214 



NEW ENGLAND FARMER. 



Mat 



opinions on the subject ; but these are so low that 

 I fear to use them, lest my country friends should 

 think I was joking, or suspect me of exaggerating 

 purposely to keep them away from the city, and 

 from competing with us, for the large wages they 

 hear of. It was with some such feelings, 1 well re- 

 member, that I listened some twenty years ago, 

 to a conversation one Saturday night, in a shop 

 in the city of New York, where I had then work- 

 ed but a few weeks. The "candid opinion," of the 

 foreman was assented to by most of the hands, 

 that, counting all those in the city, who claimed 

 to be journeymen at our trade — the good, bad, 

 and indifferent, at work and out of w^ork, — their 

 whole earnings, one week with another, would 

 not exceed an average of three dollars a head ! 



But admitting this to be a wild statement ; ad- 

 mitting that city mechanics generally obtain liv- 

 ing prices for their labor, there still remains one 

 fact to which I ask particular attention, and that 

 is, our liability of being out of work. 



"Out of work.'" How differently this expres- 

 sion falls upon the ears of country farmei's and 

 city mechanics ! The one thinks only of a holi- 

 day. His crops harvested, — his barn, cellar and 

 woodhouse filled, Out of Work has no terror for 

 him ; — only a brief relaxation, a little spell of en- 

 joyment. To the other it is the sum of all evil, 

 the negation of all conveniences and comforts of 

 life His house is hired by the month or quarter, 

 his provisions bought daily or weekly, and his 

 fire-wood but little in advance, can he look Out 

 of Work in the face, and not shudder? Must his 

 little ones starve, or freeze, or be turned into 

 the street? He trembles at the prosi^ect ; but it 

 is not he alone that trembles, — the millionaire 

 trembles with him, and well he may, for "hunger 

 breaks through walls." 



The riots which have occurred in London and 

 Liverpool, and the hoarse mutterings which have 

 been heard in our cities, should be studied by 

 farmers' boys as a practical commentary upon 

 their ideas of the wages of city mechanics, and 

 of the city as the place for the enjovment of 

 life. 



Long may our country be saved from the dis- 

 grace of deeds of violence committed by starving 

 mechanics, and long too may the farmers of our 

 land appreciate the blesings of that independence 

 which saves them from an appeal to the charity 

 and fears of tlie community for a plate of beans 

 and a bowl of soup. A City Mechanic. 



Boston, March, 1855. 



acres in wheat, j-ielding 470 bushels — 03^ lbs. to 

 the bushel. I raised 2,500 bushels of corn, which 

 is only worth, at this time, 65 cents per bushel. 

 jNIy sale this year will amount to about §1,800, 

 including pork, grain, hay, &e. I plowed an old 

 and very poor held, last year, for corn, having 

 spread over the ground lightly with straw, and 

 'sowing 150 lbs. guano to the acre. I mixed tlie 

 straw and guano together, and raised 50 bushels 

 of corn to the acre, working the land with a cul- 

 tivator. — American AfjricuUiirist. 



What a Mechanic can do on a Farm. — You 

 or a correspondent asked, in a former numljer, 

 "What a man can do in Virginia." I will tell 

 you what I have done, not by way of boasting, 

 but to answer the question, and perhaps encour- 

 age others. 



I was born and raised in this county, and never 

 had any education more than to read and write. 

 I was bound to a trade when young, and after I 

 was free, lived on a farm, and received $140 a 

 year. Wlien I was twenty-four years old I mar- 

 ried, neither my Avife nor myself having any 

 property. We are now worth §10,000, obtained 

 without any speculation, and in a straightforward 

 course. I have been married about twenty years, 

 work a fixrm of 238 acres, which I bought, some 

 years ago, for §22 per acre. Last year I had 24 



HOME. 



BY AARON" SMITH. 



There is a simple little word — 



Oh 1 ne'er its charm destroy — 

 Throughout the universe 'tis heard, 



And nowhere hut with joy ; 

 There's music in its magic flow 



Wherever we may roam. 

 The dearest, sweetest sound below ; 



That little wor 1 is Home. 



The soldier in the battle's hum 



May all things else forget ; 

 'Mid bay'nets' flash, and beat of drum, 



His home's remember'd yet. . 

 The exile, doo.n'd on foreign lands 



Through hopeless years to toil. 

 May do the despot's stern commands. 



Yet sighs for home the while. 



I care not where may be its site. 



Or roofd with straw or tile. 

 So that the hearth-fire burns more bright 



Neath woman's radiant smile : 

 Aflection on her fondest wing 



Will to its portals fly, 

 And hope will far more sweetly sing 



■When that blest place is nigh. 



It may be fancy, it may be 



Something far nobler — far ; 

 But Love is my divinity. 



And Home my polar star. 

 Oh ! sever not home's sacred ties , 



They are not things of air ; 

 The great, the learned, and the wise, 



All had their training there. 



Mark Lane Express, London. 



For the New England Farmer. 



PLOWS MIH STONE. 



Mr. Editor : — I have been a reader of your 

 valuable paper for several years, and with much 

 profit to myself; but among the many able arti- 

 cles it is wont to contain, a reader who resides on 

 the cold, rough hills of Massachusetts, cannot but 

 think how few of them are adapted to a soil hard 

 and stony. Nearly all are inclined to foster the 

 improvement of soils, free from stone and easy of 

 cultivation. This I conclude from the ftict that 

 nearly all modern improvements in agricultural 

 instruments are not adapted to the cultivation of 

 stony Soil — plows for instance. There is a long 

 list well adapted to soils free from stone ; but put 

 these implements in a hard, stony soil, and they 

 are good for nothing ; the old plows of forty or 

 fifty years ago will do better work. Hence the 

 cry of" gentlemen, riding through the country, that 

 the people, at least a large number of them, obsti- 

 nately follow the beaten track of their fathers, re- 

 gardless of modern improvements. Is not this class 



