232 



NEW ENGLAND FARMER, 



JAN. 24, ISIS. 



(From the 'J'oken and Souvenir for 1838.) 

 THE FIRESIDE. 

 ' What gift have you brought to your own fireside .'" 



'T was a mother's voice that spake. — 

 Without, the tempest doth fiercely chide, 

 But peace and joy sliall within abide ; 

 Oh cherish them for my salie. 



A common stoclt is our happiness here ; 



Each heart must contribute its mite, 

 The bliss to swell, or the pain to cheer ; 

 Son and daughter and husband dear, 



What vsrill you add to-night.' • 



Then the student-boy from the lettered page 



Raised a bright tliouglit-spcaUing eye ; 

 That knowledge was there which doth gird the sage. 

 And kindle a Same 'mid the frost of age 

 With light and majesty. 



A blooming girl, like a rose on its stem, 



Her bird-like carol p mred ; 

 Beauty and music their radiant gem 

 Shook from their sparkling diadem, 



To swell the the treasuie-board. 



Then a pale, sick child her guerdon brought, 



'Twas the smile of patient trust. 

 For stern disease had a moral wrought, 

 And patient and pure was her chastened thought, 



Asa pearl by the rude sea nursed. 



A fair babe woke in its cradle bed, 



And clung to its mother's breast. 

 But soon to the knee of its sire it sped ; 

 Love was its gift, and the angels said 



That the baby's gift was best. 



Then the father he spoke, with a grateful air. 



Of the God whom his youth had known ; 

 And the mother's sigh of tender care. 

 Went up in the shape of winged prayer, 

 And was heard before the throne. 



flui-ii.g winter : iliat those phiiiteil in a richer soil 

 inny be slightly injiiretl hy tlii' fro.st, in conse- 

 quence of their growinf: later in the Cu I ; while 

 those i.lanteil on j)'""''^!' s<jil "''I ma'"''* sooner 

 and receive no injnry : that atiy person iksiroiis 

 of rai.siii^' the morns inultieanli^ lor the (iiirpose 

 of feeding the silkwurtn, ntay, from a small quan- 

 tity of ciittinus, produce any quantity they may 

 stniid in need of, in a few years, with as little at- 

 tention as they could raise a crop of corn. 



it surprising that I should wi.-li to die in th 

 mine ?' 



' You have indeed,' I replied, ' drank of afflic 

 lion. Whence did you derive consolation ?' 



The old man looked up ; ' from Heaven ; God) 

 gave and he hath taken away, hlcssed be his nanie.( 

 I bowed my head to the min r's pious prayer, an 

 the old man passed on. 



1 



(For the N. E. Farmer.) 



Copy of a letter from Joseph W. Atkinson, Esq., of 

 jVoi-i/t Carolina, to Jfilliam Prince &/■ So7is, pro- 

 prietors of the JVurseri^s at Ftushiuir, dated 



January llth, 1833. 

 Gentlemen: Yours of 26th December request- 

 ing me to make you acquainted with my success 

 witli the Mortis Multicaulis, is before me. 



The 2000 plants which we purchased from you 



in November 1836, were set out in April 1837, in 



ordinary soil, from which we have 10,000 plants 



of from five to six feet high. We liave another 



nursery, the soil of which U richer than the one 



we set the plants in we purchased from you. The 



plants in this nursery are from seven to nine feet 



high. Our trees are sVanding in the nurseries 



without any protection, ami have not received any 



iniiiry from the frost, with the exception of some 



few bucks near the end of the limbs, which did not 



have time to ripen. Experience has established the 



following fads touching the growing of the morus 



Multicaulis in N. C. : that either from layers or 



cuttings, they will reach a height of from five to 



nine feet in one summer, agreeable to the quality 



of the soil : that it is not necessary to move thein 



from the nursery, nor to protect them in any way 



illi; HAPPY iVHNEll. 

 ' There's danger in the mines, old man,' I ask- 

 ed of an aged miner, who, with his arms bent, 

 leaned awinst the side of the immense vault, 

 ali-suibed in meditation,— ' it must be a learful 



I'll'-' . , 



The old man looked at mrf with a steadfast but 

 somewhat vacant stare, and then in half broken 

 sentences he uttered, " Danger, where is there not 

 on earth, or beneath it, in the mountain, or in the 

 valley, on the ocean, or in the quiet of nature's 

 most hidden spot — where is there not danger ? — 

 where has death not left some token of bis pres- 

 ence ?' 



'True' 1 replied,' 'but the vicissitudes of life 

 are various; the sailor seeks his living on the wa- 

 ters, and he knows each moment that they may 

 engiilph him ; the hunter seeks death in the wild 

 wo^ods ; and the soldier in the battle field ; and 

 the miner knows not but the Sfiot where he now 

 stanils, to-morrow may be his tomb.' 



' It is so indeed,' replied the old man, ' we find 

 death in the means we seek to perpetuate life ; 'tis 

 a strange riddle ; who sliall solve it?' 



' Have you long followed this occupation ?' — 

 I asked, somewhat struck with the old man's man- 

 ner. 



' From a boy. I drcnv my first breath m the 

 mines, I shall yield it up in their gloom.' 



' You have seen some of the vicissitudes,' said 

 [ ' to which you have just now alluded.' 



' Yes,' he replied, with a faltering voice ' I have. 

 There was a ti ne that three tall boys looked i;p 

 to me, and called me father. They were sturdy 

 striplings! Now it seems but yesterday they stood 

 before me, so proud in their strength, and I filled 

 too with a father's vanity. But the Loiil chas- 

 teneth the (iroud heart. Where are they now ? 

 I saw the youngest, he was the dearest of the 

 flock ; his mother's spirit seemed to have settled 

 on him, crushed at my feet a bleeding mass. We 

 were tpgether; so near that his hot blood sprung 

 up into my (ace. Molten lead had been less last- 

 ing than tiiose fearful drops. One moment, and 

 his light laugh was in my ears ; the next, and the 

 largo mass came ; there was no cry ; no look of 

 terror; bi;t the transition to eternity was as the 

 lightning's flash ; ami my poor boy lay crushed 

 beneath the fearful load. It was an awful mo- 

 ment ; but time that changeth all things, brought 

 rv\WS; and I had still two sons. But my cup of 

 affliction was not yet full. They too were taken 

 from me ; side by side they died, not like then- 

 brother; but the firedamp caught their breath, 

 and left them scorched and lifeless. They b;oughl 

 them home to the old man, his fair jewels ; than 

 whom earth's richest treasures in his sight had no 

 pric! ; and told him he was childless and alone. 

 It is a strange decree, that the old plant should 

 thus survive the stripling things it should, and for 

 whom it would have died a thousand times. Is 



An aitdable youth was lamenting the death o( 

 a most aflectionate parent ; liis companions eni 

 deavored to console him by the reflection that he 

 had always behaved to the deceased with duty, 

 tenderness and respect. " So I thought," replied 

 the youth, " whilst my parent was living ; but now 

 I recollect with pain and sorrow many instancuj 

 of disobedience and negk-ct, for which, alas ! if 

 is too late to make any atonement." , 1 



If a youth may have such feelings in the reco^f 

 lection of his conduct to his earthly parent.s, (and 

 who of us has not ?) what should be our self 

 reproach when we remember how much mor« 

 frequently we have oflfended our Heavenly Father 

 and with how much fewer returns of affection.-f 

 Youth's Friend. 



ABOU BEN ADHEM AND THE ANGEL. 



BV LEIGH HUNT. 



Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase !) 

 Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace, 

 And saw, within the moonlight in his room. 

 Making il rich, and like a lily in bloom, 

 An angel, writmg in a book of g'lld ; 

 Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold : 

 And to the presence in the room he said, 

 ' What writest thou ?' The vision rais'd its head. 

 And, with a look made all of sweet accord, 

 Answer'd, ' The names of those who love the Lord. 

 ' And is mine one .'' said Abou. ' Nay, not so ;' 

 Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low. 

 But cheerily still ; and said, ' I pray thee, then. 

 Write me as one that loves his fellow-men.' 



The antrcl wrote and vanished. The neit night 

 It came again, with a great wakening light. 

 And sliew'd the names whom love of GocJ hath Lies 

 And lo ! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest. 



i 



i 



A PURE HEART. • 



Oh, hap[.y as the day is long, 

 Cimie rain, come shine, we hear thy song ; 

 All to thyself tliou hast thy tune, 

 . When those who love to hear are gone. 



Thy pleasant thoughts are with thee still. 

 They quickly come when thou dost will; 

 And, self-amused, thou 'st never known. 

 What 't is to be left all alone. 



Oh lovely child so bright and free. 

 Must this cold world e'er narrow thee .' 

 No -thou niny'sl live an endless youth, 

 If thou wilt early love the truth. 



Then shrink from nothing but the wrong. 

 So thou shall never want a song ; 

 Sweet thoughts will ev'n unbidden start 

 While thou dost keep a simple heart. 



M'riuted »y VultU, Beuuell te Chitholm, 



11 SCHOOL STHt'K,T....UOSTON. 

 ORDlEl FOR FRIIITIHa RKCIITID BY THK PUBLl»«i« 



