DEVOTED TO AGRICULTTJEE AND ITS KIISTDRED ARTS AIID " SCIENCES. 



VOL. XI. 



BOSTON, JULY, 1859. 



NO. 7. 



JOEL XOL'RSE, Proprietor. 

 Office. ..34 Mekcuants Row. 



SIMON BROWN, EDITOR, 



FRED'K HOLBROOK, ) Associate 

 HENRY F. FRENCH, \ Editors. 



JULY. 



"O that this too, too solid flesh would melt, 

 Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew." 



Hamlet, Act 1, Scene 2. 



ULY — arid, tropi- 

 cal month. What 

 an exalted idea it 

 gives one of the 

 energy and patri- 

 otism of our fore- 

 fathers, to think 

 they could muster 

 resolution to de- 

 ■— clare themselves 

 "free and independent," 

 _, _ on a hot day in July. We 

 'CA* -wonder they did not wilt 

 into supine submission to George 

 III., or anybody else who chose to 

 place an oppressive foot upon 

 their necks. When we forget to 

 commemorate their heroism with ring- 

 ing of bells, -speeches, fireworks, can- 

 non and India crackers, we deserve to 

 lose "the peace their valor won;" yea, 

 more, — to go without "tea" the rest of our 

 natural lives I 



Sydney Smith is said to have wished he could 

 "take ofl' his flesh and sit in his bones awhile," 

 by way of keeping cool ! Though mankind are 

 not generally so anxious to get rid of their "flesh- 

 ly weeds," they certainly are very much addict- 

 ed to finding fault with the weather. 



For instance, — last winter we had some days 

 of "remarkable weather." This spring east winds 

 prevailed to an uncommon extent, although we 

 were told that once in three hundred years May 

 •was a ramZess month, and that this was the identi- 

 cal three hundredth — therefore fears were enter- 

 tained that life would be entirely parched out of 

 the vegetable world. 



Others took a diff'erent view of the case, and 

 wgre apprehensive that the premature heat would | 



be succeeded by an "unkindly frost" or perhaps 

 a snow-storm, which should nip in the bud the 

 forth-putting leaves and flowers. Now July has 

 arrived, and although naturally enough "hot 

 weather may be expected about this time," how 

 many times will it be remarked that this is the 

 very hottest summer that has been known for 

 years — it may be, even within the memory of the 

 "oldest inhabitant." 



Perhaps those who suffer the greatest incon- 

 venience, are the ones who do nothing but try 

 to keep comfortable. The lady who sits at her 

 window in a white wrapper, watching the reap- 

 ers at work under a broiling sun, bestows a great 

 deal of commiseration upon them, because she 

 does not know that the faintest breeze brings 

 cooling to their brows — and that by being busy, 

 we forget to say "how hot it is." 



We may call this the high noon of summer. 

 The great clock which tells the Months of the 

 Year, has struck twelve, but we must give our- 

 selves only a short nooning, for time flies and 

 labor presses. Our hay, our oats, rye and bar- 

 ley will soon be ready for the sickle or the scythe. 

 They have been silently growing taller and tall- 

 er every moment since last April, impelled by 

 some power which we cannot comprehend. It 

 seems but a little while since the seeds were bur- 

 ied deep down in the earth, and nothing but re- 

 peated observation could have convinced us that 

 there should be a resurrection of these few poor 

 grains that we planted. We could have shown 

 no reason why these dead and buried seeds 

 should spring up to a fresher and fuller life. 

 But here they are, and summer after summer we 

 have seen the miracle repeated, until we pass it 

 by without wonder, calling it the ''order of iVa- 

 iure." 



"They took a plow and plowed him down, 



Put clods upon his bead, 

 And they ha' sworn a solemn oath, 



John Barley oorn was dead. 



"But the cheerful spring came kindly on, 

 And showsrs began to fall — 



