehead; 

 When he flies, he turns no more, 



And behind his scalp is naked. 

 Works adjourned have many stays; 

 Long demurs breed new delays. 



PROPER SIZE FOR FARMS. 



No error is more universal than for Tyros in 

 farming operations to suppose, that the business of 

 farming may be pursued without means, and that 

 first crops may be obtained from the soil without 

 any additions. Nor is this error confined to the 

 uninitiated only — for many farmers continue to 

 plod on, trusting simply to the waste materials of 

 the farm for manures, and raising small crops at 

 full expenditure for labor, and no expenditure for 

 manure, and much less amount of labor as com- 

 pared with the increased amount of crop. For 

 these reasons many farmers fail of success, and 

 they are generally constrained to follow this prac* 

 tice, from having farms of too great a size, and in- 

 sufficient cash capital for their proper management. 

 Current cash means, equal to twenty-five dollars 

 per acre for the amount of land in use, is abso- 

 lutely necessary for success, and even this sum is 

 the very smallest amount that can be used with 

 profit. With such an amount the farmer may buy 

 his fertilizing materials at proper seasons of the 

 year, have them properly prepared, and use them 

 in the most economical manner. He may then 

 have every acre of his farm in condition to produce 

 a maximum amount of profit. When labor is mis- 

 applied, it is lost forever, but if an excess of man- 

 ure should be used, it still remains, if properly 

 prepared before use, for future crops, and with 

 many amendments it appears to be nearly or quite 

 impossible to use an excess quantity. As an in- 

 stance, suppose a crop of corn to be raised with or- 

 dinary manuring, the labor of culture twelve dol- 

 lars per acre, and the crop resulting forty bushels 

 of shelled corn. Let us suppose a similar acre, to 

 which thirty dollars' worth of manure is applied, 

 thirteen dollars labor, and the product a hundred 

 bushels of shelled corn — it will readily be seen, 

 counting on the corn alone, the first crop, the corn 

 being worth fifty cents per bushel, makes a loss to 

 the farmer of four dollars ; and probably leaves his 

 land impoverished, while the last makes a gain of 

 seven dollars in corn, leaving the land improved, 

 certainly to the value of half the cost of manure 

 applied, and the next year in the succession of 



