Qi\)c laxnufs iUniitl)li} bisitor. 



75 



in a siiiguliir manner too ; it did not break up as 

 usual, but tlie ice entirely ilissolved away.— I'itli, 

 n lieautil'ul day; and as it is so long since we 

 have seen " the like of it" it is worth reconling. 

 It has been jieilectly clear, except a few liglil 

 cirrus in the north in the P. W. and tliesnow has 

 "made off" in great haste. Kobin-red-hreast 

 made her a|)|ieuiance to day.— 14lli and ]5th, 

 fogiiy. — ]6th, saw martins for llie first time. — 

 17tiii began to rain in the night ; ceased about 

 ri P. M.— 94lh to27th, foggy, and moderate rain; 

 afternoon of tlie 27th was showery, vvilh some 

 lightning.— 30th, A. M. cold S. wind ; P. M. be- 

 tween 2 and 3 o'clock, a sligiit hail storm ; began 

 to rain about 4 o'clock. 



The first snow fell the 34th of November, and 

 from that time until the middle of April, except- 

 ing about two weeks of the last of .(aiuiary, the 

 ground was covered with snow, making almost 

 five entire months of winter; the whole (piaiility 

 fallen was not tin- from six feet. It has been a 

 very long and severe winter, but lho.se who wish 

 to see accounts of longer and more severe ones, 

 are referred to the eighth volume of the Ameri 

 can Almanack, page 169 to 175. Notwithstand- 

 ing the lejigth of the winter, there has not been 

 a more favorable month of May than the present 

 for the larmer fur mtmy years, and from present 

 appearances (lAIay 22d) those farmers who will 

 plough and sow with an unsparing haml, with- 

 out regard to signs of the weather, and the fool- 

 ish signs of enthusiasts, will reap an abundant 

 harvest. - 



THE REAPER AND THE FLOWERS. 



BY HENRY W. LONGFELLOW. 



There is a Renper. whose name is Death, 



And, with his sickle lieen, 

 He reaps the bearded grain at a breath. 



And tiie flowers that grow between. 



" Shall 1 have nought that is fair?" saith he ; 



" Have nought but the bearded grain ? 

 Though the breath of these flowers is sweet to me 



1 will give them all back again." 



He gazed at the flowers with teiulul eyes. 



He kiss'd their drooping leaves ; 

 It was for the Lord of Paradise 



He bound them inliis sheaves. 



" My Lord has need of these flowerets gay," 



The Reaper said, and smiled ; 

 '• Dear tokens of the earth are they, 



Where he was once a child. 



•' They shall all bloom in fields of light, 



Transplanted by my care, 

 And saints, upon their garments white. 



These sacred blossoms wear." 



And the mother gave, in tears and pain, 



The flowers she most did love ; 

 She knew she should (ind them all again 



In the fields of light above. 



O, not in truelty, not in wrath, 



The Reaper came that day ; 

 'Twas an angel visited the green earth. 



And took the flowers away. 



each side by vast rolls or swells of earth and lock, 

 which rose so high as to be capped with snow. 

 In the distance to the west, were seen throiigli 

 ihe openings between the bnles, a number of 

 spiral peaks that imagination could have said 

 Ibriued the western front of a vast holy edifice 

 of the eternal hills. On the eastern face of the 

 cable biile, there were two transverse seams of 

 what appeared to be crystallized rpiartz. The 

 upright was about sixty feet in length ; the cross 

 scau^ about twenty feel, tluown athwart the up- 

 right near its top and lying parallel to the plane 

 of the horizon. I viewed it as the sun rose over 

 the eastern mountains and fell upon the glillei- 

 ing crystals of this emblem of the Saviour's suf- 

 liiiing"; built with the foundations and treasured 

 in the bosom of these granite solitudes. A cross 

 ill a church, however ijillen we may suppose it 

 to be from the original purity of worship, exci- 

 tes, as it should, in the minds of all reasonable 

 men, a sacred awe arising (iom the remembrance 

 of the scene in .Tiidea which spread darkness 

 like the night over the earth and the sun. But 

 bow much more impressive was this cross of 

 living rock— on the temple of nature where priest 

 neveV trod; the symbol of redeeming love, en- 

 graven when Eden was unscathed with sin, liy 

 God's own hand on the brow of his everlasting 

 mount.-iiiis. The trappers have reverently named 

 this peak the " iMomilain of the Holy Cros.^." 

 It is about eight hiuidred feet in height above the 

 level of the little brook which runs a few rods 

 t'rom its base. The upper end of the cross is 

 alioutone hundred feet below the summit. There 

 are many dark and stately groves of j'ine and 

 bals'uii "fir in the vicinity. About the brooks 

 grow the black alder and the laurel ; the honey- 

 suckle and a great variety of wild (lowers adoin 

 the crevices of the rocks. The virgin snows of 

 ages whiten the lofty sninmitsaroimd ; the voice 

 of the low murmuring rivulet trembles in the 

 sacred silence: "O solitude, thou art here," the 

 lip moves to speak. "Pray, kneel, adore," one 

 seems to henr softly breathed in every breeze. 

 "It is holy sround." — Faniham's Travels in the 

 Oregon Territunj. 



The Hkart. — In a healthy state, the heart 

 makes eighty pulsations in a minute; and it is 

 calculated that from two ounces to two ounces 

 and a half of blood are expelled into the aorta 

 at each pulsation; conse(]uently, at least nine 

 thousand six hundred ounces will he thrown i'l- 

 lo the aorta in an hour, which would amount to 

 one thousand four hundred and forty pounds in 

 one day. 



At each pulsation, the quantum of blood is 

 propelled eight inches, which amounts to fifty 

 feet in a minute I The tpiantily of blood in a 

 human body is, on an avarage,about thirty pounds, 

 and passes through the heart about twenty-three 

 times ill the space of one hour I 



A weight of fifty pounds, hung to the foot, the 

 leg laid across the opposite knee, was raised by 

 the action of the popliteal artery. Allowing (iir 

 the distance fiom the centre of motion, this 

 proves that the heart must possess a power ot 

 at least folk hundred pounds !—fifl^ Mam 

 Clarke. 



The Mou.nt.^ln of the Holy Cross. — There 

 were, on the western siile of the stream which 

 we wwe ((allowing down, a collection of bnles 

 or conical peaks clustered around one, whose lop 

 was somewhat in the form of the gable end of 

 ail ancient chiircli. This cluster was i>aDked on 



For the Farmer's Monthly Visitor. 

 A winter evenins, at my uncle Jacob's, where- 

 in he relates hoAV he was once mistaken for a 

 Public man or a Representative of the Peo- 

 ple. 



" What is the reason," said my uncle Jacob as 

 be pulled off his boots one of the stormy cohl 

 evenings in February, tm-ked his toes into his 

 slippers and drew near the fire; "what is the 

 reason. Bob, that Peggy has to wade through this 

 deep snow backward itnil forward to the barn .' I 

 am sure that Peter could do all the milking." 

 "Why," said my wife sending a sweet smile for 

 her uncle's solicitude into his face, "the Irutli is 

 that Daisy will not let any one come near her 

 with a bucket but me. She never would, and 

 perhaps the reason tliat fallier gave her in lo make 

 weight ill my dowry was that no one could come 

 near her at lionn. She has been so ever since 

 she was a heifer. I have handled that cow ever 

 siiice she was a week old ; and with me she is as 

 senile as a lamb. When I was at home also she 

 would be milked first: so sure as I went to an- 

 olh'-rcow befiirc she was finished she would im- 

 mediately make for the favorile, and compel the 

 first attention. I cannot say lint that I think well 

 of her taste." 



•' Peggy," said my uncle, " he or she that is fa- 

 vored by you must be alive to jealousy, I am 

 sure." 



"One thing is certain, uncle, that you can com- 

 pliment ill a storm as well as any other time. 

 VV^ell, well; there is a salisfaclion in a night liKe 

 this, 10 have a comfortable fire side, to listen to 

 the repelled storm as be blows the bail against 

 the windows; there is a satisfaction lo know tluil 

 we have done our duly even to the dumb animals 

 that an all-wise Providence has given lor oiir use, 

 and not for our abuse. It gives me satisliiclion to 

 give the |>igs a warm supper this cold night and 

 to put in a^good fork full of straw to add lo their 

 nest, and as Bob shut the barn door anil I heard 

 the horses grinding their fiiod I felt that all was 

 right." 



"I could not sleep," said my uncle Jacob, "it 

 in the pauses of the storm I heard the snfli'ring 

 swine squeal, or the exposed hungry cattle low- 

 ing; and when I see people so unfeeling as to 



neglect their cattle, or cruelly abuse them, as 1 

 have done, and thought 1 could pei-ceive the poor 

 creatures imploring for mercy in their look.s, I 

 have almost wished that there was truth in the 

 doctrine of transmigration, and that they niiglit 

 one day feel how bard it is to be helpless, de- 

 fenceless, and to suffer." 



"How different people are," said n'y wife, 

 '■from what we ofti^i imagine them. It made me 

 sick at heart when Roliert told me of your de- 

 sire that we should come here to live. 1 thought 

 yon so queer and fixed, as old bachelors usually 

 are, and not good tempered either : but I have 

 been so disappointed, and am so hapjiy." 



"Who is given to complimenis now," replied 

 my uncle. "I must not let that pa.«s. I have 

 been as niucb disappointed as you. Husbands 

 hardly ever duly estimate I heir wives — farmers of 

 course in |)articular — until they lose them. When 

 I look upon your rosy health anil your good tem- 

 per, and see you at your needle these winter 

 evenings, I think of how niiicli of the real happi- 

 ness of lili" we bachelors forego, and how liirlu- ^ 

 nate those are, who, like Bob, win the affections 

 of a farmer's daughter." 



"I think," said I, "that it is lime for me to put 

 in a word. These good opinions seem to leave 

 me out alto<r<'lher ;" and lo give mailers a new 

 turn, I mentioned lo my uncle that some of the 

 neighbors had expressed a desire that he should 

 be a candidate for representative to the next Leg- 

 islature. 



"Farmers," -said my uncle, " make good men in 

 such places, and ihey must be filled; but 1 have 

 always avoiileil them. Some years ago I was 

 waited upon to know if I would serve, and I was 

 told thai if I would consent I slKUild be elected 

 without doubt. I told tliern the truth, that I did 

 not desire it, and that w hatever huent defects or 

 blemishes I might have, lliey would he sure lobe 

 brought into view by the rubbing every public 

 mail gets; that if my character was good as they 

 said it was, I wasilesirous to keep it so. But af- 

 ter supper I will tell you that I once came so near 

 office ihat I was actually taken liir a llepresenta- 

 tive, hut tliis was in the Bay State, and is some 

 twenty years ago." 



I saw that we should have no reading for this 

 evening, at which I was not sorry ; for my uncle 

 has seen a good deal of the world and treasured 

 it up, and it passes off our long evenings with 

 |ile,-isure and profit to hear liim unfold the jiast. 

 !f liirmers would all, as we trust most of then: 

 do, use their resources at home — meet each other 

 half way in complimenis, rather than in contra- 

 diclions — try kindness and good nature in all ca- 

 ses; they would greatly adil to their own liappi- 

 ness aiui difl'iise it around them. This is the 

 doctrine of my uncle Jacob, and 1 will now pro- 

 ceed to relate his account of his being mistaken 

 for a Uepresenta'ive. 



Our supjier of hasly pudding was over, which 

 since onr supper at the tavern, each one salts for 

 Iheiiiselves. iMy wili; put everything in place; 

 took herjiuittiiig in hand, and my uncle lit his 

 pipe, when he commenced his story as follows: 



" Twenty three years ago, I think it was in 1820, 

 I had occasion lo go up to Boston. I rode a fine 

 mare, the dam of Selim and had all his marks. 

 The first evening 1 reached \asliua, fori did not 

 slart very early in the day, and slopped at the l!iv- 

 ern. What a change in the appearance of the 

 country has been made in twenly years I A great 

 deal of the low laud w here the best hay now 

 grows was then like our meadow, where I got 

 about a Ion and a half to the acre last year. 

 Well, when I was seeing that my mare was pro|i- 

 erly taken care of, a man spoke to iiie and said 

 you have a likely horse ihere, and alter a little 

 conversation ofit'ied to trade. He was a travel- 

 ler, said that he owned a fiirni and wanted to in- 

 crease his slock of horses. He led ont his horse 

 and said that he had no fault, but that llie mare 

 would answer his vie«s best. One of my ma,\- 

 ims is to let well enough alone. I had no desire 

 to cbaii;;e, and I told him that as my animal suit- 

 ed me I had no wish lo part with her. He uas 

 very airree.iblc .■ind good natured, and recurred lo 

 the subject a iiiiiiiImu' of limes ilnriuL' the evening. 

 We lodged in the same room, and I noliced that 

 heio.^e at daylight ihe next moiiiing-. There 

 was something about this man that I did notliiii- 

 cy, so as soon as he hail gone down stairs 1 got 

 up and went out to the stable where 1 liiund my 

 genllemau just mounting my mare. He bad 



