1856. 



NEW ENGLAND FAEMER. 



445 



thus to come together. "Whether the freshness of 

 the water, or its turbidness, caused the death of 

 the fish I do not know, but probably both com- 

 bined. 



This rising of the ■water in our ponds and 

 meadows, at this season of the year, is unusual, and 

 has been severely felt both by animate and inani- 

 mate nature. The trees and shrubs around our 

 water courses now begin to exhibit its effects. 



Such a succession of hea\'y rains, as we have 

 lately experienced, was probably seldom known, if 

 ever observed, by that very old and respectable 

 gentleman, "the oldest inhabitant." 



Yours, &c., S. P. Fowler. 



Danvers Port, Aug. 16, 1856. 



LETTER FEOM MR. BROWN. 



Hancock, JV. H., Aug. l^th, 1856. 



Dear Sir : — From Concord, Mass., to this place 

 by county roads, the distance is fifty miles, and 

 one can scarcely travel through such a distance, 

 over a route of poorer land, or one presenting less 

 inducements to agricultural life. Bordering the 

 road over which we travelled, the soil is thin, and 

 either abounding in uncounted stony or gravelly 

 knolls, or thickly studded with boulders, too large 

 to be removed by cattle, and too gnarly to be re- 

 duced to any regular shapes by wedge or powder. 

 In particular locations, however, there are excep- 

 tions both to the general charge against the soil 

 and the rocks ; for about some of the villages, and 

 along some of the streams, there are oases of orig- 

 inally fertile and now highly cultivated lands. 

 Some of these produce fine crops of corn, wheat, 

 barley and oats, and especially grass, occasionally 

 amounting to tliree tons per acre of the latter. 



In the neighborhood of these lands, there are 

 comfortable farm-houses, painted; commodious 

 bams, sheds, and granaries, good fences, barn-cel- 

 lars, and a general appearance of thrift and com 

 fort. Here, too, are to be found improved agri- 

 cultural implements and stock, things rarely attend- 

 ed to where the energies are fully taxed to protect 

 the body against the elements and hunger. It is 

 no use to talk to a man of the rotund and juicy 

 Durham, or of the buttery Alderney with her meek 

 face and silky coat, who hasn't a peck of meal in 

 the chest, and the corn on whose lean and hungry 

 soil looks as though it must be budded this year, 

 to enable it to arrive at the common stature of 

 corn next year or the year after ! Talk to the moth 

 er of the virtues of system, neatness, of the educa 

 tion of her children, and she will tell you that she 

 has done all she could, and point you to the stern 

 and barren fields that refuse to reward their unre- 

 mitting toils. No wonder the broad West looms 

 up with visions of golden cakes, pails of frothing 

 milk, and pitchers of cream. 



It is an incontrovertible fact that there are thou- 

 sands of acres in Massachusetts, and tens of thou 



sands in New Hampshire, upon which the energies 

 of man should never be wasted. There are acres 

 enough without them. There are acres without 

 original fertility, (ra mountain tops, or sides, away 

 from streams, or good roads, swept by rains, and 

 scorched by summer suns. They are difficult of 

 access to plow, manure and plant, or if, providen- 

 tially, a crop is grown, to secure it. To persist in 

 their cultivation is a contest between man and the 

 powers of nature, in which the former will certain-- 

 ly come off" second best. It has been going on now 

 between one and two hundred years. The axe and 

 fire has swept the noble forests from the hills, while 

 innumerable crops of rye have taken up the virtues 

 of the virgin soil, to which nothing has been re- 

 turned. By removing the forests, the springs that 

 ran among the hills have disappeared, and gradu- 

 ally, year after year, the rich, leafy mould has been 

 taken up, until nought but a scanty and innutri- 

 tious vegetation is left springing from a bleached, 

 thin and inactive soil ! 



Man, here, is yielding to natural, but inexorable 

 laws. The gloomy records of his defeat are left 

 upon the land. All along the way, occasionally in 

 the valley, sometimes on the narrow plain, but 

 mostly on the bleak hills, stand dreary monuments 

 not only of his defeat, but of his retreat, also, from 

 the unequal contest. In a brief travel of only one 

 day, stand more than fifty deserted mansions to at- 

 test this fact ! These are not the tenements of the 

 first settlers, but the re-buildings of their descend- 

 ants, never to be repeated : one, only, mostly de- 

 moHshed, showing the log structure of the pioneer. 

 Here and there some careful hand has removed the 

 dilapidated frame work, and the cellar only marks 

 the spot of th(; habitation. In the other cases, no 

 herds stand in their stalls, no smokes curl from 

 their chimneys, and the grass — nature's beautiful 

 covering wheie man mars — has overspread the 

 pathway to the doors. Owls and bats may enter 

 and enjoy their solitary reign, but man inhabits 

 there no longer, nor ever will. In those deserted 

 rooms no human hearts will again beat with tumul- 

 tuous pleasure, or anguish and pain ; no hopes will 



flatter, 



"No days of toil, or nights of grief," 



be related around the morning board, or in the 

 evening chair. 



Though perhaps not strictly applicable to the 

 condition of things around me, I could not help re- 

 calling that beautiful, but somewhat melancholy 

 poem of Goldsmith, The Deserted Village, and es- 

 pecially the following passage : — 



"Princes and lords may flourish and may fade, 

 A breath can make them, as a breath has made : 

 But a bold yeomanry, a country's pride, 

 When once destroyed, can never be supplied." 



All around these once fair representatives of civ- 

 ilization, Nature is rapidly making encroach- 



