422 



NEW ENGLAND FARMER. 



Sept. 



room, or the judge's ie 

 tT( 



lench ? What the dull rou- 

 tine of the merchant's duties behind the counter, 

 M'ith his daily liability to protested notes and bank- 

 ruptcy ? ^^'"hat the daily task of the mechanic, 

 happy if released after a ten hours' toil, or that of 

 operators in the cotton-mill, summoned by bell and 

 encased in codes of regulations ? No — it is not the 

 employment of the fields that is drudgerj- — it is the 

 man's mind, that is enslaved. That mind does not 

 spring from the sod, buoyant with life and intelli- 

 gence, searching and inquiring iMo the wonderful 

 operations above, beneath and around liim. 



Let him turn his thoughts to Chemistry in its 

 relation to his employment, and he will soon be 

 convinced, that no man has yet lived long enough 

 to understand the strange yet beautiful operations 

 constantly carried on in his trees, plants, flowers 

 and animals. The lawyer is tied to his terms, and 

 the merchant to his counter ; the i)hysician to liis 

 never-ceasing horse-mill rounds, the clergyman to 

 his parish and the mechanic to liis bench. But the 

 farmer breathes the free winds of heaven on his 

 hills, and drinks from the crystal springs that flow 

 through his valleys. The first beams of the morn- 

 ing sun touch his brow amid the Avaving grain of 

 his garnished fields, while he bathes his feet in the 

 cool dews that have gathered upon the bending 

 grass. He reclines at noon in the shade of his old 

 trees, and walks among his springing corn, or 

 profits by the cheerful criticisms of his wife and 

 children upon his garden culture, as they stroll 

 among the plants he is rearing. He goes to mill 

 or to market at will ; — attends the County Fair in 

 autumn with his fat oxen, lusty steers, or mam- 

 moth vegetables; takes a premium on orchards, 

 bog meadows, or corn and cabbages, while his wife 

 bears off the palm for making the best butter, and 

 his unmarried daughter receives the silver goblet 

 for the best loaf of wheaten bread. He finds a day 

 to look in ujjon the General Court ; or, perchance, 

 is a constituent part of that honorable body himself. 

 He is the man to conduct the town business, for a 

 referee, for a juror, or for any other honorable call- 

 ing. 



While cultivating the fields, he is in the school- 

 room of nature, and it is his own fault if he does 

 not study her ways, and make her subserve his pur- 

 poses. She calls to him from her mountains, and 

 valleys, and streams, from the air that cools his 

 heated brow, and the dust beneath his feet. She 

 pleads const<nitly for his attention through the 

 birds of the air, and the beasts of the field, in the 

 change of the seasons, in showers, sunshine, frost 

 and vapor. Is there no voice in these, to liim Avho 

 tills the ground or fells the forest ? Are these all a 

 sealed book to him, because he is a tiller of the 

 soil ? If so, he should awaken to their perj^etual 

 call, be led to a consideration of the delights which 

 are hom-ly offered to his muid, and rejoice in grati- 



tude that he is permitted to be free upon the acres 

 which he is gladdening by his care. 



PUSH ON! 



BY HENRY J. SARGENT. 



Awake ! and listen. Everywhere — 



From upland, grove and lawn, 

 Out-breathes the universal prayer. 



The orison of morn. 

 Arise ! and don thy working garb ; 



All nature is astir ; 

 Let honest motives be thy barb, 



And usefulness thy spur. 

 Stop not to list the boisterous jeers, 



(He would be what thou art,) 

 They should not e'en offend thine ears, 



Still less disturb thy heart. 

 What though you have no shining board, 



(Inheritance of stealth ;) 

 To purchase at the broker's board, 



The recompense of wealth — 

 Push on ! You're resting while you stand ; 



Inaction will not do ; 

 Take life's smaJl bundle in your hand. 



And trudge it briskly through. 



Push on ! 



Don't blush because you have a patch 



In honest labor won ; 

 There's many a small cot roofed with thatch 



That's happier than a throne. 

 Push on ! The world is large enough 



For you, and me, and all ; 

 You must expect your share of rough, 



And now and then a fall. 

 But, up again ! act out your part — 



Bear willingly your load; 

 There's nothing like a cheery heart 



To mend a stony road. 



Push on ! 



Jump over all the ifs and htiVs ; 



There's always some kind hand 

 To lift life's wagon froni'>the ruts, 



Or poke away the sand. 

 Remember, when your sky of blue 



Is shadowed by a cloud. 

 The sun will shine as soon for you 



As for the monarch proud. 

 It is but written on the moon 



That toil alone endures ; 

 The king would dance a rigadoon 



With that blithe soul of yours. 

 Push on ! You're rusting while you stand ; 



Inaction will not do ; 

 Take life's small bundle in your hand. 



And trudge it briskly through. 



Push on ! 



Poison of Cherry Leaves. — A lady informs us 

 that the poisonous effects of cherry leaves upon 

 animals, as noticed in the Farmer a Aveek or two 

 ago, can be remedied, l)y ginng the animal a mix- 

 ture of Ainegar and chalk in the pro])ortion of ^ 

 pint of vinegar to 2 tablespoonfuls of challi. The 

 remedy has jjroved effectual in several cases. 



Lime Will Destroy Sorrel. — Edmund Ruffin 

 gives, in the last number of the Southern Planter, 

 the experience of thirty-four farmers, on the subject 

 of lime, as a remedy against sorrel. Their experi- 

 ence is from nine to thirty-six years, and their un- 

 animous opinion is, that marUng or liming, in 

 jjro];er manner and quantity, will entirely destroy 

 the growth of sorrel, and prevent its return. 



