272 



THE FARMERS' REGISTER. 



Cleofaa, ihat;ihe physicians of Spain had sworn 

 10 practise medicine upon no other system than 

 the one then in vo<^ae. Mi^ht not one almost 

 fancy that some of the farmers of the present age 

 had taken a similar oath, from the obstinacy with 

 which they adhere to those customs inherited from 

 their Ibrefathers, which they cherish as sacred 

 heir-looms'? Many have no doubt been deterred 

 li-om the use of hme by the unlortunate experi- 

 ments of those who, judijing from their overdoses, 

 seem to have been guided by a philosophy similar 

 to that of the man mentioned by Dr. Combe, 

 who, concluding that the beneficial effect would 

 be in proportion to the number of pills taken, swal- 

 lowed the contents of the box at a dose. Bui 

 thanks to the progressive spirit of the age, and 

 the philanthropic labors of those who have zeal- 

 ously devoted their time and talents to the im- 

 provement of agriculiure,.lhis lamentable neglect 

 ol" this invaluable substance is daily diminishing, 

 and the larmeris nolongerinclined to think, like the 

 lawyer in the -Heart of Mid Lothian,' that larming, 

 like driving a gig, comes by nature, but is con- 

 vinced that it is a refined art, requiring ibr its suc- 

 cessful practice the application of some of the 

 most refined principles of physical science. 



C. B. Haydek. 

 Smithfield, jlpril 20th, 1841. 



A LKGACY FOR YOUKG FARIVIEKS. 



For the Farmers' Register. 



3Iy sons .-—This is the first day of January, 

 it is snowing at a rapid rate, and as my infirmi- 

 ties Ibrbid my being out, I take up my pen again. 



When I was about sixteen years of age 1 

 thought mysell a wise lellow, liut when 1 arrived 

 at the age of twenty-one, I came to the know- 

 ledge that at sixteen 1 was but a silly boy. At 

 twenty-one, as the law made me a man, 1 

 thought I was a man indeed, and determined that 

 the world should soon know the I'aci ; but, ah ! 

 how silly the thought ; lor now i know, that at 

 twenty-one I was but as a child. My sons, are 

 you ready to confess yourselves but as children 7 

 Are you not apprised of the liici, that the looiish 

 are lull ol babbling conceit, without reason ; but 

 that the wise are conscious of their delects 7 



Perhaps you have been at the plough these 

 four or five years, yet I wish you to understand 

 that you are not yet graduated, lor as it took you 

 some ten or twelve years to graduate in scholas- 

 tic knowledge, so will it be at least the same 

 length of lime, beiore you graduate as larmers. 

 1 do not intend to assert, that one cannot be a 

 farmer unless he literally holds on to the plough 

 handles ; but 1 do assert, that 



' He who by the plough would thrive, 

 ' Himself must either hold or drive.' 



Nor would I assert that one cannot learn without 

 a teacher, Ibr of late we read that a blacksmith 

 has, without a teacher, acquired a knowledge of 

 npany languages ; yet can it be doubted that he 

 would have obtained his purpose in much less 

 time had he received lessons from an A.M.? 

 And so of you as farmers. _ Be not ashamed to 

 receive instruction from any source, even from an 

 illiterate menial 5 lor although one may be far 



jour inferior in a general sense, yet experience 

 may have made him your superior in a few in- 

 stances. My heart's desire is, that you become 

 men of business, ofjudiiment, and worth, as soon 

 as possible. To this end, I admonish you to ever 

 keep discretion and reason belbre your eyes. 

 Travel not in the dark ; but always put your rea- 

 sonincr faculties in front, that your pathway may 

 be comfortably lighted. I have however to tell 

 you that in your atrricullural pi»igrimage you will 

 discover many outlets from the old beaten road ; 

 some of which jou maybe disposed to travel, 

 as indicating shorter routes to the point of desti- 

 nation. Well, I have no objection to your trying 

 a lew of those paths, whilst yet you are in juvenile 

 years ; but I would caution you against running 

 off the track too ofien, unless reason has a strong 

 light ahead ; and again, beware of fox-fire. 



.My sons, do you remember what a high opi- 

 nion you had of yourselves when saying your les- 

 sons from the New York Reader No. 3 ? but now 

 how grating to your ears, to hear a school-boy, 

 ding-dong, ding-dong, no punctuation, no ca- 

 dence, no emphasis. And so of the clump-headed 

 lirrmer; he can be moved by no other tune than 

 the old lullaby, which his daddy used to sing. 

 N6vv although I revere the ashes of ray deceased 

 father as much as any other man could a parent, 

 yet I know that he, and you, and I, are all fallible 

 beings ; therefore it is our duly to ' grow in wis- 

 dom ;' to 'live to learn,' ihougk it may be a lact 

 (which I very much doubt) that we ' die and for- 

 get all.' 



It is true that we must plough, and sow, and 

 reap, as did our forefathers ; but cannot those 

 operations be better timed 1 Cannot our imple- 

 ments be improved? Can we not make two 

 blades of grass, or two ears of corn, to grow where 

 heretofore there has been only one ? Can we 

 not, by improving our flocks and herds, double 

 our quantum of meats and wool, without an in- 

 crease of expense? F say it can be done, and 

 let me hear you respond, and say ay, and it shall 

 be done — so mote it be. 



When ! v/as young, I put my mind particular- 

 ly to two things, viz. : agriculture, and perpetual 

 motion. The last I thought was within the 

 reach of man ; the first, I thought had nearly ar- 

 rived at the summit ol perleciion ; but now how 

 altered are those opinions, ibr I find that agricul- 

 ture is comparatively in a siaie of barbarism, and 

 the idea of perpetual motion is perfect nonsense. 

 My sons, although' your larms may be some- 

 what improved, yet they may be compared to so 

 many blank books. Now each for himself has 

 to fill out his book, according to his industry and 

 abiliiy ; and each Ibr himself has to set the type, 

 and do the printing. And finally, although each 

 book has, or should have, many chapters, yet as 

 they are continually open to the inspection of 

 every passer-by, so will he read and comment 

 thereon. If your work is badly executed, then 

 the intelligent passenger would fain shut his eyes, 

 till out ol sight ; but read he must, though as 

 grating as the school-boys'. ding-dong — and then 

 come comments, as horrible as Milton's Paradise 

 Lost. But if your work is good, the reading will 

 not be grating, but grateful ; and the commenta 

 as cheering as Milton's Paradise Regained. If 

 you are a cobbler at your work, you are not only 

 degraded in the eight of man, but your beasts 



